#but he already burned the tome

[queen-scribbles]

aw, crap, didn't read the details on an animal companion tome, gave it to Hal when I should've done Ziin. :\

[zaldritzosrose]

Rȳbās (Aemond x Wife!Reader)

Using the mural in a fic was something I'd planned for a while and when the beautiful @targaryen-dynasty asked for writers for her milestone celebration I snapped it up! The whole thing came together so perfectly and I hope you enjoy! Check out her full milestone celebration here!

And the masterlist will be here!

Summary: Your disinterest in your shared Valyrian heritage had been a sore point for your brother turned husband. Aemond could not fathom a reason you would not hold the same interest he did. So he devised himself a little plan to help you learn.

TW: MINORS DNI, she/her pronouns, afab reader, canon typical incest, targcest, oral (fem receiving), Aemond being a nerd, profanity, sexual innuendo, Aemond being a tease if you squint, use of High Valyrian.

Words: 2311

ābrazyrys - wife

valzȳrys - husband

rȳbās - focus/listen/obey

Since you were small, you and Aemond had been inseparable. There was never a moment you were not at your brother’s side. You would watch him train with the sword and he would watch as you learned to control your dragon.

It was no surprise to anyone when your father declared you betrothed, citing Valyrian traditions. Your mother had not been the most accepting, but it was hard to deny the bond the two of you shared despite her reservations.

But there was one stark difference. A difference the Aemond would torment you with time and time again.

You had never taken your lessons as seriously as Aemond. Your brother turned husband had always held a fascination with your shared Valyrian heritage and history. Pouring over every tome the royal library offered, soon demanding more texts from the maesters. Even now, a man grown and married, he was ever searching for more.

At first, he had ignored your disinterest. Understanding that you maybe simply did not hold the same curious mind he did. But he would catch you reading other texts. Your interests centring more on fiction than philosophy and history.

It became a common occurrence, even after your marriage. Joining Aemond in the library after he poured over some history text or philosophical scroll. Watching him in confusion as he read and reread the texts over and over, seemingly engrossed in it despite having read every book and reem of parchment in the royal library.

When he would question you on it, you would simply say it did not interest you. He kept his true feelings quiet on that, though he could not help taking a little offence at your total dismissal of your family history. The history that made you both who you were.

He tried numerous times, even offering to teach you himself. And again, you would dismiss him. You knew enough Valyrian to command your dragon, why must you learn more, would become your new answer.

But today, it seemed he took particular offence at your disinterest.

“Would you not even take an interest if I read them to you? Explained them?” Aemond asked, hooking his finger in his book to keep his place as his good eye bored into the side of your face.

You sighed, looking up from your own book – a small one filled with poems and short stories. You could tell by the look on his face that today was going to be one of his more stubborn and insistent days.

“This again, really? Have I not already given you enough reasons…” your voice was tired, meeting his gaze one before returning to your book.

You loved the way his mind worked; it was one of the many things you had always loved. Even more so now you were married. But you wished he would understand that not everyone saw the world as he did. And it was not that you did not care for your Valyrian heritage. It was just that you saw no joy in reading about the past when you had enough to deal with in the present.

You had not argued with Aemond when, after agreeing to make his chambers your marital ones, he begged to keep his mural. A large painting of The Burning of Harrenhal during the Conquest of Aegon I, painted quite accurately it seemed above your shared bed. You did your best to spend little time looking at it, not understanding why he needed an event so dark and violent above his head. But you loved him too much to fight him on that.

You would not, however, give in to his constant insistence of joining his fevered interest in those legends and tales.

“I simply do not understand how you can dismiss our heritage so easily?”

But when you chose to ignore him, he surprisingly remained quiet. But one look at him would have told you so much. As stubborn as he was, Aemond began to devise a plan. To mix education with pleasure, you could say. Something he had yet to do to you, or should he say for you.

Something that would make sure you remembered every lesson he taught you.

You had not seen Aemond for a few hours. It was not unusual. There would be times he would forget the hour and remain in the library until he could barely keep his eye open to read. Sometimes he would decide to take an impromptu ride on Vhagar.

There were a number of things that would keep your husband from your side in the evening. So, when you returned to your chambers, you did not expect to find Aemond sit by the fire. His eye trained solely on you as you entered. Feeling as though it bored into your very soul with the intensity of his gaze.

“Have I missed something?” you asked, slipping off your shoes and making quick work of loosening your braids.

If there was one routine you had, it was to find comfort from the moment you entered your chambers. But something about Aemond was putting the atmosphere in the room on a knife’s edge.

“I have decided I will find a way to make you appreciate our heritage as I do. One way or another.”

Aemond’s voice was soft. A tone you knew immediately meant trouble. It was when he was calm and quiet that the most chaos seemed to follow. He stood quickly, making quick work of the distance between you, pulling your back towards his.

“I am sure, sweet sister, that you will enjoy my lessons much more than any others.”

Your body melted back into his as his lips found your neck. Kisses gentle yet demanding all at the same time. His hands splayed over your stomach as your head fell back to rest on his shoulder.

“You are yet to convince me, despite months of trying. What makes you think that will change tonight?” your voice was barely louder than a whisper, your resolve slowly faltering as he nipped at your pulse point. His smirk evident.

Aemond could feel your pulse under his lips, knowing just his words and touch were enough to already have you like putty in his hands.

“Have some faith, my love, you do not know what I am capable of…” Aemond whispered, nipping at your skin as he walked you towards the bed.

As your knees hit the footboard, Aemond gave you a gentle push forwards. You scrambled to catch yourself, hands planted on the bed as you slightly turned back towards Aemond with a questioning brow raise.

He only hummed, shedding his leather doublet and tilting his head as if planning his next move.

“Hands and knees, ābrazyrys.” Aemond ordered, his gaze not wavering from yours.

There was part of you that wanted to disobey, to bite back. But that look told you it would be a mistake. That tonight was not a night to toy with him. Aemond watched with a serious expression as you got into the desired position, your forearms flat to the bed as you rested your head atop them. But that was not quite how he wanted you.

“Head up, look at the mural.”

You frowned but did as he bid, all the while wondering what he could possibly be aiming for. His hands were warm as the caressed a path on both sides of your waist, mapping out each curve of your body. When he reached the hem of your dress, he pushed it high, silently demanding its removal. With quick movements, you pulled the dress over your body, throwing it aside and returning to your previous position. Bare and presenting yourself like an animal for your husband.

Aemond could only hum in approval, impressed by your choice to obey him without argument. He wondered, then, if that would bode well for the rest of the evening. You could hear the sounds of Aemond’s clothes being removed. One by one hitting the floor until he was as bare as you were, you assumed. You dared not look back at him.

“Good girl,” he mumbled, his hand following the same path as before, but now you could feel the roughness of his palms against your skin.

You wondered what his next move would be curiosity eating at you. You sighed out softly as his hands needed at your rear, soon turning to a moan as he gave one then the other a gentle smack.

“Now, we shall make a deal. You will recite the story told in that mural, and in return I will bring you naught but pleasure,” Aemond voice sounded serious, but you could hear the small strain of desire within him at the sight of you bent over like this.

His hands continued their path down your body, parting your thighs. What you did not expect to feel was the warm puff of his breath against your folds. Already slick with want from the anticipation.

“I do not understa…oh!” Your words fell to a gasp the second you felt the hot swipe of his tongue against you.

Aemond had never pleasured you like this, not because he did not want to. He had offered before, but you had felt a small twinge of embarrassment at the idea and always denied him. But now, you realised what a mistake that had been.

Your pleasure, however, was short-lived when Aemond tapped at your thigh and removed his mouth from your core.

“Recite the tale, wife.” His voice was lower, hoarse almost. It was clear he was as filled with desire as you, but fighting hard to keep up the control he had in this moment.

You groaned softly, but when you realised that he was serious you began as best as you could remember.

“In 2 BC, Harren the Black completed the building of his castle, Harrenhal,” The moment you began speaking, Aemond resumed his ministrations. Soft licks to your core to ease you into your pleasure.

Your voice was soft, every word punctuated with a moan as you continued. Detailing how Aegon the Conqueror had arrived not long after, how two battles had been fought. How Harren had been forced to close the gates of Harrenhal for his own protection.

Aemond smirked against you. He had been going easy, luring you into a false sense of security. He was not done with you yet. He gave you a moment’s reprieve and praised your efforts.

“Keep going, my love, I am impressed…”

If you had been more aware, you would have heard the vaguely mocking tone in his voice. You would have taken that as a warning for what was to come. But unfortunately, you were not.

You began again, mere seconds passed before Aemond began to lap at you again. But this time, he had you gripping the sheets beneath, eyes barely staying open as you were taken over by pleasure.

But a slap to your thigh told you to continue the story.

“Gods…uh…” You tried to speak, feeling him chuckle into your wet heat.

Aemond gripped your thigh in yet another warning, one more sign of hesitation and he would stop.

"Rȳbās..." he growled deep into your cunt as he squeezed your thigh again.

“Harrenhal was too strong to be sieged, so Aegon offered to confirm Harren as the Lord of the Iron Islands if he yielded to him…” your voice broke into a low, keening moan of Aemond’s name as he pressed himself deeper into you, burying his tongue as far as it would go.

You could feel your release readily approaching, but you were still coherent enough to know you would not be allowed to peak until you were done retelling the history.

“Fuck…Aem…” You tried to remember the rest, your hips instinctively rolling back against his face.

Your eyes rolled as you felt him grunt into you, as lost to his pleasure as you were. His cock hard and ready between his thighs, pulsing with need at the mere taste of you. His hand crept around your body, his thumb pressing against your swollen bud. The pleasure was almost too much but you were now determined to prove you could finish the tale despite your husband’s tongue lapping eagerly at your cunt.

“Harren…Harren refused and Aegon took to Balerion and burned the castle. Cracking the walls, burning everything within and ending House Hoare…Fuck!”

Aemond no longer cared for the rest of the tale, his thumb rubbing at your pearl furiously as his mouth devoured you. His cock leaking onto the stone below as his own pleasure stirred in his stomach.

“Come for me, wife…” Aemond commanded, his free hand grasping at the flesh of your rear to ground himself.

Within moments, your juices flowed onto his tongue, joined by your almost screamed moans of pleasure and chants of his name. Your knuckles almost white at you gripped at the black sheets below.

Aemond did not relent, drinking down everything you gave him until you began to pull away. Your body limp as you dropped to the bed. He was quick to crawl up beside you, stroking a hand down your damp back.

“Well done, sweet wife…I had half a mind to believe you would fail…”

You barely huffed out a laugh, turning on to your side to look at him.

“So little faith you have in me, valzȳrys?” you breathed out, tugging him down for a kiss, groaning at the taste of yourself on his lips.

Aemond pressed himself against you, making you readily aware of the heavy weight of his cock still thick and waiting between his thighs. Your hand travelled down, gripping him and relishing the moan that left him. A wicked idea soon entered your mind. It was only fair to see if your so-called historian of a husband was as capable as you had just been.

“Maybe, it is my turn to test you?”

Tags (feel free to let me know if you want adding)

@blissfulphilospher @elaratyrell @khaleesihel @multyfangirl

@legitalicat @thenameswinter99 @aemondsbabe @anjelicawrites

@sylasthegrim @arcielee @starogeorgina @connorsui

@bucknastysbabe @thought--bubble @aemonds-holy-milk

@kaelatargaryen

[hildergard]

Could you do something where Aemond is already married/betrothed to a highborn lady that’s been approved by Alicent and Otto but he has a relationship with a low born woman (a brothel worker or any lowborn really) and once he becomes Prince Regent he starts bringing her around the castle, giving her a room to herself, treating her better than how a lowborn should be treated in Alicent and Ottos eyes and they don’t like it but Aemond doesn’t care.

MINE TO PROTECT ★ AEMOND TARGARYEN

PAIRING | Aemond Targaryen x Lowborn!Reader

TAGS | Suggestive content, swearing, possessive behaviour, classism

WORDCOUNT | 4k

NOTE | I have seen a lot of fanfictions where the Reader is a brothel worker so I made her a baker instead. I hope that's alright with you! Thank you so much for this great request! I had so much fun writing it <333

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

In the seedy streets of Flea Bottom, rumours travelled in a precise order, memorised by all.

A Lord, drunk with lust, would disclose the Crown’s secrets to a simpering whore, who would be quick⏤once the gold dragons were in her purse⏤to repeat what she had just heard, noble semen still running down her thighs. The other, much less wealthy, customers would then talk about it loudly in bars, attracting the attention of patrons who, once sober, had only to spread the news.

Today, the rumour burst into your little shop when Old Gerald came through the door, looking for his daily loaf of bread. 

 “Prince Aemond’s been made Regent," he said. 

For a second, you did not move. The dough fell on wood. Your floured hands remained stuck in the sticky, flabby mixture. It would have to be kneaded again. The sight of your dirty fingers woke you from your torpor. You gripped the towel from your apron and wiped your palms roughly before turning your back on your customer⏤less to get the fresh loaves of bread out of the oven than to regain your composure.

He had done it. 

Your shovel rasped against the burning slab of clay and peeled off the loaves. 

A few days earlier, when night had enveloped the citizens of King's Landing in its thick cloak, he had told you of his plans and dreams⏤the two were always intertwined, for Aemond Targaryen provoked fate rather than waited for it. His touch had done nothing to soften the brutality of his words. Sordid tales of fire and blood, the kind that filled the tomes of the Citadel. 

Even the Targaryens could not play with fire indefinitely. Aemond rose in the flames. For how much longer? You had protested, your voice hoarse from the moans he had managed to draw from your throat, but he would have none of it and simply told you to trust him, as if all this were far too complicated for you. 

And perhaps that was the case, for what did you know of war and power?

“What about his Majesty?" you asked.

Old Gerald tossed you three coppers, which you pocketed, before handing you a thick piece of cloth. 

“They say he perished in dragonfire. Seems Targaryens are closer to men, after all. With all this quarrel for t'throne, it were inevitable. And, let me tell you, it'll happen again. Today, a brother sits on t'throne. Tomorrow, it'll be an uncle or a sister. Things like that never end.”

You carefully wrapped the golden loaf in the cloth. 

“Wi' Rhaenyra in Dragonstone and his brother's heir dead, he’ll no doubt be crowned King. And the Lady Baratheon, Queen.”

You winced at the name but immediately hid your reaction with a tight smile. Gerald, bless him, took no notice of your torment. You handed the loaf of bread to the old cobbler, who nodded at you and returned to his shoes. 

The rumour ran on and kept you thinking all day. You burnt a dozen loaves of bread, spilt two sacks of flour and forgot to deliver her apple pies to Dorthy Porter, making you lose a silver stag and a customer.

When the key finally turned in the lock of the shop and cut you off from the rest of the world, your shoulders slumped. The sun and all its problems gave way to the moon. Under its silvery eyes, other rumours would no doubt spread but you did not wish to hear them. You longed for your straw mattress and the comfort of your dreams⏤perhaps your love would visit you there, also freed from the pressure the Gods were piling on his shoulders. 

Tiredness weakened your knees⏤you dragged your body more than you climbed the stairs to your modest bedroom. In the middle of the room, the bed and its pillow stretched out its arms to you. You let yourself fall into the feathery embrace and closed your eyes for a moment, praying to the Gods that you would find sleep easily. 

They ignored you. 

The doorbell rang. 

Your eyelids struggled to open. Sleep paralysed them⏤it clutched at your eyelashes and tried to keep them closed but you fought the temptation and, at last, gazed into the dim light of the room. Another series of blows, more hurried, struck against the wood. The whole  shop seemed to shake. 

“I’m coming, I'm coming…” you mumbled. 

You gasped as two members of the Kingsguard appeared on your doorstep, their cloaks far too white to be dragged through the muddy streets of Flea Bottom. 

“The Prince Regent, His Highness Aemond Targaryen, summons you.”

They did not care for your reply and seized you. You protested, demanded to be told the reason for this summon, but nothing would do. The guards dragged you like a rag doll through the streets of King's Landing, indifferent to your screams and struggle. Above and around you, the candlelight in the windows intensified. Some people poked their heads out to watch the racket. You lowered your chin and remained silent, but the damage had been done. 

Already, rumours were spreading. The baker had been arrested. What had she done? Who would make their bread from now on?  

The dizzy shadow of the Red Keep loomed larger and larger. Just the outline of it made your skin crawl. For the first time, you would be treading on the floor of Kings and Queens. You were being plunged headfirst into this unknown, powerful and dangerous place, populated by men and women who despised people like you. One of the guards tightened his grip around your arm. You yelped. Why were they taking you there? Aemond always came to you, not the other way round. 

Did someone know? You blanched. Impossible, you thought immediately. You had been cautious. 

But what if... What if someone had seen you, despite all your precautions? 

 Were they taking you to the Keep to put you to the sword?  

 A flash of fear stabbed you in the guts.  

You finally passed through the large gates of the castle. They were still open, yet, no one was in the courtyard. The swords were resting on the workbenches and the horses were asleep. Only a few guards patrolled the ramparts, their heads turned skywards in search of a dragon. 

“Hurry up, girl. The Prince is waiting.”

A solitary, proud figure emerged at the top of the stairs, in front of the entrance. His long white hair fluttered in the wind and the bluish moonlight accentuated his strict features and pale complexion. The mere sight of his face reassured you. You defied the guards and walked towards him. 

His rough hand⏤hardened by duty and war⏤gripped yours before thin lips kissed it. The Prince pulled you towards him. Your heart slowed as his familiar scent enveloped you and your shoulders relaxed. For a second, you surrendered to the comfort of his warmth and love. The smell of musk and leather soothed your body, but your head kept its wits about it.

“What's happening, Aemond?”

He closed his eye as his name fell from your lips and smiled. His hand came down and grasped your waist in a possessive embrace. You leaned into the touch. 

“There are rumours that Aegon���”

You squeaked. His fingers had dug painfully into your flesh at his brother's name. 

The mere mention of him brought back painful and humiliating memories, which your lover had confided to you, his head on your pillow. Even today, the wounds had not healed. They continued to transpire in every aspect of his life. You are the only thing he has not stolen from me, he had told you one night. Saying that name was like throwing his past back in his face and breaking your promise. He'll never succeed, you had replied, but today, Aegon was on your mind. What did his wound mean for the Crown, for you?

“Is it true?" you managed to articulate. 

“The Council has made me Regent," he nodded. “We will not need to hide any longer, my love.”

“What do you mean?”

But Aemond did not answer you. He smiled, tucked a lock of hair behind your ear and let his fingers brush your neck. With a nod, the kingsguards left. The clink of their armour echoed for long seconds, but the din faded with the tenderness of his gestures. His finger traced the veins in your chest. They led him to your breasts, hidden by your dress. Aemond grunted⏤terribly offended by this affront⏤and pulled at the fabric but it held on. 

Claere Linstar's work was reknown throughout Flea Bottom. You could not find a better weaver⏤today, you were thankful for the two silver stags you had spent. The garment would become the guarantor of your dignity, the bulwark against your desire. 

When you realised that your Prince was not going to answer your question, you took a step back. His hand fell limply between the two of you as a brief look of pain clouded his face. 

“Aemond?”

He straightened up and held out his hand to you. 

“Follow me.”

The labyrinthine corridors made your head spin. You lost count of the turns you took, the staircases you climbed and the alcoves you passed. The beauty of the mouldings and frescoes drew admiring sighs from you several times, but Aemond did not care. He walked past them without giving them a second glance. He's used to all this, you reminded yourself. People of his rank bathed in this luxury and grandeur since birth.  

On the way, maids dressed in red and white stopped at your sight. Their gaze fell on your face, on your body, on your hand locked in the Prince's... Your cheeks heated and you tried to pull away, but Aemond tightened his grip. Out of habit, his thumb caressed your skin. This time, his touch only made you tense. You bowed your head, ashamed. 

They knew. 

The thought stayed with you. 

You only lifted your head when Aemond stopped in front of an ornate door. The mouldings curved into flowers and birds⏤an ode to spring and renewal. Your eyes swept the decor, stopped on a bush of camellias and, finally, met the Prince's satisfied gaze. 

“We've arrived," he announced. 

Aemond opened the door with a confident gesture. Inside, an immense room stretched out and seemed to never end. Wealth oozed out of every corner, from the four-poster bed to the dressing table adorned with sapphires. On the wall, frescoes of flowers had been painted to match the powder pink drapes⏤an explosion of colour that turned drab the corridors you had been raving about just a few minutes before. 

“Is it to your taste?”

You turned back to Aemond. Although his chin was up and his back was straight⏤proud as ever⏤red bloomed on his cheeks. Your lover seemed embarrassed, a far cry from his usual composure. Almost timidly, his hand sought yours. He couldn't help it, you realised. His fingers always found yours⏤skin against skin to find what he had been deprived of all his childhood. 

“I don't know anyone who wouldn't like it," you replied.

“Hmm. Good.”

He pulled you to him. His hands went down to your buttocks and pressed you against his chest. Your pelvises collided. Suddenly, the room made sense. You let yourself drown in these familiar gestures. Your hand caressed his muscular shoulders, moved up to his jaw and brushed against his lips. Aemond kissed the pad of your thumb before replacing it with your lips. Soon, the wet sound of saliva echoed through the room. The sweet melody ignited a fire in your lower abdomen and moved down between your thighs. 

Your hand resumed tracing arabesques on your lover's smooth skin. It stopped at the buttons on his doublet and hastily undid them before wandering lower and lower…

Aemond stopped you before you could take him in your hand. His hand grabbed yours. He kissed your palm and pressed it against his cheek. 

“These will be your quarters.”

The fire went out, leaving you frozen with shock. Your heart skipped a beat. 

“What do you mean?" you asked breathlessly.

“Now that I am Regent, we will not have to hide any more.” 

A new glare lit up his eye. Purple turned black and made you shiver. Flames seemed to dance in his pupil, crushing all remains of the second son he had once been. That Aemond was dead. In his place was a Regent who thought himself above laws and men.  

“It's not proper, Aemond," you tried to protest. “If it gets out that I'm here... If the Dowager Queen or the Hand–”

“They have no say in the matter. My word is law now.”

 “If you want me here… Perhaps I could serve the Crown, join the kitchens. Anything but that, Aemond," you said, gesturing to those quarters, far too luxurious for someone of your breeding. 

“You do not belong in the fucking kitchens," he scoffed. “No. You will be by my side, as my equal.”

“You're engaged," you retorted. “The Lady Baratheon won't take kindly to my presence here. You nobles can make Small Folk disappear in a blink of an eye and no one would notice or care.”

Alira Merchin's story was remembered as a cautionary tale for young girls naive enough to think love could conquer blood. The fable was classic⏤hundreds of similar romances filled libraries, and perhaps it was these very ones that had encouraged the girl to seduce the heir of House Harte. The man fell in love and made the pretty merchant his lover. 

This did not please his wife, the daughter of Lord Chelsted. 

She got rid of the merchant with disconcerting ease. The poor girl was found trampled by horses in white and green bards. That day, Lord Harte lost his true love and spent the rest of his life suffering the consequences of his betrayal. 

Your heart dropped. What would happen to you if you tickled the stag? Ours if the Fury. Their motto was an ode to their rage, to their thirst for violence. If Floris Baratheon found out that Prince Aemond was bedding you... and in the Keep nonetheless…

The storm would come for you and you would perish in its eye. 

“It's not a good idea, Aemond," you finally said. 

“Do not fret, my love. Nothing will happen to you as long as I am here to protect you.”

The Prince pulled you into bed. 

Your protests died on your lips, muffled by moans and the exquisite feel of his skin against yours. 

Your fingers tightened around your thighs. The soap made your skin slippery but did nothing to wash away the shame that had been clinging to it for days. It colonised your flesh and left it tainted, eating away at your muscles and weighing down your heart. 

On the first day, after a passionate night, maids had arrived to prepare you, but you refused their care. You were no Lady. You had bathed alone all your life and would continue to do so. More than anything, you wanted to escape their watchful eyes, which would no doubt have noticed the hickeys on your chest and thighs. 

You did not know how rumours got around in the Keep, but you were sure that they first burgeoned on the maids’ lips. They blossomed as quickly as in Flea Bottom⏤the inquisitive nature of man was innate⏤, but it would not be Old Gerald getting wind of it. No. The stakes were much higher in these parts, and the consequences even more dire. 

The door to your quarters stood in the way of the horror surely awaiting you, but for how much longer? 

Your hands massaged your calf, hoping to rediscover a cherished routine. You longed for the feel of dough beneath your fingers. What would become of your shop? Would you have to sell it? Maybe someone had already moved in⏤abandoned houses never stayed so for long in Flea Bottom, the cradle of the poor and the homeless. 

You could not cherish the roof above your head, yet, you supposed you had to learn to appreciate it. Aemond did not seem eager to let you go.  

Aemond. 

Every day, the sun tore him away from you. His hours were devoted to the Small Council and military strategies, only half of which you understood when he explained them to you. Your Prince needed to talk, to get rid of the weight that was arching his back. You became the shoulder on which he rested, the ear into which he poured his doubts, the flesh in which he forgot himself. 

“I wish to be with you every hour of the day, to attach myself to your side, but the Gods will only grant me this pleasure when I win this war. I am fighting for you⏤for us,” he had told you. 

