#They were trying to bond him to one of the ghosts that are under their care

[sakuravalelp]

Danny's parents had asked to talk to him with a serious tone one afternoon. It was weird. They barely interacted because they spend so much time ghost hunting or in their lab. The few times they did interact, they were happily ranting about ghosts or complaining about Phantom.

There was also the passing comment about his grades, but he had already accepted that his notes where never going to go back to the A's and B's he used to get. It was already an accomplishment that he had managed to balance things so that he was passing everything.

The point was, Danny and his parents didn't interact much. So asking for a conversation in such serious tone had him dying (again) from anxiety. He was getting ready for the worst, thinking they may have found out about Phantom. He had his friends waiting just outside the door, and a Phantom comm in his ear, in case things went south. He could have never expected they would throw an arranged marriage on to him.

He could hear Tucker and Sam laughing both through the door and the comms. It took him a minute to reboot his brain and ask for clarifications. Apparently, he was meant to be wed to one of the Wayne wards. Those rich people from Gotham he had heard Sam parents talk about in the past.

How did that even happen? How does small town Fenton middle class family end up engaged to the Wayne's? Apparently mom comes from a rich family, to which she and aunt Alicia had cut contact with, but her arranged marriage never really got resolved. She had been contacted about it just the day before and they had decided Danny was the one to be wed.

Why was he the one that was getting push into a marriage? Jazz was the older sibling, shouldn't she be getting married? Danny tried not to get offended when his parents implied that it was because she actually had a future. She was still the straight A student in college, and he would barely graduate school. They had told him it was the best for him to be wed into a rich family, and for a second he wandered if he had traveled back in time to the 1600.

He didn't even know his family had in any way a status that allowed for arranged marriages, even less for an arranged marriage that hold the richest person's assets hostages. And now he was meant to go with an arranged marriage her mom had scaped from!

At this point he didn't think his life could get any more weird. Except, when he received the letter from the Wayne family, Sam had informed him that his to be husband was dead. Was that a joke? There were even news about he's death throughout the internet. How does an arranged marriage get resolved with one of the people being legally death? Because, yes, Danny was death, but legally he was alive!

But that didn't even matter, because Clockwork had appeared to tell him that this would solve the issue with the observants pushing for him to get a ghost marriage. So, his to be husband was a ghost, or at the very least a denizen. With both his life and his after-life pushing for the marriage, Danny just resign himself to his future. He hopes he at least get along with his husband.

Alfred: I am afraid I have some bad news. Earlier today, I received a notice that the arranged marriage between Master Bruce and Lady Madeline had not been voided like Master Thomas had once hoped. Bruce: Wait I was in a arriage marriage? Alfred ignored Bruce: There was an error in the process, and his engagement was passed to the next generation. Now that Mrs.Fenton's children are of age, one must wed into the Waynes, or the Waynes' assets are turned over to the Fentons. Bruce: WHAT?! Alfred: I understand that none of you would commit so I took the liberity of rolling a muilti-faced dice. Congratulations Master Jason, your fience, Mister Fetnon will arrive tomarrow. Jason :HUH!? BUT I'M LEGALLY DEAD! Alfred: Yes, which is why Mister Fenton accepted, believing he wouldn't have to commit. What a surprise this will be for him. Tim: Thanks for taking one for the team, Jay. Dick: Yeah, the rest of us nepo-babbies appreciate it. Damian: We shall forever remember this bravery and sacrifice.

[ghostgirl101]

Imagine if Paul Atreides claimed you as his destiny: PART Ⅰ of Ⅱ

|| Word Count: 1.5K || Angst → Fluff ||

A/N: I had this as a big idea that I had to get down before the basic headcanons and stuff, so here's my take on our Lisan al Gaib 😎 if you like this then hit me up for some relationship headcanons and the like, I'm up for it all. Enjoy reading or watching the movie if you haven't already - I'm going again lol, and screen X is the best way to experience it fr Also I feel like I should write a second part to this lmao, if you liked what you read?

You weren't one for dreams of destiny.

The dreams you had seemed meaningless, confusing, nothing to do with what ifs and what could. Not like his.

But you always seemed to feel some kind of atmosphere, an aura you couldn't quite shake off, even when you woke up from the darkness. There was no face to go with the voice, the voice in the dark that called to you in whispers that you didn't understand. Beautiful words that weren't yours, but sounded so soft and gentle and powerful, as they reached out to you from distant lands.

You could never place them, pin them down and study them, understand them, until the day the Emperor was challenged by a ghost of a lost House, thought to be dead, left to be forgotten. You stand near the Emperor and his guards and men, the Great Houses looming and listening from higher above, as the Fremen fill up the space to watch the confrontation in spirited anticipation.

The life debt was paid. The late Emperor was overthrown. The ascendancy of Paul Atreides rose and took from the throne to claim it.

His attention flicks from his eyes boring coldly into the Emperor's, to meet yours, his voice smooth and set, full of conviction and force.

"Our destiny is together. I'll take her."

Your eyes widen slightly as his words sink in, blinking through the shock and incredulity that rushes through you and makes your heart race in apprehension and wonder. Though his voice twins with your wandering dreams, you don't know whether to feel fascination and longing, or fear and cautiousness at some greater force beyond your understanding, playing out before your very eyes.

"I..." your voice falters in uncertainty and disbelief, and you try again. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me well," Paul responds with an undying, stoic certainty that's almost unnerving. "As I know you."

His eyes study you, his Spice-stained blue eyes bleeding into yours, scanning every freckle on your face and curve of your outfit. Assessing you, knowing you, ridiculous throngs of power filling his aura and projecting onto you with his intense stare. You have to fight not to shiver under it, ultimately failing.

"What of me?" is the wisest reply you can think of before the silence stretches into dangerous uncertainty.

"Everything," Paul says evenly, but there's no mistaking the challenge and determination in his tone, almost daring you to reject him, to disagree, a built-up desire of dreamt promises resolving his stand. "I choose you, as my Empress. We will rule together, over the Empire."

Scepticism and bewilderment washes over you and makes your blood heat and stir, retreating into silence as he takes a step closer to you, gazing at you as if you're the most curious, exotic being he's ever seen.

Desire threatens to override Paul Atreides' reason, clinging onto the hope and chance of a narrow way through to light, a light that could only be sought out with you by his side. Without you, there was nothing in sight but pools of blood replacing luscious marine life and oceans running through Arrakis, disarray and disillusion at every turn and infecting every heart.

You were absolutely perfect.

And you were already his, long before this moment, before you and he were born into the world and named. There was no manipulation needed, because everything was laid out for him to take, welcoming him to rule and grow higher and higher. Fate had bonded you and strung you along to here and now, and as you blink up into his bright eyes that narrow slightly at you, frowning softly as if you hadn't understood his demand.

"Do you know what I am?"

You pause for a moment, speaking slowly and cautiously, as the crowd of Fremen and the wary, late Emperor watch on in tense wordlessness. "You are Leto Atreides' son. Former Duke of Caladan."

"What I am," Paul repeats evenly, "not who I am." He stares at you in silence for another beat, before speaking up again. "Do you know of the Bene Gesserit?"

You stop yourself from glancing in Lady Jessica's direction just in time; the runes patterning her skin, her once soft eyes now spiked with an unfamiliar darkness of ages past. Anyone could get trapped in her watchful glare, and her son's holds almost as much intensity.

"No," you decide on hesitantly.

"Kwisatz Hederach," he adds, taking another step forward until you can feel his breath tickling your cheeks, standing above you with unspoken grace and vigor. "I see the future. A part of me is the future."

His hand is suddenly squeezing yours warmly and tightly, making you flinch slightly and glance down at them before looking back up at him.

"In this future, I am with you."

All you can do is stare at him in awe and wariness, not knowing whether to let your curiosity guide you, or distance yourself as far as possible from the boy who reigns over the dunes.

"Why?" you whisper, the crowds seeming to fade around you as you focus on the boy in front of you, his fingers tangling with yours boldly.

"I've seen it," Paul insists, his tone a touch softer in thought and wistfulness. "All of it. When I am with you..." His grip tightens over yours, the fire in his eyes returning. "We're unstoppable."

"And..." your words dry before you can speak them, and you will yourself to go on, unable to break away from the deep blue hues of his gaze. "And without?"

His jaw visibly clenches at your question, and his hand drops yours, shaking his head only answer as he glances away in slight frustration.

"You don't have the leisure of choice. It's all been made for you, written in the sands and stars, and what you need to do is walk in its path. I will show you the way. You have no other. Do you understand?"

The firmness is strong in his words and glare, making you look away from him too, still in a slight stun over the rush of events. In less than a day, your freedom has been stripped to this young man's desires and destiny, entwined with yours. You, who barely knew him until now, only familiar with his voice, his words, that echoed and rang in your head like a lullaby.

But this feels so harsh and strict. The eyes of the former Emporer linger between the two of you, and Paul's army of Fremen stand behind him attentively, some gazing at you in admiration and hope, of their messiah's promised bride. And she is beautiful.

"That's unfair."

"The future is unfair," Paul says calmly, his collected, cool tone wavering for a moment. "But it will be so much worse without you by my side, and I will not accept that. Not for my people... not for myself."

You stare at him in fascination and caution, lost for words. His fingers rise to brush against the skin of your cheek, sending tingles in their wake and making you fight back the automatic reaction, your eyes following his surprisingly gentle touch. Two fingers trace down the shape of your cheek down to your chin, tilting your head slightly upwards. Just one step closer, and your lips would be touching too.

"Name anything," he murmurs to you, the Fremen straining to hear his voice as it reaches you effortlessly, his expression earnest and determined. "Anything. And it is yours. Only if you willingly wed me in turn. Not as a concubine, nor a mistress."

You blink, then blink again, taken aback as a million thoughts and suggestions race through your mind and make your head spin for a split second. You glance at the elder Emperor, who gazes back at you and the infamous Lisan al Gaib wearily, his eyes clouded with sombreness and light spite.

"I... I don't," you shake your head, overwhelmed by an impossible choice. "I don't know..."

Paul's expression softens into a smile you haven't seen before, one that makes your cheeks flush with colour as you watch him; a gentle, amused smile that's somehow familiar and unfamiliar all at once, one meant just for you, as he disregards his surroundings.

"You will know," he replies quietly, "and I will have you, and protect you, rule with you. Love you. As I am meant to."

Paul suddenly brings you closer, pulling you into a searing kiss without warning. The exotic, earthy taste of the Spice on his tongue floods your senses and sends shudders of ecstasy and heat coursing under your skin and hushing the myriad of thoughts buzzing in your mind in an instant.

When he pulls away, all too soon, you find yourself chasing his lips before you catch yourself, and Paul gives you another soft smile, his forehead resting against yours as your eyes lock.

"And as I long to," he finishes against your lips, his words grounded with a look of protectiveness and desire that makes you instinctively relax further in his hold.

⊹⊹⊹

From beyond you both, his mother smiles slightly at the scene, a hand hovering over her rounded stomach.

The first step has been made.

══════════════⊹⊱≼ part two coming soon ≽⊰⊹══════════════

[tiny-space-platypus]

Never really fit back in

aside part 1

(Stories that I just can't get out of my head but don't forget in main plot)

Damian and Danny act like feral fucking cats thrown into an enclosed room together. The others have learned quickly that the boys CAN NOT be left in a room alone together or they'll both end up bloody and bruised. Well Danny will end up blood and Damian will end up bruised. But! If someone else is in the room they are the sweetest brothers to each other. Laughing, jokingly, hell Damian smiles, but once they're alone all hell breaks loose.

It's worse than when Damian used to try and kill Tim. At least then he at least tried to be sneaky about it but with Danny? No, Damian will walk up to Danny and just stab him for no other reason than he can and Danny, Danny just laughs and takes the blade saying something like "it's in me so it's mine now" then going to throw Damian in a choke hold.

At first the family was worried and confused because why the fuck are they so aggressive towards each other?? Yeah the bats all stalked Danny, yeah the bats were almost about to destroy the Masters and Fentons but that's supposedly water under the bridge now. Danny said he wasn't mad at least, he just wanted to spend time with his brother again. SO WHY WE'RE THEY ALWAYS TRYING TO KILL EACH OTHER??

Dick was the first to see this happen. Dick was with the boys, Danny and him making stupid jokes, Damian groaning, and they'd laugh. Then he left to grab snacks. Only to run back when he heard something crash, in the 5 minutes he was gone, Danny was impaled with a sword, with multiple batarangs sticking out of him! One was even in his eye!! Damian wasn't looking any better, black eye, split lip, bloody nose, and beaten to hell while Danny held him by the throat dangling him above the ground. Dick screamed and went to pull the boys away from each other which Danny allowed easily. When he asked WHY?? the boys only shrugged. Then began to argue about who kept the sword. Danny says it was in him so he should keep it and Damian saying it's his sword. Dick looked at the both of them and sighed taking the weapons for himself much to the protest of the boys. Now he had a head ache and a long conversation to have later.

Bruce almost had a stroke when he was told about it. He nearly fainted when he did see it for himself. HIS BOYS FOUGHT LIKE THEY WERE GOING TO KILL EACH OTHER. So now they couldn't be left alone together someone always had to make sure they didn't kill each other during their visits. Which is fine the Master's Manor was much more suited for their fights anyways hell maybe they could have their mother come watch them fight. It's been a long time since Danny has seen their mother after all.

The reason: That's the only way they know how to act together. They trained together when they were small and it's still just habit. Plus now that Damian knows none of his weapons can really kill Danny he goes all out to stay sharp, to Danny this is just ghost bonding. Ghosts do love fighting after all. Maybe one day he'll actually go full strength on Damian just for fun, just to see how his weaker, still mostly mortal brother will react. After all none of the bats have ever fought him in his ghost form.

Damian and Danny being left alone for 5 minutes:

[qwimblenorrisstan]

Hey guys the Worms are coming back so I’m having thoughts,

tw: a/b/o dynamics, major angst no aftercare, panic attacks, past abuse, military

I love the stories where the 141 (in a/b/o context) are all alphas or a mix, but I also haven’t seen much of them being all omegas, which I think would really make sense.

Imagine it, omegas are more sensitive to their surroundings I think, with sharper instincts and reaction time imo, and they’re probably smaller than the stereotypical alpha so they can move faster. They can stay relatively calm under pressure and suppressants deal with the issue of a heat. I’ve always more imagined the 141 as four omegas, but four that stand out, and are used to criticism from people not in the military that don’t understand their team bonds.

So imagine they one day get news of a new transfer onto their team (maybe replacing soap as he’s recovering from his bullet wound HES NOT DEAD MW3 NEVER HAPPENED) and they’re not worried until they’re told it’s an alpha. An American alpha, too, if I let this get really self indulgent. Americans are loud and proud and annoying, so they fear the worst, you could throw off their team bonds, or make fun of them, or mess up their missions, etc, etc.

But in this imaginary world imagine that omegas also have more societal power than alphas, not physical power though, and you happened to be a victim of alpha-abuse. So what if the alpha that comes is shockingly quiet despite your imposing height and strength, and even looks nervous. The 141 would be absolutely ready for a brawl, I think, scents stinking up the room, only for you to stiffen as your nose stings from the potent mix of scents.

They’d observe you the entire time of the initial scenting, your stiff posture, uncomfortable behavior, and most of all the odd texture and scarring of your scent gland on your neck. Not unusual in your line of work.

After that, they made it clear you were an afterthought.

They wouldn’t let you get them food in the mess, or let you enter their shared nesting area, or even linger in Price’s office. If you covered them on a mission they’d nip at you or give you little low growls. They didn’t like the change to it, having to adjust, or just wanted to prove that they didn’t need an alpha, especially not to replace Soap.

You were trying. You knew you had to work your ass off for their respect and trust, and you were trying so hard. They didn’t seem to care.

Before they’d met you, they’d never thought that an alpha could have anything similar to a distress, nothing even close to the physical and psychological damage and pure stress someone had to be put through to reach that point. That was, until, one day when Ghost yanked you down to his scent gland to take a whiff when you ask how he covers the gunpowder from missions in his scent (spoiler: he doesn’t) and you just completely…freak out.

Shoving him away, eyes wide and looking through him, heart rate and breathing too fast. You’d absolutely booked it to your lone, sterile room that was the opposite of their cozy nest. It had taken a good hour just for Price and the rest to drag a medic and find out what the hell was wrong, only for you to be diagnosed with “Cane Baker Condition”,

“It’s, essentially, a form of PTSD related to a secondary gender, or experiences with one in a negative light. Think like a panic attack that lasts until their body is convinced they’re safe. Keep them out of bright light, away from loud noises or anything triggering for them, and give them some recognizable items from the nest, and they’ll snap out of it.”

It was then that they’d realized you had no recognizable items. Because they’d not let you even have a chance to enter their nest, and here they were now. You, lying underneath your piss poor bed in a pitch black room with one blanket in a sad mockery of a nest for comfort, getting as close to a panicked whimper that an alpha could between every breath.

Now they had to figure out how to earn your trust and respect, especially after they’d given absolutely none to you, neglected and abused you, for weeks.

should I make this a series?? (midterms are almost over so I’ll be more active soon, so far I’ve passed all of them!)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

[shaisuki]

Ok after having two kids, clan head gojo wants a 3rd one as his bday present 👀✨

Can you write about this?

the late afternoon sunlight peeks through the windows of your home located at the gojo compound. dappled by the sun rays and you can see the small particles of dust and whatever matter floating in space.

steam dances above from where your cup of tea is placed alongside with a plate of assorted sweets that goes well with a hot beverage. you were starting to get bored now. the house was quiet which you aren't really used to. it was filled with squeals and cries of your two children along with the laughter of your husband. their footsteps creating the most thunderous sound resonating in the household.

today, there's no sound of that. satoru was out, holding a clan meeting and your two children with him is fast sleep. motherhood is tiring as it is rewarding. ten years ago your younger self wouldn't believe that you're now married and had two kids with gojo. both under the age of seven and they were the liveliest of kids you have ever seen.

probably because when you and gojo decided to have kids, they aren't going to be raised like you two. a different kind of upbringing. one that won't shoulder the responsibilities of an adult and shall live their life with laughter and innocence of a child should have.

it took you years to have them. unsure if you're ready to be a parent and neither is satoru so he held your hand in his with a promise that you shall not bear the hardships of parenting alone and until to this day, he kept that.

speaking of him, the front door rattled. discarding his wooden sandals before sprinting towards where you were seated. “i'm home.” he whispers as he dive to your lap. pressing his cheek to the softness of your stomach. a sigh escaping his lips as he slowly relaxed in your touch. “welcome home.” your voice coming in a murmur. threading your fingers in his snow-white hair. your husband leans to get more of your touch. his eyes fluttering close.

“how's the meeting, satoru?”

he lets out a long sigh. “a pain in the ass. all of them.” huffing as he hugs your plump waist. burying his face deeper to your round stomach. “where's the kids?” his voice a little quiet being muffled by your stomach. “asleep. they were waiting for their papa and i told them their papa won't be home unless they sleep.” a smile ghosting to your lips. remembering how your children reasoned that they won't sleep unless they see him.

“say satoru, your birthday's near. what do you want as a present?” the thought passing while you think of him.

his birthday, huh? he never really thought of it with how busy stuff were. balancing his duty as the clan head and being a father to his children with you and as a husband. birthdays weren't his thing for himself unless it was yours and the kids.

he opens an eye. the blues in his eyes glimmering as he thought of something. maybe it's the right to wish and he had exactly wants in his mind. he's been wanting it for a long time.

“i want a another baby with you.” he says with a smile. without hesitation.

“again, satoru? not that i'm against with it. think you can handle another baby again. the diapers and no sleeping at all?” you didn't need to ask him. he had done all the things without hesitation. enjoying every moment with it. bonding with his children. his treasures.

“i want to see you round again with my baby. i love seeing you pregnant. heavy with my baby. satoshi and suzu been asking for a sibling.” raising his head to meet your gaze. “you're using satoshi and suzu to convince me, satoru.” there's a teasing undertone in your voice while you try it to be in a firm one.

he fakes a pout. “can you blame me? i just love my wife so much that i want to fill her up with my babies and worship her.” satoru hot breath tickling your neck while he slowly pushes you to the tatami covered floor. his body hovering yours.

you leaned to his ear. “guess what, satoru? i think santa heard your wish and came early for your birthday.” you intertwined your hands in his and placing it to your stomach.

“for real?” a wolfish grin stretching his lips. chuckling as he puts palm to your round stomach that carried his two children and now, a third one. you giggle softly at his reaction.

satoru's reaction to your pregnancies were the best. “happy birthday, satoru.” greeting him and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

[moongreenlight]

141 gossiping about Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley for roughly 3,000 words idk titles are hard

Price was the first to notice. Priding himself on being incredibly observant, especially when it came to his boys.

He noticed that whenever they had a break from trainings or meetings, he’d somehow always find the two of you in a room together. Never close enough to give him reason to say anything. You scribbling notes on a patient report at one table, Ghost at another, his chair angled just enough so that he could watch you from the corner of his eye.

Noticed the way Ghost’s hand rested on the small of your back for a heartbeat when you entered a doorway before him. Just a brush of his massive hand on you, quick enough to be mistaken for an accidental touch.

Noticed how Ghost’s eyes seemed to always flick to you from across the mess hall. Not often, but enough for Price to casually turn his head and see that same nurse Ghost seemed to have a preference for.

