#dark lord becomes a father

[serpentandlily]

No Going Back - Azriel x Reader

No Going Back - Azriel x Cassian’sSister!Reader

Summary: Azriel has been your mate, your husband, your love for centuries. But a certain Archeron sister has him questioning your relationship after all this time. You soon find out that there are simply things that can not be unsaid or undone. And sometimes, there are things you can’t come back from.

Warnings: angst angst angst and a little violence

A/n: based on this request. this one hurt guys :(

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Azriel was late. 

Again.

You sighed, leaning back in your chair and tossing your napkin on the table. You had waited for him but at this point, the food was cold and your appetite had disappeared so you began to clear the table instead. 

It had been like this ever since the Archeron sisters had become permanent residents of the Night Court. For months now, your mate had been coming home late, skipping breakfast, leaving the bed before you even woke. He had become a scarce presence in this apartment, the one of the two of you had bought together years and years ago.

Tonight was no different. 

It had started out slow, innocent. Feyre’s sisters were having a hard time adjusting to their new lives and Elain had started clinging to Azriel at some point. You understood why. He was someone who wouldn’t push you more than you needed and would be there for you as a quiet, steady presence. 

You hadn’t minded it at first. Elain was clearly struggling a lot. But at some point, Azriel had begun to prioritize her over you. Whatever Elain needed always came first now. He had canceled dates, skipped out on dinners, left parties early—all for her. 

And it was starting to hurt.

You weren’t stupid nor naive. You knew what was happening. You were watching your mate slowly fall in love with someone else. 

Azriel had always liked playing the hero. First he was the hero for Mor, saving her when she had been discarded in Autumn, beaten and nearly dead. 

And then he was the hero for you. 

You were a bastard born Illyrian, ripped from their mother’s side as soon as you were able to complete chores on your own. You hadn’t known your father. Hadn’t even known you had a brother until he came storming the camp one day, looking for your mother. 

Cassian had almost killed you during his fit of rage once he had learned what your camp had done to your mother. He had gone on a killing spree, sparing no one until he came upon you. But he recognized your scent, took one look at you and immediately knew who you were in relation to him. 

You were only nine when he had saved you from that camp. Cassian took you that day and brought you home with him. Rhys’s mother took you in with no question but Cassian had practically raised you.

You had met Azriel and Rhysand that day as well but you had no idea what the shadowsinger was to you until years and years later. 

Once Rhysand was in power, he banned wing clipping. It pissed the Illyrian males off, of course, which led to them kidnapping you to try and clip your wings as a message for the High Lord, knowing Rhysand cared about you as much as he had cared for his own sister.

Their plan was to keep you locked up until they could get a hold of your brother, Cassian, to tie him up and make him watch what they would do to you. You were beaten within an inch of your life and kept in a cell for three days before Azriel rescued you.

You still remember the image of him stalking into your cell, his eyes lit with a feral rage. He looked like a dark Angel straight from Hell. The minute his gaze found yours, the mating bond snapped into place. 

Azriel saved you and your wings that day. And afterwards, he sat by your bedside night and day until you were fully healed. He held you through all the nightmares, waited patiently for you to be ready to accept the mating bond. And then he had trained you into a fortified spy and warrior, an equal. 

But none of that mattered now.

None of that mattered because now there was a new damsel that needed saving.

And it wasn't you.

Not anymore.

You pulled out your weapons bag from the closet and began to lay out your daggers and swords on the dining table. You had devised a plan to make Azriel feel more needed in your relationship because maybe that was what was lacking. At least, you hoped that's all this was. You hoped he wasn't truly falling in love with another female. 

Rhys had given you a job today that was supposed to be for both you and Azriel, but you were going to ask for his help—make him feel like you need him and hopefully that would make him come back to you. 

An hour later, you heard the front door open and close before his scent of cedar and night-chilled mist filled the apartment. You smiled, turning around to greet him. He gave you a half-smile in response. 

You stood on your tippy toes to kiss him as he passed by, but he swerved his head to the side, making your kiss land on his cheek instead. Your heart clenched as he walked away. 

"You're finally home," you said, trying to not let the hurt you felt seep into your tone. "I saved you some dinner if you're hungry."

He shook his head, sitting on the couch to unlace his boots. 

"That's alright. I already ate," he replied, barely looking at you.

Your fingers tightened around the dagger in your hand. Elain had cooked him dinner again, that much was obvious. Your smile dropped as the scent of jasmine and honey met your nose, only confirming your suspicions. 

Azriel strode to you now, looking over your shoulder at all the weapons on the table. 

"What's this?" 

"Rhys gave me a mission—some spy work in Hewn City," you said. "I was going to leave to complete it tomorrow but I was hoping you'd come with me. I could use the help." 

Azriel snorted. "When was the last time you needed help?”

You frowned as he breezed by you, heading towards the stairs that led to the loft where your bedroom was. "It's a high value, dangerous target. I guess I could do it alone but I would feel better if you were there with me."

"I can't, Y/n," he said, stopping at the bottom of the stairs to look at you. "I'm sorry. I already made plans with Elain."

Your heart dropped to your stomach. Here he was, once again picking Elain over you.

"Really? And you can't cancel those plans just for the day? I really need your help, Az."

"You don't," he said. "I trained you, babe. I know you don't need my help anymore." 

"Well maybe I just need you. It's that so bad? Maybe I just want to do this with you."

"I'm sorry, but Elain needs me."

You threw your hands in the air, your cheeks turning red. "What does Elain need that is so important that you can't reschedule it for a different day?" 

"She wants to go into the city. Wants to see more of Velaris. It's a huge step for her, Y/n. One she needs me for."

"And Feyre can't take her? Or Nesta? She has two sisters who are perfectly capable of showing her around Velaris."

"Well, she asked me," Azriel sighed. "And I already agreed."

"Why is it that you can bail on me all the time, miss dinners with me, skip out on our dates," you growled. "But the moment it comes to Elain, you won't even bother rescheduling a simple outing?"

Azriel narrowed his eyes at you and crossed his arms over his chest. "What exactly are you insinuating, Y/n?"

Your heart was pounding, a sick feeling in your stomach. How could he not see? How could he not see how much he was choosing her over you, his own mate?

"I'm just saying that you've been spending a lot of time with Elain," you argued. "I hardly see you anymore, Az. I just want my mate back." 

"Well, you're not the one who needs me right now, Y/n. You're not the one who's gone through immeasurable trauma. You're not the one who just barely stopped starving yourself. Elain needs help right now. Am I supposed to just turn my back on her after everything she's been through?"

You wanted to laugh. You would've if you weren't so upset. Elain wasn't the only person in Prythian to go through trauma. All of you had gone through so much. For him to disregard you like that… after everything… you felt your heart cracking into pieces. 

"She has her sisters to help her! Even Nuala and Cerridwen have been helping her adjust to life here! Why does she need you as well?"

"I can't believe you're acting like this," Azriel snarled. "I'm tired, Y/n. I don’t want to do this right now.”

"Acting like what? Acting upset because my mate is prioritizing someone else? Upset that my mate is barely home these days? Upset that my mate has been spending all his time with another female? How would you feel? How would you feel if I started spending all my time with another male, Azriel? How would you feel waking up to an empty bed, eating dinner alone while I was out with another guy?"

"It's not like that and you know it! Don't make this about you, Y/n. I thought you were better than that."

"Are you serious, Az? I have been nothing but patient and kind. I have given you so much grace. I have had to sit back and watch my mate cater to another female for months now. Months! And I only ask for one day. For you to come with me for one job and you can't even do that?" 

"Well, you can wait a little longer," Azriel said, his face cut from stone. "She needs me right now. Me. Not Feyre. Not Nesta. Not Nuala and Cerridwen. Me."

"What about her own godsdamn mate!"

"She doesn't want him and she owes him nothing. She doesn't want his help,” Azriel growled. You didn’t miss the flash of jealousy in his eyes that made your stomach twist.

"Of course she doesnt. Why would she when she can just use my mate instead? I can't believe you're picking her over me, Azriel."

"I'm not picking her over you! And I wouldn't."

"You already have! Each and every day you choose her over me. Why? Please, Azriel, explain it to me because I don't understand!"

"I already told you," Azriel growled. "She is going through a lot at the moment. You don't need me right now but she does."

"I don't care what she needs! I don't care! I'm tired of pretending like this doesn't bother me. She clearly has feelings for you and instead of discouraging her, instead of distancing yourself, you just keep running back to her! Why? You owe me an answer, Azriel!"

"I already told—”

"The truth, Azriel! Give me the fucking truth."

"Fine," Azriel snarled, his eyes going dark, his face as cold as the winter snow outside. 

The room was silent for a moment. Silent except for your heavy breathing, your heart still echoing in your chest. You felt like you were going to be sick. You hadn't expected to blow up like this but you couldn't take it anymore. 

Finally Azriel let out a sigh, deflating a bit. "I've been spending some time thinking… of us, of our family, of everything and I can't help… I can't help but think maybe the cauldron got things wrong. It doesn't make sense. Three sisters, three brothers. My brothers got two of the sisters but the other one is given to another? I can't help but question everything, Y/n. You have to understand. You know the cauldron doesn't always get things right… maybe it got this wrong."

With every word he spoke, your heart cracked more and more. You blinked in disbelief, staring at the male that you had called your love for over two hundred years now. A male you had built your life with, a male you were connected to in a very primal sense of the word. A male you had expected to be with forever.

And here he was, telling you he thinks the cauldron was wrong in making the two of you mates. Telling you that he thinks some other female should be his mate. He might as well stick a dagger straight through your heart. You were certain that would be less painful than this.

Gods, your ears were ringing. Tears lined your eyes. All of your paranoia the last few months, your feelings of inadequacy every time you saw Elain, the female he was spending all this time with over you, all of it was true. He had been falling in love with another girl… right in front of you and your family. 

"Say something," Azriel murmured. "Please."

You blinked, hugging yourself as his words replayed in your mind over and over again.

"Is that… Is that how you truly feel? Would you really rather have Elain as a mate? You think we shouldn't have been mated… that the cauldron made a mistake?"

"Fuck, I don't know! I don't know, Y/n. All I know is that my two brothers are mated to two sisters and the third… Elain.... I can't help but wonder if we would be better suited together. I'm sorry, Y/n, but you have to understand how it looks from my perspective. Please."

You shook your head, backing up. 

"So that's what you've been doing? Testing the waters? Seeing if she would be a better wife to you, a better partner?"

"No, fuck, this is coming out all wrong," Azriel groaned. "It didn't start out that way, please believe me, Y/n. I never intended on developing feelings for her. It just sort of happened naturally and I… I've just been trying to wrap my head around it all."

You couldn't breath, couldn't think.

Your mate, your husband, your one true love had fallen for another girl. Believed that he should be mated to her instead of you. 

Were you not good enough for him? Not pretty enough? Not powerful enough? What did Elain have that you didn’t?

"So you think that you and Elain should be mates. Your brothers got mated to two beautiful high fae females, and you… you're the one struck with some lowly Illyrian and not the other beautiful sister. So it must be a mistake, right?"

"Don't turn it into that, Y/n. Don't diminish it," Azriel snapped. "It has nothing to do with your looks or who is more beautiful or High Fae. I could care less about that shit."

"But it does, doesn't it? You already think you're so unworthy and this just proves it. To be mated to an Illyrian and not the third made sister."

"I knew I should've never talked to you about this," Azriel growled. "I was trying to figure it out on my own. I didn't want to hurt you, Y/n. I didn't want this to happen."

"Well it has and you did," you snapped. 

He had hurt you. Immensely so. 

Tears began to drip down your cheeks. Azriel took a step towards you at the sight of your tears but stopped himself. Your chest heaved as you turned around, staring out the window in your apartment to Velaris, where people were laughing and dancing on the streets. Partying, having the time of their lives, while yours was ending.

"Y/n—"

“Have you slept with her? Kissed her? Have you cheated on me with Elain?”

“I-I…Y/n, I’m sorry. Please—”

That was enough of an answer for you. You couldn’t even fathom the thought of kissing another male and here was Azriel, basically confessing that he fucked Elain behind your back.

You wanted to scream. Wanted to throw things at him. Wanted to tear this whole apartment down. 

"Get out."

"What?"

"Get out," you snapped. "Get out!"

You heard a resigned sigh before the front door opened and closed. He hadn't even tried to fight for you. Hadn't tried to make things better. He just left… left you falling apart, with no one to pick up the pieces of your breaking heart.

A sob finally broke out from your lips and you crumbled to the floor, crying your heart out. 

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You lingered in the shadows in the alleyway across from the illustrious bar in Hewn City. Your target had gone inside over an hour ago and you were waiting for him to leave so you could trail him back to his apartment. 

You knew you shouldn’t be here right now. You were being reckless. Your mind was still a mess from last night, your heart broken. Every breath came with a deep pain in your chest. You wanted nothing more than to go home and cry and cry… but you were hoping this would distract you from the pain Azriel had left you with.

You had tried tugging on the bond a little earlier but you were met with an obsidian wall. Azriel had completely closed you off and you knew that meant he was with Elain, pretending to be her mate instead of yours.

You squeezed your eyes shut, your breath trembling as a few tears slid down your cheeks. Was he fucking her right now? Bringing her flowers and kissing her the way he used to with you?

Why weren’t you enough for him? Why weren’t you the female he wanted? The cauldron had gifted the two of you a mating bond and still it wasn’t enough to make him want you apparently.

The door to the bar swinging open had you standing up straight. A handsome High Fae male walked out from it and your eyes narrowed on your target. You slinked away in the shadows, following him down the streets.

He turned a corner and you rushed to follow, twisting to face the dark alleyway only to see it empty. Your brows furrowed in confusion as you walked down the narrow path.

You were halfway down the dark alleyway when you felt the cold tip of a dagger press against your throat. It pricked your skin, causing blood to trickle down your neck.

“Well what do we have here? A little Illyrian female, all by herself,” his voice purred from behind you. “Did you think I didn’t notice you following me, little bird?”

He spun you around, pressing you back against the wall, dagger still at your throat.

You tried to use your magic but your siphons sputtered out. It took you a minute to realize that his dagger was coated in faebane. You let out a panicked cry, trying to kick him away but he only pressed his body further against you. 

You were so fucked. You tried to tug on the mating bond again, if only to reach Azriel so he could send help. But that obsidian wall was still there. 

“I know who you are,” the male murmured. “That bastard’s sister. The shadowsinger’s mate.”

“Let me go,” you snarled, trying to twist from his grip but he pressed his dagger against your neck harder, making you stop.

“I don’t think so,” he teased, smiling. “You and I are going to have a lot of fun together, sweetheart.” 

He spun you around again, pressing your face into the brick wall. You cried as you felt his dagger run down your wing.

You tugged and tugged on the mating bond. Only silence greeted you. 

“But first, I think you’d look so much prettier without these.”

You died at the first drag of his dagger down the base of your wing. Died as he dug that dagger into the tendon, ripping up the nerves and muscle. Died as he severed off your left wing before moving to your right. Died as excruciating pain rattled your entire body.

Died as you cried out for your mate, for your brother, for anyone to come save you as the male laughed at your pleas.

Died as you tugged and tugged on your mating bond, crying and pleading for Azriel over and over again only to be met with cold, bitter silence. 

You died in that alleyway before your heart had even stopped beating.

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Azriel grabbed the plate of brussel sprouts from Elain, nudging the kitchen door open with his shoulder, and walking into the dining room. He placed the plate on the dining table, smiling at Elain lightly as she followed him with a large bowl of mashed potatoes.

Rhysand, Feyre, Amren, Cassian and Nesta were already at the table, waiting. He took a seat next to Elain and Rhysand shot him a confused look. 

“Az, where’s Y/n?” 

Azriel shrugged. “Still on the mission you sent her on.”

“What?”

“The job in Hewn City?”

Rhysand looked even more confused. “Why aren’t you with her? I specifically told her not to go alone–to take you with her. This was a two person job.”

“She didn’t tell me that,” Azriel said, also confused.

“Wait, what’s going on?” Cassian asked. 

“I gave your sister a report about some happenings in Hewn City that I needed her and Azriel to check out. But I made it very clear that it was a job with a dangerous target. What did she say to you about it, Azriel?”

Azriel felt his face heat up as all the attention fell on him. “She asked me to go with her but I was meant to take Elain into the city today so I told her I couldn’t. She never told me that you ordered her to take me with her.” 

Rhysand cursed, standing up. Cassian jolted at Rhysand’s reaction, also standing up in a panic. 

“She asked you to go and you told her no?” Cassian asked, his voice darker now as he stared at his sister’s mate. “Why the fuck would you let her go alone if she asked you for help?”

“I didn’t think she would need help,” Azriel said, carefully, also rising from his seat. “She didn’t tell me that Rhys said it was dangerous!”

“She shouldn’t need to! My sister asked you for your help, your mate asked you for help, and you told her no? Why the fuck would you do that?”

“Elain needed help,” Azriel argued back. 

Elain’s cheeks turned red as the attention drifted to her for a second. “I just wanted to see more of the city. I’m sorry.”

“Why didn’t you ask one of us to take her?” Feyre questioned, staring at Azriel with an odd look. “I could’ve or Nesta.” 

Elain turned even more red, pressing her lips together. Amren’s eyes darted between the pair, narrowing. 

“You’ve both been messing around behind Y/n’s back, haven’t you?” Amren had always been too observant. 

“What?” Cassian exclaimed, his face darkening. “That’s not true, Azriel? Right? He wouldn’t do that to his mate. He wouldn’t do that to Y/n.”

Azriel said nothing, shame pouring down on him. But he didn’t have to. Dark talons ripped open his mental shield, sorting through his mind.

“Get the fuck out of my head, Rhysand,” Azriel snarled, baring his teeth. 

Rhysand had seen enough, his face paling as he stared at Azriel with wide eyes. Cassian’s face dropped.

“What did you see, Rhys?” He asked.

“Amren’s right,” Rhys barely choked out. “Azriel… how could you? Y/n is your mate.”

“I’m going to fucking kill you!” Cassian roared, hopping over the dining table to tackle Azriel to the floor. Elain screamed, barely making it out of range as the two males fell to the floor. He only managed to land a punch before Rhysand pulled him away. 

“We can’t do this right now,” Rhysand growled. “We need to find Y/n. She shouldn’t be in Hewn City alone. I’ve been trying to reach her but I can’t sense her.”

“What do you mean you can’t sense her?” Cassian was more panicked now. 

“Are you sure she went to Hewn City today, Azriel? I should be able to reach her from this distance.”

“I’m not sure, I assumed.”

“What the fuck do you mean you’re not sure?” Cassian glared at him, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

Azriel had the good sense to look away, rubbing the back of his neck. “We had a bit of an argument last night. She kicked me out so I was giving her space. When I went back this morning, she was already gone.”

“Why didn’t you go after her? Why were you guys fighting?” Feyre asked. 

“She figured it out, didn’t she?” Amren interjected again. “She found out about you and Elain.”

Cassian let out a curse. “Fuck! Find out where my sister is, Azriel, or I swear to the Gods I will fucking end you.”

“Cassian,” Nesta chastised, placing a hand on his arm to calm him down. But he shrugged her hand off, too angry at the fact that his friend had hurt his sister so badly. 

Azriel didn’t need to be told. He was also panicking now, wondering why you hadn’t told him that he was supposed to go with you today. He would question it later, for now he just wanted to find you. He opened his end of the mating bond back up, feeling guilty that he had kept you closed off all day.

He gasped, folding over, as a wave of your emotions crashed into him. 

Fear. 

You were sending pure fear down the bond. 

“What? What is it?!”

Cassian grabbed Azriel by the upper arms. Azriel ignored him, tugging on the bond, hoping you would respond but nothing. Nothing but fear and pain traveled back to him. His shadows exploded around him, wailing in agony.

“She… She’s in danger,” Azriel gasped. “I need to go. I need to—”

He didn’t say anything else before he disappeared in a swirl of shadows. He stepped out into Hewn City, racing down the streets, trying to follow the mating bond to you. He heard Rhysand winnow in behind him with Cassian but he didn’t pause.

He shouted your name as he ran, pushing faeries out of the way, trampling through stalls. Rhysand and Cassian were right behind him. He ran and ran into the even shadier parts of the city, until it led him to a dark alleyway.

He paused as he scented blood. A small figure was curled up on the floor, in a pool of blood. No one else in sight. He rushed forward, screaming your name in terror as he realized it was you lying in a pool of your own blood.

He skidded to a halt, falling to his knees next to you. He let out a cry and pulled you into his lap. Your wings. Your wings were gone. Your back was covered in deep wounds, your heartbeat so faint he almost couldn’t hear it. He let out a wail, shaking your limp body in his arms.

“No,” he cried. “No no no no no.” 

He patted your cheek. “Wake up, baby. Please, wake up!”

Your eyes remained closed, your body still limp.

He heard Rhysand and Cassian come to a stop behind him, panting. Cassian let out a noise of horror at the sight of his wingless sister, turning around to vomit against the wall. Rhysand cursed, kneeling next to Azriel.

Azriel growled at him, yanking your body closer to his chest.

“Azriel,” Rhysand said, softly. “We need to get her back to Velaris. She needs a healer, now, before she bleeds out.”

Azriel let out a cry, standing up and hoisting you into his arms. Rhysand placed a hand on Azriel and Cassian, winnowing them back to the River House. Azriel brushed past the group waiting in the foyer, ignoring their cries of alarm as he rushed into one of the bedrooms and placed your body on the bed.

He knelt down next to you, grabbing your hand as tears poured down his face. Your breaths were growing thinner, your heartbeat fading. He could feel the mating bond slowly tearing itself apart.

“Don’t do this,” he cried. “Please, Y/n, you can’t do this to me. You can’t die. You don’t get to do this. Not like this. Please.”

Cassian burst into the room, Madja right behind him. The older female let out a long breath at the sight of you on the bed and immediately got to work. Cassian ripped Azriel away from you, tossing him on the ground.

“Please,” Azriel begged Madja. “Please don’t let her die. Please.”

“She’s not going to die,” Madja proclaimed. “Not on my watch. But you all need to get out of my way. Send one of my healers in here to assist me.”

It took both Cassian and Rhysand to drag Azriel out of the room and away from his heavily injured mate. They had barely made it back to the living room when he was suddenly slammed against the wall.

Cassian’s fist met his jaw and he felt blood pool in his mouth. Cassian punched him again and again, crashing to the floor with him as Azriel’s legs gave out. 

“You fucking prick,” Cassian shouted. “You were supposed to be there with her and you let her go alone! You did this! This is your fault!”

Feyre was sobbing in the background, being held back by Rhysand who knew better than to get in between two Illyrian’s fighting. Elain, on the other hand, rushed forward.

“Azriel!”

But Nesta grabbed her before she could get any farther. Her face paled as Cassian growled at her. “I’ll deal with you later.”

Elain let out a noise of distress, looking at Nesta but Nesta just pressed her lips together and looked away, disappointed.

Cassian focused his attention back on Azriel. He pummeled him, shouting and screaming. They were both crying, a mess of blood and tears. 

“You are her mate! You were supposed to protect her! And you failed–You failed her!”

Azriel barely fought back. He let Cassian beat him up knowing he deserved it.

Rhysand finally placed a hand on Cassian’s shoulder. “Enough.”

Cassian paused, still crouched over Azriel. He grabbed the shadowsinger by the collar before slamming his head back on the ground and leaning in close to snarl in his ear.

“I will never forgive you for this. Never.” 

Rhysand grabbed him by the back of his shirt, lifting him off of Azriel. 

“Cassian, your sister needs you right now,” Rhys murmured. “She’s more important.” 

“If I see his face again, I will kill him, Rhys,” Cassian snarled at his High Lord. “I swear to the Gods I will.” 

“I know,” Rhys whispered with his own despair. He knew this was the last time he’d see Azriel and Cassian together. Knew his family was about to be torn apart for the first time in centuries. “I know.”

Cassian spit out blood on Azriel before storming away, back to the room where his sister lay unconscious. Azriel sat up slowly, pushing himself back against the wall and drawing his knees up to his chest. He hung his head between his knees, tears dropping onto the wooden floor.

Rhysand knelt down next to him. “Azriel, what the fuck? Why would you… what have you done?”

“I fucked up, Rhys,” Azriel muttered. “I fucked up.” 

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You woke up days later. You immediately felt the absence of your wings. You groaned, trying to sit up and failing. A glass shattered against the floor and you looked up to see Azriel hovering in the doorway.

“You’re awake. Don’t… don’t try to move,” he breathed out, rushing forward. He knelt down next to the bed, grabbing your hand as tears formed in his eyes. “You’re awake.”

You pulled your hand away from him. He was the last person you wanted to see right now. It hurt just to see his face, his words were constantly replaying in your head along with the image of him and Elain together. The last thing you remembered was trying to call for help down the mating bond and being met with silence. 

“My wings are gone,” you whispered, more to yourself than anything. Your voice was hoarse, raspy from disuse. “My wings…”

“I know. I know and I’m so sorry, Y/n. You have no idea how sorry I am,” Azriel pleaded. “Gods, I am so fucking sorry, baby. For everything. For everything I said to you. For what I’ve done. For closing off the mating bond. For not going with you to Hewn City. I am so sorry.”

You said nothing. Just stared at him. What could you say? He had cheated on you, closed you off, left you alone. You had lost your wings because of him.

“Baby, please, say something.”

“I want Cassian,” you whispered. “I want my brother.” 

“I know, just please,” Azriel cried. “Please, just talk to me. I am so sorry, baby. I am so sorry. I will do anything for your forgiveness. I will do anything to fix this.”

“Cassian,” you murmured again. “I want Cassian!”

“I know, I know,” Azriel said. “Just please tell me what I can do to fix this. I will do anything. I’m sorry for what I said. I’m sorry for everything I’ve done. I regret it so much. I’m sorry I ignored you. I’m sorry I didn’t go with you. I’m so sorry. Please just tell me we can fix this.”

You choked on a sob, turning over so you didn’t have to look at him anymore. 

“I can’t unhear your words, Azriel. I can’t forget how you betrayed me,” you cried. “And I will never be able to forget how I cried for help and you closed me off. There are some things you just can’t unsay or undo. There is no going back from this.” 

“Please,” Azriel’s voice was full of sadness and regret but all you could feel was the pain he had caused you. “That can’t be true.”

“Please, leave,” you whispered, your tears sliding off onto your pillow. “Please.” 

“I can’t, Y/n. I can’t leave you. Not like this. I love you.”

“No, you don’t,” You said, softly. “We both know you don’t. I know who you love and it isn’t me, Azriel. Now please, leave. I’m begging you. There is no going back. There is no future for us after this. Please, just leave.” 

Silence so loud, it felt like the air was screaming. There was no denying your words. Azriel might regret what he did, but it didn’t change the fact that he did it. Those words had come from his mouth. He had made a choice when he decided to fuck Elain behind your back. He didn’t want you as his mate anymore.

Maybe he never did. 

You heard Azriel sigh and stand, his footsteps retreating. The door opening and closing was both your relief and your undoing. 

[long-live-astronerd-ghost-king]

DPXDC Prompt. Dead on main with priest Jason: Father Todd brings the Ghost King’s cult into the World of the Living.

So, when Jason dies and returns, the League of Assassins fails to hold him for long because spirits from Far Frozen pick him up after seeing teen through the Lazarus pit.

Jason quickly realizes that, well, they’re kinda obsessed with their cult of the Great One. And yeah the cult of the ruling Ghost King was very popular during the reign of the Pariah Dark but back then the rituals were carried out more out of fear. Now things are different. The population of the Ghost Zone has become interested in the activities of Frostbite and his loyal spirits because of an attempt to understand what kind of ghost the new ruler is and how best to thank and appease him. So Jason had no shortage of stories about the teenager's deeds.

~~~~

Jason to Frostbite: Well, you guys and your lil hobby are nice but I don't understand at all what's so cool about this guy, even if he defeated Pariah Dark and gets along with most of the Ancients…

Danny: *comes to visit Frostbite*, *slips and falls three times, sets the kitchen on fire in an attempt to make coffee then sheepishly smiles at Jason*.

Jason to Frostbite: ... Okay, Understandable, I Hope Danny Has a Nice Day and Some Sleep.

Tucker: Congratulations, you've acquired another Paulina. Great job. Danny: I'd rather he just asked me out instead of worshipping me. What the hell? I'm just a semi-ghost.

Tucker: Maybe things would be easier if you just gave him your phone number, you know? Danny: But he didn't ask. Tucker: Why didn't you ask? Danny: I couldn't! He's Robin himself, you know? Tucker: Well, good luck to you idiots to grow old alone near the altars of each other's name. Danny: Actually lil altar in his honor is not such a bad idea. Maybe this way he'll understand that I like him too.. Tucker: Danny, no!

~~~~

New in Gotham robbers break into Jason's place: Hey, father, God ordered you to share with your neighbors, so bring us some money or we.. Jason, who is talking on the phone with Danny: In fact, he just said that if you don't get out of here now, he will turn a blind eye to the fact that I will use my guns.

Danny*screams internally*: Oh Ancients, he's sooo cool!