The moon brought him back into your arms. Every night, without exception, he would cross the threshold of the door and wrap you in a reassuring embrace. His arms would block out your gloomy thoughts and chase away shame and regret⏤all seemed worth it if it kept him close to you. The stars looked down on your love. When the bells rang the hour of the owl, you indulged in the pleasures of the flesh, whispered sweet nothings or simply enjoyed the peaceful silence that the other's presence guaranteed. Sometimes, Aemond, lying on the bed with your head on his stomach, would read you stories with his hand buried in your hair. 

And then, the hour of the Nightingale would sound, its tranquillity burning away in the first rays of sunlight. The enchanted interlude would close and you would spend the day dreaming of a life where sun and duty did not separate you. 

Shame would reappear, its weight with it, and fear⏤tangible and vibrant⏤would turn your stomach. 

The spectre of Floris Baratheon never left you. It haunted you. In the frescoes of camellias on the wall. In the bouquets of flowers dotting your quarters. In the venison served for dinner. The tales of her beauty reached you and left you bitter, but what they said about her quiet authority made your blood run cold. 

She would come for you. 

The Lady Baratheon occupied all your thoughts, so much so that you forgot about another much more dangerous threat. 

One day, Alicent Hightower stalked into your room. 

You dropped your embroidery in your lap and hastily sat up. The needle fell to the floor with a disturbing chime. The bell was tolling⏤this farce had gone on far too long and it would now end. 

The Dowager Queen dropped a small leather bag on the table. Its contents clinked and masked your gasping breath for a second. Your heart was pounding against your temples. Soon, the air would run out. Already your throat was closing up and you were struggling to swallow. 

“What is it?" you asked weakly. 

“Five thousand gold dragons. Enough to buy you a new life, far from the Keep, far from Westeros.”

Away from my son, she meant. 

“I won't leave Aemond.”

He needs me, you thought. 

“The Prince Regent does not need you," the Queen scoffed as if she could heard your mind. “He is engaged. Or have you forgotten that? Whoring yourself in the way you do… It would appear so. Have you thought about the repercussions of your actions when people find out about you? The risks it means for Aemond? Your very presence here jeopardises this entire war.”

“I have tried to–”

“He does not love you, you fool. He just wants a cunt to fuck without having to spend a single penny.”

You recoiled, surprised to hear the famously pious queen speak so vulgarly. 

War transformed souls. It made them ugly. Alicent Hightower’s wide eyes and pursed lips twisted her face into a terrifying expression. 

She sighed and, for a moment, her features became those of a compassionate woman. 

“I don't know what… hold my son has over you," she continued in a calmer voice, “but you seem smart enough to understand this will end badly. You must leave. Take the gold and let us be done with this farce.”

The door slammed against the wall before you could even consider the proposal. 

Aemond reached your side with a confident stride. 

“What's going on here? Mother?”

When the latter did not answer, he looked to you for answers. You lowered your head, unable to bear the look of concern in his purple eye any longer. 

It fell lower, onto the table and the leather purse.  

“What is the meaning of this?” he raised his voice. 

Silence stretched before Alicent Hightower relented. 

“You cannot… support a lowborn in such manners, Aemond. The girl must go.”

The Prince ignored his mother and took you in his arms. His nose nestled under your ear as his hands buried themselves in your hair. He guided your head into his neck and whispered comforting words, which you could not hear. You did not care. His familiar scent embraced you and brought tears to the corners of your eyes. They wet your cheeks and his collar. 

You should never have come here. 

“Out.”

His mother protested. 

“Imagine the shame for your future wife, the Lady Baratheon! For her house! If we lose Storm's End because of... because of this w–” 

“Hold your tongue and leave.”

“Aemond, if you do this, we are lost!”

“Get out!”

Footsteps retreated. A door slammed. Aemond sighed. His hand drew abstract symbols on the back of your head for a moment before encouraging you to look at him. 

“Oh, my love," he said, seeing your misty eyes. “All is well now. She will not hurt you any more.”

The danger you had put yourself in was greater than you had thought. Fear dried your mouth and exhausted your words. You stammered a few excuses before taking a deep breath. Your Prince's fingers did not weaken. They continued to comfort you and, at last, gave you the courage you needed to finally speak. 

“Maybe I should return to Flea Bottom. I–” 

“No," Aemond’s voice cracked. 

His hands framed your face and pulled you closer until your noses were touching. 

“You are not leaving me.”

His lips were harsh, covering every inch of your skin. He kissed the bridge of your nose, your warm cheekbones, your wet eyelids. Tears ran aground in the cracks of his lips and dried up under his exquisite tenderness. No beauty spot, no eyelash, was spared. His lips erased his mother's words and the doubts in your heart. 

“You belong here, with me. I do not care for blood or war. I only wish for your love.”

Aemond filled the space between your mouths. His hands reached down and grasped your breast. He feasted on your lips and the taste of them like a hungry man. Tingles caressed your spine and tickled your lower abdomen. You rolled your hips, searching for his, but your lover pulled away.

You didn't want him to stop. 

The Prince shushed your complaints and pushed you to the bed. Your back bounced on the goose feather mattress. Eager to feel his skin against yours, you sat up and tried to pull him to you, but Aemond took a step back. A petty smile stretched his lips as he heard you whimper. He ignored you and stood silent, admiring you. His eyes, now black, gazed down at your body, contemplating its shape and softness.

“Aemond, please…”

Your lover grabbed an ankle and kissed it. You moaned. He moved up your calf, caressing your knee and digging his fingers into your thighs before spreading them apart. His teeth nipped at the flesh, which his tongue immediately soothed. Your breathing quickened and breathy moans fell from your swollen lips, intoxicated by his touch. He skipped over your dripping cunt, his hands grazing your hips and sides.  

Suddenly, Aemond stopped touching you, placed a farewell kiss on your belly and sat up on his elbows. 

“I will take care of everything, my love. You will never have to fear for your life. It is mine to cherish, mine to love, mine to protect," he said before reaching up to capture your lips with his. “Mine.”

“I love you," you sighed. 

Aemond smiled, as he did every time the words fell from your lips. One could not get used to the sweetness of love. It forever stirred the heart and soothed the soul. Your Prince placed a chaste kiss on your lips before moving down and disappearing between your thighs. 

His words vanished in desire and pleasure. You forgot them the next day, when the hour of the Nightingale struck.  

You should have known that Aemond Targaryen would keep his promise.

Three days later, the Lady Baratheon was found dead in the Kingswood, impaled on a stag's antlers. 

[paranoiastudio]

His wife

pairing: Aemond х Tully!wife

warnings: 18+ smut, p in v, lactation kink, cream pie

word count: 1,7k

English is not my first language, sorry about mistakes

The rustling of ancient tome pages breaks the silence of the room, merging with the crackling of logs in the fireplace. Night has long since come into its own, but Aemond is in no hurry to go to sleep, studying chapter after chapter, practicing his High Valyrian. The dinner that the maid brought a few hours ago has already cooled and remained untouched.

A loud clap of thunder tears the prince from his thoughts and he belatedly realizes that it was the roar of Vhagar, hungry for flight. But even this noise did not prevent the Targaryen's sensitive hearing from catching something else. The door?

- I told you not to disturb me. - Without turning his head, Aemond returns to the book, bending even lower than before.

- Yes, I was told your words, but I thought that you would make an exception for me... Husband.

Your voice penetrates the prince's head like a sweet melody and he straightens up in his chair. Quiet footsteps are heard behind you, you came barefoot, probably just got out of bed, again not finding your husband nearby.

A light scent of cinnamon and lily fills the space around Aemond and he enjoys the elusive warmth that your presence gives him. His wife... His sweet wife, always so kind to him, always reasonable in public and burning with passion next to him. And only next to him.

- Will you allow me to stay here? - Aemond nods and you find yourself in the chair opposite, straightening out a large sleeping robe for your figure. The blue fabric was decorated with silver threads that formed silhouettes of large and small fish.

- The colors of your house suit you. - A white nightgown was visible from under the robe, the thin lace clung to your chest so seductively that the prince had to make an effort to look away.

- My home is now the Targaryen house. - You smile at each other. - Are you going to sleep tonight?

- It was in the plans. - Aemond shrugs and picks up another book.

- Sounds promising. - You roll your eyes and put your feet up on the chair, like a child. - We haven't been together for so long, since...

It's been half a year since your son was born, maternal cares have not left you, while Aemond was busy with state affairs and only occasionally saw you and your boy.

The maester recommended waiting with intimacy, you needed rest after a long and rather difficult birth. Every day, looking at yourself in the mirror, you could not help but regret your beauty, which now seemed to have faded.

You couldn't help but worry about your marriage: Aemond was so rarely around, and Aegon, on the contrary, hung around more than usual, throwing his barbed remarks at his brother.

- Do you still love me? - Aemond's violet eye immediately pierces you. - If you don't love me anymore, then just tell me not to expect what is not available to me.

Targaryen rises from his seat and kneels before you, clasping your small and cold palms in his large ones.

- No one will ever make me abandon you and you know it. I swore to love you and I love you, do you remember?

Even before the ceremony in the sept, Aemond swore to you, his bride, his love and fidelity. He himself chose you among all and never regretted his choice, it is unlikely that there was a more suitable woman.

- I remember, but...

- No "but", my love. - Aymond touches your hair, which falls in a thick cascade over your shoulders. - And I do not want to hear doubts.

You wanted to download something else, but the prince kisses you, as if deliberately cutting off the paths of retreat. You grab his beautiful face and kiss him back.

It was as if for the first time: Aymond kissed you with passion, pressing closer and closer, your lips seemed to tingle from the intensity of his closeness. His warm tongue slid into your mouth and any doubts in his words disappeared. He touched you as always, gently and lovingly.

You leaned back, the hard back of the chair did not allow you to fall, when Aymond, standing between your legs, opened the heavy robe. The nightgown, the object of his attention, hugged your tender body so beautifully, not hiding you from her husband's gaze. Aymond's gaze slides from the bottom up and immediately notices two wet spots on your chest, milk was still flowing.

- You are so beautiful... - Throwing your legs over his shoulders, Aemond rolls up your shirt to your waist and pulls you closer. - My beautiful, beloved wife.

A wet kiss to the epicenter of your arousal makes you shudder, you squeeze the wooden arms of the chair and slightly lift your hips. Aemond immediately grabs you under the buttocks and presses closer, burying his tongue in your swollen and needy clitoris.

Slowly, he runs two fingers along the wet folds and slightly stretches you, without stopping the movement of his tongue. You play with his blond hair and almost purr from the sensations, you did not hope for this in the morning.

- I will fill you again, dear wife. - Aemond moves his fingers faster, smirking at the squelching sound that your aching cunt makes. - If I could, I would stay inside you forever.

- Aymond, please... - His words spurred you on, your husband's praise always gave you confidence. - I...

- Cum for me, wife. - Aymond doesn't take his eyes off you, continuing to fuck you with his fingers and lazily swirl his tongue over you. - I'll catch you, my love...

Your eyes close on their own, as if a bucket of water had been poured over you: your breath caught, and your limbs were shackled by a sweet spasm. You involuntarily press yourself against your husband, not at all embarrassed by the fact that you are literally rubbing your wet, hot pussy against his face.

Aymond doesn't show any displeasure, he continues to caress you until you calm down in his arms. He doesn't miss the fact that your breasts continue to flow with milk and have almost completely wet your nightgown.

- You are amazing. - Aymond licks his lips and lifts himself up so that your faces are level, the fabric of his pants rubs against your still sensitive pussy and you gasp, pulling him closer. - My beloved. Mother of my child.

Aymond's hand slides along your thigh, feeling how you tremble, but you do not shy away from his hand, trustingly accepting the caress. Aymond cannot help but walk over his favorite places: your hair and shoulders, your plump and heavy with milk and desire breasts, your thin ankles.

- Please, husband, make me a mother again. - You move your hips, leaving wet spots on your spouse's clothes.

Aymond lowers his pants just enough to expose his already erect member. He is still kneeling in front of you and pulls you so that he can comfortably settle between your plush thighs.

You feel his heat, dripping onto Aemond's cock and taking it easily as he fills you in one smooth motion. It's so tight and hot inside that the prince freezes and closes his eyes, trying not to cum right then and there.

You whine and squirm beneath him, but Aemond doesn't move, watching you with a cheeky smirk. He always loved to see what desire did to his sweet, kind wife.

- Aemond, why are you... - You huff angrily, pushing your unruly hair out of your face. - Please, let me...

- You will have everything you want, my dear. In time... - Aemond runs a finger over your lips and you immediately grab him, sucking the finger into your mouth. - So needy...

- Kostilus... Kostilus, valzȳrys... - The words come out of your mouth surprisingly easily, you have long studied High Valyrian, wanting to communicate with your husband in the language of his ancestors.

You see the effect your words have on him: Aemond's healthy eye darkens even more, he licks his lips and falls to your breast, biting and kissing the tender flesh, still wet with milk.

His tongue collects the droplets and finds a hot, swollen nipple, absorbing the milk and easing the pain in you're full tits.

- Gods. - You pull your husband closer, running your fingers through his blond locks. - Aemond, please...

The prince pulls away from you and settles himself more comfortably, distributing his weight on his elbows. You grip his strong forearms and shift, taking him even deeper.

A rough growl escapes your husband's mouth, he catches a fast rhythm, filling you so perfectly that you were ready to cry with pleasure. A white ring gathered at the base of his cock, demonstrating your desire.

- My sweet wife. - The fact that Aemond could speak so smoothly amazed you. - My beautiful, sweet wife, the most beautiful woman in the world. Fuck!

Aemond penetrates especially deep and you close your eyes, feeling how he hits the right spot again and again, pushing you to the edge.

- Aemond, I... just a little more, kostilus... - Targaryen fucks you, the chair creaks under you and you fall over the edge when Aemond's thumb touches your clit.

- Yes, that's it, my girl, cum on my cock, show me how much you want me. - The grip on your hips tightens and you only accept what your husband gives you. Your pussy pulses along Targaryen's length, as if sucking all the seed out of him.

- I love you... - Your whisper does not go unnoticed, and Aemond cums, crushing your lips in a greedy kiss.

Sweat covers your body and your legs ache slightly from the awkward position, but the unique feeling of fullness and satisfaction overpowered all the inconveniences.

- Wait. - You stop your husband, not allowing him to leave your body. - Stay.

Aemond slowly softens inside you, feeling the fruits of your love flow out of you. Slipping out, he pushes his seed into you with his finger, catching your quiet sighs.

- Don't you dare think again that I don't love you. - Aemond grabs your chin and turns your face to him. - You are all I have and I will never, do you hear me, never betray you.

You wipe a drop of milk from your husband's chin and smile tenderly at him, accepting Aemond into your arms.

- And I love you, my dragon. - The warmth of this closeness calmed your heart, which had been gripped by fear for the past few months.

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

the ravenous rupture

fused with the foe, chapter five

a/n: and that's it for fused with the foe! but don't you worry, our wonderful king and queen will return in both of the next instalments of the series ♡ (the release date for the next one is already up on the masterlist)

summary: “I don’t want you to think we have to have a conventional marriage, gods know we haven’t so far,” he added with a tilt of his head, “so, I just wanted to convey to you that if you ever want to be with someone else, at any degree, then you have my full support to do so.” 

warnings: king!steve rogers x reader, smut, fantasy AU (monsters, but not much magic), original fantasy world, enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, slow burn, innocent!reader, love confession, crying, kissing, loss of virginity, semi-public sex, manhandling, size kink, belly bulge, dirty talk, oral, fingering, handjob, pussyjob, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, multiple orgasms, aftercare

word count: 3895

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Raising yourself up onto your tip toes, your fingertip still didn’t even manage to graze the spine of the tome you were trying to reach, only the tall shelf it stood on. 

But just then, before you could turn to get a chair to balance on, an inked hand came into view and grasped the book for you. 

“The Biology of Soil: A Farmer’s Comprehensive Study of Dirt,” Barnes dryly read the title out loud, “sounds absolutely riveting.”

“Don’t mock,” you snatched the leatherbound tome out of the knight’s hand, “it is interesting!”

“Of course, it is, your majesty,” he bit down a chuckle, “my apologies.”

A soft laugh couldn’t help but bubble out of you as you exited the library, “you know, you remind me a lot of my brothers.”

Walking at your side, he shot you a squint, “is that a compliment?”

“Well, I meant it as so, but I guess it could also be interpreted as an insult, all depending on which brother.”

Sinking further back into the plush armchair, your eyes danced from star to star as they glinted back at you through the big library window. 

The full moon was so bright that you hadn’t needed to light a candle in order to make out the sentences in the open book that rested in your lap. 

But suddenly, the creak of the heavy double doors to the chamber found your ears and when you twisted your head to discover who it was, your frame immediately sprung up from your comfortable seat. The forgotten tome tumbled to the floor with a dull thump as the embroidered dressing gown you wore over your ivory chemise fluttered around your legs as you swiftly stood.

“Your majesty–, Steve, I mean, Steve,” you clumsily corrected yourself, “hi, hello.”

“Evening,” he simply smiled, slowing his stride as he watched you bend down to pick the hardback off the floor. 

Hugging the book to your chest, you blew out a breath, “what–, uh…” you eyed the loose linen shirt he had sloppily tugged into his trousers, “what are you doing here?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” he shrugged, “thought a boring novel might do the trick,” letting his fingertips kiss the ends of each bookcase as he neared you by the window, “what about you?”

“Yeah, I can’t sleep either,” a soft sigh flowed from your lips, “my mind just doesn’t seem to wanna settle down these days…”

A gentle furrow appeared to Steve’s brow, “what’s troubling you?”

“Ah, it’s nothing,” you placed the book down on the round side table by the armchair. 

“If it’s keeping you up then it’s not nothing,” gripping the tall back of the chair, he rested against it as he gazed at your visage in the moonlight, “come on, you can talk to me.”

The knot in your chest tightened, “no, I can’t,” and you averted your gaze to the stone floor, “I really can’t…”

“Why?” 

“Because–…” clenching your jaw in an effort to keep tears at bay, you briefly shot him a glare as you snapped, “because I just can’t, alright?” squeezing your eyes shut, you quietly muttered just beneath your breath, “gods… how long will I have to wait…” 

Having apparently had better hearing than you’d thought, Steve then queried, “wait for what?”

Fluttering your eyes back open, you met his gaze and uttered sombrely, “…for it to pass…” feeling your heart thump painfully in your chest just from the mere sight of him. 

A low sigh slowly seeped out of his lungs before his unwavering gaze averted to the upholstery of the chair, “…I hope you know that I’ve grown to care for you a great deal. You’re a very dear friend,” he uttered with the utmost sincerity, “and as a dear friend, I wish for you nothing but the purest of happiness. I want you to experience all of the great and wonderful things that life has to offer,” his ocean eyes then drifted back up to catch yours, “don’t let our union hold you back for any of that.”

Sucking in a breath, you asked, “what do you mean?”

“I don’t want you to think we have to have a conventional marriage, gods know we haven’t so far,” he added with a tilt of his head, “so, I just wanted to convey to you that if you ever want to be with someone else, at any degree, then you have my full support to do so.” 

Averting your gaze, “…is that what you want?” you dug your nails into your opposite palm, “for us both to openly be with other people?”

“I don’t want you to be lonely and depressed,” fragments of desperation resonated in his tone, “you’ve already experienced more than one lifetime of hardships and I really don’t want this to be another one. So, when you fall in love, please don’t hesitate. You of all people deserve to experience that.” 

“…I–…” a shaky breath escaped you, “I can’t–…”

“…you can’t?” he echoed in nearly a whisper. 

“I can’t because–…” lifting your gaze, the library around you grew more blurry by the second, “because I can’t stop thinking about you,” you revealed, “from the moment that I wake to even the dreams that possess me at night. I can not shake you from my thoughts no matter how hard I try,” as you blinked, a tear escaped and rolled down your cheek, “Steve, I wish for you to experience those very joys you speak of just as fiercely. I just want you to be happy even if I’m not the source.”

Looking as if he was scarcely breathing at all, his gaze stayed fixed upon you as he uttered, “dove, why do you think I wish that for you?” your eyes grew wide at his confession, “I don’t wanna be with someone else when you are the one I want by my side,” his fingers faltered from the grip they had on the back of the armchair as his slow steps began to carry him closer to where you stood, “not just as my queen, but as my friend, as my conscience, as my judgement, as my heart,” his eyes glistened as he then declared, “I am yours, Y/n. I didn’t plan for it, I don’t even know when it happened or how, but I do know that it’s true.”

Closing the short distance that remained, you walked up and pulled him down as you began to rise up to your tip toes. As you crashed your lips against his, it didn’t take long before you felt his broad hands glide over your waist. 

Breaking the kiss, you retracted just enough to catch the beguiling look in his eye. The corners of his lips drew up dreamily just as yours did right before you dove back in.

As your fingers weaved in his beard, so did his tongue as it danced against your own, making you lightheaded as your feet began to shuffle back, though you didn’t realise that you’d even been moving till your spine crashed against a sturdy bookcase. 

Parting momentarily at the impact, a soft giggle swiftly followed your initial squeak the collision conjured. As his gentle chuckle echoed your own, Steve’s palm caressed down your features before he captured your lips once more. 

When the fire inside of you crackled and burned too hot for you to ignore, you pulled back, a glossy string of saliva still kept you connected a moment before you gasped, “Steve, I–… I–…”

Resting his palms over yours as they clutched the top of his tunic, he tilted his chin back further, “what?” creating enough of a distance between you to truly check in. 

But how you were going to ask of him what you desired remained a mystery, no matter how hard you scrambled your fuzzy mind. So instead, you wrapped your fingers around one of his wrists and slowly guided it lower. 

“Dove…” he sucked in a breath as his gaze shadowed the journey you were taking his touch on, “do you wanna–…” finding your eye, he asked you softly, “you sure you know what it is you’re asking for?” 

“Yes,” swiftly flowed out of you as you nodded dizzily, “I–… I know. I read the books, I read all of them, I know how it all works,” your rushed words conjured a lovely little chuckle from the royal, “I just–… please?” your hot breathed fanned across his features as he leaned back in close, “I–… I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you…” with your fingers still enveloped around his wrist, his touch slowly began to take over and to move on its own, “fantasising about what you might be like…” unhurriedly ghosting up and down the curve of your waist, “about what your touch must feel like…” each time creeping closer and closer to where you wished for him to caress, “how it differs compared to my own…” till his teasing touch ended each fluttering swoop with feather-light grazes at both the swell of your tits, as well as the lower part of your abdomen, just before he actually reached anything real, through still leaving you utterly dazed. 

Leaning a forearm against the shelf behind you, he smirked, “…you think about me?” 

“Every night,” you dug your fingers in the fabric of your chemise and pleadingly began to hike it up, “sometimes the sun doesn’t even manage to set before I need a moment alone… all because of you.”

As he then captured your lips in a fierce kiss, his wandering hand dipped under your thin shift before you’d even raised the hem completely. When his touch found your buzzing pearl, a whimper slipped from your lungs and vibrated against his tongue as your grip on the fabric faltered and it dropped to hang around his wrist like a curtain.

“Is this how you dreamed about me touching you?” he gazed down at you, smiling at the way you struggled to keep your eyes open. 

Mind melting to ooze, you bubbled, “yes–, but also–, oh!” your brows knit together as he switched to circle your clit harder, “a-also–”

“Also how?” you could hear your want reverberate off the palace walls as he touched you, “did you dream about me kissing you down here?” holding your gaze, Steve then sank to his knees before you. 

Your breaths came in ragged as you blinked down at him, “y-yes,” watching intently as he dipped his head under your gathered-up skirts. The sloppy pecks he then lavishly began to plant over your glistening petals felt like nothing you’d ever imagined, “oh, that’s–,” you let out a broken moan, “don’t stop, please don’t stop!”

Throwing your head back against the bookcase, Steve’s grip buried in your crumbled clothes as his soft tongue dragged through your desperation. 

Letting go of your chemise with one hand, it drifted down your hip. Enclosing his lips around your throbbing clit, he sucked down hard as his fingers joined to sweep through your mess, only parting from you for a breath, “gods, you taste so fucking good,” before he eased one digit inside your clenching cunt. 

You barely noticed that it was falling before the robe you wore slipped off your frame and tumbled to a puddle on the floor, leaving you with only the thin shift and the king’s hot kisses for warmth in the cold night. 

“I can’t believe this is actually happening,” you whimpered, reaching down to thread your fingers in his honied hair as a second finger sneaked in beside the other, fucking you gently with them. 

You nearly wiggled out of his grasp when his luscious laps unravelled you completely, but somehow the monarch managed to follow your every squirm till he softened his efforts and replaced them with a few soft pecks over your sensitive clit that made your whole form twitch.

Fluttering your eyes open, you met his gaze as he raised the back of his hand to wipe some of your juices from his beard. 

Breathlessly, you uttered, “get up,” and as he did, you didn’t waste any time before your eyes drifted from his tender stare, “take your shirt off.” 

With one hand, he reached back and tugged the tunic off of his head, swiftly letting it drop to the floor and join the fabric puddle already at your feet. 

For a moment, he didn’t give in on his urge to close the short distance between you, simply stood there and let your stare study him, learn the galaxy of his flesh, every little mark and scar that told the story of his past. 

With your eyes still glued to the burliness of his fuzzy chest, you uttered, “tell me again,” before lifting your gaze up to meet his, “tell me again so that I know this is real.”