At first, Price thought he could help by being a wingman of sorts. When Ghost took damage on a mission, Price would escort him to medbay and watch as he dismissed nurse after nurse until you were finally available to treat him. Price lingered as long as he could before you inevitably waved him away, cheekily reminding him you always took good care of his team and that you’d have ‘Lieutenant Riley’ back in no time. The only thing he could catch was the way Ghost’s shoulders relaxed by a hair’s breadth when you drew the curtain shut behind you.

He tried again during a meeting with his boys. Suggesting they bring a medic on a mission with them. Said something about how it would be better to have the option of a patch-up readily available. Keep his team fighting fit in real time instead of having to wait until they came back to base. Price saw the way Ghost tensed slightly in his seat, the muscles in his jaw twitching under his balaclava.

The notion was quickly vetoed. Ghost grumbling something about not wanting to babysit any more than he already does. How it’s ultimately more paperwork he doesn’t want to have to deal with.

He tried once more, going to Ghost’s office one evening. Almost turning tail once he realized how ridiculous it was to be this insistent on figuring out if his Lieutenant had some boyish crush on the sweet nurse he always seemed to be lingering around. But ultimately decided that it was good practice to know more about his team personally. Better bonding meant better interaction on the field, right?

He asked Ghost to redo some paperwork. Add a ‘next of kin’ to his file in the event that something happened and they needed to alert someone. Ghost looked a little suspicious, shrugging off the request.

“Left it off for a reason, Captain.”

He said gruffly, waving a hand. Barely looking up from his desk.

Price pursed his lips, shifting his weight slightly.

“You sure, Simon? Haven’t got anyone that’d be interested to know what happened to you?”

Ghost rubbed the bridge of his nose, like the conversation was more trouble than it was worth, before shrugging once more. Finally looking up from his desk and leaning back slightly in his chair.

“You planning on shipping me off somewhere and not picking me back up?”

A small chuckle from Price. A shake of his head.

“Can’t say I am.”

“Cheers, then. Leave it off.”

This quelled Price’s curiosity for a while, unable to dream up any other reason to try and force Ghost to indulge him. It no doubt hurt his ego a bit, thinking about how his Lieutenant and one of his closest friends was so dead set on keeping his personal life so closely guarded. He’d push the feelings aside, chalk it up to being jaded by his work. Over-involved in the lives of Soap and Gaz. It was probably good for Simon to have something sacred.

Soap wasn’t as easily deterred once he caught on. Not as immediately perceptive as the others, but he knew Ghost well enough to know his tells.

It was after a long mission. Months long. Grueling, shitty, exhausting work. They got back in the early evening, mercifully spared from a debrief until the following day. Soap somehow ended up dragging Ghost to a dive bar a few blocks from base. Trying to sound persuasive when he mentioned that it was a Friday night and they deserved a few drinks and some female attention after all this time going without.

And they did get attention. Two good looking military men sitting at the bar were bound to. Soap knew that Ghost wasn’t one to play the field, but this was a bit frigid even for him. Ignoring girls who came up and tried to strike conversation. Rolling his eyes, or huffing a sigh like it was a chore to even dismiss them, drumming his fingers on the wall of his glass like he’s bored. It was baffling.

What was even more baffling was the way that Ghost’s knee bounced slightly against the stool. An infinitesimally small movement, but the way it caught Johnny’s eye made it seem like Ghost was all but jumping up and down. He looked almost anxious. Itching to get up and leave.

“Fuck’s wrong with you?”

Ghost’s head jerked toward Johnny, cold eyes narrowing in a way that would have been terrifying years ago- before he’d gotten used to it.

“Come again?”

“Got somewhere to be, have you?”

He sounds almost indignant. Like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. Ghost is stand-offish by nature, but this is a caliber he hasn’t yet encountered. Almost enough to be offensive. To make him question the quality of his company.

“Maybe I do. What’s it to you?”

Ghost grumbled, killing the contents of his glass with a final mouthful. Setting it back on the counter and moving to drum his fingers on the bar.

“Been out of the country for months and you expect me to believe you’ve got plans tonight?”

This earned a sigh, low enough to pass as a growl.

“You keeping my social calendar now, then?”

He stood, digging through his wallet for a moment before slapping some cash down on the table next to his empty glass. Not giving Johnny an opportunity to lodge any further complaints against him. Before he nodded his goodnight and slipped out of the bar. Mumbling something about needing to get back to his flat and check on some things.

Soap couldn’t get his mind around it. Ghost was elusive, sure, but again; something seemed off. He was calm, cool, and collected. Wouldn’t be caught dead manifesting his impatience physically. The fidgeting and twitching in his seat. The first place Soap’s mind went was maybe Ghost was dying? That’d be the only reasonable explanation for his behavior. But even then, it seemed a bit extreme.

The next day after the debrief, which was nearly as brutal as the deployment itself, Soap was still so in his head about Ghost’s behavior he almost didn’t notice the pretty nurse who seemed to be waiting for someone at the end of the hall. In fact, he was so stuck in his own mind, he only caught a fleeting glimpse of Ghost’s back rounding the corner with the nurse at his side. Hushed conversation disappearing with them. A softer, much more pleasant voice than Simon’s.

He debated whether or not to follow them, maybe answer the questions that’d been plaguing his mind. Ultimately, he decided in favor of it. Padding down the hall behind the duo who seemed to be headed back to Simon’s office. They weren’t walking closely enough to touch, but Soap immediately picked up on the tension between them. Like the distance was serving some sort of purpose.

Soap lingered in the hallway for a few minutes after the two disappeared into Ghost’s office, trying to sort the pieces of the puzzle he’d barely began collecting. He ultimately decided to go the route he was most comfortable with. Not one for sneaking about, he simply strode up to the office door and swung it open.

You were sat at one of the chairs in front of Simon’s desk, him standing with his arms folded over his chest next to you. Not compromising enough for Johnny’s taste, but he still put on a wide grin and nodded to you.

“Forget how to knock?”

Ghost’s voice was calm enough, but his eyes were shooting daggers straight through Johnny. You looked stiff as a board, chewing the inside of your lip through the tight smile you were giving him.

“Sorry, L.T. Needed to know if you’re still on for trainings this afternoon.”

He didn’t miss the way your eyes flicked to Ghost, communicating something that he couldn’t quite decipher wordlessly before you began studying your nails in your lap.

Ghost cleared his throat, rolling his tongue in his cheek. Growling something obscene under his breath. The agitation rolling off of him in waves.

“No. Got another assignment.”

And with that, Soap was all but thrown from the office. Querying about this ‘new assignment’ the whole way. Simon crowding him to the door until he finally snapped it shut on his nose.

He heard later that day Ghost was seen in medbay with a toolkit swearing at an X-Ray machine that had been giving you trouble for a month. After that, Soap was on the two of you like a fly on shit. Never missing an opportunity to bring you up to Ghost or vise versa. Mock-innocently saying something to Ghost in passing at dinner about you. Asking if he fancied you. When he said no, Johnny shrugged and nodded. Saying he was glad because he had plans to ask you out the next time he was injured.

That comment landed Soap in the bay sooner than expected. Escorting him to a different nurse’s exam area and standing guard the entire time his black eye was being iced. Berating him for not being able to block a few punches when they had sparred after dinner.

And Gaz, sweet boy that he is, was always more emotionally in-tune. Observant about the little things. Able to pick up on queues Soap and Price may have missed over the years. He was keen as he was quiet, keeping all his little discoveries to himself. Over the years, he’d created a small arsenal of moments he wasn’t sure were significant enough to bring up. Things he could have talked himself into imagining if he thought about them hard enough. Not wanting to jump to conclusions about anything.

But he noticed the incredibly subtle tan line on Ghost’s left hand. Noticed the way he tapped his foot impatiently when the debrief after a long deployment ran long. Noticed the way you always seemed to be around the yard when they touched down after a mission. The way your shoulders dropped when you saw all four of them had returned home. Like you had just been relieved the duty of holding up the sky.

He didn’t immediately connect the dots. Initially thinking that you’d just taken a special liking to the task force. They were some of your most frequent visitors, after all. Price had all but claimed you as their own. Specially requesting that you were the only one to patch their wounds, claiming the other nurses couldn’t hold a flame to your skill.

He didn’t mind. Came to enjoy the little chats the two of you had when the curtains around the cot were drawn. The little kikis you had where you chatted about anything and everything. Complaining about your jobs, irritating patients, botched missions, the morsels of gossip from around base.

One day, after a particularly nasty skirmish on a mission, all four of the men had gnarly wounds. You looked a bit more tired than usual. A bit more on-edge. Your answers were a bit more flat than they usually were. So the first part of the assessment was left mostly silent spare for a few soft “thank you’s” on his part.

It was only when you were bandaging a wound on his thigh did he notice the shape of a ring on your left hand under your glove. A thin band that wrapped neatly around your finger.

“Didn’t know you were married, doc.”

It was a passing comment, more just to spare him the agony of trying to hide his soft groans of pain in the thick silence.

You hummed your acknowledgment, focused more on working sutures through his skin neatly than anything else.

��Lucky bloke. Hope he’s good to you.”

It wasn’t flirty or predatory, like so many of the soldiers could be. A genuine thought. He’d always thought you were sweet. Easy to chat with, always offering him a smile and a chirped greeting when the two of you passed in the hall. Thought you deserved someone to share in your kindness.

You smiled, brow still furrowed slightly in your focus while tying off the stitches.

“He does alright.”

You chuckled softly, straightening on your stool and rolling back just slightly so you could meet his eye.

“All these years and you never mentioned. I’m hurt.”

He words came with a practiced ease, slipping back into your usual playful chatter without missing a beat. Flashing a coy grin as he carefully flexed and relaxed his leg. Getting a feel for the newly patched wound.

You rolled the gloves off your hands and tossed them into the bin. Standing from your stool to scribble a few notes on his chart.

“Not something that ever came up.”

“Now it has. He have a name? How long you been together?”

You chuckled once more, looking over your shoulder at him with an arched brow. A little skeptical of his curiosity.

“A good while.”

He noticed the way you evaded his former question, like you’d done it before. It only fueled his curiosity.

“You worried I’ll know him? Or are you embarrassed? Not much of a looker?”

This earned an amused snort from you, turning away from the chart you’d been working on.

“Nothing wrong with wanting to keep my personal life personal, is there?”

You winked at him, pushing open the curtain that divided the small exam area from the rest of the bay.

He made a small sound of protest, making no move to stand from the cot just yet.

“Alright, forget it. Didn’t even want to know anyway.”

He sounded like a child being denied a sweet. Even playing up the act with a small pout on his mouth.

You tutted softly, conjuring up the best mock-sympathetic look you could before motioning for him to stand.

“We’ll talk later. Captain’ll have my hide if I keep you away a moment longer than is necessary.”

Another sound of protest, followed by a throaty groan as he finally pushed up off the bed. Unsure if he was being dramatic or if the aftermath of the mission had truly gotten to him that bad. Always a flare for the dramatics, him.

He muttered his thanks, cupping your shoulder in his hand as he trudged out. Making you promise to have a proper chat with him later.

He lingered in the bay, allowing himself a few moments peace before getting back to work. Just as he finally turned to leave, he saw Ghost moving stiffly- like he was trying to downplay a limp- toward your little exam area. Though for some reason, the scene looked a bit strange to him. He couldn’t help but peek in.

He caught the way you watched him lumber over with big, worried eyes. The way your nails dug into your palms until he was finally within arms reach. The way you quickly glanced around to see if anyone was paying the two of you any attention before your hands flew to his neck, fingers slipping expertly under the hem of his mask and yanking it up over his nose. Not rough or angry, but with the kind of urgency that suggested you may die if you didn’t see a sliver of his skin. Make absolutely certain he was truly there with you.

The most jarring part- Ghost actually allowing you to touch the mask. Allowing your little hands to breach his personal space. Hands that would have easily been dwarfed by his own, swallowed up and twisted or shoved away like he had seen happen so many times in sparring matches with prospect soldiers. But Ghost just let it happen.

It was a flurry of movement, so fast that Gaz was certain he could have blinked and missed it. Frozen watching the two of you from just behind another exam area. Feeling like he was intruding without even meaning to.

And then he saw the way Ghost’s big arms snaked around your waist, drawing you flush to his front. You leaning up onto your toes to bring your face closer to the Lieutenant’s. A fervid kiss. You flinging your arms around his neck. The way your shoulders shook. A small, choked sob that Gaz was all but certain he imagined. Drowned out for everyone else by the sounds of the bay.

He was almost shocked that the world continued to move after that. Shocked that something that seemed so monumental could happen tucked away into your barely private exam area. Shocked that your reunion hadn’t halted time and space for everyone else like it had for the two of you.

He felt dirty. Like he should go up and apologize for lingering and seeing what he saw. But he stayed rooted to the spot, finding it impossible to move.

Truly the most damning part was when he caught the quickest glimpse of your badge just before the curtain was tugged shut. The badge you kept carefully pinned to your uniform face-down for a reason he couldn’t fathom until now. Twisted free for just a moment and finally connecting the snippets of information he’d collected over the years.

(Y/N Riley)

[simonrileysfavteacup]

The Scare

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x gf!reader

Word count: 1.2K

Warnings: Angst (ooooo, my first time writing angst), comfort, break in, attempted kidnapping, simon in ghost mode, graves being a pussy, simon being a good bf

Summary: You thought it was Simon, he had come home early from his mission, but there were 2 pairs of footsteps walking around your home.

Everyone knew Lieutenant Riley was cold. He was ruthless, cruel, heartless, and so much more. 

But there was one thing that made him soft. One person. 

You. 

Barely anyone knew that the Lieutenant had picked himself up a hot little thing and managed to keep her. The two of you had been together for 3 years now and he was so close to proposing. He was ready to spend his life with you. He was ready to make you his and give you his last name. 

But what happens when someone who shouldn’t know about you finds out about you?

***

Graves knew. Somehow he knew. He mentioned your name to Simon, “Ghost, that is not nice. How would your pretty little (Y/N) think of that?”

Simon shivered. 

And then he realised. 

Graves was coming for you.

***

You were curled up in bed, music playing in the background as you read one of your favourite romance books Simon had bought you. The lights were off, a single three-wick Bath and Body Works candle on your bedside table. It was peaceful. Cosy. 

You were on the 15th chapter before you head footsteps and your front door opening. 

Simon isn’t supposed to be home yet.

You check your phone. 

Simon would’ve messaged if he was coming home.

There was no message. And he wouldn’t surprise you like this. 

You sit up, turning off the music. The footsteps are doubled. There’s two people. 

Simon wouldn’t come home with someone else. This wasn’t Simon walking around your apartment. 

With trembling hands, you reach for Simon’s hidden knife, concealed under his side of the bed. You clutch in it a sweaty palm, silent praying that the person walking around your apartment is a friend, not a foe. The footsteps get closer. You take a deep breath.

The doorknob jiggles. Your anxiety skyrockets. There’s murmurs before a foot hits the door. 

1 kick…

2 kicks…

3 kicks before the door finally busts open, shattering the lock. 2 men, dressed in black military uniform, hold up their guns to aim for your head. You suck in a breath. 

“That her?” The first man asks. 

“Think so. She fits the description,” the other one responds.

You shiver. They barely acknowledge you as they speak. 

One of them steps closer to you, reaching for the knife in your hand. You strike, stabbing his wrist through the jacket he wears. He yells, “Bitch stabbed me!”

He pushes you, reaching down to grab his wrist, pulling out the knife. The other one walks over while you’re distracted, talking a hold of your arms and tying them behind your back. You yell before you hear the sound of duct tape ripping. Within seconds, there’s a piece over your mouth. You try to yell. No use.

They begin to speak to each other fast, so fast you can barely catch their words. 

Help me…

The one you stabbed wraps up his wrist with a cloth, before picking up your legs. The other picks up your torso. 

You thrash around in their arms, trying to get free as you kick the one you stabbed, He holds your feet together with one hand, barking out a quick, “Stop it!”

He has an American accent, you notice. They carry you out of your bedroom as you continue to thrash around. They almost make it to the front door. 

But the door is wide open. And in the door frame stands a tree of a man, face covered by a mask of a skull. 

Simon…

Your eyes fill with tears of joy. 

Simon’s eyes are as dark as the night as he stares at the scene. 

The men immediately drop you, making you hit your head on the floor, a cry of pain dropping from your lips. Your vision goes blurry as you hear Simon step closer, fists clenched. 

You roll over onto your side, trying to get your hands out of their bonds, trying to grab your head to ease the pain. You suck in a sharp breath. Your vision stays blurry, barely making out the black blobs fighting in front of you. 

From the blobs you see, the one with the mask is bigger. And he’s winning. 

You think… 

One of the men drop down next to you, a new red blob on the ground making it’s way into your vision. You count to fifteen before the other man drops down too. 

You count to eight before you feel a hand pull the duct tape off your mouth. You let out a loud sob of relief. Simon…

He unties your wrists, gently massaging them as you roll over again, grabbing your head. You close your eyes as you let out cries of pain. 

It hurts. Your wrists hurt. Your mouth hurts. 

But the pain in your head is indescribable. It shoots from the back to the front, meeting at the centre of your forehead. It shoots back. And then back to the front again. And back again. And front again. And over and over. 

You can barely hear your cries anymore over the feeling of pain. 

A pair of arms pick you up bridal style, as if you weigh nothing. The black blob holding you takes you to the bedroom, setting you down on the bed. The blob walks away again. 

You count to thirty before it-he-returns, holding an ice pack, a glass of water, and a few advil pills. He sits on the edge of the bed, setting down the items. 

He takes off his mask, vest, gear, and everything else until nothing remains but a shirt and his tactical pants. Simon tips up your chin, placing one of the pills on your tongue, pushing it back with some water. “Swallow.”

You do as he says. 

A deep exhale leaves your body. 

He presses the ice pack to your head. “How bad is i’? Do I need to call a’ ambulance?” 

“N-no…” you blink back tears.

“You sure, lovie? ‘t was a bad fall,” he sighs, smiling sadly at you. “‘m so sorry ‘is happened to ya. Ya are the most important thin’ to me and Graves, bitch that ‘e is, took advantage of tha’. Soap and Gaz ‘re in the kitchen, gettin’ rid of the garbage. Tol’ them not to come in ‘ere. Ya need rest, okay? Bu’ don’ fall ‘sleep, ya migh’ have a concussion.” 

You nod to the best of your ability. He takes a hold of your hand, kissing your wrist. “‘M so so so sorry. Ya didn’ deserve ‘hat, okay? Ya so perfec’ and special to me…”

He looks down at the bloody knife on the ground.

“Ya try to protec’ yourself?” You nod in response to his words. “Good girl. Ya atleas’ did some damage…slowed them down enough jus’ in time for me to get ‘ere.” 

“Ho-how did you know I w-was in…” you don’t bother to finish your sentence. 

“Graves sai’ ya name to me. I took a guess ‘e was gone go for ya. Rushed here with the other three. They gone go on the mission without me. Need to stay ‘ere, make sure ya okay.” 

He presses a kiss to your forehead. You smile, softly. 

“Thank you…Si…” you nod. “For everything.”

“Always gone be there to save ya,” He nods. “When ya get bette’, I gone teach ya how to properly use that knife…and a few more things, just in case.”

“Sounds good, Si,” you hold back a giggle. 

[just-trying-to-fangirl-in-peace]

Remade (Sauron x fem!Elf!reader)

-> in which you nurse Sauron back into his physical form, eager to be reunited with your great love once more

Warnings: I somehow managed to write fluff with goo!Sauron, I guess? You hold and kiss goo!Sauron. You suffer a minor injury by goo!Sauron. You get animals and one person killed to feed goo!Sauron. Heavy make out and implied smut (with non-goo!Sauron). Can you tell I love writing the words ‘goo!Sauron’?

Note: Yet another Sauron x evil!reader fic cause I can’t stop apparently. Can be read as a prequel to the others or as a stand alone.

“Oh, my love,” you breathe out, “what have they done to you?”

What have they done indeed. For you are speaking with the one that is your love, your husband, your very soul—but if he hears, or even understands, he cannot show it. What’s left of him has no mouth no speak, no arms to wrap around you at long last, after an eternity of separation. What your tearful eyes are looking at is a black, amorphous mass, no larger than the heart hammering within your chest, writhing helplessly on the ground.

But it is him. Of that, you are certain.

When you felt his presence again, it was so faint you thought you were dreaming it. Nothing but a glimmer of darkness in the back of your mind, weakly calling out in agony. But as you searched your feelings, reaching out with every sliver of power you could muster, you found that it was real.

You found him.

Long had you travelled since, guided by the unseen thread connecting you to him. Until at last, it had led you into the heart of a mountain where his presence was so strong, it felt as though his skin was beneath your fingertips.

And yet, he was nowhere to be seen. Not until a sharp squeal had caught your ear, and you had found the source of it to be a rat being devoured into the blackness of a small, but lethal predator. At once, you had understood, and nearly fallen into despair. But in the end, you reminded yourself—he has endured. You have been reunited. That is all that matters.

Slowly, you kneel at his side. The mass ripples like the surface of water under a light breeze, and it gives you hope that, somehow, your presence is known to him. A sole rivulet of him begins to slip towards you, painfully slow. No wonder he has been in this state for so long, helpless to nourish himself lest some unfortunate creature stumbles upon him in the dark.