Pandora: Honey, we're happy for you but stop flooding us with spam. You have already told 5 times during prayer how good his abs and chest look and how perfect Todd is when he reads aloud. We get it, okay? Clockwork: Well, I actually enjoy it. It's so much more interesting to watch while listening to the internal dialogue. Show must go on~ Danny: ...Get out of my mind! Nocturn: Thou shalt not take the name of the Lords in vain if you don't want to share with us, lil blob. So rude.

~~~Team Song: You Are My Religion · Firehouse~~~~

[historiaxvanserra]

These Violent Delights | An Eris Vanserra story

Summary: At a ball in Hewn City, you meet your match in Eris Vanserra

Pairing: Eris Vanserra x Archeron!Reader (brief mentions of Azriel x reader)

Word Count: 7.6k

Previously called If I Can’t Have Love, I Want Power. I changed the name to adapt if from a one shot into a series.

You had been born on a night like this, you think. The storm-streaked clouds line the heavens like flowering hydrangeas as they dissolve into a black abyss and the moonlight shines like pearls on the water where the horizon meets the Sidra. 

Storm-streaked they had called you. 

When you were a little girl, your father had told you that you had come into this world in the same way as the old Gods had. Born from the merciless depths of some unknowable blue-darkness; cruel and beautiful, and fearless. 

Now fear is all you know. 

The crack of forked white lightening against the darkening horizon pushes you further into introspective thought. The visions come with the quiet; flashes of silver and gold and the icy embrace of the water. That infernal cauldron and what it had taken from. It haunts you, even in dreaming.  

Of late, the days seem to pass in a state of perpetual purgatory, marred by memories and the water– an unforgiving tempest that tears through you. 

The water cleanses but it also devastates. 

Your father had once called you water; the salt and the sea. 

You had always wondered what that meant. 

But here you stand-- a storm incarnate; volatile, half-wild and isolating. And who can become the water without inheriting its violence, or its loneliness?

The feeling of harsh violet eyes on you is enough to drag you gaze from your spot near the balcony and the storm as it rages outside. 

“Are you ready, Nesta?” Rhysand’s voice is velvet night as it reverberates around the small waiting room. 

A chill runs down your spine when you catch his eyes, glinting and violet in the dim light. You regard Nesta cooly as she tilts her chin upwards. 

“Let’s get this over with, shall we?” Nesta’s eyes are lined with kohl and looking at her is like looking into the eye of a storm.

She always had an austere kind of beauty that left you speechless. 

Rhysand only nods simply before taking Feyre’s arm and approaching the large doorway. Nesta and Elain fall into rank behind them with practiced ease. It is you who hovers awkwardly in the background for a moment before taking your place in the middle of the formation. A solitary figure amongst them. 

You swallow thickly and you catch the lingering scent of a night chilled mist as you bristle. A whisper of night wraps itself around you like a cold comfort. These days his scent seems to follow you like a shadow; though, you suppose when you’ve spent every night this week wrapped around him, trying to drown out your own thoughts, there is bound to be a trace of him that lingers there.

At last, the towering doors to the throne room yawned open. 

The throne room is lined with black candles and evergreen wreaths frame the doorway, and moonflowers climb up the high, onyx pillars like ivy. And on each side of the aisles there were two magnificent banquet tables, piled high with food enough to feed a city. Though it was not to be touched without express permission from the High Lord.

A ripple of dark power reverberates through the mountain as The High Lord and Lady enter the throne room. You swear you feel the mountain wail in their presence. It is a powerful thing and you feel something within yourself begin to stir with it. 

A cold rage as it makes a home in your chest. 

The courtiers pale as they approach, parting like the tide as their High Lord and High Lady brush through them, crowned in silver crystals and garbed in midnight black robes. 

Rhysand looks beautiful you think as your eyes find him in the procession-- he stands tall against you all, his hair perfectly quaffed and the rich scent of mandarin and night-blooming jasmine seems to follow him.

All that pales in comparison to Feyre; the dress she wears is like tangible shadow. Gossamer thin silk and tulle that glitters with flecks of silver starlight, all gathered about her waist with a thin belt that accentuates the swell of her stomach. 

The room beholds her with baited breath; a sense of awe and ire. 

She looks like the visage of some ancient Goddess of the moon; pale and beautiful in the silvery light. 

You sense a shift in the air as they approach the dias and Rhysand’s shoulders tense; he is a picture of male pride. There is a dangerous quality to it that chills you to the bone. A cold violence that feels almost kindred to you. Feyre’s full red lips part and she smiles until it seems to dampen Rhys’s anger as he reaches for her as they climb the steps of the onyx dias. 

Keir’s face is twisted in a half-grimace, somewhere between astonishment and anguish. Behind him the Eris Vanserra remains fixed in place, his face set in a painfully neutral expression as he regards the High Lord and Lady. 

Motion from behind you beckons you to move as Nesta and Elain fall into step with you and begin to pace the length of the aisle and approach the dias. 

All three of you are dressed in Night Court black. A symbol of your place amongst the royal family. A warning of the dark power which you all possessed. Stolen and gifted from that cauldron. A reminder of your value. It is a carefully rehearsed routine as Nesta takes her place between you both, the flare of her skirts bushing against the marble floor with each long stride. You and Elain flank her sides like two wraiths. 

Elain looks sallow in black, you think as you catch her eyes. A poor initiation of the coldness you wear so well etched onto her beautiful face and steely determination in her dark, rich eyes. 

Nesta outshines you all tonight-- her golden hair braided into a crown atop her head and a delicate crown glints in the lantern light, slender spikes jutting forward in a dark corona. Her wicked eyes glinted like cobalt in the light. She’s dressed all in black. The gown itself is skin tight and embroidered with intricate silver brocade, twisting vines and moonflowers adorn the velvet bodice, tracing the curve of her breasts and sinking low, to her navel where the silver thread gathers about a sapphire that matches the crystals on her crown. 

Nesta is a cruel beauty; enough to bring a God to his knees. 

And Cassian looks about ready to sink to his knees before her as you regard him on the dias. 

Nestas moves with a feline grace, expressive and smirking as she takes her place between Cassian and Elain on the platform. 

Feyre and Rhysand sink into their thrones with a measured grace and from your stop between Elain and Azriel you can see all the eyes in the room as they flit from one member of the Inner Circle to the next. 

But it is the strange amber gaze of Eris Vanserra that you meet in the gathering crowd. He offers you a courteous nod and the ghost of a smirk graces his full lips and you send a scathing look in his direction in return.

You hope he feels the bitter sting of your coldness as your eyes try to find anything else in the throne room to focus on. 

Azriel rolls on the balls of his feet as the silence settles in the room and he inches so close to you that you feel the scarred pads of his fingers brush the exposed skin of your back. 

“You look good in black,” his voice is impossibly quiet, almost inaudible as he dips low enough that he is speaking into the shell of your ear. 

A cold chill runs up the length of your spine.

“Thank you, Shadowsinger,” You say simply, a feral smile on your lips as you bare your teeth to him. 

A laugh sharp and cruel rings through you and Azriel’s hand tangles in the lengths of your hair tugging sharply. 

“You are most welcome,” Azriel agrees, his voice is like shadow and wind as it graces your ears “most welcome indeed.”

Azriel steps back into line as Rhysand stands to address the crowd. 

Your own spine straightens as though it is muscle memory by now. Obedience. To bend and break as the High Lord and Lady saw fit. 

Rhysand looks like Night Triumphant as he regards his uncle with a strange union of cruelty and cordiality. Recently Rhys and Feyre had softened slightly with the people of Hewn City. Keir in particular. They can’t afford to isolate him from court politics-- in case the need arises for his Darkbringers to fight again. Hence the fact Rhysand even abides his presence at all. Rhysand’s cruel gaze lingers just a touch too long though. A careful reminder of the fate he’ll earn if he ever decided to go against Rhys. 

It’s been months since you’ve been to Hewn City, longer since you involved yourself in court politics. Longer still, since any whispers of the Trove or Briallyn reached you. Though you aren’t naive enough to believe it is over. 

None of the Inner Circle are. 

That is why you find yourself in Hewn City tonight. Swathed in the sallow light, and painted like a pretty whore; all red lips and dark eyes, with trembling hands, wanting nothing more than to be back in that little cabin with your sisters by your side-- as you were when you were girls. 

Feyre rises to her feet to join Rhys and she addresses the crowd, “May the blessings of the Winter Solstice be upon you.” 

The crowd seems to hum in acknowledgement and then they bow in a show of deference. 

Or blind obedience. 

Your eyes meet the strange amber gaze of Eris Vanserra once more, and it is you he looks at when he kneels. 

Keir slinks forward, offering your sister a low bow, “Allow me to extend my congratulations, High Lady.” His voice drips with false flattery as he dips his chin in a show of esteem. 

Eris Vanserra moves like a predator as he stalks forward, offering your sister a devastating, cultivated smile that feels almost authentic. “And allow me to extend my sincerest wishes, on behalf of my father and the entire Autumn Court.”

Rhysand’s mouth curls into a wicked half smile, his eyes darken to an amethyst color as she speaks “I’m sure your father will be most pleased for us.”

The implication that hands in the air is a dangerous one and you can feel the color drain from you at the terse exchange. A few more beast of silence and--

“Music,” The High Lord calls out and the orchestra from behind the mezzanine begins to play lightly, the sounds of lyres and harps ring through the air. 

Feyre once again addresses the crown, every inch the High Lady, “Go--eat--enjoy.” The crowd of silent courtiers disperse throughout the room as they aim to take their places at the tables. 

Each banquet table is piled high with an obscene amount of food and you find yourself feeling ashamed of the blatant opulence before you. When once you had nothing. Now you live without wanting. It makes you feel ashamed. How your old self would resent this wasteful indulgence. 

Turning away from the feasting courtiers you turn inwards towards the thrones on the dias. 

Now only Eris and Keir remain standing before the High Lord and Lady. You notice how neither of the men has deigned to acknowledge Morrigan’s presence behind the thrones. She looks ethereal and savage as she smirks down at them, her lips look as though they are stained wine red. 

Blood red, you think. 

The Illyrain’s at either side of you and your sisters look more like beasts carved into the dark stone of the mountain than anything else. Azriel and Cassian are clad in black armor, each adorned in ruby and sapphire to match their siphons that glow faintly in the low light. The brothers look as though they are the visage of some Gods of old; statuesque and hard-faced as they regard the Autumn Prince.

Cassian in particular looks like he might invoke some of that ancient power to stop Eris from dancing with Nesta tonight. He had not objected but, how could he? Rhys was his brother and his High Lord. Obedience is easier than the alternative. 

And the fate of The Night Court-- his home-- could rest on Eris’ alliance. So he will bite his tongue in the knowledge that what Eris offers is a chance at defeating Briallyn and Koschei. 

From your spot you watch the Autumn Prince with piqued curiosity. He will not stop looking at you and it is infuriating. 

It brings a cold anger bubbling to the skin's surface; all biting fury and icy violence. 

The conversation between Keir and Rhys seems to come to a natural end and the lull in the conversation has the whole room falling into silence, waiting for their next order. Like puppets.

And your sister the puppet master, pulling the strings as she commands, her voice like thunder at midnight, “Dance--”.

The courtiers like a midnight sea part and pair off in swathes of dark silk and velvet. Even Keir retreats into the crowd and pairs off with a dark haired female. 

Eris turns on his heels, the wrap of his riding boots against the floor echo through your head. 

“Before you join in the merriment, Eris,” Rhy’s voice is a velvet drawl as he presents a long black box, “I’d like to present you with your Solstice gift.”

You swallow hard and step forward. Procuring the box from Rhysand you press forward, one long stride that brings you face to face with the Autumn Prince and for the first time you truly look at him. 

A night-kissed wind envelops the pair of you, enough to wrap behind Eris blocking the dias from view of the dancing courtiers. 

Eris Vanserra is devastating; he has a cruel sort of beauty, with a strong jaw and high cheekbones that look sharp enough to cut into you, but his eyes are soft and unwavering. He is a strange juxtaposition.

Eris arches a brow at Rhysand and you flip open the carved lid of the box. Eris stiffens, his voice low and dangerous. 

“What is this?” he asks, somewhere between disbelief and wariness. 

“A present,” Rhysand clarifies and you catch a glimpse of ruby and gold on the hilt of the dagger. 

You refrain from grimacing at the truth you are confronted with. Rhysand and your sister want to sell off Nesta like a broodmare and her Made weapons with her. 

A truly beautiful piece. And dangerous too. 

Like Eris, something in you calls.

Eris’ hand hovers over the open box and he sucks in a sharp breath.

“You sense its power, then?” Feyre asks voice dripping with a sense of smugness that does not suit her in the slightest. 

Eris nods carefully, his eyes flicking to the High Lord and Lady before finding yours again. 

“There’s flame in it,” he says, hand still hovering over the weapon. As if something in him senses its true power. He closes the lid abruptly. “Why give it to me?”

Feyre smiles lightly and shrugs, “You’re our ally.”

Feyre rests a protective hand over the swell of her stomach, “You face enemies that exist outside of the usual rules of magic. It’s only fair to grant you a weapon that operates outside of those rules too.”

You stand transfixed by the twitch of his jaw and the bob of his throat as he considers her words. 

“It is truly made then?” He asks, carefully. His eyes never leave yours and it is your voice that answers his question. 

“It is, My Lord.” your voice comes out all cold and gravelly, unlike yourself. 

Rhysand speaks again though the beating of your heart renders him almost mute, “From my personal collection. An heirloom of sorts.” 

“All this time,” Eris’ voice is dark and thoughtful, “ all these years you possessed a Made weapon and you kept it hidden.”

“Even during the war,” Eris says more to himself than anyone else. 

There is a dangerous sense of anger and skepticism in the air as Eris examines the weapon again, his hand once more runs over the length of the dagger, his fingers barely ghosting the cool metal. 

“Don’t take our generosity for granted,” Feyre offers in warning, her voice quiet and threatening. 

Eris stills and nods in acknowledgement. He extends a smile that looks courteous enough to be genuine and once more allows his finger to run over the smooth length of the blade. “Thank you,” 

“Might I leave it in your safekeeping while I dance, My Lady?” Eris’s voice seems distant and far away and it takes a moment for you to realize that he is speaking directly to you. 

You look at him coldly, unable to muster the warmth of genuine affection when he is looking at you like that. It is infuriating. That someone so cruel might also be so insufferably handsome. 

“Yes, My Lord.”

Feyre nods to Rhys and Eris in acknowledgement and against your better judgment you let your eyes linger over the graceful curve of his calves and up over the contours of his muscled thighs, all the way up over the broad expanse of his chest and finally becoming entangled in the unbound curls of copper hair as he sweeps it over his shoulder. 

Devilishly and devastatingly handsome. Sun-blood handsome. 

Feyre’s soft lilt brings you back to reality as she says “Use it well, Lord.” 

Your sister's smile curves into a soft smile at Eris and extends a hand to him, “Ordinarily I would ask you to dance, but my condition has left me quite unwell.” Feyre makes a show of looking between the two sisters who stand in line with Cassian and Azriel. 

Elain, at least, has the good grace to give the impression of seeming interested. Nesta though looks bored. As though she is only half listening. As though they hadn’t just given away the dagger she’d Made. 

Perhaps it was the way that Nesta’s grey eyes had drifted away from the dancing sea of courtiers, or the forlorn look on Cassian’s face as he stood on the dias, but either way it made you realize something. That maybe the Illyrian General meant more to Nesta than she would ever let on. More than that dagger-- more than magic or power or court politics.  

Feyre notes the direction of Nesta’s stare and then looks between you and Eris. The corners of her lips twitch in nervous anticipation as her eyes settle on you. 

“My lovely sister shall take my place.” Feyre nods to you and for a moment you let the icy wrath in your stare settle over her before dipping your head to her. 

Eris’ throat bobs as you assess him with that same cold gaze. A slender hand takes the Made dagger from you and you hold out a hand to him. 

He extends a sculpted arm out to you, his large hand wrapping around you as you yield to him. His long, deft fingers brush against yours; his skin is warm to the touch and even in the pallid light it is clear and pale, with golden hues that compliment the warm depths of his eyes. Your chest grows taut and you feel emotion course through you with the force of a raging tempest. 

You loose a breathy gasp and for a moment you exist somewhere outside of yourself. You hear Eris’ voice, a warm, low timbre as he utters your name. He offers you his arm as you descend from your spot on the onyx dias. The sound of your slippers echo in the silent chamber. Eris’s face is set in a painfully neutral expression and you try your hardest to mirror it. Hoping he will not see the storm raging inside of you. You think of Nesta and the way she moves with such thoughtful grace and so you copy it; your chin tilted high and each step becomes a glide as you reach the edge of the marble dance floor. 

The eyes of the courtiers fall onto you. 

You feel the heat of Eris stare as it burns into the side of your face-- you feel a pair of violet eyes on you too. A cold chill spreads through you when his talons scrape dangerously and then you see him in your mind's eye. What a dangerous turn of events. 

Dangerous? You had never considered yourself as something dangerous. 

Nesta might have seduced Eris, but you will bring him to his knees. Rhysand’s cold tenor rattles around your mind and for a moment you see him standing at the precipice of a cliff as the storm rolls in, and the jagged rocks below look like the opening of a Helmouth. 

There is no doubt that Nesta is more beautiful. With a feline sort of beauty; long legs and a graceful neck, all angular and steely eyed. Nesta had inherited the aristocratic sort of beauty that your mother possessed. You had always been half-wild, unapproachable and--

Well, it is your mother’s voice that resounds in your head, of two sisters one is always the dancer and one the watcher. 

Tonight the roles reverse as you take your place in the middle of the dance floor. You will bring him to his knees. 

You catch Azriel’s eye as the instrumental music fades into momentary silence. From his spot on the dias he looks like a dark God; and he looks like he might just tear Eris to blood ribbons when his hand wraps around your waist. 

Eris brings you so close to him that you're pressed against him and as the harp begins to play, high and sweet, he smiles softly at you. As if the notes of music wrap around you, you raise your palm to his flat and open, an invitation if he has even seen one. 

The low stringed instruments usher in the music like a coming storm, a summons to the dance in a rushing of music, like water. You remind yourself to smile wickedly at Eris as he slides a broad hand over the curves and divots of your waist and hips. You lift your head high and, looking up into his perfect face you bare your teeth to him. All ruby red lips and pearls and he smiles so wickedly that you’re not sure who is supposed to be seducing who. 

Those strange amber eyes-- so haunting in the faelight. 

The harps and lyres sing so beautifully in the air and when the violins begin to play, it feels like a siren song in the air. A beckoning. As your body moves with the ebb and flow of the dancing tide. 

Eris leads you into the waltz, he moves with practiced ease. He knows every note, every trough and swell of the music, each nuance and note. 

Nesta would outdance you everytime. This you know. She moves like the music becomes her. And in so many ways it does. Her body bends to the will of the orchestral sound, and it bends to her too. 

So you will have to play it differently. 

The music sweeps you up in it’s tide, and as the music swells you decide to surrender yourself to the water. Let it wash all over you. Your body, once rigid and taut, goes pliant in Eris’ arms. You let the orchestral sound drown out your doubts and give yourself over to it. To him. His fingers ghost the line of your spine and he pushes you further still, against him. So close that you feel your heartbeat in tandem and your body bends to his will. 

It is easier to bend than to break. 

Better to relinquish control than have it taken from you. 

Eris’ eyes widen and soften then-- as if he feels it too-- you feel his hands loosen before tightening again around you. Somehow different now. Somehow, strangely, comforting. 

He moves with such grace and skill, his body reacts to every fluttering note and pause in the music. And the whole time his eyes are on you. And you can’t look away. The dark, warm depths of his eyes like a slow-burning fire that consumes all in its wake. 

You find the faces of your family in the crowd and you see that their normally composed demeanor seems to have shifted, their eyes wide and jaws slack as you move with the tide. 

Tonight you are the storm and the fire will bend to you. 

You will bring him to his knees, you think. As the music washes over you. 

Has there ever been such a haunting and mournful sound in all the world? Your name falling from Eris’mouth perhaps.

The snippets of the music Nesta had described to you, from her memory of the Veritas, paled in comparison. It flows and swims around you, filling you like water, and if you let it, it could be enough to drown you. To sink into the depths of the high-arching song. 

Eris smiles again when you fall into step with him so effortlessly, like you are an extension of him. 

One soul in two bodies.

His broad hand tightens over the flare of your hip, his fingers flexing before digging into the malleable flesh. The smile you give him feels much too vulnerable and genuine to bring you any sort of comfort. 

Eris' amber eyes shine with feral delight and you see yourself reflected in his eyes; you look like sin personified. The dark material of your dress gathers about your waist, held in place only by velvet ribbon and a few embroidered onyx crystals. The deep cut of the dress is so low that it bares the ample curve of your breasts and your strain to catch your breath because of how tight the dress has been laced. 

The person you see in Eris’eyes looks like the incarnation of some ancient deity; dark and cold, and cruel. And beautiful. 

Eris’ broad hand spreads across the middle of your back, pressed firm between your shoulder blades and you burn beneath him. As the music lulls and flutters his gaze locks onto yours and flame simmers in those dark topaz eyes and a smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth. Cat-like and feral as he dips you low, supporting your weight in his arms. His face comes to hover over yours and you’re transfixed by his unyielding stare. 

Beautiful and haunting eyes.

One hand is wrapped around his neck and the other you bring to touch his cheek with the tenderness of someone who has never truly been touched. His face falters and something akin to raw vulnerability flashes in his eyes. 

Bring him to his knees.

In one swift movement Eris sweeps you so that you are standing upright, pressed so close to his chest that you feel each groove and divot of his sculpted chest. You place that same hand over his blazing heart and as the music filters into stunned silence, Eris eyes you with feral delight. 

For a moment, as the heaving in your chest subsides you allow yourself to remain in his tender grasp. His fingers ghosting the curve of you hip and the small of your back, rubbing slow, deliberate circles into the skin there. 

The faces of the courtiers turn upon you. 

You, this once-human female, barely out of girlhood, who had been thrust into this world of dark power and politics. 

Who stood before them now, coloured in the murky green hues of Hewn City. 

Storm-streaked girl. 

It is like being born again and the mountain trembles in your wake. 

The eyes of your High Lord and Lady land on you and Eris at the foot of the dias. Rhysand rises in his seat and his violet eyes meet yours and something wicked and enchanting flashes in them. Feyre regards you with a wild smile and she laughs before tipping her head to you in acknowledgement. 

And in a show of secret defiance you plunge into the deepest curtsey you can manage; your chest still rising and falling with a dramatic flare, and your skirts pool around you like inky shadows as you sink low onto the marble. You dip your chin ever so slightly, never quite breaking eye contact with the cruel violet gaze that assesses you with a dangerous glint. 

A laugh of dark joy bursts from Eris beside you who in turn, offers his own small bow before capturing you again in his firm hold as the orchestra begins to play again. 

Your mother had always wanted a Prince for Nesta, and yet, here you were-- beautiful, cruel and merciless, with the Autumn Prince sinking into the cold depths of your eyes. 

Everyone who has ever loved you has underestimated you. But looking into Eris’ eyes you see something kindred to you. 

You will bring them all to their knees. 

Eris' amber eyes gleam with want as he takes you in again and you loose a shaky breath as he leads you into the next dance. 

The music is soft and light, the strings sing a song so aching and mournful that you feel once again overcome with it. All of your violent coldness, all that biting fury, rendered a useless ruse as the music becomes you. 

Eris might be the monster they all say he is, but looking at him now, in the soft light, you see something else. 

“Trust Rhysand to keep such a beautiful creature to himself.” Eris’ amber eyes study you carefully. 

You school your face to remain neutral, with just a touch of scorn as you bite back. 

“If beauty is all you can see, My Lord” You say, your voice dark and taunting, “I fear you have missed the point entirely.” 

“Intelligent too,” Eris chuckles darkly and wraps a wisp of your unbound hair around his forefinger, “and dangerous.”

You don’t deign to reply though Eris continues his assessment of you, his eyes trailing over you, afire with dark promise. 

“I’ve seen you before though,” Eris asks as he steps into the next part of the song, “haven’t I?”

His eyes narrow on you and you think back to the last time you saw Eris Vanserra. 

“At the High Lords meeting,” You say quietly, your voice thick with shame as you recall the meeting some months back. 

You had been little more than a wraith then, when the dreams of drowning in that cauldron plagued you nightly, a girl gulping on a woman’s grief. Now those dreams only come with the coming of a storm. A warning or some ill-fated omen.

“The time since the way has changed you.” It is not a question but a statement. 

You don’t smile at him like you should. Instead you meet Eris’ burning stare with a measured look of your own, “For the better, I hope?”

Eris thinks for a moment, as if looking for the right words to express his meaning. 

“You are a Goddess.” he says slyly gesturing to the dress as the skirts brush against him, baring the slit in the thigh to him. 

“Then kneel to me.” You say, not missing a beat as Eris laughs wickedly and brings his mouth to hover over the shell of your ear. 

“It seems you came to play the game tonight, afterall.” Eris says, his voice a low murmur in your ear. 

He spins you again, quick and violent before you crash back into him again, “don’t believe the lies they tell you about me.” 

“But I should believe you?” You ask, arching a brow to the cruel prince. 

“You shouldn’t believe anyone here, Little fox.” Eris tips his head towards the dias where Mor watches the pair of you from her spot besides the High Lord and Lady. 

“The Morrigan knows the truth,” Eris insists, “though she has never revealed it.” 

“Why?” You ask curiously. 

“Because she is afraid of it.” Eris’ voice is tempered and quiet and he casts the Inner Circle a look of his own, “they all are.” 

Your mouth twitches with the ghost of a smirk as you press yourself further into him, “You don’t do yourself any favors with this mask you wear.”

“Don’t I? I’ve managed to ally myself to this court, under constant threat of being discovered by my father-- do you have any idea what he’d do to me if he found out, Little fox?” Eris asks, the fire within him lighting and flickering in his amber eyes. “I ally myself with this court, I offer aid when I can, I placate Rhysand with ceremonies and shows of deference. Why do you think that is?”

Eris dips you again and the fan on his unbound hair brushes against your bare shoulders. 

“Because there’s something in it for you.” It isn’t a matter of question. You know it to be true and you see it in the way that Eris regards you with a mixture of fondness and caution. 

“Because there is something in it for me,” Eris confirms, “and tell me, what is in it for me?”

“What is it that you want, My Lord?” You ask, fluttering dark lashes at him and the music swells. 

“What is Rhysand offering?” Eris counters and leads you further into the center of the floor. 

“Nothing that I have the power to grant you.”

Eris laughs, the sound like silk on your skin and you shiver as he brings his lips to graze your ear, “I very much doubt that, Little fox?”

You swallow thickly and a surge of dark power pricks at your skin. You let him see it; all that cold rage, and the violence of the sea. 

Eris' face twists but not from fear and a strange look of reverence shines in his eyes. 

The waltz comes to a close and as the music fades into the chatter of the courtiers he whispers into your ear once more. 

“They say your sister Elain is the beauty, but you are something else entirely.” His breath is hot and sacred on your neck, and a broad hand strokes the bare skin of your back and you find yourself arching into him. 

Eris takes a step back from you, holding your hand above your head and turning you slowly as his eyes roam the curves and contours of your body, “You are wasted in the Night Court,” 

“Truly wasted.” His voice is a low whistle as you stop in front of him now. 

“And where might I be used more effectively, My Lord?” 

Eris chuckles again but before he can answer--

“Get your hands off her, Eris.” Azriel’s voice is like cold death that cuts through the spell that Eris has you under. His wrath comes off him in waves that crash against you, halting your movements. 

The dancing sea around you seems to cease to move as Eris and Azriel lock eyes. 

Eris straightens his back and he closes his hand over yours-- gently, almost protectively-- and he locks his eyes onto Azriel. 

Hazel and amber meet and shadow and light seem to dance in the air. The courtiers wait with baited breath. 

“I don’t take orders from the likes of you, Shadowsinger.” 

You stifle a snarl as you look at Azriel. Who does he think he is? He has no claim over you. He had made that much clear when you started this thing. A means to an end. A placeholder for another sister. 

“Am I to understand that you’d like to dance, Azriel?” You ask cooly, trying not to let your violet rage show in the darkness of your eyes. 

“Yes.” His voice is insistent and thick with jealousy and the promise of violence. 

Before you can pull yourself from Eris’ protective grip, Azriel is tugging on your wrist and bringing you into his side. 

Eris bares his teeth to Azriel and fire dances in those strange amber eyes. “Go sit at your master’s feet, dog.” 

Azriel laughs darkly and his shadows become a violent wisp of dark that wraps itself around you in a possessive manner. 

You swallow down the shame that you feel when Eris looks at you -- like all the power you had just moments ago has been ripped away from you, and now you are just another piece on the board to be bought and sold as your High Lord saw fit. 

A pretty whore, painted like some dark Goddess.

You band an arm across Azriel’s chest as he lunges forward in a flurry of movement. 

“It’s alright,” you offer Eris an apologetic smile, “I’ve taken too much of your time already.” You say diplomatically, taking Azriel’s hand in your own and pulling away from Eris.

Feyre and Rhysand had given up one of Nesta’s Made daggers in the name of Eris’ continued alliance, surely, one interrupted dance will not jeopardize it. 

Eris offers you a taut smile and he bows his head to you, “Very well then, we’ll play later, Little Fox.” 

Eris doesn’t so much as acknowledge Azriel as he ventures towards the dias again. 

Azriel holds you in place, one hand wrapped around your shoulders and he searches you as if looking for signs of injury. His touch is cold and biting. 

“Happy now?” you roll your eyes at him. 

Azriel stares coldly at you, his face set like stone, as if carved into the dark stone of the mountain, “not in the slightest.” 

You glance hesitantly over his shoulder and see Rhysand and Feyre each sharing a look of subtle fury. Azriel will no doubt be on the receiving end of a mental lashing. If Azriel has cost them this alliance it comes down on you too-

“He touched you and I-,” Azriel’s voice is weighted and serious at the same time you speak out. 

“Whatever has passed between us,” you say gesturing between you and him, “it has to end, Azriel.”

If Azriel felt anything at all but cold indifference his face does not show it. 

“Because of Eris?” Azriel asks incredulously, his tone full of venom.

“No, of course not,” You say truthfully, “because we are fools to think this will ever be enough.” 

A beat of silence lingers in the air between you.

“For either of us.” 

Azriel takes a moment to think about it and you see the recognition flash in his darkening hazel eyes, he looks over his shoulder in Elain’s direction. Carefully, measured, he looks at you again. 

“You want Elain.” You say matter of factly, even with a hint of sadness, “don’t deny it-- and I…” your voice trails into nothing. An errant whisper of power. 

“And what do you want?” Azriel asks, his voice once dark and cruel is something akin to familial. 

“I’m not sure yet.” you say thoughtfully, looking back to the dias where everyone regards you and Azriel warily. 

Azriel softens and he lets go of your arms and hides his scarred fingertips in the pockets of his dark colored tunic. He runs a hand over his face in regret and looses a shaky breath before laughing again. 

“Rhys is going to fucking slaughter me.” Azriel says and you laugh quietly, muttering in agreement as you link arms with his and lead him through the dancing sea of courtiers to the wine table. 

Azriel takes a goblet in each hand and offers one to you. The wine is dark and red and stains your lips like blood. The taste is woody and spiced, it tastes a little like Autumn. Azriel leans into the onyx pillar and angles himself away from the prying eyes of the courtiers as they dance. 

You’re at his side and move so that his body obstructs the view of Rhysand and Feyre, shunning their ire. 

“How pissed do you think they’ll be?” You ask grimly. 

“With you?” Azriel asks, cocking a brow in confusion. You only nod and wait for him to continue. Azriel swallows a large mouthful of wine, wiping his mouth with the back of a scarred hand “not at all, you did them a favor-- practically had Eris on his knees.” 

“Good.” You meet his eyes and for the first time tonight you feel as though you might just have something to offer. 

“Be careful with Eris,” Azriel says gently, his hand on your arm, “not everything he says is to be trusted.” 

“But I can trust you?” You ask, thinking back to what Eris had said earlier in the evening.

“Always.” Azriel says.

The orchestral music comes to a dramatic close and you see Nesta and Cassian dancing happily in the crowds. Elain remains on the dias and you catch her eyes as she watches you and Azriel with careful, wide eyes. 

“Come on, Shadowsinger,” You say defiantly, pushing yourself from the onyx pillar, “time to face the High Lord.” 

Azreil huffs indignantly and pushes away from the pillar, abandoning his goblet and stalking his way to Elain’s side on the dias. She smiles softly at him and you see some of the tension in Azriel’s shoulders dissolve into nothing but a contented ease. 

You approach the dias with a quiet reproach and as you meet Feyre’s eyes she croons at you, her smile is once of a brilliant radiant light that spills from her. A stark contrast to the cold darkness that you carry so well. 

Eris' voice is dark and serious as you approach The High Lord, his jaw tightens when Rhysand regards him with a cool violet gaze. 

“I have my reasons.” 

You’re not entirely sure what they’re talking about and when you take your place next to Feyre she places a hand on your arm in comfort. Though it does nothing to settle the acid churning in your stomach nor the storm that is raging inside of you. 

“Care to share those reasons with us?” Rhysand asks, picking at an errant thread on his beautiful dark tunic. 

For a moment his eyes glaze over, muted violet as he speaks mind to mind with the Autumn Prince.

Rhysand’s lips twitch lightly and you can see that whatever words passed between him and Eris has pleased him greatly-- at least given him the upper hand so that he doesn’t feel threatened but Eris’ commanding presence. 

Eris steps forwards again and adds, “Bestides, it is a bonus of course, that in doing so, I would be getting what has been owed to me even since my betrothal to Morrigan.” 

Rhysand studies Eris and then casts a fleeting glance along the line to you, standing dutifully at Feyre’s side. 

Like the docile, and obedient sister he wants you to be. 

A conduit of his dark power. A piece to be played in this game of power and politics. 

“Anything I want-- anything at all, whether it be armies from the Autumn Court or your firstborn, you would grant me it all in exchange for the Archeron girl as your wife?”

Azriel, still somewhat territorial, lets loose a low growl that rumbles like thunder through the air. 

Eris doesn’t deign to even look in his direction-- instead those haunting amber eyes linger on you. His eyes are soft and dark, burning into yours, and you find yourself caught in the unyielding, all consuming fire that is Eris Vanserra. 

Eris turns back to Rhysand. “Not as far as my heir, but yes, Rhysand. You want armies against the human queen? You’ll have them, and anything else you might ask of me.” 

“Just for her?” Azriel’s voice is cutting and suspicious as he hones in on Eris Vanserra. 

“The girl, and, when the time comes, you’ll aid me in seizing the Autumn Throne from my father.” Eris adds, his eyes shine with that slow-burning fire, “and then you’ll have all the armies you desire.”

Rhysand and Feyre share a look of pure delight, irreverent to anyone else but you see it for what it is. Feral delight at their victory. 

“I couldn’t very well let my wife’s sister go into battle unaided, could I?” 

I said bring him to his knees, darling. What dark magic is this? What have you done to him? Rhysand’s voice is like night-kissed air in your mind. 

Feyre’s laugh rings through you like birdsong and you can’t help the satisfied smirk that curls onto your lips.

You’re about to speak when you catch Eris’ eyes; those strange amber eyes. And then you feel it. 

A bond that grows taut and reverberates through the hall, like a ripple of power and a golden thread bridges the distance between your body and his. 

“Mate?” Eris’ voice strains with the weight of it, and you feel like light goes all through you, as though you are little more than a shadow or a memory as you allow yourself to sink into the dark waters that live within your mind's eye. “My mate.”