Reaching out to grasp your right hand, he said, “it’s real,” stepping closer as he placed your ceremonially scarred palm over his heart, “I’m real, this is real,” his fingers on his own marked hand, which clasped over yours, gently brushed over your knuckles as he spoke, “I am yours,” he shifted again and closed the small gap between you, “I will always be yours till my dying breath.”

Sucking in a shaky breath, you watched as the moonlight glinted in the blue of his eyes, making them look like the sea on a stormy night. 

“I think my heart has belonged to you ever since the dragon attack,” you professed, “though it took me a while longer before I realised what it was, why you made me feel the way that you do,” you parted your fingers against his chest, “Steve,” and let his weave in with your own, “I love you.”

Using his hold as an advantage, Steve yanked you to him till your lips crashed against his. Letting your free hand wander across his warm skin, it swiftly came down to cup the palpable tent in his trousers.

“Fuck…” he groaned lowly as you offered him a light pet. 

As you shifted to fiddle after the buttons on the side of his breeches, even the aid of your other hand didn’t yield any success in undoing more than one of them. Swiftly coming to your rescue, you swore it only took him three seconds before they hung loose enough around his hips for his cock to spring free.

You felt like you couldn’t breathe as you glanced down at length which stood so proud it poked you in the stomach. If only you had the proper context to truly know how intimidated you should have been at the discovery of his fat girth. 

Hesitantly inching your fingers closer as you stared, you asked, “can I–…?”

“Mhm,” he hummed as he slowly brought your hand the rest of the way down, engulfing his own grasp around yours and gently showing you how to touch him. 

As a sinful curse flowed from Steve’s lips, his free hand drifted up to weave itself into your hair. 

“Will it hurt?” you watched how your fingers failed to meet on the other side of his girth. 

“I don’t know, I hope not,” his forehead rested against your own, “but if it does, then we just stop and figure something else out, okay?”

“Okay…” you hazily nodded. 

Feeling his fingers flex around your own, you saw precum glint at the bulbous tip. 

“It’s all for you, dove,” you felt him throb at your touch, “all because of you,” a desperate growl then seeped out of his lungs as he seized your lips in a fervent kiss, and the next thing you knew, the whole world fell out from under you as he scooped you up into his arms. When a shrill yelp escaped you, Steve simply readjusted his grip on you and said, “don’t worry, I’ve got you,” nipping gently at your neck, “I won’t let you fall.”

With your fingers still grasping his girth, the new position now had your pussy pressed dangerously close to it, so close that you couldn’t help but sweep the head of his cock through your soppy folds and drench him. Tapping your clit a few times, the instinctual drive of his hips triggered you to simply cup his length near and let him part your pretty petals and lather himself in your needy nectar. Each desperate thrust ended in an electric nudge at your pearl, rendering you to whimper shakily into the night. 

But then suddenly, in the fog of it all, the very tip of him caught your entrance and slipped inside, purely because of just how wet and ready you were. 

“O-oh, fuck!” everything froze as you reeled at the staggering sensation, breathlessly digging your nails into his broad shoulders and leaving crescent-shaped marks in their wake.

“Sorry,” he hastily panted, “you okay?”

“Uh–… uh-huh,” you nodded fuzzily, shutting your eyes a moment as you caught your breath. 

But then as your gaze fluttered open once more, you caught his stare and offered him a short, affirming nod, holding his eye as he slowly began to move. 

Your mouth hung agape as he shallowly fucked you, barely even giving you anything but still turning you into goo in his grasp. 

“Y-you’re so beautiful,” you whispered as you fluttered around him. 

Gliding you’re your palm up to his cheek, moans tumbled out of you both as he gently began to offer you more. Your legs couldn’t help but twitch in his grasp as he practically split you in half with the way he eased you down on his fat cock. 

“You’re doing so well,” his face crumbled up in a silent moan as you felt every detail of him slowly stretch you out, “gods, you’re so wet…”

And the next thing you knew, it wasn’t so slow and steady any longer, as the bookcase your spine was pressed against rattled at his efforts. 

You thought before that just the bulbous head of him was overwhelming, but to have that tip kiss desperately against the deepest part of you was something else entirely. You couldn’t speak, you couldn't think, you could barely even breathe, just go slack in his firm hold and feel him, not just right there, but fucking everywhere, that’s how stuffed you were. 

Steve’s strength wasn’t that novel to you these days, but to have him lift you up and sink you down on his cock, like you were just a leaf on the wind, still managed to amaze you. 

“F-fuck,” you blubbered as you tumbled over the edge once more, “oh, fuck!” accidentally knocking a few books down as one of your arms flailed for purchase. 

You barely registered the loud thud the crashing books emanated as your frame melted down into his hold. Your face buried itself in the crook of his neck as he breathlessly came to a halt, still embedded deep inside of your clenching cunt. 

The sound of his breaths directly in your ear helped to soothe your tingling senses as he rested his cheek against the crown of your head. 

Shifting his feet, Steve carried you the short distance over to the comfortable armchair you’d inhabited earlier. Carefully sitting down in it and keeping you in his lap, his arms silkily slid up your back and hugged you close. 

After persuading you to curl out of your hiding spot by planting soft pecks all over your face, you blinked down at him, bathed in the moonlight that gushed in from the tall window beside where you sat.

Gliding a hand around to your front, Steve gently tugged on the thin string at your neckline, undoing the bow, before he pulled the shoulders down your arms till you slid out of the sleeves and the top of the undergarment crumbled to gather at your waist with the rest of the fabric. 

As he pressed his lips to the peak of your tits, one of his palms accompanied the kisses. A soft whine flowed out of you as your hand slid down to where your bodies were still joined and played with your puffy pearl. 

Casting a glance down, he groaned, “yeah, rub that little clit for me,” and your hips intuitively began to rock gently. 

As you touched yourself, something else caught your attention as you slowly began to ride him. At the lower part of your stomach, you felt the dull bulge of his staggering size poke your palm steadily to the rhythm of your gentle efforts.

Letting your pebbly nipple escape from his lips with a pop, his gravelly timbre washed over you as you slowly rocked, “that’s it, fuck–,” his grip slid down to be firm on your ass, “that’s my girl.”

Abruptly, as if snapping out of a trance, you notice just how loud you both were being.

“Wait,” you shushed him though didn’t halt your hips motions, “we’re in the library, someone could hear us!”

“Then fucking let them hear us,” his fingers dug into your ass as he desperately took over and bounced you in his lap, manhandling you as he slammed you down on his cock hard enough for you to lose your breath, “no one would dare bother us, trust me.”

And before you knew it, your cunt clamped down one last time around his cock, hard enough to halt his efforts and milk him of all of his worth. 

Weakly letting his dick slip out, your skin was practically glued to his as you plastered yourselves to each other and you sensed his hot load slowly leaked out of your sensitive hole. 

As you listened to his heartbeat slowly return to normal and your heavy lids fought to stay open, a thought entered your mind. 

“Hey, Steve?”

Shifting his arms around you, his soft hum washed over you, “hm?”

Keeping your voice low, you shared, “I don’t wanna sleep alone tonight…” but to your surprise, a gentle chuckle then rumbled in his chest, “what?” you lifted your head and blinked up at him, “why are you laughing?”

“I’m sorry, it’s just­­–,” he smiled, gazing down at you as if Zondür himself had divinely created you especially for him, “you really think I’d let you skip off to your room alone after all of that, like it never even happened?” 

Huffing out a short giggle, you lowered your glance, “well, when you put it like that…”

“Yes,” he pressed a kiss to the tip of your nose, “if you want me to sleep beside you, I will,” rising from his comfortable seat, he readjusted his grip on you, twisting you to him as he hooked an arm behind your knees and at your back. As he carried you close, he began to lumber out of the library and down the hallway, concurring the short distance to where your chambers lied, “my queen, I would love nothing more for the rest of my days than to fall asleep with your head on my chest and wake up to your softness arching against me…”

Flexing your fingers around his neck, you raised yourself up enough to capture his lips in a tender kiss one last time just as he kicked your bedroom door shut behind you both.

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[rafayelsbelovedbride]

Lemurians and the Sea God

As the new branch revealed that Rafayel borrowed the Sea God's powers rather than being the Sea God himself, I want to discuss why the Lemurians needed this power in the first place.

So let's start by summarizing what we know so far, and what these things can imply.

First, Rafayel accepted the Sea God's powers with a price.

Rafayel accepted the Sea God's powers from the tome which had an aether core embedded in it. This implies unlike what was mentioned in the Forgotten Sea, Rafayel is not a god but a vessel for the Sea God's powers. And, he has to pay a price and obey the Sea God's will (the prophecies of tome of the Sea God) for using these powers.

I wonder why there was an aether core fragment in the tome. Did Rafayel receive the power through this aether core? And, was Rafayel drawn to that because he also possesses fragments in his heart, just like MC? Is that why he is the vessel? Can this also explain the strength of their bond that can bring Rafayel back when he was possessed by these powers? Can MC differentiate the frequency of Rafayel's heart and the Sea God's heart when she resonates? Does that mean there is a little difference between all the aether core fragments?

Rafayel and the Sea God are different entities as Rafayel can lose his control to the Sea God.

I think there is a reason why Rafeyel described the tome of the Sea God as the island's cornerstone that bore the weight of Lemuria's past and future. I think the original Sea God (maybe the first Sea God) was the core of the planet. The same core that was described to be empty and had long been exhausted in the Shooting Stars myth, which probably belongs to a timeline after Rafayel's and the last Sea God's death.

I think the Lemurians used the Sea God's power as a supply for the earth's core the same way the king of Philos wanted to use the aether core of MC.

Maybe many years ago, this whole thing started with Lemurians asking for a god's help when they faced with the fact that the earth's core was dying. And, the god accepted their prayers and made a vessel so that it could come down to earth and use its powers to keep the planet alive a little while longer.

This power is described as a great "flame" that has burned in Whalefall City's temple for thousands of years. And without it, the Lemurians are said to transform into hideous beasts. (wanderers?)

Also, I wonder if the vessels were created by the god from an aether core fragment. And to be able to inherit the Sea God's powers, their aether core needed to have a certain level of strength that could carry the Sea God, otherwise, the vessel would shatter when it was filled with its powers. And that's what the prophecy refers to. The vessels must increase their strength before they can fully inherit the Sea God's powers.

Rafayel was born in flames and he needs his most devoted follower's heart to gain strength. Also, when MC first met him, Rafayel said "You awakened me."

In Rafayel's case, he has to do it by getting MC's heart. I think the prophecy is a little misleading here. I think MC does not have to give her heart because she is the most devoted follower. Instead, I think she has to do that because the vessel needs the aether core's energy, that MC already possesses, to carry the Sea God's power. Prophecy refers to MC like that because that's just something that describes who MC is. There could have been no other devoted follower of the Sea God.

In addition to that, he then gave his own heart to MC, increasing the power of MC's aether core when he's supposed to do the opposite. And that's why, when they look at the tome in Sea of Golden Sand, the prophecy changes to "to take back what he's lost the God of the Sea must kill his beloved".

Also, I find it interesting that Rafayel said you awakened me when they first met. As Rafayel was said to be trapped in a place with very strong currents just like the blue hole where the tome of the Sea God resides, I think we can assume that this is the place where MC first found him. So, I wonder if Rafayel was awakened because he felt the power from MC's heart, the same heart that he needs to enhance his strength to become the Sea God in the future. I also wonder if MC found Rafayel that day because she was also drawn to his aether core by her heart.

Rafayel rewrote the tome of the Sea God and choose to burn away.

But Rafayel has never taken MC's heart. So he never fully inherited the Sea God's power to keep the flame alight and the earth's core stable. Instead, he rewrote the tome and gave away his life to keep the core intact for a while longer. And that is why he is the last Sea God. And when the energy he gave to the earth's core was exhausted at some point, the heart of Philos remained empty after him.

The heart of Philos is empty and hungry for energy. This energy can be supplied by ordinary human life or by the MC's aether core.

And that's how I connect Lemuria and Philos. I think in the beginning, Lemurians were the ones being fed into the planet's core and turn into wanderers until they found a way to inherit the Sea God's powers and use the aether core for the same purpose. But then Rafayel broke this deal with the Sea God and left the earth's core empty again until the core started to feed on people of Philos. To prevent this, the king of Philos decided to use MC and her aether core again.

So, in the end, even though Rafayel sacrificed his life to take MC's place, his sacrifice was not enough to keep her safe. And this is a very sad story.

[blue-sadie]

Lust Filled Touches

Astarion x Reader x Halsin

Summary: based off of this post

Warning: lust spell, double penetration, breeding, standing sex

Yn/3rd person pov

They noticed your whole group noticed your change in behavior after the ambush, a group of weak mages came out of nowhere and hit you with a spell before they were beaten to a pulp by your companions.

Your friends all kept an eye on you especially astarion and halsin which only made the spell take more effect on you, you clench your thighs together as soon as your body felt their gaze on it.

You shivered every time they layed a comforting hand on your shoulder but shit it got worse when they spoke to you when they would bend to meet your gaze it only drove you more insane.

"My tav are you sure your alright" I had to hold myself back from letting out a pitiful whine as astarion crouched infront of me "you can tell me anything" he grabbed my hands and held them tightly in his "I'm here for you" his eyes held a pleadingness in them.

I shook my head and pulling my hands away from his "i-im gonna hurt you" I choked out loudly looking anywhere but him, he stood up slowly and reached out to touch my face but I flinch away.

My skin burning at his close proximity I heard him gulp and slowly caressed my face with his finger tips, I leaned into his touch relaxing against him closing my eyes "astarion" I moaned making him freeze.

My heart clenched as I realized what I had just done I slowly let my eyes flutter open cringing into myself as I saw his shocked expression "I'm I'm sorry" I squeaked and took off running away in embarrassment.

Tears started to roll down my face as I ran this stupid spell was making everything worse, I collapsed at the nearby creak crying out as my skin started burning from where he touched me.

Astarion pov

I stood there frozen few a seconds the sound of her moaning my name repeating in my mind "astarion where is tav" halsin asked as he and gale approached me I opened and closed my mouth my brows frowning in confusion.

"She just left" I murmured letting my eyes move to them and slowly letting my hand fall from its position "gale here might know what's wrong with her" halsin said smiling confidently and gestured for gale to speak.

He cleared his throat and glanced at both me and halsin nervously "spit it out" I muttered wanting to get to the bottom of this "a lust spell" he murmured making mine and halsins eyes widen "what" halsin asked confusion laced in his voice.

"Don't ask but I was looking through the mages belongs and found a tome with one of the pages mark so I opened it and there it was a lust spell" he grinned like he just accomplished something great I rolled my eyes "how do you know for certain" I asked as I folded my arms.

"Well the obvious sighs" he chuckled I snarled at him as a warning making him shut up "what sighs" halsin murmured as he put a hand on my shoulder keeping me from lunging at gale.

"Well not being able to be still under your gaze, shivering everytime you touch her not being able to focus when you speak" he spoke as if we should already noticed we just watched as he waited for a response from us.

"Guys come on its obvious you guys are her only hope at getting back to normal" he groaned rubbing his face "what makes you think that" I snapped getting irritable.

"If you guys don't see her very obvious feelings towards you, you need to get glasses or the fact you guys already act as a fucking couple" gale stuffed his laughter behind his hands and a few of the other nosey companions did they same.

Halsin and I felt flushed as we glanced at eachother "shell we go and find her" halsin asked me gesturing to the woods "after you" I grinned and we slowly made our way in leaving the camp behind.

Yn/3rd person pov

I cried out as I failed once again to make myself climax "fuck fuck fuck" I yelled knocking my head back against the tree I was sitting up against it felt as if it was hours from the incident, the burning of where astarion grazed his finger tips as subsided.

"Astarion halsin" I cried out praying that they would come to my rescue, it was starting to hurt every where, my breathing was becoming uneven and rigid and my eyes started to blur.

"Aww look halsin it already looks like we fucked her" my body shivered as I heard his voice and his nearing footsteps "astarion" I whined grabbing ahold of his shirt and pulling myself into him snuggling deeply into him.

He stroked my hair cooing at me I peered over his shoulder at halsin who was looking everywhere but me since I long discarded my clothes on the floor "halsin" I whined out causing his ears to flicker.

"Come on halsin stop being such a tease tav here is ready to be fucked stupid by the both of us" astarion grinned seductively as he turned me so I was standing full view of halsin who gradually turned his gaze to me.

"She already dripping" astarion trailed his hands slowly down my body as he spoke teasing my skin with his nails my eyes trained to halsins as he watched me carefully "ready for her needy hole to be filled" I let out a sharp gasped as astarion stuck one of his fingers inside me slowly thrusting it in and out.

Halsins chest rumbled as he let out a deep growl before he started nearing us only stopping a few inches away "h-halsin" I pleaded looking deeply into his eyes "please" and as that word left my lips his calm demeanor snapped.

His large hand grabbed hold of my neck as he crashed his lips against my in a possessive kiss "fuck" astarion cursed into my ear as he too wanted to join in on our fun, astarions lips attached to my neck using his fangs to tease my skin.

"Do you think she can take both of us" halsin asked as he pulled away from my lips causing me to whine astarion chuckled against my skin "my sweet halsin in this state she can take 10 of us can't you baby" he nipped at my earlobe making my body shivered "yes I can" I moaned out making them both chuckle.

"I guess we'll have to test that out" halsin said as they moved away from me to strip off their clothes I marveled at they body's and huge cocks my mouth started to water just st the sight.

"Fuck she looks so good" halsin growled as they returned to their positions they both leaned down attaching themselves to each side of my neck kissing and nipping on my skin.

I let out soft whines and whimpers "s-stop teasing" I murmured they grinned against my skin and that's when I felt it "fuck" I screamed out loudly as they both pushed in, I could feel myself split into two.

They gritted their teeth cursing as they held themselves back waiting for me to adjust I moaned out as got comfortable "your brilliant my tav" astarion praised as they started thrusting.

Their grunts and growls drowning out the sound of my cries of pleasure halsin pressed his lips to mine in a soft kiss making my mind go wild he pulled back and did they same with astarion "I truly love they both of you" he groaned out admittedly.

The burning sensation increasing at his words "I love you too" I moaned out making astarion nip at my neck "don't forget about me to my darling" he grunted I turned my head to the side and captured his lips with him.

"I love you" I whispered, something in his eyes changed from pure lust to love and his thrusts became harder as he looked at halsin before speaking "how about we cum inside to show the world she's ours".

I clenched myself around as halsin growled out 'fuck yes' I could sense we were all close to cumming "please cum inside me" I begged, my moans heightening as I felt them both pulse inside me.

"Fuck" we scream out loud enough I'm sure the camp heard us, I cried out as I felt them feel me up with their cum my eyes widening as I noticed my stomach bulging at the amount their released inside me.

"Your ours tav" astarion growled as they gently guided us to lay on the ground they spoke kinds words to me as their fingers gently traced patterns onto my skin making me become tired quite quickly "goodnight darling".

The next morning I already felt better the spell must have worn off but when I opened my eyes I as stared up at the two boy and their lust filled gazes I slightly shifted and gasped as I felt their hard cocks pushed up against me I gulped nervously as astarion leaned down to whisper in my ear.

"Now now tav its only fair since we helped you out its only fair if you return the favor"

Tag.List

@bloodlessbhaalbabe @sweetirilly @lonelyhumanoid @neteyamyawne @greekgods15

[pursuitseternal]

“Release Me:” ⛓️ Chains and feral smut ⛓️ for “The Rogue You Were”

Ascended Astarion x F!Reader |E| 2K

“Chains” prompt for Ascended Astarion Week

Summary: After weeks of captivity and starvation, you finally rescue your love from his enemies. But the beast chained in the cell barely knows himself or you… until you’ve satisfied all his hungers.

CW: Blood kink (I just wanted a reason to have them fuck covered in blood), Feral/primal play, desperate sex, long nailed AA, prison sex, bondage/mild BDSM

Ao3 link | Astarion Fic Masterlist

⛓️‍💥⛓️⛓️‍💥⛓️⛓️‍💥⛓️⛓️‍💥⛓️⛓️‍💥⛓️⛓️‍💥⛓️⛓️‍💥⛓️⛓️‍💥⛓️⛓️‍💥

Musty, dark, dead. The bowels of the Red Wizard’s tower are worse than a dungeon. Not a speck of light, no slight hint of breeze. It is a tomb. A coffin. And inside somewhere is your love.

You can feel him, his blood calling to you, even as his mind has unraveled these long weeks of capture. You get fleeting images of his senses: the wide-eyed fear in his chest to be imprisoned in the dark. Away from his beloved sun. The racing pant of his breath to be so enclosed, not unlike that year he never speaks of under Cazador’s torment. Locked away. You feel the stinging of silver chains gnawing at his flesh, burning just enough to sap his strength, but not so strong as to kill him.

This was meant for pain, constructed for punishment, to hold him until his enemies would kill him. Your beloved. Your lord and king and master, overthrown by his foolish need for more power. You told him not to go alone to seek the remnants of the Red Wizards of Thay… you warned him they would want their tome returned and would punish him for knowledge of it.

Even the decrepit remnants of a failed cult can win from time to time.

Your chest burns as you try to catch your breath, your skin and armor slick with the blood of your enemies. But your feet propel forward regardless, pulled by the tether of your bond to Astarion.

You heave a sigh of relief to finally find the cells, thick black doors almost indecipherable in the darkness. A little daylight spell, and your eyes adjust to find a dozen doors carved from the bedrock of this damnable tower. The rattling of metal links, the rough snarls of breath grows louder as you close your eyes and follow the ragged beat of his ascended heart.

Hand shaking, you pull out a Knock spell scroll, a sigh of relief that your own Wizard companion of old had prepared you to take on these foes. Even as your fingers stick to the parchment, hands soaked in blood, you recite the word, and the edge of the cell door glows bright white for a moment.

Resonant, it creaks open on its ancient hinges, revealing a pair of glowing red eyes and the crescendo of dry-throated breath. His body drags across the floor towards your daylight, and your heart bursts with ache to finally see him again. Tears sting your eyes.

Paperwhite and beyond deathly pale, his gaunt face leers at you from the darkness. Lines of red, of raw flesh cross his neck and bare arms and legs where he has been chained.

Chained naked.

Your bile rises in your stomach as you curse his captors souls, glad you have already put those Wizards to a bloody, eviscerating death. You’d do it all again, just to punish them for how they’ve tortured your love. Breathing his name, you enter his cell, the walls of black stone absorbing the light of your spell, it seems. But it gives off enough for you to see every line of his hollowed face, every crest of his bony frame.

Astarion twists against his chains, his mind a pulsing mess of feelings and words, too feral to even speak yet. But one word comes across clearly.

Blood.

His nostrils flare, his tongue dangling over his fangs as he scans your spattered armor. A predator with the scent of prey in his nose.

There’s blood in the air…

He’s too hungry, too starved for blood and for you to be safe. Not with they way his eyes are wild and his tongue laps at his jaw. “Astarion,” you speak, making his black-blown eyes focus on you. “I’m here my love,” you reach a hand out to caress his silver hair, but he just snaps his fangs at you once you're in reach. Those silver chains holding him just shy of disaster.

“Naughty,” you try to chide him, but the humor is lost on his hungry body and soul. Mind racing, your feet race faster, hands finding the closest fallen enemy to drag it back after you down the hall. Then you leave it, ignoring the muffled grunts and growls and slurps he makes as he drains the corpse completely.

When you glance back inside, he looks at you, steadier, calmer, and covered in blood. He still crouches on the ground, hands and feet and neck bound, but now he croaks your name. “Darling,” his voice pains you with recognition, “I knew you’d come.”

You hurry to his side, kicking that light, bloodless corpse to the side. The silver chains at his ankles sting you, but it’s nothing compared to the pain of separation you have endured for weeks. You pull the silver apart in your hands, freeing his legs so he can stretch them out at long last.

A deep grunt of relief sounds from his chest. Your hands work up and down one leg, then the other, trying to soothe the tension and numbness and blood flow.

As you reach the top of his thighs, you withdraw in surprise. His cock achingly hard, juts against his belly, twitching and pink and… happy to see you too.

“I have missed you,” his voice caresses your ear and rushes down your spine, the chains at his neck clinking their high-pitched music as he leans against you. Nose buried in your hair, he inhales your scent like a drowning man gasps for air. “I can’t wait another moment, my love.” His voice unearthly, barely more than a growl, his hands chained near his belly reach into your armor.

You notice his nails, literally clawing for you, seeking your flesh. Nails, so long unkempt, have taken on their wild form, the razor sharp talons of a vampire lord. “I was so worried…. I missed you, my love,” you sigh, an edge of fear in your belly as you long to kiss those bloodstained lips with your own. Ignoring the sting, you grab the silver chain, a little yank to tug at him, making a playful, aroused smirk turn his dripping, scarlet lips as his body draws closer.

“I am master of myself once more,” his brows cant rakishly, even in the dark. “I won’t bite unless you ask very… very… nicely,” he croons straining against your leash.

“Oh, I think you're asking for more than a nibble,” you tease to release some of the fear that still lingers in your veins. Never have you been separated from him since you turned, and never, not even during the Rite of Ascension and your fight against his old master have you feared his death more than these past weeks. Floodgates break, your need to touch him and taste him overpowering all logic and fear.