“I am here,” you whisper as you reach out. “I am—”

The moment your fingertips touch his cold, viscous form, black tendrils of him latch onto your hand, greedily clawing at your wrist. You gasp at the unexpected force of it, the searing sting where the liquid-like matter solidifies to dig sharp needles into your skin. Beads of your blood emerge, and he swallows them into himself with hunger.

You stare in awe as he grows ever so slightly larger. A twisted part of you is elated to be the object of his craving once more, even if he is trying to devour you whole. Especially then.

Unfortunately, that would not do in the long-term.

You shush him gently, caressing him with your free hand as though he were a purring kitten. Instantly, a tendril of him latches to one of your fingers, but you give him a firm squeeze.

“Shh!” you say sharply, fingers sinking into the soft surface of him as you reach out with your mind as well, nudging at his. “Easy, love,” you coo. “Easy. You know this hand. You know me.”

His mind is a mess—mad with hunger, alight with rage, lost to despair. But you keep caressing it with yours, tenderly bringing to the surface his memories of you. His love. His wife.

His grip on you weakens then. He deflates, withdrawing himself from your wounds, and you are left with a soft, pliant mass, which you delicately scoop into the palm of your hands. He rocks slightly against your skin, almost as if caressing it—and through your bond, the ghost of his regret reaches out to you.

“Do not fret, my love,” you murmur, smiling gently. “All will be well now.”

And so you go to dwell in the forest. At first, you bring him small things, no larger than he is himself—insects and rats, the occasional snake. The venomous ones seem to be quite nourishing, aiding in his growth more visibly than the other animals you feed him. Still, the progress is slow, and could not be endured without a great deal of patience and love. Fortunately, you lack neither.

Days turn to weeks, perhaps months. You don’t keep count, nor do you miss the comforts of the Elven realm where you had dwelt for years, waiting on the day your husband might return. A tent and your skills are more than enough when you finally have your love by your side, even if he is... temporarily different. You always keep him close, cradling him protectively at night and speaking loving words to him throughout the day. And in his own way, with ripples of his form and distant echoes of his slowly recovering mind, he holds onto you.

Eventually, he grows large enough for you to embrace at night, and develops a certain manner of breathing that feels as though you’re resting your head upon his chest. Its rise and fall is odd, ragged and irregular, but it brings you great joy nonetheless. With time, you bring him larger game, watching with grim amazement as deers and wild boars are slowly devoured into the beloved black mass that still is your husband. After a time, he grows nearly limb-like extensions, allowing him to more easily crawl around or reach out, and you often wake to find yourself in the closest thing to an embrace he can manage in this state. It never fails to make your heart soar, and he shudders as you press loving kisses to the parts of his surface closest to you.

So the days pass, until it’s time. Between your own instinct and the shape of his thoughts, not quite spoken but slightly more focused through your bond, you know he’s strong enough to finally regain himself completely.

But for that, he will need something more than an animal.

It’s easy enough to stop the first wagon you see passing by, acting confused and lost and asking for direction. The woman at the reins, though half-drunk, is even gracious enough to offer that she give you a ride to the closest village. You decline, of course. Your purpose was never to climb into the wagon yourself.

It was to halt it long enough for your husband to slither inside from the back.

It’s barely a few seconds after the woman has bid you a good journey and gone on her way that the wagon halts yet again—this time, with a piercing scream from its occupant. The wagon shakes, its horse breaking loose and galloping away.

Then, silence settles. From your angle, you can’t see inside. Your feet are glued in place, your breath barely there as you watch and wait. You’ve been waiting so long that now, so close to the end of your suffering, each moment feels neverending.

Finally—finally—a man emerges from the back of the wagon. He takes his time putting one bare foot, then the other, down onto the snow-covered ground. He takes in his surroundings, as though opening his eyes to the world for the first time. Then his gaze lands on you, and his lips curl into a smile filled with relief.

And you know, you’ve always known, but it feels as though you only then realize that this is not a man. Or an Elf, or a Dwarf, or any other being of less than godly nature. It is him. Remade into a form with eyes, and hands, and flesh, same as your own.

Your feet carry you towards him blindly as you stare and stare, almost unable to believe that you are finally standing close enough to touch once more.

“I would not blame you,” he says, his unfamiliar voice rough from lack of use, “if it was you who failed to recognize me now.”

But you know it’s absurd. His appearance may not be as it used to—his hair is shorter, darker, his cheeks covered in stubble, his features nothing like the ones you knew—but there is no form he could take you would not recognize, not as long as your mind still served you. His had been broken, unamde, when he had begun to feed on you as he would any other stranger. None of that matters now.

“This is... different,” you murmur, greedily taking in every inch of him that isn’t covered by the rags he’s wearing. His chest is partially bared to your eyes, and both of your breaths shudder as you lay your hand over his new heart, the smattering of hair there delightfully rough beneath your fingertips. You gaze there for a moment, mesmerized by the sight, then lift your eyes to meet his. The curls that fall in his face are so endearing your chest aches as you brush one aside.

“I love it,” you breathe out. “I love you.”

A dam that had been built over years of longing shatters at your words, and your lips meet his furiously in a long-awaited kiss. His looks may have changed, but his taste is the same, and so is the desire that overwhelms you to the point of insanity. You’re falling into each other, clawing at each other, crumbling to the ground in an unceremonious tangle of limbs. The snow is cold against your back, but your husband is warm and solid above you, and your world becomes reduced to him and him alone.

You whimper when he suddenly pulls away, chest heaving as he gazes down at you with raw yearning.

“You came for me,” he says, breathless with elation.

“Of course I did,” you retort, nearly indignated. As if you would do anything but. He goes to kiss you again, but you wrap a hand around his throat and hold him back. Mischief dances in your eyes as he glares and you scold, “And in return, you nearly ate me.”

His eyes darken, and you almost moan at the sight alone.

“I still wish to,” he growls, prying your hand away from his neck and diving in to devour yours instead. “All those years I hungered...” he speaks between ravenous licks and bites of your skin, making you writhe and whimper beneath him, “to feel you once more... even when I could no longer remember... what it was I hungered for...” He lifts his head, wild eyes boring into yours as he lays his hand upon your chest, relishing your heartbeat as you had done his before. “My love,” he pleads, voice trembling with need, “join me in flesh. Let me feast upon yours. Devour mine. Remind me what it is... to feel.”

The last time you felt such unbridled joy was so long ago, you can’t even remember it. And either way, you doubt it held a candle to the bliss bursting within your soul in this moment. This is all you ever wanted. This makes every single moment of torment, past or future, worth it.

“Feel me, love,” you offer most sweetly, your lips brushing his with the last words you speak before you consume each other whole, “Feel everything.”

Next fic with same reader -> Tides of fate

[grimdarling69]

Another de aged Ellie and Dan or otherwise known as Crack

P1 P2 P3

Damian is now regretting every decision that led to where he was at this point in his half-life.

He felt so if he had been battered by a storm all night long and he was pretty sure he was having fever dreams because fucking Lex Luthor is currently dabbing at his head with a damp towel.

Come on, Damian. You're better than this. Get up and fight him. Father would be disappointed if I failed to stop whatever luthor was scheming because of a common cold. He could already see his father's face, his disappointment shrouded in the shadows created by the looming stalactites in the cave. He'd take away Robin, he lose Richard's first gift to him. He couldn't let his baba down.

He tried to shed the blankets but his body failed him and he had to resist a coughing fit. He shivered cold and clammy. His body felt heavy and his clothes were sticking to him uncomfortablely. His hair was a mess and clouded his vision.

"Rest now, ghostling. Your very sick. I need to get you into some new clothes and quickly." he murmured quietly, leaning forward and plying his bangs from his face. For a second he thought he was going to kiss his head and he started struggling again.

"Don't-" He attempted but his voice broke off into a coughing fit. He struggled to catch his breath.

"Shh.. shhh...drink." he gently lifted a glass of water with a childishly pinky bendy straw to his lips. His gentle voice and calm actions remindimg him of his baba and he stupidly started to drink it before he remembered where he was and resisted again.

Luthor didn't seem surprised but didn't attempt to speak to him again and gently pushed him back down onto the bed. His eyes were heavy and he had to repeatedly jerk his head to stay awake.

Ancients, what was wrong with him he was a trained assassin. Not to mention Robin he could survive days without even a second of sleep.

Luthor pushed the door open again and carried soft looking sleepwear in his hands. When did he leave? The sleepwear had little stars and moons and suns periodically spread about. He couldn't help but admire them.

"Please don't fight me, Dani- Damian. You have to get out of those drenched clothes. If you sleep in them, you'll just get sicker. Come on, you love the stars." He tried in vain to fight him off, but eventually Luthor was cringing at him, scratches all over his arms and face, holding the wet clothes in one hand.

"Try to get some sleep. We'll talk in the morning." He turned the lights off and closed the door.

He waited a second to make sure he was actually gone. Once he was sure, he tried to wrangle him self off the bed but kept having to blink and rub his eyes. He had finally succeeded in getting out from under the blanket before he couldn't stay awake any longer and passed out from exhaustion.

---------

Vlad because he was Vlad Masters sometimes known as Vlad Plasmius or ugh the Wisconsin Ghost not Lex Luthor he had spent far to long redeeming himself and becoming a productive member of society to be reincarnated into a cruel ceo who cares only about his image and money and destroys the earth to make it. Creating pollution, ruining lives for no reason, abusing his powers, and trying to kill his archnemesis. Okay, maybe he was being a bit hypocritical, but he was redeemed already, and now he had to start all over!

Every villian worth their salt knows that archenemesiss are for life and he was a redeemed one for goodness sake. He may of fought his godson a lot in his early days but he had been alone for so long. He was a ghost they bonded by fighting! He also apologized for not realized that he didn't know ghost culture yet. He assumed he'd gotten a mentor ghost somewhere like he had the dairy king to teach him and once he realized he made him take lessons with that yeti docter of his.

He was the only one of his kind for decades and it certainly didn't help when his best friends abandoned him after killing him. Jasmine loved to physcoanalyze him she often tried to talk to him about his abandonment issues caused by his parents' deaths worsened by his older sister walking out on him and his future almost destroyed because of Jack Fenton and a fucking soda. That his obsession with Madelyn was caused by the fact he was desperate for family and latched onto the first thing that could give him one.

He didn't approve of cursing, he had kids-god-children that didn't need to hear it but he supposed he could excuse it just this once. Or twice.

When his godson had crashed into his island he felt the presence of his other kids but it was diluted almost. He hoped that whenever Damian woke up he could give him some context.

That was another thing. Somehow, his incredibly gifted and smart godson had apparently but reincarnated as Brucie Wayne's son. He could hardly believe it, but it was also worrying he had found some heavy scaring on him. Everywhere he was covered in scars, some had to be a decade old, at least. Whoever hurt his son was going to pay.

"Mr Luthor, sir?" His assistant knocked on his door.

Ugh, Luthor wasn't terrible he had to admit it had a nice ring to it was just-Lex?... disgusting.

"Come in."

"The um...children's cold medicine is here." She spoke unsure, but handed the specially ordered medicine over. It was brought over by a very good drone from the nearest industrialized island, perks of being a billionaire. He had even more money than in his previous life.

"Aw thank you, Susan." She blinked at him while he took the package she'd been with him since before Konner and so it was understandable she wasn't used to him just now caring to remember her name. Konner... he'll have to contact him to set up a meeting between his new son and his brother soon.

"Will you alert the chefs to cook a simple breakfast for us. No onions and no meat. He'll need to eat with this one. Have it brought to his room." He barely remembered that his godson won't be eating meat anymore after he remembered from one chance meeting at a gala but he had always hated onions and he was quite familiar with his rants about the texture of onions by now.

"Yes, sir. Right away" She quickly exited his office. He still wasn't used to humans being on his island, he typically only had animal ghosts with him or his kids if they weren't busy it was quite strange but he was trying to turn down his Vladness.

He stopped to grab a water bottle and started to head to Damian's room. He knocked on the door and waited. Dead silence met him, the white walls of the hallway was only makeing it worse. He forced himself to not think of the past, his whimpers while he had to stitch him together again for if he made to much sound they would hear him , while slowing opening the door.

He was thankfully asleep, and his fever seemed like it was going down. He packed up the damp towel and started to dab his forehead again. His eyes started to stir.

"Vlad?" His now much younger godson questioned looking even younger he seemed small for his age but he was like that in his past life too.

"I'm here." The sigh of relief spoke for itself. Damian stole the hand not currently in use, a familiar reminder that was common practice for them. His eyes closed again. He took the quiet moment to lament on each of his kids.

Jasmine, the oldest, once told him he was her rich and eccentric uncle. She never needed him in the ways her siblings did. She only lived with him on college breaks anyway. She never needed him to pay for her college, she had no shortage of scholarships. While he loved her, they were still distant. And then she was gone.

Dan, he had adopted him in his originak timeline after...an incident. Dan was always difficult in ways his siblings weren't. Dan was most similar to him, he was half of him afterall, and this often caused many different fights between them. Dan being full ghost often lived with Clockwork anyway. He'd always love him but things were always going to be messy between them.

Ellie, his blood daughter and Daniel's clone. The only one that outright considered him her father but she was very independent and he typically only saw her on weekends too busy traveling the world to have a movie night with her dear old dad. He loved her, but they fought alot she always wanted more independence and he just wanted to see his daughter.

Daniel or Damian now had always seemed to need him the most. Sticking around Amity Park even after the GIWs attack. Always asking questions about being a ghost or being an adult really. And even before that he could often find him somewhere in his house after his patrols around Amity he asked him a few times why he came around even before he had redeemed himself and could only ever get " because it's quiet but now you're here so I have to go. See ya fruitloop" and when Damian came to live with him his friends were usually there and sometimes he felt it was more a teenagers clubhouse than a mayoral manor. But he was really the only constant in his life. And in the beginning he was too injured to be alone, floating at the edge of fading away forever, so they were constantly together and they grew closer and as much as Vlad always saw him as a son he doubts Damian sees him as a father. Jack was his father and Madelyn was his mother. He knows that he still sees them as his parents even after everything he was willing to forgive them. He would never admitt it but sometimes he's glad they never came back as ghosts.

And konner...He wasn't really sure about him. He was his son, his clone he created with Superman. While he of course still had Luthors memories, and luthor seemed to love him but he often pushed him aside. He was second to his goal of killing Superman. He would have to work really hard to repair their relationship but first he needed to get to the Infinate Realms.

Soft knocking broke him out of his thoughts. " Come in."

"Sir. Your food has been prepared." Susan pushed in a large cart with 3 tiers. While this life seemed to be all about the pinnacle of opulence, his first was spent majority in bachelorhood, enough said about that.

She parked the cart close to the bed but not enough to be a hindrance. Damians eyes fluttered at the light but stayed still.

Susan looked at Damian in barely hidden concern and he could tell that Susan Darnaby, mother of three boys ranging from the ages of 24 to 15 had strong maternal instincts. Her oldest apparently worked at the Daily Planet and was apparently the main breadwinner of the family after his dad passed away a few years ago from cancer leaving the family in serious medical debt. He might have reread everybody's file and maybe everything he could find on them. The last thing he needed was one of his employees calling cps on him for stealing a child.

"He has already benefited from his rest last night, this medicine will have him in tip-top shape in no time. There's no need to worry." He attempted to reassurance her.

"Of course sir." For some reason she didn't look very reassured and with once last glance at their hands, left quietly.

"Whuz her." Damian mumbled from where his head was stuffed slightly beneath the pillow to block the light from getting in. He snickered and fixed the pillow. Damian pouted.

"My assistant, Susan. You know she has a son around your age." Damian looked positively scandalized.

"Vlad! I am not dating anyone that is affiliated with you!" He sat up and wacked him with the pillow.

"Oof. Ow." The pillow didn't really hit imhim hard it was worryingly gentle, something Damian would never hold back on he once challenged him to a pillow fight but stuffed his with rocks and we both ended up give each other stitches using the bathroom tiles to ice their bruises.

"You know i never said anything about dating, my boy. Now let's see what was prepared." Damians breakfast consisted of small cake like pancakes shaped like stars with bananas and blueberries arranged like a small constellation. While his was some larger normally shaped pancakes with sliced strawberries and bananas arranged around the outer rim. The other two tiers consisted of several scone and jams and of course clotted cream after on the second day Ellie went on a loud rant right outside the kitchen on how offended she was to not be served clotted cream. The last tier consisted of several small deserts and muffins. He even spotted Damian's favorite muffin, blueberry cheesecake. Or well in his previous life at least, he placed it on his plate anyway, couldn't hurt to try.

"I'm not really hungry." Damian waved him off.

"You have to eat to take this medicine and I know you haven't eaten since you flew in last night, or even longer. Most of this stuff we can cover up and leave out, so you can eat it later if you want." Damian hated when he used logic in his previous life but from what he can remember about his few meetings in this life he liked logic and academics and was quite ahead according to Brucie.

Damian begrudgingly ate the muffin, some fruits and a messily cream and raspberry jamed scone. He only had a bite off the corner star of the pancake before deciding he wasn't a fan of the recipe. Vlad ate both of his pancakes, most of the fruits on his plate, a chocolate muffin, and a cream and apple jam scone. Unfortunately the peace couldn't last because as soon as he deemed Damian had ate enough and gave him the medicine he decided now would be the time to talk.

" I think I'm pregnant." Damian stated calmly staring into his tea cup.

Vlad dropped his own cup and watched the beautiful fine china shatter.

"Your...What?" He spluttered.

"Technically incubation. Dan and Ellies bodies completely destabilized and I merged with their cores to save them. It's something Frostbite briefly taught me." He continued.

Thank god.

"Why didn't you just start with that like a normal person. Are you okay? Is anything hurting not feeling alright?" He could hear himself growing more frantic.

"I'm fine Vlad. There not parasites. Well ellie isn't atleast. We'll have to check with Frostbite for everything else, so we'll need to stsrt the portal as soon as possible"

"You'll need to take the medicine for at least a week before I let you start working around such heavy machinery, but i suppose you can do some calculations up here."

"What! I have to get to Frostbite. How do we know we're doing the right thing? What if...I...do something to hurt them." His voice grew quiet and he closed his eyes both arms came to reach across his stomach and his legs slightly raised and he started to hunch over himself.

"Oh, Damian. I've read about incubation before. Ghosts only allow them selves to merge in such a way with people they must truly trust. If they merged with you, nothing will go wrong. Nothing you can do will hurt them." He moved as he was speaking, sitting down on the bed now. Damian and him had reached the same height in his last life but now his new body was much larger, in both height and muscle, than Damians short height and lean muscle. Made even smaller by him shifting into a ball.

"I don't know. I still had so much to learn and what if we can't open the portal again?" He leaned into him his shoulder more level with his head.

"Have you no trust in your old man? I opened the portal on my own last time with only minor Fenton thievery, thank you. Besides,The only setback I've faced here are the corrupted ectoplasm pools." Damian snickered at him, so he knew his joke wasn't for naught. Until he went rigid suddenly.

"Wait what corrupted pools?"

"The green ectoplasm on this island has pooled together somehow and corrupted itself by laying dormant for sometime. Instrsd of the typical cool and chilling effects the green usually has it seems to be almost acid like. Bubbling and burning things, but I've constructed a purifier that seems to be working well enough." He explained quite confused by Damians sudden change in attitude.

"Why didn't I see i before? Ancients this is worse than i thought..." He stood up suddenly, beginning to pace and run his hands through his hair.

"Slow down. What's going on?" He questioned aiming for placading him, Damian needed rest and minimal stress while sick AND incubating two cores.

"The Lazurus Pits! Their corrupted ectoplasm! Grandfather harnassed them to bring the dead back and get pseudo immortality." He stopped dead at the last word but his back was to Vlad. He's never heard of Lazarus pits before...his grandfather? Thomas Wayne was immortality? But he's dead!

"Thomas Wayne is...immortal?" He questioned as such.

"What? What made you come to that insane conclusion?" He turned to face him, he looked concerned like Vlad was the crazy one muttering.

" Your grandfather?" He looked like a fish, blinking and moving his mouth like he wasn't sur what to say.

"That's actualy not even the craziest thing ive heard actually. No, Ra's al Ghul, the Demon Head is my maternal Grandfather, my mother is Talia al Ghul." What the fuck.

" Brucie Wayne slept with the demons daughter?" Damian couldn't hold back his laughter anymore and burst into laughter turning into a coughing fit, that shook his ribs, and he leant over like he wa going to fall. Vlad quickly moved to support him.

"I'm fine, fruitloop. I just need some water." Vlad steered him to lay back down on the bed. "Stop it fruitloop, your not even my..." he didn't need mind reading powers to know what he was going to say.

" I know." He still tucked him into bed. Moving to turn out the star nightlight out.

"Batman is my father. Batman is Bruce Wayne" I think I'm going to faint.

"The other..." "my siblings." "Of course, no matter what universe we're in you have a crazy family." " You can't talk you made a clone with your archenemy in both lives AND added your own DNA both times."

"It was an accident the first time!" He spluttered.

"Not the second time!" Damian returned.

"I think you need a nap, young man." He sassed.

"Vlad! I am not a baby!" He ignored that remark.

"I'll have Susan wake you up at lunchtime and we'll go to the lab. Is that acceptable for you?"

"Tch." Damian turned around and closed his eyes. He finally succeeded in turning off the lights.

"Sleep well, son." Closing the door softly.

Whatever was a half-ghost to do?