Your name breaks apart in his mouth and in a flash of violet and murky blue you’re greeted by the storm as it breaks over Velaris. On the horizon, dark and ominous as it approaches. You reach the balcony and wade out into the violent night, waiting for the storm to stake its claim to you. 

You were born on a night like this, you tell yourself. Like the Gods of old; born from the storms and the seas, to withstand the hardships of this world. To be cruel and merciless and beautiful. 

You whisper it, until you feel that bond in your chest grow taut, strained with the distance between you. And as Eris’ emotions run like water into you, for the first time in a long time you allow yourself to feel. 

To yield to the storm as it breaks against you with all the force of a great tempest.

[cutielando]

my lifeline ~ mattheo riddle

Summary: You are Mattheo’s lifeline, his one ray of sunshine in the darkness that is his life. A cute little breakdown of how your relationship to the Slytherin bad boy began.

Other works: my masterlist

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Mattheo had always had it rough.

Being the son of the Dark Lord brought enough complications to his life, let alone being at school with people who only made fun of him because of that.

It wasn’t fair. Nothing about his life seemed fair, but he had no choice about it. He couldn’t change who he was, no matter how much he wanted to.

But he could change the way he viewed himself.

And he did. 

From the moment you had entered his life.

You transfering to Hogwarts from Beauxbatons had probably been the best thing that had ever happened to him.

Watching you timidly walk towards the Sorting Hat, anxiously waiting for it to speak and tell you which house you would join, seeing the sweet smile you had given the Slytherins once you joined them at their table and just so happened to have been sitting right across from him.

He knew, from the moment you had looked at him with your bright eyes, that he was a goner.

Over the course of your first weeks at the school, Mattheo had been the one to welcome you the best, always offering to show you around the castle, help you study or simply just keep you company while you would do homework together.

Pansy had also become your friend, very eager to have another girl in the friend group.

Pansy was also the first person to find out about your crush on the curly haired bad boy. 

It didn’t come as a surprise, really. With the amount of time you had been spending together ever since you came to the school, the countless walks you had been on with him when the both of you had free time, the charming smiles he would give you whenever he would look at you.

He had you mesmerized and he didn’t even realize.

The holidays had proved to be the perfect opportunity for Mattheo to finally tell you what he was feeling, right before you left for home.

“Y/N!” he had called out for you as you were struggling to carry your luggage down the countless pairs of stairs towards the castle entrance.

You turned around, a smile immediately appearing on your kind face. The kind of smile that made the butterflies in Mattheo’s stomach go crazy.

“Hey, Mattheo. I was just about to leave for the train, I didn’t want to be late” you explained, gesturing towards your trunk.

You didn’t know if you should have said anything else, knowing that his father and him probably didn’t want to have anything to do with each other and he had no reason to want to go home for the holidays.

“I know, and I wanted to catch you just before you left. I wanted to tell you something that I’ve been putting off for the entire semester” he said, scratching the back of his neck.

You nodded, signaling that you were listening. 

He let out a breath before speaking up once again.

“I like you, a lot. Ever since you transferred here, you’ve been on my mind. I’ve come to look forward to every minute that I get to spend with you, regardless of what we do. I just wanted to know if you would like to go on a date with me once you get back?” he asked, making you smile.

All the daydreams about what it would be like to be with him, to know that he was just yours, they were finally going to happen after so much lost time.

“Your timing really sucks” you joked, making him blush and nod. “But my answer is yes” you added before quickly leaning up to kiss his cheek and left.

Unbeknownst to you, the moment you had turned around and couldn’t see him anymore, he fist-bumped the air and did a little happy dance, being sure that nobody would see him and tarnish his bad boy reputation.

Typical.

During the time you spent away, you guys exchanged several letters, in most of them Mattheo was complaining about how slow the time was passing and how eager he was to see you again and take you out.

Which he did, the hour right after you had got back to Hogwarts. 

Your date had been amazing, sipping your favorite warm drinks at the Three Broomsticks, browsing around your favorite shops in Hogsmeade, and then finally ending with a goodnight kiss right at the bottom of the stairs leading to your bedroom.

The news that you had become a couple spread around as quickly as a disease would. Gossip traveled very fast around a school full of teenagers, especially when it involved someone with a reputation like Mattheo.

Being seen together in front of the whole school had been something you were weary of, ever since he had asked you out; mainly because it was no news that your now boyfriend was a very handsome lad, and a good number of the girls from every house had a thing for him.

Imagine now, with him dating you, it had automatically put a big target on your back.

But not to worry, Mattheo was there for you.

“People are staring” you told him on the morning of your first breakfast together as a couple, a day after everyone had got back from holiday.

“So? Let them stare, I don’t care” he said, shrugging his shoulders and pulling you closer to him.

You gulped, noticing more and more girls whispering and looking at you over their shoulders, frantically it was more like glaring deep into your soul.

“Easy for you to say, you don’t have the entire female population of this castle hoping your head would explode so they can take your place” you had meant for it to sound like a joke in order to not worry Mattheo, but he had seen right through it.

Following your gaze, he had noticed just how much attention there was on you that morning. He cleared his throat, glaring at every single girl right back, which then prompted them to blush and turn away from you guys.

“Don’t worry about other people, they know nothing about us and they’re just jealous” he whispered to you, planting a kiss on your temple in comfort.

You knew that he was right, that you just had to drown everyone out and just focus on Mattheo and what you had.

And that was exactly what you did.

Months went by very quickly, making your relationship with Mattheo only blossom more and more with each passing day. The love shared between you was more intense than anything either of you had experienced before.

You two helped each other, motivated and encouraged one another. You helped him deal with his problems, listened to him whenever he needed to unwind and just talk to someone about his home, about what his childhood was like and what being Voldemort’s son had done to him.

You slowly helped him out of his shell, making him open to you more and more each passing day, making sure he was comfortable whenever he was around you and always made sure he was okay, no matter where you were or what the circumstances were.

You became what he needed, his savior. 

A lifeline to pull him back to reality when he would need it the most, whenever he would feel like he was about to fall off the edge.

You were his life.

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[gingersnap-17]

Unexpected (Sukuna x Female Reader)

Hello everyone! Okay, I know that Sukuna literally reigned terror over practically everyone when he was a human in his human form. BUT, I feel like he is just a softie towards his lover and child. So that is pretty much what I wrote today! I also tried to find the artist to give them credit for the cover art, but I couldn't' find anything. Full credit goes to the artist of course! I hope you enjoy!

Synopsis: After being Sukuna's preffered concubine for almost a year now, Y/N starts to notice some changes going on with her body. She knew what this meant, and knew she had to tell Sukuna about what is going on.

Word Count: 2052

In the dark and twisted world where sorcerers and curses roamed, Y/N found herself in a peculiar and perilous situation. She was a concubine, living a life of luxury within the grand, ominous palace of Ryomen Sukuna, the king of curses. Sukuna was feared and loathed by all who knew of him. With his two faces, four arms, and a mouth on his stomach, he was a symbol of terror on Earth, known for his merciless cruelty.

Yet, Y/N was different. She was his favorite, though no one could ever understand why. Sukuna would often call her to his chamber, spending hours in her company. It was as if a glimmer of humanity remained buried beneath the layers of his demonic exterior. Y/N knew better than to resist her role as his favored concubine, for disobedience often meant death. But as the weeks passed, Y/N felt a strange and sudden unease.

The first sign of change came when she realized her body was not quite as predictable as it had been. The morning sickness, the fatigue, and the subtle changes to her body all pointed to one conclusion – she was with child, and the father was none other than Sukuna himself.

As she ventured into his chambers one evening, her heart pounded with anxiety. He sat on a lavish throne, crowned in arrogance. His red eyes met hers, and he noticed the worry etched across her face.

"What troubles you, my dear?" Sukuna inquired, his voice as cool and dangerous as ever.

"I... I have news, Lord Sukuna," Y/N stuttered, attempting to maintain her composure. "I am with child." Sukuna's eyes widened, a flicker of surprise crossing his monstrous features. The room seemed to grow colder as an eerie silence settled over them. Y/N couldn't help but feel a shiver run down her spine.

For a moment, she feared the worst, that his anger would flare up like an inferno, that he would blame her for this unexpected turn of events. But then, something unexpected happened. His lips, both the one on his face and the other on his stomach, twisted into an unsettling smile.

"You're carrying my child?" Sukuna's voice held an inexplicable mix of amusement and curiosity.

Y/N nodded, her heart pounding in her chest. "Yes, my Lord. It is your child, a gift from our time together."

Sukuna's laughter echoed through the chamber, a haunting sound that sent shivers down her spine. "Well, well," he mused, "this is most intriguing. It seems fate has woven a different path for us, my dear concubine."

She couldn't fathom his reaction. What did he mean by "a different path"? Did he intend to harm her or the child? The rumors about his cruelty raced through her mind, but his next words caught her off guard.

"From this day forward," Sukuna declared, "you shall no longer be just my favored concubine. You shall be the mother of my heir, and my wife. I will get rid of the other concubines as soon as I can."

Y/N was stunned, her mind struggling to grasp the magnitude of what Sukuna had just said. Becoming his wife and the mother of his heir was a fate she could never have imagined. She had heard of the power and ruthlessness of the Cursed King, but this turn of events was beyond her wildest dreams, or nightmares.

"Lord Sukuna, I... I am honored by your decree." Y/N managed to say, her voice quivering. Her thoughts raced, and she couldn't help but wonder what had brought about this dramatic change in the notorious sorcerer.

Sukuna's demeanor shifted as he looked at her, a hint of vulnerability flickering in his eyes. "You are different from the others, Y/N. You possess a unique strength that intrigues me. You've not only survived but managed to capture my heart in your own way. I am curious to see how this new chapter in our lives unfolds."

As Y/N tried to wrap her mind around the astonishing twist of fate, she couldn't help but feel a mixture of emotions. Fear still lingered in her heart, for Sukuna's reputation was not one that could be easily forgotten. His sudden declaration to make her his wife and the mother of his heir was both a blessing and a curse. She knew she had gained a measure of protection, but she also recognized that her life had become infinitely more complicated.

Over the following months, as her pregnancy progressed, Y/N's relationship with Sukuna underwent a gradual transformation. He showed a surprising tenderness and protectiveness toward her, which left her both relieved and confused. The other concubines, who had once been her rivals, were swiftly removed from the palace, their fates unknown. Sukuna's sole focus was on Y/N and their unborn child.

Not only did she recognize his change, but she noticed a change in herself towards him. She had fallen for the strange man. Obviously before she became pregnant she had some sort of feelings for him, but this was different. She felt that this could have been love. Was it even possible to love the king of curses?

_

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_

As the months passed and her belly grew round with the child of Sukuna, Y/N's feelings for the Cursed King deepened. She found herself captivated not only by his power and enigmatic nature but by the glimpses of vulnerability he occasionally revealed. Despite his terrifying reputation, she saw in him a complex soul, and she couldn't help but empathize with his struggle to balance his monstrous identity with the spark of humanity that still flickered within him.

Their relationship became more than a mere arrangement of convenience. They spent hours talking, sharing their hopes and fears, and gradually, the walls that had separated them began to crumble. Y/N saw moments of gentleness in Sukuna, moments when he would softly caress her growing belly, whispering endearing words to their unborn child. She realized that, like anyone else, he longed for connection and love, something that had been denied to him for so long due to his horrifying appearance and terrifying powers.

Y/N's once-terrifying life as a concubine had turned into something unexpected and complicated. She was no longer just a plaything of the Cursed King; she had become his confidant, his companion, and now, the mother of his child. As she considered the strange turn of events, she wondered if her love for him was mutual. Did Sukuna truly care for her beyond their unborn child, or was this newfound affection merely a consequence of her pregnancy?

One fateful night, as they sat together in his chamber, Y/N decided to broach the subject that had been weighing heavily on her mind. She watched him, her heart racing, as she gathered the courage to speak. "Sukuna, I can't help but wonder about your feelings for me. This change in our relationship, it's... unexpected. Do you love me, or is this solely because of our child?"

Sukuna, the Cursed King, regarded her with his distinctive dual gaze. His red eyes bore into hers as if searching for something deep within her soul. The room was bathed in an eerie silence, broken only by the distant howling of the wind outside.

Finally, he spoke, his voice carrying a weight of sincerity that she had never heard from him before. "Y/N, what we have is complicated. I am not like other men, and you know that. But since the moment you told me you were carrying my child, something has awakened within me. I can't deny that I feel a connection, a bond, that goes beyond mere duty or convenience."

Y/N's heart leaped at his words, her eyes glistening with a mix of hope and uncertainty. She had never expected to hear such vulnerability from the feared sorcerer.

Sukuna continued, his voice softening even further. "I may not fully understand what love means, for it is a concept foreign to my nature. But I do know that I care for you deeply, Y/N, and I want to protect both you and our child. That much, I am certain of."

Tears welled up in Y/N's eyes as she heard his heartfelt confession. In that moment, she realized that the man known as the Cursed King, feared by all, had a heart that could feel, even if he struggled to comprehend it fully. She leaned in, her hand gently reaching for his, and their fingers intertwined.

"Thank you, Sukuna." she whispered, her voice filled with emotion. "I care for you too, and I want to be with you, not just as the mother of your child but as your partner, your confidant, and your love."

Sukuna's dual-faced smile returned, a rare and genuine one. He brought her hand to his lips and placed a tender kiss on it. "Then, my dear Y/N, let us navigate this strange and perilous world together, as partners, as parents, and perhaps one day, as lovers. If that is what we become at some point." Those words gave Y/N hope for the future with him.

_

_

_

As the last few months of Y/N's pregnancy approached, the bond between Y/N and Sukuna only deepened. Their love was a complex, extraordinary force that defied the dark and twisted world they inhabited. Their child was a symbol of hope, a testament to the possibility of light even in the darkest of places.

On a stormy night, Y/N went into labor, and the estate was in chaos. Sukuna, who had never witnessed such an event, stood by her side, both anxious and determined. The sound of her painful cries filled the room, which worried Sukuna as her labor progressed. He was used to the sight of death, but the sight of life happening before his eyes, made him awestruck at the beauty of labor. 

After what felt like an eternity, Y/N sighed in relief as the cries of a newborn filled the air, echoing through the chamber. Y/N held their child, a tiny being that was so fragile and new in the world.

She looked up at Sukuna who had stayed almost silent during the whole thing, hoping he would say something.

Sukuna, the Cursed King, gazed down at the child in Y/N's arms with a mixture of awe and tenderness. His four eyes, were fixed on the newborn, and for a moment, it seemed as though the world had disappeared, leaving only the small family in that chamber.

For all his terrifying power and monstrous appearance, Sukuna was utterly captivated by the sight of his child. He carefully reached out to hold the child, and Y/N gently handed their son to him. The baby grasped one of his father's finger with a tiny, delicate hand, and the Cursed King's lips curled into a rare and gentle smile.

"He has my extra pair of arms." Sukuna said, releasing a soft chuckle, his voice filled with wonder. “He does seem to have my hair, but he does have your face.”

Y/N watched the father and son with tears of joy in her eyes. It was a moment of profound beauty in the midst of their dark and twisted world. She had never imagined that she would be sharing such an intimate and heartwarming moment with Sukuna, the most feared sorcerer of their time.

As the hours passed, Sukuna and Y/N took turns cradling and caring for their newborn. Their love for each other and their child grew stronger with each passing moment. They named their son Kaito, signifying a new beginning, a departure from the cursed legacy of the past.

As the two raised their child overtime, Sukuna was technically a changed man… for them at least. He still killed and reigned terror as he pleased, but the second he would return home to his wife and son, he showed his deep care and genuine love (as much as he hates to admit it) to them. Sukuna might be the king of curses, but he has a special place in his heart saved for who he calls his family.

[targaryen-dynasty]

OBJECT OF DESIRE (1/?)

Aemond Targaryen x female Reader

With your father being so insistent for you to marry some lord he’ll choose and your refusal of it, you’re more than interested in entertaining another option. And it would be stupid of you to let the idea of elopement with a man who could actually give you some power slip from your fingers.

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT-MINORS DNI; canon typical incest/targcest, dry humping, thigh riding, grinding

WORDS: 6 K

NOTES: It's based on a request I've received about Aemond being obsessed with Daemon's daughter. There's more to this story you'll find out in the future. Thank you for @happilyhertale for beta reading this (hdgdl) 🫶

A raven from King’s Landing, bidding for you to come to the capital, has reached Runestone two moons ago, though no distinct reason was stated in the explicit request. The question whether Ser Gerold should have gotten you ready to send you off never has never arisen with the signature of your father below, although you could spot a flicker of hesitation cross his features back when he has read the letter. 

But there was no way he was going to deny Daemon Targaryen; not if he wanted Runestone to last longer, and not be burned down by the merciless flames of his dragon, Caraxes. 

You can hardly remember the Blood Wyrm, except for his sparse roar and lean frame, but the stories are enough to know that he very much resembles his rider and his restless and chaotic temperament. That makes you three. 

Even less you can remember the city whose gates you’ve just passed. 

That’s because you’ve been to King’s Landing only once before, brought by your father to be presented to the King before he left you to grow up as a ward and the future Lady of Runestone alongside your mother’s cousin. And being but a moon's turn old back then, you were far too young to remember anything; not the short ride on the back of his dragon in honor of the king’s approval, and certainly not the people that had smothered you in attention afterwards.

The stench of the capital hangs thick in the air when the carriage makes its way past the city’s guards, prompting you to scrunch your nose in disgust. Your handmaids are more practiced at not letting their disgust show, and try to occupy their minds by straightening the skirts and fixing the clasps of your dress. 

You would have liked to appear at the Red Keep in the bronzish riding attire you’ve worn back when Ser Gerold plucked you off your horse after your attempt to prolong the departure; riding at the front of your entourage and making a statement. But your father has requested the change of your attire beforehand, even going as far as sending an envoy with the dress for you to get it fitted before the five-and-twenty day long travel. 

It has made your father’s aversion to everything you stand for more than apparent, considering the dress rather matches the attire of House Targaryen than House Royce. But half of his blood also flows through your veins, so you choose to silently swallow the obvious offense, having heard of it more often than not by Ser Gerold and the staff. 

And the dress isn’t too bad, after all. It’s not something you would have picked out yourself, but there definitely could be far worse options. It’s simple, not made out of silk but something equally expensive, and more sturdy. The fabric is a softer, dark gray with dragon scale pieces running along the shoulders, the forearms and the collar. The clasps securing the belt around your waist and the cuffs are metal findings that resemble dragon feet, if you’d have to guess, and make it obvious that you’re a dragon in all but name. 

The closer you get to the Red Keep, the more nervous your maids become. Taming your tousled waves hasn’t been an easy task, barely mastered by pulling them back into a half-up-half down hairstyle to keep the rest of your tresses open while the majority stays out of your face, yet Ysilla keeps on finding one loose strand after the other to smoothen out. 

“That is enough, Ysilla. There can be hardly any more hair left for you to comb,” you say, gently swatting the hand of the older maid away. 

She looks at you with shy eyes. “Y-Yes, you’re quite correct, my lady,” she gulps, lowering her hand and sitting back in her seat.

You sigh, and any anger you’ve felt before upon being summoned into the dragon’s lair vanishes, replaced by anxiety. “Believe me, I would love to be back at Runestone just as much as you do, alas, it is not possible.”

The nod she gives you has you setting your jaw, your gaze briefly flitting to the stoney, gray dragon egg that lays in your lap. It’s a solace, and although the egg hasn’t hatched, it makes you aware that a part of you indeed belongs to the strangers that so eagerly expect your arrival. 

“My lady, may I speak freely?” Ysilla eventually asks, catching your attention. 

“You may,” you affirm. 

“Do you have any idea why the Prince Daemon has requested your presence in King’s Landing?”

Taking in a deep breath, you shrug your shoulders. “I do, and I am certain you do as well, but we have yet to find out if our stay will be a pleasant one or not.”

She hesitantly reaches out to place a hand on your thigh, squeezing it gently in a reassuring manner, and flashes you an apologetic gaze. There are a few years separating the two of you, but your maid has been nothing if not your closest advisor and your only, true friend. 

“It is daunting, yes,” you mumble with a smile that hardly reaches your eyes. 

You peek out of the carriage’s window as it comes to a halt a little roughly, causing one of your maids to stumble to the side with a loud gasp, and you bite your tongue to keep quiet.

All of the sudden, you’re well aware that you’ve reached your destination, and that you’ll probably be face to face with the man that has forced this misery on you in a matter of minutes. 

Not knowing what to expect, you silently exit the carriage the moment you hear the guard announce your arrival, handing the egg over to the one you trusted most, Ysilla, instructing her to place it in a warm spot in your chambers. 

She has also given you a detailed lecture of who’s most likely to greet you and how to make them out. So, you know that it’s Alicent Hightower and her father Otto standing at the front of the party, followed closely by her four children. The lack of the King leaves you wondering if he has to attend more important matters than greet the future Lady of Runestone and her entourage, although it takes a good bit of pressure from your shoulders. 

A bit away from the crowd, lingering in the background and close to the castle’s entrance, is none other than your father, and though it has been a few moons, or rather years, since you’ve seen him last, he has not aged a day. 

You find his gaze, and as quickly as the anger arises, it subsides, the smooth voice of Alicent catching your attention. “Lady Y/N,” she says, and it takes a moment for your lilac eyes to dart from your father’s to her hazel ones. There is a soft smile on her lips, a stark contrast to the stoic expressions of everyone around her. “It is lovely to see you again. It’s been years since we have seen you last.”

Bobbing a small curtsy, you return her smile and calm your fluttering nerves by merely focusing on her. “It’s a pleasure to have received the invitation, Your Grace,” you blatantly lie, a smile matching hers draped over your features. “I would say that I am more than pleased to be here again, but alas, I do not have any recollection of the few days I have spent in King’s Landing.” It’s a light-hearted joke, and with the way her eyes wrinkle you know she’s not cross with you. 

“How was your journey from Runestone, my dear?”

“Long and tiresome, to be sure,” you say with a chuckle. “It felt endless, but when I saw the gates of the castle come into view it was a sigh of relief, I can definitely say.”

There follow a few more chuckles at your words, and it’s obvious that more than one member of House Targaryen is charmed by you and your soft humor. If only they’d truly know you, how chaotic you can become. 

After inviting you to join her to break your fast in the morrow, the queen steps aside to make room for the other individuals to greet you. Something of the soft-spoken and calm demeanor of Helaena rubs off on you as she announces her participation in the breaking of the fast, and you momentarily forget that there are more important matters that await you. 

Aemond and Aegon have been standing silently in the back, giving way to Helaena and Daeron, and just watch the scene play out without really paying you any mind. 

That is, until King Viserys’ second son takes the opportunity to step forward, studying you for a moment before you’re allowed to hear his voice for the first time. The quiet, observing demeanor has been replaced by an edge of arrogance, as if something in him has been stirred. 

“Lady Y/N, I do not believe we have been introduced before. I am Prince Aemond Targaryen. ‘Tis a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.” 

Keeping your tone polite and formal, you nod your head once. “Indeed we have not,” you say, “for you have not been much older than me when my father brought me here to receive the King‘s blessings. But it truly is a pleasure to finally meet you, Prince Aemond.”

A chill runs down your spine as his eye roams your form from top to bottom one more time, and you’re certain you see his tongue wet his lips briefly. “Oh, I’m sure we would have gotten along just swimmingly as children,” he says in a playful tone. 

You look to the side curtly, nervous to have him staring at you so openly without shame. You’re used to men staring at you like that, since you have been raised around the men of the Vale your whole life with most of them thinking women were nothing more than broodmares and possessions to be traded at will, but it’s different when it’s a prince whose intentions aren’t quite clear to you. Yet. 

“I have no doubt we would have, Prince Aemond,” you reply, “... perhaps we still will.”

You can see him trying to fight his lips from pulling into a smirk. “I would love nothing more than to put that to the test, my lady.” 

The true meaning of his words has you pressing your lips into a thin line, a slight blush covering the apples of your cheeks. But before you can say anything in return, you spot your father making his way through the crowd of his relatives, bringing a hand to his nephew’s shoulder and pulling him back slightly as if he means to bring him down to Earth again. “Do not forget your manners,” he rasps, not mincing his words. 

Raising a hand, Daemon calls for a guard without so much regarding you. “Bring my daughter to her chambers, so she can settle into her temporary home.”

You’re not used to the protectiveness of your father, for he has never before displayed such demeanor toward you, and judging by the scowl on your cousin’s face, he’s not at all pleased about the interruption. 

The guard ushers you away from the scene, bringing you into the confines of Maegor’s Holdfast, and leading you towards the apartments you will occupy and call home for an unknown amount of time.

There are many thoughts racing through your mind on your way, especially after the brief encounter with Aemond, but the most prominent ones are the Valyrian customs and their engagement in incestuous marriages, leaving you wondering whether that fate will also include you in the future. 

A part of you wishes for it, but the other part hopes it doesn’t. You’re not opposed to the idea, but it’s just that you don’t quite feel worthy of it. For all your life you’ve dreamt of finding a noble lord as husband, an ordinary lord if that’s what you can call it, and not one that is bonded with a beast that’s able to cross continents in mere hours. 

When the door to your chambers opens, your maids already scurry through the room, unpacking your clothes and belongings. But it’s the dragon egg that sits neatly on the sill of the hearth that suddenly wrecks the most havoc on you. The thing that has calmed you before makes you terribly aware of your flaws, happening so abruptly even though it has been by your side for so, so long. 

No, you don’t want an ordinary man, you’re afraid that they deem you ordinary for lacking a dragon in a family full of dragonlords. 

Staring at the piece of stone, gaze tracing over the several scales littered all over it, you don’t register the multiple attempts of Ysilla to gain your attention by clearing her throat. You’re in a trance, processing something that has unconsciously accompanied you for all your life, and it’s your maid’s hand gently coming to your shoulder that causes you to flinch. 

“My lady,” she says, curtsying deep to you. “I apologize, but I believe you are to report to Prince Daemon’s chambers. It appears that he has requested your presence without delay.”

Smoothing down your gown in a manner befitting of a young lady making an appearance before her father she hasn’t seen in so long; you try to cover the apprehension that graces your features. “Did my father specify what it is about?”  

Ysilla shakes her head. “I am afraid not, my Lady.”

Inhaling a deep breath, you bow your head once. “Very well,” you reply, taking your leave with the guard that has been positioned at the door to your quarters bringing you to the room in question. 

You use the distance to prepare yourself for what awaits you behind the heavy, iron-bound doors, but still are ambushed when you see your father sitting at the small table, clearly waiting for your arrival.

While there briefly has been time for you to dwell on the anger you feel upon being called to King’s Landing on your father’s order, knowing all too well what the reason for it is, you don’t manage to keep your emotions at bay the moment your eyes meet.

“What is this all about, father?” you ask bluntly upon stepping into the room, prompting your father to raise a brow. “I have not heard from you in years, and then I receive a raven meant to summon me to King’s Landing. What for?”

In moments like these, you resemble your mother more than he would like to admit, you can spot the disgust flicker in his eyes, but it’s also visible that he’s impressed by the mannerisms in you that are distinctly his. 

He releases a deep breath, gesturing to the vacant place opposite of him, “sit.”

Approaching the table while still keeping a fair distance, you ball your hands to fist and shake your head. “I demand an answer,” you say, speaking firmly and confidently.

The smirk that briefly crosses your father’s features causes the hairs on the back of your neck to stand up, almost enough to make you submit to him. He then rubs his palm flatly over the table, seemingly soothing his anger. “And I demand obedience,” his voice is sharp, and you know there’s no way you will leave his chambers alive if you don’t comply with his command, “now sit.”

Setting your jaw, you reluctantly sit down in the chair, leaning back to keep a comfortable distance to your father. 

“King Viserys wishes for me to find you a match among the nobility. He has deemed that it is time for you to marry.”

There comes no voiced reaction from you, having expected it to be the main reason for your visit, but you do clench and unclench your fingers to handle the storm of emotions raging within you. 

Licking your lips, you contemplate over what to say next. “I am a woman grown and soon to be the Lady of Runestone. If anything, I can decide if and when I want to marry.” Your words come with a lilt of arrogance; but you keep your expression stern.

The amused chuckle he releases at your words makes your stomach drop, and he looks at you with the knowledge that your thoughts on your position are not quite in line with your true status. 

“I’m afraid that’s not how it works,” he replies sternly. 

You jut your chin at, looking at your father defiantly. “So, I don’t have a say in this?” 

Daemon shakes his head, and it seems as if there’s pity in his gaze as it flits down to his hand. 

“I will not wed without getting a say on whom I wed.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, releasing a sigh. “Count your blessings, daughter,” he says in a condescending manner. “Most girls are forced by their fathers to marry whomever is given to them, but you are not going to be one of them. It is only by the King’s good will and good graces that he allows me to invite several suitors to court to woo for your hand. Be grateful.”

“And why should I trust that you’ll find a match worthy of me? Invite a man that is to my liking? It should be Ser Gerold arranging it for me, not you. You hardly know me.”

His jaw sets at your words, and it’s clear his patience runs thin, not having expected to be met with a reflection of himself when he called you to court. “Enough,” he says sharply. “I have a responsibility to the crown and the realm to ensure you are wed to a man fitting your station. It is not your place to question the men I call to court to vie for your hand. And you would do well to remember that.”

You narrow your eyes; hands remaining clenched. You stare at him with a look of pure defiance, ready to challenge him. Being pushed around by a man you hardly see more than once every five years isn’t something you envision about yourself. “Or what?”

His expression is one of cold, almost mocking amusement as his eyes take you in, clearly seeing much of himself in you. But he also knows he has to squash such defiance immediately. “You may toy with the lowly fools of stableboys you entertain at your whim, but I suggest you watch your tone when speaking to me, girl.” 

You grit your teeth at his words, a look of unbridled determination on your face. “I am not the meek and submissive wench you expect me to be,” you hiss. “And I am certainly not a cow to be pawned off to the highest bidder. If anything, I am a dragon.”

If there is one thing you know about your father, it’s that he isn’t one for idle threats, always going straight for the jugular. And when his eyes narrow, you expect to be struck where it hurts. “You would do best to remember your place, girl, a place that is so far below me at all times. You may have my blood, but you don’t have the legacy, and certainly not the power that comes with it.” 

Tears of anger brim in your eyes at his words; your glare making it obvious just how much your blood is boiling inside of you. The burn of his words reaches your heart, and although you're tempted to lash out at him, you have to admit defeat. Turning away from his glare, only fueling the humiliation that courses through your veins, you clench your jaw tightly. 

Aiming to put you back in your place, your father decides to go one last time to provoke a reaction. “If you want to put up a challenge, at least have the wits not to let your tongue runoff like some spoiled brat.”

“May I leave now?” you ask sternly, keeping your head turned to the side. 

Your father scoffs at the request, and doesn’t give you the satisfaction of immediately granting it to you. The silence stretches on for just a few more moments, enjoying to see you defiant but defeated, knowing he has succeeded. 

“You may leave – on my graces alone,” he says, watching as you all but jump up to bring as much space as possible between you. You’re just about to walk out of the door when you hear his voice ring out once again, but you don’t stop for him. 

“You are to receive suitors in two days, so you best prepare yourself for it.”

You press your lips into a thin line, and your shoulders tense at his words. If he wants you to meet the men he’s invited to court for you, you will play along and follow his orders, but no promise is made about you being on your best behavior. 

Hurrying through the halls of Maegor‘s Holdfast, you don’t really see much with your vision blurred by tears, and that you don‘t know how to navigate the keep doesn‘t help either. 

The Red Keep, as vast as it is, consists of innumerable corridors and holds many dark corners, most of which are rarely seen by others and seldom used, and you happen to stumble into one of them. There’s little to no traffic, and you blame it on most of the courtiers and servants tending to stick to the first and second floors, rather than the upper levels that are used by the royal family and a selected group of highborn individuals. Such as you. 

There are a few guards stationed every now and then, but the last one you saw was the one guarding your father’s chambers, the guard charged with protecting yours clearly back at his post. 

Rounding a corner, you’re caught off guard as you almost bump into someone on your way. The person stops short and is quick to sidestep to make room for you, and with them not moving, it’s clear they probably expect an apology. 

You stop in your tracks and wipe your eyes before looking at the person whom you’ve inconvenienced, and you’re certain it couldn’t get any worse when you notice it’s none other than Aemond. 

His chin is slightly tilted to the ceiling as he looks down at you, barely phased by your sniffing and the dried tears on your skin. 

“Whatever ‘tis you are trying to run from, you will find no refuge down this corridor,“ he notes, raising a brow as he watches you wipe the tears with the back of your hand. 

His smooth voice doesn’t stop you from frowning, and you look at him with reddened eyes. He‘s standing tall, easily towering over you, and the eyepatch doesn’t make him any less intimidating in this dimly lit part of the castle. 

“I… it‘s-,“ you sigh, closing your eyes. “My apologies, Prince Aemond. I am not running from anything.“

Aemond‘s eye roams your form, assessing you, and a grin takes over his features. “It‘s quite alright, my lady,“ he hums. “What is it that has you in such a foul mood this evening?“

You set your jaw, biting back the anger and irritation at the thoughts of your father’s words. Your fists are now clenched tightly at your sides, and for a moment, he’s sure he’s pissed you off beyond the point of no return by just crossing your path. “I’m sure it would be none of your business if I told you,” you reply curtly, looking at the ground. 

