#The Lord determines our path

[dramoor]

[spider-stark]

THE BRIDGE

Benjicot Blackwood x Bracken!Reader

Summary - Your wardship with House Blackwood was meant to bridge the chasm between your families. Years later, you return to Stone Hedge as the whispers of war spread—only for Lord Tully to call for a hunt.

Warnings - fem!reader, complicated sibling relationship, fighting, (probably excessive) mentions of blood, talks about hunting/killing wild animals, !angst!, adult language, reader def suffering from identity crisis, probably deviates from canon some, kieran burton fan cast for benji, all characters 18+

Word Count - 5.6k

!MINORS DNI!

// masterlist // send me your thoughts // comments & reblogs appreciated! //

When Grover Tully, the Lord Paramount of the Trident, sent word for each of his bannermen to send forth a handful of their finest House members to a most desolate area of the Whispering Woods, no one thought it wise to object. 

“Lord Grover is an ornery old crow,” your father, Humfrey Bracken huffed as you readied the horses. “But you would do well to earn his respect.” He clamped a hand on your brother’s shoulder, pride gleaming in his eyes as he said, “Whatever he’s planning, I want you to show him that House Bracken stands strong. Understood?” 

Keeping his chin held high, Amos hesitantly muttered, “If you wish to impress Lord Tully, you might think twice about sending her.” 

Even with your back turned, you could feel the weight of your brother’s stare, his eyes boring a hole into the back of your head. 

Your father shrugged, a disinterested gesture. “Grover said to send our best,” he said, “and when it comes to a bow and arrow, no one's a better shot than her.” 

For the next day-and-a-half, you rode at a distance from the group your father selected—your brother, Amos, and two of your male cousins. And while they laughed and jeered and yapped, you remained stuck in your own thoughts, playing your father’s words on a loop. 

It’s the only compliment he’s ever paid you. The closest he’s ever come to acknowledging you as Bracken. 

You hate him sometimes, you think. For agreeing to peace all those years ago—for sending his only daughter to ward with his rival of all people. He must have known it was futile. Must have known that one girl could never bridge such an ancient chasm. 

He must have known—and yet he sent you anyway, only to call you back years later, tearing you away from the only home you had ever known and leaving you to feel like a stranger in your House. 

Grover said to send our best. 

Are you a Bracken, then? Is blood all that determines a House? 

No one’s a better shot than her. 

But your skill is that of a Blackwood, born under their tutelage. 

Deep within the Woods, a steady mist of rain falls from the sky, leaving your skin uncomfortably damp. In the distance, a low hum of chattering voices signal that the four of you are drawing close to Lord Grover’s camp—and that the other House’s have already arrived. 

Your thoughts shift, wondering who Lord Samwell sent to represent House Blackwood—fearing that you might already know the answer. 

A strange tightness floods your chest, coiling around your lungs. 

It’s been months since you last saw the heir to Raventree Hall. Many, many months—and you can’t help but think any reunion might end in bloodshed with Amos by your side. 

As if he heard his name ring through your mind, your brother slows his horse to gentle trot beside yours, cocking a neatly groomed brow at you. “Tell me, sister—were you always this dour?” He asks, feigning intrigue. “Or did half-a-decade with the Blackwoods simply drain the joy from you?” 

You don’t pry your eyes from the path ahead, refusing to look him in the eye as he continues without waiting for an answer. 

“I wouldn’t be surprised—a mere day with those insipid cravens would have me wishing to swallow my own blade.” Removing a hand from the reins, he pantomimed the act—gripping an invisible hilt and shoving it towards his lips, letting a dramatic choke rip from his throat. 

Riding a bit ahead, your cousins chortle at his jest, shooting amused glances over their shoulders. 

“No need,” you answer without thinking, your tone impassive. “Aly would have an arrow in your eye before the day was up.” 

Your cousins fall silent. 

Amos stiffens, jaw clenched tight. “She could try.” 

You know Black Aly would try if given half the chance—and you have no doubt that she would succeed, too. She was the one who taught you how to string a bow and sharpen arrows, how to aim and never miss. 

When you don’t respond, Amos pulls his horse in closer—as close as he can get without spookings yours. “Look,” he utters, low enough that your cousins can’t overhear, “I don’t know how things were done at Raventree—but you’re home now, and you would do well to remember where your true loyalties lie.” 

Again, you don’t speak. Don’t think, either. 

Amos sighs. “Your blood runs gold, sister. You’re a Bracken, through-and-through. Take pride in that—and don’t bring shame upon our name. Understood?” 

Strange. 

You had seen your own blood before—more times than you can count, actually. Scars mottle your skin like stars in the sky, a reminder of the years spent training and the memories of nights spent with friends who were supposed to be enemies. 

Never once had it looked gold to you.

Only red. 

“I understand–” a pause, a breath, a heartbeat– “brother.” 

Nausea twists your stomach. The familial title curdles on your tongue even as Amos grins at you. There’s nothing affectionate about the gesture—how could there be? He doesn’t know you. Not really. 

Blood or no, you’re little more than strangers to each other—and yet, even so, you can see he’s trying. Trying to know you. 

Ahead, the camp comes into view. Banners hang above tents: white for the Mootons, blue for the Pipers, purple for the Mallisters. 

And red—for House Blackwood. 

Amos gives you one last glance, a pall mimicry of what you believe is meant to be love in his eyes. “You’re home now,” he reminds you again, as if you need to hear it,“be glad for it.” 

With the Tully’s guards now in earshot, Amos doesn’t bother with waiting for a response. He snaps the reins, urging his gelding back to the head of your group, already bellowing his greetings. You watch him go, transfixed on the yellow-gold of his tunic—identical to yours. 

Approaching the guards, you tell yourself that your brother is what home is supposed to look like. That if you were to slice your veins, gold would pour from your wrists. 

Not red. 

After checking in with the guards and tying your mare up in the makeshift paddock, there was no time left to freshen up before you were expected to join Amos and your cousins. With all the Houses now gathered, Lord Grover wasted no time in calling you all to the heart of the camp. 

Still, you try to make yourself presentable—using your fingers to comb through tangled, windswept hair and smoothing the wrinkles from your gold tunic, careful not to disturb the ornate brooch pinned above your heart. 

According to the guards, everyone was given one upon arrival. “All Houses are required to wear them,” they explained when Amos pressed them on it, “Lord Tully’s orders.” 

They were all different, it seemed. Yours was a delicate thing, fashioned from silver and pearls in the image of a blooming dahlia, while Amos’s was clunky and shaped like the sun. He’s still fumbling with it when you finally push through the small crowd, taking your place at his side. 

To your left, separated only by a group of five Frey men, you feel the wary glances being cast your way. You almost turn your head—almost glance back at them, if only to see what they might do. What he would do. 

Would he even acknowledge you? Or simply look away? 

The answer, thankfully, is one you don’t have time to learn. A servant garners attention, dragging a simple, plush chair to the group’s center. Following suit, another two servants assist the aged Lord Paramount from his tent, guiding him into his seat. On his right stands his eldest grandson—and your favorite Tully. Tall and dark-haired, Elmo looks more fearsome than he actually is, sparing you a quick, discreet wink when he spots you. 

“You may all be wondering,” Lord Grover wheezes, his lungs fighting for breath, “why I have called upon you all today—the many great Houses of our land.” 

As he speaks, old, gnarled hands punctuate his words, gesturing out to the many men gathered ���round. His fingers shake with effort, his shoulders bowed beneath the weight of his many, many years. But his chin remains high, and his tone commanding—if a touch quavery. 

“I hear rumblings,” he continues, “from the South-East.” 

Lord Grover’s eyes, milky with cataracts, shift in the direction, staring blindly into the towering trees of the Whispering Woods. Beyond them, even. 

“Whispers of a great danger brewing in the Crownlands—within the King’s own court, if rumors are to be trusted.” 

Your spine turns to steel. 

Those rumors, you know, are as true as they come. Over the past several months, they had moved through the realm like a venomous serpent. Slithering from mouth to ear, hissing tales of the two factions that now divide King Viserys’s council. 

The Blacks and the Greens. 

The rightful heir and the first-born son. 

And the very reason your father had called you home. 

“War is coming,” a deep, foreboding warning, “and should it reach the Riverlands, I wish to know that we might stand united in its wrath. That we will not allow petty rivalries–” a pointed glance at your brother, and then to your left where, without looking, you know the Blackwood heir stands–“to tear us apart from within.” 

A heartbeat passes. Then another. 

The forest holds its breath. Cradles the Lord Paramount’s words in the air, weaving them around the many great Houses of the Riverlands. 

You wonder if this is what strength looks like. What it sounds like. 

You fear you already know which side of the war Lord Grover’s strength might fall—and you pray that you’re wrong. 

Placing a firm hand upon his grandfather’s shoulder, Elmo takes a step forward. “In an effort to promote civility between our Houses,” he announces in a tone that demands respect, “we have arranged for a hunt.” 

Your brow furrows. A hunt? 

“You will be divided into two person teams, working with an individual outside of your own House.” His gaze shifts to you, dark eyes gleaming with mischief. “Teams have already been decided. Upon your arrival, each of you was given a pin—your partner will bear a matching one. And while there will be no winners or losers, you should know that once you leave camp, you will not be permitted to return without a trophy of some kind.” 

Discontent spreads. Low murmurs fill the air. 

Amos voices his frustration louder than the rest.  “And when is this hunt to take place?” 

Elmo grins. “Now.” 

Instantly, murmurs grow to shouts. 

“You cannot be serious, my Lord!” 

“It is already sunset!” 

“Is this a jest?” 

Elmo’s grin never wavers, unphased by the protests—and Lord Grover appears content to let his grandson contend with everyone's bickering, exhausted from what little talking he had already done. 

“Might I suggest you move quickly,” Elmo speaks over the crowd. Glancing upwards, he squints at the black clouds rolling overhead, an amused lilt to his voice as he adds, “Lest you wish to be caught in the coming storm.” 

With no more than a curt nod to the crowd, Elmo turns on his heel, already veering off in the direction of his own tent as servants begin to help Lord Grover rise. 

“This is absurd,” your brother grumbles. 

You ignore him. Storming right past him, you make a beeline for the fleeing Lord. 

“A hunt?!” 

Fond as Elmo is of you, you know better than to shout at the future Lord Paramount of the Trident. Your voice remains no more than a harsh whisper, even as you shoot daggers into the back of his head. 

“At night, no less! In the middle of a gods-damned storm! Have you lost your mind?” 

“What? You think it’s a bad idea?” He chuckles, keeping a steady pace. “Of all people, I thought that you might appreciate the challenge of it all.” 

You stay on his heels. “Who is he?” 

“Who is who?” 

Further from the crowd now, you grow bold. You reach out and snag his arm, forcing him to stop and face you. “Ignorance isn’t a good look on you, Elm.” You grind out, “Swear that you didn’t pick him to be my partner.” 

A wrinkle forms between thick brows, feigning innocence. “What makes you think that I chose your partner?” 

“Because I know you. You’re always scheming—jutting your big nose into places it very well does not belong!” 

Elmo opens his mouth—hesitates—and then frowns. “Am I truly that transparent?” 

“You may as well be made of glass, Elm.” 

His pout deepens, still dancing around your question. “Well, let's say that I did choose your partner—theoretically, of course!” Your eyes roll. “I think you would find my choice to be quite suitable. If anything, you might even thank me-” 

“This isn’t a game, Elmo!” Desperate now, you can’t stop your voice from rising. “If you paired me with him, then Amos will–” 

“Kill him?” Elmo ventures. 

“Yes!’ 

Pursing his lips, Elmo’s gaze falls somewhere over your head. “Well,” he sucks in a breath, “it seems we may be past the point of stopping that from happening.” 

Your mind goes blank, your thoughts scattering like shards of glass. 

You spin on your heel, head whirling around in search of Amos in the throng. Less than a second and you spot him—not because your gaze was drawn to the familiar gold color of your own House, but because of the wall of stark scarlet standing before him. 

Blackwoods. Two of them on either side of the Raventree heir. 

And Benji—his hands pressed to your brother's chest, roughly shoving him back into one of your cousins. 

“Do me a favor,” Elmo's sigh cuts through your panicked haze. “Keep the two of them from plunging a sword in the others’ belly, would you?” 

Any other time and you might have told Elmo off, cursed him for putting you in this position—future Lord Paramount be damned. 

But not now. Not when centuries of rivalry serve as proof that nothing is more dangerous, more unpredictable than this—

A Blackwood and a Bracken—your brother and Benji—standing toe-to-toe. 

Mindless adrenaline is all that thrusts you into motion. Mud splatters up the legs of your trousers as you practically run in their direction, demanding as soon as you’re in ear shot, “What is this?!” 

Amos doesn’t acknowledge you. Neither does Benji. 

Chests-puffed, they remain locked in their foolish staring match, neither of them willing to be the first to back down. 

Finally, one of your cousins sneers, “Seems that Benji-boy here thinks we’re gonna let him take you out into the woods.” 

A sharp, nasty laugh rips from Amos’s throat. “As if I’d let that happen!” 

“We’re partnered for the hunt, you imbecile.” Benji’s tone is that of lethal calm, even as he glares down his nose at your brother. You look to his chest—spotting the silver dahlia pinned at his breast. “If you have a problem with it, take it up with Tully.” 

“You think I’m stupid, Blackwood?!” 

Benji’s brow lifts a fraction of an inch, as if silently proclaiming—I just said so, did I not? 

Scowling, Amos juts his finger against Benji’s chest. “I refuse to give a Blackwood an opportunity to defile my sister!” 

Benji’s answering grin is something wicked as he purrs, “Oh, if I wanted to defile your sister, Bracken, I could’ve done so a long time ago.” 

Your pulse pounds—caught somewhere between offense and desire as Benji’s words echo in your head. 

Both feelings fade to fear when Amos reaches for the hilt of his sword, wrenching it from the sheath at his hip. In a blink, more weapons are drawn—your cousins holding swords, the Blackwoods holding daggers. 

Not Benji, though. 

Benji doesn’t flinch, even with your brother's sword poised at his throat, ready to kill. Something flickers in his eyes—a shift that you know all too well, sending ice skittering across your bones. 

“I won’t have this,” Amos seethes. “You will find another partner—or I swear on my House that blood will be shed!” 

Benji leans closer. Let the tip of the blade dig into his flesh, a rivulet of blood rolling down his throat. 

Red. 

“Is that a threat, Bracken?” 

You can hear your brother swallow—feel his panic as if it were your own, as if it was his fear coursing through your veins. Still, his voice remains steady. “Consider it a promise, Blackwood.” 

A blink and steel was glinting before your eyes. A single breath and Amos was out-maneuvered and out-matched—the clash erupting and subsiding in one seamless heartbeat, ending with your brother's sword in Benji’s hand. 

A shuddering breath slips from your brother's lips as Benji presses the steel to his throat, a perfect mirror of the position they were in just moments ago. 

“What’s the matter, Bracken?” Benji croons sarcastically, head hilting. “Do I frighten you?” 

There’s a lull to his voice—an eerie stillness that sends a chill scuttering down your spine. 

Amos was ignorant—to pick a fight with Benji, to think he might actually win it. But he’s your brother, too—and you know that if he were to be slain right now—right here—an even larger chasm will take the place of the one you were once meant to bridge. 

“Stop.” 

The demand is no more than a breath. A soft, terrified sound. 

Yet still, it makes Benji’s focus waver. 

“Leave him.” You force yourself to speak louder. Stronger. “Now.” 

You take a step closer—a hand outstretched, reaching towards Benji. His attention shifts, settling on you. He blinks—his stormy eyes, dark with rage, finally starting to clear. 

Benji’s movements languid as he steps away from your brother. Your cousins rush to Amos’s side as he stumbles back, frantically checking the heir of Stone Hedge for any sign of injury. 

They found none. Not even a scratch upon his throat, where his own sword had just hovered. 

Benji passes you the sword—a silent conversation passing between the two of you. 

You could have killed him, you glare. 

I could have—Benji agrees with a small, self-satisfied smile—but I didn’t. 

One of your cousins, bold and stupid, steps forward. “Is that all it takes to keep you at heel, Blackwood?” He glances between the two of you, his lip curling into a sneer. “A dog and his bitch,” he taunts, “how sweet–” 

A cry rips from his throat, cutting his insult short. You expect it to be Benji, having noticed the way his fists had clenched from the moment your cousin so much as looked at you. And perhaps it would’ve been—if your brother hadn’t grabbed the fool by the scruff of his neck, yanking him backwards and shoving him to the muddy ground. 

“Say what you want of him,” Amos tells your cousin, his voice gruff, “but you will mind how you speak of her.” 

You don’t know what to make of that. Of Amos defending you. Of knowing that if he hadn’t, Benji would have. Or that, even after that, Amos doesn’t quite know how to look you in the eyes, looking to the grass and the sky and anything that isn’t you. 

You’re a Bracken, through-and-through. Take pride in that. 

But did he take pride in you? 

If you wish to impress Lord Tully, you might think twice about sending her. 

“What’s done is done.” With a pointed look towards Lord Grover’s tent off in the distance, you say, “Now is not the time nor the place. If you wish so badly to fight, save it for when the war begins.” 

On one side of you, Benji remains silent, watching you with a curious glint in his eye. On the other, Amos hesitates. 

“I don’t trust him,” he says. 

You wonder if he doesn’t know how to say: I’m worried about you. 

“You heard our father,” you tell him, chin high, “when it comes to a bow and arrow, no one’s a better shot.” 

Perhaps there are things you don’t know how to say, too. Like: But I do. I trust him with my life. Maybe even with yours, too. 

Begrudgingly, Benji meets your brother's gaze, fighting the urge to scowl at him. “For years, no harm befell your sister under my watch—and you have my word that none shall befall her now,” he vows. “I swear it upon the Old Gods.” 

“And the New?” 

You consider stomping on Amos’s foot. 

Ignorant. To continue pushing— 

“Fine.” Benji’s brusque answer takes you by surprise. “Upon your false Gods as well, then.” 

Amos, to his credit, argues no further, only echoing the Raventree heir. “Fine.” 

For a fleeting moment longer, they stand there, eyes locked. Amos is the first to turn—the roaring tension dissipating into a hushed hiss as him and your cousins storm off. Benji stays, even as his own men begin to back off, as if listening to a silent command to go find their own partners. 

You look at him. And he smiles—a shy, awkward thing. 

“I’ll wait for you,” he says, a barely perceptible pause in his speech. “At the edge of camp—you can find me whenever you’ve gathered your things.” 

You open your mouth to speak, to say something—but the words take root in your chest, leaving vines to crawl up your throat. If you speak, you worry about what might come out. Worry it won’t be as delicate as the dahlia pinned above your heart—above his, too. 

So you close your mouth. Say nothing. Nod—and turn, trying to keep your legs from shaking as you walk back to the makeshift paddock to get what you would need for the hunt. 

True to his word, you find the heir of Raventree at the edge of camp, leaning against a towering oak and using the tip of his dagger to idly pick dirt from his nails. 

You brought only what was necessary—your bow, strapped between your shoulders, and a dark-leather quiver slung over your shoulder, stocked with already-sharpened arrows. 

Light rain mists over your face, the sky groaning with a low rumble of thunder. The forest floor squelches beneath your feet as you trudge towards him. Forever on-guard, Benji wastes no time in pushing himself off the tree, adjusting the dagger in his palm so that it can be easily plunged into another's belly if necessary. 

But then he sees you, dressed in Bracken gold with damp hair sticking to your cheeks, and looses a breath. Relaxing at the sight of you—his rival, according to centuries of precedent. Your rival, too, you suppose. 

Benji doesn’t look like your rival, though. 

Sheathing his dagger at his hip, you see no trace of the lethal Lord who, mere moments ago, was willing to go head-to-head with the heir to Stone Hedge. This boy—stuffing his hands in his pockets, a light flush crawling up his throat—is not Benjicot Blackwood, the heir of Raventree Hall. 

He’s just Benji. 

“Ready to go?” He asks when you’re closer, his voice a familiar caress so unlike the eerie lull it held earlier. 

It takes everything in you to erect an icy wall around your heart, colder even than Northern winds. You shove past him, your shoulder knocking into his as you go and earning a perplexed stare. “Let’s get this over with,” you snap, plunging into the depths of the Woods and leaving him to follow behind. 

Ten minutes pass. Twenty. 

Dusk crept swiftly through the Riverlands, casting a pall shadow over the Whispering Woods. Overhead, dark clouds seem to grow thicker, obscuring what little light the moon has to offer. 

A fool’s errand. An impossible task. 

That is what Elmo Tully had arranged—not a hunt. 

With the sun hidden beyond the horizon and a near-constant rumble of thunder, any animal in these Woods would either be asleep or hiding by now, trying to escape the incoming storm. To find a trophy to bring back to camp—even something as simple as a hare—was unlikely. 

Still, knowing the guards won’t let you back in without one, you keep walking. Keep plunging further into the Woods, praying to the Gods that you might find something to take back to camp. 

Twigs snap a few paces behind you, wet foliage squelching beneath purposefully heavy steps. A low, careless whistle tests your patience. 

With your bow hanging from your hand, you grumble, “You’re being too loud.” 

Benji feigns innocence. “Am I?” 

“Yes,” you hiss through gritted teeth, never slowing your pace. “Be quiet—unless you wish to scare off any game and spend the night sleeping on wet soil.” 

He chuckles—loudly. “Have you looked up lately?” Benji asks. “The sky looks as if it’ll crack open any minute now! Any animal with sense is hiding right now, anyway.” 

True. 

“Then we find one without sense, then.” 

Benji snorts. “The only thing without sense in this forest is Amos Bracken.” 

Without warning, you stop dead in your tracks—leaving Benji to nearly stumble into you. You cast a glare over your shoulder, cold enough that a chill seeps right into his bones. “You’d do well to keep quiet, Benjicot.” 

His lip curls, revealing a flash of slightly crooked teeth. “And since when do you call me Benjicot?” He asks, a ribbon of disbelief lacing his own name. 

Your jaw tenses, a muscle feathering there. 

I don’t know, you think, a pang of uncertainty cracking the ice wall around your heart. 

You reinforce ice with steel—turning fully now so that you’re face-to-face, dropping your bow to the ground by your feet. “I won’t let you speak of him that way,” you say, ignoring his question. “My brother is the heir to Stone Hedge–” 

A bemused laugh cuts through your words. “Oh, he’s your brother now, is he?” 

You speak over him, voice rising. “To insult him is to insult the whole of House Bracken–” 

“Fuck House Bracken,” Benji growls. 

He takes a half-step closer, towering over you with no more than a foot between you. You don’t falter—don’t look away. 

“I am a Bracken."

His head tilts. “Are you? Last I checked, you were practically raised on Blackwood soil.” 

“Perhaps,” you admit. “But my wardship is over–” 

Benji cuts you off. “Tell me, where was your brother all these years, then? Your father?” He doesn’t let you answer. “No more than a brisk-fucking-walk separating you and yet neither one of them cared to visit with the forgotten daughter of Stone Hedge!” 

You’re a Bracken—

“You don’t know them,” you protest weakly, your resolve crumbling. 

—through-and-through. 

“And you do?” He challenges. Another step, his chest inches from yours. Warmth radiates from his body, seeping into yours and melting melting melting. “Why did your father call you home?” 

His words are no more than a breath fanning across your cheek. 

Vulnerability permeates your gaze, bearing an unspoken truth. Because war is coming, you convey with no more than a flicker of your lashes, and fate has already decided my role in it. 

Benji’s lips tighten to a thin line—and you would’ve thought him ashamed of you, if not for the pain glimmering in his stormy-eyes, lined with silver. “Your father,” he utters, “he will declare for Aegon Targaryen—won’t he?” 

You’re a Bracken—

You debate the merits of telling him the truth. Of betraying the plans of your house. 

—Take pride in that. 

“Aegon Targaryen is the King’s true-born son.” You speak, though you know the words are not your own. “To sit the Iron Throne is his birthright.” 

The birthright of a drunken craven. 

The betrayal of a beloved princess. 

Benji blinks. Shakes his head, his tongue darting along his lips. “He called you home to fight. Humfrey Bracken’s forgotten daughter—useful at long last.” 

Rage coils in his tone. Instinct makes your muscles tense. 

Nothing is more dangerous than this, your thoughts whisper, a Blackwood and a Bracken, toe-to-toe. 

There’s nothing dangerous about the way Benji’s looking at you, though. His gaze soft and tender, calloused hands clenched at his sides—holding himself back, you realize. Not from fighting, but from reaching out to touch something he’s not certain is his. 

“Will you do it?” Benji asks, hesitant. “Will you fight for the pretender?” 

I don’t want to, you think. 

It’s your brother's words that slip past your lips. “I have no choice. My blood runs gold, Benji—a Bracken, through-and-through.” 

His brow furrows. Then a hand shifts to the sheath at his hip, sliding his dagger free. “Give me your hand,” he orders, nodding to where they hang at your sides. 

You remember his vow to your brother—that he would let no harm befall you. Even without it, you would’ve trusted him. Wholly. Unconditionally. 

You lift your hand and, without hesitation, he grips it on his own, pinning the steel tip of his dagger against your palm. 

You hiss—hand stinging as the blade drags along your flesh, leaving a thin, shallow cut. 

“You’ve always had one foot on either side of the boundary,” Benji starts, his words rushed. Carelessly tossing the dagger to the ground, he grabs your wrist tightly, lifting your palm up towards your own face. “But your blood,” he tells you, his eyes desperate, “has always run red.” 

It drips down your wrist—a rivulet of crimson, spilling between his knuckles as he refuses to let go. Red as the color of his tunic—as the specks of blood dried on his own throat, drawn by your brother's sword. 

Gold on your back. Red in your veins. 

A Bracken by name, but… 

“It’s not too late,” Benji says, his words slow and cautious, still cradling your hand in his. “You can come back to Raventree.” Thunder rumbles. Storm-cloud eyes fall to your lips. “You can come home.” 

You think of Amos. Of your brother. You’re home now, he had said, a shadow of love in his eyes, Be glad for it. 

But home was ancient stone, crawling with moss. Home was the deep, muddy moat that you always threatened to push Benji into when he was getting on your nerves. Home was Black Aly’s voice, scolding you whenever your arms were still too weak to string a bow. 

Home was a dead weirwood tree and a boy with stormy eyes. 

But duty… 

That was something else entirely. 

Closing your hand around Benji’s, your chest fills with water as the last of the ice melts. Hard steel turns impossibly soft, your feet shuffling until your body is flush against his—still-entwined hands pinned between your chest, trapped between fabrics of gold and red. 

Benji leans down, his forehead pressing against yours. There’s nothing dangerous about him. Nothing unpredictable. 

You know him—from the crook in his nose to the scar above his lip. From the lull of his voice to the weight of his steps. His quick temper and his shy smiles. 

High above, the sky cries out. Thunder booms, lightning cracks. Misty rain turns to a violent downpour. 

And he leans in, oh-so carefully. A trembling breath against slick skin, chapped lips hovering over yours. 

“You can come home,” Benji whispers, repeating himself. You can’t think—can’t breathe, as he utters against your mouth, “Let me take you home.” 

And he kisses you. A tender, desperate kiss—the kind that drives your lips apart with the sheer force of it. He tugs his hand from yours, slips it out from between your bodies and brings it to rest on the back of your neck, tangling his fingers in damp, rain-soaked hair. 

Restraint is no more than a breath in the wind. Desire curls in your stomach. Your pulse pounds in your veins, rich with red red red. 

But then there’s your brother’s voice in your head: I don’t trust him. 

And you know what he meant was: You’re my sister—my blood, red or gold—and I’m worried about you. 

You pull away, breathless and broken, one half of your heart lying on either side of the boundary stones resting miles and miles from here. 

Lips still close enough to brush against yours, Benji pants. “Say yes.” The love in his eyes isn’t a shadow. It’s a bright, blinding light. A proud declaration and a howling plea. “Say you’ll come home.” 

You look down—to the sigil embroidered on your tunic, to the still-drying blood on your palm 

An estranged brother and a forbidden lover. 

And you. 

The bridge to a great chasm. 

The futile remedy to centuries of enmity. 

You take a step back—reaching inside of yourself, pulling shriveled vines up your throat, knowing that the words hammering in your chest will be anything but delicate. That they’ll taste of rot in your mouth. 

“I’m not sure I have a home, Benjicot.” Pain echoes across his face, each syllable a rusted dagger in his heart. Another step back, grabbing your bow from where it laid in the mud, abandoned what feels like a millennia ago. “Not anymore.” 

When you turn to leave, thunder crashing overhead and a sob caught in your throat, you go alone.

The heir to Raventree Hall doesn’t dare to follow. 

You walk in silence, your bow hanging at your side. Behind you, there are no snapping twigs and no low, careless whistling. There’s only rain and—

A branch creaks overhead, halting your steps. Your bow is drawn in a single breath, the cut on your palm stinging as you  slide an arrow from the quiver slung over your shoulder, readying to shoot. You look up, drops of rain splattering against your cheeks as you scan the trees. 

There. 

Perched on a wet, mossy limb was a pair of beady eyes staring down at you. A raven, letting out a low, curious croak. 

A single shot and you could go back to camp. 

A single shot, you tell yourself, and your blood might finally run gold. 

A breath—and then the bow string goes slack. 

You slip the arrow back into the quiver.

a/n - does any of this even make sense? idk, you tell me lmao. overall, just wanted to play around with capturing the confusion that might ensue for a reader who has no clue where their loyalties lie anymore, lost in who they are and who they think they're meant to be--anyways, hopefully the ending makes sense to you because it makes sense in my brain

anyways

benji tag list (so sorry if I missed you!) - @jacaerysgf @lenasvoid @valdezthg @xzydra11 @snixx2088 @lianna75 @kennafild @ghostinvenus @heystaystray @but-i-write-so-i-must-count @a-song-for-ages

[zrvllya]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑

pairing - regulus black x fem! reader

heart — „ poetic, don't you think? lovers dying together. "

warnings - major character death, explicit sexual content, dark themes, mention of war, blood purity

word count - 10,000+

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your knuckles were bruised like violets against the stark white of hospital sheets. regulus sat beside your bed in a rickety wooden chair, his robes rumpled from sleep, or rather the lack of it. his eyes followed the movement of a mediwitch as she flitted about the small room before eventually departing, allowing the heavy silence between you two to settle once more.