Your fingers work quickly, unlatching your breastplate and cuisses, eyes locked into his as he watches your every move, tongue licking the blood from the corner of his mouth absentmindedly. You let the metal clang to the floor. Those two restrained hands extend for you, making the chains around his arms hiss as the magic sears more into his flesh anew.

“Hold still,” you order, crouching to grab the chains and tug them free from his flesh, his wounds instantly closing up now that he is well-fed once more.

For all the pain that must be lancing through his body, he just holds your stare with his own, sultry and feral and commanding. “Now, where were we?” he purrs, hands trembling to finally touch your body. Even with sapped strength, he pulls you flush against him, bringing you close. Slotting you in your place against his body. Those blood-caked claws dig into the supple cover of your leathers, tearing through it at your hips and down the seams as though they are paper. You’ll worry about decency later, for now you’re of one mind, unable to think until you’ve joined again.

You sink your body onto his cock, and he sinks his fangs into your blood-spattered neck. Your groans bounce off the pitch black walls, a roar of bliss and relief and release. No more fear or danger, aside from the fear of coming too quickly and the danger of spending hours fucking once more, covered in the drying gore of your foes.

The thought tickles from your mind to his, and he laughs as he thrusts up into you. “Just like old times,” he rasps between swallows from your neck.

Like old times, like every time, your body follows its instincts, finally filled with what you have most craved. His cock stretches you, a nearly unfamiliar pressure once more, but you hardly notice, not with how dripping wet you’ve become just to feel his breath on your neck and savor his muscled frame thrusting into you.

Tears prick at your eyes but you won’t let them wash that blood from your cheeks. No, you just grip into his hair, pulling his mouth from the puncture wounds in your neck to your own waiting lips. The copper tang of your blood floods your mouth as his tongue sweeps inside, the familiar taste of your own blood mixing with the nasty pollution of your enemies’ he drained earlier.

It sours your stomach, the taste, but you’re too lost in the way his breath warms you, inside and out. Those long, feral nails score into your back, wandering quickly between your writhing bodies. With low, rumbling growls into your mouth, he grips your waist, moving you and holding you in place as he fucks harder. More erratic. More hellsbent on that release he needs.

His voice fills your ear, “My Consort, my love, my pet, my saviour,” he pours your beloved epithets over you, breath ragged and out of synch with his roughly snapping hips. One hand lies splayed on the stone behind him, that extra leverage driving him deeper with abandon. He’s thickening inside you, so hot and too quickly.

“Don’t get carried away,” you chide, yanking at the chain around his neck, making his crimson eyes stare at you with lust-blown pupils. “You haven’t even given me a reward yet for my daring bravery, my love.” You make him hiss, his slack mouth baring his fangs in pleasure-ridden pain. “And you haven’t even granted me an apology for running headlong into this… foolishness,” you cock your chin and tug his chain-leash again. “Promise me, no more ludicrous missions without me.”

He growls but nods, hands digging at your ass, not one hint of resistance.

“Then I’m satisfied, well…” you wriggle, clenching your walls on his throbbing cock inside you, “soon to be satisfied.” A laugh shared on both your panting lips, you ride his lap, bringing him back under a steady rhythm, drawing out his pleasure until you’ve had yours as well. He pulls against his last remaining chain, and you tut your tongue. One of your hands brings his fingers into the apex of your thighs, coaxing his finger to circle your clit with every buck. Your other hand releases that leash, freeing it from his flesh at last so you can grab his chin. Then you lick… long and cleansing, tasting the remnants of your blood, and your enemies’, and faint traces of his own.

That warm tip of his tongue laps at the corner of his lips, his breath heavy as he feels your walls fluttering around his cock. Spine arching, hips canting fervently, you scream for him, tears in your throat and down your face at last, as if you didn’t believe you’d ever be brought to orgasm by him again. Sharp nails score into the sensitive flesh of your folds, hips slamming into your last waves of pleasure as he spills inside you, spurt after spurt of his seed filling you and leaking to the prison floor beneath you both.

Crimson eyes glance up at you, wild and sated, hungry and happy all at once. “Get me home, my Consort,” he whispers. “You’ll be coming on my cock in our bed next.”

You smirk, breathless, pulling out a scroll to open a portal to your palace. As you stand, you kick the chains at your feet with your boot, thankful he’s released into your care once more.

⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️

💞 to @marimosalad and @nyx-knox

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Cut Deep

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Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, violence, bullying, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Bad news brings the worst out in Logan. [reader is a mutant who can see emotions]

Characters: Logan Howlett (Wolverine)

Note: since this is my first time writing this character, I'd especially appreciate some extra feedback

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

“So, me and Scott just wanted to let everyone know we chose a date!” Jean is ecstatic. You can feel her happiness radiating from her. Despite how often you try to block those vibrations out, hers are so strong, you can’t. “And we’ll send out the invitations soon. Be sure to RSVP! And we know you all can make it because it will be right here at the mansion.” 

She beams as Scott drapes his arm around her shoulders. They are such a cute couple. Perfect. Everyone on the team loves them. Well, everyone except for the one person roiling with black clouds of spite. 

You glance over at Logan as he stews by the door. He stands with his burly arms crossed, his biceps straining in his leather jacket. He glares at the happy couple and curls his lip. Everyone also knows that he has a rotten infatuation with Jean, too. You feel bad for him really. 

He catches you staring before you can tear your eyes away. He tilts his head and narrows his eyes. You quickly look away and swallow. You get up and go to Jean and Scott. 

“Congrats, guys,” you smile, “let me know if you need any help with planning.” 

“Thank you. Of course,” Jean smiles as Scott echoes her. 

You make room for another well-wisher and back away, basking in the good energy all around. Well, mostly. You feel Logan steaming still but you refuse to look at him. You know how he gets when he’s upset. You don’t need to be able to see into his mind to know he’s pissed off. 

As the room converges on the happily engaged couple, you opt to leave before the noise can get too much. You’re always a bit more sensitive with the extra effort of trying to block out the sounds that you don’t want to hear. It’s like a buzz on the other side of a wall. If the door cracks open, it will all blast in like a sonic wave. 

You go into the library and reclaim the book you set left carelessly open on a leather armrest. It’s a history of mutants written in the 1700s. A secret tome Professor Xavier collected among his endless search for compatriots, both past and present. 

Some you know from the history taught in schools for non-mutants. Like the queen accused of witchcraft or the countless people executed for the very same. Emperors who’s legacies are chalked up to folktale and superstition over the reality of their beings.  

You sit up as you sense the shift in the air. That greyness seeps in before the door opens. You know who it is already yet you’re surprised to see him enter. Logan scowls as his eyes pinpoint at you. His rage continues to burn hotter and hotter. 

“Oh, hi,” you close the book, “sorry, did you need the library--” 

“I need you to stop tryna poke around in my head,” he growls. 

You flinch as you stand slowly, “I... I don’t do that. Those are the rules. I stay in my own.” 

“I saw you staring,” he accuses. 

“I just looked. I could... feel. That I can’t control,” you explain. “Sorry.” 

“Feel what? Huh? What do you think you know?” 

You clear your throat and shake your head. “Nothing, I don’t know anything.” 

“Damn right, you know shit all, little girl,” he stomps over to you. 

You gulp as you stare back at him. Logan, Wolverine, X-Man. He’s one of the most admired and well-known mutants alive but that’s all you know of him. You’ve seen him hundreds of times in the mansion, but only in passing. He never wanted to talk to you, only Jean. As far as you knew, he didn’t even know you existed. 

“That’s correct,” you agree. 

You peek down at the book in your hand. You should put it back. You sniff but as you go to turn, he rips you back by your upper arm. His grip is steel. You face him and wince as he squeezes enough to make your bones ache. 

“You think I’m what? Some pathetic creature that’s slathering over another guy’s girl?” He barks. 

You shake your head, “nope. No. I wouldn’t... know.” 

“You fucking wouldn’t,” he grits, his fingertips pushing into your tender arm. You let out a squeak. “Me? What about you? Always around. Riding her fucking coat tails. All for what? Cause you can tell when I’m having a bad fucking day. Every day is fucking bad.” 

You stare at him. A vein bulges in his forehead, another in his neck, and he’s slightly red with his fury. You don’t understand why he’s mad at you. Well, people often don’t aim their emotions in the right direction. Often, there’s too much for them to feel and it just spills over.  

Logan’s aura deepens to a thick black. Darker and bolder than anything you’ve ever witnessed. It tendrils around you as you squirm. You clasp onto the book and try to wiggle free as the blood throbs in your arm. 

“Ouch. Please, let me go. I wasn’t meaning to--” 

“You’re never going to be her. You know that? You won’t even be an X-Man. You’re just one of Charles’ pets.” He reaches for the book and rips it from your hand. “He keeps you in your birdcage and you flutter around and read these stupid things.” 

He tosses the book onto the floor and steps closer. You step back and whine. He keeps on until you’re against a shelf. 

“You’ll never be her and I’ll never have her,” he grits out. “So, we’ll compromise.” He grabs your neck and you writhe and whimper. “What do you feel now, huh?” 

A wisp of red tinges the black fog unfurling from his broad shoulders. More anger but something more. Lust. Love is a delicate pink or a pale purple, but lust is a deep and lurid crimson. Mixed with his rage, it is something more. It’s a tainted hue. 

“I can pretend. You should try to do the same.” 

“Please,” you press your hands against his stomach. 

“Don’t try that shit,” he drags his other hand down your arm and puts his knuckles to your side. He lets his claws out just enough to jab you. “You can’t get in my head. Professor made well sure of that.” 

You squeak and shake your head, “I wouldn’t-- Logan, please--” 

“Shut your damn mouth and pull your pants down. I ain’t got all day,” he snarls. 

“What?” You bat your eyes as they glisten. “No, no, what are you--” 

His claws poke you again, easily piercing your shirt and scratching your skin. You lean back into the shelf as you peel your hands away from him. He glowers at you as he releases your neck. He crowds you in as you wait just a moment longer, hoping, wishing he would go. 

You lower your hands cautiously. You drop your gaze, humiliated. You shake as you hook your thumbs under your waistband and push your leggings down. You gulp as your eyes tingle. 

He grabs your shoulder and spins you to face the shelf. You let out an oomph as you catch yourself against the books. He trails up to the back of your neck and pinches. You squeal into a sob. Your disbelief bubbles to horror. You brace the wood as he yanks on your panties. 

“Fucking girl,” he mutters. “Lookin’ at me... what d’ya fucking know?” 

“Logan--” 

“Stop saying my goddamn name.” He shoves your head so it hits a shelf and you groan. Ouch. 

You close your eyes and lean your forehead on the wood. Jean says you need to breathe. Centre yourself. It’s hard when you’re terrified. 

You inhale, taking in his emotion, his anger, even a tinge of that other desire that drives him so slap your ass. He digs in his nails as you babble. You gather the black cloud and blow it out. 

He hisses and recoils as it ripples off of you like fire. He growls and as you go to turn, he sweeps your feet out from under you. You flail as you fall, landing on your elbow so it throbs. You whine and roll onto your stomach. You drag yourself over the floor as he clutches his head and snarls. 

“I told ya not to try anything,” he barks. 

“Please, please, I didn’t do anything.” 

He steps over you and falls to his knees. He straddles you as you claw at the floor, pushing your toes down as you try to escape him. He swats the back of your head so hard your vision blurs. His anger darkness the room and disorients you. 

You’ve never felt anything so intense and you feel everything. Love, joy, pain, grief, confusion... fear. His anger strangles you as he forces your head down to the floor, leaning his weight on his head as he pins you. 

He raises himself on his knees and shifts. You kick out, thrashing your arms. You open and close your hands and clamp shut your eyes. You can do it. Take his anger in-- 

You scream as you’re scalded by the corrupt energy pouring from him. No, it’s too much. You’re not ready. All that training and you’re still weak. 

You murmur at the floor, “no, no, please, no...” 

He traces his hand down your ass and forces his fingers between your thighs. He feels around roughly, scratching your as he flicks along your dry folds. You gulp and heave. Your tears swell in an unstoppable flow. 

You slap your hands on the floor and tense as he prods around, dipping a thick digit into your cunt with a grunt. Your legs distend and you push your toes down. He delves, in, out, deeper, harder, smashing into you. 

He rips his hand away and you whine again. He leans over you, his hand stretching across your skull entirely. You can feel his strength in your neck. He bends, hot breath scalding your scalp with the flames of his wrath. 

You weep as he brings his tip along your flesh and guides it around blindly. He puts more weight onto your head as he stretches you around his tip. You shriek and jut your arm out straight, the edge of the rug curling in your grasp. 

“Help, someone! Help--” 

He grabs your head with both hands and slams it into the floor. The reverberating impact fractures your voice and thoughts. He rams his hips down and impales you around his thick cock. You murmur as spittle leaks from your mouth and tears continue to smear your face. 

He thrusts, holding himself at his limit and well past yours. He grips your skull tighter and tighter with each tilt. He huffs and puffs, growling and groaning as he tears you up from the inside. 

Finally, he releases your head. The metallic shink of his claws cuts through the delirium of physical and mental anguish. The pain in your bones can’t compare to the dagger of his anger piercing through your soul. 

He stabs his claws into the floor on either side of your neck. The adamantium grazes your skin, keeping you still for fear of cutting deeper. You wheeze and go rigid as he rears back and slams down harder and harder. His flesh clasp louder with each cruel descent. 

The black cloud creeps over the floor like heavy fog. It crawls up the walls as a glimmer of red weaves through it. He ruts deeper and deeper, the motion jarring you so that his claws scrape away the skin at your neck. 

He bends over you, curling his shoulders as you feel him tense. He exhales as the blackness covers the ceiling and casts you into shadow. You reach to grasp at his claws, slicing your palms helplessly as you cling on. 

He thrusts until you feel him in your guts. Once, twice, several time with all the hatred he can summon. He growls and trembles as he spills into you, a heat hotter than even his boiling rage.  

Your hands slip from his claws and you spread your bloodied palms on the carpet. You quake in horrified sobs. He buries himself as he lays his entire weight over you limply. He puffs as he dislodged the metal from the floor.  

He hangs his head next to yours and sneers, “it shouldn’t be him, Jean.” 

You hold your breath. You can’t speak or move for fear of reminding him what he’s just done. Or worse, reigniting his assault. 

He groans and slides out, flipping off of you to sit on his ass. He rests his arms on his bent knees and sighs. You watch the black haze dim to a dull grey. He’s still angry but he can contain it. The storm has calmed but it's far from over.

[illbegottenfaith]

lucky pt 2 - theo nott x reader

after the Felix Felicis incident, your relationship with theo has dramatically changed, for better and for worse

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

a/n - by popular demand! rip my title tho the best alternative I could come up with was ‘feminine ass-kicking’ but idk if that’s too out there. also I’ve started part 3 too! (which should be the final part) this was kind of inspired by gilmore girls season 6 :)

tropes/warnings - academic rivals to lovers, angst, slow burn, miscommunication

word count - 2.1k

The Felix Felicis incident had given the both of you much to think about. Outwardly, you maintained the appearance that nothing had changed between the two of you, taking snipes at each other every now and then. But every night, before you’d fall asleep, your mind would wander back to that evening at the Astronomy Tower, the sight of Theo and the harsh contours of his face softened by the forgiving setting sun. Every night, he asks if you have anything else to say. Every night, you shake your head.

And as much as you’d like to pretend otherwise, things had changed between you. Theo became more reserved, somehow, less determined to spar with you. Your fights didn’t hold anywhere near the spark they once did. And you hated it. You hated that it bothered you, you hated that it upset you, you hated that it was all you could think about every time you were in the same classroom as him. It just wasn’t fair.

What also wasn’t fair was your entire group falling sick the day before an extremely crucial Potions project was due. They were all more than apologetic, but it didn’t change the fact that months worth of work to complete in one night if you wanted even a semblance of a chance at passing.

Which was how Theodore Nott found you in the library late one night, pouring over five gnarly tomes on Potions from the Medieval era, writing what looked like three essays at once. You flinched when you heard a noise near the bookshelves, and your mood wasn’t much improved when you saw who it was.

“Trying to read every book in one night, L/N?”

You wanted to roll your eyes. After weeks of stunted conversation, now that it was just the two of them, he was suddenly feeling chatty?

“I'm busy. Buzz off.”

Ignoring you, Theo crept closer, tilting his head to read what you were haphazardly scribbling.

“The Potions project? But we started that months ago. And it’s due tomorrow.”

You swept the papers up out of his sight. You were already in a testy mood to begin with and you were in no mood to have him crow over your bad luck.

“What part of ‘buzz off’ don’t you get?”

“Where are your groupmates?”

“Sick.”

“Sick?”

“They all went on some Hogsmeade trip together, the whole lot of them. They all caught it from each other and they’re supposed to be stupidly contagious.”

“But their reports should be fine.”

“They were, until Madam Pomfrey declared them a biohazard.” Your head was beginning to hurt from the bottled-up frustration. You knew it wasn’t their fault for falling sick, but now you had to pull an all-nighter just so you wouldn’t fail. You stood and walked past him to the shelves, pulling out any and every book that remotely looked like it might help. 

You glanced at the clock, mentally calculating how much time you’d need. There was no way you could get it all done by 9 am. Feeling quite proud of yourself for successfully giving Theo the same cold shoulder he had been giving you the past couple of weeks, you walked to the library telephone and started dialing the number to Slughorn’s office. One of the only people who could help you now was Jeeves, Slughorn’s teaching assistant, provided he was in a good enough mood.

“Jeeves, hi. Yes, I know it’s late, but I was wondering if you could delay the Potions project submission by just an hour? I’m sure Slughorn wouldn’t mind. It’s just my entire team fell sick all at once, and Madam Pomfrey threw out everything they’ve touched in the past three days, including their reports. I know it's due 9 am but couldn’t you bend the rule a little, just this once? For me?”

You rubbed your forehead anxiously, an unpleasant expression on your face as you tried to follow whatever Jeeves was yammering about punctuality. When he moved on to the importance of personal accountability, you felt like you were going to combust if you didn’t shut him up soon.

“Y’know, Jeeves,” you interrupted with a dramatic sigh, dropping your voice, “just the other day I was thinking about that one Quidditch match you had played a couple of years back. Yes, that one game you subbed in for the Chaser? I have to say, you’re no slouch yourself out on the pitch. You sure look like you know your way around a broom. Yes, exactly, way better than those oafs on the team. I always thought it was a shame you didn’t make the cut - one hour. Yes, yes, that’s all I need. Thank you, thank you!”

You hung up, already feeling much more hopeful with the one-hour extension. All that was left to do was slave away for the rest of the night, and by morning you’d have a more than acceptable report ready.

“…what was that?”

You started, having nearly forgotten who was with you. “What was what?” You asked, half-distracted, once again absorbed in rearranging the layout of your Potions project.

“That, with the - ‘you look like you know your way around a broom?’ Really?”

You glanced at Theo, frowning. “Well, how do you get what you want?”

You turned your gaze back to the book splayed out in front of you, missing the brief look of longing that passed over Theo’s face. “Hmm. Bribery, mainly.”

“Right,” you said slowly, a hint of sarcasm in your tone underneath the flurry of activity. “That trust fund isn’t going to spend itself, now is it?”

“My trust fund doesn’t kick in ‘til I’m 25, tesoro.”

You wanted to kick yourself when your heart fluttered over the stupidly endearing pet name. You didn’t realise how much you missed it. “Oh, oh, of course. Mr. Moneybags here is just absolutely rolling in it even without his trust fund. How could I forget?”

“Mr. Moneybags? That’s the best you can come up with?”

You huffed without any real annoyance. You walked over to where Theo was lounging as he lazily watched you spin like a top between the bookshelves. He had the decency to sit up slightly as you approached and dumped the stack of papers into his lap.

“Look, Nott, I’m on a time crunch here. So either help me or get out.”

Theo looked up at you without a trace of mockery in his otherwise teasing blue eyes. You willed yourself to not look away. 

“Yes, ma'am.”

You made the mistake of holding his gaze. A beat passed, then two. It seemed that it was surprisingly impossible for either of you to look away. Finally, you snapped out of it, mentally giving yourself a good shake as you hurried out of his magnetic field back to the table. If you didn’t know any better, you’d have thought you were flirting with him.

“Wha -?”

“Toast. From breakfast.”

You glanced around the room bleary-eyed, seizing Theo’s wrist a little harder than necessary as you blinked the sleep out of your eyes. As much as you hated to admit it, last night had gone better than you could have ever hoped. It helped to have another pair of hands and a brain that was almost as good as yours. Unfortunately, you must have nodded off at some point, 

Cursing as you finally made out the time on his watch, you peeled off the piece of parchment stuck to your face and continued writing, even as every muscle in your palm protested. Theo rolled his eyes and stuck the toast in your mouth, which you mindlessly nibbled on for the next hour or so. 

When you were finally done, you stuck your group’s names on the cover page and the two of you hurried down to Slughorn’s office a little before 10 o clock. Jeeves, good man that he was, was still in. But your relief was short-lived.

Jeeves did an insufferably exaggerated impression of reading the time as you walked in. “It’s 2 past 10. I’m afraid I can’t accept your submission.”

This was it. You reached your limit. You weren’t running on what was at most 2 hours of sleep just for some self-important dimwit of a teaching assistant to refuse your submission.

You grabbed the collar of Jeeves’ shirt, manhandling him with hours' worth of frustration. “Listen here, Jeeves. You will accept my group’s submission if you want to walk out of here with every part of your anatomy intact. You will take these essays I have here and you will accept them graciously, Merlin help you if you don’t.”

“What happened to using your feminine wiles?” asked Theo, thoroughly enjoying himself.

“Yeah, well, now I’m more in the mood for a feminine ass-kicking. Jeeves, come on. ”

You only released him when Theo placed a calming hand on your wrist. He reached into his pocket, offering something to a very red-faced and highly affronted Jeeves.

“C’mon, Jeeves. Maybe we could make this more worth your while.”

You hesitated, torn. On the one hand, you were raised better than to bribe people or accept financial aid, especially when you didn’t really need it. On the other hand, this project was worth 40% of your grade and Jeeves was being a little bitch. 

Jeeves mulled over the coins in his palm, taking his sweet time appraising them. Just as it looked like he was about to ask for something a little more, you slammed a hand on his desk.

“Alright, fine, hand it over.”

Once you’d finally successfully submitted your project, the two of you walked out of Slughorn’s office in a daze. Without the stress of the impending deadline to act as a buffer between you, a certain awkwardness started to set in. Theo had his hands in his pockets, rubbing at a scuffed patch on the floor with his shoe.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you started, but he waved off your protests. Still, no one pulls an all-nighter for just about anyone.

“So how much did you give him?”

Theo sighed. “L/N.”

But you were already pulling out your coin purse. “It can’t have been more than what I have on me now.”

“Y/N.” You stopped counting out your coins. He was looking at you strangely, like he didn’t understand what he was doing either. “Forget it. Really.”

Reluctantly, you pocketed your coin purse. A hysterical sort of giddiness was starting to set in. “We did it.”

“You did it.”

Maybe it was the long night of endless writing or your grumbling stomach. Maybe it was the sleep deprivation. Or maybe it was the way he was looking at you now, with a smile so sincere like he was genuinely so proud of you. Whatever it was, you took a step towards him, and then another before throwing your arms around his neck.

It was a little less dignified than you would have hoped, what with you trembling with barely any sleep and the vestiges of caffeine-induced adrenaline and him having the audacity of being a whole head taller than you since sixth year. But he steadied you before you could tip back, his arms resting around your waist. You had never shaken hands, much less hugged each other, but something about it felt so warm, comforting, familiar. The feel of his solid body pressed against yours didn’t feel so terrible.

But as you pulled apart, you caught sight of his expression, and your face fell. He wasn’t smiling like you, not anymore. 

“I’m sorry,” you blurted out, immediately feeling like the biggest idiot in the world. He still wasn’t smiling, but he didn’t look angry either. He looked - you couldn’t tell how he looked. He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear almost regretfully, before turning to leave.

“Don’t.”

Theo paused. He didn’t turn to face you.

“Don’t do this, Nott. Don’t be cold. Don’t be distant.”

He adjusted the shoulder strap of his satchel. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he was nervous. “I have Charms to get to.” He turned his head slightly but not enough to meet your gaze. “You should get a proper breakfast.”

And then he left, as if he had no idea what you were talking about. As if the last twelve hours hadn’t occurred. As if he hadn’t felt the void festering between you the past couple of weeks.

As if he didn’t care about you.

[honest-moth-of-silver-grove]

hc for adrian having a girlfriend or s/o prior to his mother's death. they're human and maybe her apprentince or something. and the church takes her too, but before they can burn her at the stake, dracula shows up and rescues her because he knows lisa was fond of her. during adrians and draculas fight maybe she interbenes at a critical moments so drac doesnt kill him and alucard gets away but she's now a prisoner of dracula w/n his castle. and maybe she befriends the generals?

A/N: Aw, man. Sometimes I wonder if Lisa did have an apprentice, that maybe Dracula wouldn’t be as anti-human as he ended up being, or if she could start to turn him to see the error of his ways sometime before Alucard and Dracula end up in Adrian’s childhood bedroom. 

Apologies for the delays in updates. But my brain went WILD with this request so it’s a long one, I hope that makes up for the less frequent posting. Anyway, I hope you enjoy these somewhat bittersweet (then depressing then bittersweet again) headcanons! (Also this is unbeta-ed and prob grammatically messy as hell, so read at your own expense lol.) 