‐--------

Clark Kent was an avid hater of the waiting game. Although he was no stranger to it. It had been now a week since Damian disappeared. Tim had called his sons and broke the news. They had quicky wrapoed everything up and flew back. Jon had yelled at him for hours about having to hear about Damians disappearance from Tim. He just didn't know how to break the news to him. He knew Jon felt betrayed by him especially because they were finally stsrted healing their relationship after everything. Even worse because Jon had finally confided in him how he felt about Damian and now he didn't even tell him when he was kidnapped.

From what he's heard from Bruce, Jon can't hear his heartbeat, but knowing Lex he's most likely kept behind lead so not a totall loss of hope it just means they need detectives not supers.

So he was back at work after parting with Lois he had headed to the break room to get more coffee when he heard it.

"So what Lex has a few sick kids and you think child trafficking? We can't lose another income, mom. Ignore it. Please." He heard his coworker, one he often listened listened in to as his mother coincidentally worked at Lexcorp.

He focused his hearing onto the mother's voice on the other side of the phonecal.

" You don't get it. I can't just ignore it. He experimented on those kids then put them to bed like it was just another day. And then suddenly the kids are gone and the next day another kid is here? It's not right! Something is going on. Wveryday he wakes him up and they est breakfast then they go down to his private lab and dont come out till lunch sometimes until dinner. Last night they didn't come out till midnight and he carried the kid to his own bedroom. There's something going on and I've seen to many rich men take advantage of young children. I can't ignore this again."

Oh god, what if Bruce was wrong about Lex somehow figuring out his identity. What if he noticed him at a gala and took a liking to him. As a reporter he done countless stories on people in high positions who took advantage of their positions of authority to hurt kids. Lex had never seemed that way to him but how well did he really know him anyway? He had some kind of breakdown that changed him anyway. He needed to talk to someone who was familiar with people like this.

He has to call Jason.

A/n I took this chapter to hash out my thoughts on a redeemed father vlad and kis kids. Danny is obviously his favorite, but he does love all of his kids they just don't feel the need to stick around Amity Park like I think Danny would. Danny is also his character foil, and I wanted to tie in both parallels into both him and bruce with vlad. So that is not Canon vlads backstory but something i thought about with the fact he is desperate or obsessed with the idea of a family. Also, if you see any inconsisties between Damian and vlads' povs and the "attack," their might be a reason hint hint. I also wanted to say that vlad and lex are both quite similar in concept but vlad in my au decided to become better for his kids and to choose them first not like lex who loves kon in his own way but is still second to his own mission. vlad very much is more vlad than he is lex mostly because he sees himself in lex if he didn't choose his kids over villainy. While Damian and danny are now more of a mix between each other. I like to think that the danny that saw a random girl who just said she was his cousin and just rolled with it would just roll with the flow if he was reincarnated. I also wanted to bring up the fact that vlad and Damian will pick up the pace and be a lot more worried as you'll see next part and right now the bats are in a disarray trying to find him. Also the supers I only had Jon age up 2 years older than Damian cause he will be a bigger part of the story and I needed him older hint hint he has his mother's purple eyes in this story.

[phoenixcatch7]

Dp x dc twin au where Danny and Damian were in fact conjoined/siamese twins, but the most dangerous type - one head, two bodies.

Their early removal from talia being because their shape would not have allowed for natural birth, they were written off but talia begged for the chance to send them off in the lazarus pit.

By some bizarre miracle, before she turned to leave, two small bodies bobbed to the surface - identical in every way, except for the eyes. The previous blue eyes now split in two, one left, one right, and the new eyes, pit created, a bright green.

She took her child, her two children, and together, they survived.

Being removed prematurely, their early years were tough, but soon they blossomed into promising heirs for the league. In sync with every step, the closest of brothers, the league was certain the old fairy tale of twins being telepathic had been granted by the pit that separated them, the remnants of being born as one mind, one brain, one skull.

But then Danny had to flee, and leave his other half behind. Stretched by distance for the first time, the bond grew thin and stretched, and Damian grieved his brother as dead. When he started being sent on public missions, he hid his distinctive heterochromia, choosing the green in memory of the pit that had given him and his brother life.

Danny, hiding his pit aura in the ocean's worth that was Amity park, took to blue, the colour that he and Damian were born with.

Damian moves to Gotham, and continues to mourn his brother as dead, right until one day when he is twelve, when he learns what the death of your other half truly feels like.

-

Their reunion is a thing of family legend. Violence runs hot in both bloodlines, ghosts are highly emotional and prone to fighting a the drop of a hat for bonding, playing, testing, every reason under the green sun. Their training and play often consisted of friendly spars, competitive spars, furious spars, venting spars. Both have been exposed to unhealthy amounts of ecto since before their birth.

There is a long, long minute of staring, before they rip themselves away and lunge at each other like wolves.

The bat family are horrified by their brutally efficient youngest suddenly barreling towards a clone (?) and trying to claw his throat open with his bare hands while openly sobbing.

It ends with them wrapped around each other crying into the others shoulder as their minds finally meet again and relax from the painful stretch for the first time in years.

But nobody else has any idea what to do.

[manmadejoyswithinmycomprehension]

HIHIHI! Would you consider writing about mr gap smut? Like maybe how he can appear in any space, maybe he can appear under our blanket 😇 Feel free to ignore request if you’re too busy or feel uncomfortable!!

I'm definitely not uncomfortable writing smut :3 there's definitely not enough Mr. Gap content UGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Mr. Gap x gn!reader smut

Tw: Choking and descriptions of male genitalia for our dear wall dweller

After slamming multiple doors in his face, taping up holes to get rid of him and walking straight in the middle of hallways just to avoid the walls and the cracks in them, you couldn't be more surprised when a bond formed between the two of you. An ACTUAL bond. The kind of friendship where you teased each other, pranked each other and were able to stay serious when you had problems. As much as he loved spooking you out or grabbing you and bringing you to a completely different room out of nowhere, he'd never leave you out in the open when you were in danger. Especially around that red creep... Seeing you close to him made Mr. Gap grimace. He was worried, of course, but something else was making his stomach turn. He placed it on the fact that the scarlet figure was just plain weird around you, and nothing more. But even the other ghosts trying to befriend you made him sick. Especially that crawling, pathetic man. How could you look at him when Mr. Gap was right there? Consequently, he did his best to attract your attention to him whenever Crawling was near. It also wasn't out of the ordinary for him to make little offerings to you or spend hours on end bragging about how great he is.

And you didn't mind that one bit. You liked staying with him and listening to him prattle about his evil doings (most of which didn't happen, but don't point it out). And you didn't mind it when he started appearing in the empty space between the blanket and your body. For the first time, you felt butterflies in your stomach. It had never happened before - the only thing getting your adrenaline pumping was murder, but this time the feeling was pure. You'd pat his head and reassure him that he's the most precious person in the world. However, when he heard Mr. Stitch talking about how much fun he'd like to have with you, a switch flipped. He visited you in a matter of minutes and wormed his cold hands under your shirt, making you squeak. You were having a nap, come on...

"You like me?"

You sighed, cupping his cheek and stroking his pale skin with your thumb.

"Me like you. Why?"

"Someone else bad for you. Dangerous."

He dipped his fingers between the folds of your raincoat and unbuttoned it, quickly removing the rest of your bottom garments. You squeaked, the cold air hitting your sensitive spots.

"Someone other bad... Me good for you. Me good."

His finger touched your sex gently, teasing it with the awfully slow motions, making you quiver. A surge of arousal crashed into your body as he slid two fingers inside of you, stretching you open.

"Sorry, cannot stop. Not now," Mr. Gap groaned, his breath ghosting over your quivering privates. His tongue and hands worked together to bring you closer and closer to the edge - but just as you were about to reach your peak, he stopped abruptly, making you squirm. He dragged you further under the blanket with him, until he was nicely poised between your thighs. He leaned down, pressing your chests together and kissing your collarbones while babbling.

"Me good... Me and you... Only me..."

His arms lifted your knees, so that they were now on his shoulders. His hands held yours tightly as he pushed himself inside of you, his face contorting in a lusty grin once he bottomed out. You squeezed his fingers to anchor yourself in the moment, your chest heaving up and down in an attempt to control your breathing. Mr. Gap's cock reached your deepest spots, pounding into you faster and faster. It didn't take long for him to get rougher, folding your overly-stimulated body into a mating press, slamming repeatedly into your sweet spot, before shutting you up with a sloppy kiss. Your vision blurred and tears gathered in the corners of your eyes as an overwhelming warmth spread throughout your body. His balls slapped against your ass, and one of his hands moved to your throat, gripping and releasing your throat in tandem with his thrusts. Your nails raked down his back, leaving behind red lines from which blood started to seep. His cock twitched and throbbed wildly inside you, signaling that he was close to orgasm.

Both his hands were now on your throat, choking you as he slammed once, twice, then thrice inside of your abused hole, now filled to the brim with his seed. A silent groan left him, his eyes rolling in the back of his head when he came. Meanwhile, your thighs were wrapping around his waist, your back arching and then dropping down on the disheveled bed.

"Ungh... Me love you...! Love you!"

Coming back to his senses, Mr. Gap hastily released your throat, his fingers gently tracing the marks he left.

"Sorry!"

He was obviously remorseful, but too exhausted to do anything about it. The both of you laid together, enjoying the bliss that settled in. Unfortunately, the rough embrace prevented you from talking, your brain turned into mush. You hugged Mr. Gap and patted his back reassuringly.

"It's fine... I love you too..."

[nemo-writes]

⋆˚࿔ ⋆˚࿔ 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐞 ; 𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐞 𝜗𝜚˚⋆𝜗𝜚˚⋆

↣ pack!tf141 x witch!reader

↣ chapter summary; soap earns himself the silent treatment. meanwhile, you prepare for your confrontation with makarov, summoning back an old friend under the half-moon.

⚠️ warnings; none

★ previous ; next

☆ story masterlist

The drive back to their shared home was long, tense and quiet, each second stretching painfully over the old car’s steady rumble. Johnny sat in the passenger seat, shoulders hunched, gaze fixed on the passing scenery rather than risk another glance at Price’s set jaw and narrowed eyes. 

When they pulled into the driveway, the late afternoon light painted their home bright. The front door creaked as Price pushed it open, his silence as heavy as a reprimand. Johnny followed, his head down.

Inside, the atmosphere was stifling. 

Gaz leaned against the kitchen island, arms crossed, his mouth pressed into a tight line. Ghost stood near the window, hands shoved into his pockets, staring out as if he expected to see something—someone—materialize on the empty street. Neither of them acknowledged Johnny’s return.

Price took off his jacket, tossed it over a chair, and let out a weary sigh. He moved to join Gaz at the island. Laswell’s reports and notes lay scattered on the table: printed documents, scribbled post-its, and a few articles of speculation. They’d been working through the little information Leah had given them—threads of truth knotted with curses and creatures—trying to find something solid to hold onto.

Johnny dared not speak first. The weight of what he had done—going after you alone, risking everything—clung to him like a bad scent. He accepted their silent punishment. He deserved it. Instead, he busied himself in his room with his laptop, firing it up and tapping into old forums, messaging a few trusted contacts. If you wouldn’t return to them, perhaps they could come to you. But how?

He opened a private browser and typed out careful inquiries on niche forums and subreddits dedicated to the occult and magical communities. He knew from experience that if any place could confirm whether outsiders were welcome in the territory the Le Fay line looked after, it would be one of these hidden corners of the internet. He kept his questions vague, professional, and patient. After all, desperation would only draw suspicion.

Johnny’s typing slowed. Magical territory and old coven lands. His search queries grew more specific, more desperate. He tapped into old friend groups—people he’d worked small jobs with before—and sent cautious feelers out. Was the Le Fay territory open to outsiders? Could one simply visit, no matter their magical alignment?

It was a long shot. But after all that had happened, long shots were all they had left.

In the meantime, Gaz’s phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen and frowned slightly. Casting a look toward Price, then Ghost—who didn’t meet his eyes—Gaz spoke quietly, his voice subdued but deliberate. “My mum texted back.” 

Gaz scrolled through the message with quick, flicks of his thumb, his brow furrowed deeply. After a moment, he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before setting his phone down.

“She says the parasite’s nature looks vampiric,” he began, tone heavy with reluctant focus. “Something like a succubus—feeding off essence, corrupting bonds. Apparently, it’s rare.”

Silence fell again, each man processing the update. Ghost’s gaze remained fixed out the window, jaw tight beneath his balaclava. Price leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temple as if to summon some revelation. Gaz, meanwhile, fiddled with his phone, the screen lighting up intermittently as he switched between texts and notes.

“Anything else?” Price asked after a long moment, his voice subdued but probing.

Gaz hesitated, then groaned as if the answer physically pained him. “Yeah…another essay from Mum. Not just about the parasite—she’s scolding me again.” He paused, his tone dipping into annoyed disbelief. “And she’s got a suggestion. One I really wish she didn’t.”

“What kind of suggestion?” Price asked, leaning forward.

Gaz shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. I’m not doing it.”

“Why not?” Price pressed, his eyes narrowing.

Gaz hesitated again, his fingers tapping anxiously against the edge of his phone. “Because it’s invasive. Dangerous. And honestly? Pretty desperate.” His voice grew quieter, more strained. “Besides… we’re past the point where it could help. She knows that.”

“Let us decide that,” Price countered firmly. “What’s she suggesting?”

Gaz didn’t answer immediately, his gaze fixed somewhere on the table in front of him. He sighed deeply, as if bracing himself, and muttered, “It’s a procedure. Something to… extract her current whereabouts.”

The weight of his words hung heavy in the air. Ghost turned his head slightly, his gaze sharp but unreadable. Price’s expression darkened, his voice dropping into a near-growl.

“Explain.”

. . .

The air was thick with the scent of herbs and damp earth as you pushed open the heavy glass door to your Mom’s greenhouse. Inside, the warm glow of lanterns lit rows of pots and planters arranged with meticulous care. Rich, loamy scents mingled with floral notes, and your Mom—ever careful and nurturing—sat in her wheelchair at the far end of the main aisle, a soft shawl draped over her shoulders. Horangi stood nearby, his watchful eyes drifting between you and the delicate seedlings he’d been tending to.

“There you are, my darling,” your Mom said, her voice carrying easily through the hush of growing things. She maneuvered forward, the hand-like appendages of her enchanted chair adapting seamlessly to the uneven floor. “I’ve set aside the moon-bloom petals and dried bloodberry leaves you’ll need. They’re potent wards against vampiric auras.”

“Thank you,” you replied, your voice quieter than intended. Sybil sneezed at your side, her nose twitching at the array of scents. From overhead, the lanternlight flickered, sending shadows dancing across your Mom’s features as she passed you a small wooden box. “Use these wisely. The petals especially—you know they react best under moonlight. One whiff of these and even the slyest vampire should think twice before approaching.”

You nodded, slipping the box into your satchel. “I’ll keep that in mind,” you promised, lips pressed into a determined line.

Horangi stepped forward, extending a vial of something oily and dark. “For your dagger,” he said simply, his voice low and respectful. “Coat it before the fight. If he tries to heal, this will slow him down.”

You accepted it with a murmured thanks, meeting both his gaze and your Mom’s. They nodded, and you caught a glimmer in her eyes—something tender, something that might have been regret or remorse if she knew how to let it show. She extended her hand, placing it softly over yours. 

“You’re stronger than you know,” your Mom said, her tone quieter than usual, more personal. “Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

You realized, with a sudden ache, that this was her way of apologizing, of acknowledging the cost of everything that had come before. She wouldn’t say it outright—she never would. But in this subtle gesture, in this show of faith and support, she was offering something close to atonement. It wasn’t enough, not for all the scars you carried, but it was more than you’d ever expected.

The silence that followed felt heavy, not with tension, but with the weight of understanding. You nodded, not trusting your voice to remain steady if you spoke.

“I know” you managed at last, your words thin but sincere.

She let her hand slip away gently, and you stepped back from the table. With that, you turned and made your way out of the greenhouse, back into the manor’s long corridors. The transition was stark: from warm, humid air scented with vegetation to cooler hallways lit by candles in their sconces. The old wood floors creaked softly underfoot, each step echoing back. Sybil padded silently beside you, the gentle click of her nails on the floor the only constant sound.

König appeared at the end of the corridor, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, clearly waiting for you. Since your confrontation, his demeanor had shifted in subtle ways—you caught a glimpse of regret in how he carried himself, uncertainty in how he set his shoulders.

He approached, inclining his head. “Need help with anything else?” he asked, voice lower than usual, as if not to startle you. “I could fetch more supplies, or…..”

You raised an eyebrow, giving him a once-over. “So helpful today, aren’t we?” The words came out sharper than you intended. 

His shoulders tensed, but he managed a nod, contrite. “….I know you don’t trust me fully. But I’m with you on this. Whatever you need.”

You let a moment pass, watching him, gauging his sincerity. “Fine.” A sigh escaped your lips as you led him down the hallway. “I need to pick up a few texts from the library. Spells for binding, wards that might hold a vampire if I can’t kill him outright.” You spoke matter-of-factly, as if discussing a grocery list rather than tools for murder.

König followed you to the library, a vast room lined with shelves so tall that rolling ladders were needed to reach the uppermost volumes. The scent of old parchment and leather bindings wrapped around you, comforting in its familiarity.

“I’ve never seen so many books on curses and wards,” König murmured, craning his neck to read spines bearing cryptic symbols. His tone was less guarded now, genuinely curious. “When you were away… with the pack, did you manage to study much magic, or were you more focused on…”

You narrowed your eyes slightly, not missing his subtle attempt to pry more about your life with the pack. Still, you needed him cooperative. You pulled out a thick tome with a silver clasp, setting it on a nearby table. “I studied what I could, here and there,” you replied vaguely. “Different priorities back then. Different goals.”

He nodded, accepting the non-answer without protest. “I see. Just… trying to understand.”

You snorted softly, flipping through the pages until you found the section on vampiric wards. “Don’t try too hard,” you said, but not unkindly. “Just make sure you’re ready to hold your own if things get messy.”

König cleared his throat. “I’ll go check on our transport. Make sure it's ready.”

You inclined your head, watching him depart with measured steps. At least he was trying, in his own way. Turning back to the shelf, you selected another slim volume and tucked it under your arm. 

Gathering a few other volumes, you adjusted the weighty satchel on your shoulder and stepped back out into the hallway. The manor’s corridors were quiet, Sybil following close, her tail brushing against your leg as you walked.

A young maid passed by, balancing a small tray of linens in her arms. You raised a hand, catching her eye, and she immediately dipped her head in a respectful nod, coming to a halt. Her posture was wary but attentive, her gaze flicking briefly toward Sybil before settling on you.

“I need you to take these, please,” you said, your tone even, gesturing to the satchel and the extra texts tucked under your arm, “and deliver them to my room. After that, find Fiona—tell her I want her to bring all necessary things to the pond behind the property.”

You paused, making sure the maid understood. “She’ll know what I mean.”

The maid blinked, curiosity dancing behind her lowered gaze. She hesitated only a moment before carefully accepting the offered items. “Yes, miss,” she replied softly, her voice steady if subdued. Then, adjusting her hold on the bundle, she hurried down the corridor, her footsteps echoing faintly as she went.

You then set off once again, the next steps of your plan falling quietly into place.

. . .

The moon was half, casting a silver-blue sheen over the property’s secluded pond. It's still surface reflected the stars and the faint outline of trees, painting a quiet, sacred picture. Barefoot, and dressed only in a light robe-like garment that fell loosely around your frame, you could feel every blade of grass, every pebble beneath your feet. Wearing nothing underneath was your way of showing humility and respect, a tradition you had failed to fulfill during your previous attempt at this ritual.

Sybil trotted beside you, her soft white fur catching the half-moon’s glow. She stayed close but unobtrusive. The scent of damp earth and evening blooms filled your lungs as you approached the pond’s edge, each step slow and deliberate.

Fiona awaited you there, her posture calm and reverent. She wore a simple veil draped over her hair and eyes, a gesture of respect for what was to come. At her feet lay a small bundle of ingredients wrapped in clean linen. When you reached her, she inclined her head wordlessly.

“Everything is here, as you requested,” Fiona said softly, lifting the linen to reveal sprigs of rosemary, thyme, and lavender. She placed a small pouch of salt at the edge of the cloth, and then bowed her head again.

You nodded, acknowledging her with a quiet “Thank you,” and Fiona departed, her footsteps fading into the hush of the night. You and Sybil were left alone with the whispering wind and the faint chorus of crickets.

Kneeling by the pond, you carefully mixed the herbs—rosemary for protection, thyme for courage, lavender for clarity. The handful of salt followed, grounding the mixture and purifying it. All that remained was a drop of your blood. You pressed the tip of a small, clean blade against your thumb and let a single red bead drip onto the mixture. The herbs and salt seemed to hush even further, as if waiting for the next step.

Sybil watched on, ears perked, as you swirled the mixture gently in the water at the pond’s edge. The night air seemed to still, and you could almost feel the veil between worlds thinning once again. The soft glow of the moon on the water’s surface danced as you murmured her name under your breath:

“Nimue,” you whispered, voice steady despite the thudding of your heart. “Lady of the Lake.”

At first, there was nothing but silence and the gentle lap of water against the shore. Then the surface of the pond began to shimmer, the reflection of the moonlight twisting, bending, as though disturbed from beneath. Slowly, Nimue emerged, her dark, damp hair clinging to her neck. She rose until her shoulders were visible, her arms folded softly over the edge of the water as if resting on an invisible ledge.