"you shouldn't have done that," he finally said, voice low and ragged.

you didn't look at him, keeping your gaze fixed on the ceiling. "what else was i supposed to do?"

"literally anything else, y/n."

the clock on the wall ticked loudly, counting down seconds that felt like hours. forty-eight hours since you both received the mark. and here you were, hands bandaged from punching walls until they cracked and bled, sedated by potions after being found screaming in the bathroom of your place.

"i couldn't breathe," you whispered, still not looking at him. "it was burning and i couldn't—i just needed it to stop."

regulus's fingers curled into fists on his lap. "breaking your hands won't remove the mark."

"i know that," you snapped, finally turning to face him. his eyes were bloodshot, dark circles prominent against his pale skin. he looked as haunted as you felt. "don't you think i fucking know that?"

he reached for your hand, careful to avoid the bandages. it was a familiar gesture—how many times had his fingers entwined with yours beneath dining tables, in dark corridors, behind curtains? but now it felt different. heavier.

"we made a choice, y/n," he said softly.

"did we?" your laugh was hollow. "was it really a choice when the alternative was watching us— each other be slaughtered by our own families?"

regulus didn't answer. he didn't need to. you both knew the truth—you'd been bred for this, raised to serve, and now you were trapped. two purebloods fulfilling their destiny, following the path laid out since birth.

you thought about that morning, kneeling before the dark lord, sleeves pushed up to reveal unmarked forearms that would soon bear his brand. regulus beside you, shoulders squared with determination or resignation—you couldn't tell the difference anymore. his brother was long gone, escaped to a better life with better people. you sometimes wondered if regulus hated sirius for leaving him behind or admired him for having the courage to leave at all.

"do you remember," you began, voice barely audible, "when we were seven, and your mother caught us playing with muggle coins we'd found?"

his thumb traced circles on your wrist. "you took the blame."

"and you kissed me afterward, behind the curtains in the drawing room," you continued. "you said i was brave."

"you were." a ghost of a smile crossed his face. "you still are."

"i don't feel brave. i feel like i'm drowning." you closed your eyes, feeling the weight of exhaustion press down on you. "what are we doing, reg?"

he didn't answer immediately, instead bringing your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to your fingertips. "surviving," he finally said. "that's all we can do now."

memories swam through your consciousness like fish in murky water—fragmentary, distorted, but unmistakably real.

your bodies tangled in his bed at hogwarts, silencing charms cast so thickly the air felt heavy with them. his lips on your neck, your shoulder, lower. whispered promises neither of you had any business making.

your hand in his at your father's funeral, a subtle pressure of fingers against fingers while walburga black wailed with more theatricality than genuine grief.

studying in the library, knees touching beneath the table, pretending the contact was accidental when you both knew better.

and now, months after receiving the mark, you found yourself in your shared place once more, the one you immediately got together when finishing hogwarts, but everything had changed. the playfulness was gone from your encounters, replaced by a desperate need to feel something—anything—other than the constant dread that had become your companion.

"they're sending us on a raid tomorrow," regulus murmured against your bare shoulder, his arm draped heavily across your waist. "some mudblood family in sussex."

you stared at the ceiling, tracing the constellation patterns he'd charmed there years ago. "together?"

"yes. the dark lord thinks we work well as a pair." his laugh was bitter. "at least we'll have each other while we commit atrocities."

turning to face him, you studied his features in the dim light. he'd lost weight in recent months, his cheekbones more pronounced, giving him an almost gaunt appearance that reminded you too much of the portraits of dead blacks that lined the hallways.

"we don't have to do it," you whispered, though you both knew it was a lie.

he traced the outline of your face with his finger. "and what, die instead? watch you being tortured in front of me?"

"maybe." your voice cracked. "maybe that would be better than becoming this."

regulus pulled you closer, burying his face in the crook of your neck. "i'd die before i let anything happen to you."

"that's what i'm afraid of," you replied, fingers threading through his hair.

silence stretched between you, comfortable despite the weight of everything unsaid. you'd always communicated best in silence—a shared glance across a crowded room, fingers brushing as you passed in hallways, a subtle nod that contained entire conversations.

"do you remember the promise we made?" he asked suddenly. "before all this?"

you did. fifteen years old, hiding in the astronomy tower long after curfew, stars scattered above you like spilled diamonds. regulus had taken your hand, eyes serious in a way that seemed too old for his young face.

"no matter what happens, no matter what they make us do or become, i'll always find my way back to you."

you'd sealed it with a kiss, naively believing that your love would be enough to withstand whatever the world threw at you.

"we were children," you said now, voice hollow. "we didn't know what was coming."

his hand found yours in the darkness, fingers interlacing. "i meant it, though. i still do."

outside, rain began to fall, pattering against the windows like impatient fingers. somewhere in the house, a clock chimed three. in a few hours, you would both don masks and cloaks and become the monsters you were raised to be.

the raid went wrong.

it was supposed to be simple—a show of force, a message to the "impure" that nowhere was safe. but the order had been waiting, as if tipped off. the moment you and the other death eaters apparated onto the quiet suburban street, spells began flying.

in the chaos, you lost sight of regulus. curses illuminated the night in violent bursts of color—red, purple, the sickly green of killing curses cutting through fog like searchlights. screams echoed between houses as muggles fled in terror, not understanding the war that had suddenly erupted on their doorsteps.

you ducked behind a garden wall, blood trickling from a cut above your eye where a severing charm had nearly found its target. your mask felt suffocating, the silver filigree pressing into your skin as you gasped for breath.

"retreat!" someone shouted—bellatrix, you thought, though it was hard to tell with everyone masked. "now!"

death eaters began disappearing with sharp cracks of apparition. you stayed hidden, frantically scanning for regulus among the figures still dueling.

that's when you saw him, locked in combat with a tall wizard you recognized as one of the prewett brothers. regulus was holding his own, but barely. his movements were slowing, and even from a distance, you could see the dark stain spreading across his robes.

without thinking, you broke cover, racing toward him as another death eater fell to a stunning spell nearby. regulus turned at your approach, distracted for just a fraction of a second—but it was enough.

the spell hit him square in the chest, lifting him off his feet and throwing him backward several meters. he crumpled to the ground, motionless.

your scream was muffled by your mask as you reached him, dropping to your knees beside his still form. blood was seeping through his robes, but his chest still rose and fell with shallow breaths.

prewett was advancing, wand raised for a finishing blow. you stood, positioning yourself between him and regulus, wand trembling in your grip.

"step aside," prewett commanded, his voice hard but not cruel.

"no." your voice broke on the single syllable.

something in your stance must have given him pause. he studied you for a moment, then glanced at regulus's prone form.

"he'll bleed out if he doesn't get help," he said finally. "is he worth dying for?"

you didn't hesitate. "yes."

prewett lowered his wand slightly. "take him and go. next time we meet, i won't be merciful."

you didn't need to be told twice. grabbing regulus, you concentrated through your panic and apparated, the crushing darkness a welcome escape from the battlefield.

the safe house was small, hidden deep in unplottable woods that had belonged to the yaxley family for generations. you'd brought regulus here instead of returning to his old home—walburga would have summoned the dark lord immediately, and neither of you could face him in this condition.

for three days, regulus drifted between consciousness and delirium as you worked tirelessly to heal him, applying every healing charm and potion you knew. your hands shook so badly you spilled more than you used, but gradually, his color improved, and his breathing steadied.

on the fourth day, he finally woke properly, eyes focusing on you as you changed the bandages on his chest.

"y/n," he rasped, throat dry from disuse. "where—?"

"safe house," you answered, helping him sip water from a cup. "no one knows we're here."

his eyes widened. "the dark lord—"

"thinks we're dead, or captured. i don't know. i haven't contacted anyone."

regulus struggled to sit up, wincing as the movement pulled at his healing wounds. "are you insane? he'll kill us both when we return."

"then we don't return," you said simply.

he stared at you as if seeing you for the first time. "what are you saying?"

you sat on the edge of the bed, suddenly exhausted. for days, you'd been running on fear and determination, sleep coming only in brief snatches between tending to his wounds and jumping at every sound, convinced that death eaters would burst through the door at any moment.

"i'm saying i watched you nearly die, reg. i stood over your body, ready to die protecting you." your voice cracked. "and i realized something—i don't want to do this anymore. any of it."

"we don't have a choice," he said, but the words lacked conviction.

"there's always a choice." you took his hand, turning it over to expose the dark mark, stark against his pale skin. "this doesn't define us unless we let it."

he was quiet for a long moment, eyes fixed on the mark. "i've been... researching things. about him. about what he's done to ensure he can't die."

you went still. "what do you mean?"

"horcruxes," he whispered, the word itself seeming to darken the room. "he's made horcruxes, y/n. i don't know how many, but at least one."

the term was vaguely familiar from obscure texts in your family's library—the darkest of magic, splitting one's soul through murder to achieve a twisted form of immortality.

"how do you know this?"

"kreacher," he replied. "the dark lord borrowed him for something. when he returned, he was... different. traumatized. it took weeks to get the full story out of him."

regulus's eyes met yours, burning with an intensity you hadn't seen in months. "he's hidden one in a cave, protected by inferi and poison. i think i can get to it, destroy it."

"and then what? he has others, you said so yourself."

"then at least i've done something right." his hand gripped yours tightly. "something to balance the scales, even a little."

you recognized the look on his face—the same determination he'd shown when declaring he would become the person sirius had refused to be, when mastering particularly difficult spells, when promising to always find his way back to you.

"you're planning to die," you realized, voice barely audible.

he didn't deny it. "someone has to start dismantling him, piece by piece. why not us?"

"us?" your heart hammered against your ribs. "no, reg. just you, right? that's what you're planning."

his silence was answer enough.

"you fucking coward," you hissed, tears springing to your eyes. "you were going to leave me behind."

"to protect you!" he argued, reaching for you as you pulled away. "y/n, please—"

"no." you stood, putting distance between you. "every time i think we're in this together, you make decisions without me. you plotted this while lying beside me at night, didn't you? planned your noble sacrifice while watching me sleep?"

regulus struggled to his feet, swaying slightly from weakness. "it's not like that."

"then what is it like? explain it to me, reg. explain how abandoning me is somehow an act of love."

"because i can't watch you die!" he shouted, the outburst clearly costing him as he grimaced in pain. "i can't let you walk into that cave knowing you won't come out."

you stared at each other across the small room, both breathing heavily.

"but you expect me to keep living after you're gone?" you asked finally, voice small. "how is that fair?"

he had no answer for that.

three weeks passed in tense coexistence. regulus grew stronger daily, and with each improvement in his condition, the inevitable confrontation loomed larger between you.

you took turns sleeping in the single bed, the other keeping watch from a worn armchair by the window. you hunted in the woods for food, set protective enchantments, and lived like fugitives—which, in truth, you were.

on the twenty-third day, regulus found you sitting by the small stream that ran near the cabin, skipping stones across the surface with aggressive flicks of your wand.

"i've been thinking," he said, lowering himself carefully beside you.

"dangerous pastime for you," you replied, not looking at him.

he ignored the jab. "what if there's another way? not just destroying one horcrux, but finding information about all of them. something we could pass to someone who could actually defeat him."

you finally turned to him. "like who? dumbledore?"

regulus grimaced. "perhaps. or someone in the order."

"your brother," you guessed.

he nodded reluctantly. "sirius would know who to trust."

the idea of seeking help from the people you'd been raised to despise—blood traitors, muggle-lovers—should have been repulsive. instead, it felt like the first breath of fresh air after being underwater too long.

"so what's your plan now?" you asked.

"we still need to get the horcrux. but instead of... what i planned before, we find a way to substitute a fake, leave a message." his eyes met yours, hesitant but hopeful. "together."

you studied him—the boy you'd grown up with, the young man you'd fallen in love with, the death eater you'd followed into darkness. his features were so familiar you could trace them in your sleep, yet something had shifted in him, something fundamental.

"when did you start planning this rebellion?" you asked softly.

regulus looked away, watching the stream's gentle current. "i think it started the day sirius left. i was so angry with him—for abandoning the family, for choosing potter over us, for leaving me behind." he paused. "but part of me envied him. his certainty. his courage."

you reached for his hand, tracing the lines of his palm. "and now?"

"now i understand why he had to go." he turned his hand to capture yours. "i just wish i hadn't waited so long to follow his example."

the evening air was cool against your skin, the setting sun painting the trees in gold and amber. in that moment, despite everything, a fragile hope bloomed in your chest.

"if we do this," you said slowly, "there's no going back. we'll have to disappear afterward—change our names, leave the country maybe."

regulus nodded. "i know."

"your mother will disown you."

"probably."

"we might die anyway."

his smile was sad but genuine. "at least it would be on our terms."

you leaned forward, pressing your forehead against his. "no more solo heroics, reg. we fight together or not at all. promise me."

"i promise," he whispered, sealing the vow with a kiss that tasted of new beginnings.

memories swam through your consciousness like shards of broken glass—jagged, cutting, but unmistakably real. your bodies tangled desperately in his bed at hogwarts, silencing charms cast so thickly the very air seemed to suffocate around you. his mouth hot against your skin, leaving marks that would linger for days. whispered promises exchanged in the darkness, reckless and dangerous and impossibly sweet. your fingers intertwined with his at his father's funeral, that subtle pressure the only thing keeping you both anchored while walburga black's theatrical grief echoed through the mausoleum. stolen moments in forgotten corners of the library, knees pressed together beneath ancient tables, the pretense of accidental contact abandoned long ago.

and now this—your first real breaking point. bitter winter had seized hogwarts in an unforgiving grip, the castle corridors as frigid and unforgiving as the growing chasm between you and regulus over the past weeks.

you tracked him to an abandoned classroom on the fifth floor after he'd deliberately avoided you for nine agonizing days. you slammed the heavy oak door with such violence that dust rained from the ceiling, the sound reverberating like a thunderclap in the empty room.

"what the actual fuck is wrong with you?" you demanded, voice raw with barely contained rage, each word scraping your throat like sandpaper.

regulus didn't even look up from his book, his shoulders tensing imperceptibly beneath his immaculate robes. "nothing that concerns you anymore. get out."

"bullshit," you snarled, storming toward him, blood roaring in your ears. "you've been avoiding me for over a week. you switched patrol schedules without telling me. you're sitting with rosier and his death eater groupies at every fucking meal. what happened to 'nothing will change between us, y/n'? was that just another convenient lie?"

he stood abruptly, the chair screeching against stone, his movement so violent the book tumbled forgotten to the floor. "maybe i'm finally tired of pretending."

"pretending what, exactly?" your voice dropped dangerously.

"that whatever this is—" he gestured sharply between you, disgust evident in every line of his body, "—isn't a fucking liability. avery saw us in hogsmeade last weekend. he's asking questions. making comments."

"so fucking what?" you challenged, closing the distance between you until you were close enough to see the flecks of silver in his grey eyes. "afraid daddy's little spy will tell the family their precious heir is banging me?"

something dark and dangerous flashed across his face. "you know that's not what this is about."

"do i?" your laugh was caustic enough to burn. "because from where i'm standing, it looks exactly like you're ashamed of me. the second anyone whispers, you bolt like a fucking coward."

"i'm trying to protect you, you idiot!" he shouted, composure finally shattering.

"protect me? fucking protect me?" you screamed back, shoving him hard enough that he stumbled back against the desk. "don't insult my intelligence with that bullshit! you're protecting yourself. your reputation. your precious fucking legacy."

regulus straightened, fury transforming his aristocratic features into something almost unrecognizable. "you think i give a single solitary fuck about any of that?"

"yes! i absolutely fucking do!" you shoved him again, harder this time, both hands connecting with his chest with enough force to make him wince. "ever since sirius walked out, you've been desperate to be the perfect black son. the perfect slytherin prince. the perfect little death eater in training. it's fucking pathetic to watch."

his hand shot out with the speed of a striking snake, fingers curling brutally around your wrist. "don't you dare talk about things you don't understand," he hissed, voice dropping to something lethal and quiet.

"i understand perfectly," you spat, wrenching your arm free with enough force to leave marks. "your mother's got her claws so deep in you that you can't even think for yourself anymore. you're nothing but her puppet."

"and you're living in a fucking fantasy world," he snarled, backing you against the wall, his face inches from yours. "you think we have actual choices? that we can just walk away from our families? from who we are? from what's expected of us? look what happened to sirius—disowned, cut off, living off potter's charity like a stray dog."

"at least he's free!" you screamed, throat burning with the force of it. "at least he's not regurgitating vile pureblood supremacy bullshit to impress his fucking death eater friends!"

regulus's eyes widened momentarily before narrowing to dangerous slits, his pupils blown wide with rage. "is that what you think this is? that i'm playing some kind of game? that i don't believe any of it?"

"the regulus i knew wouldn't," you said, voice dropping to something hollow and cold.

"then you never knew me at all," he replied, each word precise and cutting. "i believe in preserving our world. our traditions. our bloodlines. our magic. from people who would destroy everything that makes us who we are."

you stared at him, genuine revulsion twisting your features. "listen to yourself. you sound exactly like your fucking mother."

"don't talk about my mother," he growled, the muscle in his jaw working furiously as he crowded you further against the wall.

"why the hell not?" you challenged, refusing to back down even as your heart hammered painfully against your ribs. "afraid i'll tell you the truth? that she's a hateful, cruel, manipulative bitch who—"

his fist slammed into the wall beside your head with enough force to crack the ancient stone, making you flinch despite your determination not to show fear. "shut your fucking mouth."

"or what?" you taunted, adrenaline making you reckless. "going to hex me, black? show me what you've been learning from your new friends? what dark curses has bellatrix been teaching you?"

"you have no idea what i'm capable of," he threatened, voice dropping to something barely above a whisper, somehow more terrifying than his shouting.

"i know exactly what you're capable of," you countered, trembling with fury. "cowardice. conformity. following orders like a good little soldier while pretending you have no choice."

something dangerous shifted behind his eyes. "i'm not my fucking brother."

"no," you agreed, delivering the final blow with deliberate cruelty. "you're not half the man he is. and you never will be."

the words hung suspended between you, a line crossed that could never be uncrossed. for a heartbeat, pure hatred flashed across his perfect features—then his mouth crashed against yours with bruising force.

the kiss wasn't passion—it was warfare. all teeth and anger and punishment, his hands roughly tangling in your hair as he backed you brutally against the wall. you bit his lower lip hard enough to draw blood, viciously satisfied when he hissed in pain against your mouth. his response was to grab both your wrists in one hand, pinning them above your head with enough force to leave marks.

"is this what you wanted?" he growled against your mouth, his other hand gripping your jaw with bruising intensity. "to push me until i lost control?"

you laughed against his lips, the sound hollow and mocking. "fuck you, regulus."

"that seems to be the idea," he shot back, his free hand moving to your tie, yanking it loose with such violence that buttons scattered across the stone floor.

you wrenched your hands free from his grip, shoving him back only to grab his expensive robes and drag him closer again. your nails dug into his scalp as you kissed him, pouring every ounce of rage and frustration and heartbreak of the past weeks into it until you tasted blood and weren't sure whose it was.

he lifted you against the wall with a strength that surprised you, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist as his teeth found the sensitive junction of your neck and shoulder, biting hard enough to mark you as his. you retaliated by dragging your nails down his back, feeling the fabric tear under your fingers.

"i fucking hate you," you gasped as his mouth moved lower, not meaning it but needing to say it anyway.

his hand slid roughly under your skirt, fingers digging into the flesh of your thigh hard enough to leave perfect crescent-shaped bruises. "no, you don't," he countered, voice raw with something that wasn't quite anger anymore. "you hate that you still want me anyway."

you pulled back just enough to look him directly in the eyes, your breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps. "you're destroying everything we could have been."

"and you're asking for things i can never give," he countered, eyes dark with desire and fury and something that might have been despair. "things that would get us both killed."

"then give me this," you demanded, pulling him back to you with desperate hands. "make me forget for one fucking minute why i'm so goddamn angry with you."

he didn't need to be told twice. his mouth reclaimed yours with renewed desperation, one hand braced against the wall beside your head while the other explored with possessive intent. you worked frantically at his belt buckle, movements clumsy and urgent with anger-fueled desire.

a silencing charm went up with a sharp flick of his wand—wordless magic that reminded you how powerful he truly was beneath the carefully controlled exterior. your school robes hit the floor moments later, his following quickly after.

there was nothing gentle about what followed—nails leaving scarlet trails across sweat-slicked skin, teeth marking territory neither of you could openly claim, anger transforming into something else entirely without losing its jagged edge. every touch was a challenge, every kiss a battle neither of you was willing to concede, every movement a declaration of ownership that would leave marks for days after.

when it was over, you both slid to the cold stone floor, backs against the wall, breathing ragged and uneven in the sudden silence. your uniform was ruined beyond magical repair, his perfect hair a wild mess from your punishing fingers. purple bruises were already blooming across your collarbone, matched by deep scratches down his pale back.

"this doesn't fix a goddamn thing," you said finally, voice raw and unfamiliar to your own ears.

he glanced sideways at you, something unreadable flickering in the stormy depths of his eyes. "i know."

but you both knew you'd end up here again—fighting, breaking, fucking and coming together in the most destructive way possible. it was easier than facing the truth neither of you could escape: that you were standing on the side of a war that was coming whether you were ready or not, and neither of you knew how to build a bridge across that impossible divide to the side you were meant to be on.

the cave was exactly as kreacher had described—dark, foreboding, reeking of old magic that clung to your skin like oil. the sea crashed violently against jagged rock faces, spray hitting your cheeks like tears as you stood at the entrance, breath caught in your throat.

regulus stood beside you, his face marble-pale in the moonlight. without speaking, he drew a silver knife from his robes and sliced his palm open, barely flinching as blood welled up black in the darkness.

"blood sacrifice," he murmured, pressing his wounded hand against the rock. "he always did have a flair for the theatrical."

the stone dissolved beneath his touch, revealing a passage that led deeper into the cliff. you caught regulus as he swayed slightly, the blood loss and the magnitude of what you were attempting finally hitting him.

"we could still turn back," you whispered, though you knew neither of you would. there was something final about stepping into that darkness, like crossing a threshold you could never return from.

regulus's eyes found yours, that familiar constellation of gray and silver that you'd mapped a thousand times. "no," he said softly. "we finish this."

he reached for your hand, fingers interlacing with yours. his palm was slick with blood that now stained your skin too—a fitting metaphor for everything you'd shared.

the passageway opened to reveal an underground lake so vast the opposite shore was lost in shadow. the water was unnaturally still, a black mirror reflecting nothing. suspended in the center was a small island, a faint greenish glow emanating from its surface.

"don't touch the water," regulus warned, repeating kreacher's instructions as he searched along the edge until he found an invisible chain.

the boat that emerged from the depths was barely large enough for one person, let alone two. you squeezed in together, your body pressed against his in a way that would once have made your heart race for entirely different reasons. now, all you felt was dread, thick and choking.

"i'm scared," you admitted as the boat moved silently toward the island. below the surface, pale shapes drifted like ghosts—faces frozen in silent screams, hands reaching upward.

regulus's arm tightened around you. "i know. me too."

"what if we fail?"

"then at least we tried." his voice was steady, but you felt the rapid flutter of his pulse where your head rested against his neck. "at least we chose something different than what was chosen for us."

the boat bumped gently against the island. at its center stood a basin atop a pedestal, filled with a luminous green potion. within its depths, you could just make out the golden gleam of the locket.

regulus approached first, circling the basin with cautious steps. you followed, drawing from your pocket the duplicate you'd spent weeks creating—an exact replica, indistinguishable from the original except for the soul fragment it didn't contain. inside was the note regulus had written, his final act of defiance.

"i'll drink it," he said, conjuring a crystal cup.

you grabbed his wrist. "no. we agreed—i'll make you drink it, no matter what happens."

his eyes met yours, a silent argument passing between you. "y/n—"

"you know what kreacher said. someone has to force the drinker to continue. if you start, you'll never finish." your fingers tightened around his wrist. "i need to be the one who stays clear-headed."

"and if i try to fight you?" he challenged. "if i hurt you?"

you smiled grimly. "i've been dueling you since we were children, reg. i know all your weaknesses."

he didn't smile back. instead, he pulled you close, his lips finding yours in a kiss that tasted of salt and fear and fierce devotion. "i love you," he whispered against your mouth. "remember that, no matter what i say when the poison takes hold."

your throat constricted painfully. "i know."

the first cup went down easily. regulus grimaced at the taste but nodded for you to continue. by the third cup, his hands were trembling. by the fifth, he was on his knees.

"stop," he gasped, pushing weakly at your hand as you brought the sixth cup to his lips. "please, i can't—"

"you have to," you said, your voice breaking as you forced the liquid down his throat. "i'm sorry, i'm so sorry, but you have to keep drinking."

by the eighth cup, he was screaming, begging you to stop, his body convulsing with pain. tears streamed down your face as you continued, cup after cup of poison pouring between his lips.

"it burns," he sobbed after the tenth cup, curling into himself on the cold stone. "make it stop, please make it stop."

"just a little more," you whispered, your hands shaking so badly you nearly spilled the eleventh cup. "please, reg, just a little more."

the twelfth cup brought hallucinations. regulus stared in horror at something you couldn't see, scrambling backward until he nearly fell off the edge of the island.

"no, not her, please not her," he begged, reaching out toward nothing. "take me instead!"

"who?" you asked, though you weren't sure you wanted to know what horrific visions the poison was conjuring.

his eyes found yours, but you weren't sure he recognized you anymore. "y/n," he whimpered. "they're torturing her. please, stop hurting her!"

your heart shattered as you realized he was watching you being tortured, some vision of what might happen if you were caught. with trembling hands, you forced the thirteenth cup between his lips.

the fourteenth cup brought silence—a terrible, unnatural stillness as regulus collapsed onto his back, eyes open but unseeing, chest barely moving with shallow breaths. for one terrible moment, you thought he was dead.

"reg?" you dropped to your knees beside him, hands hovering over his body, afraid to touch him. "regulus?"

no response.

the last cup glittered mockingly in the basin. with shaking hands, you collected it and turned back to regulus. his lips were blue now, his skin ashen. when you lifted his head onto your lap, it lolled lifelessly.

"last one," you whispered, tilting the cup against his unresponsive mouth. the potion dribbled down his chin, and you frantically wiped it back up, making sure every drop passed his lips. "please stay with me. please."

as the basin emptied, you reached inside and grabbed the locket, quickly replacing it with the fake. the horcrux felt unnaturally heavy, throbbing with malevolent energy against your palm. you shoved it deep into your pocket, your attention immediately returning to regulus.

his breathing had grown so shallow it was almost imperceptible. his pulse, when you pressed trembling fingers to his neck, was erratic and weak.

"water," he rasped suddenly, the word barely audible. "so thirsty."

you remembered kreacher's warning about the lake—how touching the water would wake the inferi. but regulus looked seconds from death, his lips cracked and bleeding.

"aguamenti," you whispered, pointing your wand at the cup. nothing happened. you tried again, more desperately. still nothing. some magic in the cave was preventing the spell from working.

regulus's hand weakly clutched at your robes. "water," he pleaded again, his voice a dry rattle.

panic rose in your throat as you looked from his dying face to the still black lake surrounding you. there was water everywhere, just out of reach, just beyond safety.

"i'm going to get you out of here," you promised, attempting to lift him. his body was deadweight in your arms, and you staggered under it. "just stay with me, reg."

you half-dragged, half-carried him toward the boat, his feet trailing limply behind. each labored breath he took sounded like it might be his last, his chest barely rising.

"stay with me," you begged, lowering him into the boat with trembling arms. "don't you dare leave me here alone."

his eyes fluttered open, unfocused and clouded with pain. "so thirsty," he whispered again.

the boat began its silent journey back across the lake. regulus's breathing grew more labored with each passing second, his skin taking on a bluish tinge. terror clawed at your throat as you realized he wouldn't make it to shore without water.

in desperation, you conjured a small cup from thin air and, with trembling hands, reached over the edge of the boat toward the dark water.

regulus's hand shot out with surprising strength, grabbing your wrist. "no," he rasped. "inferi."

"you'll die," you choked out, tears blurring your vision.

his fingers weakened around your wrist. "better me than both of us."

"no," you growled, pulling your hand back. "we live together or die together, remember? that was the promise."

you pointed your wand at the water, preparing to cast aguamenti once more in hopes that away from the island, the spell might work—

the surface of the lake exploded.

pale, bloated hands erupted from the water, grabbing at the sides of the boat. sightless eyes and gaping mouths emerged as the inferi pulled themselves up, waterlogged bodies hauling toward you with unnatural strength.

you raised your wand, remembering kreacher's terrified whispers. "incendio!" you screamed.

flames burst from your wand, but the inferi kept coming, untroubled by ordinary fire. more and more broke the surface, hands reaching for regulus's limp form, for your ankles, for the edges of the boat that was now taking on water.

panic surged through you, clarifying your thoughts. this wasn't ordinary darkness, so ordinary fire wouldn't suffice.

"fiendfyre!" you shouted, your voice echoing off the cavern walls.

cursed flames exploded from your wand—serpents and chimeras and dragons made of fire, roaring as they engulfed the inferi. the heat was tremendous, scorching your face even as it kept the undead at bay. you'd never cast the spell before, had only read about it in the darkest books in your family's library, and you could feel it fighting your control, hungry to consume everything.

the boat lurched as more inferi attacked from below. water sloshed over the sides, soaking your robes, regulus's unmoving body. his eyes were closed now, his breathing imperceptible.