But Aemond isn’t having any of it, if anything, he appears to enjoy being met with someone that doesn’t bow to him. “Ah, but you see that’s exactly where you’re wrong, my lady,” he says, taking a step closer to you to which you react by taking one back, just reluctantly stepping out of his vicinity. He towers over you, looming presence enough to replace the distress you’ve felt by inquisitiveness. “As a prince of the Royal family, everyone who resides in this castle is my business. And it is my particular interest to learn what has you so agitated this evening.”

Something in his gaze turns more serious, and if there remains the flash of a smirk on his lips, it’s so subtle you barely notice it. But that might also be because you don’t have it in you to break the prolonged eye contact. There’s the hint of something you can’t quite put your finger on in his gaze, something that crawls under your skin.  

“I assume it has something to do with the many noble lords flocking to the city to woo you as we speak. I can only imagine how annoying it must be to have everyone trying to charm you,” he says, a sarcastic lilt in his voice. 

You cross your arms in front of your chest. There’s truth in his words, but the way he voices it feels degrading, making you nervous to the point you cave in; your shoulders dropping slightly. “It’s my father,” you say with a huff of breath. “He’s so bloody insistent on me marrying some lord of the Realm, but I have absolutely no interest in doing so.”

“What a coincidence,” Aemond hums, advancing at you. You’re backed up against the wall, trapped with nothing standing between you. “Because I have absolutely no interest in you being married off to some other man as well.”

You feel your pulse quicken with his words and every single one of his steps, heat crossing your cheeks. Your gaze flits to your feet and back up, only to see him still staring at you. 

Biting your bottom lip, Aemond takes that as his cue to continue speaking. “You know you wouldn’t have to go through with this ordeal if you decided to elope with someone special.” 

You jut out your chin, and half-lidded eyes gaze up at him. “I’m curious, my prince,” you counter, licking your lips. “What would this special person look like?”

Watching him bring up a hand to rest on the wall next to your head, you struggle with not letting him see just how much you melt in his presence. You know what he’s referring to, and the thought seems enticing, all the more in the prospect of him not striking you as the kind of lord you detest more than anything.

With your father being so insistent for you to marry some lord he’ll choose and your refusal of it, you’re more than interested in entertaining another option.  

“Someone like me, for example,” he says, holding himself with so much arrogance, so much self-confidence.

His offer makes you consider the circumstances. You’re half Targaryen without a dragon, while he has claimed the biggest dragon alive when he was a child, and it would be stupid of you to let the idea of elopement with a man who could actually give you some power slip from your fingers. Taking in a deep breath, you look to the side with vulnerability glimmering in your eyes.   

“I imagine that– well, I would have to have a dragon to be a suitable match for someone that has claimed the mighty Vhagar.”

Taking the opportunity given to him and taking advantage of your moment of weakness, he caresses the side of your face with a gentle hand; his head dipping forwards to bring his mouth on a level with your ear. You feel the warmth radiating off of him, prompting your heart to pound in your throat.

“That seems like quite the predicament, my lady,” he says, a hint of amusement woven in his voice. “However, I may have a solution to your problem.”

His words make your head snap back towards him so fast, it’s surprising he doesn’t flinch; and most importantly, he doesn’t shy away from the proximity. You feel his breath fan over your lips, but the temptation of claiming your own dragon is just too irresistible for you to care. A dragon is a symbol of power and status, a way to take control over your own life, and to make a difference – clearly befitting for the future Lady of Runestone. 

And what woman in her right mind would refuse the chance to claim such a wondrous beast herself? 

“And that is?” you voice your curious inquiry. 

“A dragon is not what is stopping us,” he rasps, eye glinting as he notices your curiosity. You’re definitely not averse to the idea. “Elope with me, and I shall get you one. The Bronze Fury, Vermithor. I dare say he might be a good fit for a woman of your temperament.”

You fail to conceal the slight reddening of your cheeks, just as much as the change in your breathing at his words. Everything he says sounds like sorcery to you; the offer to help you claim a dragon of your own, even mentioning a dragon in question, it all piques your curiosity. You’re hooked, and that’s his last move to reel you in. 

“If only it were that simple,” you hum, leaning closer towards him. “How exactly would we–”

Aemond silences you by crashing his lips against yours in a sudden rush of passion, and his tongue is quick to invade your mouth, tasting and teasing you at the same time. The protest dies on your tongue in the aftermath, as if he knows you might be doubting him and his intentions, and this will be the only way for him to get what he wants.

His free hand slides down your side, tracing your curves in search of grasping on any part of your body, settling on your hip. You sling your arms around his neck immediately, accepting and embracing his advances.

A spark of something familiar ignites in the pit of your belly, something that has you pulling back just slightly to gasp. You were so lost in the kiss, that you haven’t paid any mind to him nudging your legs apart to place his in between, firmly pressing his muscular thigh against your clothed mound. 

Your thighs lock around his in response, that friction alone granting you a good bit of pleasure that has you whimpering, and you hesitantly grind your hips against it once. 

There’s a moment where neither of you moves in the following. He expects you to suddenly play the coy lady, to push him away and storm off, but when that doesn’t come, he can’t help but scoff. 

“Look at you,” he rasps in between heavy breaths. “So desperate for relief that you can not even wait for me to whisk you away to some quiet corner of the world.”

He doesn’t expect an answer, not that you could give him one, and is quick to dive forwards to swallow down any further whimpers and gasps that spill past your lips as his hand starts to move your body in a push and pull motion. 

It is iniquitous, but you’ve done far worse things before, and with this corridor lying relatively deserted and therefore sparsely manned, you don’t even bother to worry about someone coming upon you.

The pleasure blooming between your legs is enough to encourage you to grind against his thigh on your own, although you’re certain that if you were to touch him, you’d come to the realization that he’s hard and just as wanting as you are. 

With the thick skirts of your dress and your smallclothes rubbing your sensitive pearl each time your hips drag over his thigh, you get somewhat off-balance, holding onto his shoulders for leverage while the kiss becomes all teeth and tongue, devouring each other with passion and fire. 

You roll your hips back and forth, alternating between short, quick movements and long drags against him, your shoulders dropping as you’re completely consumed by pleasure. The friction is almost too much, rubbing you sore despite your cunt being soaked in your arousal - but you’re far too lost to really care. 

Your lips release his to catch your breath, and with the pleasure in your belly soaring to the surface, you can’t stop yourself from tilting your head back to whimper into the Red Keep’s chilly night air. Aemond immediately seizes the opportunity to mouth along the column of your throat, before gently sinking his teeth into it. 

Your hips increase the pace with the slight sting his teeth bring, chasing the sensation that bubbles inside of you. The taste of copper fills your mouth from how harshly you bite down on your bottom lip, the intimidating and domineering side of him feeding something in you you didn’t know was there. 

He brings your face on level with his again to just watch yours contort in pleasure, dark blown eye practically glued to your scrunched features. And if you weren’t so consumed by it all, you probably would have noticed the glimmer of affection flashing in it. His other hand comes off the wall to find your hip to help you grind down on his thigh, and it’s a massive undertaking for you to keep your legs steady to support yourself. 

Aemond is not ashamed to groan and pant with you, and although his groans are much quieter than yours, and you know your movements don’t grant enough friction for him to reach completion, each sound that fans over your face brings you closer to yours. 

“That’s it,” he rasps the words against your swollen lips in between fervent panting, not audible to anyone else but you, “peak for me.” There’s innocence in the way he says it, but the possessive demand is not to be doubted and exactly what you need to hear. 

The pleasure ripples through you in twitches, and your cunt spasms and clenches around nothing with your thighs squeezing his for dear life. It’s a frustrating feeling that is hardly surpassed by the relief that washes over you, but for now you’ll have to make do with it. 

“Look at you,” he coos, his voice thick with arousal and desire. “My my, aren’t you a good and obedient girl?” His praise makes you dizzy and longing for more, and if it wasn’t for him taking a step back from you, the lack of his thigh between your legs making the uncomfortable burn more than prominent, you would have done everything to tear the breeches right off of him. 

You look at him with wide, glazy eyes, your mouth agape. “I–what…” you trail off, wanting to take a step towards him. But you’re stopped by his hand coming to your waist, keeping a fair distance between you. It’s obvious he struggles to hold himself back, and you pray to the Seven for him to allow the thin thread to snap. 

“I will come back,” he says, his words doing little to mend the rising doubts that perhaps you were exploited, the satisfied smirk adorning his features not helping either. “I will have my prize, and I will claim what is rightfully mine.”

And with that, he disappears down the hallway until you lose him in your line of sight. Everything that remains of him now is the aching between your legs and the rich blent of leather and sandalwood lingering in your nostrils, leaving you to be alone with your thoughts. 

The encounter was as abrupt as it was passionate, and you just now start to process everything that was said and has happened, and how you’ve felt every emotion possible in such a short amount of time. 

With your heart hammering in your chest, you retire into the opposite direction, wandering the sleeping castle, eventually finding a corridor that seems familiar enough and brings you to your chambers. 

You hardly find sleep that night with your mind too occupied, wondering when will be the next time you’ll hear of him. 

Taglist: @heimtathurs @croatianprincess @nina2697 @malfoytargaryen @thetaygaryen @wintrr13 @winter-soldier-101 @kyuupidwrites @boofy1998 @thekinslayersswordhand @sagelovesreading @jiminie-08 @doublesparrows @at-a-rax-ia @fan-goddess @recorddust @tsujifreya @melsunshine @drwstarkeyy @kazuyatokue @moonlightfoxx @bbgmonsay @thatmysteriousblog @ashovertheriver @black-dread @watercolorskyy @nothingqueens @urmomsgirlfriend1 @lovelykhaleesiii @hypocritic-trash-baby @darylandbethfanforever9 @snowystark @connorsui @valeskafics

OOD Taglist: @vhwyrm

[lua-magic]

Astrology and your sucess.

Fifth house is house of your intelligence and children as well.

Fifth house is also house of your name and fame.

If you want to control your mind and fate of your children, then check the position of fifth house Lord and do the activities related to that house

Your intelligence and knowledge has the power to pull you out of darkness and show you light.

Fifth Lord in first house-

You are responsible for your own intelligence and for your kids, so pay attention to your self only. More you work on yourself much easier sucess will find you

Fifth Lord in second House 🏠

You are what you eat, more healthy and simple foods you eat much better' level your mind will function. You food habits and your family will help you in getting success in life. So, keep your family happy

Fifth lord in third house 🏠

Your intelligence will be controlled by what you see and read, if you want success in life then read sucessful people and watch movies of successful people to program your mind for success. You can get success by pursuing your hobbies as well, so develop some kind of hobbies in your life.

Fifth Lord Lord in fourth house

Your emotions and house atmosphere will control your mind, much better your domestic life, much easier you get success in life. Have, control on your emotions, because more emotionaly balanced you are, more successful you become in life .

Fifth lord in fifth house 🏡

Great combination, as more knowledge you acquire in your life, much easily you get success in life .

More number of books you read, much better your mind and memory will become.

Fifth lord in sixth house

It is a tricky combination because sixth house is also of debt and diseases, but sixth house is also of service, so more you involve yourself in free service, and charity (especially for animals), more easily you will get success.

Fifth lord in seventh house

Your success depends on your partner and also on your buisness partner, more happily married you are or more you keep your partner happy, more successful you become in life, so always take care of your partner, life partner and business partner both.

Fifth Lord in eighth house 🏠

If you want success in life, then never stop learning Astrology and occult , you can get success in Astrology and occult as well.

Fifth Lord in ninth house.

Here, your success depends on your father or on your teachers. If you have good teacher and good relationship with your father then you will get success easily in life.

Taking mentorship or guidence from teacher will help you to develop your knowledge and your mind

Fifth lord in tenth house 🏠

More number of activities you do, much better your mind works, so if you want healthy mind, and good memory, involve yourself in as many activities as you can, sitting without work can kill your mind, keep yourself engaged all the time

Fifth Lord in eleventh house

Your friends and social circle decide your future,.

Show Me Your Friends and I’ll Show You Your Future.

If you want success for you, then make friends with only people who are successful in their field.

What you see and observe on social media also plays an important role in programming your mind, so be careful next time you are scroll through reels and short videos, because you are programming your mind for short gratification and immediate dopamine boost, which will damage your mind.

Fifth Lord in twelfth House 🏠

Let go, More easily you let go things from your mind, much healthy and strong your mind would become.

You will find success in foreign land easily.

If you are having problems in profession then it is because your Saturn is afflicted.

Saturn sun conjunction

Should always practice sun gazing and keep good relationship with father

Saturn Moon

Involve your in short travel and keep good relationship with mother.

Saturn Mercury

Never stop learning and reading. Saturn Rahu

Work in foreign company, foreign land, foreign culture or with your paternal grandfather.

Saturn ketu

Study more Astrology and occult and have good relationship with your maternal grandparents.

Saturn Mars.

Always work on your body and go for grounding.

Saturn Venus

Work with female members, females are lucky for you when it comes to work

Saturn Jupiter.

Always follow morality and ritousnes in your work life. You can go for counseling and teaching as well

Jupiter Rahu, natives are more like their paternal grandparents in behaviour here to complete pending karma of their grandparents .

Jupiter Ketu are more like their maternal grandparents in behaviour and are here to complete pending karma of their grandparents

Jupiter sun are more like their father and more or less they would experience same life pattern as their father.

Jupiter moon are more like their mother and get influenced by their mother easily.

[ldrfanatic]

two worlds collided

theodore nott x fem!malfoy!ravenclaw!reader

a.n. this is quickly becoming a theo obsession blog BUT I am open to requests for others

love theo in this piece.

to be added to my theo nott taglist just comment on one of my theo nott posts :)

synopsis - you're draco's sister but you're a ravenclaw. your father shunned you because he thought that voldemort wouldn't want you but when Nott sr is trying to find theodore a bride your father takes this as the perfect opportunity. over time you grow to genuinely care for one another.

warning - cursing, lucius malfoy is a prick, hitting, borderline verbal abuse, arranged marriage

accompanying song - never tear us apart (bishop briggs)

nav slytherin boys

"Father is asking for you."

Shock washed over you and you wondered if you submerged yourself into your cloud-like bed if Lucius would just forget about it. After carefully weighing your options, it seemed rather unlikely. You threw your navy covers to the side and shuffled awkwardly to the main dining hall where your mother, father, and older brother Draco were waiting.

Your eyes fell onto a rather scary looking man and another handsome figure who you recognized as Theodore Nott, one of Draco's friends.

"Daughter." The warm velvet tones of Narcissa Malfoy filled the air. After you'd been sorted into Ravenclaw, Draco and Lucius had shunned you. Narcissa had been the only person in the entire family still kind to you. Well, she and your estranged aunt Andromeda who you'd been secretly exchanging letters since third year.

"Now that the Dark Lord has gained strength, it is imperative that we maintain close connections within the Sacred 28." Lucius approached you, looking rather unhinged, and placed a large hand on your shoulder. There was a malicious look in his eyes that made the entire interaction all the more unnerving. "Once the Dark Lord begins his plans, he'll need people he can trust to continue the most important of magical bloodlines."

Your father took you by the shoulders and moved you to stand in front of Theodore and the mystery man at his side.

"This is Theodore Nott Sr. and his son, who I presume you know from school."

Nott Sr. glanced to the side at Theodore who snapped out of a sort of trance. He brought your hand up to his lips and placed a gentle kiss on it.

"Y/n."

You smiled but didn't say anything, waiting in silence for your father to elaborate. He and Nott Sr. had clearly formed some sort of plan. "You and his son are to be married."

"What?!" Your body whipped around of its own accord and you felt rage explode over your body. "You haven't spoken to me in years and suddenly you expect me to marry this man without even asking me if I wish to be married to him or anyone for that matter?!"

Lucius' hand came down suddenly. A loud 'whack' resounded in the room as the back of his palm made contact with your cheek. "You ungrateful little brat." He straightened his cloak and took what you supposed was meant to be a calming breath. "Draco noticed the way that you stared at the Nott boy in school. You ought to be more appreciative that I didn't choose that awful Pucey boy although he was more than willing."

Though you couldn't see, Theodore's nose turned up in disgust at the mention of Adrian Pucey. He'd taken a liking to you, completely undeterred by the elder Malfoy's numerous threats to stay away from his younger sister. Draco might've been appalled that you'd been sorted into Ravenclaw, but that didn't mean that he was gonna let that slimey tosser terrorize you.

Your gaze stayed on the floor for a few moments before you turned back around, muttering a small apology to Theodore and his father. Overall, Theo was quite handsome and you had stared at him more than a few times. He really was quite handsome.

Nott Sr. studied you for a few moments then turned to Theodore expectantly. "Why don't the two of you take a stroll and become acquainted while Lucius and I finish up the particulars." It was phrased like a question, but in truth he wasn't asking. The air was silent as you walked out of the room the brunette boy following diligently.

The cool air nipped at your exposed skin as the heavy oak door slammed shut behind you. It was always cold and dark in the area surrounding Malfoy Manor.

"I'm sorry Theodore."

"Theo."

You stared at Theodore like a fish out of water waiting for words of any intelligence to come to you. Finally, you stuttered out an ignorant 'Huh?'.

"Call me Theo."

Your heart beat loudly in you ears for a few moments. "Oh-kay," Theo began to mosey into the Manor gardens with you hot on his heels. He was quite tall and due to the length of his legs, every one step he took was nearly three of yours. "So Theo. I am sorry you got dragged into this."

"That's alright fiancée." Theo teased you with a smile that could make any girl weak in the knees. For a moment you felt as though you could almost forget that the both of you were being forced into this.

"Still. I know your reputation. I only ask that you keep your conquests separate from our entanglement."

An indescribable akin to hurt flashed in the eyes of the boy before you. As well as something you didn't quite recognize.

"My reputation?" You spluttered at him for a few moments once again making a fool of yourself in front of Theodore Nott.

"Theo I didn't mean to--"

"Whatever." He turned away from you and stalked angrily back towards the Manor, calling over his shoulder. "And it's Theodore."

The rest of the break passed by pretty miserably, as expected. You and Theodore had gone on a few dates, as demanded by both your father and Nott Sr. since the pair of you were courting now, but they were long and excruciating with little to no conversation.

Despite a summer that seemed as though it would never end, September finally arrived.

You were boarding the train with Theodore and Draco as your parents watched on. They'd been keeping an extra close eye on the pair of you. In all honesty, you and Theodore hadn't grown any closer in your courtship than you'd been as distant acquaintances the year prior. If anything, the walk in the garden at the start of your relationship had forced you further apart.

And though you'd pretended you didn't care, seeing Theodore with other girls was never something you'd enjoyed. Now, knowing that he'd be your husband sooner rather than later, the thought of Theo running around with some daft blonde Slytherin made your heart sink to your stomach.

Yet, as the year progressed, you and the rest of Hogwarts were unexpectedly surprised by Theo. Before you knew it, the first snowfall graced Hogwarts in November, and Theodore hadn't had any flings with any girls. He was even turning down girls that had been brave enough to approach him and make the first move.

Without your parents to keep the two of you tightly bound, you and Theodore hadn't spoken since the train in.

Through all of this, you hadn't expected to become close friends with Pansy Parkinson, a Slytherin girl in Theo and Draco's year. But she'd walked up to you during breakfast one morning and the two of you really hit it off.

Hence why currently, you were sat on Pansy's bed while she worked on her charms homework. And she was putting her absolute all into trying to convince you to ask Theo to Hogsmeade.

"C'mon Y/n! It might be fun."

"If by fun you mean he'll humiliate me in front of the entire student body." You mumbled under your breath. You tried to tune her out so as to focus on the book you were currently attempting to read, but she was determined.

"According to Blaise Theo's been talking about you when Draco isn't around to glare at him for it."

"Look Pans, I know you're in love with the bloke but have you considered that Blaise may be confused? Or simply taking the mickey?" Pansy shot you an unimpressed look. "Theo and I haven't spoken since September. In any case, if he's turning down long legged red heads who are all but stripping in front of him, what makes you think he'd want to go out with me?"

"Because he's already agreed to speak with you in the Slytherin Common Room tonight."

"What?!"

Pansy ignored your protests and damn near dragged you down to the common room with an iron grip on your wrist. When you got there, Theo was spread out on one of the expensive leather couches with a cigarette in between his lips. Yet as he noticed you approaching, he immediately dropped it and put it out with a stomp on the stone floors.

"Y/n."

The sonorous tones of Theo's voice bounced off each wall of the common room and seemed to warm you from the inside out. His voice was so inviting that you almost believed you could actually do this.

There is, however, one thing to know about Theodore Nott. No matter how inviting or pleasant Theo's aura is, you'd made a promise to yourself not to look him in the eyes. You knew that if you made the unfortunate mistake to look Theodore Nott in his malachite eyes, you'd lose all ability to think, speak, even breathe properly.

It wasn't until you saw his shoes enter your line of sight that you knew that he'd approached you at all. Worse, when his large hand found purchase under your chin and lifted your gaze to meet his, you knew that you were well and truly fucked.

In that most regrettable moment, you realized how much you'd fallen in love with Theodore. During shared hushed dates and the rare moments of laughter. Theodore Nott had completely enraptured you. And you realized much too late to do anything about it.

So now here you stood. Lost in the beautiful blues and greens of your fiancée's eyes. You were completely, 100% at Theodore Nott's mercy. And likely not for the last time in your life, you felt the urge to give into him. He was a sin that you'd willingly drown in.

"Bellisima," Theo's voice thickened as he spoke. You couldn't understand what he was saying nor could you place the language. But in all honesty, you hadn't known that he even spoke any other languages. His tongue wrapped effortlessly around each syllable and his voice deepened even more than usual, if possible. "I asked you a question."

"Huh?"

"You've been avoiding me." He stepped closer and your heartbeat spiked. "Why?"

Why had you been ignoring Theo again? How could you, or anyone for that matter, ever dream of not giving this devastatingly handsome man everything he desired and more? Oh yeah. Your wretched father.

"You've already been roped into entrapment with me and then forced to hang out with me all summer. I didn't want to cause anymore turmoil to your peace than I already have."

Theo's lips pursed and his eyes narrowed. Once again you'd gone and offended the poor boy.

Immediately, you opened your mouth to apologize, but he cut you off.

"D'you know for a Ravenclaw, you really can be rather thick sometimes?"

You felt your jaw drop in shock. The small grin he currently sported on his face let you know that he'd obviously been teasing. And for the umpteenth time since knowing him, Theo stole your breath with his stupid mesmerizing smile.

Yet, through all of that, he was right. You genuinely had no idea what he was talking about. After what seemed like an eternity of silence, Theo finally seemed to get the hint that he was going to have to spell this out for you.

"I know you probably don't know this about me, but I never do anything that I don't want to. No matter who's asking."

You continued to stare at him blankly. Had he hit his head during the last quidditch match?

Theo ran a hand stressfully through his hair. He grabbed your wrist and led you back to the couches where you settled comfortably in the seat next to him, careful to maintain a respectful distance. "Merlin, Y/n. Turns out you Malfoy's are all slow."

"No offense." He added on quickly when he saw the look on your face. "That's not the point. Y/n I never would have agreed to this engagement with you if I didn't actually want to. I know that you did not get a say in the matter so if you truly wish to live our lives separately, I will respect your choice." Theo gently pulled your hand until it was safely tucked in between both of his larger ones.

"But whatever your decision, know that I am yours. I have wanted nothing more in the past few months than to be by your side. And every moment I spend without you is inexplicable torture for my soul."

"Theo."

He shook his head and cradled you face between his palms.

"No. My mother had a saying. Lascia che la vita accada. It means 'let life happen'. She believed that the only way to truly know if something is meant for you is to let life make it happen on its own. So take a few days. I'll meet you Saturday morning in the Great Hall. But know that if you agree to be mine, Tesoro, you'll be mine for eternity."

To say that staying away from Theo in the days following was easy would be a complete and total lie. When you told Pansy about the conversation the pair of you had (or lack thereof really) she'd all but exploded.

Finally, Saturday morning rolled around. You'd genuinely thought about all your options and you'd come to a decision. The only issue with Theo's plan is that Saturday was the infamous Gryffindor v Slytherin Quidditch match. The Great Hall was bustling in seas of only red or green. You were sporting a dark green jumper, a show of obvious support for the Slytherin team.

Those of your house that favored Gryffindor looked on at you with disdain as you stood from your bench and began making your way to the Slytherin table in search of Theo. He was one of Slytherin's chasers so trying to find him during such a hectic morning proved difficult.

As you walked up and down the table, a familiar figure appeared in front of you.

"Ahh Malfoy. I've been looking for you. I was wonderin' if you'd wear my jersey."

Before you had time to respond or even acknowledge the situation at all, Adrian Pucey had shoved his green and silver practice jersey into your arms. It was an incredibly common practice for girlfriends and boyfriends of Quidditch players to wear their partner's jerseys to their games for good luck.

The hall fell silent as the sound of glass breaking reverberated through the air. You looked to the source of the noise. Theo had stood so abruptly from his seat next to Blaise and Lorenzo that his entire breakfast went flying and ended up on the floor.

He was staring at you with clear ache in his eyes. Suddenly, he swung himself over the bench and stormed out of the room.

You threw Adrian's awful smelling jersey back at his face and ran frantically after Theo.

"Theo!" He ignored you and continued walking briskly even as you approached quickly on his heels. "Theodore please. Just let me explain."

"You don't owe me an explanation, dolcezza ragazza. You've made your choice."

"You've got it all wrong. That's not my decision. I don't want that." You cried out as tears brimmed your eyes. The thought of losing Theo because of Adrian Pucey was mournful.

"Hey, hey. Calma tesoro. Breathe." Theo's hands one again found their way to your face. He gently thumbed the tears from your face. "Don't get yourself all worked up. I'll always listen to you."

"Adrian he just sort of threw his disgusting jumper at me. I don't want him. I only want you. I'm yours, Theodore Nott, completely and without hesitation."

The grin on Theo's face was nothing short of heart-stopping.

"Does that mean you'll wear my jersey at the game today?"

wc 2.6k oops

4.17.24

-- taglist --

@thatdammchickennugget @moonlightreader649

[b0xerdancer-writes]

Our Little Secret

Eris x Azriel's Twin! Reader

Summary: Azriel and his sister have always been opposites, she weaved light he bent shadows, he liked the dark and cold, she lived for warmth and light. That led her to Eris Vanserra. The two began secret but not so secret meetups that eventually blossoms into more.

Warnings: 18+, implied semi-graphic smut but not full scenes, attempted murder, injuries, blood, war, death, pregnancy, depression and self-doubt.

Word Count: 8,995

Notes: Shorter but sweet hope everyone enjoys some soft Eris!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There were several pros and cons to being Eris’s mate and Azriel’s twin sister.

Pros included the ability to claim visits to Autumn as part of my spy job now that we were in an alliance with them as Eris began ascending the throne and needed assistance in weeding out the vermin that had invaded his fathers court. 

Cons included that my brother absolutely hated the male, so any interactions we had were either secret or strictly professional in nature with others like my family around us. 

However when the tides had turned after a rather eventful week tucked away in the halls of The Forest House, after an advisor had hired an assassin to try and take out Eris, neither Eris or I were prepared for the aftermath.

My brother was able to bend the shadows to his whim, he had always shrunk into the shadows and found peace in them after our half brothers had burned his hands. I however, was the opposite. My brothers and father had clipped my wings from birth, I would and have never known the call of the wind. Where my brother found comfort in the shadows I found my comfort in those small warm rays of light that would peek into our basement cell from the small barred window  we were too short to reach. My brother had learned to weave the shadows to his whim, I had done the opposite and learned to weave the light to mine. 

Where my brother hated and despised the now High Lord of the Autumn Court, I had come to love and cherish him. Especially when our spontaneous meetings became a regularly scheduled secret. 

Eris and I had started at a dance, his piercing eyes had found mine as I stood on the dias with my brothers; he had approached with an eerily attractive atmosphere around him as he stalked up to me, he stood a step below me as he bowed and offered his hand out for a dance. Together we had taken the ball by storm all the onlookers had been mesmerized by the passion and fierceness in which Eris and I brought forward, we had both intrigued the other from the second we both came to an abrupt stop with the end of the pounding, loud, and energetic music and our chests were heaving as we panted trying to catch our breath. 

That night had ignited something between us because later that same night he had sought me with the intention of making small chat to get closer, he had approached me with a champagne flute but by the end of it we had defected from the rest of the party and found ourselves rutting against each other in an empty conference room. That would be the first of many times we would end up hidden away in a backroom slotted against each other, just happy to have someone who’s passion matched our own. 

It had simply become a normal thing for us, every high lords meeting and every alliance talk, we would wind up in each other without fail. As meetings continued his mask began to fall away and after we had both come undone and beads of sweat had started to form between us he would confess his fears or the things that had troubled him, a recent beating from Beron here or nerves from the threat of war looming over our heads. 

When the war did come to a head, I had been using light to mask parts of our armies, rendering them invisible to Hybern and his own army; we ultimately prevailed but not without our own amount of casualties, Eris had come rushing towards the medical tents Beron tossed over the hind quarters of his horse. I had been sitting with Azriel and the rest of the inner circle, a healer stitching a spot on my arm where a sword had gone  a little too deep for me to be comfortable with and wasn't healing quick enough for the healers to be comfortable with, when we heard the commotion. I could hear Eris screaming and the second the nurse cut the thread from my arm I was out of the tent, Eris was soaked in blood and trying to pull Beron off the back of his horse; I could hear the grief in his voice as much as the panic was obvious on his face, I helped Eris pull him down and a healer met us halfway to the tent.  Just as Beron and the healer made it through the curtain Eris had dropped to his knees, adrenaline finally wearing off, he started crying so I dropped to my knees beside him and pulled him tight against me. 

Once his sobs started to garner attention I motioned for him to stand and ushered him out of the way of the crowds into my tent. I pulled him into my chest, running my fingers through his hair while his sobs became hoarse and weak; the metallic smell of his father’s blood clung to him and I slowly stripped him from the stained garments, I grabbed the cloth that was draped over the edge of the small bowl filled with water for washing sat and began cleaning where the smears of blood lingered on his skin. As I dabbed at the blood his sniffling stopped and he stared down at where I kneeled to sponge at a spot on his hip, I looked up at him with a sad smile and his head dropped to let his hair curtain his face.

With one hand tucked into my hair he pulled me tight against his thigh and muttered a small barely audible “Thank you.” 

Once I had finished cleaning him he sat on the edge of my bed, a small swirl of light nudged at his hands and he smiled as he let it caress him like how one of his hounds would have, as I was slipping out of my own blood stained clothing one of my light beams presented me with clothing from Eris’s own tent.  He took them from the small beam with a smile and slipped on the comfortable night clothing, I slipped into my own comfortable sleeping clothes and climbed onto the bed beside him. He buried himself into my chest and curled around me, I wrapped one wing over the top of us and we laid there for a few minutes before he gave out a shaky breath. He began to tell me how he had found Beron and he fully believed it was his fault the older male had been injured, Eris had left his position in the Autumn Court squadron to meet with Helion and the rest of us on the opposite side of the battlefield, leaving Beron exposed. Apparently somehow Beron and his brothers had been ambushed, the rest of his remaining brothers were dead but Beron was unconscious and breathing; as he moved to check Beron’s wounds he had realized the older male was beginning to bleed out and hauled him up to the horse, someone managing to get him on the beast. 

I soothed him, telling him it wasn’t his fault, that the mother had a sick sense of karma; and that was all this was, karma, for his actions towards Eris and his family. We fell asleep an hour or so later, Eris’s soft snores lulling me into my own sleep. It was around midnight when I felt the bed shift, the smell in my tent stung my nose: a sharp Cinnamon and smoke mixed with a spice that reminded me of the autumn court alcohol Eris had given me after one of our usual meetups. It was Eris’s comforting scent amplified a hundred times over, it was only when my eyes adjusted to the darkness and I saw Eris sat up elbows on his knees and hunched over that I realized the stinging was caused by a surplus of magic in the air.

“He’s dead” Was all Eris mumbled as he looked back over his shoulder at me.

Only then did I get a good look at him, his ears seemed more pointed, his eyes more predatorial and enticing, every detail about him that I had noticed before was amplified; from the red of his hair to the freckles that littered the bridge of his nose, I felt myself fall more in love with him with every detail I took in. 

“Don’t look at me like that starlight.” A low growl from his voice had goosebumps growing over my skin and every hair standing on end all at the same time.

I couldn't even mumble an apology to the newly made high lord before his eyes widened and his scent thickened with the added addition of his arousal. In a split second he had pounced on me, his lips finding their home on my neck. We spent the rest of the night lost in eachother, he was clearly rougher and more feral with the newly found energy and stamina that had come with becoming a high lord. 

Our bond had only grown from there, after the war was over he had asked Rhys for help in discovering which of those in his court wanted his downfall or were members of the illegal markets his father had let the Autumn Court become home to. The Autumn Court was bright at all times of the day, between the actual sun in the day and the fireflies and bonfires that lit up the night, I had been sent to act as Emissary and spy.  It had started as miniscule tasks like tracking down and destroying supply carts carrying black market goods or stalking through the castle under my invisible illusion to listen in on private conversations that could have been conspiratorial in nature. It was one of these overheard conversations that sent me rushing to Eris’s room, heart pounding so rapidly I felt it in the back of my throat.

It was late in the evening, Eris would have retired from the throne room or his study and would have been in his private chambers getting ready to wind down for the night, I slipped from the perch where I had heard the alarming news and found the faintest crack of light under Eris’s door; the faintest amount I needed leaked from the door as the lights in the hall began to dim, much like how my brother used the shadows to transport him around I used the light to step silently into Eris’s chambers. The fireplace, the thing illuminating the room so brightly, crackled softly and I took the faintest step forward towards Eris.

He turned quickly, dressed only in a pair of loose trousers with his hair half up and cascading over his shoulders; he had grown it out since becoming high lord. “Starlight? What's wrong, why do you look so panicked? What did you hear?”