Word Count: 6.2k 

TW: Canon Typical Descriptions of Graphic Violence; Brief Mentions of Sexual Violence; Canon Death; Descriptions of Torture (the church is high-key fucked up here)  

Adrian W/ A Human S/O Reader (Who’s Also Lisa’s Apprentice, Prior to Her Death):   

━━━━━ ❂ ━━━━━   

The Beginning:   

Okay, so let’s get one thing straight… FIRST OF ALL, Lisa would adore you!!! Like, you make her baby boy happy and you’re smart??? What else is there to it? And then to top it all off, you’re super sweet and kind and interested in learning about medicine and the world around you!   

Lisa meets you once over dinner and she’s already planning the wedding in her head.   

Adrian is smitten, because of course he is, but in an adorable, somewhat restrained way. He doesn't have a lot (ahem, ANY) experience in this department, so he’s hesitant to take things forward with you, mainly because he doesn’t want to scare you off or make you suspicious about what he is. (It’s hard to make out with someone when you have two big vampire fangs in the front.)   

Adrian is young, like you. So, on top of all the complications, he feels no need to rush things. Sure, he’s heard a few whispers here and there about Dracula having a son, a son who according to rumors and gossiping villagers is to rise as the antithesis of Dracula. It’s all silly superstition, but it does stay fixed in the back of his mind. What would this future legacy mean for his relationship with you? And, should it ever come to pass, would you even be a part of it?   

That’s neither here nor there though, and in the meantime, the two of you simply enjoy the talking phase. You get to learn more about each other's interests, and beliefs, but mostly, you spend time in proximity to one another— you remain busy attending to his mother, learning all you can about healing while he, just a table over, spends his time rereading one of his many favorite tomes.   

I honestly don’t see you meeting Dracula until you and Adrian are like a fully committed couple. I’m pretty sure you would have to have been Lisa’s apprentice for a while and/or lived with the Tepes in their Lupu cottage for months before Lisa finally breaks through Dracula’s protests and makes him officially meet you.   

I don’t think that meeting would happen in Lupu either. No, I imagine it would have to take place at Dracula’s castle, just in case you were to freak out, you’d have no way of escaping and telling any others.   

I can almost see your reaction being similar to Lisa’s upon first entering the castle, especially if Adrian is already at your side. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure Dracula is terrifying, but there’s also a giant telescope in the next room calling your name so….   

Much to Adrian’s relief, this newfound information doesn’t make you frightened of him at all, if anything, it simply reignites your fascination with him. You throw rapid-fire questions at him: If he's part vampire, how come you’ve seen him eating human food? Does he need both food and blood to satisfy each of his halves? If he needs blood, he could take some of yours you know…   

Your penchant for learning softens Dracula a little. For a brief time, he wonders if, perhaps, it was as Lisa said, that the humans could change, that humanity was changing for the better.   

He sits across from you at their grand dinner table, watching you intensely as you and Adrian talk about the recent literature you’ve read. You’d no doubt feel Dracula’s all-powerful gaze on you, making you turn to him and… Wait, did you just smile?!   

You’ve got guts, Dracula will give you that.   

Knowing the family secret, you can’t exactly break up with Adrian, nor do you have any desire to. I wonder if Dracula would have rings made for the two of you, maybe commission a new family portrait or two.   

You stay with Lisa in Lupu during Dracula's travels. Adrian is around, although he's always off between the castle and their cottage, so you never feel entirely alone or vulnerable. Your life is perfect! It’s better than you could have ever imagined!   

That is, until…   

━━━━━ ● ━━━━━   

The During:   

When the Church comes to take Lisa, you beg them to see reason. You cry and scream, hell, you even try to fight your way out at one point, only for both you and Dr. Tepes to be overpowered by the Church’s henchman.   

The two of you are taken, violently, to Targoviste, where you’re thrown into dark, damp cells with little to no light. Freezing, you huddle together for warmth, each trying your best to reassure the other, that all will turn out well. Adrian was still around, right? He’ll have to come home to find you missing, he’ll come and rescue you. And Dracula was due to return soon, correct? Surely, they’ll come. Surely, they’ll stop this madness.   

It’s a few days later, after hours of interrogation and brutal torture that you realize with a heavy heart, that no one is coming to rescue you. And what’s worse, that these so-called men of the cloth cannot and will not listen to reason. You’re starved and beaten, your hair is sliced off so close to your skin, that they take bits of your scalp with it in some places. And despite initially being imprisoned with Lisa, you find yourself being separated from her for longer periods.   

The men try everything to get you to turn on her. They tell you if you recant her wicked ways now, say she used her evil magic to trick you, your sentencing will be easier. You could still live— they dangle betrayal in front of you as a last lifeline. You don’t take it of course. You love Mrs. Tepes, and you know she’s no witch. You muster what little might you have left, spitting at the men as you tell them to go to hell. You swear she’s innocent, that she knows nothing. Hell, at one point, you find yourself confessing to having manipulated her! You don’t think they buy it though, if the poor doctor’s screams from down the hall are anything to go by.   

The night they light the pyre, the night of Lisa’s murder, you’re sick on more than one occasion. You scream your throat raw, begging them to burn you first! That she was innocent! That you corrupted her! That it was all your doing! But to no avail.   

In a scene that could only rival the Crucifixion of Christ himself, you look up through tear-soaked eyes to see Lisa, enshrouded in flames, begging Dracula to show mercy on her killers, to forgive them, that they know not what they do. “I know it's not your fault,” she cries out, “But, if you can hear me, they don't know what they're doing! Be better than them. Please!”   

You sob and wail, watching as your would-be mother-in-law is burned alive. You scream out for someone, anyone! To please help you, save you! With Lisa’s last words echoing in your mind, you can’t help but fear Adrian’s and his Father’s reactions, should they find you both killed.

Oh, gods…   

You don’t know what makes you feel sicker… The barbaric display you’re witnessing now or the hypothetical one that threatens to wipe out all living people in Wallachia once Dracula learns of what’s happened. You need not wait long for an answer.   

In a fury of fire and grandeur, Dracula’s head appears, molded in flame, demanding to know what has happened to his wife. You cry out to him, apologizing profusely, saying you begged them to burn you first! You scream out how they refused to see reason, they killed her for helping! Injudiciously, in your indignant anger, you plead with Dracula to release his fury on the priests who did this, to send them to hell to be tortured for eternity for this unforgivable transgression!   

With the silent fury of a gathering storm, Dracula’s fiery visage speaks calmly as his anger grows concertedly less. "I give you one year Wallachians,” he finally decides. “You have one year to make your peace and remove any marks you have made upon the land. One year, and I'll wipe all human life from the land of Wallachia. You took that which I love, so I will take from you everything you have and everything you have ever been. One year."   

No sooner than he spits out the words, a coil of fire bursts from his image, winding itself around your body. The guards surrounding you gasp and flee, avoiding the coil’s tail as it whips back and forth, hoisting you into the air.   

The fiery coil burns your skin, and the smell of even more burnt flesh makes you gag. If you had any bile left over at all, you’re certain it’d come up yet again. The pain is like a thousand stinging nettles and boiling water constricting your arms and midriff all at once. Your vision grows blurry as you feel your body move through the air, your nostrils taking in one last wretched breath of sulfur and smoke.   

━━━━━ ◉ ━━━━━   

The After — Part One:   

When you awake you find yourself laid, practically bare, a heap on the floor within Dracula’s castle— the evil Lord himself only feet away, raging over his magic well— as shards of his magic mirror whip around him at incredible speeds. Your head is pounding, it feels as if it might explode, and your arms… Fuck.   

Where the supernatural coil grabbed you, your skin was red and raw, small pockets of blisters already beginning to form. Your arms tremble uncontrollably as you try to move them, the pain that’s consuming your nerves is far too intense to hold them steady as you sit up into an upright position.   

It doesn’t feel real; nothing feels real. It feels like a nightmare. It had all been perfect, everything was perfect— you all were happy! How did it turn into such horror so fast?   

Shakily, you rise to your feet and clutch the remains of your clothes to your chest in an attempt to preserve your modesty, although it’s more of a subconscious act on your part. Everything feels like it’s moving in slow motion, yourself included. It’s like the air is heavier here somehow, its weight filling your lungs and weighing you down.   

A loud noise shocks you back to the present, nearly making you stumble over in fright. At least you would have, had Adrian not used his superspeed to catch you before you fell. One of his gloved hands grasps your left arm directly over the burn, causing you to let out a hiss. His rectangular eyes look wider than you’ve ever seen as he releases his grip, looking over your battered form.   

“(Y/N) ...” Adrian says, his voice serious and quiet, barely a whisper.   

You shake your head furiously, unable to trust your ability to speak without breaking. Upon Adrian’s gentle insistence, you feel your mouth opening, and the words slipping out, scraping against the back of your reddened throat as they exit your frail body.   

“They killed her, Adrian…” you whisper, your voice quivering. “I, we tried to stop them, they just wouldn’t listen!” Somehow, your eyes begin to water again, despite your earlier certainty that your body had no water nor tears left in it at all.   

“Once she realized they wouldn't listen to reason, she lied and told them I was innocent. She told them she had manipulated me, that I was just a child, that I didn’t know what I was doing, that she never got the chance to teach me!” A feeling of guilt consumes you as you speak the words aloud, and soon enough, your body is once again plagued by uncontrollable sobs.   

Adrian listens intently to your words, his brows furrowed. You watch through teary eyes as a range of emotions flash across his face: anger, hurt, pain, sorrow, and finally… acceptance. Your beloved hardens his gaze, choking down whatever grief he may be feeling. At the present, Adrian knows, there are more pressing matters at hand.   

You follow Adrian’s steely gaze back, seeing his Father where he is bent over his summoning circle, cursing in a language that is foreign to you before he switches back to Romanian.   

“One year! It will take me one year to summon an army from the guts of Hell itself!” Dracula proclaims, promising to enact vengeance for the death of his love.   

“No.” Adrian counters, slipping out of your grasp.   

“Adrian,” you whisper, warningly. “Don’t—”   

“What do you mean, ‘no’? That woman was the only reason on Earth for me to tolerate human life!”  Dracula retaliates, enraged his son could even conceive of such lenience.   

“Then find the one who did the deed,” Alucard proposes. “If you set loose an army of the night on Wallachia, you cannot undo it, and many thousands of people just as innocent as her will suffer and die.”   

“There are no innocents! Not anymore! Any one of them could have stood up and said, ‘No, we won't behave like animals anymore.’"   

“(Y/N) did.” Adrian points out. “She tried to take all the blame, in an attempt to save Mother’s life.”   

Dracula looks over at you with blood-red eyes, contempt clear on his face. “And yet,” he snarls, “Here she stands, and my Wife, your Mother does not!” He hisses the last word, livid that out of the two of you, you were the one who survived.   

With large, fearful eyes, you watch as Adrian closes the gap between him and his Father.   

“I won't let you do it. I grieve with you, but I won't let you commit genocide.”   

“Adrian,” you warn again.   

The next bit happened all so quickly.   

Faster than you could blink, you watch, helpless, frozen in horror as Adrian charges his father, his longsword drawn. Despite their vampiric speed being unrecognizable to the untrained human eye, you swear you watch the scene unfold in slow motion. Adrian charges first, but Dracula, roaring in a fit of rage, counters faster— his Father’s elongated claws slash diagonally across Adrian’s chest, before his fist pauses, still embedded deep within your lover’s gut.   

You don’t have time to think before you act. To you, Adrian has the abilities of a god, but to his Father… It was clear there’d be no match. You have no clue how you got your hands on it, no idea as to how you even managed a successful hit, but the next thing you know, a triangular shard of magic mirror is impaled in Great Lord Dracula’s back, put there by your very hand.   

Too terrified to even breathe, the only sound you can hear beyond your racing pulse is a wet, gory squelch as Dracula retracts his claws from Adrian’s body. You hear the spray of blood before you see it, a rush of bright red blood gushes onto the marble floor between Dracula and his son.   

Standing at his impressive full height, Dracula turns ever so slowly, ever so menacingly, to face you. His pupils are that of a blood moon, his sclera so bloodshot they practically look as black as night. In that second, you know you’ve fucked up.   

You cower as Dracula raises one hand to you, instinctively shielding your neck from his nasty bloodied talons. With surprisingly repressed strength, Dracula backhands you, the force sending you flying backward, smashing into the base of one of the curved bookshelves lining the walls of his summoning room.   

With his focus still on you, Dracula stalks toward you. Knowing it’s now or never, you scream at Adrian to flee. “Run!” The words rip out of your raw throat, sounding like an eleventh commandment.   

You see Adrian, previously stunned by his Father’s disregard for his life, holding together the gaping wound across his chest. He has no time to even spare you, his beloved, a last look before evaporating into clouds, his cloud of bloodied mist bolting for the door, fleeing as fast as his injured state would allow him.   

Dracula only turns to watch as his son, his very possibly fatally wounded son, flees the confines of his castle. For a moment it is silent— only the sound of both yours and Dracula’s heaving breaths echo across the chamber.   

Clenching his clawed fingers into a fist, Dracula says nothing as he too makes his way to the castle doors, leaving your bruised and broken body alone in the dark.   

━━━━━ ❍ ━━━━━   

The After — Part Two:   

Somehow, Christ only knows, you find your way to one of Lisa’s old labs and do a half-assed job of patching yourself up. You find your burns and dislocated shoulder to be the most painful of injuries.    

Thankfully, Lisa had taught you enough about setting a patient’s shoulder that you managed to smash it into an adjacent wall, popping your joint back in yourself. The burns you wrap in honey and milk-soaked linen gauze, wincing every time the bandages brush against your skin. It’s awful work, slow work too, but you must have managed it alright because you find yourself patched up and passed out in one of the castle’s kitchens a few hours (or days? had it been days?) after that.   

You eat raw vegetables and berries— nothing that requires cooking. Lord knows you couldn't prepare anything successfully now even if you were to try. Eating your foraged meal in silence you debate your next steps. Do you go back home? Would your family even welcome you home after your long and unexplained absence? And if they, along with all the humans in Wallachia were ultimately to be driven from the land, did it matter anyway?   

‘Oh god,’ you think. You have to warn them, have to make them flee before a year is up. But where would you go? Where could you go? Greater Styria was a possibility, although it was not by any means an easy journey, and the climate there was much colder than your folks were used to here. You shakily rise to your feet and set out to find a map within one of the Castle’s many libraries.   

After a good night’s rest, you find your mindset with a newfound determination: you will go home. You were going to get your family on the move and then… Then, you’d come back here.   

You knew, in all likelihood, that returning to Dracula’s castle after the fact entailed certain death. But you also knew, things would get worse if he were to be left alone.   

Dracula may not have ever loved you for a daughter-in-law. Hell, he may not have ever loved anyone aside from Mrs. Tepes, but you promised her while huddling together that first night in those dingy cells that no matter what happened, should either of you get out alive, you would not leave Adrian and Vlad. “They need humans, (Y/N),” Lisa coughed into your ear. “And most importantly, humanity needs them.”   

Dracula would resent your company, he would want to be rid of you. But you could not be rid of him, not after what Lisa had asked of you.   

‘Besides,’ you thought, ‘Nobody should have to grieve alone.’   

The journey back home to your parents is majorly uneventful. Sure, it was touch and go for a while, your body was exhausted after the ordeal you endured, and your wounds had gotten infected once or twice. Thankfully, you had the mind to pack with you any potential treatments you might need.   

It felt good to be home, to be amongst family again. You couldn’t stop crying and hugging everyone when you first arrived. You kept the details to a minimum but made it clear they needed to be the hell out of Wallachia before a year. You told them you had found an apprenticeship, that the woman was kind to you, but while in Targoviste, you saw the burning of a witch, and soon after the face of Satan himself appeared in flames, threatening the crowd. It caused a panic, you see, and you had gotten trampled in the process.   

You didn’t bother to explain that the woman you were learning under was this so-called witch and that this Satanic figure was her husband. Nor did you tell them of your half-inhuman partner. You knew had you told the family the whole truth, they might have cast you out as a devil worshiper and a liar and choose not to heed your words.   

Your warnings spread through your extended family like how ivy creeps up a stone wall. A fair part of your relatives in the country believed you enough to agree to uproot their lives and settle outside of Wallachia: some settled on Syria, others had decided on Greece, Egypt, or Rome. The more skeptical ones who hemmed and hawed over the validity of your claims agreed to move into the countryside, a decent distance from any major Wallachian city or village.   

When you were certain they’d heed your words, you told them you could not stay with them, your Mother wept for three straight days and your Father could do little to console her. As much as it broke your family’s heart, you knew that your need to return to Castlevania was larger than yours. You weren't just doing it for your family, you were doing it for every family across the land. You couldn't be selfish. Mrs. Tepes was the most selfless woman you had met, and she taught you well. If you meant what you said to her when you first met, that you wanted to help people, you would need to buck up and accept the consequences of that.   

Your journey back to the castle was much more melancholy than your journey home. You could almost feel the whispers of the tortured souls Dracula had slain before blowing cold air into your ears, begging you to turn back. Nevertheless, you continued. You entered Castlevania to find you were alone, however, that would not be the case for long.   

Months later you had fallen into somewhat of a predictable routine within the castle and its new occupants. Dracula had recruited two humans to serve as his war planners— men by the names of Hector and Isaac, respectively. You appreciate the levity Hector, and his undead pets bring, and you admire the intelligence and loyalty Isaac has. You just wish they weren’t going along with Dracula’s plan.   

You tread carefully as you find the time to express to each of his Generals that you wish they wouldn’t go through with this plan. You explain humans are not the kind of species to give in to subjugation, they will revolt eventually. You suggest the vampires come up with some sort of tit-for-tat system with the humans instead like, for example, promised blood servants would equal vampiric protection for that territory.  

It’s safe to say no one is impressed with your centrist ideals, so eventually stop taking part in the conversation. You silently hang around Hector, and just listen with a sorrowful expression, satisfied with knowing that if you can’t change the Generals' minds, you can, at the very least, make them somewhat uncomfortable.  

When Carmilla arrives, you’re immediately put off by her little display of insolence. Unlike yours, her dissent doesn’t seem to come from a place of concern. You make a mental note to keep an eye on her.  

It’s during the General's next argument that you receive a ray of hope: “We are quite certain that Alucard sleeps at Gresit.”  

You feel your body grow lighter.  

“So, that means,” you speak aloud to yourself more so to anyone else, “Adrian is alive?”  

You’re met with a handful of annoyed glares from the other vampires as Isaac continues: “And that there was recently a Belmont there.”  

Upon hearing Carmilla berate the others for not sending night creatures to the ancestral Belmont home, your smile falls and your improved mood falters. These Belmonts were famous monster hunters, famous enough to frighten your current vampire company. That means, if there was a Belmont in Gresit, at the same time as Adrian, as Alucard, whatever the hell he’s going by these days, it could prove disastrous for your love. For all you know, he’s still recovering from the wounds dealt to him by his Father. And if this Belmont, this monster hunter strikes first and asks questions later, he may accidentally kill the only living vampire in existence who stands against the very nature of this war.  

‘How ironic,’ you think solemnly. Just as fast as the universe gives you hope, it rips it away once more.  

You excuse yourself, and make your way towards Hector’s forge, aiming to distract your distraught mind with some cute reanimated pets.  

Shortly thereafter, Hector joins you. He asks if you truly did not know Dracula’s son was still alive. You shake your head ‘no’, telling him how you had prayed every past night to any God who would listen, that they would send their holy armies and angels to guard him, but no, you had mostly just feared he was dead.  

You spend the rest of the night talking to Hector about Alucard, Adrian as you knew him. How smart he was, how much the two of you used to laugh, and how much he looked just like his Mother.  

“Perhaps that’s why,” Hector supposes, “Dracula could no longer bear to see him.”  

You say perchance he’s right, conveniently leaving out the part where the Father and Son duo almost fought to the death right in front of you.  

The conversation with Hector reignites something within you. You feel as if you had been praying all this time for an answer, and this was it. Alucard was alive, and so was Belmont. You understand now what needs to be done.  

Your lover must once again fight his Father, and this time, he must win.  

Your silent observations allow you to learn of Carmilla’s scheme fairly early on, as well as Godbrand’s demise at the hands of Isaac, yet all that time, you say nothing. You keep your mouth shut and your eyes down. If Carmilla divides Dracula’s army and court, she will inevitably make it easier for Alucard and Belmont to destroy him.  

The Generals, and even Dracula himself, believe you are mourning the loss of your love for the second time, as his demise will be inevitable the moment he meets his Father and his armies— or at least, that’s what they assume.  

When Carmilla has Hector send special night creatures to the remains of the Belmont home, you attach a letter around one of the creature's necks, hoping your love will notice it, and if he doesn’t, you pray he instinctively outwits the traps that await for him within his Father’s castle.  

━━━━━ ❂ ━━━━━   

Beginning Again:   

The night Dracula chooses to move the Castle to Braila, you manage to speak with him one last time.  

You bring him some tea, even though you know he won’t drink it, and you tell him, for what must be the hundredth time, how sorry you are about all that’s happened. You apologize for not being able to do more to save his wife. You tell him that if you could do it all over again if you were given a choice between who they should burn first, you’d demand it be you.  

Dracula turns away from the fire to look at you upon hearing those words.  

“She was fond of you, you know.” He says, sounding far away as if lost in a distant memory. “She was overjoyed at the thought of gaining a daughter”  

You nodded along a hurt smile on your face. “It was my honor.” Gathering your courage you continued: “Even though it didn’t work out, I want you to know I loved your wife very much… And,” you kept going. “I love your son very much.”  

Dracula said nothing. He simply turned his attention back to the flames within his study’s fireplace.  

“It’s not too late, you know,” you prod gently. “If Adrian is alive, he could still come back, we could still be a family-”  

“No!” Dracula’s low growl sent shivers down your spine.  

For a moment you feared he would rise to attack you or perhaps berate you further, but no such action came. Instead, the former Great Lord Dracula’s shoulders deflated back to their hunched position, as he fell silent once again.  

Quietly, you made your way back to your room, shutting and locking the door behind you. If you had any tears left at all, you would have shed them throughout the night. Instead, you merely lay awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering if there would even be a tomorrow to awaken to.  

Pleased to still be alive at this point, but feeling increasingly suffocated by this overwhelming sense of doom, you spend the next day cooped up in your room, on your knees, the rosary in your hand, whispering prayers of safety for your loved one. You couldn't explain it, but at the time, you felt compelled to recite prayer after prayer and reveal all the fears and worries in your heart.  

You speak out to Death, to God, to all the angels and saints, and beg them to grant Adrian safe passage as he completes his task of saving humanity— it’s something his Mother would have wanted after all.  

Amidst your fervent prayers, you feel the Castle shake and creak, but you soon realize something is off: it keeps jerking from side to side, several times, way too many to be a case of a single relocation. Your heart races, and in the pit of your gut, you know this is it:

The Alucard has come.  

Your love has come back for you.  

You scramble behind the door, poised with a wooden stake in hand (just in case, you never know), and wait.  

And wait.  

And wait.  

Following a crescendo of metallic crashes and screaming, you hear more crashes, this time lesser in intensity and they’re accompanied by the distinct scent of fire, sulfur, and burnt flesh.  

It terrifies you, bringing such horrible memories of your almost demise to the surface. You look down at the burn scars on your arms and feel physically ill. Every time you shut your eyes to blink, you see the corpse of Ms. Tepes, burning alive right before you as if no time has passed at all, as if you’re trapped in the permanent hell of that memory.  

The overwhelming ornery atmosphere in the castle only grows, seeming to suddenly flood your nostrils and every pore.  

You watch in shock and horror as thousands of soot-colored transparent ghouls burst through your doorway, the shock of the impact sending you reeling into the bed. Tortured faces of all shapes and sizes circle you menacingly, before bursting through your room’s glass window, vanishing just as fast as they came.  

Within an instant you feel… lighter, freer almost. It’s as if something major has changed, but you don’t know what.  

Timidly, stake still in hand, you make your way down the castle corridors. Unfortunately, you have to take several detours, your regular route being cut off by giant holes in the architecture. A good portion of the castle looks like it had been hit with cannon fire.  

You sincerely hope that whatever caused that damage is no longer rampaging around these halls, lest you stumble upon them yourself.  

By the time you reach the throne room, the sun is just peeking out from behind the horizon. The sight of it flowing freely into the castle interior lifts your spirits with hope. Sunlight means no vampires. No vampires means…

You follow the originating path of the sun’s beams, finding three figures illustrated against the sunrise. One of them is a burly-looking man, with a large frame and broad shoulders. Another is a woman, at least, you’re fairly certain they’re a woman, with curly hair, dressed in flowing blue robes. And the third is….  

You don’t even need a second glance to know who the third person is.  

Crying out his name, you run towards your long-lost lover, almost losing your footing over all the debris covering the floor. But just as he would before, and just as he always would, your lover, Adrian, catches you before you can fall.  

The two of you cling to each other for dear life, just silently sobbing, feeling grateful to be in one another’s embrace. You’re not sure how long the two of you stay intertwined like that, you just know however long it was, it could never be enough to make up for how much you missed him this past year.  

“Adrian,” you clutch his coat, “I thought you were dead! I thought he had killed you! I was so worried.”  

“He almost did,” the strange broad-shoulder man reveals in a teasing fashion. You watch as the robed woman elbows him in the gut.  