"no, no, no," you sobbed, trying to maintain the fiendfyre while checking his pulse. nothing. "reg, please!"

with a desperate cry, you directed the cursed fire in a circle around the boat, creating a barrier the inferi couldn't penetrate. the flames reflected off the black water, bathing regulus's deathly pale face in orange light.

you pressed your ear to his chest. silence. nothing.

"don't you dare," you whispered fiercely, starting compressions on his chest. "don't you dare leave me."

between compressions, you breathed into his mouth, tasting the poison still on his lips. around you, the fiendfyre roared, consuming inferi that still tried to reach you. the heat was suffocating, but you didn't stop.

one minute passed. two. regulus remained still beneath your desperate ministrations.

"please," you begged, your voice breaking. "i love you. please come back."

you brought your hands down on his chest one final time, a sob tearing from your throat—

and regulus gasped, water and potion spewing from his mouth as he convulsed beneath you. you turned him onto his side, supporting his head as he retched weakly, his body trembling violently.

"that's it," you encouraged through tears, "breathe. just breathe."

the boat bumped against the shore of the cave. with strength you didn't know you possessed, you hauled regulus out, dragging him toward the entrance while maintaining the fire shield behind you. the inferi followed to the edge of the water but could go no further.

the moment you crossed the threshold of the cave, you let the fiendfyre die, collapsing beside regulus on the rocky shore. the horcrux in your pocket pulsed like a malignant heart.

regulus's breathing was shallow but steady, his pulse weak but present. his eyes fluttered open, finding yours in the moonlight.

"you saved me," he whispered, voice wrecked from screaming and nearly dying.

you pressed your forehead to his, tears falling onto his face. "always."

three days later, regulus could finally stand without assistance. the cave had taken something from him—a vitality that had always been present even in his darkest moments. his face was gaunt, cheekbones sharper than ever, eyes haunted by whatever visions the poison had shown him.

"we should contact sirius," you said as you changed the bandages on his hand where he'd cut it for the blood sacrifice. the wound refused to heal properly, as if tainted by dark magic. "the horcrux needs to be destroyed."

regulus nodded absently, staring out the window of the safe house. "he won't believe it's really me. i'll need to tell him something only i would know."

you finished wrapping his hand and sat beside him on the narrow bed. "what will you tell him?"

a ghost of a smile crossed his face. "about the time i caught him sneaking out to meet that muggle girl from the village. he thought our parents never knew, but i covered for him. told them the sounds they heard were me practicing dueling in my room."

you raised an eyebrow. "you never told me that story."

"some secrets aren't mine to tell." his good hand found yours, fingers interlacing. "even from you."

the statement hung between you, loaded with unspoken meaning. you knew regulus still kept parts of himself locked away—what he'd seen in those poison-induced visions, the full extent of what he'd done as a death eater, the deepest fears that woke him screaming in the night.

"i've been thinking," he said finally. "about what comes next."

your heart stuttered. "and?"

"we can't run." his eyes met yours, steady and sure despite the exhaustion etched into his features. "not yet. there's more to be done."

you'd expected this, had seen the determination building in him as his strength returned. still, fear coiled in your stomach. "we barely survived stealing one horcrux."

"i know." he squeezed your hand. "but we know things now—about him, about how he operates. information the order could use."

"you want to become spies," you said flatly.

regulus didn't flinch from the accusation. "i want to fix what i helped break."

you stood, pulling your hand from his, and paced the small room. "we've already taken a stand. we stole his horcrux. isn't that enough?"

"would it be enough for you?" he challenged. "if our positions were reversed, would you be content with one act of rebellion before disappearing?"

the answer stuck in your throat because you both knew the truth. neither of you were built to run, not really. you'd been raised as warriors—the wrong side, perhaps, but warriors nonetheless.

"we'd have to go back," you said, the realization washing over you like ice water. "pretend nothing's happened. face him."

regulus nodded grimly. "it would be dangerous. if he suspects, even for a moment..."

"he'd kill us. but not quickly." you wrapped your arms around yourself, suddenly cold despite the summer heat. "we'd beg for death long before he granted it."

"i won't ask this of you," regulus said softly. "this is my choice. you can still leave, find somewhere safe—"

"don't," you cut him off. "don't you dare suggest we separate now."

he stood, wincing at the effort, and crossed to where you stood. his hands, one bandaged and one bare, came to rest on your shoulders. "i'm trying to protect you."

"and i'm trying to make you understand that i don't want protection if it means watching you walk into death alone." your voice broke on the last word.

his forehead came to rest against yours, a gesture that had become as natural as breathing between you. "we might both die."

"everyone dies," you whispered. "but not everyone gets to choose what they die for."

regulus's arms wrapped around you, pulling you against his chest where his heart beat steadily, a miracle after how close you'd come to losing him. "we contact sirius first," he said. "get the horcrux somewhere safe. then we return—bereaved cousins who got lost after a raid gone wrong."

you nodded against his chest. "they'll be suspicious."

"let them," he said with a hint of the old black arrogance. "they've always underestimated both of us."

that night, regulus wrote the letter to his brother—carefully worded, with just enough personal details to prove his identity but vague enough that if intercepted, it wouldn't immediately condemn you both. you added your own note, explaining who you were, why sirius should trust what his estranged brother was telling him.

"do you think he'll help?" you asked as regulus sealed the envelope.

"sirius has his faults," he replied, "but he's never lacked courage. and he loves a good rebellion."

you sent the letter with a nondescript owl, then began preparing for what would be the performance of your lives. the horcrux remained hidden in a magically sealed box beneath the floorboards, waiting for sirius's response.

regulus came to bed late that night, sliding under the covers beside you. you turned to face him in the darkness, tracing the sharp lines of his face with gentle fingers.

"scared?" you asked.

"terrified," he admitted, catching your hand and pressing a kiss to your palm. "but certain."

you moved closer, resting your head on his chest where you could hear the steady rhythm of his heart. "we should practice our story. where we've been, what happened during the raid."

"tomorrow," he murmured, fingers threading through your hair. "tonight, just... be here with me."

you understood what he wasn't saying—that these moments of peace might be your last, that tomorrow began a dangerous game with your lives as the stakes. so you pressed closer, memorizing the feel of him, safe and whole beside you.

"i keep thinking about what you said in the cave," regulus whispered after a long silence. "about living together or dying together."

you tensed slightly. "i meant it."

"i know." his arms tightened around you. "that's what scares me the most. not dying, but the thought of taking you with me."

"it's not your choice to make," you reminded him gently.

he was quiet for so long you thought he might have fallen asleep. then: "in the cave, when the poison... there were visions."

you waited, letting him find the words at his own pace.

"i saw him winning," regulus continued, voice barely audible. "the world under his rule. no resistance left. and you—" his voice broke. "you were still alive, but not... not really. he kept you as an example of what happens to traitors. you begged me to kill you."

your breath caught in your throat. "it wasn't real."

"it felt real." his hand found yours in the darkness, clutching like a lifeline. "i couldn't save you. i tried, but i couldn't reach you."

you propped yourself up on one elbow, finding his eyes in the dim light. "it was the poison talking. using your fears against you."

"my greatest fear," he corrected. "losing you. failing you."

"you won't," you said with more confidence than you felt. "we're smarter than him. than all of them."

his smile was sad in the moonlight. "intelligence isn't always enough in war."

"then we'll be lucky too." you leaned down, pressing your lips to his. "now sleep. we have work to do tomorrow."

as regulus's breathing evened out beside you, sleep eluding you. the weight of what you were about to attempt pressed down like a physical thing. spying on the dark lord himself, walking back into the snake pit you'd so narrowly escaped—it was madness.

but the alternative—running, hiding, leaving others to fight while you sought safety—felt like a different kind of death. so you closed your eyes and planned, mentally preparing for the performance of your life, and hoped that somewhere in england, sirius black was reading his brother's letter and believing.

sirius's response came three days later, delivered by a different owl than the one you'd sent—a precaution you appreciated. the note was brief, unsigned, and written in a code you and regulus had created as children:

number twelve, grimmauld place. midnight. come alone. bring proof.

you stared at the address in disbelief. "he's using your childhood home as a safe house? is he insane?"

regulus's lips quirked into a humorless smile. "it's actually brilliant. the last place anyone would look for order members is a black family residence. and the protective enchantments are ancient—stronger than anything they could cast themselves."

regulus burned the note after reading it, watching the ashes float away on the breeze. "he always was dramatic."

"are you sure you should go alone?" you asked, anxiety churning in your stomach. "what if it's a trap?"

he shook his head. "it's not. only sirius would know to use this particular code."

"still," you insisted, "i should come with you."

"someone needs to stay with this," regulus countered, gesturing to the box containing the horcrux. "if something happens to me, you're the only other person who knows what it is, what it means."

you wanted to argue further, but the logic was sound. reluctantly, you nodded. "be careful. your brother might shoot first and ask questions later."

that night, you helped regulus prepare. he still looked too thin, too haunted to convincingly return to the death eaters, but you had time to build his strength back before facing the dark lord. this meeting was just the first step.

"if i'm not back by dawn," regulus said as he prepared to disapparate, "assume the worst. take the horcrux and run. don't try to find me."

you gripped the front of his robes. "don't say that."

"y/n," he said firmly, "promise me. promise you'll run if i don't return."

the request felt like swallowing glass, but you nodded. "i promise."

he kissed you then, deep and desperate, like a drowning man taking a final breath. "i love you," he whispered against your lips. "whatever happens, remember that."

then he was gone, leaving you alone with a piece of the dark lord's soul and hours to wait, each minute stretching like years.

you paced. you practiced dueling stances, defensive spells, anything to keep your mind occupied. you made tea you didn't drink and reorganized supplies you didn't need. and you watched the sky, counting stars to mark the passage of time.

one hour passed. two. three.

just as despair began to set in, a crack of apparition split the night. you spun, wand raised—

regulus staggered through the door, face pale but eyes bright with something you hadn't seen in years. hope.

"sirius?" you asked.

"he believed me." regulus sank onto the sofa, exhaustion evident in every line of his body. "we talked for hours. he's taking the horcrux to dumbledore."

relief flooded you, making your knees weak. you sat beside him, taking his hand. "and then?"

"then we go back," he said simply. "we play our parts. we gather information. and we wait."

"for what?"

regulus looked at you, determination hardening his features despite his exhaustion. "for the moment we can help end him. once and for all."

you leaned against him, head on his shoulder, the weight of what lay ahead settling over you both like a shroud. there would be no running, no peaceful cottage in france. instead, you would walk willingly back into darkness, clinging to each other and the hope that someday, somehow, light would prevail.

three months passed like a fever dream.

you both returned to your respective homes, spinning tales of capture and narrow escape. the dark lord welcomed you back with suspicion that slowly eased as you proved your continued loyalty through raids and meetings. you became his perfect soldiers again—regulus the quiet, thoughtful strategist; you the unflinching executor of commands.

and all the while, you gathered information, passed it through elaborate channels to sirius, who funneled it to the order. small victories accumulated—intercepted attacks, saved lives, thwarted plans. tiny fractures in the dark lord's seemingly impenetrable armor.

you and regulus barely spoke in public, maintaining the appearance of mere acquaintances with shared history. but in shadows, in brief stolen moments, you held each other with the desperation of people who knew every touch might be the last.

"he suspects bellatrix," regulus whispered one night, lips against your ear in a darkened alcove at malfoy manor, where death eaters had gathered to celebrate a victory you had secretly helped minimize. "he's been testing her loyalty."

"good," you breathed back. "the farther his suspicion stays from us, the better."

regulus's hands tightened on your waist. "something big is coming. he's planning something for samhain. i haven't been able to learn what."

"i'll try to get it from rosier," you promised. "he talks when he drinks."

the clock struck midnight, your signal to separate before anyone noticed your absence. regulus pressed a quick, hard kiss to your lips before melting into the shadows, leaving you alone with the phantom pressure of his touch and the ever-present fear that each parting might be final.

two weeks later, your worst fears began to materialize.

it started with small things—sideways glances from other death eaters, conversations that stopped when you entered rooms, being excluded from certain meetings. then came the subtle tests—requests for information you shouldn't have had, invitations to express opinions on topics designed to reveal sympathy for the other side.

"he knows," you told regulus during a rushed meeting in knockturn alley, both of you disguised with complex glamour charms. "or at least, he suspects."

regulus's face, altered though it was, couldn't hide his concern. "we need to run. now, before it's too late."

"we can't," you argued. "the samhain plan—we still don't know what it is. we can't leave until we warn the order."

"y/n," he grasped your shoulders, "listen to me. i've seen what he does to traitors. we've both seen it. if he catches us—"

"two more days," you pleaded. "rosier invited me to his estate tomorrow night. he'll be drinking, celebrating. i can get the information then."

regulus looked torn, fear warring with determination on his face. finally, he nodded. "two days. then we disappear, whether we have the information or not."

you sealed the agreement with a kiss, ignoring the dread pooling in your stomach. "two days," you echoed.

the next night found you at rosier's manor, dressed in formal robes, a practiced smile fixed on your face as you circulated among death eaters who might or might not suspect you of treachery. rosier, as predicted, was deep in his cups by midnight, holding court in a corner of the ballroom.

you approached him carefully, glass of untouched firewhiskey in hand. "quite the celebration," you remarked. "one might think we've already won the war."

rosier laughed, the sound harsh and grating. "closer than you think, yaxley. after samhain, the tide turns permanently."

"oh?" you raised an eyebrow, feigning mild interest while your heart hammered. "another raid?"

"better." he leaned in, breath hot with alcohol. "we're going after the bones."

your blood ran cold. "bones? the family?"

he snickered. "the prophecy bones, you idiot. the ones that tie the ministry's magic together. he's found them—buried beneath the department of mysteries. we destroy those, and their whole network of protective enchantments falls."

horror flooded you. the ministry's defenses, while not impenetrable, were the last major barrier preventing the dark lord from seizing control of wizarding britain entirely. without them, thousands would die.

"brilliant," you managed, forcing admiration into your voice. "when?"

"samhain night," rosier slurred. "the veil between worlds will be thinnest. makes the old magic weaker, easier to—"

a hand clamped onto your shoulder, and you turned to find lucius malfoy, his gray eyes cold and assessing.

"yaxley," he said smoothly. "a word, if you please."

your instincts screamed danger, but refusing would only confirm whatever suspicions he harbored. with a practiced smile, you excused yourself from rosier and followed malfoy into a side room.

he closed the door behind you, and your stomach dropped at the soft click of a locking charm.

"interesting conversation you were having," malfoy remarked, circling you slowly. "curious about our plans, are you?"

you maintained your composure with effort. "just making conversation. rosier enjoys an audience."

"indeed." malfoy stopped directly in front of you. "particularly when he's been instructed to provide misinformation to suspected traitors."

ice formed in your veins. "i don't know what you're—"

the slap came without warning, snapping your head to the side. you tasted blood but didn't reach up to touch your stinging cheek. showing weakness now would be fatal.

"save your lies," malfoy hissed. "the dark lord knows all. he's known for weeks. you and the black boy—passing information, betraying your blood."

"you're mistaken," you said evenly, mind racing for an escape. your wand was in your sleeve, but malfoy's was already in his hand.

his smile was terrifying in its certainty. "am i? then you won't mind waiting here while i fetch regulus black. he arrived a few minutes ago, responding to an urgent summons—from you."

horror washed over you. "what have you done?"

"nothing yet," malfoy replied. "the dark lord wishes to handle you both personally. poetic, don't you think? lovers dying together."

you moved faster than thought, your wand sliding into your palm as you cast a nonverbal bombarda at the floor between you. the explosion threw malfoy backward, giving you precious seconds to blast the door open and run.

the ballroom erupted into chaos as you burst through, death eaters turning in surprise. you didn't stop, racing for the exit, needing to find regulus before—

"looking for someone?"

bellatrix's voice froze you mid-step. you turned slowly to find her standing at the center of the room, wand pressed to regulus's throat. he was on his knees, face bloody, eyes finding yours with a mixture of despair and desperate love.

"i'm sorry," he mouthed silently.

"how touching," bellatrix crooned, noticing the exchange. "my little cousin and his blood-traitor whore, reunited one last time."

death eaters formed a circle around you, wands raised. there was no escape—not for both of you. perhaps not for either of you.

your eyes locked with regulus's, a lifetime of unspoken words passing between you in seconds. you saw the decision form in his eyes a moment before he acted.

"y/n, run!" he shouted, driving his elbow backward into bellatrix's stomach.

she doubled over with a shriek of rage as regulus lunged for her wand. chaos erupted—spells flying, voices shouting. you fought your way toward him, desperate to reach him before—

the green light of the killing curse illuminated the room.

time seemed to slow as you watched regulus fall, his body crumpling to the marble floor like a marionette with cut strings. his eyes, still open, still looking at you, empty of the life and love that had defined them.

someone was screaming. distantly, you realized it was you.

rage unlike anything you'd ever known surged through you, fueling magic that burst from your wand without conscious thought. death eaters fell around you as you fought your way to regulus's body, gathering him in your arms, your tears falling onto his still face.

"i'm sorry," you whispered, pressing your forehead to his. "i'm so sorry."

spells impacted around you, but you barely felt them. nothing mattered now—not the war, not surviving, not anything but the hollow absence where your heart had been.

but as your fingers brushed regulus's wrist, you felt something impossible—a pulse. Faint, barely there, but present.

hope flared, desperate and wild. a plan formed in seconds—you needed to get him out, needed to make them believe you were both dead.

reaching into your pocket, you withdrew the vial you always carried—draught of living death, intended as a last resort if you were ever captured. with shaking hands, you pressed it to regulus's lips, tilting it so the potion slid down his throat.

"stay with me," you whispered. "please stay."

curses flew closer as death eaters regrouped. you had seconds, no more. casting the strongest shield charm you could manage, you prepared to disapparate, regulus's limp body clutched to your chest.

bellatrix's face appeared through the smoke, twisted with hatred. "you can't escape him," she snarled. "he'll find you anywhere you go."

the crushing darkness of apparition enveloped you. the last thing you saw was bellatrix's wand raising, a curse on her lips—

impact. pain beyond imagining tore through your body as you landed hard on cold, wet ground. splinched—badly—but you'd made it. you were outside the wards of the safe house sirius had mentioned.

regulus lay motionless beside you, heartbeat now imperceptible under the effects of the potion. blood—your blood—pooled beneath you both, black in the moonlight.

as consciousness slipped away, you thought you heard footsteps approaching, a voice you vaguely recognized shouting for help. but it might have been a dream—one last mercy before the end.

whether either of you would open your eyes again remained to be seen.

[d-targaryenshoe]

In The End - Colin Bridgerton

Word Count: 2172

Summary: To be married to a stranger is not what every single lady of the Ton wants, is it not?

You and Eloise Bridgerton, childhood friends, sat under the spreading branches of an ancient oak tree, the leaves above you rustling in a gentle breeze.

The sunlight streaming through the leaves cast dappled shadows upon your faces, dancing like living things.

"You can't be serious, y/n," Eloise said, her voice tinged with disbelief. "An arranged marriage? You're far too young to be thinking of such things!"

You shrugged, your expression wistful. "I know it's not what I would have chosen for myself," you admitted, "but it is the path my mama has chosen for me."

Eloise reached out to take your hand, your eyes filled with concern. "But what if you don't like this Lord Somerset?" she asked. "What if you don't want to marry him, must that not change things?"

You sighed, looking away from your friend. "My mother says I must marry well, to secure the future of our family," you replied, your voice tinged with resignation. "I fear my opinion does not matter in this matter."

Eloise frowned, her brow furrowing. "But y/n, you're not just a possession to be traded or bargained with! You have feelings, thoughts, desires! You should have a say in who you marry!"

You bit your lip, looking away again. "I know, El. I wish things were different," you sighed. "But my mama has made it clear that this is how it must be."

Eloise's heart ached for you, but she could tell that there was no changing your mind right now. "There must be something we can do?"

You looked up at her, hope flickering in Eloise's eyes before being extinguished. "I don't know, El. I don't want to disobey my mother. She's only trying to secure my future."

"The future you did not choose, must I remind you."

Eloise's tone was gentle, but firm. You looked up at her, surprise flitting across the Bridgerton her features before settling into a pensive frown.

"I know, El. I just... I feel as though I have no say in anything that happens to me."

"But you do, you always have a say."

Eloise's gaze remained fixed on you, her eyes searching for any sign of doubt or hope.

"You could speak with your mother, and explain how you feel. You could try to convince her that you deserve a choice, that you deserve happiness."

You shook your head, your hair swaying gently. "She'd never understand, El. She's always put her desires first. I don't think she'd ever see things from my perspective."

Eloise bit her lip, thinking. "Then maybe it's time you showed her," she said, determination shining in her eyes. "Maybe it's time you stood up for yourself, for your future. You don't have to do this alone."

You looked up at your friend, hope flickering in your eyes. "You'd help me?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Eloise nodded, her determination growing. "Of course, I would. You know I'd do anything for you. Together, we can find a way to make sure you get the future you deserve."

The two of you sat in silence for a moment, each lost in your thoughts. Your hands were clasped tightly in your lap, your nails digging into your palms.

You looked away from Eloise, out towards the garden where the flowers swayed gently in the breeze.

Eloise watched you with a mixture of sympathy and determination. She could see the turmoil in your eyes, the conflict between your duty and your desires.

It was clear that this decision weighed heavily on you. As if sensing the tension in the air, a figure appeared at the edge of your vision.

Colin Bridgerton, Eloise's brother and your friend, approached you from behind, his stride purposeful.

His dark hair was tousled from the wind, and his blue eyes sparkled with mischief. "Ah, there you are, you two. I've been looking everywhere for you."

Eloise turned to face him, her lips curling into a smile. "Hello, Colin. We were just having a... ladies' moment, if you will."

You looked up at Colin, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. "Hello, Colin. It's nice to see you."

Eloise watched as Colin's eyes flickered between the two of you, clearly sensing the weight of the conversation.

She wondered what he made of your sudden seriousness, but decided not to dwell on it. "Colin, why don't you join us?" Eloise invited, patting the bench beside her.

He hesitated for a moment, glancing at you, before sitting down beside Eloise. "What were you saying about standing up for yourself, y/n?" he asked, his voice gentle.

"I know you've always been good at doing what's expected of you, but sometimes I think it's important to follow your heart, too."

You looked at him gratefully. "It's just... my mother has always been so strict. I feel like I can never live up to her." you sighed, running a hand through your hair. "I want so much more for myself, but I don't know how to make her understand."

Colin nodded in understanding. "I can see that. It must be tough, feeling like you're always walking a tightrope." He glanced over at Eloise, who was watching the two of you intently.

"But you know, sometimes all it takes is someone on the sidelines to give you the courage to step out of line, to take a chance on yourself."

You looked at him, hope flickering in your eyes once more. "Do you think... do you think she'd ever understand?" you asked softly.

Eloise took your hand in hers, squeezing it gently. "I believe she can if you give her the chance. You just have to find the right way to explain how you feel, and why this means so much to you." She glanced over at Colin, who nodded in agreement. "But I- I have to join mama to the modiste."

You looked up at your friend, a mixture of gratitude and determination in your eyes. "Thank you, Eloise. I'll think about what you've said."

Eloise hesitated for a moment before standing up, her dress rustling softly against her legs before she turned around and walked away.

Colin studied your profile as you watched your friend disappear into the crowd, a quiet strength emanating from you. "You know," he began, "it's not always easy to stand up to our parents, but I believe you're brave enough to do it."

You turned to face him, a spark of determination lighting your eyes. "Do you think so?"

"Yes, I do," he replied with conviction. "You have so much to offer the world, and I think your mother just needs some time to see that."

You let out a small sigh, your shoulders slumping slightly. "It's not that easy, though. She's always been so focused on me marrying well, and living a comfortable life. She doesn't understand that I want more than that."

Colin nodded, his expression sympathetic. "I know it's difficult, but you have to believe that she can change her perspective. You just have to find a way to help her see things from your point of view." He reached out, taking your hand in his. "And I promise you, I'll be here for you every step of the way."

You looked into his eyes, the sincerity in his words giving you strength. You could feel the warmth of his hand on yours, and for a moment, you forgot about everything else.

"Thank you, Colin," you whispered. "You don't know what that means to me."

He smiled, and you noticed how his dimple dented his cheek. "I think I do, actually," he said softly.

At your surprised expression, he continued, "I've been in love with you since the moment I saw you in the garden that day. You're beautiful, intelligent, and brave. You're everything I could ever hope for in a woman."

Your heart fluttered in your chest as you listened to his words. You had never expected to hear anything like this from him.

"But... we're just friends," you stammered, your voice barely audible above the laughter and chatter of the people around you.

Colin smiled gently, his eyes never leaving yours. "We are friends, yes. But I think there's something more between us. Something deeper, more intense. And I want to explore that." He reached up, cupping your cheek in his hand, and you couldn't help but lean into his touch.

"I want to get to know you better, y/n. Not just as a friend, but as a woman. As my woman."

Your heart raced as his words washed over you, and you felt a shiver run down your spine. You knew you should pull away, but the look in his eyes held you captive.

"Colin," you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper.

He leaned forward, his lips mere inches from yours. "I know this is sudden, and perhaps I shouldn't have said anything tonight, but I couldn't help myself. I've felt this way for so long, and I needed you to know."

Your heart raced as his words sank in. You could feel the warmth of his breath on your skin, and you could hardly breathe. You knew you should say something, but the words seemed to stick in your throat.

You could only stare into his eyes, lost in the moment.

Slowly, almost tenderly, Colin leaned forward and brushed his lips against yours.

At first, it was gentle, a mere flutter of sensation, but then he deepened the kiss, his tongue dancing with yours. You gasped, your hands finding their way up to his shoulders, your fingers digging into his skin.

You felt as if you were floating, your body alive with the heat of the moment.

The world around you seemed to fade away, and it was as if there was nothing but the two of you, your hearts racing, your breath mingling together.

You could feel the warmth of his body against yours, the hardness of his chest, the strength in his arms as he held you close.

When at last you broke apart, you found it difficult to focus on anything but the look in his eyes.

They were filled with desire and tenderness, and you knew that he meant every word he had said.

You could feel the blush creeping up your neck and into your cheeks, and you couldn't help but smile shyly.

"I-I don't know what to say," you managed to stammer.

Colin smiled back, his fingers gently caressing your cheek. "You don't have to say anything right now. Just know that I meant every word I said and that I want to explore this with you." He paused for a moment, searching your eyes for any sign of hesitation, before continuing.

"I want us to be together. I want to protect you and cherish you, and show you the love that you deserve."

You felt your heart skip a beat at his words. You had never imagined feeling this way about anyone, and the thought of being with Colin filled you with a warmth you hadn't known was possible.

You looked up into his eyes, your shining with tears of happiness, and nodded slowly. "I want that too," you whispered. "So much."

He smiled down at you, his thumb brushing away a stray tear from your cheek. "I know it's fast, and I don't want you to feel pressured, but...I want to start making plans with you. I want to take you away from here, show you the world. I want to build a life with you."

The words sent a shiver down your spine. You knew you should pull away, but the look in his eyes held you captive.

"Colin," you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper.

He leaned in closer, his lips mere inches from yours once more. "I love you, y/n," he said, his voice firm and resolute. "And I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Marry me?"

Your heart skipped a beat as you stared into his eyes. You could feel the truth of his words resonating deep within you. You wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of your life by his side, explore the world with him, and build a future together.

You knew that you could trust him and that he would always protect you.

With trembling hands, you reached up and cupped his face, tenderly brushing your thumbs across his cheeks.

"Yes," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "Yes, I'll marry you."

The weight of your words settled between you, and you both paused for a moment, taking in the gravity of your decision.

It was as if the world around you faded away, leaving you alone in your little bubble, suspended in time and space.

Colin leaned in closer, his lips finding yours once more, his tongue tracing the outline of your mouth.

His kiss deepened, his hands exploring the contours of your body, and you melted into him, returning his affections with equal fervor.

[candy69gurl]

HIII NEW FOLLOWER :3 i js wanna cutely ask if u could make sukuna a gentle yet rough husband(he's still the king of whatevs) and the protagonist has a dragonfly pendant that glows and makes the protagonist submissive when originally, shes a VERY stubborn wife :3 thats all tyt (⁠´⁠⊙⁠ω⁠⊙⁠`⁠)⁠！

Trapped in Temptation

Heian Era Ryomen Sukuna x f!reader

Warnings- 18+, slight non-con, kidnapping, threats, mentions of violence (Sukuna is gentle only with you), tricking, use of nicknames, use of abdomen mouth and mouths on four hands, fingering (Sukuna has nails), double penetration (use of 2 dicks in rear and front), nipple playing, clit rubbing, choking, raw sex (cumming inside), breeding kink

wc- 4k

ART NOT MINE !

"Uraume, did you hear what that insolent wench said to me? She dared insult my honor!" Raging, Ryomen Sukuna paces back and forth across their opulent quarters, his four arms slicing through the air with anger. "I can't believe she would be so impudent before our subordinates! We should do something about her."

"Calm down, Lord Sukuna," Uraume interjects, standing in front of their master to block his path. "She knows not what she says. It was uncalled for, but I assure you, I shall handle the matter." They cross their arms, a determined look in their eyes.

"Uraume, she is so stubborn! Her constant attitude toward me is tiresome! I am the strongest, yet she dares to challenge me?" Ryomen Sukuna's voice booms throughout the room, emphasizing each word as he speaks. "And to think I took her as my consort... She must learn her place, or else I may end up hurting her"

With a sigh, Uraume nods understandingly, "I understand Lord, but the truth is, you've grown attached to her, haven't you?" Uraume asks, a knowing smirk playing on their lips. "I have the best solution for it"

"Tell me about it", he sits down on his throne, crossing his massive legs.