“Eris! You have got to be wary! I heard two of the advisors conspiring together to assassinate you! They spoke not of when it was planned but it is coming!”  I took a few steps towards him reaching out to grasp at his upper arm, an attempt to convey my desperation to him.

“Thank you Starlight, but remember they know not of your spying capabilities, I have no evidence against them yet. We will have to wait for the assassin before we can condemn those males.” He ran one hand across my cheek, pulling me tightly to him with a dark longing in his eyes.

“Eris I-“ he cut me off before I could continue, his eyes sparkled with that same dark look.

“Look Starlight, I can handle myself but if it would please you and make you feel better about the situation then stay beside me tonight, watch over and protect me darling.” His voice was a soothing melody in my ears, lulling me into a false sense of security with the ever present weight of the assassin hanging above us.

“Please…” I mumbled and buried my head in his chest.

“Of course starlight” he mumbled into my head as he planted a small kiss into my hair.

He curled up in bed and I curled up on the loveseat tucked into the corner of the room with my illusion dusted over me; thankfully the night was uneventful and in the early hours I climbed into the bed beside Eris who wrapped his arm around me in a groggy fog.

After a week the threat had yet to be seen and Eris’s schedule had seemed to become busier, leaving him rarely alone with anyone or even by himself until the very end of the day.  My duties as emissary had been paused by Eris himself as he noticed I had become overly exhausted and was becoming increasingly sicker as the days continued, I had fallen asleep in meetings or even had to dismiss myself from some of them due to nausea. 

“Until you are cleared by my appointed healer,” Eris had firmly told me, “I’ll be pausing your duties as emissary here.”

I had grumbled but agreed to schedule an appointment with the healer that afternoon to appease him and be allowed to continue with my job. The halls were quiet in the staff wing, most of the servants would be spread out across the rest of the manor at this time, preparing for dinner or guest rooms, or just general cleaning. I knocked softly on the healers office door, a greeting ushered me in from the other side.

Inside was a young eccentric male that reminded me of Helion in a way, he ushered me to sit in a padded seat across from him. Eris had written to him with his concerns about my health and the male asked me if I had any concerns of my own. I just agreed to what Eris had identified with a grumble and he moved on with the exam.

“How long has this been occurring?” The male's hands glowed a faint green as he ran his hands around my body several inches above my skin.

“It’s progressed since the Last night of the war, at first I just assumed it was an after effect of the fae bane exposure.” I was uncomfortable with the males' closeness to me and shifted in my seat.

He nodded and continued his examination, it was rather uneventful as he checked through multiple things. 

“Its a long shot but there's one more thing I’d like to check if thats okay?” He asked me with a shrug.

“Yeah why not, that way Eris will be satisfied and I can get back to my duties” I shrugged back at him.

His hands changed from that green glow to a pink glow and his eyes widened, a smile grew on his face. “Congratulations. It seems like my long shot guess was correct.”

He turned from me and back to a small pad of parchment and scribbled a few things down on it before handing it to me, my fave paled as I read the care plan ahead of me.

“I’d like to schedule a week from now to follow up with everything, you will still be in this court correct?” I nodded and he scribbled on another piece of parchment. “Then I'll see you at the same time in a week!” He handed me the second parchment with the next appointment scheduled on it.

The walk back to my chambers had begun as quiet,  the setting sun outside the windows a tell of the hours spent in the healers office. The parchment folded up in my pocket a heavy weight as I thought how to tell Eris the news; lost in my thoughts I had taken a wrong turn and ended up in Eris’s private wing, an indication of where my mind was at and whose company it sought out for my distress, except something felt off in the wing as I was several halls from Eris’s room but a foreign sour scent lingered at the edges of the air. Had I not been a trained spy the change in scent wouldn’t have alarmed me but I knew Eris’s scent too well, knew how it both soured when he was upset and how it could be a breath of fresh air when he was in a happy mood, and I knew when someone was trying to hide their scent. 

I felt the muscles in my back around the deep scars twitch like they never had before, like I had watched them do when my brother's wings flared. An unease screamed at me and that familiar sense of dread rose in my throat, I tried to swallow it back but a loud shattering noise sent me down the hall at a full sprint. The halls were dark and I was unable to Lightstep into Eris’s room, I rounded a corner to find the door to his room cracked open and I threw it open to find Eris fighting off a bane laced dagger from his throat. My intrusion on their fight was enough of a distraction to gove Eris a one up by shoving the dagger away and throwing the unidentified male off of him, the make retailiated just as quickly sinking the dagger into Eris’s side as borh were scrambling up from the floor. I screamed as I watched Eris howl in pain and collapse on the floor, the intruding male moved towards the windows; there was enough light in the room for me to lightstep right behind him and sink the twin sister dagger of Truthteller into his neck, the adrenaline in my system was enough for me to decapitate the male. I didnt care if it would have looked better to bring him to the dungeons, I had overheard that conversation and knew who had conspired against my Eris. 

Once the head hit the ground I turned to Eris who was holding the dagger and his side with shallow breaths, with blood pounding in my ears and tears beginning to well up I dropped to my knees to find him barely conscious.

I pulled his head into my lap and cried over him begging him to stay with me, his faint voice tried to soothe me but the crack in his voice was enough for me to realize I very well could lose him tonight. 

“You have to stay with me Eris, you have to! You cant leave me like this Eris! I need you!” I sobbed into his slowly rising and falling chest.

One of his hands found its way into my hair as a soothing gesture. “You’ll be okay Starlight.” 

It broke me even more and I shook my head, tears rapidly cascading down my face. “No! I wouldn't be! You can't leave me like this Eris! You aren't allowed to die here! I’m pregnant Eris! Do you hear me! You can’t die, you have to be here for me and the babe!”

I felt Eris stiffen, his grasp in my hair tightening. “Your-“ I nodded and he smiled softly but his breathing became even shallower. 

I felt his grasp loosen and drop from my hair, my head shot up only to watch his eyes roll back in his head. I screamed and called his name and when no response came I was hauling him into my arms. Drawing every ounce of power I could spare I folded and weaved the light around us while screaming for Rhys in my mind. He answered almost immediately and I let him see what had happened just as I felt the weave of light complete and I was reappearing in my home court, I was greeted by my brothers and Madja who ushered us into a room with a bed they had me lay him on. I was pulled out of the room into the living room by Rhys and Azriel, my twin wrapping his wings around me as I sobbed into his chest.

I had cried myself to sleep in Azriel’s arms but was awoken by a sudden wave of nausea that had me pulling myself away from him and into the kitchen  where I found myself expelling what lunch I managed to eat before the appointment earlier today. Azriel was behind me pulling my hair farther out of the way for me and he rubbed my back softly, a soothing gesture.

“You alright?” His voice was a quiet whisper as the house was in a quiet slumber except for the occasional noise of Madja doing something in Eris’s room.

I nodded and slid my hand into my pocket handing him the folded pieces of paper. He read over them as I rinsed my mouth out with water from the sink and spit it back out. 

“By the mother.” He cursed “You're pregnant?” He looked at me quizzically and I nodded toeing my hair into a half up bun in case another wave of nausea hit me. 

“Yeah.” I mumbled, throat hoarse.

“It's his isn't it?” A look of sadness and pity crossed his face, a sorrow deep in his eyes. I nodded again.

“How long?” He asked, his voice cracked.

“Me and Eris? Since the first ball we met. The babe? Conceived the night he became high lord. I started getting sick shortly after that.” My own voice cracked as I fought back tears.

“Does he know?” He sat the papers on the counter and extended an arm out to me, I placed my hand in his.

“I told him right before he passed out, I told him it was why he had to pull through.” A sob broke through my lips, and Azriel pulled me into him. 

I broke down sobbing into his chest, he wrapped his wings around us until Rhys clearing his throat broke through the air. Azriel pulled me back by the shoulders and wiped the tears from my face, Rhys shifted awkwardly on his feet in the doorway clearly having heard and seen our exchange. 

“We’ll talk about this later, okay Starlight?”  His voice was soft as I nodded.

We both turned to Rhys who joined our little circle, He took my hand in his as he spoke. “Madja managed to stitch up his wound and said he's stable but still unconscious while his body tries to heal itself, she managed to flush the bane out of his system but it weakened him enough his healing delayed and he lost a lot of blood. She doesn't know how long he will be out but you can go in there now with him if you want.” He pulled me into a tight hug  and I thanked him.

I slipped into the room where Madja was bottling up a few potions for Eris, she gave me a small smile and a nod. 

I rested one hand on her shoulder the other on my stomach and leaned back against the table she was working on. “Thank you Madja, for saving him for us.” 

She nodded her accent heavy as she spoke to me. “You care very deeply for him, it's a good quality to have to love that purely. Your brothers may not recognize why you care but they understand your emotions, It's why Rhys had no restraint in summoning me to work on the High Lord you care for.” 

I smiled at her. “Yeah, I'm not gonna lie to you Madja, I think he's my mate. He's always just had an allure that called me to him, since the first time we met we just clicked like a puzzle piece. When I saw him on the floor there, something so deep in my chest I didn't know it could exist screamed and throbbed with a red hot glowing pain. I think I’ve always just known we were mates, in my adrenaline and panic I think the bond finally snapped but I was too overwhelmed and worried to really process everything going on.”

She smiled and nodded at me. “A good bond doesn't need to ring true, like Rhysand told you he simply looked at Feyre and knew. You simply know what he is to you and that is fine, it doesn't have to be a grand realization.” 

“Thank you, Madja.” I gave her a soft smile and she pushed a small bottle into my hand.

I looked at her quizzically as she smirked. “For the nausea the babe causes.” 

A blush rapidly grew on my face and my eyes widened. “How did you?”

A sparkle glistened in her eyes, she had always been a grandmother to the entire inner circle. “Girl, i’ve been treating you since you and Azriel joined Rhys here, I know your scent and any good healer knows what a babe does to a female's scent.  It was entirely too easy to scent it on you for me, hopefully that helps with any and all nausea you have. Just one drop of the vial into any drink you have once a day, it's tasteless so it should mix well with anything.” 

“Thank you again Madja. Have a goodnight.” She smiled and nodded at me and slipped out the door. 

I turned my attention to the shirtless male in the bed, white bandages wrapped around the lower half of his torso and his breath was a steady rise and fall of his chest, no longer weak and shallow. He laid on his uninjured side with his loose bangs falling in his face, I leaned on the bed to move them out of the way when one of his hands tightened on my wrist and he mumbled something I couldn't make out; but I knew Eris he had done this many times when I’d return from the bathroom to crawl back into bed with him. I smiled softly and kicked off my boots then curled up beside him, he wrapped his arm  tightly around my waist while I played with the loose hairs that fell into his face.

A groan coming from Eris was what woke me up just as the light started peaking through the windows, he had tried to sit up and was clutching his side where the dagger had been.

“Woah! careful Eris I don't want you ripping any stitches.” I fussed over him till I was able to get him laying back down.

A sickly smile was on his face as he winced. “Morning Starlight.” 

I scowled at him. “Morning Starlight? That's it! You almost died, Eris! You absolute dork. I was worried, you know?”  

He smiled at me, still relatively pale and weak as his body used the energy to slowly repair itself. “What you said before I passed out… Is it true?” 

I nodded and his hand found mine. “Are you mad?”

His voice cracked. “Darling, why would I be mad?” 

I sighed and made my way over to the table where Madja had left a few bandages and busied myself with collecting what I would need to change his bandages. “I just figured since you originally said you didn’t care for children.” 

“Darling, come here.” He called for me with his hand outstretched. 

I rounded the bed carrying the small collection of medical supplies and set them on the end table. I looked up at him through my lashes and began to slowly undo the wrap around his torso, he winced as we got to the lower bandages that stuck to the edges of the wound where blood was crusted to the cotton.

He winced as I dabbed on some anti infection and pain cream Madja had whipped up. “Darling.” His voice was a bit firmer.

I looked up from the gnarly bruising purple and red wound held closed by black thread and found his eyes, tears welling up in my own eyes as he spoke to me. “Darling I’m not mad. I wish I could get up from this damn bed to hold you and show you what this means to me.” 

I smiled at him before I turned my attention back to the wound, the edges had started to seal back together nicely, a faint red scar slowly beginning to emerge was an indicator it would heal nicely. 

I began rewrapping the cotton bandages around him as I spoke. “We have plenty of time to make up for it now then.” 

I tucked in the cotton and helped him sit up slowly. He grimaced as he spoke, adjusting to the strain in his body. “Thank you Starlight.  Because of you I had a reason to keep fighting. I said that I didn’t care for children back then because I was scared I would end up too much like my own father, but because of you I know I won’t,” he laughed softly “You wouldn’t let me. If you have helped me realize anything, it is that everything I do to better myself and my court is only possible thanks to you and how you believed in me. The thought of doing it all for you has helped me through every time I doubted myself.”

Tears welled in my eyes as I looked into his amber ones. “Eris…” 

He gave me a smile that was mixed with a wince as he tried to pull me into his arms and lap. “Don’t worry Starlight, I'm not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me whether you like it or not.” 

I let out a small laugh as I buried my head in the crook of his neck. “…For both of you…” he added. 

“I’m sure you will be an amazing father Eris.” I yawned and curled up closer to him.

I awoke to a wave of nausea, excusing myself from Eris’s arms saying I would bring him some food as we and slipped into the kitchen, the little vial in my hands. I stirred a drop into a warm cup of tea and sipped on it for a few seconds till the nausea dissolved and I was able to actually drink the warm concoction, I reached for a plate in the cabinet and put a couple of warm pastries the house had made for breakfast on it; another cup of tea ,which I had stirred some honey into, for Eris in my other and started my trek back to his room. 

I felt Rhys’s talons knock on my mental shield and I let him in with a tired “Good Morning.”

“Morning! How's he doing?” Rhys called back to me.

“Sore but awake.” I answered by showing him the imagery of the wound in my mind.

I felt his grimace as he replied back to me. “I’ll send Madja up in a bit then.”

“Thank you Rhys.” I motioned back to him.

I felt him slip from my mind with a “No problem sister.” 

As I neared the room I heard talking coming from inside of Eris’s room, the door was cracked and I could see Azriel glaring down at Eris before he cracked a smile and patted Eris’s shoulder. 

“Look I know we have had our disagreements Eris but I want to be a good male here, for my sisters sake not yours, you make her happy and as long as you are trying to be a good male for her and are going to step up and be a good male for the child you two made then I have no qualms with you. Deal?” He sighed and extended his hand out to Eris to shake.

Eris winced and met Azriel halfway, shaking his hand. “Deal. I plan to be your brother in law anyways.” 

I had to stop myself from choking on air, as I pushed the door open slowly acting like I hadn't just overheard their entire  conversation. “Alright I’m back and I brought croissants and a warmed honeyed tea with me.”

I turned to look at Azriel, faming my surprise to see him, he raised a brow ar me before nodding and moving to help me carry the plates. “Sorry, I was just coming to check how everything was going on in here, I sent some of my spies out to do a sweep of your court in case any other assassins or conspirators were in place.”

I perked up as he said that sitting the plate of croissants on Eris’s lap. “I can get you a list of those who have given me reason to believe they mean ill intents towards Eris or the Autumn Court in general.”

“That would be helpful.” Azriel nodded, “no rush though, I don’t wanna cause you or Eris any undue stress.”

“I’ll write it down here in a bit when we settle in for the day.” I handed the cup to Eris as he took a sip from it.

Azriel gave me a soft smile and a nod as he slipped from the room, the door clicking shut behind him. Eris nibbled at the pastry in his lap and I fixed myself up a spot in a padded chair at his bedside, making the list for my brother. Eventually Eris finished his breakfast and I sat the plate on his end table, he gently pulled me into his lap and tucked me into his uninjured side.

“We have lots to talk about Starlight.” He crooned at me. “Like what name ideas you've had so far for our little flame.”

I sighed softly nuzzling into his warmth. “I haven’t really thought about it, other things have been on my mind.”

“Like what Starlight?” He mused.

“Like what this means for us?” I chirped back at him, thinking of the earlier conversation I listened in on.

“And what do you want for us Starlight?” He inquired with a hint of amusement in his voice. 

I hummed back at him. “I'd like to be an us.”

He hummed back at me, mimicking my own. “And what kind of an us would you like to be?”

I smacked his shoulder softly. “. I dunno, something more than what we are right now? Something official? Married? Mates? I don't know, just something more.”

He snorted trying to play off his panic that he may have been planning the same thing. “A bit forward with the marriage part there huh Star-“ he paused and looked over at me quickly, his eyes wide and sparkling. “Wait. Did you say mates?”

I swallowed and nodded shallowly. “Yeah.”

His eyes sparkled brighter. “I was waiting for you to figure it out for yourself, when did you realize?”

I smiled at him adoringly. “I think I’ve always just known, honestly.”

He moved to cup my face in one of his hands. “I realized the night of the war that Beron died, when you were cleaning the blood off of me with such care.” He pulled me deep into a kiss and hummed. “I think I realized then because it showed how much you cared, you have always been the only person to ever care for me to such a  degree.”

I pressed my forehead to his,adjusting how I sat against him. “Then we have forever to look forward to.”

Eris groaned and tried to press another kiss to my lips but missed as I adjusted and his lips landed on my neck instead. “The second I can get out of this bed, we are accepting this bond.” 

I snorted and he pouted. “Any questions regarding what the healer said about the pregnancy?”

His eyes sparkled again like one of his hounds he favored when Eris would throw them a scarp at the dining table. “How far along are you then, love?”

“Probably about 2 and a half months, if my assumption of the conception date being the night you became High Lord.” I reasoned.

He raised a brow at me, his hand moving from my hip to rest on my stomach. “And why do you assume that night, we have slept together plenty of times.” 

I placed my hand on top of his and watched as his eyes dropped to our combined hands. “I assumed that originally because I started getting sick shortly after that, and my second assumption was the added hormonal boost of all that extra magic in the air. But! Now you have just backed up my assumption without even knowing it.”

“How?” He challenged.

“If it was also the night you realized I was your mate then your hormones and instincts were already heightened from the new magic in your veins and on the hormonal and instinctual boost from the mating bond and then boom!” I made a motion with my hands, “Your hormones and instincts were triple, maybe even quadruple what they were before.”

“Okay, yeah, that actually makes sense.” He mumbled.

Eventually Madja came back in later in the evening, she looked over Eris’s wounds and gave him the all clear as long as he took a few days of rest off. She said she would come by Autumn in a few weeks to connect with the healer there and to help monitor my pregnancy, she handed me a few extra vials of anti-nausea potions with a pat on my back and told me to take it easy myself since I had been stressed enough the day before to make up for several months. She applied a salve to Eris’s wound and placed a smaller bandage over it, since the risk of tearing it was less severe. I handed Azriel the list of possible conspirators and he took it with a nod, his spies would continue to investigate thoroughly since I was officially out of the spy commission. 

We returned to the Autumn Court where Eris held an emergency meeting for the entirety of the Forest House staff, he called me on stage with him and announced our mating bond, his intention to marry me, and the news of my pregnancy. As I looked over the crowd tucked nicely under Eris’s bad side to provide support I noticed several of my brother’s spies I had grown close to after working with them for so many years, it was bitter sweet seeing them there, knowing that after all these years they were here to watch over me the way I had watched over and trained all of  them with brother when we first joined Rhys’s inner court. Then Eris rolled his shoulders and cleared his voice, the atmosphere of the entire court changing with it. He growled out the names of the two traitors that had hired the hit man on him, two of my brother’s spies dragged them forward and they started begging and panicking as Eris told his court of their treachery.  Guards dragged them off to the dungeons and their own deaths were ordered by me as Eris gave me the opportunity to pick the punishment, I found it only fitting they be killed for their crimes as they tried to kill my mate. 

It was the first of many things Eris would have me decide for the court but we had other matters to handle first. We spent the rest of the week relaxing as the rest of his wound healed till all that was left was an angry red scar and by the end of the week the smallest bump had become visible along with the obvious scent change that let everyone know of my condition, it was barely noticeable but it was enough for Eris to be practically feral. When a craving for one of the Autumn Court’s signature desserts, a pumpkin bread loaf, hit me Eris had slaved away in the kitchens till he presented one he baked himself to me. The bond had been consummated,after everything had settled into place a week or two later we were married in front of his entire court and the rest of our friends and family; after our marriage ceremony he held a second ceremony making me his high lady.

Months passed by and my bump grew quickly, by the fourth month Madja had condemned me to general rest since she knew it would be impossible to keep me in bed but I was to be relaxing at all times, either laying down or sitting on either a bed or a padded couch. Between Madja and the male healer who I learned was named Nicoden’s constant checkups I learned they were mildly concerned with the speed in which the babe was growing, at first I argued with Madja it was probably due to wings from the Illyrian blood but she shot down my suggestion when she made the point Feyre wasn’t nearly as big with Nyx and he had wings. Eventually Nicoden made a suggestion about there being more than one babe, we had caught it too early to discern genders or numbers the first time I had seen him, he cited the fact Azriel and I were twins when Madja tried to disagree; it had come down to Nico and Madja putting money on it and both of them glaring at the other as they checked the babes, my answer came in the format of Madja digging into her pockets to smack a few notes into the males outstretched hand.

“Can we keep this between the three of us? I want to surprise Eris with the news.” I asked. 

They both agreed and Nico turned to me excitedly, “Do you want to know the gender of the babes yet?”

When I disagreed he got very smug, knowing something like that and being one of the only two to know.  “Anything I can do to help with the surprise?”

Madja kissed my forehead and helped me adjust how I was sitting so I could get a sip from a drink I had mixed my anti nausea medicine in. “Actually Nico, there is. Since I’m on rest could you run into the city for me and pick out a toy for each of the babes? Wrap them all in a box together and I’m sure he will catch the drift.” 

Nico was practically vibrating in his seat as he nodded excitedly, Madja congratulated me and dismissed herself to winnow home. Eris was in his last meeting of the day when Nicoden returned with the box and an eager smile on his face. 

‘Tell me how it goes.’ He mouthed.

I rolled my eyes and agreed, shooing him out of the room. I sat the box beside me on the padded chair and returned to my book while waiting for Eris to return to our room for the night.

It was about an hour later when my red-headed mate slinked into our room, exhaustion evident in his features. He had been swamped with meetings trying to get everything wrapped up with the investigations and getting the newly appointed ones adjusted to their roles before he would have to take a few weeks off with me when the babes arrived. 

He dragged himself over to me, kissing me softly. “Hello darling, I missed you.” he groaned as he sat on the sofa beside me and stretched out. 

“I have a surprise for you love.” I mused, closing my book and tossing it to the coffee table.”

“Oh? What’s that love?” He yawned.

“Here, open it, slowly now.” I handed him the delicate box.

He straightened how he was sitting, plopping the box into his lap and pulling two plush toys from the box: one a small fox and the other looked like one of his hounds. “Two toys? Is it for the babe?”

“Babes.” I corrected.

“Babes?” He asked, eyes wide.

“Babes.” I nodded.

“Babes!” He cheered

Tears welled in his eyes as he littered my face with kisses until he suddenly pulled back brows furrowed. “How did you get these? You didn't go into town did you?” 

I snorted at his protective nature. “No, I had Nicoden go and fetch them for me after we found out so I could surprise you.”

“Remind me to give him a bonus.” Eris growled out to me with a smile on his face as he pulled me into a sloppy kiss.

I took the toys from him and sat them softly back into the box, he pouted at me but cut himself off by yawning. “Alright Eris darling I do believe it is time for bed. We are all tired.” 

Eris stood motioning for me to wait and took  a few steps forward as he yawned, the fangs that grew when he became high lord flashing in the firelight. My eyes raked over his body as he began unbuttoning his dress shirt, tossing it in the basket the laundress would take in the morning. 

He looked over at me with a feline-like grin on his face. “Do you want to change into anything love?”

I nodded and watched as he kicked the heeled shoes he wore into their place beside the door. “Can I get my  black nightgown? The silk one?” 

He nodded and stepped into the walk-in closet coming back out with my gown over his shoulder, he had changed into loose silk pants that matched said gown and tossed his slacks into the basket. 

“This one right?” He held it up for me to see and when I nodded he sat it on the foot of the bed.

He walked over to me , helping me slowly stand and he escorted me to the bed; I held onto one of the four posters as he helped me out of my daily wear and into the silk sleeping gown. When we were both satisfied with the level of comfy we were at, he helped me into the bed and under our covers; he rounded the bed to crawl into his own side, though he was quick to curl up around me with his hand on my stomach and he was out like a light the second I dismissed the faelights. 

The rest of the pregnancy was rather uneventful, but when the babes decided to come several days early they made up for the lack of excitement. Eris had been in a meeting with Rhys, Azriel, Cassian, and the rest of the inner circle discussing heightening defenses for the babes ceremonies and the ball that would be hosted in their honor when they decided to come; while I was simply being helped up from my bed by Madja, who had made her home in the autumn court a week before the babes birth to be prepared for them, to go to the bathroom. I had stood and  only taken a couple of steps when my water had broken and Madja told me not to worry, summoning Nicoden who quickly prepared the room for the birth faster than I could blink. Madja had written to my mate and brothers, informing them of the upcoming labors and invited them to sit outside the room but due to the protective natures males got over their mates and spawn were not allowed inside till after everything was completed; Madja helped me into a birthing gown and into bed while Nico summoned the gaggle of top of the line healers he and Madja had picked, in total there was about 6 healers counting Madja and Nico in the room that evening.  It had been a rough labor due to tears and cuts from the wings on one of the babes; the smaller of the two ,a male, had a pair of wings equal to the size of his body and the talon of his wing had caught wrong on his way out and cut into me but thankfully my body healed it rather quickly. The blood made the labor seem worse than it was, after the first of the twins, a large wingless female, was out the rest was rather easy until the smaller twin’s wing caught. Madja was focused on me while Nico focused on the babes health, one nurse I remembered as Madja’s apprentice from Velaris was constantly monitoring my vitals, another was at my side dabbing my brow with a wet cloth, one was helping Nicoden with the babes and the final one was stood off to the side writing down whatever he was told too.  

Eventually both babes and myself had been cleared, Nico passed them both to me and they curled up right against my chest. Madja had all the nurses off to one side as she and Nico magiced the room clean, a talent I noted I would so have to learn soon.  Nico and Madja exchanged looks to each other before both nodded and Nicoden cracked the door open, stepping out to talk with my mate and family. When he came back in, Eris followed, peeking his head in, his eyes fell on me and the babes and I watched as they teared up; he took a few steps into the room softly shutting the door so it wouldn’t wake either sleeping babe and crawled onto the bed beside me. He sat very patiently beside me, his eyes sparkling with tears as he watched the two babes sleep and cling to their plush toys. The nurses, Nicoden, and Madja all dipped into the hall with my family to give us space. 

I nodded towards the babe on my left side where he sat”Your daughter, hold her Eris.” 

“My… daughter?” His voice cracked and I watched the tears start rolling down his face.

“Yep, she was the first born.” He looked up at me, the complete adoration in his features was the biggest indication of how he was feeling. 

“Oh! The mother has blessed us.” He mumbled and sniffled, looking back down at her.

He rocked her gently and she opened her eyes, his bright golden ambers, she cooed and giggled up at him. “Well hello there.” He cooed right back at her, booping her little nose with his finger.

She grasped onto his finger and he looked up at me and looked like he was about to burst at the seams with tears. “Ohhhh Eris!” I mused at them softly.

“Seraphina? For her name?” He asked with a whimper.

“I like it, Seraphina she is then.” I smiled at him, he leaned in to give me a kiss. 

“What about your son Eris? Would you like to hold him too?” I asked softly, and he nodded swiftly.

He placed Seraphina back into my arms and took the tiny male from my arms, he fit perfectly in the palm of Eris’s hand and when Eris realized how small he was he broke into tears.

“He’s so tiny, love… He fits in my hand.”I could see the tears run down his cheeks as he held the tiny winged male close. 

“Eris, love, its okay.  Nothings wrong with him.” I cooed to him.

“He’s just so tiny… What if I hurt him?” he mumbled and sniffled.

“You would never Eris, I know that. You are a gentle and patient male, you can do this.” I mused, extending my free hand to his cheek.

He looked up at me, eyes sparkling with tears. “You name him, I named her.” 

I hummed considering a few options before I finally spoke. “Orius?” It's the name of one of the stars above Velaris.” 

He nodded softly “Orius and Seraphina, our babes, by the mother.” 

He held Orius close and sobbed, fully sobbed. “Eris love, what's wrong?”

“What if I can’t do this? What if I turn out just as bad as Beron? I can't do that to them, look at how precious they are!” His voice cracked as he confided in me.

“Eris,” I called to him softly, my voice barely above a whisper in the intimate setting. “ What did I say about your fear of becoming Beron?”

He hiccuped as he tried to suck in a breath. “That my fear of becoming Beron, is what will keep me from becoming Beron and will help me become a better father than he was?”

I smiled at him and yawned softly. “Exactly, I know you Eris Vanserra and I know you will be the best you can be for me and for them now too.”

I pulled him into a kiss and he managed to pull himself together just enough to thank me. “Think you can handle your family or are you too exhausted?” 

“I can handle them, if I get too tired I’ll just fall asleep with them here.  They can’t blame me.” I joked and he snorted.

He waved his hand towards the door and snapped, it swung open softly on its hinges and I watched as everyone realized they were invited in. Azriel was the first through the door and the first to my side, the rest of the circle lounged in various seats around the room. Nyx had gone with Madja and Nico so his mother and father could meet the newest editions, but he was still a babe himself so he simply slept in the older female's arms while they made their way back to Nicoden’s office. 

I passed off Seraphina to Azriel, his eyes welling up as he looked her over. She was bright eyed and curious, cooing away at him.

“Meet your niece Az.” I yawned and Eris moved up the bed to sit against the propped up pillows with me. 

“Well hello there mam.” Azriel whispered at the small female who shook her little fist at him.

I yawned and nuzzled into Eris, I fell asleep rather quickly exhausted from the birth but now comfortable enough with my family around to relax. Everything was going to be okay, I had Eris and we had our Seraphina and Orius. Eris’s spiced cinnamon scent was like a lullaby as I drifted off into dreamland imagining what our future would look like from here on out. No matter what the pros and cons ended up being, I was happy they resolved the way they did, everyone together celebrating.

Taglist: @minaethrym, @melsunshine

[murdockparker]

Roses and Regrets - Part 1

Anthony Bridgerton x Reader

Summary: Freshly out of mourning, Lady Barlow, née (Y/L/N), makes her re-debut in society. If only she could simply ignore a certain viscount...

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: none. enemies to lovers!!

A/N: I didn't expect this lil requested fic to turn into such an event, let alone a multi-part story! so, you're welcome or I'm sorry?

next part

__

She was perfectly happy. 

Well, supposedly right now she wasn’t. 

Her husband, Lord Barlow, had passed away ten months ago, leaving her with an empty estate, a shiny title and more money than she knew what to do with. Lord Barlow was an old viscount, desperate for an heir and willing to do anything to get one. 

In came Miss (Y/N) (Y/L/N).

Young, beautiful and well-bred, she was the perfect choice for any man of the ton. If only her father hadn’t a penchant for gambling. Perhaps she’d be married to a man more suited for her rather than the oaf of a dustbin she was forced to be with. She was no fool in believing in a love match for herself, rare and far between as they were, no, but she did have half a mind to imagine a kinder man as her husband. A man who perhaps cared even a little bit for her wellbeing. 

No matter. 

A dead man cannot care for her wellbeing either. 

“Lady Barlow,” a maid knocked, entering the ornate drawing room.

“Yes?” (Y/N) did not look up from her reading—the newest edition of Whistledown had just been delivered. While she herself was never one to gossip terribly, it was quite fun to keep up with the circus of the season. 

“Do you plan on attending the Danbury ball this eve?”

“I do not see the point,” she scoffed playfully, “after all, Meg, I am but a widow in mourning.”

“Perhaps her ladyship should reconsider?” Meg asked gently, placing a new pot of tea next to her lady. “I rather think it has been a socially acceptable amount of time since your husband’s passing.”

“If I am not to enjoy the perks of being a widow,” (Y/N) sighed, finally looking up at her favorite lady’s maid, “whatever is the point?”

“Perks that Viscount Barlow has graciously allowed you to use during your time of mourning—”

“The current viscount is all but twelve,” (Y/N) reminded. “He has no use for this estate in Mayfair until he himself becomes an adult, in which, I am sure he and his mother will come to make use of it. I believe if my maths are correct, that leaves me all of six years or so to use this home.”

“Forgive me my lady, but should you not be looking for a new husband, then?”

(Y/N) smiled at Meg. She enjoyed their friendship, her maid being only a handful of years older than herself, it made for a likely pair. “No one wishes to marry a widow,” she said simply, “widows are damaged goods. Every sensible man of the ton will be wanting a pretty little virgin instead.”

“My lady!”

“What?” She barked a laugh. “You know it to be true.”

“Regardless,” Meg said, clearing her throat. “Lord Barlow passed nearly a year ago, the period of mourning is rightfully over. You are expected to rejoin society.”

“Dreadful.”

“It is expected,” Meg repeated.

“It does not make it any less dreadful,” (Y/N) said. “Very well. Pull a dress and prepare a bath, it seems the ton gets to see my dreary face once again.”

—

Anthony Bridgerton was a man scorned. 

Particularly by his own mother in this very instance. How foolish he had been to share his intentions of marriage this season with her—for now she spread the news like a wildfire. Every desperate mama and her equally desperate daughter came flocking to him like bees to honey. 

It was only now, in the dark corner of the ballroom, that he found a respite.

“Looking a bit green, Lord Bridgerton,” a voice beside him called out. 

“I am not—” Anthony had huffed a reply before even knowing whom he was speaking to. “Lady Barlow.”

“I am shocked you can recall my name,” (Y/N) laughed over her champagne flute. “Considering how many new ones you’ve had thrown at you this eve.”

“You are out of mourning.”

“Is that a question?”

“It was an observation,” Anthony corrected.

“What gave it away? My bright dress? No tear stains left on my cheeks?”

“You are here, out and about,” Anthony said. “And, forgive me for not playing along with your delusions, but I do not think you cried much at all for Lord Barlow’s passing.”

“How dare you assume such a thing,” (Y/N) faux gasped. She had intended on pressing a hand to her chest. Intended, anyway. Somehow she forgot all about the champagne currently residing it her grasp. “Damn… this was a new dress too.”

“Good God,” he laughed. “First you are spilling all over yourself like a child and now you are cursing—tell me, do all married ladies act like you?”

“I am a widow,” (Y/N) had found a cloth and begun dabbing up the spill. It had only dribbled at most, but still, it was a new dress. “I rather think I can act the way I please.”

“Like a drunkard?”

“Like a free woman,” she said, fighting every childish urge to stick her tongue out at the viscount. “I am only here to show my face, prove I am still alive and I shall go about my merry way.”

“Lady Danbury is a widow,” Anthony noted. “Yet she still mingles with society.”

“I am not Lady Danbury.”

“You are not.”