“Alucard,” Adrian says, regaining your attention as he grasps your hands in his. “I am Alucard now.”  

You look into his golden eyes, sensing while this is still very much the body of the man you loved, this Alucard before you, is not the same person that your Adrian was. After all this time, it feels like quite the loss, and yet, you cannot fault him for it. You are unaware of the journey he’s been on, of the sacrifices he’s had to make. God knows your character must have changed as well, living amongst a vampire court and necromancers for just under a year.  

You back away from your love, temporarily ignoring his concerned expression.  

“Hello Alucard,” you say, extending a hand, “My name is (Y/N). And I’d very much like to share a drink with you if you’d let me.”  

“Don’ know about Alucard,” the broad man mumbles, gripping his side in pain, “But I’d very much like a drink. Or five.”  

“Trevor!” The robed woman scolds.  

“What?”  

You smile at the three of them, feeling beyond blessed that your love has found such wonderful new friends.  

When you had first fallen for Adrian, you assumed your family would consist solely of him, his mother, and his father, that you’d spend the rest of your days learning medicine in a little cottage nestled in Lupu. That simple life was to be yours. But now, it’s all changed. And Alucard is all that remains of that family you once loved.  

You gaze out into the forest beyond the castle grounds, closing your eyes and sighing as you feel the morning’s sun on your face.  

Yes, it was true Mrs. and Mr. Tepes were gone.

It was true that the old Adrian could never come back.

But if you had to choose a new life, a life here amongst a gorgeous castle, with your former lover and his two new friends, well… you doubted you could pick a better one than that.  

A/N 2.0: WHY DID THIS TAKE ME SO LOOOONG? Who knows? Anyway, it’s here now. And hey— did you pay close attention to the symbols in the dividers? Go ahead and look back if you didn’t, just a silly little fun symbolism storytelling. Oh, also, I will finally be updating The Queue List to reflect all the asks I’ve since answered and posted to not confuse people checking on the status of their ask/new readers.

If you liked reading this, please REBLOG! Likes are great but reblogs spread my work much further. 

If you really, really liked reading this, Consider Buying Me a Coffee <3. 

[nottswitch]

hii !! so for the celebration thingy ;

number: 3. character: tom riddle aesthetic (from the wheel) horror academia.

im ok w smut ! :) also have a good day

hey babes! thanks for sending a request, hope you’re having a good whatever time of the day it is for you 🤍 so, at first i wanted to reply and say that it’s me who’s supposed to choose the aesthetic, but i just really wanted to do this one with tom, because it fits so well!! so, your aesthetic is…

— horror academia

(reflects the difficulty and laborious workload of real academia, manifesting in the spooky, grim, dark, and monstrous horror ambience)

۶ৎ navigation ; masterlist ; tom m-list ; how to request ; 1k celebration

18+ smut

"baby."

tom’s clenched jaw and a small sidelong glare he shoots your way shows that he still very much doesn’t appreciate the pet name. you sigh, and your hands that have been massaging his shoulders move further down his body, over the planes of his chest, making the woolen fabric of his sweater wrinkle under your touch. his body doesn’t relax in the slightest.

"can you please-"

"not tired."

tom’s voice is firm and cold, but you hear the slightest bit of exhaustion there. you know he’s lying; as much as he adores keeping up the facade of being unbreakable, you‘ve known him long enough to see the signs: the shadows under his eyes, barely there, but noticeable under the dreary lighting in his dingy apartment; the way his hand shakes around the quill ever so slightly as he scribbles down some words you don’t understand (and don’t really want to).

you sigh again, somewhat frustrated, because of course he’d never admit to being out of it. slowly, you sink down onto your knees, crawling underneath his desk. he doesn’t even seem to notice, his eyes already in another huge crumbling tome.

your hands travel up his thighs, softly kneading the tense and undoubtedly cramped muscles. that seems to bring him out of his studious daze, and he leans back, looking down at you with a raised eyebrow. you give him a small shrug and tug at the elastic of his cotton pants. he runs his hand over his face, slightly shaking his head.

"not in the mood,” he mutters, but you know he’s lying again. that’s what his hardening cock is telling you, anyway. you shake your head back and still your hand over the bulge that has formed at his front. several long seconds pass before he finally, finally leans against the back of the chair.

you let out a breath of relief and pull his pants down to his knees, met with the sight of his cock springing out against his lower abdomen. kissing up his length, you look up at him through your eyelashes only to see him close his eyes and tilt his head back, his lips parted and letting out short breaths. finally, he relaxes.

your tongue starts swirling around the tip, and you hear a moan from above. it’s quiet and soft, but you know what it means: he’s really, really tired. he barely ever moans, but right now, your tongue seems to be coaxing sounds out of him. feels nice.

when your mouth envelops him completely, tom gasps. when the tip of his cock hits the back of your throat, he lets out a ragged breath. his thighs take up the entirety of the narrow chair seat, so his hands hang slack, twitching every time your tongues makes a particularly firm movement. another moan breaks out of him as he spills down your throat, his whole body going limp above you.

"baby-"

"no."

"okay, tom. let’s go to bed? please?"

"not tired."

playlist

❥ you should see me in a crown by billie eilish

❥ so take this night by black lab

❥ shattered by trading yesterday

❥ born to burn by the neighbourhood

[moon-lit-petal]

From Chaos to Comfort Pt1

George Weasley x Fem!Hufflepuff!Reader

Summery: George becomes acutely awear that sometimes, people aren't the biggest fans of his and Freds pranks.

Warning: enemies to lovers(?) George fell hard and fast. I tried to do a slow burn but you can tell I gave up lol. Also, Y/N is a little mean to George Ngl

Word count: 2.5k

Notes: I have almost 12k words written already xD But after my 5k Neville fic, I figured I'd take this one a little slower and give myself time to proofread and make adjustments, for now? Chapter One!!also georges face in this Gif omfg

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

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The quiet halls of Hogwarts were where Y/N felt most at ease—especially in the dimly lit corners of the library or the serene grounds at night, where the only sounds were the wind rustling through the trees or the occasional hoot of an owl. As a reserved Hufflepuff, she preferred these moments of tranquility, keeping out of the spotlight and far from the bustling excitement that so often dominated the school.

Unfortunately for her, Fred and George Weasley didn’t share her preference for peace and quiet. In fact, their favorite hobby seemed to be drawing attention to those who tried to hide from it—particularly Y/N.

On this particular evening, Y/N had settled down in the library with a stack of books, hoping to get some quiet reading done before the day ended. The library had a hushed atmosphere, with only the occasional whisper or the soft turning of pages to disturb the stillness.

But that all changed in an instant.

One by one, the books she had carefully chosen began to glow faintly before bursting into song—loud, off-key, and echoing through the entire library. It started with the first book in her stack, a thick volume of Transfiguration spells, which suddenly belted out a shrill tune:

"♬ I’m a magical tome, filled with spells and rhymes, cast a charm on me, and I'll sing for all times! ♬"

The next book joined in, followed by another, until her entire pile of books formed a chorus. Y/N could feel the eyes of everyone in the library turning toward her as the cacophony grew louder and louder. Laughter rippled through the students around her, and even Madam Pince, the strict librarian, seemed too flustered to immediately react.

Y/N's face flushed a deep red as she frantically tried to shut the books, but they wouldn't stop singing no matter how many times she slammed them shut. The laughter and whispers grew louder with each failed attempt. Her humiliation only deepened when she spotted the identical grins of Fred and George Weasley from across the library, clearly enjoying their handiwork.

That was the last straw. Furiously shoving the singing books into her bag, Y/N stormed out of the library, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. She could still hear the faint echoes of the enchanted books singing behind her as she hurried through the corridors, ignoring the amused glances and hushed snickers from passing students.

"I swear, I’m never speaking to either of them again," she muttered to herself, her fists clenched in anger. She couldn't even tell Fred and George apart half the time, which only made it worse. It was easier to avoid them both altogether, and that's exactly what she intended to do.

But deep down, a part of her wondered if it would be that simple. After all, it was Fred and George Weasley—masters of mischief. Avoiding them might prove to be an impossible task.

----------

In the days following the library prank, George couldn’t shake the memory of Y/N’s reaction. While Fred had laughed it off, pleased with how the prank had turned out, George had noticed something different—something that stuck with him more than he expected. He had seen the hurt flash across Y/N’s face, the way her cheeks flushed, not just with anger, but with humiliation.

At first, he tried to brush it off. Pranks were what he and Fred did. They brought laughter, lightened the mood, and sometimes, yes, embarrassed a few people in the process. It was all in good fun, wasn’t it? But George couldn't quite convince himself this time. For some reason, the image of Y/N storming out of the library, her fists clenched in frustration, kept playing in his mind.

Fred, on the other hand, barely gave it another thought, moving on to plotting their next grand joke. George, though, found himself paying more attention to Y/N in the days that followed. It wasn’t something he did consciously at first. He’d catch a glimpse of her in the corridors, her head down, her pace quick, always avoiding eye contact with others. In the Great Hall, she often sat at the very edge of the Hufflepuff table, picking at her food while quietly observing the lively chatter around her, as if she were a part of the scene but always apart from it.

The more George noticed her, the more his curiosity grew. Why did she keep to herself so much? Why did she seem to go out of her way to avoid people—even more so after their prank in the library? And why, of all things, did her quietness intrigue him?

During one particular afternoon in the library, George found himself sitting a few tables away from Y/N. She was engrossed in a thick book, her brows furrowed in concentration. He watched as she absentmindedly twirled a strand of hair around her finger, completely absorbed in whatever she was reading. There was something peaceful about her in those moments—a calmness that contrasted sharply with the chaos of his own life.

Fred, of course, remained blissfully unaware of George's growing fascination. He saw Y/N as just another target for their pranks, and to him, the twins’ antics were a way of livening up the mundane routines of school life. But George found himself torn. The more he observed Y/N, the more he realized that there was something about her that went beyond the surface—something he admired. She didn’t seek attention, didn’t thrive in the spotlight like so many others did. She seemed content in her own little world, even if that world often seemed lonely.

But Y/N, still furious about the library prank, had no interest in any of the Weasleys—least of all George, who she still couldn’t distinguish from Fred. As far as she was concerned, the twins were a package deal of trouble and mischief, and the less time she spent around them, the better. Whenever she caught sight of George, she would quickly turn the other way or disappear down a different corridor, determined to avoid them both at all costs.

George, however, wasn’t ready to give up just yet. The more Y/N distanced herself from him, the more he found himself wanting to understand her, to know what lay beneath that quiet exterior. Maybe it was guilt, maybe it was curiosity, or maybe—just maybe—it was something more.

----------

The days at Hogwarts had grown increasingly tense for Y/N. No matter how hard she tried, it seemed impossible to escape the pranks that followed her like a shadow—pranks she was certain came from both Weasley twins. Whether it was her quill turning into a puff of glitter mid-essay or her robes suddenly sprouting a cascade of flowers, Y/N felt like a constant target. Every laugh that echoed in the hallways after a prank only deepened her frustration.

And George, always nearby—watching her, noticing her—was no exception in her mind. She never saw him without assuming he was plotting alongside Fred. Every time he appeared, she would tense up, bracing for whatever prank they’d cooked up next. To Y/N, they were the same—partners in crime who found amusement in humiliating others, especially her.

Unbeknownst to Y/N, George had slowly started pulling away from the pranks, his growing guilt making it harder to join in on Fred’s antics. He had tried to distance himself, letting Fred take the lead while he hung back, watching Y/N more than participating in the mischief. But to Y/N, it didn’t matter. She saw him as guilty by association, and every time she spotted him, her resentment flared.

The tension between them simmered under the surface, waiting to boil over. That moment came one afternoon when Y/N, in a hurry to get to her next class, rounded a corner and collided with someone—George.

The impact was sudden, and Y/N’s heart leapt into her throat. Her body tensed, and she flinched instinctively, taking a step back as if expecting an explosion of fireworks or an instant prank to follow. Her breath caught in her chest as she braced for whatever humiliation would come next.

But nothing happened.

George, equally surprised by the sudden collision, raised his hands in apology. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see—”

Before he could finish, he saw it—the way Y/N had recoiled at his touch, the way her eyes flickered with distrust, her whole body stiffening as if she were preparing for yet another prank. His stomach dropped at the realization.

“Y/N, I—” George began, but the words faltered. He could see the wariness in her expression, the way she avoided his gaze, the way her shoulders remained rigid, ready for disappointment. His chest tightened with a pang of guilt. She saw him as no different from Fred, no different from the pranks that had made her the center of unwanted attention.

Y/N didn’t give him a chance to explain. Without a word, she brushed past him, her shoulder grazing his as she hurried away, her head down.

George stood there for a moment, frozen in place, watching her retreating figure disappear down the corridor. Her reaction stung more than he’d expected. He hadn’t meant to scare her, hadn’t meant to make her feel like this. But how could he undo all the pranks that had come before, all the times she had flinched at the mere sight of him?

Fred’s voice echoed in his mind—“Come on, George, it’s all in good fun!”—but it no longer felt like fun to George. Not when he saw how deeply it had affected her. He clenched his fists, determined to show Y/N that he was different, that he wasn’t what she thought he was.

But for now, the tension between them lingered, thick and unspoken, a rift caused by misunderstandings and misidentification—one that George desperately wanted to bridge, even if Y/N wasn’t ready to see the difference yet.

----------

It was another dreary Monday morning in Potions, and the last thing Y/N wanted was to be paired with any of the Weasley twins. But, as fate would have it, Professor Snape announced the pairings, and her heart sank when she heard George’s name called alongside hers.

Y/N shot a glance at George, her lips pressed into a thin line. He walked over to her, offering a tentative smile. "Guess we're partners, huh?"

Y/N barely looked at him, focusing on gathering the ingredients from the shelf. "Looks that way."

George rubbed the back of his neck, sensing her reluctance. "Listen, I know you probably think I’m going to mess this up somehow, but I promise I’ll be serious about this. No pranks."

She finally turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “Is that supposed to be reassuring?”

George chuckled, trying to ease the tension. “Well, considering my track record, yes. I really do want to help.”

Y/N sighed and handed him a few ingredients. “Just don’t blow anything up, and we’ll be fine.”

As they started brewing, the conversation remained minimal, but George kept trying to break the silence.

“You know,” he said, stirring the cauldron, “I’m actually pretty good at Potions. Don’t tell Fred, though. He’ll never let me live it down.”

Y/N gave him a sidelong glance, clearly skeptical. “Right.”

“Seriously,” George said, trying to sound casual. “You’d be surprised.”

Y/N couldn’t help the small smirk that tugged at her lips, though she quickly hid it. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

As the potion bubbled away, George continued to sneak glances at her, noticing the small expressions she tried to hide. There was more to her than her quiet demeanor, and it only fueled his curiosity.

“I’m not as bad as you think,” he said after a while, his tone more sincere this time.

Y/N didn’t respond immediately, focusing on measuring the next ingredient. “You still think this is all a game, don’t you? Even now.”

George’s smile faded, and for a moment, he looked unsure. “No,” he said quietly. “I really don’t.”

Y/N paused at his words, glancing at him again, this time with a hint of surprise. But before she could say anything more, the potion bubbled over, and they both scrambled to fix it, their brief moment of connection slipping away in the chaos.

----------

Later that week, Y/N was sitting in the library, trying to concentrate on her studies. The library was her refuge, a place where she could escape the noise and chaos of the school—and, more importantly, avoid the Weasley twins.

But just as she was getting lost in the words on the page, a familiar voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Mind if I sit here?”

She looked up, annoyed to see George standing there with an uncertain smile. “The library’s big enough,” she replied coolly. “I’m sure you can find another seat.”

George hesitated, but instead of leaving, he sat down across from her. “I wasn’t sure if you’d talk to me after Potions.”

Y/N scowled, clearly frustrated. “Did it ever occur to you that I don’t want to talk to you?”

“I figured as much,” George admitted, leaning back in his chair. “But I also figured it wouldn’t hurt to try.”

She huffed, focusing on her book again, though she wasn’t really reading. George’s presence was too distracting. He wasn’t like Fred. There was something quieter about him, something that made her defenses waver ever so slightly, though she hated admitting it.

After a few moments of silence, George spoke again. “I’m sorry for everything. I know Fred and I have caused a lot of trouble for you, and...well, you’re probably sick of hearing it, but I really didn’t mean to make things so awful.”

Y/N’s eyes flickered up to him, and she could tell from his expression that he was being sincere. But she wasn’t ready to forgive so easily.

“You think an apology will fix everything?” she asked, her voice sharp. “You and Fred don’t get it. You don’t care how it affects people, do you?”

George frowned, sitting up straighter. “That’s not true. I do care. Fred… well, he doesn’t think before he acts, but I see what it does to you. And I don’t like it.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes, skeptical but slightly softened by his words. “Then why haven’t you done anything to stop him?”

George hesitated, looking away for a moment. “I guess I didn’t realize how bad it was for you until recently. But I’m trying now. I’m not like that, I dont mean to be. I want to be better.”

Y/N’s expression softened, if only slightly, as she studied him. She could see the sincerity in his eyes, but she wasn’t ready to let her guard down yet.

“Then prove it,” she said, her voice quieter now. “Stop making excuses and prove you’re different.”

George met her gaze, determination flickering in his eyes. “I will.”

They sat there in silence for a few more moments, the tension between them palpable. Y/N finally returned to her book, and George didn’t push the conversation any further. But something had shifted between them—a tiny crack in the wall Y/N had built around herself, and George had noticed it too.

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

[secret-smut-sideblog]

Possession

Gale x F! Sorcerer Tav

18+ enemies to lovers (sort of), antagonistic relationships, crossed signals, misunderstanding, physical roughness, rivalry/jealousy, mean domGale, rough sex, manhandling, semi-public sex, consensual voyeurism, light humiliation, masturbation (m!), fingering (f!), oral (f!), face sitting, p-in-v, pulling out

With natural challenge and charge between them and a misstep at connection, an unexpected competitor appears in camp. Things come to a burning head between sorcerer and wizard...

Masterlist

-

Magic ran through her body. It was deep inside her bones, a force she could not reason with even if she tried. As vital as breath.

So as Gale explained Weave to her, she rested her chin on a curled hand. Giving him a highly bemused smile that he was entirely unaware of.

"The simplicity that Magic of the Weave - An Introduction supplies is quite misleading. Though those unfamiliar must start somewhere, I suppose." He held the small tome up in demonstration, letting it fall flat in his palm to a page he had affixed a colored tab to.

"Like here!"

He began reading aloud a passage, Tav smiling wider at the unconscious raise of his pointed finger.

"While that is accurate," He snapped the book shut, turning to look at her. "To distill the Weave so crudely down to a new student is akin to stealing their capacity for wonder. So much of the power of the Weave is in its limitless beauty, to rend it so small is a disservice."

"Not all spellcasters experience magic in such a profound way as you do." She offered, that bite of jest falling back into her words.

"Ah, I've forgotten." He sighed, leveling her with a withering stare. "I'm speaking to a sorcerer."

She felt her smile widen even further.

"And I'm speaking to a wizard. If I didn't know any better, I'd say that you kiss those books to sleep at night."

His ears filled with blush, pulling the tome off of his lap and setting it with an annoyed thump on an ever growing pile.

"As I've said, no sense of wonder." He sniped.

This was a dance they did. He would talk her through a concept she was already familiar with and, inevitably, get frustrated with her teasing. But he kept coming back, a new topic, a new book, to dissect to her. A dog with a bird in its teeth.

"I really do think it's sweet. Your love for your craft. Maybe you'll be a teacher one day, you clearly have a knack for it." She sighed out her last words in a mock weariness.

"Though I could argue I experience magic just as deeply as you do, wizard. Maybe I should be the one giving you lectures."

His eyes seemed to light at the thought, turning to her expectantly.

"No," she raised her hands. "I'm not going to be the one to break that hopeful glint in your eyes. My relationship with my magic is not nearly as fulfilling."

He stared at her, stubborn. Turning fully towards her, eyes held in unwavering interest.

"You're very irritating." She stated.

He scoffed.

"I'm well aware. But go on, enlighten me."

She gave an exaggerated eye roll, then fell quiet. Bowing her head in concentration, allowing the slow closing of her eyes.

The sound of rustling fabric next to her as he leaned forward.

As she focused in on her power, the sensation, the fluid of it, she felt it rise along her body. Lifting the ends of her hair, air crackling with chill. She leaned her head back, feeling the delicious cold move up her spine.

Speaking in a hushed, vulnerable voice.

"It's ice water in summer. It's the chill of early morning. It's the plunge of a hand into a cool river."

Her eyes slid open, her gaze falling back on her hands. Now alight with glacial magic.

"It's the hunger of winter. It's the icy maw that swallows the unprepared. It's the frigid grip on skin, stealing breath away. Lulling so sweetly into sleep, burning alive."

She stared at the curl of her palm, frost lines traveling in slow pulses down the valleys of her veins.

"What you call Weave I know as blood. Inescapable and as giving as a blizzard. It's not about learning, it's about controlling."

Her eyes finally rose to his and found him scribbling in the front leaf page of Magic of the Weave. Looking up at her expectantly, his hand pausing as she fell quiet.

"Are you... writing this down?" She stared at him in disbelief.

He looked down at his pen, then back up at her, innocent confusion tilting his head. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"By Drizz't's Blades, can you not be an academic for one second?" She huffed, rising to feet.

"Just like a wizard, you bear your wounds and their taking notes. Gods."

He looked at his work again, his own frustration creasing his brows. Opening his mouth to surely argue.

"Save it." She held her hand up flat. "You've got your research. Frigid drow is a compelling footnote in your paper. Goodnight, Gale."

Her feet took her away on frosted grass. Hands clenching at her sides, ice cresting over knuckles. Feeling his eyes following her back.

Turning the corner on the largest crimson tent.

"Karlach! I need thawing!"

-

"You know he didn't mean it like that."

Karlach's blistering hand rubbed in circles along the ice holding her bare back. Melting it down only to have new sheets bloom behind her hand.

"I dont know that." Tav hissed, the tight hurt in her chest speaking.

"Oh, come on. He's far too sweet on you to be studying you like an experiment."

"He's not."

"He is. Hells, Tav, it's obvious."

Tav rose her legs to her chest, leaning on her knees. Pushing her chin into the curve of her folded forearms. Angry tears spiking her eyes, quickly turning to frozen rain pooling.

"That's just how wizards are, mate. They digest the world through books. If anything, it was a massive compliment that he was taking notes."

She picked at the seam along her knee. Turning her head into the fold of her arms with a shaky sigh. Focusing on Karlach's heat to bring her body back down from the threatening squall.

"I just want to be..."

She tried to gather her words, but an angry lump sat frozen in her throat.

"I know, baby. You want to be understood. But that shit hurts."

Tav nodded, reaching back to squeeze Karlach's knee.

"Thank you." She sighed, ice water slipping down her temple and the curve of her nose.

"Of course, Frost. Elemental bitches gotta stick together."

Tav let out a wet laugh, chill air leaving her in a burst.

Leaving her tent, she gave Karlach's shoulder one more grateful squeeze. Misty eyed again, seeing how happily she pulled a frozen Clive to her chest. Her spell set to last through the night.

Though her ice was often a burden, it was setting up to be a sweltering night. Passing by each tent, she tapped on canvas. Setting the temperature down with an incantation, hearing grateful sighs and soft thank you's from within as she made a loop. Slipping a bottle of cooled blood into crimson canvas, chilled fingers taking it eagerly.

She eyed the deep turquoise tent, soft light still dancing inside. Sighing, she stepped forward on quiet feet. Stopping to kneel down and straighten the piles of books that he had haphazardly left.

Crouched on haunches, she rose her hand. Pressing a cold palm into canvas. Giving him a little extra in silent apology.

Hearing no acknowledgment outside of a pausing of movement, she rose back on feet.

"Goodnight, Gale." She hushed.

Turning back to the lone point of her black tent, at the lowest slope of their small world. Faded with scrubbed away symbols of Lolth. Smiling at Minthara's tent opposite hers.

Her fellow drow laid inside, leaned back on her hammock. Sharpening a dagger with the precision of a practiced war matron.

Giving her an affirming nod as she cooled her tent.

"I'm retiring for the night." Tav spoke in Undercommon, the words sliding out so much more natural. Minthara respoding in kind.

"I'll take watch." Rising from her lounge, she sat her dagger back with a snap. Heading up the slope.

"Rest well, sister."

Finally alone, she entered her tent. Content to wallow in her sharp hurt.

As she settled, lighting a candle, pulling a spidersilk robe around her waist, a new shape revealed beneath her pillow.

She cut her eyes, picking up a tome.

Impractical Magic, Volume 1.

Another sat beneath it.

Book of Poetry.

She flipped through them. A beginner's book, written by a wizard, about the nature of elemental sorcery and a small book of poems. Recognizing her own speech patterns from her attempt at explanation earlier in the prose.

She shot to feet, angry chill rising through her neck. The books gripped in her fist.

Ripping aside turquoise canvas. Casting Private Sanctum on his tent as she stormed inside. Tossing the books at his feet.

"Are you mocking me?"

He glanced at the books, eyes rising to hers. Turning his head in that maddening tilt.

"You have wildly misunderstood my intentions."

Her hands twitched into fists again, breathing hard through the frost.

"Okay, then dumb it down for me since you're so superior. My meager education couldn't possibly rise to the occasion."