It was a sunny afternoon, as Ryomen Sukuna scanned his vast territory, standing atop the highest point of his temple. In the distance, he saw you - an unusual figure, unlike anyone he had ever encountered. Something within him stirred, a feeling he could not explain. His instincts screamed to hunt and devour this new prey, but a strange force held him back.

"You know I told you," Uraume said, looking up at Sukuna with a playful smile, "that sometimes we can find the most unlikely sources of entertainment."

Ryomen Sukuna grunted, acknowledging the truth in Uraume's words. He couldn't deny the fascination he felt for you. "Indeed, I will send my spies to follow her."

Weeks passed, and Ryomen Sukuna found himself consumed by your thoughts. He could resist no longer, and finally confided in Uraume, "I have grown obsessed with her. I've decided that I wish to bring her to me - against her will if necessary". A wicked grin spreaded across his face, revealing his sharp teeth. "Prepare the plan for her capture, and ensure she arrives here safely."

A sinister grin flashed across Uraume's face. "As you wish, Lord Sukuna. Your desire shall be fulfilled." And so, with expert planning and stealth, Uraume carried out the task of capturing you. When you were finally brought before him, bound and trembling, Sukuna couldn't help but feel a thrill of excitement.

In the grand temple, surrounded by darkness and the oppressive aura of Ryomen Sukuna, fear coursed through your veins like ice water. You couldn't help but tremble at the sight of the towering, monstrous figure before you. Even as he approached you gently, offering words of comfort, your heart pounded uncontrollably. The very air seemed heavy with his power, and you couldn't shake the feeling of loathing and dread that bubbled up within you.

"Fear not," Sukuna whispered, his voice a velvety rumble in the silence of the chamber. "I have taken a liking to you, and will not harm you...for now." He gazed into your frightened eyes, his own full of curiosity and perhaps even a hint of longing. "I promise you, you are safe here – for the moment."

Breathless and shaking, you pleaded with Ryomen Sukuna, "Please, let me go! I don't want to stay here, with you..." Your voice quivered, desperation clear in every word. But the mighty demon lord only stared at you, his expression unreadable behind his cold facade.

As days turned into nights, and then into weeks, you refused to eat, choosing instead to starve yourself in protest. Your pale and unwell body greatly concerned Sukuna.

"Enough of this nonsense!" Ryomen Sukuna's voice rang out, echoing through the temple chambers. "Uraume, attend to her."

Despite your protests, Uraume stepped forward, concern in their eyes. "Please, consume at least a bit, it will make things easier for all of us."

You looked up at them defiantly, tears welling in your eyes. "I won't eat!"

"This obstinacy is truly fascinating," Sukuna muttered, watching the scene unfold with a mixture of irritation and intrigue. "You underestimate the consequences of your actions. If you continue to starve yourself, your life will be endangered."

Uraume sighed softly, eyeing you with worry. "Just a morsel," they pleaded, gently placing a small bite of food on your tongue. "For your own sake."

But you stubbornly clamped your jaw shut, refusing to swallow the offered sustenance. Your determination was steadfast, fueled by your desire to leave the clutches of Ryomen Sukuna.

Seeing your resolve, Sukuna's eyes narrowed, and he spoke with a dangerous edge to his voice, "Very well. Have it your way. But know this, if you die, I am going to kill every human on this earth."

"Y-you cannot do that-", your words fell on deaf ears, as Ryomen Sukuna merely laughed darkly, the sound echoing ominously in the temple chambers.

"Oh, little mortal, do not mistake my words for idle threats. I am capable of such destruction. And if you persist in defying me, I may just do it."

Watching you waste away drove Uraume mad with worry. They tried once again to reason with you, "Do not test Lord Sukuna's patience, child. You know not the extent of his powers. You must eat, for humans' sake."

Reluctantly, you opened your mouth for Uraume, swallowing the food they offered. The taste was foreign, and your stomach growled in protest, but you knew better than to refuse. Your eyes met Ryomen Sukuna's, a mixture of defiance and despair in their depths. You were trapped, a caged bird desperate for freedom.

As days passed, you learned to endure your imprisonment, adapting to the odd rhythms of your captivity. Ryomen Sukuna watched you closely, a never-ending study of this fascinating creature who had captured his interest. Though you remained subdued, he couldn't help but notice the occasional flash of rebellion in your eyes.

One fateful day, unable to contain your frustration any longer, you spoke out of turn, lashing out at Ryomen Sukuna in front of his ever-loyal servants. The words tumbled from your lips, sharp and cutting, as if driven by sheer desperation to assert some semblance of control over your situation.

Ryomen Sukuna's eyes narrowed, his expression turning dark as thunderclouds. With a swift movement, he took hold of your arm, lifting you off the ground effortlessly. "Is this how you repay me for keeping you alive?" His voice was low and dangerous, sending shivers down your spine.

"Perhaps I should reconsider my decision to spare you," he snarled, holding you aloft in his powerful grip, the muscles in his arms straining visibly. Your heart leaped into your throat as you realized the severity of your actions.

"Kill me, it's better to die than to live with a monster like you!", defiance blazed in your eyes as you spat the words at Ryomen Sukuna, your voice shaking with emotion.

Surprisingly, Ryomen Sukuna paused, his eyes softening momentarily. "Monster?" He released you, allowing you to stumble back, breathless and terrified. "I have done nothing but provide you with a measure of safety, and this how you repay me?"

Uraume stepped forward, trying to diffuse the tension. "Lord Sukuna, she is weakened, emotionally and physically. It's not wise to push her too far." They glanced at you, concern etched in their face. "Let us give her time to adjust to her circumstances."

Ryomen Sukuna hesitated, his sharp gaze never leaving you. "Get her out of my sight. NOW!"

Uraume quickly complied, guiding you away from Sukuna and into the comfort of your quarters. As the door closed behind you, you slumped against it, gasping for breath. Emotions swirled within, tearing at your fragile psyche. Fear, anger, resentment, and a strange kind of fascination with the demonic ruler.

In the quiet hours of night, Uraume approaches Ryomen Sukuna, a dragonfly pendant glimmering in their hand. Their voice soft but filled with purpose. "We have found a way to control her defiance, Lord. A dragonfly pendant of ancient origin, said to bring submission to those who wear it."

"Show me," Ryomen Sukuna commands, his interest piqued. Taking the gleaming object from Uraume's hand, he examines the delicate craftsmanship, a faint glow emanating from its center. A slow, predatory smile spreads across his face. "This could prove useful."

Uraume nods, understanding his intentions. "Once she wears it, and the pendant comes in contact with your iris, she will become submissive, appeasing her rebellious nature. Perhaps we can break her spirit and bend her to our will."

Ryomen Sukuna studies the dragonfly pendant, imagining the effect it would have on her. His dark eyes sparkles with anticipation, the plan working perfectly in his favor.

"But Lord.. Remember you have to trick her into wearing it", Uraume warns knowing your stubborn nature.

Rolling his eyes, Ryomen Sukuna dismisses Uraume's warning. "Trust me, I know how to manipulate her."

The following day, as dawn breaks over his kingdom, he seeks you out with a seemingly contrite expression. Apologizing for the previous day's outburst, he holds out the dragonfly pendant. "Here, take this as a token of reconciliation. Wear it close to you, as a sign of our understanding".

There's an underlying current of menace beneath his words, caught off guard by the unexpected apology, you tentatively accept the dragonfly pendant from Ryomen Sukuna's hand. As the delicate piece of jewelry slides around your neck, your heart races in anticipation.

Sukuna's eyes fall on the pendant and it glows, then a sudden warmth floods your being, and you feel an overwhelming sensation of... submission?

The change is immediate and profound. Your resistance crumbles, replaced by an inexplicable urge to obey. You fall to your knees, your eyes fixed on the ground, "I am sorry, Lord Sukuna. Please forgive my insolence." A wave of submission washes over you, eliminating the last vestiges of rebellion in your heart. The dragonfly pendant, now resting delicately against your collarbone, pulsed gently with each beat of your heart.

Ryomen Sukuna's eyes widens in surprise, a twisted grin spreading across his face. With a predatory grin, Ryomen Sukuna takes advantage of this newfound submission. Grasping your arm, he pulls you to your feet, your eyes locked with his. "Now that we understand each other, let's start fresh. Let me introduce you to the joys of our new arrangement."

A sense of helplessness grips you, as he leads you to a sumptuous room, adorned with silk sheets and plush cushions. Your heart hammers wildly in your chest, and you struggle to process the turn of events. As Ryomen Sukuna guides you towards the luxurious bed, you can't help but wonder how much more control he intends to claim over your body and soul.

"Remove your clothing," he orders, his tone commanding yet tinged with anticipation. Your fingers tremble, complying with his demand. Slowly, you undress, the dragonfly pendant glowing softly against your now-bare skin. An overwhelming sense of submission courses through you, leaving you vulnerable and exposed in front of the imposing figure of Ryomen Sukuna.

He watches you intently, his eyes never leaving your form. He steps closer, the heat of his body enveloping you, and you can't help but shudder, a mix of fear and desire coursing through you. "Turn around," he instructs, his voice a seductive purr. You obey without question, presenting your bare back to him.

His skilled hands move over your skin, tracing patterns that send shivers down your spine. "You are mine now," he whispers, his voice thick with desire.

He gives a searing kiss between your shoulder blades, his touch dominant and undeniably passionate. Every stroke of his hands, every caress of his lips, is a reminder of your new reality - one governed by his desires and his will alone.

Underneath his command, you find yourself responding in kind, your body betraying the fear that once held you in its grasp.

Ryomen Sukuna gently places you on the silken bed, his massive form towering over you. Your body trembles under the weight of his gaze, and his four arms wrap around you, holding you tightly, securely. The sensation is both terrifying and exciting, your heart racing in tandem with your growing arousal.

Slowly, he begins to explore your body, his fingers probing your core. You arch your back, torn between pain and pleasure.

"My, you're tight," he murmurs, his fingers sliding in and out of you with practiced ease. "Such a shame. You need to learn to relax for me."

Each thrust sends shockwaves of sensation through your body, the dragonfly pendant glowing with each movement. You moan softly, unable to deny the pleasure intermingling with your fear. "Please, Lord Sukuna," you whisper, the words slipping past your lips without conscious thought.

"Please, what?" He asks, his fingers continuing their rhythmic dance inside you. His voice is deep and velvety, wrapping around your senses like a warm blanket.

"Make love to me, please," you beg, your voice barely steady. There's a strange vulnerability in your plea, a stark contrast to the defiance he once faced.

Ryomen Sukuna's smirk grows wider, his eyes shining with triumph. "I have been waiting for this moment." he confirms, his fingers pausing briefly before he removes them from your body.

As Ryomen Sukuna leans in to kiss you, his enormous tongue darts out from his abdominal mouth, tracing a path to your clit. The sensation is unlike anything you've experienced before, sending jolts of electricity through your entire body. You gasp, your mind reeling with a mix of pleasure and confusion.

His tongue laps at your sensitive flesh, eliciting a moan from deep within your core. Simultaneously, his lips meet yours in a searing kiss, his tongue invading your mouth with the same boldness. His four hands roam freely, exploring every inch of your trembling body.

"You taste divine," he growls against your lips, his tongue from abdomen continues its assault on your clit.

One of his four arms reaches down to your core, thrusting inside with surprising ease. The sudden invasion triggers a response, your body arching off the bed in a fierce orgasm. Pleasure rips through you, a tidal wave of release that leaves you breathless and panting.

Breath still ragged from your climax, you watch in awe as Ryomen Sukuna discards his garments, revealing not one, but two erect phalluses. Shock momentarily paralyzes you, but his command snaps you out of it. Nervously, you position yourself between his legs, your hands trembling as you reach out to touch the unfamiliar appendages.

Your tongue darts out, hesitantly exploring one of his erect members. Your inexperience is evident, but he seems content to guide you. "That's right," he murmurs, his voice rough with desire. "Show me how eager you are to serve me."

You obey, your skill improving with each passing second. You alternate between his two phalluses, each one throbbing under your touch. His hands thread through your hair, guiding you as he mutters praises under his breath, his grip firm but gentle on your scalp. Your lips wrap around one of his member, your cheeks hollowing as you take him deeper. A strange sense washes over you, realizing he's taken complete control of this encounter.

Ryomen Sukuna groans, his hips bucking slightly under your ministrations. "So eager to please your master, aren't you?" he taunts.

"Mhm," you mumble around his member, your voice muffled by the flesh filling your mouth. The dragonfly pendant glows fiercely at your chest, a constant reminder of your submission. "Whatever you want, Lord Sukuna."

His laughter fills the room, a deep, rolling sound that vibrates through the air. "Delightful. Just remember, you belong to me now."

You continue to service him, your body responding to his every command, every thrust of his hips.

Ryomen Sukuna's laughter dies down, replaced by a growl of satisfaction as he pushes your head back. With an effortless strength, he picks you up with his four hands, aligning one of his hardened members with your entrance. In one swift motion, he pushes inside you, filling you to the brim.

You cry out, the sensation intense and overwhelming. Your walls stretch to accommodate his size, toes curling and head resting on his broad chest.

Ryomen Sukuna grins down at you, clearly pleased with your tightness. He responds by pounding into you with brutal intensity, each thrust driving deeper into your core.

"Tight little thing," he mutters, his voice guttural with lust. "Perfect for my needs."

Suddenly, Ryomen Sukuna notices the dragonfly pendant is missing from around your neck, but your face remains submissive. Confused, he slows down his movements, searching your face for any trace of rebellion. But there's none; only submissive yearning stares back at him.

"P-please lord, d-don't stop, i-i am so close.."

His lips curl up to a grin, his eyes narrow, studying you closely. "Is that so?" He resumes his thrusts, watching your reaction carefully. Your face contorts with pleasure, your body responding to his every stroke.

Without warning, Ryomen Sukuna pulls out of you, urging you onto your knees. You comply instantly, your body quivering with anticipation. He positions himself behind you, entering you from behind with renewed vigor.

The difference in angle sends waves of pleasure cascading through you. Each thrust strikes a new nerve, bringing you closer to the edge. You moan, your body begging for release.

Just as you start to crest, he stops with his thrusts keeping his member deep inside you, leaving you panting and desperate. "Patience," he growls, wetting his fingers with his saliva.

Your heart races, knowing what comes next. He inserts his wet digit into your tight rear, stretching you in a whole new way. You gasp, the sensation overwhelming. "P-please" you stammer, but it comes out more like a plea than protest.

Ryomen Sukuna chuckles darkly, his fingers working in concert with his cock. "Relax, little one. This will make you sing."

The added pressure forces you to focus solely on the sensations engulfing you. You breathe deeply, trying to accommodate his digits. His laughter echoes in the room, a cruel counterpoint to your mounting frustration. His other member pulses, impatient and ready to join the fray.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he withdraws his fingers, coated in evidence of your readiness. You tremble, anticipation building to a fever pitch.

In one swift motion, he introduces the second shaft inside you, stretching you beyond belief. Tears prick at your eyes, a mix of pleasure and pain washing over you, but you don't resist, your body listening to him.

As both of his members work inside you, his four hands come into play. Two grip your hips firmly, guiding his thrusts while the others explore your body. His mouth forms from his other pair of arms, closing over your breast. The sensation is unlike anything you've ever experienced.

His suckling mouths formed from his hands tug gently at your nipples, sending sparks of pleasure throughout your body.

"Oh gods, yes!" You exclaim, surrendering to the sensation. His dual attention, the incredible fullness inside you, overwhelms you.

"That's right," he croons, his voice deep and sultry. "Take it all, show me how much you enjoy being filled."

Two of his hands reluctantly leave your breasts, giving them a tight squeeze before retreating. You whimper, feeling deprived even though you remain filled to the brim. It's almost too much, his dual penetration combined with his previous attentions.

Then, one of his hands drifts lower, touching your clit with feather-light touches. The other wraps around your throat, cutting off your air.

"N-no, wait...!" You choke out, struggling for breath.

"Quiet," he growls.

Without warning, his tongue emerges from his hand currently stroking your clit. It dances across your nerve bundle with expert precision, pushing you closer to the precipice. At the same time, the other hand leaves hickeys on your exposed neck, marking you as his own.

You gasp, the combination of sensations finally proving too much. Your body convulses, your orgasm soon going to occur.

As your orgasm builds, Ryomen Sukuna leans in close, his voice a seductive rumble against your ear. "I found your weakness," he whispers, his abdomen's mouth tracing lines along your spine. "Tell me you accept me as your husband."

You shiver, the combination of his words and actions overwhelming. His thrusting never stops, pushing you higher and higher.

"Lord Sukuna..." you manage, your voice breathy.

"Still a stubborn one, aren't you?" he chuckles, his pace increasing.

His thrusts become more urgent, matching the rhythm of your impending release. "I said accept me as your husband," he commands, the demand clear in his voice.

You nod, your body shaking from the sheer force of his command. "Yes...my Lord, I accept you as my husband" you admit, surrendering completely.

"Want to bear my child?," he asks, his mouth on his abdomen resuming its licking.

"Y-yes yes yes.. F-fill me, Lord.. I want.. your babies.. hnghnn", you reply, drools dripping from your chin. The thought surging through your body as you shatter, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave.

Ryomen Sukuna matches your release, his own body convulsing as he finds his own climax.

With a final burst of energy, Ryomen Sukuna fills both your holes, his seed spilling hot and thick inside you. The sensation is indescribable, filling you to the brim. As he finishes, his seed trickles down between your legs, coating you in his essence.

His breathing labored, he collapses against you, resting his forehead on your back. You lay there, basking in the afterglow of your shared experience.

His eyes fall upon the dragonfly pendant lying innocently on the floor, and a slow smile spreads across his face. "Well well, look at that."

He lifts you gently, turning you around so you're facing him. Holding the pendant between his fingers, he holds it to your lips. "We don't need this anymore"

Taking the pendant from his fingers and throwing it away you pout angrily at him, "You tricked me."

A wicked gleam enters his eyes, and he pulls you closer, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss. "Just wanted you to realize your real feelings towards me. All you needed was a little push."

You pull back, your lips parting slowly. you stare into his eyes, realizing he's right. Your body did submit without the dragonfly pendant at the end. Your feelings towards him are genuine.

"I'm yours, Lord Sukuna."

His grin widens, he is indeed thanking Uraume in his mind, his hands caressing your face tenderly. "That's what I always wanted to hear, love."

[patchwork-crow-writes]

I am thinking about the Final Prophecy, and the way that the events depicted thereon cannot be averted... but how the spaces BETWEEN the prophecy panels AREN'T written, and thus can be changed.

Everything the prophecy says must come to pass, so Ralsei says... and based on what we've seen, we have to assume he's correct. Lancer did indeed say Toothpaste Boy. The Lord of Screens was cleaved red by blade.

So... we have to assume that the final prophecy details something so terrible that Ralsei didn't want Susie or Kris to see. Susie decided it was so absurd that she smashed it into fragments. Because Susie KNOWS that none of them will let it happen. She won't. Kris won't (debatable at this stage, no-one knows what Kris is going to do next), and Ralsei DEFINITELY won't (again... debatable).

So... what could possibly be so bad? What, particularly, would Susie think Ralsei particularly would not let happen? The most compelling theory I've seen suggests that she and/or Kris will end up having to kill Ralsei to save the worlds. And to that end, I have devised a potential reconstruction of what that panel might have said, presented with the previous panel for context:

To save the worlds, there is only one way: The HEROES must end the PRINCE Ralsei.

(Pay attention to the wording I use now - it will be important later)

Now... the question remains: how is this grim fate to be averted? How exactly is Susie (because it's going to be Susie, come on) supposed to defy this very clear and very terrible portent? The answer, if you've been paying attention, is that she... doesn't. She can't. The prophecy is written in such a way that it must come to pass. They'll have to kill Ralsei, or else risk the destruction of both light and dark worlds.

...but what about what happens BEFORE this event, or AFTER?

Gerson doesn't take much stock in the prophecy, as we know. Indeed, he used it as the basis for his fantasy works, the Lord of the Hammer... a reinterpretation of the prophecy. But he says something interesting about it when pressed by Kris:

I jus' think, those words shine a bit too bright. A path so blue, it's all you can see. So I say... why don't we go between the lines? It's darker there... geheh... geheheh!

Between the lines, in this instance, would likely refer to the space between each panel of the prophecy. And lo, when we look there, we see that it is indeed darker... as in, more ambiguous, in a way that calls the events depicted in the glass into doubt.

Let's return to our Lord of Screens, Tenna. As we saw, he was indeed "cleaved red by blade" - literally dismembered by the Roaring Knight. That part of the prophecy is beyond dispute. But the interesting part is what happens AFTERWARD, which is NOT covered by the prophecy. And that is where salvation lies.

Note that the prophecy does not say that Tenna is KILLED here - only that he was CLEAVED RED - grievously injured, yes, but not dead. And depending on whether we spare all of TV World's darkners or fight them, he can either be saved after the fact or succumb to his injuries. This tells us two things: one, the prophecy might be immutable, but the space AROUND it is NOT. And Two: the prophecy's SPECIFIC WORDING is extremely important to determine what is possible within that undefined space.

Let's return now to our hypothetical Final Prophecy. And really pay attention to the words I chose for this one:

To save the worlds, there is only one way: The HEROES must end the PRINCE Ralsei.

Do you see it? The ambiguity, the loophole that might yet allow Ralsei to live AND the worlds be saved? Let me break it down:

Firstly, the use of the word "end" can imply death, but does not explicitly mention death of any kind. This means that we can look for alternative meanings of how a person - or a specific incarnation of that person - might come to an end.

Secondly, the use of the word HEROES. This could mean one or all of them, but remember that Ralsei is also a hero himself, meaning that he too will have a hand in his own seeming undoing. This is important, stay with me.

And finally, most crucially of all, this line mentions "PRINCE Ralsei" specifically. This is the most unambiguous part of this line we've conjured up, but think about how we can use it in terms of the ambiguity that's been provided up to this point.

So, now can you see it? There are a few ways this line can be interpreted now, and more than one way in which it can be interpreted non-lethally. You are likely grasping what I'm getting at, but allow me to clarify.

The first possibility is that, rather than being killed or sacrificed, Ralsei instead chooses to ABDICATE his position as Prince of the Dark. This would fulfill the criteria of the prince "ending" at the hands of the "heroes", as his lineage has literally been brought to an end by his own actions. It would also make sense for him, as we can see that he is ill-suited to ruling. But wouldn't someone else need to take his place? Possibly, but we don't need to worry about that, because we already have another prince who could do so - Lancer. And because we specified Ralsei in the line, there's no danger of Lancer having to be sacrificed or killed in his place.

The second possibility is that Ralsei simply chooses to rename himself. This would be significant because it strikes at the heart of his similarities to the Dreemurrs, and particularly to Asriel. Ralsei was likely a name he was given by Kris, or by whoever brought life into him, but being able to choose his OWN name would in this light be the same as being able to choose his OWN destiny. Here, the Prince Ralsei would indeed come to an end, as he would no longer be known by that name.

The final possibility is much more interesting, but riskier, and that is that Ralsei, with the help of her friends, chooses to TRANSITION from a PRINCE into a PRINCESS. This too fulfills the conditions of our line, in that the PRINCE Ralsei comes to an "end", and is replaced by the PRINCESS Ralsei. And because she was able to do so with help from her friends, it fulfills the "HEROES" portion of the line as well. This interpretation would have the most emotional weight behind it, and be the most significant change of the possibilities mentioned, as it ties into a core component of her identity and the notion of defining herself without outside interference.

Of course, there are yet other ways it can be interpreted, though these three are the most "narratively satisfying" ones I could think of. And of course, it should be remembered that this line was made up whole-cloth by myself, and so has no real bearing on what the ACTUAL line or criteria might be. But I believe it demonstrates the ways in which such a seemingly-inescapable tragedy CAN be averted through clever interpretation of the words we're given, as well as the ability to see past the bright blue lines and into the darkness between them.

Indeed, I believe this is WHY Toby chose to have Susie smash the panel before we could get to it - if we could see the actual line straight away, we would be able to interpret and decipher it in moments. Granted distance from the immediate shock and tragedy of the moment, we would be able to coolly interpret different meanings of what is written, and all the tension about the ultimate choice we'd have to make would be drained.

Again, I could be completely off-base here. But I hope that these musings are interesting and illuminate potentials for how Deltarune's seemingly-tragic ending can be, if not averted, then at least reinterpreted in a much more forgiving light.

[st4rfckerz]

October 23rd - Orgasm Denial

Faith (Charlie Mayhew x nun!reader)

word count: 1.2k

warnings: mdni 18+, blasphemy, religious themes, fingering, oral sex (f receiving)

The afternoon sun casts a warm glow through the windows of the church, filtering in streams of golden light that dance across the wooden floor of Father Charlie's office. The scent of incense lingers in the air, a constant reminder of the sacred space they inhabit. Charlie, fresh from his workout, moves about the room with practiced ease.

Earlier, you had stumbled upon Charlie online workout session, his muscular form glistening with sweat while he peddled away on his exercise bike.

Now you sit in the little wooden chair, your fingertips tracing the worn edges of the armrests. The chair creaks softly as you shift your weight, the sound echoing in the quiet office. He listens intently as you speak, your voice soft yet filled with a quiet determination. You speak of your journey, of the questions that have haunted her since childhood, the doubt that has gnawed at the edges of your faith.

“I can feel it trying to come back to me Father. I just don’t know what to do.”

It's a familiar story, one that Charlie has heard countless times before. The doubts, the questions, the search for meaning in a world that often seems devoid of it. He knows it well, for he too has walked that path.

“It's part of the journey,” he says, his voice low and measured. “A reminder of the sacrifices we make for our faith.”

You nod, understanding the depth of his words. It's clear that Charlie's dedication to his beliefs is unwavering, and the physical manifestations of his commitment are a testament to that devotion. As he rummages through the closet, Charlie's muscular back is exposed, revealing a tapestry of scars and marks that tell a story of pain and penance. His broad shoulders and well-defined muscles tense and relax as he searches for something within the depths of the closet.

“You know Sister,” he says, his voice carrying a hint of melancholy, “Sometimes I wonder if all this suffering is truly worth it. But then I remember the teachings of our Lord, and I know that I must persevere.” He emerges from the closet with a crisp white shirt and a black clerical robe, both items in stark contrast to the sweat-soaked workout clothes he had been wearing moments before.

Charlie removes his shirt, revealing his muscular torso in its entirety. His broad chest and well-defined pectorals rise and fall with each breath, while his bulging biceps flex as he reaches into the closet. You can't help but take in the sight before you. Charlie's physical form is a testament to his dedication, but it also serves as a reminder of the pain he has endured. You notice the prominent veins running along his forearms and hands, a sign of the physical labor he has subjected himself to. Despite the weight of his sins, he carries himself with a quiet dignity that commands attention.

“I think I understand Father.” you nod, unable to tear your gaze away from his intense stare. There's something about Charlie that draws you in, a magnetism that you can't quite pinpoint.

“Good.” Charlie walks over to you, the wooden floorboards creaking under his heavy footsteps, you feel a sense of awe and respect for the man before me. “You always listen so well.” he says, his voice sincere. Charlie's fingers brush against your chin, his touch gentle and fleeting.

You smile at Charlie's compliment, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. “I try.” you reply softly.

“No you do,” Charlie slowly bends his knees to meet your eye level. He squints his eyes, his gaze boring into yours. “I see you when I preach, listening, absorbing every word.” Charlie's fingers deftly trace the outline of the cross necklace hanging around your neck. “You don't even try to hide it.” he whispers, his breath warm against your skin.

Charlie's hands move with a slow, determined purpose as he begins to undo the small button of your skirt. Your hips lift instinctively, allowing him to slide the fabric down your legs.

“Your eyes follow me, like a moth drawn to a flame,” he says, his voice low and husky. “You're drawn to the light, to the promise of salvation.”

He pauses, his hands resting on your hips as he leans in closer. “But even the most devout can be consumed by their own desires.”

Charlie's lips brush against the sensitive skin of your neck, sending a jolt of electricity through your body. His hands grip your hips, steadying you as he lowers himself onto his knees. You can feel the heat of his breath on your skin as he trails sticky kisses along your collarbone, his lips leaving a path of fire in their wake. His hands slide around to cup your ass, his fingers digging into the flesh as he pulls your clothed cunt closer to his face.

“Lust can be dangerous,” Charlie spreads your legs wider as he speaks. “It can consume you, leaving nothing but ashes in its wake.” He leans in, his breath hot against your skin as his finger glides along the wet patch of your white cotton panties, the damp fabric clinging to the skin. “Your body knows what it wants, even if your mind is still unsure.” He presses his finger more firmly against the material, applying pressure to your sensitive flesh. You gasp, your hips bucking involuntarily, seeking more of his touch.

Charlie's finger presses slowly into your leaking hole through the thin fabric of your panties, eliciting a whine from deep within your throat. “You're so tight,” he breathes, his eyes locked on the erotic sight in front of him. “So eager for more.”

He pushes deeper, his finger sliding in and out of your opening, the cotton material providing a delicious friction that only heightens your arousal. You can feel your body responding to his touch, your inner walls clenching around his digit as if trying to draw him in further.

Charlie's fingers deftly hook into the waistband of your panties, tugging them off and letting them fall to the floor. The cool air hits the exposed skin, causing goosebumps to rise on your flesh.

Without warning, his tongue darts out, licking along your slit. You gasp, your back arching off the chair as he laps at your folds. Your hand buries itself in Charlie's hair and he responds by bringing one of your legs up to rest on his shoulder. His fingers curl upward, seeking that special spot inside of you that sends sparks coursing through your body.

“Close, so close.” you mewl, your body trembling on the edge of release, But just as quickly as the pleasure builds, Charlie slows his movements.