“Do you not have young misses to go and woo?” (Y/N)’s eyes hardened. “Take your pick from the litter, Lord Bridgerton, any of them would be pleased to spend such valuable time with you.”

“Are you insinuating you are not?”

“I rather thought it was a statement, yes,” (Y/N) said.

Anthony’s eyes went only a fraction wider, nostrils flaring. “Well, if that is what you wish—”

“It is not a mean of wishing,” she laughed, “but really a necessity.”

“Good evening, Lady Barlow,” Anthony sneered, smoke practically coming out of his ears. If (Y/N) had half a mind she’d call for the authorities to put that fire out, instead, she simply finished her drink and smiled wistfully at the dancing ballroom, feeling fulfilled. 

—

Dearest Gentle Reader,

The season is in full swing thanks to the mark of Lady Agatha Danbury’s ball, a notable and traditional first event of the London scene. Eligible young ladies now on the Marriage Mart were enjoying their first taste at what fine society has to offer, however taxing or daunting it may be. 

Our resident Capital ‘R’ Rake, Viscount Anthony Bridgerton is finally deciding on a wife, surely making him the finest catch of the season. Matchmaking mamas and their young ladies alike were seen flocking to him like petulant children asking their parents for pin money, thanks to his own mother, Lady Bridgerton’s declaration of such an idea last night. The viscount seemingly had enough of the attention, taking like a wallflower and hiding away in the back of the ballroom near the end of the evening. 

His company? None other than Lady Barlow, evidently out of mourning as of last night. While the this Author is under good authority that the match between Lady Barlow and the late Lord Barlow was not a love match, given their fourty or fifty year age difference, it has taken the new dowager viscountess longer than most anticipated for her to get back into the season. A woman as young as Lady Barlow would be eager to find another husband to support her, but something tells me that she is quite enjoying her time as a widow and will not easily give that up. 

While this Author has very little idea of the actual nature of the relationship between Lord Bridgerton and Lady Barlow, it is only to be assumed that it is simply not a favorable one. The two were seen making a scene by the refreshment table, a scene that went unnoticed by many prying eyes of the ton, leaving Lord Bridgerton storming away and Lady Barlow with the winning hand. 

Good show, Lady Barlow. 

Lady Whistledown Society Papers

—

“Brother! You are in Whistledown!” Eloise sang to no one in particular. 

“I have no care that I am in that gossip rag,” Anthony ground out, rustling his newspaper. “I can only imagine it is just another advertisement of my search for a wife this season.”

“Er, yes, however—”

“However?” Anthony’s attention immediately shot up to his sister, newspaper be damned. 

“Who is Lady Barlow?” Eloise asked. 

“No one of importance,” Anthony could feel his temperature rising. 

“Lady Barlow?” Benedict laughed. “Is that who you were talking to last night dear Brother? Is she not still in mourning?”

“No.”

“No it is not who you were talking to, or no she is not still in mourning?” Benedict gave his brother an amusing glance.

“Oh, according to Whistledown—”

“Sister—”

“Eloise, you may not recall Lady Barlow, given you only just came out this season,” Benedict began, deciding that this conversation was very much worth his time this morning. “But she used to go by Miss (Y/L/N) before her marriage to the late viscount.”

“(Y/L/N)…” Eloise looked to the ceiling, finding nothing in particular. “Oh! Is she not the woman who—”

“I am taking my leave,” Anthony said abruptly, newspaper all but forgotten. 

“Escaping, Brother?” Benedict asked. 

“I have calls to make,” Anthony sneered, ignoring the pleased face his brother was making. “Excuse me.”

“It seems Lady Barlow is a touchy subject,” Eloise noted as her eldest brother left the drawing room. Benedict snorted. “What?”

“You do not even know the half of it, dear Sister.”

Anthony Bridgerton, did not in fact, have any calls to make. He had no impressionable interactions last night to warrant such a visit to anyone—the Queen was still in need of naming her diamond, after all—but he had no desire to stay and be berated by his family this morning. He truly had no plan, no thought in his head on where he was going, he just simply was. 

Apparently he was going to the park.

It was still early in the day, few people graced the park at such an hour. The few who did, however, were too busy reading the latest Whistledown to even notice him. Anthony saw a handful of post boys running opposite of his direction on his way here, it was only natural they scoped out this location. He knew it was going to be a problem the minute they finished reading—if Lady Whistledown truly wrote about him, which he had no reason to believe his sister was lying about, all eyes would be on him.

“Might as well enjoy the peace and quiet for now,” Anthony exhaled. He took a quick glance at his watch—half past eight. Hardly could he recall a time he took a turn about the park on his own, usually he was in the company of his family or holed away in his study worrying about expenses and the like, never did he take a moment to actually enjoy the grand weather such as the kind today. Determined to enjoy it, he sat down on a favorable bench and watched the birds swim across the pond.

“Unbelievable.”

He turned his head, only to find Lady Barlow dressed in a rather pleasantly pink dress and matching hat, a look of distaste on her face.

“I didn’t take you as the park-going type, Lord Bridgerton,” she nodded, folding her hands. She had been carrying a small red book in one of them. “Especially at such an early hour, too.”

“Lady Barlow,” he nearly sneered. “Can a man not enjoy the park?”

“Oh surely a man can,” (Y/N) agreed. “But you? You are no man.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“It seems to me that you’re sitting in my spot,” she ignored his quip, readjusting her stance in annoyance. “This is where I come to read.”

“Can you not read elsewhere?” Anthony asked. “There is an entire park at your disposal.”

“No,” she hummed. “Afraid not.”

“No?” He laughed. “Surely out of the entire park you can find a suitable spot to read your—let me guess—romantically inclined fodder?”

“Poetry,” she corrected, “and no, I cannot simply read elsewhere. The shade is just right under this tree and I rather like overlooking the pond between my chapters.”

“Shame I got here first, then,” Anthony clicked.

“You…!” (Y/N) scoffed, fighting every urge in her body to stomp her foot. “You are an impossible man, surely you know that?”

“I thought you said I was no man?” Anthony’s brow quirked. “Or perhaps I misheard?”

She scowled. “You are not amusing.”

“On the contrary,” Anthony leaned back on the bench, stretching his arms and taking his claim. “I find myself very amusing.”

A duck quacked from the pond, either laughing at the viscount or agreeing with him—it was hard to tell. 

“You leave me no choice,” (Y/N) said sternly, taking a seat on the other end of the bench—feeling worlds apart from the man on the far side. In actuality, it couldn’t have been more than two feet, three at most.

“Truly?” Anthony laughed humorlessly. “You cannot be serious.”

“Hush,” (Y/N) said, opening her book in earnest. “I am trying to read.”

While there had been no guns drawn, this was a duel, in every sense of the word. Both parties sitting still as statues, Anthony’s gaze trained on the pond, (Y/N)’s on her book. Occasionally, she’d flip her page to the next, huffing every time Anthony still did not get up and move on. 

Stubborn. Both of them.

“Will you be quiet?” Anthony said, growing exasperated. “I cannot think when you are breathing so loud—” 

“You wish for me not to breathe?” She shut her book. “I never anticipated you’d wish me dead—”

“Please,” Anthony said. “You know that is not what I mean at all.”

“I never know with you. You, Anthony Bridgerton, are an enigma and I hope I never have the pleasure of truly understanding you,” (Y/N) said, fingers whiting from her grip on her book.

“So you admit it would be pleasurable?”

She wanted to wipe that grin off of his face, how, she was unsure. Idly, she thought about how a good smack to his cheek would feel. Painful in the moment but oh-so wonderful after, cathartic, probably. “I am not getting up.”

“Neither am I.”

“I am willing to die on this bench,” (Y/N) spat.

“Funnily enough,” Anthony’s voice dropped, “so am I.”

“How are you to find your viscountess on this bench?” She asked, angling her body towards the torturous man. “Surely you do not expect her to just walk past?”

“I am sure I can manage,” Anthony said calmly. “Many young ladies will walk this way when they see me sitting here."

“Even with another woman sitting beside you?”

“I rather think they’ll find you easy to ignore, I know I do.”

“Ha! You are truly something else, Lord Bridgerton,” (Y/N) sat straighter. “Insulting a polite woman in public?”

“You are the furthest thing from polite,” Anthony leaned in. “Rude, ostentatious, quite full of herself—”

“Might I offer you a mirror?” The grip on her book tightened, cover bending from the force. “Or are you afraid you’ll see horns?”

“Oh, do they match yours?” He nearly sang. 

“Funny,” she clicked, finally setting her book down, lacing her fingers together in her lap. “You should run a comedy act at the circus, seeing as you are a right clown.”

Anthony stood up, whether by the force of his breath or sheer spite he will never know. “You are the most ridiculous woman I have ever met.”

(Y/N) met his height, now standing as well. “And you are the most irritating man I’ve ever had the displeasure of knowing.”

“I am going to walk this way,” Anthony said, forcefully pointing to his right, eyes not leaving hers. She did have the most remarkable eyes.

“And I will walk this way,” she pointed to her left, less force in her action but seething all the same. “Have the day you deserve, Lord Bridgerton.”

“Why you little…!”

She had already turned and stomped away, a fuming smudge of pink against the greenery of the park, growing further away with every step.

“What a wretched woman,” he mumbled, looking down at his watch again—nine on-the-dot. In the corner of his eye, something bright red caught his attention. Her book. She had left it behind.

Perhaps he would burn it.

Perhaps he would just put it in his pocket and carry about his day.

In the pocket it went. For now.

[satoruhour]

If you don’t mind (tho ofc you don’t have to write it if you don’t wish to), could we get a pt 2 of that priest geto fic? Where him and reader have been secretly fucking every damn where but especially in the church ever since that night, they both realise they have a thing for breeding kink so they don’t bother with protection either. Obv they have to hide what they’re doing and reader secretly gets away from her house at night to get dicked down frequently. and he knocks her up so they ultimately run away together ( or somewhere along those lines it’s totally up to you)

We missed you!! So good to have you back :D

DOMINE DIRIGE NOS !

wc: 7.8k (when will the horrors stop) / first part here ✶

warnings: DARK CONTENT, LORE, priest!geto, fem!reader, age gap (reader is in early 20s, geto in late 20s), christian references, religious themes used in inappropriate ways, questions of religion and life, brief mention of abortion, described scenes of f! and m! masturbation, face-sitting, fingering, clit stimulation, both f! and m! receiving oral, praise, mild degradation, sex in a religious place, semi-public sex (blowjob while geto is conducting mass oop), deep-throating, lots of unprotected p -> v sex, LOTS of creampie / breeding kink, multiple rounds, abandoning home, n*sfw under the cut

“father geto?” you curl deeper into geto’s back in the rectory, the uncomfortable mattress below you just reminding you of your upbringing in this suffocating town and the proximity of everyone. since that night, the two of you have been insatiable, using the House of the Lord for anything holy and instead are filled with violent moans and constant skin-slapping. even to you, the Church has started to look darker and darker, painted with the sin of Pandæmonium’s pillars, each time you enter it.

mass is all about locking eyes with the other, a game to see who falls first. sometimes you’d come in the shortest dress you can find, staring up at him from the second pew from under your eyelashes just like how you’d suck his cock. sometimes father geto would have his hair tied up, revealing his neck and jawline — the priest had not much to experiment with, but it took equal effect on you, anyway. clenched thighs, stuttered words, fluttering eyes.

father geto fortunately finds it easier to evade parishioners after doing his morning greetings to everyone; with another older priest who didn’t request the rectory, he could hide away to stroke at his cock all he wanted while the other took over the later masses. you, however, needed to reject the holy pastor ever so often to stop your mother from thinking vile of your absence.

it still was father geto, though, so whenever you mentioned his name after morning mass, she lit up like a switchboard, happily ushering you away to spend time because it was always encouraged to improve your faith.

— improving your faith in a non-existing god, perhaps.

“you don’t have to call me father when we’re alone, baby,” geto reassured, accommodating you when you turned around to meet him halfway.

“yeah?” you whisper, like someone could hear you. it was taboo, shameful even. the neighbourhood good girl with a deadbeat father coalescing with the newly transferred priest — it was the blasphemous, sent to be burnt at the pyre sort of sin. the rectory felt odd, your house felt odd; there was no place for people like the two of you, driven by lust and forbidden love and sin in the eyes of God, but what could people do when sin just felt so right?

you relish in the father’s gasp when you grind your butt against his crotch which are concealed behind his trousers, biting your lip with a smile when you catch his small grin at your mischief. you continue your ministrations, rolling your hips and bringing his hands to your chest. your clothing has become shorter and shorter ever since you convinced him of your little sin back in the confessional booth of skimpy tops and skirts. geto takes over, fingers slipping under your camisole to pull down your bra, fondling with your tits and playing with your nipples.

“sneaky little baby, hm?”

“s-suguru—” you whine, hips bucking and cunt already clenching. “need your cock, tongue, anything—”

“i’m getting there, doll, wait for me,” he pants, hurriedly unzipping his trousers. his erection is pulsing and throbbing by now, letting out a small sigh of relief when he finally pulls down his underwear, but you’re confused when you’re turned around and before you can reach to sit yourself on him—

“sit on my face first, darling,” he slyly smiles, beckoning you forward. here, father geto suguru looks anything like a pastor and if you close your eyes and listen, the repetitive tweets of the morning mass birds sound a little sweeter and the rushing water of the stream nearby remind you of a countryside house far away from your parents, your faith, your life. but forbidden has a time limit without the luxury of listening in, so you only settle for a pout when you hear the slick noises of him pumping his cock.

“you did say tongue,” he grins, “i don’t disobey scripture.”

“i’m not the Bible, suguru,” you jest with a small smile.

“you are scripture to me — anything you say and do, i’ll follow.”

and that’s the first time it’s truly cemented in you how much father geto was truly willing to throw away, but you hardly have any time to react before he easily settles one leg over and pulls you toward his mouth. it’s so violent, the way he loves you that there’s a small hmph that sounds from his throat when your sweet, wet pussy meets his mouth. after, it’s just endless groans as he laps at your clit while you fill the rectory with your sinful moans, grinding your hips into his mouth over and over while he just hums in agreement.

“that— that’s it, useme, useme—” it comes out slurred and slippery, just like your dripping cunt and his leaking cock, wet sounds that surround the both of you as geto’s tongue continue to assault your sensitive clit. he licks and sucks endlessly that you have no choice but to grab onto his hair for support and he does to same to both your thighs.

“father suguru—! hnfuck . .” you whimper out, looking down at him with hooded eyes while he meets you with the same intensity. below you are just streams and streams of your juices flooding his chin and hair; he just ever so lightly dips his tongue down to your needy cunt, plunging it in and your back arches involuntarily, “o-oh, god!”

geto laughs into your pussy, arm still clutching your thigh but the other goes back to his neglected dick, pumping it in time with his tongue as he swirls it around and you just clutch tighter and tighter. you definitely soaked through the sheets by now, but you follow his command, riding his face over and over until you feel that familiar feeling in your stomach.

“su— suguru, i’m g’nna . .” you moan out quietly, but your priest already knows what’s in store for him, abandoning his own ministrations entirely to please you as he pulls you all the way up to his face, positively cutting off his air supply in the process but he doesn’t care. he only suckles on your clit harder and with more pressure before switching to licking, abusing your puffy clit until you’re speechless and all that comes out of you are ah’s. “cumming, cumming— fuuckk . . !”

“cum on my tongue,” suguru manages to get out in between breaths, “give me all y’r cum, darling.”

those words are enough to send you over the edge, hitting your high with a soundless whine as your hips roll into his face and relentless torture, body continuing to convulse in his hold at the climax. if, before your continued praises sung God, now they were just full of father geto’s name, enunciated through the lips like a passionate blessing before mealtime. suguru, suguru, suguru, even Lucifer was ready to make ready his throne for the both of you.

“shit— sweet as always . .” father geto moans, slurping up all of your cum and making a mess, so much so that you’re giggling shyly at the lewd noises. you rest upon his heaving chest, noting wet patches that stain his black shirt — he came as well. “you treat me so good, don’t you, doll?”

your face twists, “i think i should be the one to say that, father geto.”

“don’t—”

“i like it. rolls off the tongue nicely,” you smirk, easily scooting downwards before settling your pulsing cunt onto his softening cock. but he knows you can get him up at any instance, just as you start grinding your clit along his shaft. the pleasure-filled moan he sounds out never gets old, echoed at the front of the Church of not, “father geto.”

all he shoots you is an unimpressed look, but he can’t keep his look up because the sight of you always inspires a thousand sermons and questions of morality.

“i like the dangerous aspect of it, father geto,” you reason with a sultry voice, grabbing his hardening dick and teasing his weeping tip along your folds. the both of you shiver. “it reminds me of how a holy man like you so easily fell for some pussy and got addicted to it.”

“pretty slut’s developing a dirty mouth,” he laughs, “carry on.”

“fucked a clueless, innocent girl in such a holy place,” you whined when his tip nudges past your pussy and into your gummy walls, spreading you open so deliciously.

“need my help?” you shake your head defiantly, sinking down slowly with calculated steps, gasps escaping your mouth as his cock continues to impale you inch by inch.

“and then claimed her right at the apse of the Church. on the altar, where bread is b-broken and wine is shared.” your eyebrows have knitted together from the pure stretch, descending down fully where you sit a little uncomfortably. no matter how many times you take him, he’s still big and full in you, needing a few moments to adjust as you wiggle your hips.

“can man prevent himself from chasing after his darkest desires?” father geto asks, bumping up his hips just a little and he grins at the little whine you let out.

“no, but God can,” you reason and yet you know you wouldn’t want anything to have changed between the two of you. you still would have wanted father geto’s downfall, you still would have wanted to see him stroking his cock behind the velvet curtains of the confession box.

you momentarily lock eyes with geto, drunk off the feeling of his length in you and the friction of your clit against his pelvis that you naturally gravitate towards him, feeling tired from all the grinding from earlier. he coos, receiving you without any judgement just like how a good priest should do and you feel most at home in his hug.

“what if my God is my darkest desire?” you barely make the connection before geto starts to thrust up into you, not too harshly but not too gently, either. you limp forward and just let him do the work, praising and worshipping you with every snap of his hips from below you.

“o-oh, baby, you’re so tight . .” suguru mumbles, littering kisses all over your neck and face while you struggle to keep yourself up, held up by your weak elbows as you try to meet his eyes. it’s the purple eyes you want to see as he fucks you dumb on his cock, full of lust and only on you as you drop all of your walls for him to enter. suguru tries his best, too, treating you as gently as he can out of the bedroom, which frankly isn’t much, but he tries. he brushes away your hair when it gets into your tongue during communion, he massages your knees in the rectory, he brings chocolate cake whenever he can.

he tries in the bedroom, too, but you are just too much for him. too much in the way that the devil’s whispers start to sound more and more like O Emmanuel and too much in the way he can feel the swell of his heart when even your name is mentioned. father geto doesn’t want to name it love, because in his position it will simply come off as manipulation, deceit.

father geto needs to know you are willing, too.

“father g-geto,” you whine, hands upon his face and sweat lining your brow, “faster, p-please—”

he chokes out a moan, “o-of course, sweetheart.”

you just feel so damn good, clenching so tightly around him that he cannot stop rutting his pelvis into you. he can feel the ripple of your ass with each thrust, the snugly fit tip hitting your g-spot ever so often to pull out the most beautiful moans from you. you’re both so wet and sloppy that you both can hear it — the squelching of your cunt paired with the pre-cum of his cock, mixing at your connected bodies in noisy pap! pap! pap!’s.

“s-suguruuu . . pleasepleaseplease.”

“whaddaya want, baby? words,” geto slurs as well, hips never stilling but now grinding in circles. his glutes and thighs burn but he won’t stop until you tell him what you want.

“i w-want your cum, inside me,” you mewl out like it’s a secret, like he hasn’t been cumming inside you for the past multiple times that you meet, “w-want you to breed me.”

suguru chuckles like it’s a dangerous bet, like he hasn’t emptied his balls deep in your pussy before, “you’re still on the pills, right, baby?”

ah . . the pills, that’s what you wanted to ask him to get more of at the beginning.

you nod hurriedly, “yes— i am, f-fuck—!”

“oh . . my darling’s close,” father geto grunts out, angling his hips so his cock reaches deeper in you, arms trapping you in an eternal embrace like Eve and the devil’s Serpent. you give him lazy, intoxicated kisses, sucking at the skin until there’s bound to be purple and he does the same to yours, albeit lighter.

“y . . yeah, i’m yours, suguru,” you whimper softly, voice breaking from the sheer pleasure once your hand sneaks in between to rub softly at your clit. you suck in a breath when both his cock and your hand find that sweet spot, moans suddenly overflowing into his neck with repeated “yes”’s and profanities until you cum with a cry of suguru’s name, juices spraying everywhere. it’s messy and filthy, your cum soaking his balls and staining the sheets.

“that’s it, thaaat’s it . . squirt all over my cock, baby,” geto continues to ram into your pussy as he praises, hips faltering in the slightest bit, “that’s a good girl.” it only makes you clamp down on his cock harder, making him hiss.

“i w-won’t last long, sweetheart—” he warns you but it’s not enough before he’s stilling in you, pupils blown wide as he shoots spurt upon spurt of hot cum into your cunt, filling you up to the brim as his cock twitches in you. you shiver at the feeling, breathing heavily in his arms as he continues to pump you full. slowly you recover but he stays plugged in, heading back to your position on elbows.

“she’s satisfied?”

you grin with a sigh, “very.”

“that’s all i ever want.” father geto smiles, gently bringing your head down for a gentle kiss on your lips. it turns heated soon enough, the gesture prompting your hips to move again on his very sensitive dick. but with the distant clack of shoe upon cobblestone that increases in volume, the both of you freeze.

“father geto?” it’s a boy’s voice, possibly one of the altar boys.

“what is it?”

the boy seemed to be relieved, as if stepping near the rectory was a sin in itself, “father nanami unfortunately can’t lead the night mass at eight tonight, will you be available?”

you shoot him a disappointed frown, but it is still his job after all. all he manages is a forehead peck.

“a-ah, yes, i am,” father geto thinks if it’s worth asking the next questions, “how many people usually show up to the night mass?”

“not too many, father geto, but it serves mostly the truckers and people in our town who have night shifts.”

you nod since you’ve never attended the night mass at all. father geto has conducted it; it was right on that fateful night where you had texted him about an unnamed confession.

“thank you, go in peace . .” geto shouts his reply and then looks at you with a small smile, speaking softly, “i have an idea.”

it’s only the afternoon when you make it back to your house for lunch before heading back out again like you planned with suguru earlier, following him from a safe distance until you’re out of earshot and sight of the congregation, even if no one was there. he kisses you gently in the sacristy, body pressed up against decades old of wooden cabinets and drawers. you have no idea what your priest has up his sleeve, so your eyes blindly follow his figure that brings out a toolbox proudly, taking out a hammer.

“don’t even know why the sacristy has a toolbox.”

“. . you’re insane,” your mouth drops open when he gives a hint of homily and sermon that you connect the dots, following him a little worried to the apse. there, stands the podium where he gives his readings and sermons, hands going straight for the board that’s nailed shut. turning the hammer around, using the claw at the back of it to remove the nails that hold it down, removing the nails of the lectern one by one with muscles bulking under his robes before it’s revealed.

“looks . .” he whistles lowly at the pristine condition of the wooden podium, “. . i forgot they gifted me a new podium when i transferred.”

“new priest privileges.” you nudge him in the side.

“i’m probably going to get transferred out soon, too,” he jokes with an arm around your waist, and in a perfect world, this would be the two of you looking at your newly built home in those terrible films. instead, you’re here, faced with temptation and sin.

“are you gonna be okay? we don’t have to do it if you don’t want to—” you cut him off with a hand to his crotch, sparing a glance towards the double doors. the church was small, yes, but there was still a good amount of people that attended it, even if the night mass garnered less.

“i’ll be okay, suguru. i’m wet just thinkin’ about it,” the other only hums at your revelation, bending down with you as you slot yourself into the dark place, pockets of light fighting to get in from the amateur job of the podium, “you better go prepare.”

“you’re a gem.” with a soft kiss to your forehead, father geto leaves just as the first parishioner shows up for mass: a whopping 43 minutes before the start of mass. you’re not surprised by the faith in this town, sometimes coming in to complete a rosary, do some extra prayers or partake in confession — but you realise you’re going to have to stay in this lectern for 43 minutes and more before he starts his homily. it’s a perfect fit, but trying not to rattle the box while adjusting yourself seemed to be the most difficult thing.

he had no helpers tonight, no altar boys, such a prime time to commit such a foul act in the eyes of God while he finishes up on the Gospel and you feel your fingertips tingling when he walks from the altar to the podium, dress shoes clicking against the wood of the floor of the rickety Church.

thank god the alb is huge and so is the podium, and thank god there aren’t any pews at the sides of the church. you know he spares some glances, too, so after a few moments of silence to reflect on the words of the Gospel, you’re lifting the alb right to where his boner was. you palm the area in wonder, at the clear sin of the act that you’re currently committing and this is all new to you apart from fucking when the place is empty.

“so big . .” it’s like he hears your whispers, cock twitching under your hold when you slowly remove it from his trousers, slotting his hardening dick through the boxers and zip hole without bringing too much attention. you trail your thumb over his tip that’s leaking pre, a difficult thing to see in such a dark place but you know it’s there when you kitten lick the mushroom tip.

you can hear a falter in his sermon, a stutter of words. leaning forward, you awkwardly switch onto your knees before wrapping your mouth around his length and it’s more clear now when you’re closer to the source of sound.

“. . ory of G-God, excuse me,” geto coughs as if he’s got something stuck in his throat, pulling at his chasuble that feels like choking him at the neck. your mouth continues its teasing, holding onto his thighs as you continue to suck on his fat cock. even now, you struggle to take it all in your mouth, pumping at the bottom while you bob your head. you can only pray that the broadcasted words of the sound system can cover up the obscene noises that your mouth makes.

“mmhh . . j—just, sorry,” the less-than-thirty church-goers don’t pay any mind when his hand snakes down from the top of the lectern toward you, offering his fingers and it’s like salvation after being stuck in there for God knows how long. you grasp at the hand, using your hand to stroke his shaft while you suck on his fingers. in a moment of bravery, you stick your head out as the other wills not to look down, but with a calculated glance to everyone that’s either asleep or zoning out, father geto rewards himself with one gaze while you switch from fingers to his cock.

“oh . .” he restricts himself before any pet name can escape, seeing your pliant mouth take all of him just like that first night but someone coughs and it snaps him out of the daydream, hand going back up.

“we should prioritise the Lord at every part of our day,” geto breathes heavily when he feels you deepthroat him, hands dripping the sides of the podium that you were sure the cheap wood would splinter under his grip. you focus on getting him in your mouth when he steps closer to you and you let out a small sound of surprise; he takes that small break to quickly bun up his hair, all wet from the sweat on his neck.

“mmf—!” there’s a small relief that leaves your priest’s mouth at having his tip hit the back of your throat, muttering a lot of uhm’s and repeated words. he wants to cum, and he wants to cum quick from how his hips thrust into your warm mouth, wanting to do away with conducting mass and to just be in your pliant pussy.

“. . a-and to make sure all our actions honour the Lord our Saviour,” his hips continue to move, continually buried up to the hilt in your mouth over and over as he fucks your mouth. you receive it willingly, hands taking action to play with his balls and that has his thighs tensing up. “and while you continue to live your life in praise—”

“f-fuck,” it’s whispered away from the microphone but you hear it, length twitching in response to your hands before you come off with to breathe. both hands stroke his cock while you suckle on the tip, driving him into insanity that he’s struggling to finish his sermon.

“you’ll be given the greatest graces in Heaven,” father geto shoots his cum down your throat and it’s so much, muscles pulled taut as he continues to buck his hips needily. you can feel him slump forward and out of breath while you continue to milk him and his words start to slur just a tad bit and while you clean him of his semen, you giggle to yourself under the podium as he gathers himself for another look down at you.

the final blow is how you stick out your tongue to show him the cum that’s left, a grin spreading that he just has to give you his hand again as you hold it gently, “—together in eternal life with God Almighty and Christ.”

“i hope i wasn’t too obvious on the lectern two weeks ago,” father geto laughs into your neck at your place, seemingly so long ago where he decided to step into your room and questioned your thesis on Paradise Lost. it felt like it was just last week he was bringing cake to your place, sitting in on dinner, walking with you around the town. now you sit in his lap in the living room of your house, unassuming because of the five day vacation that your parents decided to take. your mother stayed with your father for what, you never could figure out, but with the baby dropped off at the family across the street (your mother knew you’d be busy with university work) and them out to the next town, you did what every university student would do.

you sneaked priest geto in on sunday night, letting him take you on every surface he knew you’d spread your legs for him on, and now sat, freshly showered and the television turned down to a low, you could only hope this was what a life of matrimony could look like. all the dreams and fancy stories your mother tells you, you think you could twist this sick relationship and forbiddenness into something normal for at least five days if you convince yourself enough.

“you were stuttering on every sentence,” you mumble into his hair that starts to smell more and more like yours, arms encircled around his neck while he sits in a mere singlet. “you like my mouth too much.”

“ego te adoramus.” father geto hums quietly, pulling away from the embrace as he looks up at you and he sighs. if only he had found you sooner before starting his theology degree, before he could hear God’s call for him into priesthood. he would be happy being your childhood friend, anything.

“do you ever wish you weren’t a priest?”

geto swallows, brushing away the strands from your face and adjusts you on his lap, “sometimes.”

“my parents were open with my choice, as they always are, but they valued how much i liked to explore and try new things. they only said that i should choose this path carefully because they knew time is something that no one can get back,” he explains, hands stroking your sides carefully and you let yourself dream that you were just a normal couple, “some friends were weird about it, telling me i would miss having sex and whatnot, but i still value my relationship with God and the many things i’ve learned from my journey in the seminary.”

“but?”

“i didn’t expect to . . meet someone like you so soon,” suguru laughs when you shout a small hey!, feigning annoyance, “someone so bright, and loving and kind. someone that embodies what Jesus and the Church stands for, and something i’ve never seen in ages. unconditional compassion.”

“your praise is too heavy,” you swat away his hand, only attributing your disposition to your mother’s exemplary way of raising you, “is simple kindness that hard to see?”

“you shadow a lot of priests in conducting masses, baptising people, giving first communions, and you see a lot of personalities — some that are vile for people that regularly go to Church. it’s disheartening to see Christians who are clearly wrapped up in their privilege and pride and think they’re the most important religion to exist. you hear it in history books, through word of mouth.” geto looks just like a boy, frustrated with the world that he lives in that a scowl settles into his features and his hands ball fabric into tight fists.

you manage to relax him a little, running your thumbs over his face and hands; he twines his fingers with yours. “i thought that if i went in, i could at least try to reshape the community. bit by bit, open their minds about abortion, about the queer community, but it is proving hard when the first church you’re transferred to is a small town.” that gets a giggle out of you.

“you’re not wrong, suguru, for trying your hardest. it’s so admirable. i’m trying to unlearn things about the Church that my mom has taught me too, and it’s all interesting reads alongside my second year of uni. if you can change one mind, there’s the potential to change many others.”

geto lets you rest your forehead on his, closing his eyes to just feel you, “thank you.”

he’s not even sure when to tell you that he’s fallen in love, the hardest he’s ever done since in high school with his first love, or in university studying theology, and he’s not even sure it’s love. all he knows is that when he looks at you, a life until silver hair is all he can think about.

“you can do it,” you break the ice softly, placing a peck on his lips, “i believe in you.”

“i don’t think they would wanna believe a sex-crazed priest, darling, not when i wanna give you the life you deserve.”

you sigh, hiding your face, “i don’t think we can achieve that, suguru, not while you’re still married to the Church and i’m supposed to be celibate.”

“that’s out the window—” and he laughs when you slap him on the bicep, finding that you’d want him to laugh more. he does it sometimes when he gives sermons, recounting a specific story about his mother, or while baptising a baby. it’s pure like a young boy’s laughter, something to be protected, the way his eyes crinkle and lips stretch . .

“what if i break priesthood for you?”

what?

“no . .” you brows furrow, “don’t say stuff like that.”

“why not, my love?” you continue to shake your head, standing from your place on his lap and he’s confused — wouldn’t you want this?

“don’t call me that—” your safe space, your room is the only place all you can think in, and you escape to it before he can catch a thread of your clothing. father geto calling you that means he’s officially fallen, chained to the river Styx. the descent was fun, but you didn’t want to be the reason why he’d truly throw away all of his hard work, you didn’t want him to be shamed, nor did you want to be called out for being a temptress. self-serving while serving others — maybe that’s how Christians operated and you were the walking proof of it.

geto thinks he’s messed up big time and unsure of the reason why as he lets you stay in your room to cool down. he only sends out a text simply to check on you, but it takes you an hour before you’re ready; once he hears the click of your door, he’s heading up the stairs and pushing open the door gently.

just like that first night, he’s cautious when he enters your room as if touching your sacred place will have him reciting rosaries as penance, as an apology for staining your heart and your body. you stand.

“i don’t want you to leave everything behind just for me . .” you sound out, sniffling softly and the priest’s heart already shatters at the sound, “all your hard work, the years you did in the seminary and then just dumping it all just for a chance with a woman who you don’t even know whether will be suitable as your lover.”

geto’s expression softens in the dark room, only illuminated by fluorescent light from your bedside table lamp — “i won’t leave anything behind; all those years, all the studies, all of it mattered because somehow it still led me to you. if that isn’t God’s doing, i don’t know what else it was. my definition of Christianity has been entirely reimagined, entirely changed when i look at you, a person filled with nothing but pure lovingness and soft-heartedness and yet i still feel proud when you said you wished harm on your father because i know that Christ didn’t ask men to gouge their eyes out for nothing.”

he grabs your hands, stroking the back of your palms and stepping close to you as much as you will let him. suguru plants feather-like kisses onto skin before continuing, “i will always carry my Christianity with me, the shame, its history and if i fall, so be it. Lucifer had fallen many times after, crouching by Eve’s ear to whisper sin, turning into a serpent to give her the forbidden fruit, sentenced to rule Hell because he himself is Hell.”

“and are you dragging me down with you?”

“i have been dragged to the darkest pits of Hell from the moment i saw you, and if anything, while i worship God, i cannot ignore the olive branch that you hold out to me like a saving grace, like you ascend the same pedestal that the Trinity sits on.”

you swallow, eyes breaking contact and he’s quick to rectify that, both palms on your cheeks and your face is tilted upwards.

“our God will always be there for repentance if you wish so, but allow me to indulge in the blasphemy and filthiness and sacrilege of craving someone so desperately that my body burns from thinking about her and my knees want to strike the Earth whenever she’s around me.”

the sentence takes you aback before he’s leaning forward, but abruptly stops short— it’s rushed, can i kiss you?

“yes. yes, suguru—”