Nimue tilted her head, her eyes ancient and calm. Without hesitation, you leaned forward, letting your robe’s hem brush lightly against the edge. You reached out, not for a weapon or a spell, but for her hand, which hovered just above the pond’s mirror-like surface. Her skin was cool to the touch, and as you brought her hand closer, you pressed your lips gently to her knuckles, closing your eyes briefly in deference.

“So thou rememberest the old ways,” quoth Nimue, her voice like distant chimes. “Aye, centuries have passed since any did greet me so. The last time… King Arthur himself knelt at these waters and pressed his lips to my hand, his heart full of quest and longing. Thou dost do him proud, child.”

She regarded you more closely, a wry tilt to her pale brow. “Of course, ’tis no mere happenstance that thou sharest the blood of mine wretched—albeit misunderstood—sister’s line. The old ties run deep, and fate weaveth her tapestry most strangely indeed.”

As you let her hand go, she regarded you with a gentle tilt of her head, her lips curving into a small, knowing smile. “Verily, much hath changed since last we met. Whether for better or ill, I cannot yet say.”

You straightened, shoulders squared despite the humility of your attire and bare feet. “Nimue,” you began, respectful but firm, “I have not called you for counsel. I would like you to know what I am about to do.”

Her gray eyes narrowed slightly, curiosity lighting their depths. “Oh?” she breathed, as soft as the breeze across the pond.

Your heart tensed at the memory of the frim task before you. “I’m going to do what must be done to claim my rightful place as the future leader of the coven. I have to face Vladimir Makarov and take his head,” you said, voice unwavering even as your pulse thundered. “This isn’t a request or a plea. It’s a statement of intent. He dared to make me his prey, and I won’t allow it.”

For a moment, Nimue said nothing. She studied you in the moonlight, her silence weighted with centuries of wisdom and memory. Sybil nudged your leg, and you absently stroked her fur, refusing to break eye contact with the Lady of the Lake.

Nimue finally inclined her head, the faintest ripple spreading across the pond’s surface. “I see thou hast grown indeed,” she said, her tone holding quiet acknowledgment. “Whether thy path leadeth to glory or ruin is not mine to say, but I acknowledge thy choice.”

You released a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “That’s all I needed,” you said quietly. “Just to tell someone beyond the coven’s whispers that I’m about to do this. To mark this moment, as Arthur once did when he knelt at these waters seeking the great sword.”

She smiled again, subtle and distant, as though recalling a memory eons old. The hush of the night pressed in around you, the water reflecting faint starlight and your own resolve.

“Very well,” Nimue concluded softly, “I have borne witness.”

With that, she began to sink beneath the surface, her eyes lingering on you until the last moment before the water stilled, as if she had never emerged. Only the echoes of her voice remained, woven into the quiet darkness.

You sat there for a while. No longer a plea, no longer a question—just a path chosen, a destiny embraced, and an ancient power bearing silent witness to what you would soon become.

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[serpentandlily]

Untouchable VI - Azriel x Reader

Untouchable - Azriel x Rhysand'sSister!Reader

Summary: For as long as you can remember, you have always had feelings for Azriel, your court’s spymaster. But after centuries of watching him pine after your own cousin, hoping he’d eventually move on, your wish came true. He moved on—with Elain, your brother’s mate’s sister. Unable to watch him fall in love with someone else again, you flee from Velaris, from him. But things are a lot more complicated than that—more complicated than you ever imagined.

Warnings: Smut (minors dni pls), angst 

a/n: Once again, thank you for all the love you've given me on this series!! Your comments seriously make my day! Hope you enjoy this one! I think there will be maybe 9-10 parts total for this story, maybe 8 but we'll see. Thanks for reading! <3

➻❥ Part I ➻❥ Part II ➻❥ Part III ➻❥ Part IV ➻❥ Part V

➻❥ Part VI ➻❥ Part VII ➻❥ Part VIII ➻❥ Part IX ➻❥ Part X

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Part VI

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

You weren’t sure how long the two of you stayed like that—knelt on the hardwood floor, staring at each other. Azriel’s eyes were filled with such longing, it seemed like he was trying to will the mating bond to snap between the two of you, to free you both from the torture of his bargain. But…

Nothing.

A small tear escaped from the corner of your eye. All this time you had both longed for each other. Desired, craved, hungered after each other. And it had been your own brother standing in the way, creating the rift between the two of you. 

One of Azriel’s shadows swirled away from him, a small tendril of darkness, and brushed against the side of your cheek, wiping your tears away. You smiled sadly at the cool touch of his shadows, imagining it was his own hand instead. 

Another tendril brushed against your arm in a soothing motion.

You watched them for a moment, swirling around your skin. When you looked back up at Azriel something in his gaze had shifted. 

He stood finally, holding out a hand to help you from the floor. You raised your eyebrows in question as he stared down at you with an intensity that had your cheeks turning pink again. 

The stray shadow brushed against your cheek again, then down your jaw to your throat. You shivered at the feeling and Azriel’s gaze darkened, a new hunger in them that had the butterflies in your stomach returning. 

Azriel stepped closer and wrapped a piece of your hair around his finger. “I just realized something.”

“What is it?” you breathed out.

His face was half lit by the faelights as he stared down at you, still playing with your strand of hair. 

“I might not be able to touch you,” he whispered. “But my shadows can.”

“Huh? What do—”

Azriel hushed you, turning you around to face the mirror on your vanity instead. You stared at him through the mirror in question, but his eyes were roaming your body instead. 

He brushed your hair over to one shoulder and pressed a soft, gentle kiss to the now exposed skin before standing up to his full height, making you feel so small in comparison. 

His eyes met your own and your heart jumped in your chest. Azriel’s hand ghosted up your arm, hovering over your shoulder as he stared at you intently as he ran a finger under the thin strap of your nightgown. Your skin prickled under his touch.

His pupils were blown-out, his once hazel eyes now almost black, as he stared at you with a look that had your thighs clenching together.

Your breath hitched as he began to push down the strap of your nightgown.

"A-Azriel?" 

You tilted your head back to look at him but he grabbed your chin with his other hand and directed your attention back to the mirror. 

"Watch," he commanded, his voice dangerously low. 

It was a thrilling sight, the two of you together. The dimmed faelights in the room bounced off his brown skin, turning him golden and made your violet eyes glow. 

He was the neverending night, the shadow always lurking even during the day, the embodiment of the dark side of the moon. And you were his night-blooming flower, made for his gaze. 

A shiver ran through you as the strap fell down your arm. The other one followed not even a second later. The silk of your nightgown brushed against the pebbled tips of your breasts before it pooled on the ground, leaving you nearly bare in front of the shadowsinger. 

Azriel let out an inhuman growl at the sight of your breasts, his hands fisting at his sides as you watched him restrain himself from touching you. Heat was pooling in your core. You needed him to touch you, needed some relief from the pounding inside of you that begged for him. 

Azriel's shadows cascaded over your shoulders, one swirling away to brush against your jaw, as the others made a path to your bare breasts. Your breath hitched, your back arched, as they lightly brushed against your skin, twirling around each nipple.

You gasped as some broke away to travel down your stomach, to circle around your thighs. The shadows applied more pressure to your breasts and you bit your lip, closing your eyes as you tried to imagine Azriel touching you instead.

Azriel's hand wrapped around your waist, laying flat against your stomach as he yanked you back into his hard chest. You could feel his arousal pressing against your ass causing your heart to spike.

"I told you to watch, Princess,” he purred into your ear.

You whimpered, your eyes flying open to stare at him through the mirror before they lowered to your own body, watching as his shadows spun around you, touching you in the places he had been forbidden to.

A stray shadow stroked against your clothed center, drawing a moan from your lips. Your legs were shaking now, goosebumps covering your skin. You couldn't help but rub against his hardened length, whimpering again.

Azriel let out a grunt that sounded like a mixture of both pleasure and pain, his fingers digging into the skin on your stomach. His hand slipped down to finger the waistband of your lace underwear. He made eye contact with you again. You bit your lip and nodded, knowing what he was asking.

He slowly began to push your underwear down your thighs until it fell to the floor along with your nightgown, leaving you completely naked in front of him. Azriel groaned at the sight.

“Gods, you are so beautiful,” he murmured. Your cheeks heated as he hungrily soaked in the sight of your naked body, feeling vulnerable being so bare in front of him while he was still clothed. 

His shadows swooped in the moment you were unclothed, their cool touch sending fire roaring through your veins. Your chest was heaving up and down with your heavy breaths, the butterflies in your stomach going wild. 

"Azriel," you begged. "Please."

You weren't even sure what you were begging for. But gods, you needed him. Needing him to do something about the ache between your legs, the burning hot desire coursing through you. 

“Please what, Princess?”

His voice made another shiver run through your body. So dark and sensual, just like the shadows roaming over your entire body. 

Tendrils of his shadows crawled up your legs, brushing against your pulsing core and causing you to gasp as a wave of pleasure hit you. 

“I need…” Another gasp as his shadow brushed against your clit. “Gods, Azriel, I need…”

You couldn’t even put it into words, your mind empty because of the pulsating feeling creeping inside of you. 

Azriel’s fingers ghosted over your cheek. “I know, princess.”

You moaned as his shadows continued their assault, stroking your core, circling around that sweet bundle of nerves. You trembled beneath their touch. 

He pressed another kiss to your bare shoulder before lifting you into his arms and taking you to the bed. He laid you down gently, so softly as if you were the most precious thing in the world to him. 

He stood at the end of the bed, his eyes raking in the sight of you flushed with pleasure and laid bare before him. “Gods, what I wouldn’t give to touch you right now,” Azriel mumbled.

You wished more than anything that he could. You needed him. 

More shadows cascaded down his body and fluttered to you, encasing you in swirls of darkness. Your arms were yanked above your head, your wrists pinned down to the mattress by his shadows. You whimpered as his shadows swept over your breasts again, your stomach, your thighs. 

Azriel reached forward to spread your legs apart, a groan leaving his lips at the sight of your glistening center. His hands left you far too quickly and you bit your lip, staring at him. His wings were spread wide, his hair tousled against his forehead, his gaze dark. He was straining against his pants, his own hand palming his dick to ease the pressure. 

His shadows skimmed your thighs and hip bones until they met together at your core, stroking against your clit and your entrance. You writhed, still encased by his other shadows, and mewled at the touch of his shadow hands. 

“Fuck, Princess,” Azriel growled as he watched the shadows he controlled continue their assault on you. He quickly undid the ties to his pants, pushing them down and pulling his dick free and standing between your legs. He stroked himself as he watched his shadows ravish your body.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head at the sight of how large he was, at the image in your mind of him fucking you. 

“Keep your eyes open,” Azriel ordered, his voice filled with a dominance that only further increased the fire inside of you. “I want you to look at me while I make you cry.” 

Your eyes shot open, meeting his feral gaze. You groaned at the sight of him touching himself to the image of his shadows ravaging your body. The pleasure was almost unbearable and you could feel your orgasm building quickly as his shadows swirled around your clit, teased your entrance, over and over again. 

“Faster,” he commanded his shadows, who were all too happy to oblige, as he fisted his cock. 

Your eyes trailed over Azriel, over his beautiful, devastating face, the muscles in his arms clenching as he stroked himself, his huge wings twitching. He looked like a fallen angel standing before you as he used his shadows to push you further and further to the edge.

“You couldn’t even imagine the things I wish to do to you, Princess,” he groaned as you continued to wither on the bed, moaning in a pool of his shadows. “How I would ruin you, make you forget your own name.”

“Azriel,” you mewled. “Please, I…don’t stop.” 

You arched off the bed. Your skin was on fire. Each stroke of his shadows over your breasts, thighs, down your center, around your clit. It was too much. You were falling. 

“Fuck. That’s it, Princess,” he grunted, his own hand moving faster. “Let my shadows make you come for me.” 

His words pushed you over the edge, your vision nearly going white, as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through your body. You mumbled his name over and over again as lightning shot through your body. Your back arched off the bed, your arms strained against the shadows holding you down.

And then you went limp, panting as you came down from your high. Azriel was cursing under his breath, stroking himself faster and faster, his gaze on your dripping core. You sat up, still breathing heavily. You wanted nothing more than to touch him, to make him come. But you couldn’t. Not without causing him pain.

But you had your own arsenal of powers, you realized.

“Close your eyes, Azriel,” you purred. He met your gaze, the absolute longing in his eyes caused your heart to ache. He did as you said and you closed your own, stroking a claw made of darkness against his mental barrier.

He let you in without hesitation. 

You couldn’t touch him in the real world. But here, through the connection in your minds…

You painted him a beautiful picture of you on your knees before him, staring up at him through your lashes as he continued to stroke himself. You licked your lips before replacing his hands with your own. He let out a loud groan, causing you to smile.

You slowly leaned forward until your lips brushed against his tip. You stuck your tongue out, swirling around the head of his dick. He cursed at the image you were putting in his head, his hand moving faster and faster.

You opened your mouth and took him in as far as you could, gagging as his tip touched the back of his throat. You started to bob your head, still looking at him through your lashes as you sucked him off. You showed him gripping your hair with his hands and pushing your head to meet his thrusts, fucking your face, as tears pooled in your eyes. 

He had already been so turned on watching his shadows destroy you that he knew he wouldn’t last long. 

Just as you felt him drawing closer and closer to the edge, his moans increasing, his thrusts becoming sloppy with no rhythm, you left his mind. His eyes shot open and he cursed at the sight of you kneeling on the bed before him.

He released an unholy moan, chanting your name, as he came. His hot seed shot all over your chest, marking you with his essence. 

You watched him ride out his orgasm until his hands slowed down and fell limp at his sides. You magicked yourself clean before rising. Azriel let out another curse, still panting, as he rested his forehead against yours. 

You both were silent for a moment, soaking in the tender aftermath of what had undoubtedly changed the relationship between the two of you forever. 

“The things I wish to do to you right now, Princess” he grunted, chest still heaving. “If…if only I could touch you.”

“I will find a way to break this bargain, Azriel,” you breathed out. “I will. This can’t be it for us. I..I refuse.” 

You would read every single book in the library under the house of wind if you had to. The King of Hybern had been able to break your brother’s bargain with Feyre. There had to be other instances of bargains being broken. 

“We can’t… we can’t tell your brother about this,” Azriel muttered. “If he were to find out, he’d send me away from you.” 

You wanted nothing more than to march to your brother’s office and rip him a new one. But that still wouldn’t break the bargain. And depending on how irrational Rhys was, it might just make things worse. Azriel was right, he might send him away. 

“We keep it a secret for now,” you agreed. “No one has to know.”

“I’m…I’m so sorry,” Azriel mumbled. “I should’ve never done this to us.”

“It’s not your fault, Azriel. How could you have known?”

“I should’ve known. Even then, my feelings towards you were so consuming. I should’ve known they’d never go away. I don’t care if we’re not mates. I love you. I always have and I always will, even if we cannot be together. Even if I must go the rest of my life without laying a single hand on you.” 

Your heart broke at his declaration and confession. You sighed, closing your eyes. 

“I love you too, Azriel. We’ll figure this out. I promise.” 

He nodded, finally pulling away but you reached for his hand. “Stay, please?”

“Always,” he murmured back.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Prince Cedric pulled you aside the next morning after breakfast as his servants were gathering your luggage. He had asked for a quick moment alone and despite Azriel’s disagreement, you sent him away. Still he stayed within eyesight. 

“So, I’m sure your brother has informed you of my true intentions towards you, Princess,” Cedric said with a soft smile on his face. 

“He has,” you answered, quietly. You had been dreading this moment since you came. 

“Have you made a decision yet?”

You genuinely felt bad for the Prince. He had been nothing but kind to you since you had known him. Had treated you well your entire stay. But none of it was ever going to matter. Your heart laid with Azriel and Azriel alone.

“Prince Cedric,” you started, then paused trying to find a way to word your answer politely. “I do appreciate how kind you have treated me these last few days but you must understand, it is a big decision to make. To leave my family and live so far away—”

“It’s okay, Princess. You don’t need to make any excuses. I’m not blind nor dumb. Just perhaps a tad bit too hopeful.”

“What—”

“It’s the shadowsinger, right?” he said with a sad smile. “He’s the one who’s truly won over your heart, hasn’t he?”

You stumbled over your words, eyes widening. Had it been so obvious? You had tried very hard this morning to scrub yourself clean of his scent. 

“It’s okay,” he continued quickly, raising his hands in surrender. “Your secret is safe with me though I do feel a bit of jealousy towards him, I must admit. You would’ve made a beautiful queen.”

“Cedric, I-I don’t want you to think I’ve led you on. I did want to get to know you, to see if we had a connection. But—”

“But the heart wants what the heart wants. I understand, y/n. I would not want to take a wife who longs for another anyway.”

You bowed your head, still feeling a bit guilty.

“I did truly enjoy my time here, Cedric. I will look back on it fondly, despite how it turned out.”

“Me too, Princess,” he replied with a smile. “My castle doors will always be open for you, even as a friend.”

“Thank you, Cedric,” you smiled. “I hope you will still consider an alliance with my brother.”

“I will be in touch,” he confirmed with a nod of his head.

You said your goodbyes after that before it was finally time to return home, back to the Night Court.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

A few weeks went by. You scourged the library for any books that talked about bargains and bonds, exhausting yourself with your research. Azriel helped when he could, though he wasn’t always around, so as to not draw attention to what the two of you were doing.

You couldn’t help but give your brother a bit of a cold shoulder. You felt betrayed by him. You had always known he was protective, but this had crossed the line. You spent more nights at the Moonstone Palace, claiming you had work to do regarding the Court of Nightmares, which wasn’t entirely a lie.

It made being with Azriel easier. Each night he snuck into your room and left before the sun came up, just in case anyone decided to drop by. A rose was always resting on your bedside table in lieu of his presence when you’d wake up alone. 

But it was hard even being together. It was agony to barely be able to touch each other, for Azriel to have to endure pain for as long as he could just to kiss you or to stroke your cheek. Your daemati powers and his shadows had been useful but it was nothing like being able to truly touch each other.

You were not going to give up. You would find a way to break the bargain. You had promised after all.

But part of you began to doubt how long this could go on. Would Azriel grow tired of only ever using his shadows with you? Would he resent you? So many questions like that swarmed your head despite Azriel trying to assure you that he only wanted you.

Hiding your relationship didn’t help with that either. Elain was still enamored with Azriel, still followed him around like a lost puppy dog. You had to clench your fist every time you were in a room with the two of them despite Azriel not reciprocating her feelings or entertaining them. 

That didn’t stop her from constantly sitting near him, resting her hands on him, batting her eyelashes in his direction. It caused something vile to coil in your stomach every time you had to watch her brush her fingers against his, rest a hand on his arm.

It was just a reminder that you couldn’t do that. That every touch you gave him resulted in pain.

And that part of you that was insecure wondered if Azriel would eventually give in to her. After all, he could touch her, feel her, do whatever he wanted with her…unlike you. 

Elain could make him feel pleasure without the curse of pain being attached. She could touch him, fuck him, do all sorts of things to him. Things you couldn’t.

How long could he truly go without the touch of another? What if the bargain could never be broken? 

You let out a sigh, dropping your head against the book you were currently reading about bargains. So far, nothing had been useful and you just wanted to scream and scream. 

“You should take a break.”

You jumped, surprised at the sudden voice in the room. You lifted your head to see Azriel leaning against the doorframe that led out to your balcony. Behind him came the noise of music and laughter as dusk was falling and the people of Velaris were coming alive into the night. 

“I still haven’t been able to find anything about breaking bargains. You’d think it would be a more popular subject.” 

Azriel strided towards you until he was next to where you sat in your chair at your desk. 

“It is a taboo topic,” Azriel replied. “Bargains are magic bound by the Cauldron. Breaking them goes against the Mother, or so it’s thought.” 

“Being able to make them in the first place seems to be against the Mother,” you mumbled under your breath. Because how could a stupid bargain be keeping you from being with the one you loved? That didn’t seem very divine. 

Azriel grabbed your chair and twisted it so you faced him, moving you as if you weighed nothing. You let out a small noise of surprise. 

Azriel kissed the top of your head, stroking your hair. “Just take a break, Princess. You’ve been at it for so long today. You’re going to drive yourself mad.” 

You let out a huff before a feline grin spread across your face. 

“I suppose you might be able to convince me to take a break,” you purred, looking up at him through your lashes. 

You stroked a claw against his mental shields and showed him a pretty image of you bent over the desk while he took you from behind. 

Azriel’s gaze instantly darkened as he groaned, his shadows swimming around him like they were already anticipating being used. He smirked, leaning down to whisper in your ear, “I can do more than convince you, Princess.”

Azriel balanced himself with his hands on the back of your chair and leaned down to kiss you on your lips causing butterflies to erupt inside your stomach. 

Your eyes fluttered shut, your chest already heaving as his lips met yours. 

A knock against your door had the two of you flying apart. Your eyes widened as you stared at Azriel.

“Dove, it’s me.”

You mouthed a curse at the sound of your brother’s voice. The door started to creak open. 

“Hide,” you whispered to Azriel.

He was already sinking into his shadows just as the door to your room flew open. Your heart was still pounding as your brother strode in, his eyes falling on you. He raised an eyebrow.