“I know,” his fingers gradually withdrew from your body. He stands up abruptly, leaving you feeling empty. You feel a moment of confusion and disappointment wash over you. Charlie quickly grabs his priestly robe, draping it over his arm. His expression is unreadable, but there's a tension in his jaw that betrays his inner turmoil.

“Proverbs 25:28,” he quotes, his voice carrying a note of warning. “‘Like a city whose walls are broken down is a man who lacks self-control.’” Charlie walks down the hallway, his heavy footsteps echoing in the quiet corridor. As he reaches the door, he pauses, looking back at you with an unreadable expression.

“I'll see you next Sunday.”

[novaursa]

Could you write something about Robb Stark x Targaryen!reader?

For some background information: this would take place in an au where Robert's Rebellion failed and Rhaegar is king and is determined to mend the damage done from his father's reign and the rebellion and to get House Targaryen back in everyone's good graces. Years after the failed rebellion, Rhaegar visited the North with his family and discussed with Ned the possibility of an arranged marriage between Rhaegar's daughter and Robb and Ned reluctantly agreed. Maybe the plot could be about Robb and Targaryen!reader first meeting, getting to know each other, and their thoughts on each other.

(it also doesn't really matter to me who the daughter's mother is. It could be Elia, Lyanna, or someone else, but I would prefer if Rhaegar's daughter has a Valyrian appearance).

Bethrodal of Ice and Flame

- Summary: You are promised to Robb Stark, to mend the wound inflicted to the realm by events of the past.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Robb Stark

- Note: Robert's Rebellion has failed and Rhaegar rules.

- Rating: Mild 13+

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

The Great Hall of Winterfell is alive with the warmth of firelight and the din of voices raised in celebration, but something else thrums beneath the surface of the merriment. It’s an uneasy peace, born of necessity rather than desire. You sit at the high table, your gaze drifting over the gathered lords and ladies, all feasting and drinking beneath the Stark banners. The air is filled with the scent of roasted meats and the murmur of conversations, but your thoughts are elsewhere.

Beside you, your father, King Rhaegar, speaks in low tones to your uncle, Eddard Stark. His silver hair gleams in the torchlight, a sharp contrast to the dark hues of the Northern lords around him. He’s regal and composed, as he always is, but there’s a careful politeness in his words tonight, a measured tone that speaks of delicate negotiations. You can see the rigid set of Eddard Stark’s shoulders, the tightness around his mouth. The man who was once your father’s sworn enemy now must play the role of reluctant ally.

“Lord Stark, I understand your reservations,” your father is saying, his voice smooth, almost gentle. “But your niece is a link between our houses. Her blood is both Stark and Targaryen. This union with your son would strengthen the ties between us, ensuring peace and prosperity for the North and the realm.”

Eddard’s eyes, grey and stormy, flicker to your lilac ones briefly. There’s something unreadable in his gaze—grief, perhaps, or bitterness. It’s no secret that he still mourns his sister, Lyanna, your mother, who died bringing you into this world. Your very existence is a reminder of the war that tore the realm apart, of a love that should never have been.

“The past cannot be undone,” Eddard says, his voice rough and low. “But what’s done is done. My son will do his duty, as will I. If this betrothal is what’s needed to secure the future of the North, then so be it.”

Rhaegar inclines his head, acknowledging the words without a trace of triumph. “I thank you, Lord Stark. Your son will be a good match for Y/N. And I hope, in time, you will see that this is the best path for all of us.”

Eddard’s jaw tightens, but he nods curtly. “We shall see.”

You turn your attention away, feeling the weight of their conversation pressing down on you. This is your life they are discussing, your future, and yet you feel like a pawn being moved on a board, your fate sealed by men who speak of duty and honor while ignoring the desires of your heart.

Across the hall, Robb Stark is speaking with his friends, his face flushed from the warmth of the hall and the wine in his cup. He glances your way, catching your eye, and for a moment, there’s something like uncertainty in his expression. You stand, smoothing the folds of your dress, and make your way through the throng of guests towards him.

As you approach, others fall silent, their eyes flickering between you and Robb. You offer them a polite smile, and they excuse themselves, leaving the two of you alone amidst the bustling crowd.

“Robb,” you say, his name unfamiliar on your lips. He’s taller than you remember, broader too. There’s a steadiness to him, a quiet strength that you can’t help but admire.

“Y/N,” he replies, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “I—well, I suppose we should get to know each other, shouldn’t we?”

You nod, feeling an awkwardness settle between you. “I suppose we should. We’re to be married, after all.”

He shifts his weight, looking around the hall as if seeking some escape from the conversation. “I’m not sure what to say,” he admits, a touch of color rising in his cheeks. “This isn’t…what I expected.”

You smile, a small, hesitant thing. “Nor I. But it seems we have little choice in the matter.”

He looks at you then, really looks at you, as if seeing you for the first time. “It’s strange, isn’t it? To be bound by the choices of others. But I—I want to do right by you, Y/N. I want to be a good husband, if you’ll have me.”

There’s an earnestness in his voice, a sincerity that touches something deep inside you. You’ve heard stories of the young wolf, of his prowess in battle and his loyalty to his family, but this—this is something different. This is a boy on the cusp of becoming a man, trying to find his way in a world that seems determined to shape him into something he’s not.

“I appreciate that, Robb,” you say softly. “And I will try to be a good wife. Perhaps, in time, we can find our own way through this.”

He nods, relief softening the lines of his face. “I would like that.”

The music swells, and the lords and ladies begin to take to the floor for the dance. Robb hesitates, then offers you his hand. “May I have this dance?”

You take his hand, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours, and allow him to lead you to the center of the hall. As the music begins, you move together, the steps familiar but strange with him as your partner. There’s a tentative grace to his movements, a carefulness that speaks of his desire not to misstep, not to falter.

As you dance, the hall fades away, the faces of the gathered nobles blurring into the background. For a moment, it’s just the two of you, spinning and turning in a world that is all your own. And in that moment, you think that perhaps, just perhaps, this union might not be the prison you feared it would be.

When the dance ends, Robb holds you close for a heartbeat longer than necessary, his eyes searching yours. “We’ll make this work, Y/N. I promise.”

You nod, the words you want to say caught in your throat. Instead, you offer him a smile, a real one this time, and squeeze his hand gently. “I believe you, Robb.”

And for the first time that night, you feel a flicker of hope, fragile and new, but there all the same.

[lulufoxlainfawn]

Gwyn Week Day Six: Unlikely Pairings

— Star Crossed Connections Across SJM's Cosmos

"I sometimes wonder if I shall ever have the courage to go out there again. I fear every day that I won't." (Gwyn, ACOSF)

@lady-embers , @kt-reads-things , and I wanted to think of a fun, creative pairing for today's prompt and landed on pairing Gwyn up with a handsome, adventurous pirate: TOG's Captain Rolfe.

Once Gwyn is ready to leave the library and set off on adventures, there would be no better match in another universe for our determined and brave Valkyrie than the clever Pirate Lord. They've both experienced the loss of their beloved mothers and sisters, and both had to learn to find their way with the help of some good friends and companions.

Here, we have the two of them exchanging glances as Rolfe literally shows Gwyn the ropes aboard his ship.

We know the banter between these two would be exquisite should the two ever cross paths.

We knew @alexwillustration would be perfect for this idea, and she blew us out of the water! We can't thank you enough for this beautiful piece of art for Gwyn x Rolfe, Alexandra fa

Characters belong to Sarah J. Maas

Commissioned by @lady-embers , @kt-reads-things and @lulufoxlainfawn for @gwynweekofficial

Likes, shares, and comments are greatly appreciated

[green-aeggs-and-spam]

A Defense of Viserra Targaryen

I just realized I've never actually collected these thoughts in one place, so it's time for me to do so.

This is the main quote from F&B used as character evidence for Viserra:

No squire was ever going to win Viserra, Queen Alysanne knew; not her heart, and certainly not her maidenhead. She was far too sly a child to go down the same path as her sister Saera. "She has no interest in kissing games, nor boys," the queen told Jaehaerys. "She plays with them as she used to play with her puppies, but she would no more lie with one than with a dog. She aims much higher, our Viserra. I have seen the way she preens and prances around Baelon. That is the husband she desires, and not for love of him. She wants to be the queen."

EXCEPT PRINCE AEMON IS STILL ALIVE AND HEALTHY. BAELON IS NOT THE HEIR. THERE IS ABSOLUTELY NO INDICATION FOR VISERRA THAT MARRYING BAELON WOULD MAKE HER THE QUEEN. ALYSANNE WOULD HAVE NO REASON TO BELIEVE THIS.

So, what gives?

Maybe this is a situation of "George forgot." He's infamously bad with numbers, after all. Maybe he got his timelines mixed up, and didn't realize that Prince Aemon outlives Viserra by five years and Baelon isn't the heir at the time of her death.

Except Fire & Blood is deliberately written as an in-universe history, and we're supposed to treat it as such, with the understanding that some of what Archmaester Gyldayn says is biased or not 100% accurate. This quote is supposedly from Alysanne to Jaehaerys. Who would have heard this? Who would have written it down? Combine that with the straight up factually incorrect information it's based upon, and this has the makings of an apocryphal quote from a bad source. The factual error undercuts the validity of this entire section, and I don't think it can be blindly accepted as proof of Viserra's character.

So, onto the Baelon incident.

(note: the entire existence of the Baelon Incident can also be called into question, given that Gyldayn begins that section with "if court gossip can be believed." We are not all maesters at the Citadel with access to his bibliography and primary sources, though, so I'll leave that alone for now and choose to treat it as fact.)

Here are our facts: Viserra Targaryen is 15 years old. Her parents have arranged a marriage to an old Northern Lord who has been widowed 4 times already. They have refused to break the betrothal. Viserra has a drinking problem. While drunk (and apparently unsupervised) she manages to sneak into Baelon's bed, naked, in an attempt to "seduce" him.

What's the more likely motive here? That she's a sly manipulative ambitious girl who's just so determined to be queen that she'll seduce poor widowed Baelon? Or that she's drunk and desperate and scared and trying to get her brother to rescue her the same way Jaehaerys once rescued Alysanne?

I rest my case.

[sansaorgana]

— DECEPTION (X – SAURON)

DECEPTION MASTERLIST ALTERNATIVE ENDING (ADAR)

PAIRING — Sauron x fem!Elf!Reader // Adar x fem!Elf!Reader

SUMMARY — You already made your decision to remain by Adar's side but your former lover has different plans.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — First of all, thank you so much for your comments under every part and your support because this fic (and this fandom) was what brought back my joy for writing! 😊 I am aware most of you wants to see The Reader from this fic with Adar but I still wanted to let you make a choice and I had an idea for this storyline either way, so... 🤷🏻‍♀️ The very cold line Some are born for sacrifice is taken from another fantasy TV show – The Shannara Chronicles. 😅 I loved while watching the show and I remembered about it while writing this story. I think it suits. 🤐 This part is more canon-like than the alternative ending where The Reader chooses Adar tbh.

WARNINGS — forced/arranged marriage, Reader is NOT a good person – she is proud, greedy, fake and corrupted by Sauron, "love" triangle situationship, YOU KNOW WHAT HAPPENS 💀

WORD COUNT — 4,930

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

DECEPTION (X – SAURON)

You spent the rest of the day and half of the night inside the forest, in your new favourite place, feeling uneasy. Alone, just in case Sauron wanted to reach out to you again. But he was not making such attempts and it was making you anxious more than ever. His wrath was something you did not want to experience yourself and you knew very well that you had earned it.

Nervously fidgeting with the wedding band around your finger, you were sitting there by the fallen tree and listening to the sounds of the battle taking place nearby. Once more, you felt like sneaking back into the camp, stealing your own horse and running away to some place where no one knew you. But you knew you could not. You had to face the consequences of your actions.

Eventually, you took a deep breath in and decided to find Adar. You needed him close to feel safe and secure again because your anxiety was growing bigger and bigger with each given moment.

You found him near your shared tent, surrounded by the Orcs, small fires to light the path and all the war machines that made you realise how truly close you were to the battle indeed and how serious the situation was.

As you were approaching Adar from one side, you spotted Glûg walking up to him from the opposite one, with some of his friends standing behind as if they were waiting for him to speak to their Lord Father in the name of them all.

“Lord Father,” Glûg started just when you stood next to your husband and wrapped your trembling hands around his arm, happy that he was still there; that Sauron’s rage had not taken him away from you just yet. “The wall is stronger than we thought,” Glûg continued with his head slightly bowed down. “We may not breach it before morning. The Elf is faring better than you expected,” he added. “His troops have already destroyed five of our trebuchets. Many Uruk are dying,” he emphasised, his voice filled with pain and fear. “What are your orders, Lord Father? Shall we sound retreat?”

“No,” Adar’s answer was quick, nearly harsh. It caused a shiver to go down your spine as you watched with interest the conversation between him and his son. “Sauron must not escape,” Adar stated and turned around in your direction, putting his arm around your back to walk you inside the tent. “Bring down that wall. At any cost,” he added.

“Adar!” Glûg exclaimed and you exchanged a meaningful look with your husband. There was desperation but also a hint of disappointment mixed with anger in the Orc’s voice. You both froze and turned around to face him once more. “You told us… You loved us,” Glûg reminded his father in the Black Speech and your heart clenched inside your chest at his words that you could understand perfectly well now.

“With all that is left of my heart,” Adar answered with pain but also determination in his voice. Too much to let you become Sauron’s slaves.”

There was no answer from Glûg or any of the Orcs, so Adar left your side and went inside the tent. You hesitated at the sight of their faces, though. Their expressions did not mean anything good but you had no idea how you could fix it.

Either way, it was an argument between the Orcs and their Lord Father. You were not a side in this conflict. Therefore, you turned around and followed your husband inside the tent.

When you looked around, you spotted that he was angry and crouching down next to a few dead bodies of the Orcs. Lady Galadriel was not around.

“She’s still in the camp. Find her!” He barked at a few Orcs coming inside after you and they nodded before running out.

“What happened?” You asked.

“She escaped,” Adar stood up and showed you a small Elven key Galadriel had to use to get out of her shackles. Suddenly, you realised what Herald Elrond had done while kissing her. He had managed to distract everyone from the fact he had handed her his brooch with a hidden item inside.

“Smart,” you admitted and tilted your head but Adar was not impressed.

“You were supposed to watch over her,” he reminded you, harshly.

“Me?” You were surprised at his words. “I know that you are nervous because the battle is not going the way you planned and I agree with Glûg that we should retreat and go back home but that is no reason for you to take it out on me,” you drawled out through your gritted teeth.

Adar did not say anything to that as he gave you a scolding look and left the tent in a hurry, leaving you speechless. However, not even a minute passed and he was back.

“Forgive me,” he said and extended his hand towards yours. “I might die today and I do not want to leave this world knowing that the very last thing we did was to argue,” he admitted and you sighed, approaching him.

You ignored his extended hand because you threw your arms around his neck instead and you hugged him tight before taking a small step back and cupping his face in your hands.

“Do not say such things, please,” you pleaded and cracked a nervous smile before joining your lips together to kiss him softly before you eventually let him go to join his children.

The battle was getting worse and more ferocious but you remained inside your tent, nervously patting the surface of the wooden table with your fingers. Then, suddenly, angry Glûg entered the tent without even announcing himself. You turned around, surprised and raised an eyebrow at him.

“My Lady,” he bowed his head very slightly, nearly lazily, which was quite uncommon for him.

“What is it, dear?” You tried to be more lighthearted.

“I come to you because Adar remains deaf to my pleas,” Glûg sighed, still standing near the entrance of the tent as if he was scared of approaching you.

“What pleas, Glûg? He will not agree to go back home. Believe me, I’ve tried,” you rolled your eyes slightly and Glûg squinted his small eyes at you.

“That I know, my Lady,” he nodded. “He has just ordered to send the troll in.”

“And what about it?” You inquired. “Have we not brought that filthy creature here to use him in battle?”

“He is killing our own kind!” Glûg tried to protest and you pursed your lips after realising how delicate the situation was indeed.

“I understand,” you nodded and stood up finally to approach him. “However, you must trust your Lord Father’s orders. Some battles require smaller losses to win the big thing in the end. I have lost a lot myself. I have lost things you have no idea of, Glûg,” you only said and he growled but then he looked down at your scolding expression. “We all have a part to play,” you added. “Some are born for sacrifice.”

Glûg looked up at your face as if he was scared of you. Perhaps he was but you were not given more time with him because he left the tent in a hurry. You sighed and went back on the chair. Everything was a mess and you just wanted the battle to be over. The worst thing was the uncertainty.

When the dawn came, you could no longer stay in one place. You left the tent and went deeper into the forest to hide between the tall trees. But instead of going straight to your favourite place, you took a small detour, trying to calm down your pounding heart and your shaky breath.

Your mind was plagued with all the things you could have done differently. You could have told Adar back in Mordor that Halbrand was Sauron. You could have slaughtered him yourself with Morgoth’s crown. You had known then, after all, where Adar was keeping it. You could have discouraged your husband instead of encouraging him when it came to the matter of attacking Eregion.

So many things you could have done differently but you had been blinded by Sauron and his empty promises.

You reached the cliff and there you could witness the true image of what you had caused – burning Eregion, one of the most beautiful Elven cities… now fallen. Your eyes welled with tears but could you really blame yourself? It was all him – Sauron.

“I have promised you, have I not?” His voice filled your head that very moment. You turned around but no one was there as your heart skipped a beat. His voice was overlooming and malicious – he was angry with you and you could feel it despite the physical distance.

“Promised me what?” You asked, angrily.

“I have promised I would destroy them all. All the beautiful Elven cities you felt so small compared to. Mithlond, Eregion… I have promised that you would watch them burn,” Sauron reminded you.

“You have promised me I would watch them burn with a crown upon my head,” you gritted your teeth.

“And you promised me you would bring me the very crown and put it onto my head. Back in Mordor, when I was your prisoner. How sweet you were to me then,” Sauron answered, his voice filled with sinister irony.

“Leave me,” you shook your head and shut your eyes close, letting the warm tears stream down your cheeks.

“You have outdone yourself, I must admit, my love. You might have earned my forgiveness with the army you brought me,” he whispered before leaving your mind as you had requested.

You took a deep breath in and opened your eyes rapidly.

Adar.

You had to find him. You had to find him now.

You gathered your skirts and ran back inside the forest, through the trees and the hidden paths you were able to see perfectly well because of your Elven heritage. Your ancestors had been running through forests like this one – maybe even the same woods. It was in your blood to be able to swiftly move through the trees.

In no time you found yourself in your favourite spot by the fallen tree where the sunlight was creeping in. And as you circled around, wondering where to go, you overheard glimpses of conversations. You immediately recognised your husband’s voice but also… Lady Galadriel’s?

With a furrowed brow, you followed the voices and found yourself approaching a small forest clearing with a stone circle, which had most likely been made by your kin back in the First Age. In the very centre of it stood the biggest stone and Morgoth’s crown was placed upon it.

Your husband was approaching Lady Galadriel and handing her back a Ring – you assumed he had managed to get the one forged by Lord Celebrimbor for her. And the power of this item you could feel even there, hidden between the trees. It was vibrating with pure light and chiming with a beautiful, Elven song.

And Adar’s face was different. It was… Healed. You gasped and took a step ahead but when he turned his face back at you, you could see the scars appearing once more because the Ring was now back on Lady Galadriel’s finger.

“We must go,” you swallowed the lump in your throat as you approached them. “We must go back home. Please,” you grabbed him by his sleeve. “I beg of you,” you added, not caring much about your pride anymore. You didn’t even mind Lady Galadriel’s curious gaze.

“On the contrary,” Adar smiled softly and caressed your cheek. “We have just made ourselves a deal with the Elves” he told you and you furrowed your brows before laying your eyes on Galadriel. She smiled nervously at you. “Together, we might destroy Sauron.”

Hope bloomed deep inside of you once more at his words. You cracked a smile at Galadriel, too.

“Thank you,” you breathed out to her.

But despite all of that, you had a feeling that something was not right. It was too easy. Sauron would never let it happen and he would surely predict it.

“We shall create a lasting peace in Middle-earth,” Adar added and you squeezed his arm tighter, lovingly. “Now and forever.”

You knew that deep down that was all he had ever wanted – for his children to have their own land and live there peacefully as he would watch over them. And you would, too. By his side. You smiled to yourself.

Your small moment of blissfulness was interrupted by a few Orcs carrying Glûg on the stretchers. His face was wincing out of pain and he seemed to be hurt. Adar left your side immediately and you stood there with Galadriel while you observed.

“What happened?” Adar kneeled down to check on his son.

“We found Sauron, Lord Father,” one of the Orcs explained and you moved uncomfortably at that mention. “He tried to make Glûg betray you, but he resisted. So, Sauron did this. The others are pursuing him now.”

“Forgive me, child,” Adar whispered to Glûg.

You wanted to go to him, too but you tilted your head instead when you realised that the rest of the Orcs were not kneeling by their dying brother’s side. No, they were keeping a fair distance as they formed a circle around Adar and Glûg, with their hands close to the hilts of their weapons.

“Adar…” You called his name. “My love, can you come back to me?” You reached out to him with your hand carefully as it trembled.

But he did not listen to you because, at that moment, his son’s pain was his priority.

“It’s too late…” Glûg groaned.

“It’s never too late,” Adar insisted. “Not even for me. And not for you, my son.”

“Adar…!” You insisted but you were ignored once more and tears filled your eyes. You even took a small step closer even though at that moment, you were not sure anymore if you could keep trusting the Orcs.

“It’s too late…” Glûg whimpered as if he was dying and a short moment after you watched in terror how he pierced Adar’s side with his blade.

You shouted and reached for your sword without thinking twice about whether your abilities were enough or not to fight them but when you were about to charge at the Orcs attacking your husband and him not even trying to defend himself… you were stopped.

A hand on your shoulder.

You looked around and saw Sauron’s face so close to yours that you gasped. He had a new form once again but this time it did not differ so much from the previous one. He was a blond Elf now, radiating light and wisdom. A blasphemous image, surely.

His eyes in that moment were nothing but two dark abysses as he was looking you up and down with pure hatred and curiosity.

“Let go of her!” Lady Galadriel ordered and you nearly chuckled at how naive she could be.

“She is exactly where she is supposed to be. By my side,” Sauron smirked and you turned your head around once more to glance at your husband.

Adar was laying on the ground now but he was still alive enough to see. You tried to get free from Sauron’s grasp and he surprisingly allowed it.

There was no point of fighting the Orcs now – there were too many of them. And perhaps some part of you wished for them to do to your body the same thing they had done to your husband. So, you tossed aside Morgoth’s sword because it would only slow you down and you hurried to Adar’s side as you kneeled by him and sobbed.

“Please, stop!” You begged the Orcs but they ignored you. Yet, their blades made sure to not even scratch you as they were piercing through Adar. “Please…” You begged and begged as Adar laid his blue eyes filled with sadness on your face. “My love, please, forgive me… Please…” You caressed his cheeks and his hair as your tears were falling down upon his face. “You can’t die thinking I did not love you. I am so sorry… So, so sorry…”

Sauron approached you all, which caused the Orcs to retreat. You noticed he was holding Morgoth’s crown now in his hand. They were standing in a circle above you and you were kneeling down, holding Adar’s dying body, sobbing and looking up at your corrupted lover.

“Please…” You whispered. “I love him,” you told Sauron.

But Sauron did not react. He only watched with a twisted satisfaction and you squeezed Adar’s cold hand. You felt his fingers trying to squeeze back yours, which only made you sob even more.

“My… children…” He looked at you as he breathed out in the Black Speech.

“They are not children anymore,” Sauron informed him and you shot him a deadly glance. Glûg was standing right next to him and your pain mixed with anger at the thought that it was him out of them all who had betrayed your husband.

“I forgive you,” Adar told you in the Quenya language now and your heart skipped a beat. “I love you.”

You were too heartbroken to say anything to that but you knew that he knew how much you loved him, too. And you knew he understood why you had done all those things – he understood what it meant to be under Sauron’s spell.

Sauron put his hand upon your shoulder and moved you away slightly to make more space for Glûg to finish Adar off with one final stroke as he yelled and you sobbed.

When the fallen Elves die, where do they go?

“What orders, Lord Sauron?” Glûg asked Sauron as all the Orcs bowed down. The very moment their Lord Father let out his last breath.

Crying silent tears, nothing but hatred grew and grew inside of your heart for them now. They were just like everyone had been saying – vile and cruel. They did not know anything about love or loyalty.

They did not deserve Adar.

You did not deserve Adar.

“Raze Eregion,” Sauron ordered but you couldn't care less about anything else now. All that mattered was your husband, laying there dead. You were still squeezing his hand. “Leave no Elf alive but bring me their leaders.”

“Hail Sauron! Hail the new Dark Lord!” Glûg shouted in the Black Speech and the rest followed, screaming it over and over.

In the meantime, you caressed Adar’s face and wiped the black blood streaming down his chin from the corner of his mouth with your thumb. You fixed his hair delicately and closed his eyelids and it nearly looked like he was asleep.

The Orcs finally ran away, passing you by. Sauron kept staring at you with contempt and you looked up with hatred.

“I will be back,” he smirked and walked away to join Lady Galadriel since the business between them was surely not over yet. You watched with gritted teeth how he picked up your sword and claimed it as his.

And, once more, you found yourself not caring. Because it did not matter, after all. Nothing mattered and you felt nothing, too. You were empty.

Sauron and Galadriel began their duel but you did not watch. She hurried away into the forest and Sauron followed her and now all you could hear was the sound of clinking metal.

“Sleep, my dear,” you whispered as you looked down at Adar’s peaceful face and caressed his hair. “Sleep, you deserve it,” you added with a trembling voice.

Your hands went lower to his own because you wanted to take the wedding ring off of his finger to keep it. You did so and then you reached with your fingers inside his sleeve and you sobbed more after finding there the leaves of the holy trees you had married under.

“Oh, Adar…” You lowered yourself to press your forehead to his. “Thank you for everything.”

He was the very first who had shown you love and given you power. You missed him already – his soft smiles at you, the brushes of his fingertips upon your cheeks, his rough voice, his usual calmness, his wisdom. His respect towards you and how safe he was able to make you feel. That you just knew he would never harm you – his wife.

You did not know how much time had passed but you were sitting there without moving an inch, holding Adar’s body close and feeling how his body was slowly getting colder and colder.

Familiar footsteps brought you back to reality. Sauron, wielding your sword in one hand and Morgoth’s crown in another with Galadriel’s blood dripping down from its iron spikes as you looked up to see his angry face.

“She refused you once more,” you pointed out, bitterly. “So you’re back to me. What would you do if she said yes? Would I join my husband in death then?” You asked, calling Adar your husband to spite him.

“She said no and I am here,” Sauron clenched his jaw. “What would you do if he was alive?” He asked and your expression changed because, sadly, he had a point.

He had betrayed you but you had betrayed him, too. It was only fair. But just like you had feared his wrath – perhaps he should fear yours, too. That would be fair as well.

“He is dead and I am here,” you caressed Adar’s cheek one last time and stood up to be on Sauron’s level. “Give me back my sword,” you reached out with your hand but there was no reaction from him. “It was not a plea. The sword is mine, so is Mordor and so is the army. I have earned them,” you stated, harshly and Sauron let out a contemptuous laugh. “The Lady of Light did not follow you and you were a fool for thinking she would even consider it,” you added and Sauron’s laughter stopped in an instant as he shot you a deadly glance.

He could not threaten you with death, though, because it would only mean a reunion with Adar, therefore you did not fear it anymore.

“Only I am rotten enough to follow you, Sauron,” you pointed out, bitterly. “Perhaps all of this had to happen for us to finally realise that we are cursed with one another,” you continued and walked past Adar’s body to get your sword from Sauron’s hands yourself. He allowed you to but he kept watching you closely. “We are doomed to walk side by side, my love,” you whispered but your words were malicious.

You looked deep into his scary eyes although you were sure yours were just as terrifying at that moment. And when you were getting the sword from him, your hands joined together for a moment as you two froze like that.

You hated and despised him. He had betrayed you. And yet, it was true that you had to be doomed to be with him because, still, you felt attracted to him. Still, you would follow him wherever he would go now.

You had nowhere else to go anyway.

“I rue the day I met you,” you told him in Black Speech, “shadow of Morgoth.”

Those words visibly angered him as he tilted his head with a smirk.

“If I am nothing but his shadow, what does that make you? You are merely made in the image of me,” Sauron remarked.

“No, I am my own self. My own person. My own soul with my own desires,” you raised your head high. “If I am to follow you, it will be on different terms this time. It will be as your equal,” you insisted.

“What use are you to me except for warming my bed?” Sauron grabbed you by your chin as he brought your face closer and his hot breath fanned over your skin.

“What use are you to me except for warming mine?” You answered, calmly.

Your spat was interrupted by Glûg himself who ran up to you with one of his friends. At the sight of him, Sauron let go of your chin and you both turned around to face the Orcs.

“We are overwhelmed, Lord Sauron!” Glûg exclaimed after approaching you two and you kept staring at him with nothing but pure hatred and disgust. Like he deserved to be treated after everything he had done. “The Dwarves are securing the Elves’ retreat,” he shook his head, nervously.

Sauron said nothing and kept staring at the Orc with a puzzled expression, surprised that he even dared to file such a complaint. Glûg laid his small and pleading eyes on you as he bowed down.

“If we pursue, many Uruks will die, Lady Mother,” he addressed you and his words caused your jaw to clench as blood boiled in your veins.

“Do not call me that,” you scolded him, harshly, as you glanced briefly at your husband’s dead body before looking back at the Orc. “I have no love for you,” you told him and Glûg’s eyes widened. “You have betrayed the only person who was able to love your filthy kin,” you added and you made your point very clear to the rest by piercing your sword right through him.

And what a satisfaction it brought you to watch him choke on it when it was him who had betrayed your husband the most. You twisted the blade and retreated it as Glûg fell down on the ground and curled up to die.