and he kisses you with the force of a thousand suns and the most detrimental winds of the pacific, arms going from your face right to your body as he wraps you in his love. geto deepens the kiss just as he always has, but the feelings that spark in you differ greatly from just mindless kissing during sex. it’s full of passion, full of possibly everything he’s kept bottled up as he walks you to your bed, yelping in surprise when the back of your knees hit the mattress.

“do you still have your pills, my love?”

your fingers bunch up the same sweater he wears on the first day, “i . . ran out . . a while ago.”

“i’m surprised those pills work even after i cum so much in you,” that really draws a hearty laugh from your stomach, “but whatever happens, i’ll be here.”

“the feeling’s just too good—” you giggle, squealing when father geto lifts you off the floor and puts you on the bed.

“if you test positive, and if you want to keep it or abort it, i’m okay,” geto hovers over you, looking at you with so much love you wonder how you miss it the many times you’ve been together, “i’ll support you in everything that you do.”

a peak of silver shines in the moonlight under his sweater and you realise this feels like the first time you lost control over your lust, the first time you touched yourself. like heeding a call, his crucifix falls from the safety of his sweater and almost hits you in the face if not for suguru pulling away in worry.

“was it just like this?” he teases with a small smirk, knees already nudging your legs apart, “you imagined me fucking you with this dangling in your face?” your face heats up at the mention, at the fact he still manages to remember that confession and you nod whilst biting your lip. 

“well, you get to live it now,” geto grins, leaning down to plant a kiss to your lips before having his way with you.

and have his way did he — you aren’t even sure what round you’re on at the moment, simply subjected to getting you face smushed into your pillow as he pounds into you from behind. geto grunts as he eases his cum-filled cock back into your sweet cunt, hands travelling everywhere over your sweaty back.

“are you okay, baby?”

you turn your head with arms still buried in the pillow, a cock drunk smile on your face, “splendid.”

“goin’ in— shiit . .” geto sinks into you easily, your mixed juices proving easy before getting himself right up to the hilt. his mouth hangs open in pleasure, pants leaving both your lips before he starts to thrust and the wetness is just straight-up obscene. with a wordless tug, father geto brings you close to him, wrapping an elbow around your neck while the other settles for your tummy, feeling the muscle that curls around you. he doesn’t trap you so tightly, simply holding your limp body up as his pelvis rams into you.

“your pussy’s just so good, darling,” he mutters into your neck as your head tilts back in ecstasy while your body trembles in geto’s hold.

“s’full, suguru . .” you whine, hands flailing for his toned arms that encircle your body while he thrusts, cum spilling from where you were connected onto your sheets. it was a blessing your parents were out because father geto doesn’t hold back with the way he fucks you, voice carrying throughout the house and permeating the walls that you hoped the neighbours wouldn’t hear.

going for multiple rounds meant the two of you were highly sensitive, jolting when his hand sneakily drew circles along your clit and matched his pace, while his length in you kept twitching and pulsing from the way your gummy walls wrap around him. “s-suguru — i need you, p-please—”

“i’m here, sweetheart,” geto chokes out, hand wrapping around the expense of your neck and turning your face, indulging himself in a sinful kiss that you return immediately. tongue and saliva is everywhere, hands and hips never slowing down when it comes to you and your sweet pussy. “i’m here, always, amie.”

“i’m gonna c— fuck— shit,” you tighten around his cock at the name, moaning into his mouth like a mantra, like a mystery that cannot be solved as he cums with a guttural groan into you and you shiver from the feeling of him filling you that you forget all about your own pleasure, body shaking with mini orgasms instead. “lay forward . .”

it’s softly spoken, and you obey, eyes fluttering close when he pulls out slowly and geto’s fixated on the drip of his cum that falls from your pussy. flipping you over instantly, he smears your juices together and all over your centre, smiling at how your legs close in on each other at the sensitivity. his tip’s filled with your cum, a messy painting of your repeated rounds.

“you’re the most stunning right here,” he breathes out as he rests on his calves, cock still hard. his hand trembles as he strokes himself, moaning softly at the warmth that he misses already and he’s brought to attention again when you whimper softly. you’re fingers play lazily with your folds, finger rubbing circles into your clit and all he can think about is pumping you full of his cum again when you look at him from under your eyelashes, with a subtle pout and the plea of the eye.

“fuck me again, father geto,” you mumble, “fuck me until i’m full of your cum.”

the priest only grunts lowly at that, trailing his angry tip along your pussy and collecting your juices before slipping in. the both of you gasp at the sensation, more of you when his hands close around your knees and push. he’s forcing your legs right up to your chest the same time he enters you, sending you deeper into desperation that you writhe on the bed.

“ohh . . tha’s a perfect pussy right there . .” suguru slurs, body pushed against your bent legs as his cross swings back and forth like an omen, like a crow watching your movements, “will you be mine, my darling?”

your voice comes out in high-pitched whines at his question, so intimate, so loving in such a dirty space. you can only manage nods when he starts to move, this new position allowing him to reach much, much deeper into you that you preen at the overwhelming feelings that bubble in your chest.

“yesyesyes! r-right there, suguru—” your back arches off your childhood bed, where you first prayed, where you first read the Bible, where you did your homework, where you first fingered yourself, all overthrown by the sheer blasphemy that geto suguru wished to indulge in, and you give it to him just like that, “f-fuck! love your cock in me, father!”

“o-oh . . you’re playing a dangerous game, c-calling me that, baby,” his eyes also struggle to stay open, committing your pleasure-filled face to memory as your jaw slacks and your eyes roll back. he can see your tits move with his rough thrusts as well, licking his lips while feeling you fuck him back, “are you close?”

“mhmm—” you’re humming, mumbling incoherent sentences at this point as your mind fogs at the neck-deep euphoria you were in. with the room that’s filled with sex to the nasty, sloppy noises of his balls hitting your ass, and soaking wetness that can be heard from a mile away, the both of you are lost to the claws of Hell. geto knows you’re close with the way your cunt tightens and your breathing escalates, using his thumb to rub at your clit and now you truly feel like you’re going insane.

“c-close . . haah—” your eyes try to stay open to look at the sight above you: messy-haired and body lined with sweat, the beautiful entity of abstinence and temptation all in one person. you fumble with his shoulders, wanting to pull him closer so you can admire him up close while he drives you to your high. the moment of vulnerability only spurs geto on, drawing out the brutal, carnal need he has for you.

“is that it? you wanted this?” he grunts out through gritted teeth, “you wanted me to fuck your pussy until it knows the shape of my cock?” the words muttered sends goosebumps throughout your body. you nod, “you wanted me to defile this pretty pussy so no one else can fuck you, isn’t that right?”

you whimper at the words as he pushes your legs further into your chest, “cum on my cock, darling.”

and you do. generous with it, you’re gushing all over his length as he continues fucking you through your overstimulation, thumb slowing its ministrations on your puffy clit as he chases his own climax. “taking my cock so well, so good like the good slut she is,” the other says through a small grin, hips stuttering when you give him a small yeah in return.

“another load for you, baby,” father geto groans out loudly before he switches to quick, fast thrusts into your warm, welcoming pussy before cumming with a whine, shooting thick ribbons of white deep into your womb. your moans are swallowed by geto as he continues to fill you to the brim, painting your insides and enjoying your slow, needy kisses.

“she’s had her fill,” you mumble softly, feeling sleepy while the other only hums in agreement. slowly, geto lets your legs down which only plop down on the bed, unsheathing himself from you and relishing in the way the cum dribbles out, glob after glob of cum leaving your pussy and onto the sheets, “are you okay, suguru?” he takes your shaky hand, interlocking your fingers with his as he scoots up to you, closer until he’s just over you.

“always better with you here.” you roll your eyes, tugging on the crucifix and pulling him into you where your lips collide, feeling him collapse by your side even as your mouths continue their movements. all you do is smother each other with hands, one through his sweaty locks and his grabbing your waist. you want to live through the feeling of his front against yours for eternity, deepening the kiss with your tongue and moaning softly when his fingers squeeze your ass secretly.

“you just stay here and i’ll clean you up,” with one last peck to your temple, father geto navigates your house like he lives there, getting a rag and wetting it before he cleans you up gently, fabric travelling along your skin like a kiss of hellfire as he massages your legs, your arms. there’s a multitude of things before the two of you succumb to slumber, going to the toilet, grabbing something to eat and then wallowing in some late night conversations (“do you think you find me in other universes?” / “i’ll find you in every one.”) until finally, you two settle in each other’s arms.

it’s like a still painting that would be studied by future literature students, scrutinised by art critics all over the world of a sacrilegious relationship that should not have place for love, that should not have place for purity, but the feeling of geto suguru’s arms from behind wound tightly and protectively around your physique feels like both the good and bad of the secular world. love and lust can coexist.

just as father geto worships, your luggage is quickly packed up a few weeks later alongside a pregnancy test that looks awfully reminiscent of the cross in the church. picture frames emptied, laptop and papers packed, a barren land of what used to be the place of a God-serving, holy girl — and even if knowledge caused her downfall, she was more than willing to own up to it. the room looked larger and drab with everything gone; you aren’t even sure how you fit everything into the luggage.

the fallen angels watch over your encounters with crinkles of the paper of your farewell letter, the squeaky floorboards, and the atmosphere of the night sounding like vacuum from its sheer silence as you snuck out of the house and into the stark night, hands clasped within each other’s while gravel below your feet reminded you of your situation. you weren’t sure if you were walking to salvation or away from it, but at least you knew Eden was by your side, with the lavender scent of your shared shampoo on both your heads and his saccharine words.

after walking for what felt like forever to avoid detection, geto waves excitedly to a car in the distance which seemed to house two men — one blonde that looks awfully like father nanami and the other, a white-haired man.

“i called up some friends,” suguru brings your connected hands to his lips and his tired eyes soften even further, pressing soft pecks along your fingers and face. your priest catches you in a sensual kiss, humming into it and mumbling sweet nothings that sound just like Lucifer in Eve’s ear, but you’re too enamoured with the sparks you leave on one another to notice the commencement of your coronation at Pandæmonium.

“we’ll be okay, amie. ego te amo ut dum stellae luceant.”

“Rise, then, to the thrones of Moloch and Paimon, of Belial and Beelzebub, of the infamous angel who challenged his Creator and clawed his way from the Stygian pool to Pandæmonium made of demon blood and soot-filled fingertips. Rise to Lucifer, and take your rightful place on the throne overflowing with hate and vice and villainy, and rule Hell just as how he would’ve wanted it.”

a/n: another insane piece .. pls dont look / tagging @mysugu @slttygeto @screampied @suguruplsr @na-t0 @peachsayshi

[jointherebellion215]

If It's True

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x female!reader

Summary: When an unexpected guest crashes your House's welcome feast for the Harkonnens, your life unknowingly becomes the start of a sad, sad song.

Word Count: 872

TW: Manipulation, Dark!Feyd-Rautha (so Regular Feyd-Rautha), she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, songfic

A/N: Hi, it's your friendly neighborhood shitposter. I'm taking a huge leap of faith with this fic, because I truly haven't written anything in YEARS. This idea has been bouncing around in my head for days, thus "the trilogy was born". This is meant to be Part One of a three part series, based on different songs from the musical Hadestown. I've obviously written this with very very dark interpretations of the songs and the themes. If enough people like it, I'll post parts two and three. Please let me know if it's any good, I'd love some feedback :)

AO3

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Dune properties, characters, or storylines-- nor do I own anything related to Hadestown. The images used in this are not my own, and any similarities to stories other than what I derive inspiration from are strictly coincidence.

What’s the use of his backbone

If he never stands upright?

“We welcome you to Kolhar, my lords Baron and na-Baron. Our House humbly offers our services and facilities to your use. I toast to our continued cooperation and to the strength of our Houses.”

As your father raised his cup, others of our House followed suit. The official welcome feast was well underway, though House Harkonnen had been planetside for at least a week already. The past few days had been for inspecting our mines and factories, ensuring that our production of their ships and swords were up to standard. 

Now? Pure pageantry. You found it a bit redundant, but it was necessary to ensure your good standing among the Houses of the Imperium. It was a grand occasion, in which the leaders of your father’s council were present, as well as the highest ranked mine workers. 

The doors to the large hall slam open, a familiar figure storming in. Your heart flutters at the sight of your beloved parting the crowds before him. The man who you had met by complete coincidence, one of the workers in a local steel mine, who you had spent the better part of a year meeting in secret—had crashed the court. You noticed a bruise growing on his cheek and blood trickling down his temple, indicating that his journey to enter through the doors was easier said than done. His voice soon bellowed throughout the hall. 

“My Lord Duke, I refuse to let your daughter’s hand be taken by the na-Baron. She cannot marry him.” 

The crowd gasps, as do you. You had spent the past week showing the na-Baron Feyd-Rautha around the grounds, the training of your most fierce warriors, and the best of your planet’s culture. You had shared a laugh or two and shown your prowess as a leader. Yes, you’d spent quite a bit of time with him, but marriage? This was news to you. 

You turn to your father, who gives you an apologetic grimace. Several Harkonnen guards step forward to seize the love of your life. You quickly stand to protest, but the na-Baron stops the guards in their track with a single snap of his fingers. He offers a hand to calm the crowd, an eerie stillness in his form.

“It is true, I have offered my hand to the Lady.”

I believe that with each other, 

we are stronger than we know.

“There must be a way around this. Even if this is in defiance of the court, they can’t punish all of us! We work their mines; they couldn’t truly function without us. We are the ones who truly hold the power! I implore you to stand with me, show them our strength!”

Your love stands strong, chin raised in the crowd, voice pleading with his brothers and sisters to stand beside him. He was convinced that this moment could provide a great revelation, that somehow your situation was different. That the consensus of a crowd could make the na-Baron stand down. Surely, your story could convince even the coldest of hearts that love can conquer all. He must have some sentimentality that resonates within him.

That's one of the main reasons why you fell in love with him. He's always so full of hope. Always willing to see the world as it could be, in spite of the way that it actually is.

But you knew better.

“This is treason.” Someone whispers in the room. Murmurs of assent soon follow, and your heart drops. The crowd around him quickly dissipates, as if the mere act of touching him promises death. 

And the ones who deal the cards

Are the ones who take the tricks

With their hands over their hearts

While we play the game they fix

You start to plead with your father to spare your lover. He doesn’t know any better, he wasn’t raised in the ways of politics or court. It’s purely out of his love and devotion to you, so please—

Feyd-Rautha stands up and the room is immediately devoid of sound. He cranes his neck to look at you.

“You love him?”

You swallow harshly, lifting your chin. “I do.” You went to your lover, making a bold statement in linking your fingers together. Presenting a united front. Hoping that somehow, your kind attitude the past week towards the na-Baron would allow this leniency.

A gleam flashes through his eyes, almost imperceptible. He gives a blackened smile, making show of placing his hand over his heart. Confusion fills you. He slithers down the steps towards the pair of you, boots echoing in the Feasting Hall, each step making your lover’s hand give a slight tremor. Your mind stands strong in its conviction, in the thought that you’ll have to fight for what you want. But a small tendril in the back of your mind gives the slightest hesitation. The smallest indication of hope. Maybe…

Piter leans towards his Baron, whispering concerns in his ears, but is quickly paused by the Baron’s hand. Vladimir gives a slow, menacing grin. He responds to his Mentat in a low voice,

“Don’t bother. You know that my nephew loves to play with his food.”

Is this how the world is?

[neptuneiris]

detachment (02/03)

did Aemond Targaryen truly loved you?

pairing: prince!aemond × niece!reader

summary: aemond not only breaks your heart after so many love promises, he also breaks his betrothal to you without any justification and announces his betrothal to a baratheon girl. now you will be married soon too.

word count: 7.9k

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hello beautiful people, finally here is the chapter you have been waiting for so long, im so happy, I hope you like it a lot❤ thank you very much for reading🥺

comments and reblogs are always appreciated, thank u, you are all awesome❣

—TWO MOONS AGO.

"I'm so sorry, my sweet girl."

"No, it's all right, mother. Do not worry."

"I know this is not what you wished for but—

"It is my wish."

You interrupt your mother with a small smile that she instantly knows is neither genuine nor convincing, to which she watches you for a few moments without saying anything, watching you intently.

She takes your hand and places the other on your right cheek to come closer and leave a sweet kiss on your left cheek that you allow to feel that love that only she transmits and comforts you.

She then pulls away from you a little without letting go and watches you with a small smile on her lips and a slight gleam in her beautiful lilac eyes.

"You know you have my full support, my love. And don't even think that I will leave you alone in all this," she assures you, "But I know you and you must not lie to me, Y/N."

You know that at this moment your gaze gives you away, as well as all the true feelings you are conveying but you still want to show your mother that you are willing to do your duty.

And it really is your relief that it is this person you are going to marry when it could have been worse.

"Mother, you must not worry about me."

"But of course I do," she tells you instantly, "You're my daughter and I love you."

"I love you too. But this marriage to Cregan Stark couldn't be better not only for me, but for the whole family," you remind her, "He is a respectful and honorable man. I know there will be much respect between us and eventually affection will be born. And we will have all the support of the North when the time comes for you to become queen."

She smiles softly again with that warmth and affection, gently stroking your cheek with her thumb, looking directly into your eyes with all that sincerity and love.

"But he's not the one you wish to marry, is he?"

So all those pent up feelings, they want to come out at that moment. And even more so because of the way she is talking to you and understands you completely.

"Even with all that your marriage to Cregan Stark offers…. it's not him."

You swallow hard and press your lips together, starting to feel the tears want to come out of your eyes, as well as all that feeling for everything that happened and thinking about everything that could have been.

You remember how a while ago everything was fine, how everything seemed fine, how you thought you knew certain things and knew certain people.

However, he broke your heart.

Worst of all, you never knew why. You really wanted to know what had happened, what had changed his mind and if you had done something wrong, but… nothing.

He left you totally in the dark with his reasons. He preferred you to suffer and forget everything as if nothing had happened from one day to the next to accept his sudden betrothal to Floris Baratheon.

And you truly wanted to understand at the time, feeling completely broken and shattered… but he never gave you an answer.

"It doesn't matter anymore, mother. He is betrothed and now so am I. I do not doubt that after my wedding with lord Stark, his with lady Baratheon will happen soon after. He made his decision moons ago and now so have I."

"Very well," she nods at you, "You learned quickly, my sweet girl. Just as I had to when I accepted my fate."

You smile.

"You mean my father?"

"Our story was in short times, always with a lot of duty involved and inconveniences. Until we could finally be together after that horrible night," she tells you softly, "But when you truly love a person, you can't help it and you just want to join your blood with them, no matter what."

You nod, lowering your gaze, understanding.

But really understanding.

You know that feeling and you know exactly who you used to feel that way with. You were even close to being able to bond forever. But now… you're about to do your duty without that person.

"Then, my sweet girl…" your mother says to you, getting your attention again, "I'll just make sure to arrive at King's Landing a day before the wedding, as you asked. Everything will be ready by the time we get there."

You smile softly in her direction, feeling very relieved at that and nod.

"Thank you, mother."

"Anything for you, my love."

After spending part of your afternoon with your mother, you head to another of the great rooms of the Dragonstone castle, where your brothers are practicing High Valyrian and your younger brothers are being cared for by the maids.

You immediately join in caring for your brothers, listening to Jace and Luke's Valyrian, correcting them on some pronunciations and helping them to formulate words correctly.

Then Rhaena enters the room as well to look after and keep little Joffrey company, letting you know that Baela has flown to Driftmark.

Normally as the night draws in, your mother and father also spend time in this Room, all together as a family, a time when Rhaenyra wishes she could freeze and stay all together like this forever.

And that's exactly what she thinks when she enters the Room and sees all her children, or almost all of them, together attending to different duties, with a little smile and loving look on her face.

Daemon is writing something on the large table, to which she turns to him, stroking her barely noticeable two-moon belly, with a new member to the family coming into the world soon, the prince or princess.

"What are you writing, my love?"

Daemon raises his gaze to her, with the seal of House Targaryen about to embed it in the letter.

"The word to Kings Landing with the news of Y/N's marriage to Lord Stark."

"Ah yes, I forgot to do that."

"And that's why I do it for you, ābrazȳrys."

Rhaenyra leaves a soft and loving kiss on her husband's head to continue on her way to her eldest sons, listening attentively to the High Valyrian, just like Y/N, ready to correct them.

Not long after, considering that the distance between Dragonstone and Kings Landing is not too much, the raven arrives at the Red Keep with the new and unexpected news, with Queen Alicent and her father Otto Hightower reading the message.

The Heir, Princess Rhaenyra returns to King's Landing in less than two moons with her prince consort Prince Daemon and her entire family to celebrate the wedding of Princess Y/N Velaryon to Lord Cregan Stark, Lord of Winterfell.

"This is vile and disgusting news."

"Father—

"With Lord Cregan Stark?" inquires Otto, "Do you know what this means, Alicent?"

"It can't be that bad, still Daeron's wedding to Lady Lannister adds soldiers and ships to us for Aegon's claim. So does Aemond's wedding to lady Baratheon."

"Rhaenyra will have the whole North on her side by the time the time comes and you know it. The whole fucking North fighting for her and her bastard daughter!" Otto exclaims in annoyance, "We can't let that wedding happen."

"Rhaenyra must already be getting everything ready at Dragonstone. And to try to stop her the wedding, she could easily marry Y/N to Lord Stark somewhere else," says the queen, "It will be useless."

"Call the Maester. Call the entire Council, immediately," Otto quickly orders one of his guards, annoyed and desperate.

The guard immediately complies with the Hand's order, so that very soon all the members enter and take their respective seats in the Council Chamber.

But not long after, Aegon and Aemond Targaryen also decide to burst into the room, Aemond mostly noticing that something is wrong and Aegon simply following, his grandsire surprised to see him in his five senses.

"What's the matter?" asks Aemond serious, approaching his mother.

But before his own mother can answer him, his grandsire does, only without answering him.

"Your wedding to Lady Baratheon will happen by the end of this month."

Aemond immediately observes his grandsire without any expression, hiding his surprise well, drawing the attention of everyone else in the room.

"We will send word to Storm's End's, Lady Floris should already be here by in less than five days and prepare everything immediately," Otto continues, "Not too soon after, we will send a raven to Oldtown and Prince Daeron's wedding to Lady Cerelle will also happen."

"May I ask, my Lord Hand, why so hurriedly?" asks lord Lannister.

"Yes, why?" inquires Aemond of his grandsire as well, with a tone of voice and a menacingly serious look.

But Otto Hightower deliberately ignores his grandson.

"Are you not pleased with the news, Lord Jason?" he inquires condecently, "After all, it is your daughter who is to marry a prince of the realm, my grandson."

"Not that I am complaining, my Lord, in fact I have been waiting to hear this news ever since we agreed to join our houses. But I was also hoping, just like my daughter, that the wedding would be relevant and not too attached to another wedding also of another prince of the realm. It certainly would not draw the attention of our people."

"This is not about getting people's attention, nor how attractive the union is, Lord Jason," Otto tells him seriously and clearly annoyed, "You should feel grateful that the union is going to happen, because I remind you that this is about Prince Aegon's claim to the Throne, or have you already forgotten?"

"I asked you a question and I'm not going to repeat myself," Aemond speaks again in his grandsire's direction, serious.

This immediately gets everyone's attention, but in the end it is Queen Alicent who responds in a soft, cautious voice.

"Y/N is going to be married."

This immediately gets Aemond's attention and also Aegon behind him, who was disinterested and even annoyed to hear his grandsire's words about his claim to the Iron Throne.

But this definitely gets his attention, he even watches his brother cautiously, waiting for his reaction, just like his mother.

However, Aemond keeps his usual neutral and at the same time serious face, hiding his true emotions very well, starting to feel how those true emotions run through his whole body and want to explode.

Otto watches him attentively, annoyed and serious, instantly knowing very well what he must be feeling. And that is what he, Otto Hightower, does not want.

"Yes, Aemond, with Cregan Stark, the Lord of Winterfell," he tells him seriously, "You too have already forgotten why you are marrying Lady Baratheon precisely?"

Aemond clenches his jaw, immediately this getting his attention and watching his grandsire with a deadly and threatening look, all this together with his posture showing that he is losing his patience.

And that everyone notices.

"Aemond," Alicent calls out to him, rising from his seat.

"When?"

Aemond's voice interrupts him, in the direction of his grandsire, his whole posture tense and his hands made into fists, his jaw clenched and his gaze like that of a dragon about to burn everything to the ground.

"I told you, by the end of this month your wedding—

"No, when will Y/N's wedding to Cregan Stark be."

He interrupts her in a firm, menacingly serious voice.

"It doesn't matter when it will be," Otto tells him in annoyance, raising his voice higher, drawing everyone's attention, demanding, "What matters right now is that these two weddings happen before the wedding of Rhaenyra's daughter to Lord Stark so as to invite all the great houses, even Cregan Stark and form alliances before Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon."

"In two moons, approximately."

Alicent replies to Aemond, noting how his anger grows more and more as his grandsire speaks, not giving him an answer.

"That's what they said on the raven they sent this afternoon from Dragonstone."

Aemond lowers his gaze, beginning to think about it, about how the wedding will take place here, at King's Landing, where he will have to be present and witness it all…to Y/N, his Y/N, getting married to Lord Cregan Stark.

Lord Cregan fucking Stark.

"I doubt we can do anything about it, my Lord," Jasper Wylde speaks, "The wedding is already a done deal, we will not succeed in convincing Lord Stark to change his allegiance."

"And this is a great advantage for Princess Rhaenyra and her claim," says Jason Lannister, " Her daughter, Princess Y/N and Lord Stark together is an excellent and convenient match."

At the words of some of the council members, Aemond can't help but feel downright sick, thinking of Y/N and Lord Stark.

As you should.

His own mind tells him, feeling the fire and anger coursing through his veins, unable to control himself, thinking about what is really going on here.

"We will do whatever it takes to still have as much support as possible. King Viserys will not last long and by now we would have to secure all possible alliances for when the time comes. If war falls upon us and if we pull this off… fighting Rhaenyra and her alliances won't be so hard."

"She will have the entire North fighting for her, my Lord."

One of the members tells him cautiously, thinking about the number of soldiers Princess Rhaenyra will have at her disposal, also all the people supporting her claim, that adding up to the whole Valley.

"That's why we need to be more clever," Otto Hightower insists, "My grandchildren's weddings will be paramount in this. We need to send a raven to Oldtown, now," he turns to the Maester, "I need Daeron here at King's Landing and your daughter as well, Lord Jason. After Aemond's wedding, he—

"No."

Aemond Targaryen completely interrupts his grandsire in front of the Queen and the entire Council, drawing everyone's attention, surprised by his boldness and deadly behavior in the direction of his grandsire, who also gives him a threatening look.

"You had plenty of time to plan my wedding with Lord Borros' daughter. It's not my fault that until now you are acting when your job as the Hand is to act since you knew the threats," he tells her seriously and completely firm with his words, "If you want a wedding, plan Daeron's, not mine. I will not be a part of your incompetence when I have already given you too much."

"You are forgetting your place, Aemond," Otto warns him in a careful tone and one in which he fully tells him that he does not want to contradict him now.

But Aemond has had enough.

"You are forgetting your place," he replies in kind.

"Aemond, that's enough," his mother calls to him instantly, letting out a long breath, "You don't want to get married now, that's fine. But don't forget that eventually you will have to," she reminds him earnestly, "After all, Lady Baratheon is still your betrothed and she along with Lord Borros expect the wedding to take place soon."

Again Aemond feels sick to his stomach as he listens to his mother's words, thinking of his betrothed, Lady Floris Baratheon. The very thought of marrying her makes him feel unhappy.

But it is the truth… she is still his betrothed and whether he wishes it or not, he will eventually have to marry her, because his family swore an oath with hers, not him, but his family.

And he has to live up to the weight of that oath.

"We should continue to discuss the marriage of Princess Y/N to Lord Stark, my Queen," says the Maester.

"There is nothing more to discuss, the chances are slim with Lord Stark and we will have to focus on bringing the marriage of my son and Lady Cerelle to the attention of the great houses."

Queen Alicent begins to lead the entire Council, as Otto Hightower continues to watch Aemond with daggers in his eyes, serious, furious and incredulous at his behavior.

He thought he already had everything under control, but Otto forgot that he is not a dragon and the blood of the dragon in anyone who possesses it, especially in Aemond, is chaotic and reckless.

"Congratulations, brother."

Aegon catches Aemond's eye, watching him over his shoulder as he gives him a friendly clap on the back, almost whispering his words.

"You said you hoped our sweet niece would soon outgrow you? Well, now she's marrying the lord of all Winterfell," he says with a small smile, "She's definitely outgrown you."

And with nothing more to say, Aegon leaves the Council Chamber, not interested in the matters of the realm, much less to plan a fucking wedding and have his grandsire take it upon himself to form alliances for his claim to the Throne, as if he cares about such a thing.

As Aemond stands still for a few seconds, watching him go, his words repeating over and over in his mind, anger again coursing through his body, fire, hatred.

He wishes he could prove his brother right, but the truth is that he is very wrong.

Unable to stand it any longer, he quickly heads out of the room as well, not wanting nor caring at all to discuss these matters, this room really displeasing him by bringing back bad memories.

And as soon as he faces the corridors of the Keep, again Aemond remains static for a few moments and his mind again thinking about things he really doesn't want to think about.

But he can't help it.

Like that time he also rushed out of this room, leaving the woman he loves behind, tearing her apart in the worst possible way and pretending not to care.

Even as one of the fiercest and most brutal knights of his time, Prince Aemond doesn't know where he found the courage and strength to break Y/N's heart… his Y/N.

He has always characterized himself as an honorable and respectful man, especially to Y/N, but what he did to her… was out of his nature and highly unpleasant.

And once he was in the safety of his chamber, the first thing he did was sit in one of his chairs near his fireplace, wanting to feel the fire, with the realization slowly starting to become clearer to him, realizing what he had done.

Aemond remembers the last time he cried, it was when he was a little boy in one of his episodes over his lost eye.

A terrible migraine kept him awake for a whole day, he couldn't even get out of bed and couldn't bear to see the light of day. His mother held him tight and was there for him all the time, not even leaving him alone for a second.

Alicent tried and ordered everything to make him feel better, but the Maesters couldn't do much and all he could do, all he learned to do since he was a little boy, was to have to endure the pain.

And since then, the first tear falls down his right cheek.

Aemond, upset, angry and disgusted with himself, cries. And he actually allows himself to cry as he remembers his Y/N's precious face completely shattered and red from her crying, her whole look confused and in need of explanations.

And he couldn't even give her that, an explanation.

And the worst part was that they already had it all. It was all said and done, they were going to be husband and wife finally, as they had asked for so much.

But he finally snatched away her illusion and simply left her without explanations. And that's what makes him lose control completely.

Furious, feeling like a coward, an idiot and annoyed with himself, he lets out a growl and starts breaking everything in his room, with despair and anger in his body.

He screams and blames himself for that weight on his shoulders, a weight that does not belong to him, a weight that he had nothing to do with from the beginning and a weight that he had to let go of the woman he loves when he almost had her because of his family's ambition.

That night the servants had to silently clean the room of Prince Aemond, who, unable to bear it any longer, went for a ride in Vhagar, wanting to forget everything and everyone.

And now, in the present, him in the middle of the hall with the thought of Y/N marrying Lord Stark soon… it's too much.

And he knows it's the same feeling she must have felt when he broke her heart.

He couldn't agree more that he deserves it, but he didn't want to let her go either. Nothing he did was really his choice, but that was the right decision.

And now…he still has to face the consequences of his own actions: Y/N's marriage to a man who will not be him.

"There you have it, my princess."

"Thank you, Emelly," you smile at one of your maids, who leaves you a tray with your almost every night tea so you can fall asleep, "You can rest now."

" You don't need anything else, princess?"

"No, I'm good, thank you. See you in the morrow."

"Of course, princess. Get some rest."

The maid leaves your room, who looking at you in your mirror you continue brushing your straight, silver hair, preparing for sleep.

You've already gone to your siblings' and Rhaena's rooms, especially the little ones', to wish them good night.

Your mother and father have also already come to speak with you and have your usual conversations of the night, where they talk about your wedding to Lord Cregan more than anything else, Daemon and Rhaenyra making sure nothing else haunts your mind.

They know that a wedding can cause too much stress, especially when you're marrying the one you didn't expect from the start, talking about duty and what's expected next from you and your husband.

Your older brother Jace had told you it's a stressful but very necessary conversation, considering the next wedding in the family will be his and Baela's.

You let out a long breath, leave your brush on your dressing table and head off to drink your tea, needing to sleep.

You take the cup from the tray in your hands when the napkin catches your attention. You frown and notice how there is something sticking out from under that napkin, hidden but wanting to be seen specifically by you.

You set the cup down on the table and pick up the napkin, curious and wary, realizing that it is the small envelope of a letter, definitely catching your attention more than before.

You analyze it and there is no indication of who the message might be from. So you decide to open it, finding a small sentence and an addressee that makes your heart jump in your chest and your lips parted.

Meet me at our place by the Hour of the Wolf. I need to explain everything to you, please. I will be waiting.

A.T.

Your pulse starts to race, your whole body starts to shake and you read the message over and over again, your system making you feel more emotions and feelings as you read who has sent this to you.

You think to yourself that this must be a joke or even perhaps some kind of trap, thinking that this can't be. But you know it's him.

It's his handwriting, you would recognize it on any piece of paper, as well as the signature he always uses in all his messages, short and subtle.

Now you understand why so much mystery. But you honestly don't understand how he could have gotten his message to you. It's practically impossible.

Unless he hired or paid irrelevant people, because Emelly is extremely loyal to you and would not have done this considering your history with your uncle, as well as anyone else knows it.