He rose to feet, his breathing picking up with hers.

"Why do you keep inferring that I find you lacking? How have I made that impression?"

She nearly screamed, biting her icy tongue. Turning from him to face the tent wall as furious tears rose again.

"Hey, don't turn away. I'm trying to understand!"

His hand pulled on her bicep, and it snapped a fracture in her frozen lake.

Wrenching his wrist, she forced his arm behind his back. Flipping him to the ground, knee pressed into his spine. Taking his hair in a tight bunch, forcing his head into a turn on his pillow.

He gasped, his back arching into her hold. Body so unbearably warm beneath hers.

"Don't touch me." She commanded. Pressing her knee harder.

He tried to nod, but her fist held harder into his hair. A soft moan left him, hips rising into a curl.

"Don't go into my tent again. Or I will do far worse than this."

"Is that a promise?" He gasped.

She raised her lip in a snarl. Lowering her head down to his ear, hissing into the well.

"You're too soft and warm to talk back, wael faern. Or do I need to show you that?"

"I'd love a demonstration, if you don't mind."

She smiled dangerously, pinning his arm under her knee. Hand snapping down on the side of his throat.

He breathed hard under her constricting fingers, eyes fluttering up into lids as her cold tongue drug up the curve of his ear.

She pressed the full freeze of her body into his back, chuckling darkly as he shivered.

"Too cold? I thought so."

Rising off of him with a shove, she twisted her fingers into her magic. Glaring down as he turned to stare flushed at her.

"Enjoy the heat."

With a pull, she removed her chill on the tent. The air filling sweltering again as she ducked out into the night.

-

"No Gale today?" Astarion clicked his tongue in mock disappointment. Shouldering his pack to accompany her.

"No. I'd rather not see him." She responded in a clipped voice.

"Cold." He lilted. "But I do so enjoy that about you."

Karlach and Minthara met them at the crest of the trail. Blue light still bathing the sleeping world.

"Any reason we're heading out so early, soldier?"

"She's avoiding her kicked puppy."

"Do you want to stay back, Astarion? I'm sure you could use the beauty rest."

"Would you like me to educate the spawn on manners, sister?"

"Gods, I'm going to hate you two together."

Her eyes darted back to the distant point of camp. Seeing a soft light ignite inside his tent.

"Enough talk. Head out."

-

"Shadowheart! To me!" Tav called.

Rolan moaned out what sounded like 'Where are we?' His eyes rolling loose in sockets as he coughed.

"My camp, we're not close enough to Last Light. Now focus on breathing." She hitched his arm higher over her shoulder.

Minthara took up his other side, face stoic.

"Shadowheart! We have wounded!" Tav called again, eyes tracking around the camp.

She rushed down the hill, hands lit in magic. Potions gathered under her arm.

"Injuries?" She urged, Tav and Minthara laying him on a soft patch of grass. Halsin came up behind Tav, his hand coming to Rolan's forehead. The other braced on her back as he kneeled down.

"Shadow wraiths. The curse almost got him." Karlach gasped, running up to the gathered help.

"He's very near death." Halsin urged, hand lighting along his forehead. "Something's wrong, he's burning up."

Tav leaned back and whipped off her robe, kneeled in her underclothes.

"Lift him." She instructed. Halsin appraising her with an impressed glint.

The druid lifted him easily into a slump.

"What's going on?" Gale's voice rose over their heads.

Tav arched her thigh around Rolan's lap, taking up his weight into her shoulder. Her chest pressed to his, she snaked her hand inside of his robe and untied it at the waist. Letting it fall back as she spread her hands on his bowed back and pressed into him.

Halsin and Shadowheart took up at his sides in front of her. Speaking healing magic into his body.

"Breath, faern." She hushed, pulling him to her.

Rolan's breath filled and emptied shallowly against her neck. Burning into her skin.

"I'm going to get colder now, take a deep breath." She warned in a soft voice.

She focused her temperature down, feeling him try to pull away weakly.

"Good, that's good." Halsin encouraged, spreading a hand between hers. "He's stabilizing."

Rolan whimpered into her shoulder, arms coming up to grip into her back. Body shaking with cold and frustration. Tears hidden in the fall of her hair.

"I know, I know." She hummed, hands running through his long hair. "You're alive. Feel your anger."

Rolan wouldn't leave her side, even after his body had cooled. Leaning his head in exhausted shame.

"We'll head out for Last Light, first thing in the morning." Tav instructed, her gathered companions nodding. The fire burning low between them.

"Return Rolan to his family and secure the whereabouts of Oliver. We should search where we last saw him."

Rolan's head rose, staring down at her.

"Family?"

"Yes, we found your siblings in the prison at Moonrise. They were on their way back to you when we found you."

His eyes filled with tears again.

"You saved them?"

She nodded, then was taken into him.

He pressed a kiss into her lips, hands cupping her face in desperate joy. Pulling away with spilling tears.

"Thank you." He breathed.

She smiled up at him.

"No trouble."

Rolan smiled back, then turned his head. His eyes widened in confusion, then settled into a cold stare.

Tav followed his gaze.

Gale sat across from Rolan, glaring dark under his brow at him. Fingers digging on his thighs.

"Something you'd like to share?" Rolan chided, tilting his head in a slow challenge.

"Oh, not presently. After all, your health is far too important." Gale's voice came out in a low warning.

The air crackled with malice. A silent combat taking place between eyes.

"Gods, you wizards are like fish too close in a pond. Get over yourselves." Shadowheart scoffed, rising to feet.

"I'll set you up in my tent tonight." Tav turned to back to Rolan. "I'll occupy myself elsewhere."

"I'm sure there's enough room for the two of us." Rolan purred, eyes lighting in petty accomplishment as the shadow darkened next to them.

"And I'm sure you'll freeze to death."

"Mmm, I'm still a mite warm, actually."

Gale rose to feet, shoulders hard with effort.

"Tav, a word?"

"My tent is there." She pointed down the slope, rising to feet. "Get some rest. We have a long walk come morning."

Gale came to her side, rushing forward. Caging her body forward with his own. Fast steps forcing her body to a brisk walk.

His hand came up to pull on her wrist, finding her pace not removing them quickly enough.

"I will end you." She promised, his hand falling away with a huff.

"Okay, we're beyond the treeline. I think we're far enough from the wizard I just helped."

She crossed her arms, leveling an unamused stare at him.

"What do you want to say?"

"Why did he just kiss you?" Gale hissed. Ducking his head down low to her.

"Ask him. I haven't detected his thoughts."

"That's not funny."

"It wasn't a joke."

He huffed breath hard, chest heaving. Eyes burning.

"You're impossible." He growled.

"I'm a drow. Bitch comes free." She tilted her head up at him. A mean glint in her eyes.

"Why? Are you jealous, wizard?"

His back bristled, eyes widening in contained rage.

"Do you need healing, too? Do you have wounds for me?" She stepped forward in a challenge. "Show me where it hurts, and I'll lick it better."

He held his ground, and she stepped forward again. Egging him on.

"Come on. You're clearly angry with me." She smiled. "Spit your venom."

"I'm not angry with you."

"No?" She stepped into him.

"Then why are you so warm?"

His eyelids lowered into a grimace, panting as she pressed into him.

They breathed into each other's space, his hands arching in hard clenches at his sides.

"Then what are you feeling towards me, Gale?" She hissed, staring into his dark eyes.

He finally snapped, crashing his mouth into hers.

His mouth pushed, desperate and mean. Wide hand gripping into the back of her hair. Breathing hard through nose. Tangling into her in angry pulls. Demanding fingers pulling at her clothes.

She pulled out of her robe, ripping into his ties. Disrobing him with the same aggression. Pressing her body hard into his in rolling waves. His heat battling her rising cold.

"Down." He growled into her swollen lips. Pulling her by the hips roughly to the forest floor.

"I don't take orders from you." She breathed, falling under his body.

"Shut up." He hissed, pulling her bralette down to her ribs in a hard yank.

Mouth diving on a hard peak.

Her back curled up in pleasure, gripping into his hair.

He lapped at the buds, playing mean fast strokes that he pulled up into his lips. Sucking in hard popping pulses.

Her head arched back, panting into the grass. Cunt flooding with slick, hips arching up into the tone of his belly.

He forced his hand between them, cupping her cunt and pushing her hips hard into the earth.

"I'm going to make you regret kissing him." He promised in a dangerous rumble. Eyes glaring up at her in dark slits.

"Do it, then." She breathed, her eyes burning ice.

"I dare you."

He ripped her panties off, eyes smoldering anger. Wrenching under her thighs and lifting her hips high into the air. Forcing her thighs onto his shoulders, holding her up by her ass.

She cried out into her palm when his mouth latched onto her clit. Pulling vicious wet suckles, his arm locking behind her hips as they tried to squirm away. The pleasure near unbearable, his anger leaving her merciless.

Her shoulders writhed on the grass, hips trying to give out. He cracked his hand down on her ass twice, rising her hips back up with a growl.

Her eyes rolled marble in her head as he took her apart, gasping shallow breaths. Already a shameful mess. Delirious with wrenching pleasure.

Frost spread across her belly, orgasm circling dangerously tight. Muffling pleading moans in her throat, coming out as choking whimpers.

He laughed into her cunt, dragging his nails hard down her thigh to get her to gasp her mouth open. Leaving pink scratches in his wake.

Her mouth fell open, the pain pushing her pleasure into an unrelenting high. Gasping out in Undercommon.

"What was that?" He murmured, pulling back to stare down her belly at her.

She glared at him, tightening her thighs around his head in warning.

"No, no, use-" He sucked hard on her clit in hollow pulls of his tongue, her thighs falling back open in a shudder. "-your words."

"Fuck you." She hissed.

"Not what you said." He retorted, pushing two fingers inside her without warning.

She twisted, cunt clenching hard on his fingers. Hooking into punishing slow strikes.

He slapped her ass again. Demanding an answer.

"I said-"

She clamped around his head, twisting him down to the ground. Straddling over his face.

"Rip me apart, wizard."

His eyes lowered into dangerous slits. Grasping her by both hips, forcing her cunt into his mouth again.

She shuddered as he latched back on in near biting pulses. Completely engulfing her clit. Reaching up to pull on her throat, forcing her into an arch forward to push his fingers back inside. Slamming into her beneath, sending jolts up through her pelvis.

She gripped into his hair, face crumpling in desperate pleasure. Hand cupped over her mouth to not shriek.

His eyes cut to the edge of the trees. Pulling her hand down by the forearm and forcing it behind her back.

Her eyes followed, rocking with the force of his fucking.

Rolan stood wide-eyed on the edge a tree, hard cock in his hand.

Gale's hand spread up over her hips and belly in clear petty possession. Cupping her breast, pinching her nipple between his long fingers. Rubbing his nose in it.

Tav couldn't take it anymore, being displayed like this pushing her over the edge. Body buckling as she came hard into his mouth.

He grasped onto her hips, quickly forcing her onto her belly. Cock pushing inside her in a viciously savoring thrust.

She cried out into the dirt, her orgasm still in its throes. Clenching hard onto him, his breath hissing out with his thrusts. Rocking her forward in hard snaps.

"Look at him." He whispered, lifting her head by a pull of her hair. Winding it into his fist.

Her glazed eyes locked with Rolan's. Both of them aghast with shameful pleasure.

"See how much he wants this?" He hissed low into her ear. "Poor thing, he can't touch you. Not like I can."

As if to demonstrate, he circled his fingers hard into her clit.

She curled her head in, hands clawing at the dirt. Choppy begging cries smothered as a second orgasm threatened.

"Gale, I'm-" She pleaded, hips rising higher as it climbed. His hips slamming faster into her backside in response.

It ripped through her, sending her whole torso into shuddering spasms. Back arching down into the dirt as her cum pushed out to drip down his thighs.

Her wrenching contractions forced him to his end. Hand bracing on her shoulder. Pulling out to spill on her lower back, gasping shallow as his pleasure dripped down her spine.

She heard Rolan's muffled release and looked over, seeing his eyes flutter back into his head.

Gale was a preening exhausted shadow behind her. Rolling her ass in his palms in pure accomplished revelry.

She heard Rolan scurry away towards camp. Gale huffing out a righteous laugh.

"Oh, he's going with the others in the morning."

Tav nodded, too fucked out to regain her role as leader. Pliant and loose under his command.

"And you're going to stay with me tonight." He smiled dangerously, clearly enjoying having tamed her.

"Yes, saer." She sighed.

"Oh, do keep talking like that. You're going to be wonderfully obedient, aren't you?"

~

[lanafofana]

Temptation

Pairing: Raphael x Tav(f)

Word count: 3.6k

Summary: She won't sign another contract but she’s not opposed to a different kind of deal

Rating: Explicit [🔞MINORS DNI]

Warning: Porn! Filthy depraved devil porn! A little bit of hate sex (PnV with a little PVP), ( she throws hands twice)(but he's into it). Cunnilingus, because it wouldn't be a Lana fic if a tongue wasn't getting shoved in someone's [redacted]. A little bit of toxic relationship dynamics at play (devil gonna devil). SMUT SMUT SMUT

No beta, we die like pumpkin pie (listen, it's been a long night)

💖✨Kudos to @dr-demi-bee for the prompt✨💖

AO3 Link here for all who celebrate the time honored tradition of validating authors via kudos etc etc etc

“The only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it.”

Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray

Raphael doesn't look surprised to see her anymore. Merely gives her a look when she finds him on the balcony of his Archive and snaps his fingers to conjure her a drink that appears in her hand before returning his attention back to the fiend giving him some kind of report in the guttural language of the infernal.

She slips away, perusing his collection of tomes from some kingdom long dead and sipping at her wine. It's too sweet, cherry rich and decadent but the alcohol burns pleasantly warm in her belly. Later, sprawled across a lavish settee, an open book in her lap, Tav is trying to untangle a web of mental snares that have put her in a melancholy mood of late when Raphael finds her.

He doesn't say anything for a long time but she can feel his gaze taking her in with more precision now that he can afford his full attention to the task. The predator, sizing up the prey. Her skin prickles.

She's returned to his house with more frequency of late and though he’s never brought it up she’s struck with the sudden anxiety that she is overstaying her welcome. Draining her glass of wine she swishes the liquid around her mouth while watching the crystal goblet refill in a blink. He's never asked why she’s decided to help herself to his company or tries to dissuade her attention when she comes calling. There's a mystery there she’s too afraid to pursue. She sighs and takes another drink.

Footsteps, steady and deliberately slow, approach. The predator, stalking their prey. Turning a page in the book she isn't reading Tav pretends his proximity doesn't send a bolt of heat and fear fizzling along her spine. In her peripheral he stops, a looming metaphor for the direction her choices are driving her to. A finger, warm and familiar, presses against the soft vulnerable space just past the jut of her chin and tilts her face to meet his.

“Have you come to bargain?” His dark eyes drink in her face, giving nothing away.

He already knows the answer to that question but she answers it anyway, deriving a weird sort of comfort from the repetitive nature of this exchange they've replayed so many times they might as well have memorized a script.

“No.”

His eyes narrow and she doesn't hear the snap but her wine glass and book both vanish. Standing involves significantly more motor skills than she presently possesses so, with a smirk, the devil offers her a courteous hand and hauls her up. Her breasts graze against the broad expanse of his chest before she gains her bearings and straightens. He doesn't let go of her hand.

“What then do you seek from the House of Hope?” His voice is mocking but his eyes are hungry. Tav knows the steps to this dance by heart but she’s hungry too. Famished.

Grasping the collar of his opulent coat she tugs him into her orbit, sliding a hand into his hair and pressing her lips to his. He tastes like hellfire and forbidden fruit.

The edges of her vision white out for a moment when he displaces them to his quarters, his infernal magic buzzes against her tongue pleasantly. Pressing close with nothing but fabric between them she shifts, a calculated movement to stoke the fire of his desire.

“Crawling and secret she constructs her own web, a trap for her prey, fallen into instead.” Raphael wedges his knees between her legs and, hands tight on her hips, bows her back to wrest control from her. Dizzy with drink and anxiety and lust Tav grinds against his thigh, seeking the friction that will at last unwind her mind.

“Needs work,” she critiques unnecessarily, breathless and smirking. He nips her bottom lip, pulling the plump flesh taunt in chastisement but it makes her lashes flutter, her clit throbbing against his thigh.

Huffing a laugh at his petulance she pulls away. Pulling her clothes loose and discarding them under his dark gaze while backing towards the bed. The backs of her knees hitting the edge of the mattress, she beckons and –after a moment– he follows, unbuttoning his doublet slowly.

“Go on then,” she teases, heedless of the black warning in his face, “Seduce me with your limerick.”

“A mouthwatering fruit, this human heart.” He sheds his jacket, the shirt too, preening under her appreciative stare. “Devastating, damned, and doomed from the start.”

She swallows, mouth dry as he approaches and comes to a stop close enough to feel the heat off his skin.

“Dazzling, delicious but,” he looks at her critically for a moment, “Not very rare, this cracking soul is fetid with,” Raphael leans in, to take in her scent deeply. Closing his eyes he murmurs lasciviously, breath hot against her ear, “Despair.”

She throbs with need.

Wrapping a hand around her throat he pauses only long enough to take her pulse, sneering at the staccato beat, before sliding his hand down her chest, to her breast. With both hands he gropes her roughly, squeezing and tugging at her nipples till they pucker, rosy and stiff. The expression on his face hasn't changed much, cold and disdainful but his eyes. She shivers under the blistering heat of them.

“Take what you came here for, creature.”

The words are hardly out of his mouth before her hands are on him pulling him close with a rough hand in his hair, yanking his head to the side, putting her teeth to his throat.

She bites him savagely, electric at the needy whine he tries to stifle unsuccessfully. She laves her tongue against the red teeth marks soothingly, hands on his shoulders. His hands have migrated too, palming the swell of her ass. When she runs the edge of her teeth down the column of his throat and licks the dip of his collar bone he smacks an asscheek, the crack sharp and loud in the otherwise quiet room.

In retaliation she sinks her teeth into his shoulder so hard he repeats the action on her other asscheek. She cries out, her inner walls slamming down on nothing.

“Tell me, my dear,” his voice, rough and deep, is commanding. Tav clenches her thighs together in response.

Nothing and no one comes for free in the House of Hope. Each visit to his bed, a transaction between her hunger for his body and his hunger for her pain. Their unspoken devil’s pact. She knows exactly what he wants and her stomach flips in trepidation.

Hands full of her ass he is not gentle when he pulls her against him, grinding her against the hard length of him through his trousers. She whimpers, drawing her nails across his shoulders and scoring livid marks into his skin. “Tell me,” he repeats, a furious snarl, as he shoves her to the bed.

“Then ask, you fucking monster,” she hisses, hitting the mattress with a soft ‘oof’ as the wind is briefly knocked from her lungs.

He follows her descent, aiming to cage her body with his but a spike of adrenaline has her scrambling out from under him. Awkwardly she heaves her way to the head of the bed but he’s faster – stronger– and he snatches her ankle in a fierce grip, dragging her back within range.

Wrapping himself around her, thick cock against her ass, bruising fingers holding her captive against his chest he chuckles. The sound chills her in the same way it sends another trickle of wet desire between her legs.

Close to her ear he breathes his full query at last. “What is the root of your despair?” Her stomach sinks down to her toes, the red flush of her desire doused cold.

What was your last wickedly depraved thought, he's asked her before. When did the thrill of bloodlust last blind you completely to sense; do you hate anyone more than you've hated yourself? She may have never signed another contract with him but somehow he’s found a way to drain her soul, piecemeal, all the same.

“Tell me,” he murmurs against her skin, parting her thighs to drag a finger along her slick wet slit.

The reason for the wine becomes clear to her in that moment. She’s never had inhibitions where sex is concerned. Has never considered it a trial to use her body and let it be used for its skill with a blade, on either side of the sheets.

But put enough wine down her throat and inevitably the secret hurts that haunt her begin to spill out from between her lips.

The devil growls at her hesitation, flipping her over and pinching a nipple between his teeth slightly too hard. Demanding her attention and supplication in all things.

“I–,” she gasps and leaves half moon indentations on his skin when he sticks his tongue in her belly button, swirling his tongue there lazily. “I’m sad, all the time,” she confesses in a rush like it will hurt less to say it fast. Her heart pounds. “I hide from my friends, from everyone, and suffer alone. I’ve always been alone, I’m pretty sure I'll always be alone because it’s–” her breath hitches on a strangled sob when he just barely presses his thumb to her clit and leaves it there, teasing. Torturing. She doesn't want him to ever stop. “I’m too much to be around. Too much unhappiness in one person to inflict on anyone else.”

“Self pity,” Raphael groans with relish and she bristles because of course he's right. “Never looked so lovely than on the utterly pathetic,” the words burn, as they're intended to. “Look at you, mourning yourself to the point of self destruction.”

Blood rushes to the surface of her skin, blooming red and hot across her throat and cheeks. Within her bosom she aches. Raphael hums with pleasure, as drunk on her internal agony as he is on her body.

Feeling flayed open she wails, hands scrabbling for purchase on his skin and in the rumpled bedding, when he sinks a finger fast –and hard–and deep in her dripping, aching cunt. She bites her lip and breathes through the discomfort of letting him see her. The despair and self pity on full display for his perusal. He feasts on her pain like a man deprived of fresh air, reveling in the cocktail of humiliation, fear, and miserably pathetic sorrow.

“Entrust me with your soul and you'll never be alone again, for as long as your pitiful soul flickers,” he vows, working a second digit in with the first. She’s so wet her lips squelch lewdly around his scissoring fingers to punctuate his words.

He means it too. It's far from the first –or the last– time he has promised an eternity to her. Her soul nestled within his grasp forever, damnation tempered with endless companionship. A demon’s version of love. Eternal ownership. The ache in her chest sharpens to a knife’s edge. Thrusting her hips against his hand, her breathing changes, getting deeper and faster as her orgasm inches tantalizingly closer.

Her legs are open but her heart's been closed so long the hinges squeak and grind in complaint at being disturbed. Maybe that's why his canny words rend instead of pierce, like they're claws mauling instead of hands gently stroking. Devils don't know kindness but there's a world of gentleness in the way he peels open her ribcage to curl up in her chest cavity with his insidious intent.

“Kiss me,” she begs. Begs, hoping it will be enough to stem the tide of his incendiary words. Words spoken with the intent to hurt, to disturb, to split the cobbled pieces of her being back into shattered fragments he can hold in his hands. To mold her, shaping her to his will. Without ceremony he crushes her with his mouth, his body, and his desire.

Raphael moves against her, heavy and too big, a threat and a promise that tastes like cherry wine and feels like coming home. The kiss, a miscalculation on her part, steals his voice but replaces wounding words with bruising force. Shoving his tongue into her mouth he seeks only to consume and she moans around the wet intrusion, curling a hand tightly into the hair at the nape of his neck until he hisses against her teeth.

She lets him continue only for so long before the hand she has locked in his hair tugs viscously and she gets a glimpse of his pupils blown wide before his eyes flutter closed. The Archduke Supreme would never admit to his proclivities in bed but he’s not the only one studying his prey during their encounters.

She maneuvers until he's beneath her, breath stuttering in his chest as his ardor intensifies with her forceful take over. The meticulous Archduke Supreme, Lord of the Nine Entire, Devil of False Hope, Cania’s Conquerer might have eaten her whole for the audacity of asking for control in the bedroom but when she takes it…

He groans, squirming and wanton, when she peels herself away from his lips to sink the fingers of one hand around his throat while the fingers of her other hand tug on the laces of his breeches.

“Tav,” he growls, the reverberation of his vocal chords against her hand shooting directly to the heat that burns in her core.

She pulls her hand from around his throat to pull back and strike him across the face. His hips surge up against her desperately. “Silence,” she warns, nimble fingers slipping his throbbing cock from its confines.

The fat head is wet, a glistening mess of his own precum. The smell makes her mouth water. Wrapping her hand around the shaft she pulls at him experimentally, running the calloused pad of her thumb across the leaking slit on top and along the thick vein beneath his glans until he whimpers. The sound makes her smile, the power of her unique position sending a rush of wet slick through the lips of her vulva, dripping down the inside of her thighs.

Moving the hand she just had wrapped around his erection to her own throbbing need she drinks in his expression while he watches her fuck herself on two fingers. She leans back to give him a better view while she circles her own clit, biting her lip and shifting her hips in time with the movements until she’s close, almost too close.

The devil never looks more beautiful than when he’s languishing untouched, desperate and needy and simmering with helpless fury.

“Open that pretty maw, creature,” she sneers, an echo of his earlier epithet.

Obediently his lips part and she leans forward, shoving her fingers into his mouth, pressing against the molten heat of his tongue.

“Suck.”

Tav's eyes flutter, nearly rolling to the back of her skull as the Duke follows her instruction, locking his lips around her slick coated fingers and sucking hard enough to tear her soul through her fingertips. She moans, positioning herself above his pelvis and undulating her hips to rub his delicious head through her slippery folds.

Inside his mouth his tongue swirls across the pads of her fingers and he echoed her moans; pleasing, pretty, broken little sounds that have her sinking onto his cock halfway in her excitement. He bucks, too sharp teeth grazing erotically against her fingers and she withdraws them to backhand him; whip fast and snapping his lust drunk face to the side. He gasps and she revels in the feeling of him jumping against the walls of her sex.