“What are you staring at?” You barked at his shocked and terrified friend. “Go back and fight!” You ordered and he ran away.

Short silence occurred between you and Sauron. When you finally broke it by sighing and turning around to walk away slightly, you felt his hands on your wrists, pulling you closer once more. His face was right in front of yours but this time there was no threat in them and they were no black abysses anymore but a beautiful shade of green.

However, you moved away.

“I want to give my husband a proper burial,” you crouched down next to Adar’s body. “Then I can go with you.”

You formed the funeral pyre yourself in that favourite spot of yours by the fallen tree. It took you a whole day since you were carefully choosing the best branches to do so. And it was you without anyone’s help moving Adar’s body on top of it. When you were able to finally light the fire, it was dark already but you knew he would prefer it this way.

You hesitated while carrying the torch because you knew that burning him was a definite act. He would be no more. Not even his flesh.

Yet, you couldn’t leave him behind to rot.

“In flames he returns to darkness,” you whispered in the Black Speech and lit the pyre before taking a step back and watching it burn.

You were so cried out that only one single tear streamed down your cheek and you did not even bother to wipe it.

A quiet sound of the footsteps made you realise that Sauron joined you but you did not look back. You knew he made that slight noise with the purpose of letting you know he was there, so you ignored him purposefully, too.

“You, Elves, you marry once in a lifetime, do you not?” He stood right behind you and you sighed at the irony in his voice.

“We do,” you nodded as you played nervously with the contents of your pocket – two wedding rings and the leaves of the holy trees. “But in the eyes of the Valar, we are married. You and I,” you turned your head around to look at his devilishly handsome face being lit by the light from the dancing flames. “I have given myself to you out of my own free will and during our first night together I became your wife,” you reminded him, bitterly. “You have many brides, though, am I right, Lord Sauron?”

He did not answer as he kept staring at the flames but he put his hands on your shoulders and pulled you a bit closer to him.

“None of them as terrific as you,” he confessed with a hint of admiration and leaned in to place a kiss upon your temple.

His words were like venom – treacherous and infectious. You liked to think that you were immune now to him and his craft but perhaps you had overestimated your own self.

You turned your head around and your noses brushed softly as you gave in and opened your lips to welcome his hungry kiss.

“My Dark Lady of Mordor,” he whispered between the kisses. “Commander of my Army. My Queen.”

His Queen. Everything you had once wanted and now you had it.

But what a price you had to pay for it.

What a price indeed… To find out that you had a heart hidden in there despite it all – only for it to die and rot shortly after.

And whatever was left of it, Sauron had a tight hold on it.

“Your Queen,” you cracked a sad smile and let go of the wedding rings and the leaves inside your pocket to raise your hand and caress his smooth cheek. “Your malediction.”

AUTHOR’S NOTE 2.0 — Hi, it's me again! 👋🏻 If you are here for angst, then I think reading Adar's ending might make it worse for you because it shows you the possibility of what could have been only if our Reader made slightly different choices. If you read both endings, you will see that it was mostly small gestures of kindness and compassion that decided her fate. 💓

MASTERLIST

[anaszpan]

[ IMAGINE ] : You are Mr.Baggins' neighbor. By accident Thorin Oakenshield mistakes your and Bilbo's house and pays an unannounced visit.

[ A/N ] : The photos do not belong to me. English is not my native language. Don't hesitate to use this idea in your story.

[ ( ´ ꒳ ` ) ♡ ] : As the sun dipped below the rolling hills of the Shire, casting a warm golden glow over the lush landscape, I had just settled into a cozy chair by my hearth with a good book and a cup of chamomile tea. The peaceful ambiance was a staple of life in our quiet corner of Middle-earth, where the only disturbances typically came from the rustle of leaves or the occasional chatter of passing hobbits.

But that evening was different. The sound of heavy boots marching towards my door startled me out of my reverie. I set down my book, intrigued and slightly apprehensive. It was quite uncommon for visitors to stop by unannounced, especially not at this hour.

When I opened the door, I was met with the unexpected sight of a dwarf, his stature formidable even in my doorway. He stood there, framed by the pastel colors of twilight, his braided beard glimmering faintly in the fading light, and his deep-set eyes shimmering with a blend of determination and uncertainty. His attire, rugged and adorned with symbols of his kin, spoke of countless adventures and an unwavering spirit.

The moment felt surreal. There was an air of tension, a collision of worlds as I stood there speechless, my initial spark of curiosity mingling with something deeper—a stirring recognition of his own nobility and resolve.

In that fleeting instant, amidst the remnants of daylight and the gentle whispers of the evening breeze, I felt an unbidden spark of attraction. It was a clash of emotions—the warmth of home and hearth meeting the raw, untamed spirit of adventure that emanated from him. He seemed to carry not just the weight of his title but also a yearning for something more, something perhaps even softer than the iron walls of his heritage would allow.

Thorin’s gaze swept the interior of my home, lingering on the small details—my patchwork quilts, the quaint trinkets lining the shelves. A flicker of confusion crossed his brow, perhaps an acknowledgment that he had walked into a realm where he had not expected to find himself: the simple, safe life of a hobbit versus the tumultuous paths of a dwarven prince.

For an instant, we were suspended in time, the boundaries of our worlds blurring in the stillness of the moment. My heart raced, caught between the allure of the unknown and the comfort of familiarity, while Thorin seemed to wrestle with his own tumultuous thoughts, a fire mirrored in his eyes that hinted at hidden depths I longed to explore.

“Thorin Oakenshield. At you service... Is this the door to Bilbo Baggins' house?” he asked, his voice a deep rumble that felt like distant thunder—strong and echoing, yet somehow inviting. The serious demeanor and royal lineage seemed to fade as I noticed the vulnerability lurking beneath, a soul hungry for acceptance in a life burdened by duty.

Though initially my mind raced with the potential chaos of an uninvited Ruler invading my tranquil home, something deeper, almost magnetic, pulled me closer to him. There was a tension in the air, palpable and charged, as though the very fabric of fate was weaving our threads together in that brief encounter. I could feel the flutter of anticipation in my chest, each heartbeat a reminder of the exhilarating unknown that stood before me.

“No, my Lord. You’ve ventured a bit off course.” I managed to say, my voice barely rising above a whisper.

[rorichuu]

in shades of violet ; 𝐠𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 — (part 2) .

pairing: gale x gn/fem!reader

authors note: uh HIIIII, this is proof I'm not dead, my heart is just suffering from another fandom :') posted from my ao3 account hurhur

disclaimer: gale and tav but with the line: "I will stand with you between the heavens and the Earth, I will tell you where you are, do you love me? - I love you!"

The silence clouded your shared camp with an unforgiving hush, the wind particularly brisk, and the whisper of the trees seemingly more pronounced. Those words spoken by Mystra's Chosen, deafening in their own heavy deliverance, refused to leave your crowded mind. The unforgiving visitor sang ill-sickening horrors that twisted your mind onto your own, thankfully not driven to insanity on the part of Shadowheart's found artifact. But there was more to this; more to find on the journey ahead. Paths left untrailed, answers yet unfound... this couldn't have been our last resort. You were to make sure of it. You could tell in the way Gale’s eyebrows knitted together, the way he bit his cheek, how his chest seemed to fall faster than before Elminster’s disrupted visit. The tension was suffocating, you couldn’t stand it. Just then, you had found your chest falling rapidly all the same… but not in a sense of sadness, nor of fear. But in rage. The Goddess asked of something you had found irrational, and even if the Gods held you back with all their might, they could not obstruct your determination.

“Time seems so infinite when you’re young… a month is an age, a year is a lifetime…” Your ears prickled upon hearing the wizard speak. His voice hummed with a self-deprecating laugh; you could hear the ache in his heart. “It is a strange feeling, to realize how little of it one might have left.” It was as if all light had fallen from his eyes. Once hazel in sunlight, once sparkling with awe and curiosity. You refused to have him snuffed out as if simply candlelight; you will preserve and hold his heavy heart for as long as you’ll have him. You turned to face Gale, your eyebrows furrowing in disbelief, a scoff leaving your throat harshly.

“You can’t possibly consider what She is asking of you.” Your voice slightly raised, you advanced towards Gale, your eyes sharing his with your unrelenting hold. You noticed Adam’s apple bob, he swallowed, slightly intimidated by you. But with a clench of his jaw, he stepped backward, clearing his throat.

“Of course, he offered the clearest solution to our problem,” he began. You frowned. “All I have to do is find the right place and time, close my eyes, and... well, let go.” He spoke as if it were a simple task. As if Gale had nothing to lose and everything to give. But how wrong he was, oh, how your heart cried due to Gale’s blindness. “Then the slate will be clean, wrongs will be righted, the Absolute will be gone… and I along with it.” His tone sauntered to a sort of grief... to a sort of realization.

“You’re an idiot. An idiot to think so,” your voice wobbled, your eyes threatened with tears. Gale’s façade had begun to falter as soon as your broken sentence left your lips, his heart ached for what he thought he could not have. “It’s a suicide mission. I can’t let you, not when there’s… undoubtedly, another way. There must be.” You looked away, shame rosing your cheeks in its warming triumph. You couldn’t let yourself go just yet.

“That… this, isn’t a choice either one of us can make Tav,” Gale spoke, his hand lifting to rest on your shoulder. In response, you bucked away from him, shaking your head. “It is your decision! It’s your life, and you are what you make of it!” Your throat began to seize up, burning with an intention to release your tears, but you fought it. You marched towards him; he stepped back in return. “I understand she is your Goddess; I understand your devotion. But what about… oh, lords above." A hand fell over your lips, cursing… your heart racing in your ceased thoughts. It was clawing at you; your love was destined to put your heart to ruin if you had let Gale continue his newly found mission… how badly you wished to speak of your daydreams; your fantasies; your devotion for the wizard, a love you had wished to grow old with. Had it only been a few weeks on your travels, if not months, and you were completely transfixed in his pretty words and captivating conversations… for it did not take long to realize your affections. But it hurt. It hurt more than poets could write on tarnished paper; more than the absence of a lover; more than the moon’s unrequited love for the sun. It tore at every seam of your heart.

Gale frowned, eyes catching yours as his hand lifted your face by his touch. “Speak to me.” He whispered now, the Earth around you began to shift in a mystic purple, caressing your skin with its doting charm. Your lip curled, and your heart pounded against your chest, bound to be left free from its cage. And so, you spoke.

“Do you love me?” Plain and true to your question, Gale blinked, taken aback… his hand fell. The Weave flickered by Gale’s fluttered heart.

“I’m doing this to protect you. To protect you all.” His response did not align with what you had asked him.

“Do you love me?” You continued to push your question.

“It wouldn’t… Tav, we couldn’t, you know this. We can’t—”

“Do you love me?” You advanced towards him, feet hot on his trail as he looked at you, small in your gaze. Gale stuttered in response, excuses falling from his lips. A deep purple smothered the both of you. “Do you love me!”

“Tav! Please, stop! Stop this!” Gale raised his voice in return, your lips twitched in your abrupt pause. The darkened purple was hushed now to its softened twinkle.

“Is this because you think you’re protecting me or yourself? Do you truly believe that if you do this, my love for you will simply shy away? Because it can’t.” Gale's eyes searched yours desperately as if his puppy browns could find anything within you. “I love you, Gale.” The way you had pronounced his name clearly in your sweetened words; the way you spoke plainly alone of your love held his heart in your divine chamber. And he wished to never leave it. “I love you so much that I will do as you wish. If you do not love me, all you have to say is you do not love me, and I will leave you to Mystra’s command.” Gale could not speak. Whatever he had wished to say to you had left his mind… it did not live up to what you were proposing, he only had your words coddled in his brain. His mouth was left agape, watching you speak.

You continued. “We will find the heart of the Absolute. I will leave you to Her command and I will go on with my days without you. All on my own, I will do that. But first, you have to say that you do not love me.” A quiet hushed over your words, his lips seemed to move; seemed to move in hopes to say something, but his voice was trapped. Gale’s mouth had gone dry, his mind enclosed with what he so desperately wished to say to you. “You must tell me that I am utterly alone in this world.” Gale’s eyelashes fluttered; his once gazing eyes that longed to be lost in yours had disappeared with the shaking of his head. His voice had soon accompanied yours.

“I am a danger; a ticking time bomb that will inevitably detonate,” his words were as though they were a broken record. You sighed, lip quivering. “The Weave is tireless and ever-so hungry. And eventually, I will become lost in it. Once I was lost to celestials above, and… I wish not to have you tangled within my own fault.” Gale had sounded as if almost desperate. You needed to hear it clearly. You needed to.

“Do you love me?” Your words continued to prevail an answer in search of his response. Slowly, he began to back away, hands raised in the hopeless comfort to retreat. But you continued to push, swirls of the Weave hugging your figure.

“You do not wish a life with me for yourself,” Gale kept his gaze on the ground, hands on either hip as he cowered. “No one wishes what I cannot give you.” Within Gale’s sorrow, a shade of violet hung heavy over his shoulders.

“Gale!” Catching his attention, his eyes met yours, fully swept within your pearled orbs. “I will stand with you between the Heavens and the Earth, I will tell you where you are, do you love me!”

“I love you!” With a final gust, shimmers of a royal lilac decorated your face with its beautiful hue. The world seemed to stop, the Weave with it. It had felled from his lips as though it were his last words; devotion he would happily give if he could have only you… disregarding Mystra, disregarding everything he knows for you. Selfish as that may be. A sigh left your lungs, relief soothing you. “From the moment… from the moment you pulled me from that rock. I have loved you desperately—I cannot breathe when you are not near… I love you, Tav." Within your shared breath, the Weave had fallen away… the whispers of the trees were once more, the song of the birds within the twilight… embraced into each other’s arms, a kiss was shared; deep and true, your lips did not tear, if even for a breath. For Gale did not need to breathe, you were his oxygen. His means of breathing; his means of living. But alas, the kiss was broken. You two had held each other, and felt the touch and warmth of each other’s bodies. A comfort Gale was at peace with knowing.

His voice broke through the silence.

“What I carry is darkness,” he whispered. “A suffocating darkness due to my own hubris. Tav, this is my burden. But you…” Gale had brought his hands to cup either side of your face, his softened gaze welcoming yours with the purest of adoration. “You bring the light.” He rested his forehead upon yours, eyes fluttering closed in the embrace of your presence. “I love you. I love you; I love you; I love you.”

“I want you and only you,” you whispered in solace. “I want you until the celestials find their end. Until the Earth cannot carry us no longer. I want you.”

“Then you shall have me.”

.

.

.

rorichuu!

[valaenatargaryensdragon]

Whispers of Desire

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x twin!reader

summary: Finally betrothed, the twins are more than happy.

Word count: 2,9K

Warnings: smut, P in V, Daddy kink, Orgasm denial

The Red Keep in King’s Landing stood as a majestic backdrop to the grand feast held in honor of the engagement between Aemond Targaryen and his twin sister, Aerra. The Great Hall was resplendent with crimson and gold decorations, echoing the colors of their House. Lords and ladies from across the Seven Kingdoms had gathered to celebrate this momentous occasion.

Aerra, the lively and effervescent twin, was at the heart of the festivities, as always. Her fiery charisma and vivacity had the guests enthralled. She moved gracefully through the hall, engaging in lively conversations, twirling on the dance floor, and enchanting all who crossed her path.

Aemond, on the other hand, couldn’t hide the green-eyed monster that had taken root within him. He watched as Aerra shared laughter and danced with lords and knights, and a deep sense of jealousy consumed him. His martial prowess and fierce determination had earned him respect, but tonight, it felt as if all eyes were on his sister.

Rhaenyra, their elder sister, noticed Aemond’s growing frustration. She excused herself from her own admirers and approached him. “Aemond, you seem troubled. Is something amiss?”

He sighed, his violet eyes betraying his inner turmoil. “Rhaenyra, I can’t help but be jealous of Aerra. It feels as if I’m always in her shadow.”

Rhaenyra placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Aemond, jealousy is a dangerous beast. Remember that Aerra’s light does not diminish yours. You are both unique, with strengths that complement each other. While she shines in the spotlight, your strength is the shield that protects our family.”

Aemond’s gaze softened, and he nodded in acknowledgment. “You’re right, Rhaenyra. I should be happy for her. It’s just that… I’ve always felt the weight of our family’s expectations.”

Rhaenyra smiled warmly. “We all do, dear brother. But together, as Targaryens, we are stronger. Our bond is unbreakable, and we support each other through every challenge.”

As they returned to the feast, Aemond’s jealousy gave way to a newfound appreciation for his sister’s charisma and an understanding that their unity was their greatest strength. The celebration continued with renewed joy and harmony, showcasing the resilience and power of House Targaryen within the hallowed halls of the Red Keep.

The Red Keep’s Great Hall buzzed with merriment as Aerra danced with several lords who had come to celebrate her engagement. Her laughter rang out like music, drawing the attention of everyone present. She moved gracefully from one partner to another, her vibrant presence captivating them all.

Aemond, watching from a distance, couldn’t shake the growing unease that gnawed at him. As he saw lords vying for Aerra’s attention on the dance floor, jealousy flared within him. He had always been fiercely protective of his twin sister, and the thought of sharing her with others grated on him.

Unable to contain his emotions any longer, Aemond left his spot and approached the dance floor. His commanding presence was undeniable, and the lords who had been dancing with Aerra took a step back, yielding the floor to him.

Without a word, Aemond extended his hand to Aerra, his violet eyes locked onto hers. “May I have this dance, sister?”

Aerra’s sapphire eyes widened in surprise, but she accepted his hand with a smile. They moved onto the dance floor, and as the music swayed around them, their movements became a silent conversation of emotions.

As Aemond and Aerra danced together, the tension between them crackled like wildfire. The music’s sultry rhythm seemed to mirror the heat that had built up between the twins. Their bodies moved in sync, but their words were laced with desire and jealousy.

“Aerra,” Aemond purred, his voice low and seductive, “you’re quite the enchantress tonight. You revel in the attention, don’t you?”

Aerra’s sapphire eyes darkened with a mix of emotions, her pulse quickening at her brother’s provocative tone. She leaned in closer, her voice a sensuous whisper, “Why, Aemond, jealous, are we? Perhaps you’re just not used to sharing.”

Aemond’s jealousy had given way to a more primal desire, and he pulled Aerra even closer, their bodies pressed together in an intimate embrace. “Sharing is not something I’m accustomed to, especially when it comes to you.”

Aerra’s laughter was a seductive melody in his ear. “Oh, Aemond, there’s no need to be possessive. I’m yours, always.”

Their dance became a provocative battle of wills, a dance of desire and longing. Aemond’s jealousy had transformed into a heated passion, and as the night wore on, they continued to dance, their movements filled with sensual tension and unspoken promises.

Their hearts racing with a mix of excitement and forbidden desire, managed to slip away from the raucous feast unnoticed. The castle’s winding corridors provided cover for their secret escape.

Aerra couldn’t contain her giggles, the thrill of their clandestine rendezvous making her feel like a teenager in love. She tugged at Aemond’s hand, urging him further into the shadows.

Aemond, usually so stern and composed, had a rare hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. The tension that had consumed him earlier had given way to the intoxicating anticipation of what was to come. He pushed Aerra gently against the wall, their bodies pressed close, and his lips descended to meet hers.

The kiss was tender yet filled with an intensity that had simmered beneath the surface all night. Aerra’s fingers tangled in Aemond’s platinum blonde locks as she deepened the kiss, their tongues dancing in a passionate, unspoken declaration of their desires.

Aemond’s hands explored her curves, their desire for each other burning brighter with each passing second. The abandoned hallway became their secret haven, a place where their love and longing could be expressed without restraint.

As the kiss deepened, Aerra pulled away slightly, her breath coming in heavy, ragged gasps. She looked into Aemond’s eyes, her voice barely above a whisper. “Aemond, I’ve always wanted you.”

Aemond’s response was a heated kiss, a promise that their secret rendezvous was only the beginning of a night filled with passion, desire, and the breaking of boundaries they had once thought were unbreakable.

Aemond’s kisses, like soft feathers, trailed down Aerra’s neck, igniting a passionate fire within her. Her body trembled with desire as his strong arms enveloped her waist, guiding her down the dimly lit corridor.

Lost in the intoxication of his touch, Aerra barely registered their surroundings. She allowed herself to be led by Aemond’s tender yet passionate ministrations, every kiss sending shivers down her spine.

As they reached a doorway, Aemond gently guided Aerra into the room. Her senses were overwhelmed by the pleasure of his kisses, and she remained blissfully unaware of their surroundings.

It was only when they were inside, and Aemond closed the door behind them with a soft click, that Aerra finally realized where they were. Her eyes widened in surprise, and she looked around to find herself standing in the small council meeting room of the Red Keep.

The room was dimly lit, with the long wooden table and high-backed chairs creating an unexpected backdrop for their passionate encounter. Aerra’s cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and desire as she met Aemond’s gaze.

Aemond, his own desire evident in his platinum blonde hair tousled from their passionate kisses, gave her a mischievous smile. “Well, it seems we’ve found an unexpected venue for our rendezvous.”

Aerra chuckled softly, her embarrassment giving way to a sense of adventure. “I suppose we have, dear brother. Let’s make the most of it.”

And with that, they allowed their passion to consume them once more, their kisses and desires filling the small council meeting room with a fervor that surpassed the boundaries of decorum.

Their lips met in a slow and passionate kiss, a sweet exchange of longing and devotion. The small council room, once a place of politics and strategy, was transformed into their private sanctuary, where their love and desires could flourish.

As their kiss deepened, they lost themselves in each other’s arms, their hearts entwined in a dance of love and romance. The room, with its grand table and high-backed chairs, bore witness to a different kind of council—one where the language spoken was that of love, trust, and unbreakable bonds.

Aemond eager to be close to his soon to be wife wasted no time to push her against the table, his lips attacking the sensitive skin under her jaw with bites and kisses to sooth the pain. Aerra's breathing was already laboured, her nibble fingers running through his hair that was in it's usual half up do, well not anymore.

"Aemond" She whispered, his name sounded like the sweetest tart rolling off her tongue. Aemond began pulling her dress up desperate to feel her skin. This was not the first they had been intimate and surely never will be the last.

"Daor" No. Aemond breathed in her ear. His fingers finally touching the skin of her thigh. He ran his thumb around the edge of her stocking before pushing it down fully. Aerra gasped as the cold air hit her legs causing goosebumbs.

"Kepa" Father/Daddy. The twins were twisted, that was no shock. The father they had was anything but a father, he was more of a stranger to them, they were shocked he even showed his face at the feast- most likely because Rhaenyra was there.

Aemond groped her thigh so tightly it will surely leave his fingerprints behind on it. He wrapped her exposed thigh around his waist before moving to the other one. His lips trailing up to her ear, biting and sucking the her earlobe. She whimpered shivering in his arms, she was desperate for his touch. Her second stocking and shoe followed the first on the floor, her legs now both wrapped around his waist he finally could touch more of her skin.

"My sweet girl, so desperate for attention" Aemond teased. he pulled back admiring her, her lips swollen and red from his attacks earlier. Her neck was already beginning to bruise from his bites. Her chest heaving as she sat on the table, her legs around his waist. His cock was throbbing in his trousers at the sight of her. Her hair was all over the place.

"Kepa, Kostilus" Please. Her begging was like the lemon cake to his ears. His fingers worked quickly undoing her bodice until her tits were spilling out.

"Shh, sweet whore" Aemond shushed her quickly. His hand grabbed at her breast, the perfect size in his hand, she was just perfect for him. Her entire being fit him so perfectly, her love handles and breasts were just the right size.

"Kepa, please it hurts" Aerra begged. Her cunt was crying in need of friction. She tried rubbing herself against him, gasping when she felt his hard on. Aemond smirked with delight at the sight of her wide eyes and dropped jaw. She knew just how to push his buttons even without trying.

"Shhh" Aemond gave a quick slap to her breast. He reached down to undo the ties of his trousers. Without her having to beg anymore or preparations he shoved his cock inside of her tight cunt.

"Such a perfect cunny" Aemond complimented. Aerra had to slap a hand over her mouth to stop a scream from slipping past her lips. He was just in so deep, he reached places she couldn't even imagine reaching herself.

Aemond stayed still not wanting to hurt her. He was amused with how wet she was and he didn't even need to touch her down there, he did not need to prepare her, she was always ready to take his cock. She was his perfect twin and no one can change that. No one can separate them, not even their disgusted mother.

"Move, Kepa" She whined, rolling her hips for some friction. Aemond lowered his head to take one of her tits into his mouth, suckling at it. She let out a loud moan without warning at the sensation, he always knew how to pleasure her. The pleasure went sparkling down to her lower region making her walls squeeze around Aemond's cock, making him crazy.

"Fuck" The curse came muffled from his lips. His hips began rocking back and forth, the way she sounded, the way she felt were just overwhelming.

"Aemy" Aerra cried throwing her head back. Aemond pulled away from her breast and placed a hand between her breasts, he applied just enough pressure to push her back to lay fully on the table. His eyes sparkled at the sight of her breasts bouncing with each thrust.

"That's not my name" Aemond's hand came down at her bouncing tits, giving each a quick slap. Aerra's back arched, legs beginning to tremble.

"Kepa" She moaned loudly, no longer caring who heard, they were betrothed and to marry soon, no one can separate them.

Aemond picked up the pace of his hips, his cock was just begging for more frictions. "Yes...fuck yes" Aerra was not one to curse, so now that she did Aemond knew he was doing it right.

"Do not cum" Aemond warned, his one eyes blazing with almost anger. She did not earn cumming yet.

"Please kepa" She begged. Her left hand reached down to touch herself but he slapped it away in a second. Aerra cried with frustration. Her eyes teary already from the pleasure began pouring with frustration.

"Kepa!" Aerra cried desperately. He picked up the speed of his thrusts, he was slamming into her at this point. He was going to teach her a lesson.

"Whores do not get to cum" Aemond growled. One of his hands reached up to grab her jaw. His hips not stopping for a second. Her eyes rolled back, back arched but he pulled at her jaw making her eyes snap back to normal and her back to lay still down again.

"Do you understand?" Aemond asked. His nails digging into her flesh.

"Yes kepa, please kepa, I am sorry" She cried. Her hand reached to grab his wrist. He pushed her hand away and moved to focus on the movement of his hips.

His hands grabbed at her hips moving her hips just the right way to match the rhythm of his own. Aerra's hands tried desperately to grab onto anything. Her right found comfort on her own breast, kneading the full flesh, twicking her nipple evoking herself to more pleasure. Aemond had ruined her forever, she was no longer the shy and innocent sister she used to be.

"Kepa, please please please" Aerra's pleas filled the otherwise empty room. She did not care if she was to be heard, it aroused her more actually, she wanted the lords she danced with and lusted over her to see her being absolutely being destroyed by her own brother.

"Fuck, cum" Aemond was not a vocal person in general let alone during intimacy. His voice was low and gruff, it turned Aerra on even more. She rolled her nipple begging every god for the release her brother was chasing for the both of them.

"Yes please" Aerra's breath got caught in her throat. It was like lightning struck her and moved through her entire body. Her legs shook so hard they went numb for a second. They unraveled from around Aemond's waist and shot up in the air shacking. Her body obeyed only his command. No one else's but his and it will forever.

Aemond grabbed her legs behind her knees and pulled them up to his shoulders and continued the assault on her cunt. This new position allowed him to reach deeper, he could feel her cervix if that was possible. He was very close, he was going to seed her. He was desperate to seed her. He wanted her to swell with a pure blooded Targaryen.

"Sweet twin" Aemond tried to comfort her as her eyes rolled back, her orgasm being prolonged with his movement. With a groan of pleasure Aemond came shooting his cum so deep inside of her it probably went straight into her womb.

"Gods" The word came out forced from her lips as she tried to pull her hips away from Aemond, too overstimulated. Aemond let her crawl back a little only enough for his cock to slip out of her. His singular eye watched as his spend ran out of her slit and down onto the table. Her legs fell limp like the rest of her body. He leaned down on top of her to place a kiss on her forehead.

"Mine" He whispered against her eye before placing a small kiss to her closed eyelid. Her chest heaving made her breasts brush against his, her sensitive nipples perked at the touch and made her groan a little.

"Kepa" She whined. Opening her eyes lazily, Aemond smiled at the sight, she just looked so sweet like a little girl, his little girl that he gets to fuck fro the rest of his life.

"I'm right here" Aemond helped her sit up again. Her arms wrapped around his waist and her head rested on his chest. Legs open again welcoming him inside, his cock sheathed inside like it was going home, to keep them both warm.

"Kepa's got you" Aemond whispered against her hair line, placing a small kiss there as well. Aerra hummed happily and nuzzled even more into his chest, her arms tightening around his waist. He was hers and She was his forever.

[thewulf]

Frosted Steel || Cassian

Summary: Request -Can i request a Cassian x Reader?? Here's what I'm thinking-Reader is from winter court. She's gifted with unique ice-binding magic from her home and arrives in Velaris to help Rhysand finalize a critical peace treaty?... Read Rest Here

A/N: Well... this one got away from me hahaha but I had a blast writing it. Def in the zone writing these ACOTAR fics so please keep sending them my way!

Pairing: Cassian x Female Reader (Winter Court Reader)

Word Count: 9.8k + (WHOOPS)

TW: swords, reader gets cut, blood, general ACOTAR warnings

In the silent, shimmering halls of the Winter Court you stood before Kallias, your father and the formidable High Lord. His piercing blue eyes reflect both concern and determination as he addresses you. The throne room was usually a place of austere beauty but felt colder today. The frost patterns on the walls mirroring the tension in the air.

"Velaris is not just another city, and this is not merely a diplomatic visit my daughter," Kallias begins. His voice resonant and commanding. "Rhysand needs our support to finalize a peace treaty that could stabilize relations of the Winter Court for generations. I need someone who can represent our interests with both power and delicacy. Someone like you."