Your uncle who right now must be waiting for you.

Your mind tells you as you look at his message in front of you, surprised with your parted lips, with a feeling starting to invade your chest that you don't know exactly what it is but… it causes you some emotion.

And you can't. You truly can't do this.

You remember everything that happened, what he did to you, what his grandsire did to you too, and how broken you felt, how he broke your heart and left you without explanation, only to become betrothed to Floris Baratheon.

You swallow hard, walking to your huge windows, looking out at the night outside and barely lit by the fire torches that light a little of the roads around Dragonstone, looking out beyond the sea, in the direction where that island is and where you and Aemond used to meet.

You press your lips together, feeling a sharp pain in your chest, as well as that uncertainty and beginning to take into consideration what he has written to you on that little piece of paper.

But again… you can't.

You are both betrothed. You are betrothed to Lord Cregan Stark, you will marry him soon and then… probably he will marry Lady Floris Baratheon as well.

You know you shouldn't even consider it, you know you shouldn't feel that curiosity and longing, because he doesn't deserve it.

That's why you make your decision just as he made his moons ago.

Even though you admit that it hurts and even costs you, you still think of yourself, because he doesn't deserve you to feel this way about him, not after all the damage caused.

You don't know what Aemond really thinks, but it certainly isn't entirely wise to ask you to meet in the hour of the Wolf as if nothing had happened.

And what a coincidence that he does this just when your wedding is in a few more weeks.

You stare out over the sea for a few more moments, thinking, but having already made up your mind. You let out a long breath and without hesitation, you head to your fireplace and throw his message into the fire.

Then you head back to your table to drink your tea and drink it all down so you can finally sleep and forget this ever happened.

While on the small island in Blackwater Bay, Aemond Targaryen keeps Vhagar close by, watching as he sits on a huge rock on the sand of the beach towards the direction of Dragonstone, waiting for you.

He doesn't really find much to entertain himself with, beginning to feel anxious with each passing minute and still not seeing any dragons approaching in the night sky, getting up and pacing back and forth, letting out long breaths and trying to calm himself.

He would be a fool not to have thought that maybe you would ignore him and not even in your greatest madness, the other side of the Targaryen coin, would you agree to meet him after all that happened.

Of course he had thought about it. But he still decided to risk it.

But the minutes pass and pass, with Aemond waiting for you, disappointment and reality coming at him like a strong wave every moment he is still there alone on the island.

He feels frustration beginning to course through his body, also anger but not for you, but for himself.

He thinks of your soon marriage to him, Lord Stark and feels more despair coursing through him, not even bearing the thought.

He asks the Seven to you please show up, really wanting to explain himself.

But he knows it is too late. He was never going to get this chance, because he really hurt you too much and he knows it, he knows it and he has the memory more vivid than ever.

But even though he knew it, he can't help but be disappointed as he continues to wait for a dragon in the night sky that never came.

—PRESENT

The days go by too fast after the conversation with your mother and after so many preparations and requests for the wedding.

When the wedding day finally arrives.

Your mother overlooks her pregnancy, considering she is barely four moons pregnant, to ride Syrax and take her with her to King's Landing while you ride Silverwing so you both arrive in the capital a day before the wedding, as you wished.

You try to suppress all feelings along with the nerves of returning to the Red Keep, where there are many buried memories and people from the past. However, you are here for your wedding.

You know that this visit is brief just to get the wedding over with and nothing more, then your family will return to Dragonstone or probably your mother will decide to stay again to take care of your grandsire, while you will go to Winterfell.

You really want to know the North. It was one of the few conversations you had with Lord Stark and he agreed, as well as both of you being present at Court after spending married moons.

And you really have no intention of anything else happening and just let it happen as it should. And just before the sun sets, you and your mother arrive at King's Landing.

You meet your father, your brothers, sisters, also your grandmother Rhaenys and your grandsire Corlys, even also Queen Alicent welcomes you both back and also gives you her congratulations for your wedding.

If you didn't know her, you wouldn't know that her smile is fake. Clearly Alicent didn't want you to marry her son but neither did she want you to marry a person as influential as Lord Stark. But honestly you don't care.

She is the one who directs you and your mother to the king's chambers, to whom your mother wishes to speak and also in case she wants to dedicate a few words to you for your wedding.

On your way back to your room you meet your aunt, sweet Helaena, who welcomes your mother with a charming look and smile, also you, congratulating you on your wedding.

Fortunately you don't meet any other relevant people, just as you didn't see him or his betrothed anywhere, which you are thankful for.

Because the sooner this could happen, without distractions and unexpected inconveniences, the better.

The only thing you remember about that night when you arrived at King's Landing is that you had to drink a large and considerable amount of your tea in order to sleep, not being able to fall asleep because you were thinking about tomorrow.

And honestly also for thinking a little about him.

You were afraid that he would suddenly enter your chamber through the secret door, because surely he hasn't forgotten his request to meet you on the island to explain everything and you never showed up, but fortunately that didn't happen.

And when you least expect it, you are already at the celebration feast with all the guests present, you looking like a bride, waiting for your betrothed, everything going according to your mother's plan.

The common thing in a wedding is to get married at the Septon and then move on to the feast, but in this case, your mother chose the other way around, just like her wedding to your father, Sr. Laenor.

You learned that Alicent had questioned this, but your mother didn't care much, just reminded her that this was how her wedding had once been and that this way, you would feel less overwhelmed, knowing you perfectly well.

When it all begins.

They have already announced the king, also all your family, only the Hightower-Targaryen and also your betrothed are missing.

Your grandsire is seated at the large table next to his wife on the right side, while your mother is seated on his left side, followed by your place and then your betrothed's place. Your father takes a seat at the head of the table on the left side along with your brothers and sisters.

All the lord's and lady's present are spread throughout the Throne Room, as the food will soon be served and the musicians are already in position to begin at any moment.

Your mother at your side holds your hand to give you her support and her soft, sweet smiles in your direction to help with your nerves. Although she also makes sure that your entire appearance is intact.

It was always Rhaenyra's wish that her daughter, her first daughter, would have a wedding like hers was.

She would also prefer a Valyrian wedding, in fact that was her illusion when the king gave his blessing for the wedding between Y/N and Aemond.

But now, things are different and considering that Lord Stark is not Targaryen, clearly, a Westerosi wedding was the best option. And you did not complain at all.

In fact, it filled you with excitement and affection that when your father and grandfather saw you entering the Room, with your appearance for the occasion, they instantly told you that you wore them many years ago, when they were also in this same place and your mother married your father, Laenor.

A white dress with shoulder-length sleeves draws attention with golden details and some chains adorn around your waist with dragon figures.

Your hair falls in elegant waves, reaching above your waist, with some very subtle braids adorning the top of your head.

Your mother wanted some golden pins to be placed between your hair, also jewelry such as gold necklaces, rings and bracelets, to look more and properly like a Targaryen princess.

When at that moment, they announce the missing people at the big table. The people or rather the person you most expected and never wanted to arrive at the same time.

"Prince Aegon Targaryen, first born son of King Viserys Targaryen with his lady wife, Princess Helaena Targaryen."

The doors directly in front of you allow you to see the entrance of your uncle and sweet aunt who together make their way over to you to take a seat beside Queen Alicent.

Aegon's appearance is appropriate, however, due to all the rumors that keep spreading to Dragonstone, his condition is far from the best for a prince of the realm. His tired face with large bags under his eyes and his clear boredom and disinterest in being here is clear.

However, after all he seems to be willing to drink wine and enjoy himself.

But your sweet aunt by his side completely overshadows him once the view is on her and her beautiful sky blue dress with light silver tones and all her bright and sweet look that characterizes her so much.

When they announce the next people and you try not to make a big deal of it once Aegon and Helaena take their seats.

"Prince Aemond Targaryen, second son of King Viserys and Prince Daeron Targaryen, the third and final son of the king."

So both of them, he, now enter the Throne Room and you avoid looking too much, as well as feeling too much.

You try to distract yourself with the fact that you hadn't seen Daeron in a very long time, nor had anyone else, not even your mother or father. You thought he would still be in Oldtown because he wasn't even here for Helaena and Aegon's wedding.

Maybe he really wanted to fly here, but he was not allowed to, maybe because of his age, knowing that Queen Alicent does not like dragons and is very overprotective in that aspect.

But now that you are looking at him, he is tall, very tall. Not as tall as he is, but for his age, he's definitely growing into a man. But even though you want to focus on Daeron, you don't as you focus on him, inevitably.

His walk hasn't changed, neither has that determination, that confidence and that kind of power he possesses just by looking at him, also that fear and respect at the same time.

And his appearance… hasn't changed either.

Maybe his continuous training has made him look a bit stockier of his arms and his body in general, but his hair, his face and his eye patch is the same.

But he gives you the impression that he's even more handsome.

You look away from him in an instant, as everything that happened comes back to you in a matter of seconds, which is inappropriate. But all you can think about is him.

His hugs, kisses, caresses… all those words of love, all those wishes and all those promises… all only to end in an unexplained broken heart. You swore that he and you were destined to burn together. You swore that you would marry in the tradition of your house.

You swore it would be him and you.

But he made his decision.

And now here you are. He's betrothed and so are you, where by the end of the day you'll be married.

You completely avoid looking at his face once he starts to walk up the steps to take a seat next to his brothers, just like Daeron. You don't feel his gaze at any moment, just as you don't dare to look at him either.

When you ask yourself; where is his betrothed?

She must be here for such celebrations if they are betrothed. And you are sure that Floris Baratheon would not want to miss such an important celebration at the Red Keep.

However, he is all alone and his betrothed seems to be nowhere to be found. Doubt lingers but the feast gives you something new to think about when they announce your betrothed.

"Cregan Stark, lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, the future lord husband of the bride, Y/N Velaryon."

At that moment, everyone at the table rises to greet your betrothed who walks towards you with a kind and respectful smile, looking very well for all this celebration. Or at least most of the people at the table stand up….

You can notice out of the corner of your eye how on Queen Alicent's side some people are still seated, but you don't dare look at them, though you get an idea of who they might be.

Still you focus on your betrothed who bows to the king once he arrives at the table and then makes his way to you to take a seat next to you.

Not before taking your mother's hand to plant a gentle kiss on the back of it, which she accepts with a kind and sweet smile and then turns to you and does the same with more affection.

You smile in his direction as you return his gesture by placing a soft kiss on his cheek and then both of you take a seat, as well as everyone else. When your grandsire, the king, gives a short speech before the feast begins.

And once everything has been said, the feast begins. The music starts and the food is served.

You feel his gaze for a few seconds, not long enough, but you don't notice him at all and continue to enjoy the feast. You talk to your mother from time to time and also to your betrothed, that is if your father and Jace are not talking to him asking him about Winterfell and the Wall.

Your sisters also ask you from time to time if you are feeling well and you can only nod, telling yourself that this is really happening and you have to completely ignore his presence.

When the time comes for the opening of the dance.

Cregan rises from his seat first and offers you his hand to lead you to the center of the Room, which you gladly accept and together you walk to dance in full view of everyone, a traditional Westerosi dance.

It is a simple dance, nothing difficult and you really enjoy it, while you focus your gaze at all times on him, Lord Cregan, who also smiles softly in your direction and does perfectly the right steps, all under the watchful eye of all the nobles present and also of your family.

Both of you stand back to back, and then both of you slowly raise your arms to shoulder height, while you can't help it and turn your gaze towards him, already feeling since the dance started his burning gaze.

Aemond has a meaningful look on his face when your gaze meets his, acting nonchalant, watching you intently, raising his wine glass to his lips.

You can only smile really ungracefully and turn your gaze to the front, continuing to dance and focusing only on your betrothed.

While Aemond at all times… wants this to be over and done with. Though I'd prefer to think this isn't really happening.

He feels like an alluring force, as he can't take his eye off of you, looking at you so beautiful in that dress, knowing in an instant that this is not the dress you would have worn for their wedding. But you still look really beautiful.

A true Targaryen beauty.

A warm feeling envelops him every second he sees you there, so perfect, dancing, smiling and catching everyone's attention, his especially at your every move, not realizing that his face gets softer every second as he watches you.

However… everything is replaced by hatred and anger when those smiles are directed at Lord Stark. And by the way he looks at you too… he wants to burn everything to the ground, clenching his hands into fists.

"Easy, little brother."

Aegon murmurs behind him, over his shoulder, amused, his breath smelling very strongly of wine.

"Everyone can sense how you're starting to wake up. You don't want to cause a fucking scene at our niece's wedding because of your jealousy, do you? Grandsire won't be too pleased."

Aemond can only feel that rage come over him more, knowing full well that Aegon has no intention of calming him down, but to provoke him further and do exactly as he has told him.

And he is succeeding.

Especially in the moment when he again focuses on you, smiling at Lord Stark, glowing and looking this beautiful but for him, Lord Stark, not for him, the one she was supposed to marry and be completely his.

And he regrets it so much, he regrets it so much that he called off their wedding and also leaving you without explanation, knowing that this is exactly what he deserves, to see you happy without him.

As the dance of just the two of them ends and a new song begins, in which he watches as Y/N, his Y/N, places one of her hands on Lord Stark's shoulder and the other intertwines with his, his other hand on her waist, this only making him angrier.

A more choreographed dance begins and the nobles in pairs also begin to join the center of the Room to dance, beginning the real celebration.

And Aemond sinking in his own misery, thinks that he could have survived watching Y/N dance with Lord Stark at an appropriate distance. But now they are both chest to chest, smiling and talking about something with all the nobles also dancing around them.

He doesn't understand that important thing that the two of them are talking about, but he doesn't like it at all, neither does the closeness. In fact he doesn't like any of it.

All he wants is to get her away from him, away from all of this and make her his, finally, no matter what.

His breathing starts to get heavier by the moment, thinking that by the time this is over, she will already be married to him and they will go away together, where they will have to consummate the marriage.

The very thought makes him only feel more enraged and more courageous to snatch her from his arms, not caring about her family and his, not caring about his grandsire and his words, not caring about his mother's words either about "you have to control yourself and think of us."

Not only does Aegon notice her state, so does his grandsire, who watches him intently and cautiously, noticing the look on Lord Stark's face more than menacing, about to do something foolish even though he was very clear with him before attending this feast.

He also catches the eye of Rhaenyra, who watches her husband and subtly points to her half-brother, instantly Daemon knowing exactly what is going on.

And how could he not know?

It reminds him of him many years ago, also watching the woman he loves, about to marry someone else who is not him.

He places a small half smile, bringing his wine glass to his lips, watching his nephew attentively and amused, almost expectantly, wondering even though Aemond has his full attention on you, if he will finally do something about it or what.

"Aemond," his grandsire mumbles to him.

But Aemond, beginning to go into his madness, doesn't watch or listen to him, watching you intently.

"Aemond, I'm warning you," his grandsire insists.

"Oh come on grandsire," Aegon tells him amused, "You know it will be useless. I can tell you don't know him."

And even though Aemond is immersed in his madness, he still thinks and remembers the words of his grandsire and mother.

"I will overlook that it was you who prevented the raven to Storms Ends from arriving when you knew perfectly well that your betrothed should have been here days ago."

His mother tells him seriously and annoyed.

"Now you will attend this wedding alone and I expect you to behave yourself. Just as I expect you to come to terms with the idea that you will marry Lady Baratheon by the end of next month, without protest."

"And you are not going to commit any of your foolishness at the Y/N wedding, do you understand me?" Otto immediately threatens him, "You're not going to talk to Y/N, you're not going to threaten Lord Stark either, and you're going to let the wedding happen in peace, is that clear? "

Aemond feels a bitter feeling, continuing to watch you attentively and him watching threateningly, with the fire in his body about to explode.

"You know what your problem is, grandsire?" Aegon says to Otto Hightower, who watches him seriously and on the verge of losing his patience, "You question the blood of the dragon too much."

And in that same instant, Aemond rises from his seat in a confident movement, with his gaze firmly fixed on you, who are completely disinterested in what is happening with him, completely focused on Lord Stark.

And Aemond's movement completely catches the attention of his grandsire, his mother, also your mother and father, who in an instant look at each other, definitely remembering the past.

Aemond makes his way towards you, not caring about anything.

He doesn't care about his mother and grandsire, he doesn't care about the war that will probably befall them when his father dies, the only thing he cares about at this moment is you.

taglist:

@iloveallmyboys @libdarkheart @angelianlearp @happinessinthebeing @targaryenmoony @tempt-ress @callsign-blue @twobluejeans @luna-salem @literatureluster @thekinslayersswordhand @queenofshinigamis @bugshideaway @minttea07 @itszzmoon

[suugarbabe]

mattheo riddle | lore

first and foremost Mattheo is the heir to the Dark Lord

making his father the one and only Voldemort, Tom Riddle Jr., Voldy if you will

Mattheo's mother is Bellatrix Lestrange (which is what makes him the cousin of Draco Malfoy; Bellatrix and Narcissa being sisters)

unsurprisingly, growing up with the Dark Lord as your father doesn't make for the greatest of childhoods

Mattheo was tasked with challenges to prove his loyalty and worth to his father's cause at a young age

every failed task came with punishment, some mental some physical

often he was subjected to the cruciatus curse as punishment

other times were simple curses or jinxes to cause humiliation or pain

one of the most easy to see is the scar left over his eye and through his eyebrow

his home (if you could call it that) often felt cold and deserted despite the family living there

Mattheo would spend as much time as possible at the Malfoy's

while that doesn't seem like that better of an option, to Mattheo is was his saving grace

Narcissa showed Mattheo the love her sister seemed so void of

because of this Mattheo and Draco's bond and relationship became more like brothers

Mattheo became proficient in the majority of the dark arts before the age of 12, much to his father's delight and his despise

however, with subtle guidance from his Aunt Cissy, Mattheo formed his own thoughts and opinions about blood purity and 'how things should be in the wizarding world'

Mattheo was often feared by other children growing up

both because of his namesake and also his general demeanor

this caused him to find making friends extremely difficult

however the other Slytherin boys knew him growing up and therefore formed a bond with him early on

while he's not one to be sappy, Mattheo is grateful for their loyalty

Mattheo's childhood environment caused him to become incredibly observant

always able to keep a watchful eye of the entire room he's in

this comes from previously keeping an eye out for his father or his most loyal disciples.

while Mattheo often displays as closed off or cold, in reality he's only being protective of himself

because what else would you learn while growing up with the Dark Lord?

[obiwanwhat]

I know someone has probably said this better but. There's really so much about Luke & Ahsoka interactions that can be explored. Because honestly they have every reason to resent each other?

Anakin was arguably much more of a father to Ahsoka than he ever was to Luke (even if he was more of an older brother figure to Ahsoka than an actual father figure). He trained her and built her lightsabers and had a dumb nickname for her and made dad jokes and like - everything Luke ever could have wanted out of his dad. She knew him when he was still Anakin Skywalker and not Darth Vader. She knew Padme!! Padme also was kind of her mom! Luke doesn't even know Padme's name until sometime post ROTJ - it's possible Ahsoka was the first person who could have told it to him.

Not only that, but she had the Jedi Order. She was trained by the Order at its peak, raised from infancy in the rituals and knowledge that Luke now must piece together from whispers from ghosts and whatever old texts he can scrounge up from the corners of the galaxy the Empire somehow missed. He is doing all of this on his own with no guidance, no oversight, meanwhile it's knowledge that came to her as easy as breathing.

And she walked away from all of it. Everything Luke has ever wanted - a relationship with his parents, proper Jedi training, the Jedi Order itself - she had without ever asking for it, and she walked away from it without a backward glance. And she's still walking away from it - she's not a Jedi, she won't claim that title, she won't join Luke's new Order. Maybe she shows up from time to time and tells him some stories and shares from knowledge, but she won't train him, and somewhere deep down he knows that he will never be as much of a Jedi as she is even though she doesn't claim that title anymore, and part of the reason because is she won't help him.

And for Ahsoka's part. Anakin returned from the Dark Side for Luke. He couldn't - or wouldn't - return for Ahsoka, who he trained, who knew him and loved him and would have died for him. He tried to kill her and would have if Ezra hadn't saved her. But this boy, who shares nothing with Anakin but a name and half his DNA - he was enough to bring Anakin back. She wasn't, not with everything they shared, not with all the times she'd almost died for him, and he'd saved her, and she'd saved him. How do you not kind of hate someone for that?

And besides, he's trying to bring back the Jedi Order. The Order that cast her aside as soon as it was convenient for them, the Order that allowed Anakin Skywalker to become what he did and was too blind to see a Sith Lord under their noses and that died for those mistakes. And sure, he's trying to do it differently, he's trying to do it better, but what does this boy know of better? What can he know of the sins of the Jedi Order? When he speaks of the Order with stars in his eyes, what can he know of the pain that she suffered? That so many suffered? How can he correct what he doesn't understand?

I just think it would be cool to see more of that explored in canon.

[daydreaming-nerd]

The Bonds That Break Us (Rhysand x Female! Reader) Part 1

Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Final Part

Request: "Would you do a Rhysand x fem!reader series? Maybe fem!reader is Rhysand's mate and Tamlin's sister? So secret love?"

AN: I just got this request and I absolutely LOVE it. I have no idea how many parts it will be because it's really parking my imagination. Please feel free to leave a comment! Hearing your guy's feedback is what motivates me to write!

Summary: It was almost as if the cauldron liked to play games, as if it had sensed years of boredom and predictability and begged to be entertained. Its method of absolving its melancholy? Mate the High Lord of the Night Court to the younger sister of the High Lord of Spring. 

Warnings (so far): SA

Word count: 2765

(all photos are from pinterest)

It was like being born, even though I was the ripe age of 435. Well, ripe in the years of fae. It felt like being born, in the sense that I can’t really remember what came before that passing shade of violet. The way his eyes bore into me, and in that moment I knew he felt the tug too. 

Mates. 

I reeled for days, the peonies of spring my only console, my brother had always been so absent minded and utterly consumed with being High Lord. How could the cauldron be so cruel? To mate me to the High Lord of the Night. I spent the next week thinking it had to be a mistake, that my bored mind was playing tricks on me. Yet when the council met the week following, his eyes found me immediately, and I think in that moment I saw him for the very first time. 

I didn’t dare approach him, far too shy and afraid to approach the Lord of Night. Not just  because of what he was, but because of what my brother would say. By basic necessity Tamilin was a good brother, he doted upon me, kept me safe, gave me free roam of the palace. But there was a darkness about him I couldn’t place. It started when he disappeared with our father one night only to come back with two sets of Illyrian wings. I knew whatever happened was wrong, but as a woman in the spring court, I knew better than to open my mouth. Needless to say, Tamlin became High Lord of Spring shortly after, and from the wings mounted on our family walls I knew we had but one enemy, the night court. 

It wasn’t until the third council meeting (the third I was allowed to attend, after I begged my brother to let me go) that the High Lord of Night finally sought me out. 

My brother was busying himself with the politics of Day and Summer, talking the heads off of Helion and Tarquin. I kept to the shadows naturally, avoiding any untoward advances from other High Lords. I tried to stay hidden in my pocket of introvertedness, but then I felt him, and my skin buzzed, like it needed to be touched, to be held.

“You felt it too right?” he purred into the shell of my ear causing the buzzing of my skin to become electric.  

“I did,” I admit pathetically. 

“And you feel it now too,” he whispers as I finally turn to face him. The violet of his eyes pierce my soul and I’m left speechless and unable to move from their gaze. He’s otherworldly, he’s everything, and he’s also completely forbidden. 

“Do you?” I ask, hoping that whatever answer he gives can validate the fire in my bones. 

“I do,” he muses like he loves the game. “Your brother killed my family. He is my sworn enemy and I should hate you.” he breathes. I can feel his resolve slipping along with mine, for every statement he makes I can make an opposing one, “but all I want to do is kiss you right now.” he finishes. 

Fire runs through my veins as a sharp breath passes my lips. I feel my brother's presence and I evade myself from the High Lord of Night’s cage. My brother whisks me off to the Spring Court once more, but not before I glance back one last time to see that shade of violet I had already learned to look for in a crowd. 

That was a week ago. 

I stand in the foyer of the castle with my brother and Lucien as we prepare to join the council once again this week. 

“You look ravishing as always,” Lucien muses, eyes wandering me like they’re hungry. 

“It’s not often my brother lets me out of the house, I have to make a good impression somehow,” I say backhandedly. All I get in return is a sideways glance from Tamiln as we are taken to court. Today the meeting  resides in Tarquins’s court. It changes once a week to allow all High Lord’s to have the upper hand. The sea salted mist hits my face and the warm rays of the sun tan my skin as we walk into the council. 

When we arrive he’s already there. He stands out amongst the rest, not just because he’s dressed in black, but because he’s the most beautiful male I’ve ever seen. The definition of a forbidden fruit. As if to tempt me, Tamilin unknowingly  sits directly across from the High Lord of Night making it so I can’t lift my head without meeting the violet of his eyes. If you had asked me to recall the events the council discussed, I couldn’t, the only word left on my tongue was Night. Talk of tithes and power checks drifted over my head. The only thing to rouse me from my trance was the scraping of wooden chairs across marble floors, signaling that the council meeting had adjourned and that the more foundational political talks of High Lords would begin. 

I took it as my queue to step out onto one of the many terraces of the Summer Court. The room where the council was held was stifling. I thought that the breeze of the ocean might cool my skin, but no matter where I went that deafening heat followed.  

“I was hoping I would see you again,” purred a voice from behind me. 

I turned to find that piercing violet once more. “Of course why wouldn’t I be at the council meetings?” I ask, trying to act like I won’t be replaying this conversation in my mind when I return to bed tonight. 

“You’ve only been to four council meetings now, and your brother has a habit of keeping you locked up in the Spring Court.” he trails, drawing closer to the railing of which I’m leaning upon. 

“Well I intend to be at all of them from here on out,” I state.

“Any particular reason why?” he asks with a playful tone in his voice and I know what he’s insinuating. 

“Because I wish to be a part of the governing of my court, even though I am just a woman,” I say, evading his innuendo. 

“That’s a shame if you were part of my court you wouldn’t have such phrases like ‘just a woman’” he states almost as if he’s upset with the phrase. 

“I highly doubt that, women aren’t equals in any court,” I scoff. 

“What about Kallias and Viviane?” he asks. 

“What about them?” 

“Kallias sees Viviane as his equal, she is his mate and his High Lady,” he explains, stepping even closer to me, close enough that my skin starts to buzz again. 

“Viviane is special, everyone knows that,” I justify. 

“And you’re not?” he muses and my skin goes from buzzing to electrifying in three words. I feel his fingertips grazing my hand as if asking for permission. 

“My Lord we can’t do this,” I breathe out. 

“Call me Rhysand,” he says, stepping even closer. 

I step to the side, avoiding his advances, “My Lord, I won’t do this, I can’t do this.” I affirm. 

I see him bristle from my reluctance to call him by his name, “You’ll give into the idea of us. When you’re lying in that cold bed high up in the spring court thinking of all the ways I could warm it for you. When you’ve spent the week with nothing but this conversation on your mind,” he leans down to whisper in my ear. “This time next week you will beg for me to touch you, and I’ll happily oblige, mate.”

I’m so taken aback by his words that I can’t even form a quick witted response, I simply slid away and tried my best not to look back at him as I felt his gaze pierce my back. I nearly slam into Viviane and Kallias. 

“Y/n are you alright?” Viviane asks. 

“Yes, just feeling the heat of the summer court,” I lie, fanning my face. 

“Then you should come home with us today, it’s been so long since we had a girls night. I wish for your company." She smiles while taking my hand. 

“Shall we go home sister?” Tamilin appears, Lucien in tow. 

“Actually I think I’ll spend the night in the winter court with Viviane, she’s right,” I look at her and smile. “We haven’t had a girls night in quite a long time.”  

“Very well, I won’t get in the way of your sinful gossiping,” Tamilin smiles and leads Lucien away with him. 

If the summer court is sea salt and sun, then the winter court is pine and fresh fallen snow. Though they are opposites in every way, they are stunning in their own right, like all courts are. I’ve been here many times before to sit and talk with Viviane, she’s one of the only other ladies of nobility my age and a fierce friend. It’s not uncommon for me to spend a couple days here in the winter court, with Viviane and Kallias. 

I sit among a bed of furs near a warm fire adjacent to Viviane as Kallias pours both me and his mate a glass of red wine. 

“Thank you dear,” she smiles, kissing him on the cheek before he leaves us to gossip. 

“You and Kallias really are a perfect match,” I beam and Vivianane knows me well enough to know that there's a sadness there. 

“You’ll find it too someday, your mate. I know you will,” she assures me. “Now tell me, what of Lucien?” 

I roll my eyes taking a sip of my wine, “He’s still insufferable. The other day he backed me into a wall and if one of my ladies maids hadn’t walked in I swore he would’ve had his way with me.” 

She lets out an airy laugh, “I still can’t believe Tamiln allows him to play with you like that. He’s so fiercely protective of you with everyone else.” she says, taking a sip of her own wine. 

“Lucien is his best friend, he wouldn’t deny him anything, even his little sister.” I point out. 

“I suppose you’re right,” she smirks. The night is filled with goblets of wine and laughter as we continue to talk about the high lords of Prythian. We even go as far as to talk about her and Kallais’ sex lives, to which Kallias promptly came in laughing taking his wife to bed. 

I trudge down the hall to the bedroom the High Lord and Lady had set aside just for me a few years ago. I fall into the plush mattress, the world slightly spinning around me. The second I am left alone with my thoughts I recall the feeling of Rhysand’s breath on my neck and I shiver. 

The room spins and I feel my skin grow hot with need, my heart beats faster and my  head is drunk with that shade of violet. My hand subconsciously drifts down my body. 

You’re drunk? A voice cuts through my head. 

I sit up right and look around the room. The only thing I find is the flickering of the fireplace against the walls. 

The same voice chuckles and speaks again, No I am not in the room with you my mate.

“How are you doing this?” I ask in my head.

The daemati gift, and of course, I am your mate. The High Lord croons. 

“Get out of my head” I grumble. 

But you called for me, I can feel your… excitement.

“Then you're mistaken,” I hiss.

We both know that’s not true darling. 

“Goodnight,” I groan, rolling over to go to bed.

Goodnight, darling

The following days are long. Despite my better wishes there is a part of me that yearns to see the High Lord of Night again. I waltz through the spring court, picking flowers for the dinner table and evading Lucien’s advances. At night I find myself obsessively reading the romance novels I keep beside my bed. On one night in particular a certain scene in my book makes my toes curl and my thighs clench. My fingers skim the pages and the roughness of them is almost heightened. 

My my my, what a dirty book. That voice croons into my mind.

“Get out of my head,” I gripe. 

I can’t help myself when I feel your body react as it does. He purrs. 

“How on earth can you ‘feel’ my body?” I roll my eyes.

Like this. 

A tug reverberates through my body. Like there’s a string in the pit of my stomach that he just pulled. The sensation causes me to lose a breath as further arousal goes to my legs. He lets out a dark chuckle. 

“Don’t ever do that again,” I order him

But you loved it so much, He purrs and I can practically feel him smirking in my head. 

“You’re an insufferable bastard High Lord,” I growl at his persistence. 

Call me Rhysand. 

“I see no reason to drop informalities, my lord.” I quip back. 

My name will fall from your lips one day, and when it does I’ll be sure to swallow it with my own. Until then, I’ll leave you with this. Goodnight darling. 

I feel another tug at the bond reverberating through me and I nearly let out a moan at the feeling. I snuggle into my sheets that suddenly feel as if they are constricting around my body. I toss and turn and try to push all thoughts from my mind, but I can’t stop the idea of the High Lord's lips on mine. His night black hair in my hands, the way his moans might fall from those lips.

The next morning I take my breakfast in one of the lounge areas, still reeling from last night. My thoughts still wander to the image of his face, and how his eyes light me on fire. The door opens and a head of auburn hair pokes in. 

“Forgive me, I didn’t know you were in here,” Lucien says like he has regret, yet he sits down across from me. 

“No worries, I'm almost finished eating,” I reply, placing my tea down and getting ready to get up.. 

“And I secretly hoped to spend some time with you,” he sighs, sinking into the couch. 

“Perhaps later, I wanted to read in the garden,” I stand and make my way towards the door. 

“Perhaps now,” he growls. I feel a cold hand grasp my arm hauling me into the wall. 

“Lucien,” I hiss as my back is pressed into the wall, his frame looming over mine. 

“You are such a tease,” he smirks before kissing my neck hungrilly. His hands roam my body pulling me impossibly close. 

“I’ve never once given you any inclination that I wanted you,” I gripe at him. 

“That’s what makes you so desirable my dear,” he practically moans into my neck. 

I gather my strength and push him off of me, “I’ll remind you that I am Tamlin’s little sister and while he favors you his favor only goes so far. One word from me and he’ll send you back to the Autumn Court.” I growl at him, and it seems to be enough as he backs away and leaves me to reel from what just happened in silence. 

I sit down on the couch and take deep breaths to ground myself. 

What’s going on? Are you alright? That voice like glorious night cuts through my mind and I almost feel thankful for how it brings me back to reality. 

“Yes I’m fine,” I say back. 

What happened? I felt your fear through the bond.

“It’s nothing, just Lucien.” I dismiss him. 

Did he touch you? 

I almost swore I heard anger laced in his voice. “Well I am his favorite plaything,” I roll my eyes.

And Tamlin allows him to touch you like this? 

“As long as my virtue isn’t completely compromised so that I am still of value when he inevitably marries me off, yes. He doesn’t care.” I divulge, and quite stupidly I realize. 

As if I needed another reason to hate him.

“He is still my brother, my Lord,” I remind him, though I secretly feel the same. 

Don’t you mean, Rhysand?

“No I don’t, my Lord,” I say, drawing out the last words. 

I’ll see you tomorrow my darling, I relish the idea of seeing you in the golden light of the day court.