“Was someone else in here just now? I could’ve sworn I heard another voice.”

“And I could’ve sworn I locked my door,” you grumbled, smoothing your hair down. 

His eyes darted around the room and his nostrils flared. You saw the immediate realization as he recognized Azriel’s scent. 

“Azriel was here just a minute ago,” you hastily answered. “He was dropping off some books for me.” 

“Books? What for?”

As he walked closer, you slammed the book on your desk shut, not wanting him to see the section you had been reading. 

“Just some stuff I’m doing research on to do with Hewn City.” 

Rhys’s eyes narrowed but he didn’t say anything else about it thankfully. 

“Well, tell Azriel the next time he drops something off for you, he can come through the front door,” your brother said, crossing his arms over his chest.

You bristled at his tone, the hidden frustrations you had with him breaking through for a second as you snapped back, “What does it matter?”

“It matters because I needed to discuss something with him and it would’ve been nice to know he had dropped by.” Rhys gave you a look, one you knew all too well. 

Rhys’s eyes roamed over you, then darted around your room again. “Does Azriel make it a habit coming into your room at night?”

“No,” you answered quickly. “You’re the one who made him my personal guard. I don’t need a guard in Velaris so he helps me in other ways, like fetching books from the library for me.” 

“Fine. Well if Azriel decides to come around again, send him to my office.”

You only nodded in response, trying to hide your anger. You had to play this game for now. You wouldn’t ruin what little you and Azriel had. “Is there a reason you barged into my room?”

“We’re working on a new trade deal with Thesan and I need an update on how much iron they’re mining on average each month in the Court of Nightmares.”

“Alright, I’ll work on a report for you and Feyre. Is that all?”

Rhys raised an eyebrow. “So eager to get rid of me, dove? What’s gotten into you lately?”

“Nothing.”

Rhys waited for you to keep speaking but you refused. You were still so angry with him and you knew if you kept talking, there was a chance it’d all spill out. 

“Nothing? That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”

“What do you want me to say, Rhys? There’s nothing wrong.”

“Bullshit. You’ve been acting strange for a few weeks now. What’s going on with you?”

“Like I said, nothing. I’ve just been busy. I did ask for more responsibility, after all.” You crossed your arms over your chest and leaned back in your chair, trying to give off a casual demeanor. 

“Being busy doesn’t account for your snappy mood.”

You scoffed. “Well, maybe I’m just tired of you hovering over my shoulder all the time! Gods forbid you let me handle things on my own once in a while.” 

Rhys took a step back as your words hit him. You expected anger but we’re shocked to see a bit of guilt and sadness cloud his face. “Okay, okay. I know I’ve been overbearing. I’m sorry, dove, I just…it’s hard not to see you as the little girl I took care of all those years.”

You sighed, not expecting this. Perhaps you had been right when you told Azriel that the two of you should go to Rhys. Maybe he would be open to helping you both try to find a way to break the bond…maybe it was a mistake to hide it from him.

“I know, Rhysie, I just…I want to feel like I’ve done something important on my own for once, alright?”

“Okay,” Rhys said, holding his hands up in surrender. “I’ll leave you alone.”

He made to leave finally and you let out a small breath of relief.

“Oh, and we’re having a family dinner tomorrow night at the House of Wind. Helion will be attending as well so wear something nice,” Rhys said, moving back towards your door. 

“Alright, I will,” you answered, wanting him to just go already. 

He paused with his hand on your doorknob, looking back at you for a moment. “I love you, little dove. I know you said nothing is wrong but I hope you know you can come to me about anything. I will always help you in any way I can.”

“I know, Rhysie. I love you too.”

He nodded, seeming satisfied for the moment and left finally, closing the door shut behind him. You flicked a wrist to lock it with magic, as well as put a shield around the room.

A smile overcame your face as Azriel stepped out of the shadows. You were worried that your brother had killed his mood, would send him running but thankfully, Rhys hadn’t seemed to deter him at all. In fact, the thrill of it all seemed to only spur him on more.

He strided to you and locked you in a passionate kiss that had you gasping, his tongue immediately claiming your mouth. 

When he pulled back to look at you, he was grinning wolfishly. “So, where were we?”

You giggled as he lifted you off your chair and sat you down on your desk. You looped your arms around his neck, carefully to touch him as minimally as you could. “I believe you were about to convince me to take a break with you.”

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

“I told you. I couldn’t get her alone. That fucking shadowsinger wouldn’t let her out of his sight. Though now I know it’s because he’s fucking her.”

“I don’t care for your excuses, Princeling. I told you to bring me the girl. That was our deal.” 

“What’s so special about her anyways? Certainly there’s something else I can do for you, something else you need.”

The other male studied the Prince for a moment until the younger male seemed to cringe under his stare, slight fear in his eyes. 

“If you must know, the moment she stepped foot on these lands I felt the spike of power coming from her and I knew I had to add her to my collection. You want my help overthrowing the King, you bring me that girl.”

The prince sighed, frustrated. “And how do you suppose I do that? She’s being watched like a hawk by both her brother and the shadowsinger.”

“That’s your problem to figure out. You have your own magic, no? Time to get clever, Princeling. My patience is running out.”

Prince Cedric clenched his jaw but nodded, knowing it wise to not argue with the sorcerer. 

Koschei gave him one last look before retreating into the shadows leaving the Prince standing alone at the shore of his lake. 

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

a/n: sooooo, I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter!! hahah What do we think the prince is gonna do to kidnap our girlieee? and do you think she should tell Rhys what's going on with Azriel? Do we think her brother has regrets about making that bargain and would actually try to help them break the bond? hmmm who could possibly know

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[midnight-shadow-cafe]

Beneath the Shadows

Pairings: Poly 141 x shepherd’s daughter! Medic! reader

Warnings: Character injuries, Forbidden Romance, Spice

Authors Note: I love yall, enjoy!

Word Count: 2.3k

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

The scent of antiseptic filled the med tent, a mix of blood and metal laced with tension. You, as the head medic, had become accustomed to the chaos of the battlefield, patching up the bodies of soldiers who risked their lives daily. But nothing could have prepared you for the sight of them—Task Force 141, wounded and barely holding on, brought back from a mission gone terribly wrong. Your father’s squad, his most trusted men, and the very soldiers he had banned from being near you in any personal way.

Task Force 141 had always been more than just a team—they were a unit, bound together by trust, camaraderie, and the intense experiences that only those on the battlefield could understand. Their connection had grown over time, transforming from friendship into something deeper, a bond that went far beyond what any military regulation could define. Soap, Ghost, Price, and Gaz shared more than just missions; they shared a life, a relationship forged in the fires of combat and kept secret in the shadows of duty. They were already each other’s in every way that mattered, an unspoken understanding between them that their love, though unconventional, was unwavering.

And yet, as you laid eyes on them, Soap’s broad frame slumped against the door, Price’s commanding figure catching his breath, Gaz wincing in pain, and Ghost—silent as ever, blood seeping through the fabric of his gear—you felt something stir deep inside you. You’d always been drawn to them, in ways you knew you shouldn’t.

“Let me help you,” you said, your voice steady though your heart raced.

“Do your worst, lass,” Soap replied, his voice laced with a cocky grin despite the deep wound in his shoulder.

You couldn’t help but smile back, but the danger of what you were doing weighed heavily on your mind. General Shepard had always made it clear: his daughter was off-limits. He had issued threats before, warning that anyone who even looked at you the wrong way would be dealt with. But even Shepard couldn’t control everything—not the chemistry, not the quiet looks you exchanged with the men of 141 when your father wasn’t watching.

They were all tough, hardened soldiers, but here, in the confines of the med tent, they were vulnerable. And something about that pulled you in closer, even as you worked to patch them up.

The room was dimly lit, and you found yourself alone with them after hours of frantic stitching and disinfecting wounds. Ghost sat still, his mask hiding most of his face, but you could feel the weight of his gaze as you worked on his arm. His voice was quiet, almost soft beneath the rasp.

“You should be careful, y’know. We aren’t supposed to get this close.”

You knew the truth in his words, but the warmth of his skin beneath your fingers and the way he shifted ever so slightly towards you made it hard to think straight. You bit your lip, trying to focus, but the weight of his presence was intoxicating.

“I’m just doing my job,” you replied, though it felt like a half-truth. You could feel his breath, warm against your wrist as you adjusted the bandage. Every movement was calculated, but there was something undeniably electric in the air between you. It wasn’t the first time.

His gloved hand reached up, just brushing your waist, so lightly that you almost missed it. “You’re dangerous, you know that?”

You swallowed, your pulse quickening as you glanced over at the others. Price had dozed off in the corner, exhaustion overtaking him, and Gaz had his eyes closed, chest rising and falling slowly, though you doubted he was asleep. Only Soap seemed to notice, his sharp blue eyes flicking toward you and Ghost.

“I think we’re the ones in danger, mate,” Soap muttered under his breath, the teasing note in his voice enough to make you flush.

The next few days were a blur of stitching wounds, checking vitals, and avoiding your father’s looming presence as much as possible. The men healed quickly—quicker than you expected—but as they grew stronger, the tension between all of you only thickened. Each stolen glance, every accidental touch, felt heavier, more charged.

One evening, you found yourself alone with Soap. His shoulder had healed enough that he could move around freely, though you still insisted on checking his bandages. His humor had never dulled, but tonight there was something else in his eyes—something darker, deeper.

“You know,” Soap said, his voice a low rumble, “you’re always takin’ care of us, patching us up. But who’s patching you up, lass?”

The question caught you off guard. You stilled, your fingers resting against his bare shoulder. His skin was warm beneath your touch, the rough texture of scars mapping his muscles. He had always been charming, playful, but there was something different now—an edge to his voice that sent a shiver down your spine.

“I don’t need patching up,” you whispered, but even you didn’t believe it.

Soap’s hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly across your skin. His eyes locked with yours, and for a moment, the world outside the tent didn’t exist. No war, no mission, no rules. Just you and him.

“You’ve no idea how much I’ve wanted to kiss you,” he said, his voice barely more than a breath. “But your father…”

You froze, torn between the pull of his words and the reality of the situation. You’d wanted this too, but Shepard’s shadow hung over every thought, every action. If anyone found out…

Soap’s thumb moved to your lips, and you leaned into the touch despite yourself. “Tell me to stop,” he whispered, but the tension in his voice told you he didn’t want to hear that.

“I can’t…” you whispered back, though your resolve was fading with every heartbeat.

The forbidden encounters didn’t end there. Price was more cautious, keeping his distance, but his gaze lingered on you longer than it should have. He was the leader, after all—the one who would bear the brunt of your father’s wrath if things went too far. But that didn’t stop him from finding you late one night, after the others had gone to sleep.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he said, his voice low and gravelly as he cornered you outside the tent. The night air was cool against your skin, but his proximity made it hard to breathe.

“You don’t have to say it,” you replied, trying to maintain some sense of professionalism, though your heart was pounding in your chest.

Price’s hand came up to cup the back of your neck, pulling you close enough that you could feel the heat of his breath against your lips. “I’m saying it because I care,” he growled, his lips brushing against yours ever so slightly. “If he finds out…”

“I know,” you whispered, your resolve crumbling as your lips met his in a heated kiss. His mouth was demanding, urgent, as if he knew this could be the only moment you would ever have. The taste of whiskey lingered on his breath, mingling with the scent of smoke and leather, and you melted into him, every thought of consequence slipping away.

It wasn’t long before everything started to unravel. The tension had grown too thick, too palpable, and the others noticed. Gaz, who had always been the quiet observer, finally cornered you one afternoon, his eyes filled with both understanding and frustration.

“You can’t keep doing this,” he said, though there was no anger in his voice—only concern.

“I don’t have a choice,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.

But you knew the truth. You did have a choice. You could stop. You could pull away from all of them, follow the rules, and return to your father’s world of safety and order. But the thought of losing them—Soap’s teasing grin, Ghost’s quiet strength, Price’s intensity, Gaz’s steady presence—was unbearable.

That night, when Ghost found you sitting alone outside the camp, he didn’t say a word. He simply sat beside you, the weight of his presence comforting in its silence. After a long while, he spoke, his voice barely audible beneath his mask.

“If you stay, you’ll have to choose.”

You looked at him, your heart aching. “I don’t want to choose.”

His gloved hand rested on yours, warm and steady. “You might not have a choice.”

In the end, you knew the truth. The path you were walking was dangerous, but it was the only one that felt real. You couldn’t imagine a life without them, even if it meant defying your father, breaking the rules, and risking everything.

You made your choice that night beneath the stars, your hand still resting in Ghost’s. It was a choice born not just of passion, but of something deeper—a connection that went beyond the battlefield, beyond the rules of war and family. And as you walked back into the camp, ready to face whatever consequences came your way, you knew one thing for certain:

You were no longer Shepard’s daughter, bound by his rules.

You were your own person.

And you were theirs.

Days passed, but the tension between you and the men of Task Force 141 never eased. Every touch, every shared glance only deepened the connection that had been growing since the moment you first patched them up. Despite General Shepard’s ever-watchful eye, the bond between you and the team had become undeniable.

It was Ghost who broke the silence first. One evening, long after the camp had quieted down and the shadows of night had draped themselves over the tents, he found you again. This time, there were no words exchanged, only a shared understanding. His hand slipped into yours beneath the stars, the cool leather of his gloves warm against your skin. It was a simple gesture, but it spoke volumes. He wasn’t alone this time. Soap, Price, and Gaz emerged from the darkness, standing together in solidarity.

“We’re done hiding,” Price said, his voice steady but filled with conviction. His eyes, dark and intense, locked with yours, and there was no hesitation in them. “We’ve been through hell and back, and we’re not letting this slip through our fingers because of a few orders.”

Soap grinned, that mischievous spark lighting up his eyes. “Aye, love. We’re not the kind to follow rules anyway.”

You felt your heart swell in your chest, the warmth of their presence, their resolve, surrounding you like a shield. They had always been fearless on the battlefield, but this—standing up against General Shepard, against the very regulations that bound them—was a risk none of you could ignore. Still, you knew you couldn’t walk away from them now, not when you’d seen what you could be together.

Ghost’s quiet voice broke the silence. “You’re one of us now.”

His words hit you like a wave, a confirmation of something you’d felt for a long time but had never dared to name. This wasn’t just some fleeting attraction. It was deeper, a bond forged not only in passion but in trust, respect, and the shared understanding that only came from fighting the same battles side by side.

You looked at each of them—Soap’s playful grin, Price’s steady gaze, Gaz’s soft smile, and Ghost’s silent strength—and you knew, without a doubt, that this was where you were meant to be. No matter the consequences.

The day came when General Shepard’s suspicions grew too strong to ignore. You had always been careful—each stolen kiss, each secret night spent in their arms was hidden away behind layers of duty and discipline—but Shepard wasn’t a fool. He knew his men, and he knew you.

When he finally confronted you, his voice was a growl, eyes blazing with fury. “I told them to stay away from you. I made it clear. How could you do this?”

But you didn’t flinch. For the first time, standing in front of your father, you felt no fear. The weight of his authority, his rank, meant nothing compared to the love you had found in the arms of Task Force 141. “Because I love them,” you said, your voice calm but unyielding. “And they love me.”

The silence that followed was suffocating, but you held your ground. In the end, Shepard couldn’t bring himself to punish you or the men. The bond between you all was unbreakable, and not even his orders could tear it apart. He turned his back, bitter but resigned, knowing that some battles, even for a general, couldn’t be won.

In the weeks that followed, the shift in your relationship became impossible to hide, but it didn’t matter. The secrecy, the sneaking around—it was all over. You were theirs, and they were yours. The camp might have whispered, but no one dared say a word against you or Task Force 141. They were legends in their own right, and now, so were you.

You woke one morning to find yourself entangled in their arms, warmth surrounding you. Soap’s body pressed against your back, his arm slung lazily over your waist. On the other side, Ghost lay silent, his breath steady as he rested beside you, his hand resting gently on your shoulder. Price sat at the edge of the bedroll, sipping his coffee as the early morning light filtered into the tent, while Gaz stirred sleepily beside him.

It was a strange, beautiful thing—the way you fit into their world, and they into yours. There was no need for words, no need for explanations. You were a part of them now, just as they were a part of you. The love between you wasn’t bound by convention or tradition, but it was real, and that was all that mattered.

And as you drifted back to sleep, surrounded by their warmth and the quiet strength of their presence, you knew one thing for certain: you were home.

Hope you enjoyed! Please like or reblog!- Midnight💜

[novaursa]

The Last Dance

- Summary: The Dance of the Dragons is over. You and Aegon finally find peace.

- Pairing: twin!sister reader/Aegon II Targaryen

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is twin sister and wife to Aegon II, and is bonded with dragon called Starfyre. These events happen right after The Searing Flame. To read all of the chapters in chronological order, or more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 5 119

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

- A/N: This is the chapter that finalizes this series. That being said, there will be more twin!reader/Aegon II stories to fill the gaps.

The air is filled with the scent of salt and smoke as you stand on the balcony of Dragonstone, the sea churning below in restless waves. The horizon is cast in hues of deep purple and amber as dusk sets in, but your attention is wholly on the sky, where two golden streaks dart through the twilight. You feel Aegon’s presence beside you, a warmth against the cool stone at your back. His scarred arm is under your hand, his skin rough and uneven beneath your touch, a harsh reminder of Rook’s Rest and the countless betrayals that led you here.

Yet there’s still strength in him, a burning defiance that never faded even after all the wounds. You rest your head on his shoulder, feeling the tension in his muscles, the way he seems to hold his breath as he watches Sunfyre and Starfyre circle above. It’s not just the raw power of your dragons that grips him—no, this is something more primal. It's the joy of seeing them together again, as they were always meant to be: siblings, mates, war-dragons forged in the heat of fire and vengeance.

“There,” Aegon murmurs, his voice low, strained. He points to a shadow in the clouds—Grey Ghost. The wild dragon had stayed hidden for so long, slipping through the cracks of Dragonstone’s defenses, but not tonight. Sunfyre and Starfyre had scented him out, and now there would be no escape.

You tighten your grip on Aegon’s arm, feeling the thrill of it, a dark satisfaction blooming in your chest. The shadow resolves into a shape—a dirty, scarred creature with wings tattered from battles long lost. Grey Ghost is no match for your dragons, but he’s quick, darting between clouds, trying to outmaneuver the gleaming pair that pursue him.

Starfyre leads the chase, her silvery form a flash of brilliance in the twilight, her scales glimmering like starlight against the darkening sky. The alabaster undershine of her wings catches the last of the sun’s rays as she twists and turns, a deadly dance that lures Grey Ghost into false confidence. Her movements are elegant, fluid—every beat of her wings purposeful, calculated. The Star Dame, as you’ve come to call her in the intimacy of your thoughts, is a creature born of night and light, her presence both ethereal and deadly.

Sunfyre is close behind her, a shimmering blaze of gold that seems almost unnatural in its brilliance. The awkward bend in his healed wing does nothing to diminish his ferocity—if anything, it makes him all the more terrifying, a creature that defies the laws of nature, a king among dragons that should have been crippled but refused to be. His roar echoes across the sky, a sound of pure fury that reverberates through your chest, making your heart race.

“They hunt as one,” you whisper, awe lacing your words. You lift your head from Aegon’s shoulder to look up at him, catching the gleam of pride in his eyes. “It’s beautiful.”

Aegon’s mouth curves into a small, crooked smile, a hint of the man he was before the war marred him. “Beautiful, yes. But more than that—vengeance.” He says the last word with a bitterness that lingers in the air. Sunfyre and Starfyre had been denied their chance to fight side by side for too long, much like the two of you. But now, the skies belong to them again, as they should.

You don’t respond, letting the sight before you speak for itself. Starfyre suddenly plummets, diving at a steep angle that seems reckless until Grey Ghost veers, startled by her speed. It’s then that Sunfyre strikes, a burst of flame searing the air as he barrels into Grey Ghost from above, jaws snapping at the smaller dragon’s neck. Grey Ghost shrieks, a sound full of desperation as he tries to shake free, but Sunfyre holds on, his talons digging deep into flesh.

Starfyre swoops in, her silvery wings flaring as she joins the fray, her jaws clamping down on one of Grey Ghost’s wings. You watch as she tears through it with merciless precision, ripping membrane and bone with a single twist of her head. Blood sprays across the sky, dark and ominous, and Grey Ghost’s struggles grow frantic, but they’re futile. Starfyre and Sunfyre tear into him together, a dance of coordinated destruction that speaks of deep, intrinsic connection.

“Together, they’re unstoppable,” you breathe, unable to tear your gaze away. You feel Aegon’s fingers intertwine with yours, his grip tight and possessive. He’s watching them too, but you know he’s seeing more than just dragons tearing apart a weaker foe—he’s seeing the future, the strength you still hold, the power you’ll wield together to take back what was stolen from you.

When Grey Ghost finally falls, his body torn and mangled, he drops like a stone into the sea below. You both watch in silence as the waves claim him, dragging him under until he’s nothing more than a memory.

Starfyre and Sunfyre wheel in the air, circling each other before flying back towards the keep. The bond between them is palpable, a mirror of your own with Aegon. Sunfyre’s awkward wingbeat matches Aegon’s own struggles, while Starfyre’s radiant strength reflects the resilience you’ve both clung to, even in the face of loss. The dragons’ victory is your victory, and as they draw closer, you feel a sense of unity, of destiny.