You shift slightly with your boots whispering against the icy floor. "But father, my magic is suited for creation not conflict. Surely there are others better suited to navigate the intricacies of a peace treaty?" You tried your best to convince him, but it was sure to fall of deaf ears. When he had a plan there was no talking him out of it.

Kallias rises. His height and presence filling the room with an almost tangible force. "No one else possesses your unique abilities or your perspective," he insists. "You understand the fragile nature of peace. This treaty needs more than just political acumen… it needs the trust and bond that only your magic can foster." You knew exactly what he was doing. He was trying to flatter you. You lowered your gaze knowing there was no talking him out of this. You felt the weight of his expectations pressing into you. It is an honor yes, but a daunting one, nonetheless. The responsibility feels as heavy as the ice that clings to the peaks of your homeland.

Seeing your hesitation Kallias softens before stepping down from the dais to place a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "I would not ask this of you if I did not believe in your ability to carry our hopes," he says. His tone infused with a rare warmth. "You have always risen to the challenges presented to you, greater though they may seem."

Drawing a deep breath you nod, accepting the mantle he's offering. "I will go to Velaris. I will help broker this peace." You spoke even though you truly did not want to go.

Kallias smiles with pride evident in his eyes. "Rhysand has arranged for an escort to meet you at the city gates. They will ensure your safety and aid in your acclimation to the Night Court's ways. Spend some time there. Get to know them. It will only aid in our recovery efforts after the war.” As you turn to leave your heart steadies itself. The path ahead is uncertain and is filled with potential alliances and hidden perils. But as the frost air fills your lungs you feel your resolve harden. You will meet this challenge as you have met all others with the cool grace and quiet strength of winter itself.

He didn’t give you long to get ready to leave. Within a day you were already finding yourself at the outskirts of Velaris, the once hidden city of the Night Court. As you step through the threshold into the city your senses are immediately overwhelmed by the vivid contrasts. Unlike the icy, silent elegance of your homeland, Velaris pulses with life. Its streets bustling with faeries of every conceivable form and hue. The air here carries the warmth of starlight even into the night. It was a stark contrast to the crisp, cold air of the Winter Court. Your unique ice-binding magic was a rare gift in your cold dominion, and it stirred within you responding to the latent energies of this foreign land.

Your arrival isn't just a mere visit as your father had informed you. It's a mission charged with the weight of potential peace or conflict. Directed by your father you are here to assist Rhysand, the famed High Lord of the Night Court and one you were incredibly intimidated by, in finalizing the critical peace treaty. The responsibility weighs heavily on your shoulders as the outcome could define the future relationships between your frigid realm and the temperate lands of the Night Court.

As you glide through the throngs of fae your eyes marvel at the architectural wonders of Velaris. The buildings around you display intricate designs that emit an ethereal glow, seeming both ancient and vibrantly alive. Despite the surrounding beauty you remain vigilant, your magic at the ready. Your heart beats a complex rhythm of excitement and caution as you near the meeting point. In Velaris, amidst allies and strangers, you must navigate the intricacies of court politics. Utilizing your magical talents for diplomacy and perhaps learn to defend yourself in more ways than one.

However, a different sensation stirs within you—a blend of nervousness and unease—as you anticipate your first encounter with Rhysand and Feyre. Both are Daemati, a kind of power that deeply unsettles you. This fear stems from a harrowing past encounter with a Daemati under Amarantha's command who had mercilessly killed twelve children of the Winter Court. One of these children was your Ivy. She was a young fae you were mentoring. Ivy, like yourself, possessed potent abilities but her promise was brutally cut short. She was a loss that still haunts you to this day.

Now as you approach the House of Wind with your escort a mix of fear and determination tingles through your nerves. You replay the pain of your past and the loss that continuously gnaws at your spirit. Yet, you steady yourself with the knowledge that your father has prepared you well to shield your thoughts. He had trained you relentlessly once he returned from under the mountain. At the time it frustrated you but now, in this moment, you are profoundly grateful for his persistence.

Rhysand and Feyre greet you at the grand entrance. Their presence was both awe-inspiring and intimidating. Rhysand's dark hair and piercing gaze are balanced by a surprisingly warm smile. While Feyre's poise and grace exude a calm strength. Though their reputations are fair and just leaders precede them you can't shake the lingering trepidation of their unique abilities.

"Welcome to Velaris," Rhysand says. His voice both smooth and inviting. "We are honored to assist the Winter Court in these crucial talks."

You manage a polite nod making sure to keep your mental shields tightly woven, an invisible armor against any potential intrusion. Rhysand’s eyes seem to glimmer with a hint of understanding, but he makes no move to address the unspoken tension.

Feyre then steps forward with a gentle smile. Her empathy palpable even without words. "We hope you find comfort here during your stay. If there's anything you need at all, please let us know."

As they lead you through the corridors of their home filled with the light of glowing crystals and the scent of night-blooming flowers you remind yourself of the mission at hand. You are here to negotiate peace. To secure a future for your court. Despite the warmth of their welcome, you remain vigilant, prepared to protect your thoughts and heart from the painful memories of the past and the daunting power of the present.

After showing you to your room, a beautiful space with a view of Velaris that twinkles like a starlit sky, Feyre gently suggests that you join them for dinner. As you follow her down to the dining area your nervousness manifests subtly. Your leg shakes rhythmically, a silent tick showing the unease churning inside you. The room is beautifully set with candles flickering softly. They cast a warm light over the array of dishes that smell of spices and something sweetly floral.

You take your seat making sure to deliberately avoid the gazes of Rhysand and Feyre who try to make the atmosphere as welcoming as possible. Your leg continues to shake under the table and despite their friendly demeanor you find yourself unable to meet their eyes. You choose instead to focus on the intricate patterns of the tablecloth. You felt terribly out of your element. Why had your father sent you here? You couldn’t even look them in the eyes, how were you going to negotiate peace with them?

Noticing your discomfort Rhysand addresses the elephant in the room with a gentle directness. "It must be quite unsettling being far from home and surrounded by strangers. Especially strangers who possess abilities that might seem... invasive. We both understand the significance of mental privacy and consent," he begins. His tone imbued with empathy. His acknowledgment of his and Feyre's Daemati powers catches your attention prompting you to glance up briefly.

"We're committed to using our powers to protect and heal, never to harm or coerce," Rhysand continues hoping to ease your worry. "It's a rule we hold sacred in Velaris. A promise to each other and to those we welcome into our home."

As Rhysand speaks there is a sincerity radiating with each word. You find the courage to lift your eyes and meet his gaze for the first time this evening. Something in his expression, a deep-seated earnestness, cuts through the fog of your apprehension. You nod slowly acknowledging his pledge and the safety it promises.

"Thank you," you speak quietly. "I've heard much about both of you and your abilities. Forgive me for being so… cold." The smirk that follows is light and tinged with the irony of your homeland's icy reputation.

Your gaze shifts between Rhysand and Feyre. Their attentive postures encouraging you to continue. "The reason for my caution," you explain, "stems from a… an awful experience. One of the children taken by Amarantha's enforcer was under my protection. Her name was Ivy. I was supposed to shield her. Protect her. To nurture her abilities. But I could only watch helpless as her mind was torn apart. Piece by piece. It was... traumatizing to say the least. The fear of that power. The fear of it being used again so mercilessly has stayed with me." You let out the breath you were holding feeling a weight being slowly lifted off your shoulders in your admission.

Taking a deep breath, you fight through the tide of emotion threatening to overwhelm you. "Ivy was more than just a pupil to me. She was like a daughter," you begin. Your voice trembling as the words spill out. “Young and brilliant. Her very presence could brighten the darkest winter nights. She had a rare gift for ice magic. The kind that comes once in a generation. Ivy could weave frost into intricate sculptures of breathtaking beauty. She could coax snowflakes into patterns that told stories. Her magic wasn’t just powerful, it was art. Art in the purest and most captivating form."

Your voice cracks as the memory surges forward, raw, and as sharp as the day it happened. "When the enforcer came, I tried to shield her. I stood between them. I begged him to take me instead. But he just laughed..." Your hands clench into fists at the memory with you nails digging into your palms as if to anchor you against the pain. "And then he turned his attention to her. Ivy was just a girl. A beautiful little girl brimming with potential, and I had to watch from a distance… utterly powerless, as he ripped it all away. Her screams... the look of sheer terror in her eyes... it's etched into my memory. A nightmare that never fades."

Pausing, you swallow hard, feeling the sting of tears as they threaten to breach your composure. "I couldn't save her. The guilt of that moment, the utter helplessness. It’s haunted me ever since." You wipe away a tear that manages to escape, your voice a whisper now. "That’s why I’m so wary around Daemati. That’s why your powers… even though I know you use them for good, initially stirred such deep fear in me. The memory of what was done with similar abilities. It terrifies me still."

As you finish the room is enveloped in a heavy silence. Rhysand and Feyre absorbing the depth of your pain. Each of their faces etched with compassion and sorrow for your loss. Feyre's reaction is immediate and visceral. Her eyes fill with tears, and they silently overflow as she listens to the end of your harrowing experience. Moved deeply by your pain and the horrific loss of Ivy, she can barely contain her distress, reflecting her profound empathy.

"I'm so sorry," Feyre whispers. Her voice quivering as she reaches across the table, seeking to provide comfort even as she struggles with her own reaction. "That you had to go through that, to witness such horror... it's just unthinkable. I can't express how deeply sorry I am for your loss and your pain."

Rhysand's expression is one of solemn resolve as he observes both you and Feyre. He places a reassuring hand on her shoulder offering her a silent strength before turning his attention to you with a serious yet compassionate gaze. "What happened to Ivy, the terror she endured—such things are what we fight against every day," he says firmly. "Under my watch we hold ourselves to a promise: that we use our power to protect, to heal, not to harm. What you experienced will not happen here. You have my word." He nods his head in reverence.

The sincerity in Rhysand's voice and his protective assurance coupled with Feyre's empathetic tears create a poignant moment of understanding and solidarity. It offers a small yet significant reassurance that in Velaris you might find not only safety but also allies who genuinely care about your well-being.

As dinner progresses the conversation gradually shifts towards lighter topics. Focusing on the details of the peace treaty. The atmosphere has eased significantly with Rhysand and Feyre both engaging in thoughtful dialogue about the future plans and the roles each court might play in fostering peace. You find yourself becoming more invested in the conversation feeling a bit more at ease with each passing moment.

Just as you're beginning to relax fully the door bursts open and two figures storm in, deep in a heated debate. Their voices are raised, each trying to overpower the other with their arguments.

“You think charging in without a plan is the answer, Cassian? That’s reckless, even for you,” the darker-haired one asserts, his expression intense and clearly frustrated.

“And you think waiting around is going to solve our problems, Az? We can’t just leave it unresolved!” the larger man retorts with his broad frame gesturing emphatically.

Rhysand sighs, setting down his utensils before looking between his two friends. “Alright, what’s this about?” he asks, ready to mediate with a practiced ease.

As Cassian and Azriel's loud entrance interrupted the dinner your eyes immediately locked with Cassian's. Despite the intensity of their ongoing argument something about his direct gaze halted all other thoughts. It was as if a gust of wind had swept through the room, leaving you momentarily breathless. Amidst the unexpected disruption the corner of your mouth quirked up in amusement. Such candid, boisterous dynamics were a rare sight back in the Winter Court and the sheer openness of it all struck you as refreshingly odd. Even as the argument continued your focus remained riveted on Cassian. You found it impossible to break away from his gaze, his eyes holding a mixture of passion and warmth that was intensely captivating.

Catching your amused smile, Cassian halts mid-sentence. A playful glint appearing in his eyes. “And who do we have here?” he asks. His tone shifting to one of curiosity mixed with a hint of charm. “A spy from the Winter Court come to watch us squabble like market hagglers?”

Azriel rolls his eyes at Cassian’s dramatics. “Ignore him. Cassian thinks every new face is part of a grand intrigue.”

Rhysand chuckles and intervenes before Cassian can respond. “No spies here, just Kallias’s daughter from the Winter Court. She’s here to assist with the peace treaty negotiations. Remember?” Rhysand explains gesturing toward you with a warm smile. “And apparently to witness the Night Court's General and Spymaster in their, let’s say, natural habitat.”

Cassian’s face lights up with a broad grin as he extends a hand in greeting. His earlier fervor now redirected into welcoming you. “Well then, welcome to Velaris! I’m Cassian, the General. And the brooding shadow over there is Azriel, our Spymaster. Seems you’ve got a front-row seat to our tactical disputes.”

Azriel gives you a nod, his earlier annoyance fading into a reserved smile. "It’s good to meet you. Please don’t mind us. We argue, but it’s all in the spirit of making the best decisions for our people."

Your initial amusement grows into a genuine smile, touched by the warmth and candidness of their welcome, even amidst their lively disputes. This evening has certainly turned out to be full of surprises. Painting a vivid picture of the Night Court as a place of vibrant personalities and fierce loyalty.

As the energy from their spirited discussions simmers down and the laughter echoes into a comfortable lull you take the opportunity to express your amusement at their robust debate. Greeting Cassian and Azriel warmly you share how refreshing you find the candid nature of the Night Court. It's a stark contrast to the more reserved and formal interactions typical of the Winter Court, sparking your curiosity about the dynamics of this lively group.

"Well, it's certainly different here," you comment with a light laugh. "I'm looking forward to seeing more of this... enthusiasm during my stay. I'll be here for a month or so. I hope to learn as much as I can."

Rhysand, seizing on your mention of an extended stay, exchanges a quick glance with Cassian. He gave him a sly smile as he senses his brothers attention shifting toward you almost immediately. "A month or so gives us plenty of time," he says thoughtfully. "If you're interested in learning more than just politics perhaps you'd like to join some of our training sessions? Cassian here leads our warriors and I'm sure he could arrange something that accommodates your skills and interests."

Cassian’s eyes light up at the suggestion. He was always eager to bring someone new into the fold of his training regimens. Especially someone as unique as you seemed to be. "Absolutely," he agrees with an enthusiastic nod. "It’s not all sword swinging and strength training. We focus on strategy, agility, and even some elemental control that might align nicely with your ice magic. It could be a good way to blend some of the Winter Court techniques with ours."

As Rhysand suggests joining the training sessions you hesitate, a flicker of doubt crossing your face. "I appreciate the offer but I'm not really a fighter," you admit slightly apologetic in your nature. "My strengths lie more in diplomacy and magic, particularly ice magic. I'm not sure how well I'd fit into a warrior's training regimen."

Rhysand, observing the interplay at the table, seems particularly keen on your participation. His insight as a leader might allow him to sense the undercurrent of interest from Cassian toward you. Something potentially deeper than it appears. He pushes gently but with a knowing smile, "It’s not just about fighting. It’s about understanding different perspectives and disciplines. It could be a valuable experience."

Cassian although typically straightforward and jovially aggressive, adopts a slightly softer demeanor. His usual bravado tempered by earnestness. "Training can also be about balance and harmony. About integrating the physical with the magical. Your skills could bring a fresh perspective, not just to our tactics but to our understanding of magic and combat."

Then Azriel, who normally stays quiet in such discussions adds his own encouragement. His subdued voice carrying weight. "It’s worth exploring. Sometimes stepping into unfamiliar territory reveals more about our strengths. It could be enlightening for all of us."

Cassian's expression briefly reveals his surprise at Azriel’s interjection. It was a small, almost imperceptible lift of his eyebrows signaling to you that Azriel's encouragement is out of the ordinary. This small gesture subtly hints at the importance of the moment.

Feyre as if sensing the nuanced shifts in the conversation supports their suggestions with a warm and inclusive gesture. "It’s also a way to connect with everyone here. Our training sessions are as much about building relationships as they are about building skills. It would be wonderful to have you join, even just a few times to see how it feels."

Encouraged by their collective support and Cassian's surprised yet approving glance following Azriel's seemingly rare endorsement you find yourself reconsidering their proposal more seriously. "Alright. I'll give it a try," you agree, a tentative excitement building within you. "This will be very… interesting."

"Excellent," Cassian says. His eyes brightening with enthusiasm. "We’ll start at a pace that feels right for you. It’s about growth and learning, not just exertion."

As the dinner concludes and plans for your training begin to take shape you can't help but feel an intriguing pull towards what lies ahead. The possibility of new friendships and perhaps deeper bonds begins to form, hinting at the start of an enriching journey within the Night Court.

On your first day at the training grounds, the crisp morning air of Velaris is invigorating, filled with the sounds of clashing weapons and distant calls from sparring partners. Cassian leads you to a quieter section reserved for one-on-one sessions away from the more vigorous activities of his usual warriors. The atmosphere is slightly tense. The space between you filled with cautious curiosity. Each of you is clearly gauging the other trying to find a comfortable rhythm in this new training partnership.

"Let’s see what you’ve got," Cassian suggests. His tone friendly but carrying a hint of challenge. He watches intently as you demonstrate some basic maneuvers with your ice magic. You created delicate yet sharp frost patterns that float gracefully in the air. His nods of approval are sparing, and you can tell he’s mentally noting each display of skill though he keeps his feedback measured and professional.

As the days progress the initial stiffness that marked your interactions begins to melt away. Cassian’s coaching style is intense. His commands are sharp, his expectations high. However, as you meet his challenges with increasing confidence you begin to understand the method behind his rigor. You also start to catch glimpses of humor in his sharp eyes. A sign that there’s more to this formidable warrior than just discipline and strength.

"Try not to freeze my soldiers. We’re running out of good men as it is," he jokes one morning after you skillfully direct a swirl of ice around a training dummy skillfully stopping just short of a group of soldiers watching nearby.

With a small laugh you shoot back, "I thought the Night Court could handle a little cold."

His laughter in response is hearty. A sound that seems to echo around the quiet corner of the training grounds. It's a turning point, signaling a shift from mutual respect to something warmer, more friendly.

By the end of the week your training sessions are characterized by easy banter and playful challenges. One afternoon Cassian dodges your icy projectiles with nimble grace only to slip slightly on a patch of ice you cunningly left in his path. "Not bad for a scrawny little thing," he grins while steadying himself with the agility of a cat.

In response you flash a mischievous smile and with a subtle flick of your wrist, you freeze his boots to the ground. "And not bad for a brawny brute," you retort. Laughter bursts from a few nearby trainees who have started to look forward to these exchanges between the two of you.

Cassian manages to break free before brushing ice from his boots with mock indignation. "You’re going to pay for that one," he warns though his eyes sparkle with amusement.

As the week draws to a close the training ground has transformed from a place of cautious appraisal to one of growth and friendship. Your sessions with Cassian are no longer just about learning to integrate your ice magic with physical combat. They’re also about the laughter shared over slipped footing, the shared grins after successful maneuvers, and the light-hearted jests that now flow freely between you. This evolving camaraderie promises not just improved skills but a deepening bond, hinting at the development of a relationship built on respect, challenge, and mutual delight in each other's company.

The atmosphere at the training grounds is usually charged with the sounds of diligent practice but today there’s an added layer of excitement due to some young onlookers from the Night Court. Cassian plans a session that balances demonstrations of your unique ice magic with some basic combat techniques hoping to impress not just you but the eager young fae watching from a distance.

Wearing your elegant Winter Court attire, which was more suited for display than combat, you find yourself not in your usual training leathers. Today was supposed to be about finesse and control not full-contact sparring. As Cassian readies the next exercise you catch the eyes of the children peeking out from behind the trees. Their expressions were filled with awe and curiosity. Smiling back at them your attention momentarily drifts from the task at hand.

Cassian notices your distraction and the intricate fabric of your attire raising an eyebrow in mild concern. "Are you sure you wouldn't prefer to change into something more... practical?" he asks you once more. His voice laced with skepticism.

You shake your head while stepping forward confidently. "I believe today's session can benefit from a different approach," you explain. Your voice steady, confident. "My attire from the Winter Court is designed not only for aesthetics but for mobility in a certain style of combat. It’s more strategic and less about direct confrontation. It might offer a new perspective for your warriors."

Cassian looks dubious but intrigued by your assurance and the potential learning opportunity for his trainees. After a moment of consideration, he nods slowly. "Alright," he concedes. His tone cautious yet curious. "We'll adjust today's training to focus on technique and precision. We'll go light on the physical combat to accommodate your attire."

Grateful for his flexibility you prepare to demonstrate that finesse and strategy can be as effective as brute strength hoping to prove the value of your unique approach and the versatility of your court's combat style.

As dusk deepened over the training grounds, the session with Cassian was intensifying. He was fully focused on you, guiding, and challenging you with each swing of his blunted training blade. He did not notice Azriel's silent approach until his brother was almost beside them, landing softly. The sudden appearance of Azriel, so smooth and silent, caught your eye at the crucial moment.

Cassian, thinking you were prepared and about to dodge, continued with his planned attack and swung the blunted blade in a broad, sweeping motion towards you. Normally you would have sidestepped smoothly but distracted by Azriel's unexpected arrival you froze. The blade, though blunt for training, struck directly against your side with surprising force due to your lack of movement. The impact was hard enough to slice through the delicate fabric of your Winter Court dress and nick your skin, drawing a line of blood.

Immediately realizing the mishap Cassian dropped his sword and rushed to your side, his expression flooded with concern. "Are you alright? I thought you saw me coming," he asked quickly as his voice was laced with worry.

Trying to mask the sharp sting and the sudden warmth of blood seeping through your dress, you attempted to reassure him, "I’m okay, Cassian, really, it was just a shock more than anything—"

But as you spoke a wave of dizziness overwhelmed you, your knees buckling under the dual assault of pain and sudden faintness. As you started to fall Cassian instinctively reached out, catching you just in time. His hands which were initially meant to steady you felt the wetness of blood through the fabric of your dress. His eyes widened in horror as he saw the bright red on his hands realizing the cut was more serious than a mere scrape.

Without a moment's hesitation Cassian scooped you up into his arms. His movements were swift and filled with urgent care. He looked up at Azriel who had stepped forward, concern etching his features. "Keep the training going, Az. I’m taking her to Madja, now," Cassian instructed firmly. His voice carrying the weight of his resolve.

Azriel nodded understanding the gravity of the situation and stepped back to allow Cassian to pass. Cassian, holding you securely, moved with purposeful speed towards the infirmary. His mind was racing with worry. The flight was quick. His powerful wings beating against the cool air of the evening, each stroke propelling you further away from the training grounds and closer to the healing hands of Madja.

As he flew you clung to him feeling the cool air against your face, which helped alleviate some of the dizziness. "I'm really okay, Cassian," you tried to assure him again, your voice soft, noticing the tension in his body, the way his jaw was set with worry. "It’s just a little cut, I think. I’m sure it’s already healed up."

Cassian only tightened his hold, a gesture of protective care. "We're not taking any chances," he said firmly. His tone brooking no argument. "You’re getting checked out, no arguments."

Suspended in the air, held securely in Cassian's embrace, you noticed the tension in his expression. His jaw set firmly as he navigated through the skies. Wanting to alleviate his concern and lighten the mood you looked up at him, your voice competing with the rush of the wind. "Okay, no arguing," you conceded with a soft, reassuring smile. "But how about an even less swordy day at training tomorrow?"

"You know, maybe we should consider taking a rest day tomorrow," Cassian suggested hesitantly. His voice carrying a protective tone. "Just to be sure you're fully recovered. It might not be wise to jump right back into training."

You looked up at him feeling the warmth of his care but also a spark of your own determination not to be sidelined by a small injury. "I appreciate your concern, Cassian, but really, I feel fine," you countered quickly. A hint of stubbornness in your tone. "A light day as planned with some tactical drills. Nothing too strenuous. I think it would be good for me. For you"

Cassian raised an eyebrow with a small smile breaking through as he sensed your resolve. "Oh, how quickly you've changed your tune, princess," he remarked with a playful smirk. The affectionate tease in his voice floated on the wind as he continued to fly, his grip around you reassuring and strong.

The brief exchange brought a light-heartedness to the moment and Cassian's smile broadened slightly appreciating your spirit and resilience. "Alright, tactical drills it is then. But at the first sign of any discomfort, we're taking a break," he conceded. His tone still carrying a hint of caution but softened by his growing trust in your judgment.

As you both neared the infirmary the flight through the crisp evening air felt less like a rush to aid and more like a shared journey back to stability. Cassian's initial hesitation faded, replaced by a quiet confidence in your resilience and a deepening sense of connection between you. The city of Velaris spread out beneath you, a silent witness to the bond that was strengthening with every beat of Cassian's wings and every word exchanged above the rooftops.

Landing smoothly at the infirmary Cassian carried you inside where Madja was already preparing her tools. Cassian gently laid you down on a cot as his hands lingered for a moment longer than necessary. His eyes were searching yours for any sign of further distress.

Madja quickly assessed the situation. She cleaned the wound and confirmed it was shallow. Though the blood loss and the shock had caused your faintness. "You'll be fine. Just a little rest and you’ll be up in no time," she reassured both you and Cassian, more so Cassian, who finally allowed himself to breathe a sigh of relief.

You turn to Cass with a smirk playing on your lips. "See, told you so, General," you tease in an attempt to ease the palpable tension that had followed you from the training grounds.

Cassian's relief is immediate and visible. He lets out a deep breath, the tightness in his shoulders relaxing as he returns your smirk with a wry smile. "Fine, you were right. But let’s avoid making this a habit, shall we?"

Before you can respond the infirmary door swings open abruptly. Rhysand strides in, his expression a mixture of concern and command clearly having been summoned by Cassian’s urgent mental call. His eyes are wide as he quickly scans the room landing on you sitting relatively unscathed on the infirmary bed.

"Are you alright?" Rhysand asks. His voice tight with concern. He moves closer. His gaze flicking from you to Cassian, seeking an explanation.

You nod reassuring him with a calm smile. "I’m just fine, Rhys. Really, it was much less dramatic than it seems. Cassian has been worried enough for everyone," you say, glancing at Cassian with a playful raise of your eyebrows, signaling that all is truly well.

Rhysand's gaze softens though the lines of worry don’t completely disappear. "Cassian briefed me but seeing you well makes a world of difference. These training accidents... Well, they shouldn’t happen. We’ll review the protocols to ensure this is an isolated incident."

Turning to Cassian, Rhysand claps him on the shoulder. A gesture of support mixed with a mild reprimand. "Take care of her. Make sure she follows all of Madja’s instructions," Rhysand instructs, his leader’s tone resurfacing.

Cassian nods solemnly, "Understood. I’ll make sure this doesn’t happen again."

With a final nod and a comforting smile directed at you Rhys exits the infirmary, his presence leaving as quickly as it arrived. The room feels lighter now, the earlier tension dissipating with the confirmations of your well-being.

Cassian stays by your side. His relief evident but his watchfulness remaining. "Now, about that 'less swordy' day tomorrow..." he begins, ready to shift back into the lighter, teasing dynamic that has marked your growing friendship. Grateful that the day’s scare has ended on a reassuring note.

As Cassian suggests a less physically demanding day focused more on magic you can’t help but giggle. A slight relief moving away from any activities involving bladed weapons. “That sounds perfect,” you agree with enthusiasm brightening your voice as you discuss potential exercises that would let you showcase and refine your control over ice magic without the physical strain.

As the conversation continues Cassian helps you up ensuring you’re stable on your feet and offers his arm for support as you begin the walk back to your quarters. The corridors of the Night Court feel quieter than usual. The soft echo of your steps mingling with the fading adrenaline of the day’s events. There’s a palpable shift between you and Cassian. A new layer of closeness brought on not just by the day’s scare but also by the accumulated time spent together over the past few weeks.

Cassian’s voice breaks the comfortable silence. His voice softer, more reflective than before. “I’ve really enjoyed these last few weeks with you,” he admits. His gaze fixed ahead. “You’ve taught me more than you’ll ever know.” His words hang in the air laden with a sincerity that draws your attention fully to his expression. It’s open, honest, and there’s a hint of vulnerability there that you hadn’t noticed before.

You look at him, touched by his confession, noticing the slight hesitance as if he wants to say more but is holding back. Maybe it’s the fear of crossing an unseen boundary or the uncertainty of your reaction that keeps him from continuing.

Encouraged by his openness you respond warmly, “And I’ve learned a lot from you, too, Cassian. Not just about fighting or training but about what it means to really care about your warriors, your friends.” You pause searching his face for a reaction. “It means a lot to me, all of this time we’ve spent together.”

Cassian’s eyes meet yours and there’s a moment of silent communication. A mutual understanding and appreciation that seems to deepen the bond between you. “I’m glad,” he finally says with his voice low. “I hope we can keep this going, no matter what the training schedule says.”

As you reach your quarters there’s a reluctance to part between the both of you. A desire to prolong the connection that has clearly grown beyond the confines of instructor and trainee. Cassian lingers at your door, his usual confidence tempered with a newfound tenderness.

“Get some rest princess,” he says softly before stepping back with a reluctant smile. “We’ll start fresh tomorrow. Less swordy, more... magical.”

You nod, smiling back at him, feeling a warmth that extends beyond the fading pain from your injury. “I look forward to it, Cassian. Thank you for everything today.”

He nods, then turns to leave, but not before throwing a look over his shoulder. It was a promise of more shared moments, more lessons, and perhaps, deeper revelations yet to come. The door closes softly behind you leaving you with a sense of anticipation for what the next day might bring, both in training and in your evolving relationship with Cassian.

After the incident at the training grounds and a night of rest you dive back into the treaty negotiations with renewed focus. As the talks commence you are at the forefront, your diplomatic skills shining as you navigate the complexities of the discussions. Your adept use of magic not only impresses but also serves as a poignant reminder of the Winter Court's strengths and capabilities. The treaty talks progress smoothly and a successful agreement begins to take shape much to the relief and satisfaction of all parties involved.

However, despite the importance of the negotiations and your central role in them your thoughts intermittently drift to Cassian. The memory of his concerned eyes, his protective stance, and the warmth of your conversation lingers with you, distracting you more than you'd like to admit. As you mentally rehearse your next points in the discussion, you find your mind replaying moments from the training sessions, his laughter, his teasing remarks, and his unexpectedly gentle care.