Aegon turns to you then, his scarred face shadowed but his eyes burning with resolve. “We will reclaim what is ours, Y/N,” he says, his voice a quiet promise. “With our dragons, with our strength—we will not be broken.”

You meet his gaze, and there’s a fierce pride in your chest as you nod. “We are not broken, Aegon,” you reply softly, but with steel in your tone. “We are fire and blood.”

As the night closes in, the sky dark and filled with stars, you stand together in silence, hand in hand. Sunfyre and Starfyre land on the courtyard below, their golden and silver scales gleaming even in the dim light. They are kings and queens among dragons, just as you and Aegon are meant to be.

And as long as they soar, so will you.

The dread in the throne room is thick enough to choke on as you stand beside Aegon, your hand resting lightly on Daena’s shoulder while Baelon clutches the edge of your gown. The echo of footsteps and clinking chains resound through the stone chamber as Alfred Broome and his men drag the remnants of Rhaenyra’s forces into the hall. They are bruised, bloodied, and defeated—a pale reflection of the power Rhaenyra once held. Among them, her young son Aegon clings to her, his eyes wide with fear as he takes in the fearsome sight of the dragons looming in the distance outside, their golden and silver forms visible through the open arches.

Sunfyre and Starfyre wait like harbingers of death, gleaming in the twilight.

You feel Aegon’s arm tense beside you, a flicker of pain passing through him from his old wounds. But there’s more than just physical pain here—there’s a deep, simmering rage that’s been brewing since the moment Blood and Cheese ripped your family apart. You and Aegon have been waiting for this moment, dreaming of it in your darkest hours. And now, it’s finally here.

Rhaenyra is forced to her knees before you, her once-proud visage a mask of defiance even in chains. She looks older than you remember, her face gaunt and hollow, but her eyes still blaze with the stubborn arrogance that led her here. Her remaining Queensguard lie dead, slain by your forces as they tried to resist one last time. There is no one left to protect her.

You meet her gaze with cold satisfaction, leaning forward slightly as you speak, your voice sharp as a blade. “We have long awaited this moment, Rhaenyra. Ever since you sent those assassins to kill our sons—two innocent boys, slaughtered because of your ambition.”

Rhaenyra’s lips tremble, but she doesn’t back down. “My sons died as well, Y/N,” she retorts, her voice shaking with fury. “Jace, Luke, Viserys… you cannot know that pain.”

“You dare to compare?” Aegon’s voice cuts through the air like the crack of a whip, silencing her. He steps forward, the limp from his injury barely noticeable as his anger gives him strength. “This war began because you could never let go of our father’s lies. He promised you the throne, and you clung to that entitlement like a drowning woman clutches driftwood.”

Rhaenyra opens her mouth to speak, but Aegon doesn’t let her. “You speak of your lost sons as if their deaths were a justification for your madness, but it was your own hubris that led them to the grave. If you had shown even a hint of reason, none of this would have happened. Y/N and I never wanted the crown. We only wanted to love each other and grow old with our children. But the crown was pushed onto us—pushed by your ambition and vanity.”

Your heart twists as you think of the peaceful life you and Aegon could have had, far from the bloodshed, if only Rhaenyra had accepted the reality of your father’s death that relinquished her claims. But that was never an option for her, was it? Pride, ambition, and greed had consumed her until there was nothing left but this hollow shell of a queen.

Rhaenyra’s defiance cracks then, her eyes filling with desperation. “Please, Aegon—Y/N—my son—”

But Aegon’s gaze hardens. “It’s too late for pleas, Rhaenyra. Your choices have brought us to this point, and now they will swallow us all. Even your precious children.”

You see the flicker of fear in her eyes, the realization that there will be no mercy here. This is no place for mercy. This is retribution.

With a nod from Aegon, the great doors are opened, and Sunfyre’s golden form stalks into the throne room, his scales gleaming like molten gold in the torchlight. His eyes are locked on Rhaenyra, filled with a burning hunger that reflects the rage in Aegon’s heart. Starfyre follows him, her silvery wings brushing the stone walls as she moves with lethal grace, her pale blue undershine glowing like moonlight on water.

Rhaenyra tries to scramble back, pulling her son behind her, but she is chained, her movements futile. “No… please… not like this…”

The lords and ladies captured alongside her begin to cry out in terror as they realize what��s about to happen, but their voices are drowned out by the low, rumbling growl from Sunfyre. Aegon takes a step forward, his voice cold and resolute as he gives the command that seals his half-sister’s fate. “Dracarys.”

Sunfyre’s roar is deafening as flames erupt from his maw, engulfing Rhaenyra in a searing blaze. Her screams are short-lived, drowned in a cacophony of dragonfire and crackling flesh. Starfyre joins in, her breath cold and silver, mixing with Sunfyre’s golden flames in a mesmerizing yet horrifying display of raw power.

The smell of burning flesh and melting metal fills the air as the dragons tear into what remains of Rhaenyra, their jaws snapping and rending flesh. The lords and ladies bound beside her wail in despair, some of them collapsing to the floor as they are forced to watch the gruesome feast. Elinda Massey’s shrieks are especially piercing as she claws at her own eyes, unable to bear the sight.

But it isn’t over. Not yet.

Young Aegon, Rhaenyra’s last remaining son, stands paralyzed with terror, his small body trembling as he stares up at the dragons. You feel a pang of pity—he’s just a child, after all—but that pity is fleeting. This is the price of war, of ambition that knows no bounds. There can be no loose ends, no heirs to continue the cycle of bloodshed.

You turn your gaze away as Aegon gestures for the guards to push the boy toward the dragons. Sunfyre sniffs him, his nostrils flaring, but it’s Starfyre who moves first. She lowers her great head, her eyes glinting as she opens her jaws wide and snaps them shut around the child in one swift motion. There is no scream this time—just silence as she swallows him whole.

A hush falls over the throne room, broken only by the crackling of fire and the quiet sobbing of those left alive. Aegon turns to you, his expression unreadable, but you see the weariness in his eyes, the weight of everything that’s passed. “It’s done,” he says softly, and you feel the words settle like stones in your chest.

“Yes,” you whisper, your voice distant, “it’s done.”

The war may not be over, but this chapter has ended in blood and flame. You can only hope that, when the ashes settle, there will be something left to rebuild. Something more than this endless cycle of death.

But for now, all you can do is hold your children close and hope that the fire will fade, that peace will come in its wake—even if that peace is a fragile dream, trembling on the edge of a knife.

The sun is low in the sky as your carriage finally creaks to a halt outside the Red Keep. The city is cloaked in uneasy silence—no cheers greet your return, no banners wave in celebration. King’s Landing feels hollow, as if the ghosts of those lost in the war still linger in its streets. You step out first, the weight of the crown heavy on your brow. Aegon follows, his limp more pronounced after the long journey, yet he holds his head high, his expression a mask of stoic resolve. Your children, Daena and Baelon, cling close to you, their wide eyes taking in the somber scene as they disembark from the carriage.

Ahead of you, standing at the base of the steps leading up to the Red Keep, is your mother, Queen Alicent, her face drawn with lines of sorrow and weariness. Beside her is Helaena, her once-luminous eyes now dulled by grief and loss. They are the last remnants of your family, the survivors of a war that has cost you all more than you could have imagined.

Alicent's breath hitches when she sees you, her eyes scanning you and Aegon as if needing to assure herself that you are truly there, alive and whole. Tears glisten in her eyes, and she covers her mouth with trembling fingers as her composure shatters. “My children,” she whispers, and it is as though the weight of years collapses in those words—years of fear, of war, of loss. She hurries forward, her regal bearing breaking into a desperate, motherly rush as she throws her arms around you both, clutching you as if afraid you might vanish like so many others.

“Oh, my children,” she sobs, her voice cracking with emotion. “You’ve returned to me.”

Aegon wraps his arm around her, his scarred hand shaking as he holds his mother close. “We have, Mother,” he says softly, though there’s a hollowness to his tone. The joy that might have been there is tainted by the ghosts of those who aren’t here to share this moment. “But we return to ashes.”

Alicent pulls back slightly, looking at the both of you with tear-streaked cheeks. “I prayed for this day—prayed every night that you would survive, that you would come back to us.” Her eyes flit to the children—her grandchildren—and fresh tears spill over. “But at what cost? Daeron, Aemond—” Her voice breaks entirely, and she covers her face, unable to continue.

Aegon’s jaw tightens. You see the storm of guilt and grief flash across his features as he looks away, unable to meet her gaze. You reach out and grasp Alicent’s hand, squeezing it tightly as you fight to hold back your own tears. “We all bear the weight of those losses,” you say quietly. “But we are here now, and we are together. We must hold on to that, for their sake.” You glance down at Daena and Baelon, who watch their grandmother with wide eyes, not fully understanding the depth of the grief surrounding them.

Helaena, who has been standing silently, finally steps forward. Her movements are slow, almost ghostly, as if she is a shadow of the woman she once was. Her gaze lingers on Aegon for a long moment, searching his eyes, before drifting to you. “The dreams never lie,” she murmurs, her voice distant and laced with sorrow. “They all fade, in fire and blood.” Her words are eerie, a chilling echo of all that has transpired, but they carry a truth that cuts deep. Helaena’s prophecies have always carried an edge of tragedy, and now, you see the weight of them fully realized in her vacant stare.

Aegon steps toward her, gently taking her hands in his. “We’re still here, Helaena,” he says softly, though there is a break in his voice. “You, Y/N, me, Mother—we’re still here. We will rebuild, for their memory.”

She nods slowly, but you see no hope in her eyes, only resignation. “They dance no more,” she whispers, looking past you as if seeing something far beyond the physical realm.

Alicent wipes at her tears, her hands shaking as she does so. “Come inside, all of you,” she says, her voice thick with emotion. “You need rest, and there’s much to discuss. But first, let us be together as a family.”

You nod, though the word “family” feels strange on your tongue now. So much of it has been torn away—brothers, sisters, sons. Yet, you follow Alicent and Helaena up the steps, Aegon at your side, your children between you. Inside the Red Keep, the warmth of the hearth contrasts sharply with the chill that clings to your soul. The familiar halls seem both comforting and haunted, each shadow hiding memories of the past.

Alicent leads you to the council chamber, where a small, intimate table has been set, not for matters of state, but for a quiet meal. Servants flit about with anxious glances, aware of the tragedy that hangs in the air like a storm cloud. You all sit, and for a long moment, no one speaks. The silence is heavy, broken only by the crackle of the fire.

Aegon is the one who finally breaks it, lifting his cup. “To those we’ve lost,” he says, his voice hoarse, barely more than a whisper. “And to those who still remain.”

You lift your own cup, feeling the burn of unshed tears behind your eyes. “To those who remain,” you echo, and the words are a fragile hope, a thread of unity in a world torn apart by fire and blood.

As you drink, you feel a sense of finality settling over the room. The war is over. The Dance has ended. But you know, deep down, that the scars it has left—on your family, on your kingdom, on your very soul—will never truly heal.

The chamber is dimly lit by the soft glow of a few scattered candles, their flickering light casting something akin to ghots long forgotten on the walls. The room is familiar, yet it feels almost foreign after all the horrors you’ve endured—so much time lost to war and death, to bitterness and grief. But now, for the first time in what feels like ages, you’re alone with Aegon, away from the eyes of lords and courtiers, away from the weight of the crown and the ghosts of the past.

The door clicks shut behind you, sealing you both within the warmth of the chamber. Aegon pauses by the threshold, his hand still resting on the handle as he takes a deep breath, as if he’s trying to steady himself, to remember that he’s home. You watch him in the flickering candlelight, the lines of his face etched deeper from the burdens he’s carried, but he’s still the man you fell in love with, still the boy who smiled at you with mischief in his eyes.

He looks at you then, and the tension that’s been holding him rigid melts away. His gaze softens, filled with a longing that nearly breaks you. Without a word, he crosses the room and pulls you into his arms, burying his face in your hair as if he needs to feel you, to know you’re truly there. You wrap your arms around him, holding him tight, and for a moment, neither of you speak—there are no words for the relief, the overwhelming need to be close after so much time apart.

“I’ve missed this,” he murmurs into your hair, his voice rough and choked with emotion. “I’ve missed you. So much.”

You tilt your head back, meeting his gaze. His eyes are shadowed with pain and fatigue, but there’s a warmth there too, a flicker of the love that has always burned between you. “I never let myself forget,” you whisper, reaching up to trace the scar on his cheek, a mark from Rook’s Rest that he wears like a badge of survival. “Even in the darkest moments, I held onto us. I held onto you.”

Aegon’s hand comes up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear that slips free. “I don’t know how we did it,” he admits, his voice cracking. “But we’re here. We’ve made it through everything they threw at us, every nightmare. You were the light that kept me going, Y/N. You always have been.”

His words are like a balm to the ache in your heart, the wounds left by loss and betrayal. You lean into his touch, savoring the warmth of his palm against your skin, the familiarity of it. “We’ve lost so much,” you say softly, your voice trembling as memories of those you loved flash through your mind. “But we still have each other. As long as we have that, we can rebuild.”

Aegon’s lips quirk into a faint smile, though it’s tinged with sorrow. “You’re right. We still have each other. And I swear to you, Y/N, I’ll never let you go again. Never. We’ve been torn apart too many times, but that ends now. No more battles, no more wars. Just us.”

He bends down then, his forehead resting against yours as his hands cradle your face. “Promise me, Y/N,” he whispers, his breath warm against your lips. “Promise me we won’t let anything—or anyone—come between us ever again.”

You close the distance between you, capturing his lips in a kiss that’s tender but laced with a desperation that speaks of all the pain, the longing, the fear of losing one another. His hands slide to your waist, pulling you flush against him as he deepens the kiss, pouring everything he feels into it—his love, his regret, his need.

When you finally pull away, you’re both breathless, your heart pounding in your chest. “I promise,” you whisper against his lips. “No matter what comes, we face it as one. I won’t let you go either, Aegon. Not ever.”

The shadows in his eyes soften, replaced by a rare glimmer of peace as he rests his forehead against yours again. “Together, then. Always.”

The warmth between you grows as he slowly guides you toward the bed, the softness of the mattress beneath you a welcome comfort after all the cold, hard battles you’ve faced. He lays beside you, pulling you into his arms so that your bodies are entwined, your head resting against his chest as you listen to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. His fingers trail lazily through your hair, a touch that’s both soothing and intimate, grounding you in this moment.

You turn slightly in his embrace, pressing a kiss to the scarred skin of his chest, a reminder of how close you came to losing him. “You’re mine,” you murmur softly, your voice thick with emotion. “And I’m yours. No one will ever tear us apart again.”

His grip tightens around you, as if the very thought of losing you is unbearable. “I’ll spend the rest of my days proving that, Y/N,” he vows, his voice low and filled with a fierce protectiveness. “I’ll give you the peace we’ve been denied. We’ll raise our children, grow old together, just as we always dreamed.”

In the quiet of your shared chambers, there’s no need for crowns or titles, no need for anything but each other. The world outside is a distant memory as you close your eyes, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek, the warmth of his embrace wrapping around you like a protective shield. You let yourself drift in that moment, in the certainty that, no matter what comes, you and Aegon are what remains.

For now, there’s only peace, the kind you’ve fought so hard to find. And in the comfort of each other’s arms, you know that no matter how many battles you’ve fought, the war for your love is one you’ve already won.

From this moment, the histories diverge depending on which account one prefers to trust: the sober record of Grand Maester Orwyle, the poetic tales of Septon Eustace, or the salacious rumors spread by the fool Mushroom. Yet all agree on the most important details: the years following the Dance of the Dragons were marked not by further bloodshed, but by an unexpected peace.

The Golden Restoration

The reign of King Aegon II and Queen Y/N saw a return to stability in the realm, albeit built on a foundation of ash and charred bones. The devastation left by the war was undeniable, yet it was under their rule that the rebuilding of King's Landing began. With Dowager Queen Alicent and Princess Helaena ever at their sides, the royal family focused on mending what was broken, both in the capital and within their own hearts.

Many lords whispered that it was Y/N, the Silver Queen, who held the true power in those years. Aegon, scarred both inside and out by the horrors of the Dance, found solace and strength in his wife, who had proven herself his equal in fire and resolve. Together, they were inseparable. It was said that not a single important decision was made without their mutual consent, and that in private moments, they ruled as one, much like Sunfyre and Starfyre—mates in both life and flame.

Their children, Princess Daena and Prince Baelon, grew strong and healthy under the care of their parents and grandmother, Alicent. The two were doted upon, not merely as heirs but as symbols of the future—unbroken despite the tragedy that had marked their early years. As time passed, the bond between Daena and Baelon deepened, mirroring that of their parents. It was said that they were closer than most siblings, so close that when they were of age, they wed in the tradition of House Targaryen, cementing their bloodline and continuing the ancient customs of their house.

The Brood of Sunfyre and Starfyre

In the year 137 AC, three eggs were laid in the royal dragonpit—eggs said to be the offspring of Sunfyre and Starfyre, the twin flames that had seared Rhaenyra Targaryen from the earth. Two of these eggs hatched, producing dragons of extraordinary beauty: one with scales of pale gold streaked with silver, and the other shimmering with blue-tinged starlight. These dragons were gifted to Daena and Baelon on their wedding day, marking the start of a new generation of dragonlords, free from the taint of the Dance.

Yet even in this time of renewal, darkness lingered in the shadows. Helaena never recovered fully from the loss of her own children and her brother-husband, Aemond. She remained a distant figure, often lost in her dreams and visions. Some say she foresaw her own death, whispering of “faded light” and “withered roses” in her last days. When she passed away in her sleep in 139 AC, it was whispered by Mushroom that she had seen a final vision: a land where the dragons had turned to dust, and no kings ruled but the winds.

Dowager Queen Alicent outlived her daughter by a scant two years. Her grief had aged her beyond her years, and she spent her final days in prayer, seeking forgiveness for the bloodshed her ambitions had caused. In her final hours, she clutched the hands of Aegon and Y/N, begging them to remember the lesson learned in blood: that the pursuit of power, when unchecked, only breeds ruin. It was said that Y/N, ever compassionate, was the one who comforted Alicent in her last breath, whispering that peace had been found at last.

The Passing of the Dragon-King and Queen

The final years of Aegon and Y/N’s reign were marked by a quiet contentment. They ruled justly, often seen together in council or riding their dragons above the skies of King's Landing. The scars of war never fully faded, but together they created a realm that prospered. Yet even the most enduring fires must one day burn out.

In the year 151 AC, King Aegon II and Queen Y/N were found dead in their shared chambers, lying in each other's arms as if asleep. Some claim they had simply grown weary, their bodies giving out after years of bearing the weight of the crown. Others, more fanciful in their tales, whisper that they passed together in a moment of shared peace, their hearts giving out at the exact same instant. Mushroom claims that a vial of poison was found beside their bed, suggesting they chose to leave the world together, unwilling to face a life without the other.

When their bodies were discovered, Sunfyre and Starfyre howled in mourning, their roars shaking the very walls of the Red Keep. The dragons, who had never been separated, circled the skies together before landing side by side in the dragonpit, refusing to be parted. In a rare display of affection between beasts, they nuzzled one another and remained in that position until the end of their days.

The bodies of Aegon and Y/N were burned together on a single pyre, their ashes mingling in a final union. Their reign was remembered as the “Golden Twilight,” a time when, for a brief, shining moment, the Targaryens had found peace. But even in this, the seeds of future strife were sown—two children, two dragons, and the legacy of fire and blood that would never truly be quenched.

Thus ended the tale of King Aegon II and Queen Y/N, the last Targaryens to die in each other's arms, bound in life and in death by the fires they had endured and the love they refused to surrender.

[nocasdatsgay]

Then There Were Three:

A Neapolitan Bonds Fic

Day One of @polyacotarweek : Beginnings

Summary: You are invited to the Autumn celebrations as an emissary of Dawn. The High Lord’s mate invites you to meet him after the party is over. Alternatively: The night the mating bond snapped.

MasterPost | Poly Week MasterPost| AO3 Link |

Pairing: Azriel/Eris/Reader | Rating: E🌶️ | Word Count: 4962

Warnings: heavy flirtations, slightly rough sex, Reader does panic near the end.

A/N: I did my best to be vague about the reader’s origins. I realized it leaves autumn out of her home court choices but you can pretend she’s from there if you squint and pretend she was raised elsewhere 😅

Tagging: @saltedcoffeescotch @hieragalbatorixdottir @ysmtttty @mybestfriendmademe

You grabbed a flute of champagne off the table in the corner and took a sip. Autumn champagne was so different. The breed of champagne fruit grown in Autumn retained some of the sweetness like those grown in the warmer courts. However, it had a crisp undertone from the chill air. It was one of your favorites and you needed to remind yourself to buy a bottle from the market before leaving the Court.

You looked out at the party taking another sip to steel your nerves. They called you the floating emissary behind your back. Not that you would deny that name. You’d made your home in almost the same amount of courts as your friend Lucien. You were no spy- just versed in law and good at making fair treaties. Thanks to that, you had a good reputation with the High Lords.

At the moment, you were employed by Dawn, sent with a few others to represent the court for the Autumn festival week. It’s been held since Eris Vanserra became High Lord but this was your first time attending it. The ballroom was filled with delegates and courtiers. There were also natives of Autumn, high fae and not, intermingling. The party continued out the door to the courtyard.