Unbeknownst to you, your mental shields—usually so meticulously maintained—begin to slip slightly amid your daydreams. Rhysand, who was not actively probing but is always somewhat attuned to the emotional and mental state of those around him, picks up on your wandering thoughts. He catches snippets of your internal musings about Cassian, not enough to grasp the full context but enough to piece together the gist of your distraction.

Throughout the meeting a knowing grin slowly forms on Rhysand's face, amused by the realization of your burgeoning feelings for his brother. He doesn't comment on it during the talks. Making sure to maintain his professionalism and focusing on the successful closure of the treaty. However, the little smile that occasionally plays at the corners of his mouth doesn't go unnoticed by those who know him well.

Later, as the meeting concludes with handshakes and a collective sigh of relief over the treaty's ratification. Rhysand pulls Cassian aside just before your evening training session. In a quiet corner away from prying ears Rhysand's grin broadens.

"I think someone has managed to catch more than just your training expertise," Rhysand teases as his eyes twinkled with mirth. "Our Winter Court princess seems to be a bit distracted by a certain general." As Rhysand delivers his playful revelation, Cassian's initial surprise quickly shifts to a broad, almost uncontrollable grin that spreads across his face. The sudden display of joy is uncharacteristic of the usually composed general, revealing just how deeply the news has affected him.

"Oh? And what makes you say that?" Cassian tries to maintain a semblance of composure, but his voice betrayed a hint of excitement beneath the casual façade.

Rhysand notices the change in Cassian's demeanor. The light in his eyes that hadn't been there moments before. "Well, let's just say that her thoughts were a little less guarded than usual," Rhysand replied. His voice laced with amusement. "She might be more interested in the person teaching her than just the lessons themselves."

Cassian's smile widens and he shakes his head slightly almost in disbelief but clearly delighted by the prospect. "Is that so?" he murmurs more to himself than to Rhysand, his mind already spinning with the implications.

Rhysand watches Cassian's bright grin, a knowing look crossing his face as he teases, "Seems like those training sessions are about more than just tactics and spells."

Cassian’s expression remains upbeat but a hint of seriousness creeps in. "They’re enlightening," he admits while giving a nod. "There’s something unique about her… beyond just her skills."

Sensing the depth in Cassian’s tone, Rhysand's demeanor shifts slightly, becoming more contemplative. "Just be careful, Cass. It’s easy to let your guard down when strong feelings are involved."

Cassian pauses as he felt a weight in Rhysand's caution. He looks at his brother, a silent plea for understanding without words. Rhysand, ever perceptive, senses the depth of Cassian’s feelings, realizing this might be more than just a fleeting fascination. "Cassian, do you think she could be…" Rhysand trails off leaving the implication hanging in the air, heavy with the weight of possibilities. His question is subtle, probing—asking if Cassian feels the deep, fated connection of a mate.

Cassian meets Rhysand's gaze with his own eyes reflecting a mix of hope and uncertainty. "I don’t know," he confesses softly. "But there’s something there. Something that feels… right. More than I've felt before."

Rhysand nods slowly as he processed this new revelation. His initial caution softens into a more supportive stance. "Then take it seriously but carefully. If this is what I think it might be, it’s not just significant for you but could be for the Night Court as well."

He places a hand on Cassian’s shoulder with a firm, reassuring grip. "Follow your heart but keep your head with you. She’s not just any visitor. She could and is likely to be much more."

As Rhysand walks away leaving Cassian to ponder the future the conversation not only cements Cassian's resolve but also clarifies the stakes. It’s a turning point. Marking a shift from casual interest to considering the profound potential of a deep, lifelong bond. Cassian feels empowered and cautious now acutely aware of the significant path that might be unfolding before him. This is no longer about training or simple affection. It could be the beginning of the rest of his life, your life.

As dusk settles over Velaris with the fading sunlight casting long shadows across the training grounds, Cassian awaits your arrival. His mind a jumbled swirl of thoughts from the earlier conversation with Rhysand. His anticipation is palpable, heightened by the significant discussions about feelings and futures that may be closer than he's admitted to himself.

During that first meeting in the dining hall his mind was a whirlwind of emotions. As he and Azriel entered mid-argument his initial focus was entirely on their spirited debate not the important dinner he was walking into. The sudden sight of you was an unexpected and striking presence. You brought a sharp halt to his thoughts.

Cassian was immediately struck by your poise and the quiet confidence with which you held yourself among such esteemed company. His first impression was of your elegance and the serene way you observed the dynamic entrance he and Azriel made. There was something about the way you carried yourself as a blend of strength and grace that captivated him instantly.

Embarrassment quickly flooded him with a blush creeping up his neck as he realized the discordant note their arrival struck in the otherwise serene setting. There you were, seated elegantly among the dignitaries of the Night Court with an aura of quiet confidence radiating from you. Despite the potentially disruptive entrance your expression remained unflustered. The slight, knowing smirk playing at the corners of your lips, and the amusement twinkling in your eyes spoke volumes. It was clear you were not only unfazed by the raucous disruption but also mildly entertained by it.

What struck Cassian more deeply was the way your attention seemed focused solely on him, as if the room and its other occupants had faded into the background. This singular focus, paired with the amused arch of your brow, left him feeling both exposed and intrigued. It was as if you could see right through to his typically hidden insecurities prompting a mix of vulnerability and a compelling desire to engage further.

Cassian felt a twinge of chagrin for not having presented a more composed entrance. Especially in front of someone who commanded such a presence as you did. The initial embarrassment, however, slowly morphed into a quiet determination. He was keenly aware that he had an opportunity to make a more meaningful second impression. One that could perhaps intrigue and draw you in just as you had captivated him from that first shared glance.

As he moved to regain his composure, smoothing back his hair, and adjusting his jacket, Cassian was already plotting how to transform this awkward beginning into an opening for deeper connection. The evening had just begun, and he was determined to show you a side of him that resonated with the depth and discernment he now saw reflected in your gaze.

When Rhysand later suggested that Cassian take the lead on your physical training, he seized the opportunity without hesitation. Training was his domain where he felt most in command and most himself. He anticipated that in the structure and discipline of physical training, among the straightforwardness of drills and exercises, there might be space for more informal interactions. For laughter and light conversations that could bridge the gap between formal dining hall introductions and a genuine connection.

Cassian saw each upcoming session as a canvas. As an opportunity to impress and engage you, not just with his skills but with his insights and his approach to teaching and leadership. Privately he knew he’d have to thank Rhysand for the suggestion—whether it was a calculated move or just a fortuitous throwaway idea, it had given him a golden opportunity to explore the potential that he sensed bubbling beneath your initial poised exterior.

He was intrigued, more so than he had been for a long time. The initial physical attraction was strong. Yet it was your demeanor, the intriguing mix of diplomacy and candor, that truly piqued his interest. Cassian left the dining hall that evening with his mind full of questions and curiosities about you. He was eager for the next opportunity to interact and perhaps to understand the compelling figure you were beyond just the surface.

From the memories of that first dinner to the present moment on the training grounds, Cassian's journey of understanding and admiration for you had woven through weeks of anticipation and subtle discoveries. Each interaction had added layers to his initial perception, enriching the image he held of you in his mind.

Then as if to punctuate his thoughts you appeared for the training session, garbed unmistakably in Illyrian warrior attire. Much different than the training leathers and Winter Court apparel he had grown used to see you in. The traditional leathers of his people clung to you, accentuating both strength and grace in your every move. The sight of you in such commanding attire sent a jolt through Cassian. His reaction visceral and immediate. His eyes widened with a mixture of surprise and admiration flashing across his face as he took in every detail—the way the leather fit you, how it moved with your body, and the undeniable air of confidence it brought to your demeanor.

The transformation was not just in your appearance but in the energy you exuded. Standing there you embodied the strength and resilience of an Illyrian warrior, qualities that resonated deeply with Cassian’s own identity. It struck him then how seamlessly you seemed to integrate into his world. How naturally you adopted its symbols and its strength. This was no longer just about training or sharing skills. It was a visual affirmation of your integration into his life and culture.

As he approached you his initial shock gave way to a profound respect. The way you carried the weight of the armor, the casual yet respectful nod you gave him as he walked up. These small actions spoke volumes. Cassian felt a renewed sense of connection. A deeper bond forming not just from shared interests and conversations but from seeing you embrace a part of his heritage with such ease and honor.

In that moment as he closed the distance between you, Cassian realized how deeply he was drawn to you, far beyond the physical allure. It was your spirit. Your willingness to step into his world, to don the armor of his people and stand ready to engage on equal footing. This realization brought a warmth to his chest and a smile to his lips. One that was both proud and welcoming.

As you stood before Cassian in the Illyrian warrior attire your presence was a striking blend of determination and slight apprehension. The soft evening light cast long shadows across the training grounds accentuating the quiet resolve in your posture. You were about to propose a change to the day’s lighter, planned routine. While confident in your suggestion there was a hint of nervousness tinged your voice, reflecting the care you took in challenging the agenda.

"Um, Cassian," you started, your voice carrying a cautious undertone, "I know we planned for a less sword-intensive session today..." You paused trying to gather your thoughts. But before you could continue your eyes met Cassian’s, their intensity like a direct challenge, causing a sudden vulnerability to flutter in your stomach. His gaze was penetrating, studying you with a warmth and focus that unnerved you. For a moment the confidence you felt started to waver under his scrutiny. The depth of his attention making you want to melt into a puddle right there on the training grounds.

However, drawing a deep breath, you summoned your resolve. Despite the shake in your confidence, you pressed on bolstered by the knowledge that this was an important step in your training. "I feel fine. But I've been thinking. I'm already quite familiar with my magic, and not as much with swordsmanship." Your voice grew slightly firmer as you continued, "Maybe, if it’s alright, we could incorporate more of that?" As you reached the end of your proposal a slight stammer betrayed your nervousness. "If you're okay with that, that is," you added with a nervous smile. Eager yet uncertain of his response.

Cassian, still somewhat in awe of your striking appearance and the commanding aura you exuded in the traditional leathers was momentarily taken aback. His response was on the tip of his tongue, an agreement forming, when Azriel quietly joined the duo. Observing the scene, Azriel noted your determined stance and Cassian’s admiring gaze. A knowing smirk crept onto Azriel’s face. "Looks like she’s going to give you a run for your money, brother," he teased unable to hide the amusement in his voice.

Cassian was caught between his brother's teasing and your challenging proposal but managed to regain his composure. He cleared his throat and stepped forward, his confidence rekindled by the familiar banter and the prospect of a spirited training session. "Alright then," he agreed with a nod. A smile breaking through as he embraced the challenge, "swords it is. Let’s see what you’ve got."

As the session progressed Azriel lingered on the sidelines, his eyes shifting between the clashing swords and Cassian’s animated instructions. Every now and then he couldn’t resist throwing in a light-hearted jab especially when it seemed like Cassian was particularly impressed by your quick learning curve or deft movements. "Careful, Cass, I think she might just outdo you in your own game," Azriel called out after a particularly skillful maneuver from you. His tone teasing but proud of you.

Cassian shot a mock-glare at Azriel, but his eyes sparkled with humor and something softer, an undeniable delight in your prowess and enthusiasm. Despite himself Cassian found that he enjoyed this, the mix of training intensity and the undercurrent of playful rivalry. Not just between him and you but with Azriel's involvement as well. It felt oddly, natural. You’d found a way to integrate yourself into the court within only a month of being in Velaris.

Throughout the training Cassian’s admiration for you only grew. Every block, every parry you performed with increasing confidence seemed to not only impress him but also deepen the sense of connection that he felt. This wasn’t just about teaching you how to handle a sword. It was about sharing a piece of his world, his passion, and seeing you embrace it with such fervor was both exhilarating and endearing.

As the sun dipped below the horizon Azriel’s teasing remarks faded into the background, replaced by a quiet acknowledgment of the shift he saw in Cassian. It was clear to him that his brother was, indeed, in trouble. But in the best possible way. Cassian's usually unshakeable demeanor was softer when he looked at you, filled with a mix of pride, respect, and a burgeoning affection that went beyond the confines of the training ring.

When the session finally wound down and the cool evening air settled around, both you and Cassian were catching your breath, reveling in the afterglow of intense physical exertion. It was then that Azriel, unable to resist the opportunity for a little brotherly teasing, stepped forward. Clapping Cassian on the back with a broad grin he couldn’t help but comment, "Well, that was quite a performance. And here I thought today was supposed to be less about swords."

Cassian, still a bit winded from the session, shot Azriel a quick, warning glance. But even he couldn’t hide the amused smile that tugged at his lips, indicative of his own acknowledgment of the shift in plans. Your puzzled look darted between the two brothers catching the tail end of their dynamic, your smile mirroring Cassian's albeit with a touch of confusion.

"Less swords, more magic, but I guess plans change when you're dressed for battle," you chimed in attempting to play off Azriel's comment, still somewhat oblivious to the deeper layers of teasing.

Azriel’s smirk widened as he observed the interplay, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Absolutely, plans do change. Especially when a certain someone decides to show up looking ready to join the ranks of Illyrian warriors," he teased you, turning his gaze back to Cassian with a sly expression. "Makes a general reconsider his strategies."

Caught in the moment, you shared the origin of your attire, a light chuckle escaping you. "Feyre absolutely insisted on me wearing the traditional leathers," you explained, your smile fond as you recalled Feyre's insistence. "I thought it was just for protection, given the training. She seemed really adamant about it."

Cassian’s expression softened at this with a brief smile acknowledging the hidden hand of Rhysand in this setup. Though he connected the dots, realizing his brother's likely involvement in Feyre's insistence, he chose to keep this revelation to himself. Instead, he simply nodded, appreciating your earnestness and perhaps, deep down, thankful for the unintended push it gave him to see you in a new light—strong, capable, and utterly captivating in Illyrian leathers.

As the training session drew to a close and the night deepened around them, the playful banter and shared laughter began to ebb. Azriel's remarks, though lighthearted, had hinted at the shift he observed in the dynamics between you and Cassian. A development that seemed to promise much more than just companionship in the future.

Recognizing the cooling air and the perfect, serene evening that enveloped Velaris, Cassian suggested a leisurely walk back through the city. "How about I walk you home tonight? It's a nice evening to cool down and stretch out after training," he proposed. His voice casual but with a hopeful undertone.

Azriel caught the subtle inflection in Cassian’s tone and simply couldn’t resist one more jab, his knowing smile broadening into a full-blown, mischievous grin. "Sure, take your time," he teased, his voice rich with implication. With a final chuckle and a wink at Cassian, Azriel spread his wings and took to the skies leaving you both to the quiet of the evening streets.

Cassian walked beside you there was a thoughtful distance in his initial steps. As if he was contemplating the right words or simply savoring the shared silence. Gradually, he drew closer, his presence a comforting constant at your side. The soft lighting from the streetlamps cast gentle shadows and the faint rustle of the leaves created a backdrop that enriched the moment with a quaint, almost magical quality.

Every now and then his hand would lightly touch your arm or guide you around an uneven patch on the cobblestones. Each contact sending a quiet thrill through you. Despite the casual nature of the walk there was an undercurrent of something deeper. A thread of anticipation weaving through the air between you.

"Same time tomorrow?" Cassian finally broke the silence. His voice a blend of softness and something undefinable yet unmistakably tender.

"Definitely," you replied with your smile genuine and wide. The connection you felt with Cassian was undeniable and while you might not fully grasp the depth of his feelings, the pull towards him was strong and only growing stronger with each passing day.

When you reached your quarters Cassian lingered for a moment, his demeanor protective and gentle. He seemed reluctant to part ways, but he was satisfied to know you were safe for the night. "Make sure you rest well tonight," he said with his hand resting briefly on your back, his smile warm and lingering as he wished you a good night.

Retreating to your room, the echoes of the evening replayed in your mind. The laughter, Azriel's teasing, the soft, serious timbre of Cassian's voice asking to see you again. There was an excitement brewing within you. An eagerness for what these sessions and these new feelings might lead to. It was an intriguing mix of anticipation and a bit of nervousness, stepping into this newfound connection with Cassian, but every instinct told you it was a path worth exploring. As you settled down with thoughts of the next day’s training, and more importantly, of seeing Cassian again, it filled you with a warm sense of expectation and a quiet joy.

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[sunflowerhae]

Ch. 23 The Big One™️

Do you answer the door, do you not answer the door? Do you answer the door, do you not answer the door?

To be honest, you were too scared to even go NEAR the door, what with the person on the other side pounding on it at 9 in the morning. You had just gotten back from Jaehyun’s house and looked like a hot mess. What if it was Giselle on the other side, ready to ream you a new one for ditching her last night at a party SHE invited you to (god you really needed to apologize properly)? What if it was Jaehyun ready to demand where you ran off to - as if he even has your new address?

You felt sick. All morning you’ve felt sick, right from the moment you woke up in an unknown bed, with a stranger laying next to you. Sure, you dated Jaehyun only three years ago, but three years is enough time to turn even our closest friends into strangers. The minute you woke up and saw the sleeping boy who you once found beautiful, you couldn’t stop the silent tears from rolling down your face. God, what would haechan think of you? Sure, he didn’t know about jaehyun quite yet, but that doesn’t mean he couldn’t be disappointed - it couldn’t mean you can’t feel bad. And boy, do you feel bad. Even if haechan doesn’t see you like you see him, you cant help but feel like you cheated on him. Maybe it’s delusion, but you don’t care - you inadvertently hurt him but hurting yourself.

You were thankful you could just sweep this all under the rug, right after you give your friends SOME form of explanation for ditching Giselle last night, and it didn’t hurt to put on a brave front for them and pretend you were proud of yourself - just for your own dignity. You won’t see jaehyun again, but at the very least you can make it seem like you used him and left him just like he did you - would they be proud of you then? Definitely not after you realize you sent it not just to your friends, but to HAECHAN and his friends too.

Lord kill you know.

Maybe it’s for the best. Maybe by showing haechan that you can also like someone else, it will help you get this silly fantasy out of your head that Haechan actually likes you. Maybe he’ll say “oh! Y/n this is GREAT - we can go on double dates together” and that will heal you of the disease called love you currently have. Probably won’t - but maybe?

Well, regardless of that, you have to face the music. That’s why, with a deep breath, you pull the front door open - not bothering to check who’s on the other side. It’s not Giselle staring back at your in anger, or even Jaehyun in confusion - but it’s the boy you were just thinking about, staring at you in disgust. The both of you just stand there for a moment, taking it all in. You actually haven’t seen Haechan in a week - the last time being you briefly passed each other in the hallway and stopped for the casual “how are you” “fine and yourself” before going on your separate ways; pretending like you never knew each other as more than neighbors; pretending like he doesn’t occupy your thoughts 24 hours of the day.

The moment is over, you realize, when Haechan shoves past you and turns around to stare at you from his place in your living room. He looks like he’s ready for battle - a determined look on his face and his feet stood rigid like poles. You slowly trail after him, breaking from the path to branch off into the kitchen - still in his line of sight but not quite near him. Haechan scoffs at the irony.

Close but so far. Just like she has been from the moment I learned who she was.

“Would you like some water?” You ask, not looking at him but instead with your back turned towards the cupboard.

“No, that’s not why I’m here,” you stop with your hand midair - the tone of his voice shocking you. Haechan has never yelled at you, never raised his voice in anger, never even had a sharp undertone that couldn’t be passed as humor. Haechan has never given any sign that he was even capable of getting to that level of anger, at least not with you. But as you hear the shake in his voice - the unmistakable presence of fury - you understand that there’s another thing to haechan that was omitted from you. “Im here because you need to explain to me what I saw.”

You turn to him slowly, and send an almost humorous look that shoots shockwaves down Haechan’s body. He could never in his right mind deny your beauty, or deny his love for you. No matter how angry that look made him, because it meant that you weren’t taking this as seriously as he meant it to be taken, he cannot deny his feelings.

“Haechan, what are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about those pictures, y/n. What the fuck was that?”

“Oh, those little things? I don’t know what you’re asking me haechan but I’m sorry I sent them in that group chat, I meant it to be a private thing” you shrugged, going back to getting two glasses of water, once again turning back to the counter.

Even though you couldn’t see him, Haechan shook his head in disbelief, not seeing how you could be so nonchalant about all this. “I don’t care about the group chat, y/n. Why were you in some guys bed?”

You laughed at this, “well haechan, when a boy and a girl like each other very much-“

“Y/n! Stop acting stupid- I’m serious!” He looked at you, seemingly exasperated by your behavior. You raised your eyebrows at the boy, coming up to him now with two glasses of water. You tried handing him one but he just softly pushed your hand away, shaking his head while turning away with a sigh. You rolled your eyes as you set both cups down on the coffee table, choosing to match Haechan’s energy somewhat by standing along with him. You don’t know why, but you get the feeling you should prepare for a fight - maybe because Haechan is acting like you both are about to fight right now.

“Haechan, I’m confused right now. Why does this make you so angry?” It’s Haechan’s turn to act like you’re the crazy one, what with his eye roll and quick snap of his head to your face - like you just asked if the Earth was round.

“Because Y/n I’m worried about you! What the hell is going on with you these past couple weeks? You’ve been running around to parties and sleeping with strangers and you haven’t been talking to ME at all! Is this a cry for help?” Now it was your turn to be mad. Who exactly does this kid think he is?

“Yknow what haechan - I will not have you come into MY home and treat me like this. SIT DOWN,” You point to the couch, angry that you have to treat a grown man like a dog. The “man” in question huffs, but still does as told and plops down on the seat behind him, still as antsy as ever with his leg bouncing as he waits for you to continue, “I’m going to be straight with you haechan, my LIFE is going to parties and running around. I’m not a student or an office worker, I am an entertainer professionally. My friends - par Jaemin - are professional entertainers. We don’t just sit at home all day - occasionally we GO TO PARTIES and NETWORK with other entertainers. As for the STRANGER, one it wasn’t a stranger at all, but in fact someone I’ve known for YEARS and have a history with. Two, if you MUST KNOW as my friend it won’t be happening again, but if it does or doesn’t really isn’t any of YOUR business. And lastly, let me tell you - there’s a reason we aren’t talking right now, haechan. Because I never know WHO I’m going to get! Will it be the Haechan who plays games and loves to go get food at 3 am and stay up watching all the twilight movies in order, or is it donghyuck who keeps secrets and doesn’t tell his friends he has a crush on a girl. I get that you want to know about my life, but you can’t get mad at me for not talking to you when it’s not like YOU talk to ME. I haven’t received texts that you want to hang out or anything from you! Meanwhile you SEE I’m busy working and yes haechan I know I should have been more communicative to a friend but can you blame me when lately I feel like I barely even know you? You have no right to storm in here like this and demand I tell you anything when you’re the secretive one in this friendship!” You release a big sigh, finishing your rant and staring at the boy who looks back in shock.

You’re right. Haechan knows you’re right, on all fronts. It’s everything he has told himself and what everyone has been telling him these past couple weeks. He feels nothing but shame as he looks at the ground. God, he’s really fucked up. He took a beautiful opportunity and turned it into nothing but a lie. He knows this is going to hurt, but he can’t keep lying. There’s just one thing he doesn’t understand before he owns up to everything.

“What girl?” Haechan looks at you in confusion as you finish taking a drink from your glass. You look back in equal bewilderment, and annoyance. Is that really ALL he got from that?

“What do you mean what girl, Haechan?”

“You said not telling you about a crush on some girl - what girl.”

“Huh? The girl you said you had a crush on that went to your school? The one Ningning told me about - haechan are you feeling okay?” You look at Haechan, and watch as the realization turns in his head, and his eyes go wide like saucers. Before you can understand what’s going on, Haechan springs from his seat and starts pacing around your living room, “Haechan, you’re scaring me.” You mumble out as you stand as well, following the boy with your eyes.

Suddenly he stops in the middle of the room, back where he began, and he turns to you - only for you to see the fear in his eyes. Before you can even comment on it, Haechan is bursting, “y/n, I lied.”

Your head tilts in confusion, Haechan taking this as an opportunity to keep going, “there was no girl - never any girl. Ningning panicked when she was talking with you because the girl she was talking about was…you. I like you, a lot. And I thought you didn’t like me back and it would be easier to lie about it so you could forget and then years and years down the road I would confess over a cup of coffee and you would laugh because the damage was done and forgotten. But, regardless of that I lied and I’m so sorry and I hope you can forgive me.”

Your head was reeling. If you didn’t have a headache before, you definitely have one now. First, haechan is mad, now he’s apologizing for lying - and he likes you. Haechan likes you. Now you feel especially shitty about those pictures.

You plop back into your seat with a sigh, your eyes focused on the floor as you process this. Haechan, thankfully, stays quiet - letting you have your moment. After what feels like forever, you look back up at Haechan in determination, “I forgive you. And I like you too”.

Haechan starts laughing maniacally almost immediately, like someone said the funniest joke he’s ever heard. This goes on for 20 solid seconds before his laughter fizzles out as he realizes you’re not laughing with him. Then, his eyes get even wider than possible and he softly asks, “wait, really? But what about Jae-I mean..that guy?”

You shrug with an apologetic sigh, “it was a drunken mistake, haechan. I felt so bad for it after and yeah I was playing it up in the group chat but honestly, I felt like an idiot. I like you so much and I was just so petty about us not really talking and the whole name situation that I acted before thinking. I’m so sorry, do you forgive me?” You hold your breath, hoping he’ll get the memo that you’re completely serious.

Thankfully he does, as he immediately attacks you in a hug that has the both of you almost falling over in the chair. You laugh into his neck, and you both stay like that for a moment before he’s pulling himself back and looking at you in awe, “of course I do - oh thank GOD! Fuck, y/n you have no idea how happy I am! God I KNEW jaehyun wasn’t right for you and I’m so glad you decided not to get back with him!” Haechan’s laughing, the smile on his face is blinding.

And just like that, your world comes crashing down and the sickness returns. Your breath catches in your throat as you slowly push Haechan off you in..fear. Haechan is confused, and rightfully so you guess, but you can’t calm yourself down as you stand up from your chair and back away from him.

You’ve always prided yourself on your memory. Ever since you were a little girl, you could solve memory games faster than anyone in your grade, you’ve always been able to remember obscure details about someone that they said in passing - and you’ve ALWAYS been able to recall what you’ve said to people.

And you know for a FACT you never told Haechan Jaehyuns name. There’s only one place you’ve ever publicly mentioned him - and that place is your twitch. You typically save your twitch videos and upload them to YouTube, but you’ve already looked through every single one and deleted any mentions of jaehyun from any form of your media. You did that probably a year ago, to officially say goodbye to him. You know there’s no videos of the two of you online - you’ve SCOURED the internet. And most of all, you know for a fact that there’s no fanmade videos that mention the both of you - Jaehyuns company made sure of that before he debuted. So that means….

“Haechan - how do you know who Jaehyun is?” Haechan’s face goes pale as he realizes his slip up. You both look at each other in silence for a good minute, waiting to see who will move first. Haechan knows there’s no point in gaslighting you. If you could remember to be scared just at the mention of Jaehyuns name from Haechan’s mouth, he’s already been caught.

“Y/n…” he finally gets out, and you know what that means.

Almost like a whisper - because you’re too weak and ill to get anything else out - your voice cracks as you ask, “how long”. Haechan goes to speak, but you know he’ll try and bullshit you, so you repeat yourself louder this time, “HOW LONG HAECHAN”.

He sighs, giving up. This is what he wanted, after all. This is what he chose when he decided to lie to you, “two years-“ you gasp and turn away from the boy in disgust, “renjun introduced you to me”.

You were played for the fool. How many times did you tell your friends that haechan just…gets you. How many times did you ask yourself how it’s possible for someone to know things about you before you even say it - for someone to be so in-tune with your needs like…he studied them. “Oh my god,” you groan out, feeling like you’re going to throw up. You see out of your peripheral vision that haechan tries to shuffle closer to you, possibly trying to comfort you as you lean on your counter for support. You immediately stand up straight and back away from the stranger in your living room.

“Are you a stalker?” You yell.

“No, god - y/n! You moved in here AFTER me,” He yells back, “please I understand why you’re upset but you have to know it’s not like that!” He pleads, but it goes in one ear and out the other. You look anywhere else but at haechan, feeling panicked.

“How much did you like me…how much of a fan were you..” you ask now, secretly knowing you won’t like the answer.

“I don’t think I should say-” The boy is red, redder than before. He knows he’s close to crying but he’s holding on as much as he can - as much as anyone can while his world tumbles down.

“-TELL ME DONGHYUCK, HOW MUCH!” You interrupt, practically begging. Haechan flinches at the use of his full name, and sighs, feeling the first couple tears drop.

“I…I had a picture of you in my room.”

And there it was.

You gasp, shocked. The room is rigid - even your cats have scattered at the ice cold feeling surrounding the two of you. Your chin wobbles as you stare at the pathetic version of the boy you loved, standing in front of you now. No amount of forgivesness can heal this, you think. Haechan, desperate now, tries one last time to step closer; to invade your bubble and life more than he already has. You’re not letting him get a fast one on you though, because what you need right now is for him to leave.

You take a step back in fear, anger, and shock. You point to the front door, and as confidently as you can muster, you tell the man, “get out, now.” Haechan looks at you, not in shock, not in sadness or guilt, but..in acceptance. Like he knows there’s nothing else he can do or say; he knows he fucked up.

He walks to the door normally, although he doesn’t try to hide the tears anymore. He sees that you, too, have started crying - which angers him even more. As he makes it to the door, he turns back to you one last time and says, “I understand I fucked up. I can’t imagine how you’re feeling right now. Just..please, if you find that you need answers - you know where I am.” And he doesn’t wait for your reply, instead just walking out the door, and you don’t wait to see him off before slamming it shut and locking it behind him.

Your reply never would have come.

GG! (Good Game!) 👾

Wordcount: 3k

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