The courtyard itself was beautiful. The trees were so vibrant, more than the last time you saw them. You’d been here once before under Beron’s reign. That one visit was enough to have you never come back to Autumn while he lived. Thankfully, you never had an excuse to come back until now.

So much changed in the past few decades.

You decided you’d rejoin the mingling, maybe find a few other courtiers to chat up. You held your glass tight and went to step away when a tall male seemed to stop and turn to you. You immediately recognized him, his black hair and Illyrian wings giving him away.

“Lord Azriel,” you curtsied, free hand fanning out the skirt of the maroon dress you wore for the occasion.

“Just Azriel.” A smile ghosted his lips. His gaze never left your own as he asked, “I don’t believe we’ve met, Lady?”

“Y/N,” you replied. “Just Y/N.”

Amusement flashed in his eyes and across his face.

“And where are you from, Just Y/N?”

You knew in your mind that he was just being polite but your stomach still flipped on itself. If this was the High Lord’s mate and famed shadowsinger being polite you were terrified of what he could do when he was truly flirting.

“Depends. I’m a liaison for the Dawn Court, currently.”

“The Floating Emissary, I’ve heard of you.” His gaze raked over you and you felt your cheeks heat. “You’re much prettier than Lucien.”

“I would hope,” you laughed. “Handsome male that he is, I have to surpass his reputation somehow.”

His laughter rang out like a song. You steeled yourself again. The last thing you needed was the High Lord of Autumn catching you speaking with his mate and assuming you were flirting. Why it worried you, you weren’t certain. Possibly because Azriel was devastatingly handsome and easy to flirt with.

“Was there a reason you were hiding out over here by the drinks?”

“Taking a break. Parties require more small talk than some might suspect.”

He hummed in agreement. “Would you be up for a dance?”

Your mind seemed to stop working, trying to process what was just asked of you. You glance at the throne and the High Lord is gone. Part of you was disappointed at that. You decided to down the rest of your champagne.

“Of course.”

Azriel grinned at you. “I like your style.”

He held out his hand and you took it in yours. Your stomach flipped on itself again and the texture of his hand had heat flaring between your legs. You smiled and mentally shook yourself, trying to keep it together. Some of the crowd parted as he led you to the dance floor, though no one seemed to care.

“An Autumn dance?” Asked, his hand went to your waist and you inhaled sharply. “Or a Night Court dance.”

You told yourself the look in his eyes was just him being impressed. It was not the look of someone who wanted to devour you whole in the middle of the throne room with everyone watching. You watched his shadows swirl around your arms. Like they were studying you.

“Autumn,” he replied as the band started the next song. “Let’s see if you can keep up.”

You knew the song and took it as a challenge. Of course the dance he wanted was faster, and involved a lot of footwork and being close to your partner. Thank the mother your skirt slit, though hidden due to volume, was high.

“You must have a lot of practice,” you said as he guided you backwards. “It’s not the easiest dance with wings.”

He twirled you and pulled you back.

“It’s not. Nesta spent two weeks teaching me for my mating ceremony.”

Right. Azriel was mated to the High Lord. You glanced around, letting him guide you again. Your eyes widened when you made eye contact with that very male. He was watching you intensely. And speak of the Weaver and she shall appear. Beside him was Nesta Archeron herself, watching you just as closely until a tall Illyrian male- her mate, walked up beside her.

“Don’t mind them.” His hands didn’t leave your shoulder and waist but it felt like he’d gently tugged your chin. “They’re just enjoying the show.”

He said it as if he wasn’t doing a Fire Waltz with you. Thankfully you two were not the only ones dancing. You’d be mortified if everyone was watching. He twirled you again and pulled you flush to his back. You spent the whole time he walked you around like that focused on not letting your scent get away from you. Another twirl and you were back in front. You were imagining it, you told yourself; the slight sweetness of his own scent.

Thankfully the song ended. There were claps from the crowd for you and the others who danced. The High Lord nor Nesta and Cassian (you believed that was his name) were where you last saw them as you looked around. You thought Azriel would bid you good night, and part from you. Instead he leaned into you, and you held your breath.

He whispered into your ear. “A left from the main hall, three doors on the right. Be there after the party.” You could only nod. “See you then, Y/N.”

You didn’t exhale until he moved away, leaving you slightly dizzy and flushed.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

By the mother, what were you doing? A smart female would go to her room and forget whatever the Shadowsinger said. A smart female would walk in, explain her apologies and how she must go. The irrational part of you saw this as just an unconventional in for negotiations. It’s not bribery to flirt. Nor is it that unethical to speak in private with one of the heads of court.

You arrived at the door and could feel something like a tug in your chest to go in. Your nerves were getting the better of you. You looked down the hallway both ways twice. You could leave and write a note, explaining it’s improper for you to meet him this late. He would have to understand. However before you could make a decision the door opened.

In front of you was not Azriel. It was the High Lord, Eris. You’d never been up close to him before. The front of his long red hair was pulled back into braids, and his whole being glowing in his power. Amber eyes stared back into yours. You scrambled to gain your bearings, still too stunned to explain your presence. He raised a brow at you, expression like steel and your mouth opened and closed. You took a breath.

“High Lord,” you bowed. “Good evening.”

You straightened and you watched his gaze run over you.

“Come in, Y/N.”

You could have swooned with how your name rolled off his tongue. Gods what was wrong with you? He stepped aside and held the door. You forgot what you were thinking, stepping in past him. His scent made your eyes flutter.

You scolded yourself. You were a trained emissary; one of the best. Yet here you were losing your mind over a High Lord and his mate. Which said mate was sprawled out on a chair, wings spread and legs opened like he owned the place. He looked at you smugly when you raked your eyes over him.

“You requested to meet with me Lord Azriel?” Your voice was calmer than you felt.

Lord Eris shut the door, drawing your attention back to him. Even without the power radiating off of him, he was devastatingly handsome. He went past you and sat on the couch. Looking between the two of them; it was night and day almost.

“Just Azriel. Would you like a drink?”

“No, thank you. I think I had enough at your ball.” You looked at Eris. “It was very lively. Thank you for inviting us.”

Your subtle reminder that you did not come alone caught his attention. You could see it flash in his eyes. That didn’t seem to deter him.

“Have a seat,” he gestured to the chairs behind you.

You brushed the back of your skirt, pulled them forward so you didn’t sit on them awkwardly. You looked between the two males in front of you.

“Thank you for inviting me to meet you.” You used your most polite and naive tone. “Though I am uncertain what has warranted a private meeting.”

The High Lord and Azriel already had their own drinks on the tables beside them. The High Lord picked his drink up and took a sip.

“Azriel was explaining to me what a famous emissary you are,” he leaned back in his chair and crossed one leg over the other. “Giving my brother a run for his money.”

“I don’t know about all that,” you replied and straightened the front of your skirt.

“I think I do,” Azriel grinned at you.

The next few minutes encompassed Azriel listing out your achievements- the Summer Court trade route, for one. He brought the peace treaty between Spring and the Night Court. You argued Lucien did more work with that, considering he was mated to the High Lady’s sister. A few laws you overlooked during your brief time in Winter came up as well.

“Should I feel left out that I’ve never received the honor of you working in my court?” Eris asked.

“Are you trying to recruit me to be your emissary, High Lord?” You teased.

“You can rest easy knowing I’m not trying to steal you from Thesan,” he joked back. “However, I might invite you back more often if you can dance like that.”

“I saw you watching.” You crossed your legs. Unintentionally, the slit fell open. You ignored it even if the two males in front of you were eyeballing your legs now. “You’re mate is a very skilled dancer.

“He learned from the best.” Eris took a sip from his glass. “I almost married her for it.”

That you didn’t know. You filed that away in your mind to examine later.

“Don’t lie. You did that to piss off Cassian,” Azriel countered.

Eris rolled his eyes. You wondered if you should continue the small talk or be direct. Both the High Lord and his mate seemed to like the direct approach so you finally asked them.

“Why was I really invited here?”

“You know why.” Azriel kept a heated gaze on you as he downed the rest of the alcohol in his glass. “I wasn’t lying when I said you were pretty.”

Your mind was telling you to leave. The solar courts were more lax but this was Autumn. If anyone saw you, your reputation could be ruined. But you couldn’t move with both very handsome males staring at you like they wanted to eat you alive. Situations like this didn’t happen to you. Was it so terrible that you were enjoying the attention?

“You can leave and neither of us will stop you.” Eris reassured you. “Nor will it be held against you. This is strictly off record. It’ll be as if it never happened.”

“As if staying is any better?” You countered.

“Do you think so little of us that we’d allow your reputation to be ruined?” Eris chuckled.

“A female can never be too careful.” You wished you had taken another drink. If only to give your hands something to do. “Do you always recruit a female from your parties or am I special?”

It was meant to be a joke. A tease really. There was nothing teasing in Azriel’s eyes when he replied.

“You’re the only one we’ve ever agreed to make an offer to together.”

Heat flared between your legs and you knew your scent betrayed you. Especially with that wicked grin Eris had on his face. You squeezed your legs together and barely kept your composure.

“What would you like me to do?” You whispered.

Azriel held up his hand, fingers curling to beckon you over.

“Come here baby girl and let me show you.”

~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*`*~*~*~*~*~*~

If you told yourself yesterday you’d be falling into bed with a High Lord and his mate, you would have laughed. Then you would have asked in what world Helion would agree to share his bed after centuries of waiting for his mate to be free. Falling into the High Lord of Autumn’s bed? Impossible.

And yet.

Azriel was behind you, kissing your neck. His hands had pushed down the top of your dress on one side so he could cup your breast and roll your nipple between his fingers. Eris sat on the edge of the bed, hands up your skirt and pulling down your panties. Once they were off he pulled you forward by the hips and moved your knees onto the bed so you straddled him.

You fell back against Azriel, moaning when Eris wasted no time slipping a hand up your skirt and pushing two fingers into your slick heat. Azriel chuckled at you, pulling his mouth off your neck. You reached your arm back, hand grabbing his hair if only to hold onto something. Eris didn’t even move; you rode his fingers, thighs brushing against his pants.

You whined when he removed them only to be silenced when he stuck them into your open mouth. You hummed against them, sucking on them. He didn’t anticipate you would lower yourself on his lap and rub against the bulge in his pants, by the groan he made. Azriel had worked the zipper in the back of your dress down and it was hanging limply on your arms.

“Soon pretty girl,” Eris said and took his fingers out of your mouth.

Azriel removed your hand and arm off of him and Eris pushed up your dress. Azriel tossed it aside just like Eris had your undergarments. You were about to protest, you being nude while they were not, then Eris snapped his fingers. The clothes on himself vanished, and you inhaled sharply at the feel of his bare skin against your own. Azriel was naked as well, judging from the hard length against your back.

“Nifty trick,” you said, running your fingers over the dusting of hair on his chest.

“It is useful.” He looked about as hyper aware of the fact his cock was pressed against your cunt as you were. “Who do you want first?”

“Depends on how you want me.”

They invited you. You were not going to insult one by picking the other first. Eris’s gaze went behind you to Azriel. He looked back at you with a knowing smirk.

“How is your reflex?”

His hand came up and cupped around your neck. He didn’t squeeze, just brushed his thumb against your skin. You wonder if he knew what a power move he just made. Surely he could feel how wet you were. Az put his hands on your waist, waiting.

“Okay, I guess.” You replied. “It’s decent.”

He hummed, removing his hand. “Azriel gets you first then. He can be rough and we don’t want to ruin that pretty throat of yours yet. Are you okay with taking me in your mouth while he fucks you?”

“Yes,” you replied very quickly.

“Good.”

Several things happened at once. Eris moved from under you and down the bed, while Azriel lifted you up with his arms. He hooked his hands and arms under your thighs and lifted you up, carrying you for a moment before dropping you back onto the bed. You screamed when he did that, which had them both laughing at you.

“Not used to being handled properly?” Azriel bent you forward over Eris’s lap, your hands propping yourself up.

“No.”

You couldn’t think of a witty response. Not when his hands were lifting up your hips to positions exactly how he wanted you. And Eris- the scent of him surrounded you while you watched him stroke himself.

“Open your mouth, princess.”

You opened your mouth and stuck out your tongue. When you did that, Azriel grabbed your ass and you felt him spread you open. He pushed into you and you forgot what you were doing, dropping your head with a moan. Azriel was big, you gave him that much. He held you by the hips until he was damn near pressing into your stomach. There was no movement from him as you adjusted. Until he grabbed you by the hair to lift your head. You were looking at Eris again.

He whispered into your ear, “open your mouth.”

You did so again. He let go of your hair and lowered your mouth onto Eris’ cock. He was big too. You went down as far as you were comfortable with and rubbed your tongue against him.

“Good girl,” Eris murmured.

That made you clench around Azriel. There seemed to be an understanding in that moment. When you bobbed your head, Azriel pulled out and slammed back into you. Azriel was indeed rough. He took exactly what he wanted from you, your whole body moving in time with him. Eris was stroking your hair while you used one hand to make up for what you couldn’t take into your mouth. You finally pulled off of Eris, salvia stringing from your mouth to the head of his cock.

“Touch me,” you turned to almost look back at Azriel. “Please, I can’t,” you didn’t know how to express what you wanted or why. Your hand still stroked Eris, your other arm starting to shake.

You felt the weight of Azriel shift on your back and his arm hook around your waist. You fell face first into Eris’s thigh when Azriel’s fingers found your clit. You even stopped stroking the High Lord. How were you supposed to think when Azriel was hitting all the right spots inside and outside of you?

Then Azriel pulled out of you. You yelled in protest- until he was lifting you up and spinning you around. These two males had to have a routine. Azriel put you right into Eris’s hard length like it was nothing. Before you could think, his hand was in your hair, pushing his length into your mouth. You could taste yourself on him and it made you dizzy. More movement behind you: Eris had shifted onto his knees.

They moved in sync, more so than before leaving you to sit there and take it. Eris lifted your hip up at a different angle that had you seeing stars. Azriel was gagging you and being just as rough as Eris promised. In no time, your orgasm was rushing through you with unstoppable force. Your muffled moans had Azriel spilling down your throat. You’re certain Eris followed and came inside you.

You were a wreck when they both pulled out of you.

“You did so well.” Azriel wiped the tears off your cheek while you caught your breath.

There was drool all over your mouth and you could feel Eris’s cum slipping out of you. You needed to clean yourself up. You went to move off the bed and ask where the bathroom was. Instead you pulled back onto the bed with an invisible force. You were held there on your back by your arms; shadows pinning you down. Eris snapped his fingers and you were mostly clean again.

Eris grinned down at you. “Oh love, did you think we were done with you? We’re just getting started.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

You waited until their breathing evened out before easing out of bed. Looking for your dress in the dark on wobbly and sore legs wasn’t ideal, but you needed to get back to your room before someone noticed you were missing. Samira would not believe you if you got caught sneaking into your guest chambers. You found it and slipped it on, fighting with the zipper and giving up when you got it halfway up your back. Shoes were next. Your underwear was nowhere to be found.

You huffed. The last thing you wanted was for them to find it and return it with a smug grin. You finally found it by the bathing room door. Slipping them on, you didn’t hear bed creak or the sound of footsteps until something whispered your name.

“By the cauldron,” your whole body jolted, heart racing. You turned to see Azriel behind you, thankfully wearing pants.

“Sorry,” Azriel chuckled. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s fine.” You caught your breath and whispered. “I didn’t want to bother you.”

“It’s no bother. I can winnow you into your room so you don’t have to walk.”

“That’s kind of you.”

He put his hand on your arm and when you looked him in his eyes- your whole body recoiled and you inhaled sharply. That tightness in your chest you felt all evening snapped. You took several steps back staring at him horrified. Your hand went to your chest. You stared at him with eyes wide and he stared back in what you were certain was horror.

What just happened was impossible. Azriel was with the High Lord. You needed to leave. Panic ripped through you at the implications. It was not possible- you were imagining it. You needed to leave. You took several steps back, not looking at Azriel. Maybe it was just you. Maybe you lost your mind. It had to be. There was no way-

Someone was calling your name.

You blinked. You’d backed yourself into a corner. You couldn’t catch your breath no matter how much you breathed in and out. A warm hand made you startle; you focused on amber eyes staring back at you and it happened again. That sharp tug in your chest like a rope going taunt.

“Look at me.”

A soft but firm command of a High Lord you couldn’t ignore. You blinked and you were crying. Strange emotions that weren’t your own were overwhelming you. It was too much, the sudden wave of feelings hitting you. Something cold wrapped around your wrists. You looked down and screamed, shaking your arms when you saw black lines.

“It’s just shadows,” Azriel said calmly from behind Eris. “They’re trying to help.”

“It’s alright,” Eris whispered, brushing your hair back with his hand. “Take a deep breath.” You did as you were told. “Good girl. Now breathe out.”

You found your voice even if it was laced with your tears. “I didn’t. I swear it, I don’t know how.”

How do you explain that this wasn’t a trick? They had to think that. If they felt it then they had to believe you cast a spell on them. They could throw you in the dungeons for this or worse. What were the odds you climbed into their bed and- two tugs halted your thoughts. Warmth flooded your chest. You choked back a sob.

Eris sighed. “Az can you go get a calming tonic from the infirmary please?”

If he disappeared, you didn’t know. Eris dropped his hands to your shoulder and gently guided you backwards. Your legs hit the back of a chair; he gently sat you down into it and then knelt so he was eye level with you.

“I know this is a lot to take in. I promise you, we are not upset.” He took your hand in his and rubbed his thumb over your knuckles.

“I don’t understand,” you whispered. You swallowed and blinked profusely. “Aren’t you afraid I’ve placed a spell on you?”

You couldn’t say it out loud. Not yet. Eris laughed.

“We invited you to our bed. Was it that good you suddenly thought of a spell to cast in between orgasms to trap us?”

Your face heated at his remarks. Thankfully out of the darkness Azriel appeared with a vial. He handed it to you and you took it with shaky hands. You felt dramatic for your reaction but there was nothing you could do about it. Eris took it from you and uncorked it before handing it back. You downed it quickly. He stood and took the bottle from you, vanishing it into thin air.

“Well?” You looked between them after a moment passed. “Aren’t you going to say something about this?” You gestured between yourself and them, specifically pointing at your chest.

“It’s a mating bond, what else is there to say about it?” Eris replied.

Your stomach flipped at his candor and Azriel hummed in agreement. As if this happened all the time. Maybe they took a calming tonic also when you weren’t looking.

“How are you both calm? Mating bonds,” you forced the term out, still not believing it was real, “are between two fae not three!”

Azriel and Eris glanced at each other. Both of them had a knowing look. Azriel shrugged and Eris sighed. He turned to you, meeting your gaze again.

“Years ago we were told this could happen.” You blinked, something akin to shock washing over you. He continued. “We were told specifically that the light of dawn would bring forth a third bond.”

“Like a prophecy? That’s the corniest shit I’ve ever heard,” you replied without thinking.

Azriel bursted out with laughter. “I’m going to tell her you said that.”

You scoffed in response, uncertain of who she was. “You also said you didn’t plan to steal me from Thesan. You, High Lord Eris, are a liar.”

Now it was Eris who laughed. “Glad to see the tonic is working.”

If they had been told before- “So you knew it was me?”

“No, we did not. I felt a draw to you but,” he looked you up and down. “I think the reason is self explanatory.”

“My shadows took a liking to you out in the throne room,” Azriel added sheepishly. “But they didn’t tell me. The bond snapped for me when I touched you.”

Mates.

Mates, plural.

You had mates.

Realization sunk in and you slumped against the chair. You never entertained the idea of having a mate. For you it was an old wives tale, a fictional love story you read about in romance novels. Yes, they existed. But it seemed like it was reserved for High Lords and other important fae. You weren’t anyone special.

“I think,” Eris interrupted your thoughts. “We should rest. Azriel can winnow you to your room. We can talk in the morning if you are up for it.”

“Can I stay?” You whispered.

You had no right to ask that of a mated pair, let alone a High Lord you didn’t really know. However, the idea of leaving made you uneasy. Your friends would understand. Gods, how were you going to explain this? Yes, well a High Lord and his mate asked me for a threesome and surprise seems like I’m their mate too! You mentally groaned at how ridiculous this all was.

“Of course.” Eris pulled you out of your thoughts. “Azriel can get you a change of clothes from your room. If that’s alright with you.”

You nodded. This time you saw the shadows envelop Azriel. It was amazing to watch him disappear almost into a puff of smoke. However, that left you alone with Eris. Not that you cared. The potion was deeply in effect. You realized he was shirtless and your gaze ran over his bare chest and arms.

“We have a guest bed you can sleep in.” You looked up to see Eris with a slight smirk on his face.

“A guest bed?” You furrowed your brows. “In your own chambers?”

“Az’s wings are sensitive. Sometimes he doesn’t like to share a bed.” He paused. “I know I speak for us both that while this isn’t an ideal situation, we would like to get to know you. If you wish.”

“Are you asking for permission to court me, High Lord?” That did something for him because you could feel it before he shut it down. “I need to process it, I think.”

“That’s reasonable.” He gave you a soft smile.

You didn’t have to wait awkwardly for long as Azriel returned quickly with your bag. There was indeed a guest room right next to the High Lord’s bedroom, which still shocked you. As surreal as the past few minutes were, you were exhausted. You bid them an awkward good night and when Eris shut the door and you swore you heard him whisper something to Azriel, about how they owed his sister-in-law a lengthy apology.