Pulling herself upright she arches her back, giving him a pretty view as she plays with her own breasts, running the tips of her fingers along the goose pimpled flesh of her abdomen.

“Like what you see, devil?” She taunts, sinking a little more around his girth. “Tell me, Archduke,” she smiles cruelly. “Tell me how much you want to fuck this sweet mortal cunt.” She twists her nipples and sinks a little lower on his cock, watching the expressions flit across his face faster than he probably even registers them. She smiles, all teeth. “Beg.”

“Please!” He doesn't even hesitate, voice gone tight. “Please, let me feel you sink that perfect tight cunt onto my cock.” He releases the most delicious open mouthed whine when she does, enveloping him completely. “Please!” He blurts, hands fisting in the bedding, muscles quivering with the restraint to keep from fucking into her.

The stretch is nothing short of divine. Her hips yearn to move, to rock against him, grinding his hips into the bed but she pauses, balancing on the precipice.

“Please, what?” She demands, relishing in the widening of his eyes, the way his mouth hangs open.

“Please,” his eyes close briefly and he swallows thickly, “Archduchess Supreme, My Lady Eternal.”

“Good boy,” she murmurs, warmth suffusing her entirely when he keens at the praise.

Planting her hands on his chest she wastes no more time, fucking herself on his thick cock; fast and hard and rough. Between her fingers she pinches his nipples, leaning forward to swallow his cries as she rides him to the brink. Between her thighs he cants his hips, mindlessly matching her thrust for thrust as his orgasm barrels within reach.

She slips a hand between their bodies, pinching her swollen clit and cries out his name and a litany of swearing as she crests her final peak. Her mind whites out, the walls of her cunt bearing down on his cock so tightly he spills into her with an inarticulate groan.

Their bliss reached, their movements stutter clumsily to a stop, chests heaving and breathless pants peppering the air with the soft sounds of post coital exhaustion.

Tav disengages from Raphael's body slowly, flushing at the rush of slippery fluid that leaks out of her. The devil looks at the mess between her legs, unabashed, a pleased smirk hovering in the corners of his mouth.

Running a finger through their combined spend, shivering on the cusp of overstimulation, she holds his gaze as she reaches up to paint his lips with it.

He doesn't even blink, licking the shine of his own seed from his lips and making a pleased noise, deep in his chest, that echoes in the throb of her empty cunt. Leaning into him, chest to chest, Tav chases the taste of them on his tongue with a redolent kiss, slow and tender. His hands drift along her sweat slick skin, raising goose bumps with each delicate graze of his nails.

Wrapping his arms around her Raphael flips them, startling a sound from her that he chases with teeth and an amused chuckle. Before she registers what he's doing the devil is wedged between her legs, pushing one of her legs wide, fingers sunk tightly into the plush thickness of her thigh while the fingers of his other hand part the puffy lips of her sex.

He stares, transfixed, for only a moment before he bends his head, slotting his lips against her wet, sticky heat. The predator devours the prey. The gluttonous wet sounds of him licking and suckling at her sex sends her brain rocketing away on a tidal wave of sensation. She grasps the back of his head in shock and a haze of overwhelming arousal.

“Raphael!” She cries out when he locks his lips around her clit and sucks. “Nnnggg– ahhh!!”

“Say my name again,” he growls, immediately spearing her with his tongue and twisting to lap at every drop of her slick heat. “Say it!”

“Ra– Raphael! Oh– nnngggahhh!!” If she is his Archduchess then he is her god and she cries out to him, exultantly. “Raphael! Yes! Yes! RAPH–”

He hums his pleasure and the vibration has her sinking both hands into his hair, pressing him closer– harder–

She flexes her hips, rocking against the sensation of his mouth taking her apart, heart slamming against her ribs as her mind spirals faster and faster and–

“RAPHAEL!” Tav’s mind flies apart as she screams her release, back bowed, thighs clenched tight around the Archduke’s ears.

She comes back into her body to the feeling of her fingers being disentangled from their iron grip on his hair. She releases him immediately, flexing her digits and collapsing against the bed as a wave of exhaustion slides over her.

“You,” she pants breathlessly, boneless and still buzzing for the high of her orgasm. “That was–

“Delicious,” he finishes for her with a sinful smile that does nothing to soothe the thunderous beating of her heart.

This time it is the devil who stretches himself over her body, skin against sweaty skin, and presses the taste of her arousal and his spend between their lips in a filthy kiss. When he pulls away Tav’s dazed expression pulls another smile to his face, this one different from the one he usually shows her. Her stomach clenches but in the next moment her face is split in a jaw cracking yawn and when she looks again he looks the same as he always does.

“Sleep, my dear,” he says in a tone that conveys he neither cares if she does or does not. With a snap of his finger he is dressed and polished once more. He drags his eyes down the length of her naked body with an appreciative leer. Another snap and he's gone in a flash of hellfire.

Tav forces her body to move though her limbs feel made of jelly. She crawls between the sheets, the luxurious material cold against her heated skin. Sweat on her scalp and elsewhere on her body sends a shiver down her spine. Cocooned, safe, and spent, she sleeps.

That's All Folks!

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

the pained peace treaty

fused with the foe, chapter one

a/n: oh wow, i have no idea how to introduce this beast of a story except to say hi, hello, welcome! i really hope you enjoy this story, as well as the rest of the trilogy, idk if i've ever gone as in depth and all out with any story as i have with these.

summary: “now, everything is already set into motion, so we don’t have time for any of your theatrics,” not looking you in the eye, he frostily told you, “you are to be married. A carriage has just arrived a few minutes ago to pick you up and transport you to Eflorr.”

warnings: king!steve rogers x reader, fantasy AU (monsters, but not much magic), original fantasy world, enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, slow burn, innocent!reader, abusive father (like super bad. he is a garbage person), wedding, blood, injury

word count: 4813

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“Your majesty, I must warn you, if, gods forbid, our people come to discover the great lengths you’ve been willing to go in this disagreement over the past two decades, they might start an uprising. And if you keep going, then it’ll turn into a full-blown war and you know our kingdom wouldn’t be able to survive that, not with them. Our city’s walls may be high, high enough to keep out any beasts that may wander this far south, but it wouldn’t keep them out. You know better than most how people from Eflorr are. If you don’t wanna lose your crown, one way or another, then I’d strongly advise that we come up with some peace treaty.”

“I know, I know…” King Ivan leaned back in his gilded throne with a huff, the quality of his voice was as thin as his towering frame, “a trade I think should suffice.”

A different advisor then timidly pipped up, “but our mines ran cold ages ago, what could we possibly offer that would be satisfactory?”

Not lifting his cold gaze, the king stared at a fixed spot on the marble floor as he said, “I know one thing the king lacks that we may be able to provide for him… a wife.”

“A wife–,” both of the men’s eyes grew wide, “but do you mean–, your majesty, she is your only daughter, are you certain this is the fate you want her to have? Those people are barbaric! If one of the dangers that rule the north doesn’t get to her first, one of their citizens surely will. Sire, what if history repeats itself?”

“Then let it do so. In fact, perhaps this could have been her purpose all along and I just didn’t realise it. Couldn’t see past my own rage to grasp how useful she actually could be…”

Sharing a nervous glance, one of the advisors asked, “should we send for her? See if she agrees with the plans?”

“No, I’ll tell her when the time is right. Wouldn’t want her to do anything stupid and ruin the one good thing she could ever provide,” finally lifting his stony gaze, the king commanded, “make the arrangements, I’ll see to it that she doesn’t ruin it.” 

Deep within the opulent halls of the gilded palace, standing grand and safe behind Ingorn’s tall city walls, twisting up towards the clouds, up in a window in the western tower, there you sat. 

Book in your lap, you leaned back against the small pillow you’d propped behind you to make the wide windowsill more comfortable. Small paper butterflies hung from strings above and some dangled so low that the childhood craft that still decorated your window trickled the crown of your head. Flipping the page, your fingertips brushed down over the illustration that appeared in the agricultural tome you’d found in one of your brothers’ rooms. 

As long as you put it back before Angus returned then you’d probably be good. And if he were to somehow notice, then as long as he didn’t rat you out to your father then it would be alright. Both Angus and a few of the others that were closer to your age, Oliver and Francis respectively, were always a bit of a gamble whether or not they would do such a thing. They didn’t always have the same spirit as the eldest pair of your older brothers, Xavier and Callum. 

You missed them so much your heart ached. The older they got, the longer their diplomatic missions seemed to stretch out, making the quiet palace that much more lonely in your solitude. 

A knock then suddenly boomed at your door, causing you to jump edgily in your seat before you slammed the book shut and nervously stuffed it behind the firm pillow. 

“Come in!” you called out, swiftly straightening out your dress that had crumbled around your legs at the comfortable seat. As the door to your room slammed open, the figure that stood in it caught you by surprise, “Father–, oh, hello,” you straightened your posture that much further at his arrival. 

Skipping over any niceties, King Ivan simply stated, “you need to pack up your stuff.”

Your brows knitted into a fierce furrow, “what?”

“Not everything, of course,” he cast a cold glance around the room though didn’t take a step to enter it, “just the things you are particularly attached to.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” your head lightly shook from side to side, “where am I going?”

When his eyes finally gave you the time of day, it swiftly dropped to the floor as a heavy sigh flowed from his lips, “why do you have to be the spitting image of her…” the muttering was unfortunately just loud enough for your ears to catch. His disappointment was always just loud enough for your ears to catch. When he entered the room and you moved to get up, he swiftly said, “stay seated, Y/n,” before he planted himself next to you on the wide windowsill, “now, everything is already set into motion, so we don’t have time for any of your theatrics,” not looking you in the eye, he frostily told you, “you are to be married. A carriage has just arrived a few minutes ago to pick you up and transport you to Eflorr.”

“To Eflorr?” your gaze grew wide, “you wish for me to marry someone there?”

“Not just someone, you are to marry their king.”

“I–… I–…” your chest rose and fell rapidly beneath your rosy dress, “but father, you can’t–, I can’t go live with the people who killed mom.”

“We don’t know if they actually murdered her. But I do know that you did,” his glare locked upon you as he let himself seethe, “if you hadn’t been born then she’d still be alive,” the fact that the only thing he blamed more for his late wife’s untimely demise then the kingdom she’d perished in was you, remained a point that the sovereign had never been shy about sharing with you for as long as you could recall, “your duty is to protect and serve this land, this crown,” your eyes naturally fluttered up to gaze at the twisted gold balanced upon his head, “if you don’t go through with this, then those savages will come pillage and ruin your home. You are, regrettably, the very last hope this kingdom has of survival. You have no choice, Y/n. This marriage is the only thing that can stop a war we would never survive,” exhaling slowly, he then dominantly nodded in a concluding fashion, “pack your stuff, you have an hour.”

You felt tears sting your eyes as your bottom lip quivered, “an hour? But–, can’t we wait at least a few days before I leave? Can’t I get a chance to say goodbye to at least one of my brothers? None of them are home yet.”

Regret instantly washed over you as your father’s nostrils flared angrily. Seizing your arm in a bruising grip, he yanked you close as he hissed, “you listen, and you listen carefully, you little brat. You have been the bane of my existence ever since you took your first breath. You took away the love of my life. You don’t deserve a goodbye, you don’t deserve anything. Do you think I got a goodbye when your mother suddenly went into labour on that diplomatic mission? No. All I got was you. Not another son, but a living, breathing reminder of what I lost that day,” your eyes squeezed shut as your cheek tingled at the memory of his strikes, “now, be a good girl and go wet his prick, give him a few babies, do anything he’d fucking please, so that him and his barbaric army doesn’t come here and slaughter everything you know and love.”

“Your highness, are you cold?” the high-ranking warden sitting across from you in the carriage noticed the shiver that your body couldn’t seem to shake. 

Tearing your eyes off of the scenery along The Emerald Path that the narrow window granted you a view of, you glanced back at the warrior. The brown hair he had practically tied off at the base of his neck blossomed into a dark beard. A bare palm clasped over an inked one in his lap as you met his gaze and said, “no, I’m–…” in truth, you were scared, so scared that you were trembling like a leaf, but you couldn’t tell the foreign king’s advisor that, too much weighted on your shoulders, you couldn’t screw this up, “no,” glancing back out of the window, you only stared a moment at the sparse cottages that slowly came into view on the rolling hills before you turned your head again and let the nauseating nerves control your words, “pardon me, Barnes, is it?”

“Yes, your highness?”

“Sir, how much further till we get there?” your quiet voice echoed within the carriage, “it’s just–, it’s been days.”

“Oh, not long at all,” he shook his head lightly, “actually,” the knight leaned forward in his seat and cast his glance outside, “if you look out the window now, right there,” a small smile tugged at his lips as his finger shot up to point, “that river, that means we’re getting close to Borün city.”

As the river then suddenly curved before the dirt road, the clomping hooves of the horses that hauled the coach resonated as they trotted over a stone bridge. 

Twisting your head, you glanced out to your right and spotted farmlands curve over the rolling hills that swiftly blossomed into thickets and towering flora you’d only assume was the southern perimeter of The Noll Woods. Books about this kingdom had been banned in your homeland for as long as you could remember, but even though you were essentially going in blind, you still weren’t completely ignorant when it came to the dangers that called that sprawling forest its home, not that you were an expert in the slightest, but your brothers had from time to time told you tales of the monsters who dominated in this part. From giant and twisted insect-like creatures, to mischievous pixies, to even the rare dragon, those stories had always been your favourite. Apart from the rare occasion where Callum would share stories with you about your mother. Being the eldest, he was the only one who truly remembered her. 

Instinctively, your fingers fluttered up to fiddle with the opalescent stone that hung from a chain around your neck. In the middle of the milky jewel was a small rune engraved into it. You had no idea what it meant, but your fingers had still traced the carving countless of times before as it had hung from your neck for as long as you could recall. It hadn’t been till you were a ways into your teens that you’d come to discover that it had belonged to your mother. 

Casting your glance out the other side as you passed a tall watchtower, behind the wide city stables unfolded a port town so quaint that it surprised you. Over the small valley of gabled roofs towered a central tree, and beyond all of that, the sparkle of the sea caught your eye, a sight you’d never beheld before, haven not only stemmed from a landlocked metropolis, but also not haven been permitted to leave your room as much as your heart had desired. 

“This is Eflorr?” you asked as the carriage began to roll up the winding path to the stone castle that loomed on the cliff, granting you a new view of how the river that you’d crossed slid through the city and spilt into the ocean.

“This is Eflorr, your highness,” the corners of his lips twitched at the sight of how wide your curious eyes were. 

“It’s–… it’s–…” your stare danced over the lush ivy that climbed the solid towers, “not what I expected…”

“What did you expect?”

Tearing your gaze away from the window, you blinked, “oh, I didn’t mean–,” suddenly worried that your shock had come out sounding rude, “I just–… I don’t know a lot about this land,” in the few tales you’d heard about this place, there had been a running gag that the people of Eflorr had lived so close to the dangerous beasts that called this part of the continent their home that they too had turned into monsters, “it’s just different than I imagined.” 

Ascending the jagged hill and passing through the front gate, it opened up into a wide courtyard before you felt the carriage finally roll to a stop. 

The wagon creaked gently as Barnes stepped out first, though when his boots were firmly on the cobblestone, his frame twisted as he reached an outstretched hand back for you to grasp in support of your own exit. Ever so apprehensively, you slid your own palm into his as your other twisted in your long skirts before you slipped out of the carriage. 

Letting go of his gasp, the soldier's low timbre washed over you as your head tilted back to take in the vast stronghold, “his majesty, unfortunately, couldn’t be here for your arrival as there was a bit of a dryad problem further up north he had to take care of,” you gaze tore away from the fort and fell upon him, “but I assure you he should be back in time for the wedding.”

“Oh, alright,” you breathed, unsure if that fact made you feel better or worse about the entire predicament.

“If you’d like, I can give you a brief tour of the castle,” he offered as he led you towards the main entrance into the castle proper, “or if you’re exhausted after the journey, then I can just show you directly up to your chambers.”

Offering him a polite smile, you nodded, “a tour would be lovely, thank you.”

He only briefly went over the buildings surrounding the courtyard you’d entered into, as they were mainly designed as barracks and various other facilities for the local wardens, though the horses that stuck their heads out of the royal stalls in the corner did catch your eye before you moved on inside. 

Barnes’ voice echoed in most of the chambers he showed you in the castle’s western wing. The vast stained-glass windows that were in the ballroom for instance took your breath away as you saw how the light streamed through them and warmed up the room with glittering little rays of colour. 

Behind the great halls, squeezed in between and connecting the two major parts of the fort, there you crossed through a much more quiet and lush courtyard. The pebble paths that curved around the central fountain too curled around various topiary bushes that were trimmed to perfection like living sculptures. 

Though as your guide showed you the eastern wing that crested over the foaming sea below, your curiosity got the better of you. 

“Hey, Barnes?”

Slowing his leisurely stride, he tilted his head slightly, “yes, your highness?”

“What are dryads?” your brows knit lightly together, “you mentioned there was a problem with them, but what are they?”

“You don’t know?” he glanced over at you, clearly trying to mask his surprise as you shook your head, “oh, well, they are forest spirits, nymphs,” he explained as you roamed deeper down a broad hallway on the second floor, passing many private chambers both to your right and your left, “it’s not uncommon for them to wander and bother the folks who live further up the coast. Have you never encountered one? They are not as uncommon in Obelón as most of the other creatures that thrive this far north.”

“No, I’ve never seen one…” you shook your head as a low sigh flowed from your lips, “never really seen anything…”

“Not much of an outdoorsy person?” he guessed in a light-hearted tone. 

Forcing a smile, you replied, “you could say that…” as you hadn’t been allowed to be one even if you wanted to. Passing a set of double doors that stood wide open, the sight inside made you halt your steps, “is this the library?”

Shadowing you as your feet crossed the threshold, he nodded, “yes, it is,” then pointed back over his shoulder, “and your quarters are right down that hall.”

Numerous grand bookcases stood lined up all the way down to where a tall window allowed the sunlight in and let it stream through the rows. 

“Can I–… would it be alright if I read some of them?” 

“Of course, your highness.” 

“Would you mind showing me which ones I’m allowed to read?” you briefly peeked back at him as a bubble of anxiety fluttered in your belly, “I don’t wanna accidentally read something that I’m not allowed to.”

Barnes then blinked back at you a moment before he uttered, “your highness, you can read each and every one of them if you’d like. Why wouldn’t you be allowed to read whatever you wish? They are yours after all, or will be after the wedding,” the corners of your lips twitched upwards as he then asked, “would you like to peruse the titles now or do you want to see your chambers?”

“Oh, uhm,” you tore your gaze away from the tomes and turned back, “I’ll look later.”

“Alright,” he nodded, extending his inked arm to show you the way. As he pushed the heavy wooden door open to the room at the very end of the hall, his voice rang out once more, “this is the peacock suite,” following him inside, he settled to a stop near the exit for you to explore the space on your own, “you can, of course, change anything you’d like for it to match your taste.”

“Thank you,” you breathed as you slowly made your way deeper into the chamber. It was gently divided with a more formal area towards the front where both tufted couches and a crackling fireplace stood, as well as a set of doors that opened up to a quaint balcony. Towards the left, under a swirling archway, twisted a broad canopy bed up towards the tall ceilings, warm with blankets and furs, and in the corner, by a breezy partition, stood a deep cobber bathtub.

Haven not noticed that he’d moved, you then heard as Barnes creaked the doors to a close, “if you need anything, anything at all, I’ll be right outside.”

With a loud creak, the heavy double doors opened before you and revealed the grand hall. As soft music gushed out, you nearly didn’t recognise the space from your tour the other day as it was now decorated with vibrant flowers and flowing banners that dropped down from the high ceilings above, as well as being completely packed with a swarm of people. A thin path parted the giddy crowd right down the middle towards the opposing grand door that guards opened simultaneously to yours. 

A shaky breath filled your lungs as you stared at the man crossing over the threshold. The flickering candlelight caught the honeyed shine of the locks that came down to tickle the nape of his neck. A bit darker, his short beard was full and warmed up the bottom half of his gruff features. He sure looked like a man who could slay a kraken with his bare fists, as the soft fur cloak that draped over his shoulders did not conceal his bulky physic one bit. The neckline of his indigo tunic stretched low enough for you to see the concave of his fuzzy chest and the impressive battle scars that broke up the rippling flesh. 

You’d seen the portrait of the king that hung in the hallway that stretched up towards the throne room, but to see him before your very eyes, in flesh and blood and not precise paint, was something else entirely. 

The long and embroidered train of the blue silk kirtle you wore dragged across the store floor behind you as both you and the monarch slowly stepped into the chamber to join in the very middle. 

The enchanting music stopped as you reached one another and the parted paths to either exit slowly closed as the crowd gathered and enclosed around the sacred vow that was about to ensue. 

Parting the sea of people like a divine force, an elderly woman, with a braided grey mane so long that it hit the floor, stepped up beside the both of you. 

“People of Eflorr,” the crone’s calm voice boomed, “today marks a day of unity, a day of peace, and most of all a day of love. Like a seed planted in the soil, tonight we will all witness this relationship blossom and go on the journey of growing into a magnificent tree, with roots strong enough to endure any storm, to propagate new seedlings that will watch over and shade our kingdom when yours have fallen.” 

Looking to the king, she handed him a small dagger from her belt and spoke, “blade across skin,” and he reached out for your right hand, “strike out your seedling’s love line,” your breath hitched as you felt him slice the top of your palm. Crimson blood trickled down onto his own hand as yours rested atop it, “and claim it as your own,” he flipped the blade around and handed it to you, before presenting you his own palm, open in yours. He didn’t even blink as you hesitantly pierced the calloused skin and traced the line already adoring his broad palm, “weave your lines together, so they become the same,” he then moved to clasp your hands together, his wide grip engulfed yours completely. Your teeth sank into just the faintest bit of your bottom lip at the fresh sting of your wound as it bled into his, “and may this scar serve you as a reminder, of the vow you made on this momentous day.” 

And as the last of the matron's words flowed from her lips so did the roar of celebration that erupted throughout the crowd as the festivities of the night bloomed at an instant.

The feast had been nothing short of immaculate. Countless of dishes had been spread out on the crowded banquet tables ranging from the savoury braised legumes to the sweet and shiny pies. It was an impossible task to try and taste every one of them, but an excuse you still used to stay glued to your seat and not get up and mingle with the boisterous gathering of strangers. 

As a stark contrast, you thought you only noticed the king take two bites before he rose to greet some latecomers who had arrived. Laughing and chatting with the sea of people, he hadn’t offered you a single word, barely even a brief glance the whole night. Though your gaze still followed him from your seat up at the high table as he moved through the crowd like they were all his dearest friends. 

When the moon had floated up to be high in the sky, clearly visible on the other side of the stained glass, your head had dropped down into a propped-up palm as a deep yawn forced its way out of your frame. 

“Are you tired, your majesty?” a deep timbre suddenly found your ears, a specific tone that caused your spine to straighten out at once. 

Whipping your head to your right, your weary eyes grew wide as you saw the king again at his seat, “no, I’m alright,” you hastily coughed out, “I’m so sorry for behaving like that in your presence. This party is exquisite.” 

“It’s alright, you can yawn,” you suddenly felt the need to look away now that his ocean stare was finally fixed upon you, “it’s late, I was about to retire for the night as well, so I can only imagine how you must feel. If you’d like, I could escort you back to your chambers. I’m not sure how familiar you’ve become with the castle since you’ve arrived, but even I can still get lost when the corridors are this dark and I’ve indulged in perhaps one too many goblets of wine.”

A flutter of nauseating nerves rushed within your belly, but even so, you still pushed through and forced a smile, “if that’s what the king desires, then sure, you can escort me.”

It was your wedding night. You knew what was about to happen. 

Or, actually, you didn’t quite know what the marital act entailed, but you were sure a man such as Steve had enough of an understanding to take charge. All you knew was what little you’d been told. To strip down naked, not whine or scream, and do as he tells you. 

The soaring butterflies within you only grew more ferocious as you followed his long stride throughout the castle. Out of the ballroom and through a cold stone hallway, when you crossed the bridge that linked the two wings over a part of the cliff that descended dramatically, you nearly doubled over the parapet to empty your stomach over the town of Borün that blossomed below. 

But with a shaky intake of breath, your fist closed around the silk of your skirt as you settled yourself and forced your feet to keep moving. Even as you passed the threshold into the eastern part of the castle, you still shadowed the monarch up the many steps until his broad palm held the door to your chambers open for you to enter. 

The fire had been lit while you were gone, and the room was encased in the warm glow. 

“Did, uh…” you heard the door close behind you as the king attempted a bit of small talk, “did you have a nice time tonight?” 

“I did, your majesty,” you kept your answer brief out of fear that he’d hear the tremble to your tone. 

Slowly turning his back to you, his gaze washed over the room, “are you pleased with your bed chambers?” he settled to face the balcony, the door slightly ajar to let the night breeze seep through and rustle the sheer curtains, “because if you don’t like it, if you’d rather have a view of the town then the sea, then that’s an easy problem to fix.” 

“I think the view is just fine from here, but thank you,” you answered politely as you gathered up the last bit of your courage and reached back to undo the long row of buttons that went down the spine of the light blue dress. 

When the silky garment dropped to the floor, the quiet rustle was enough to draw the king’s attention.

First offering you just a quick glance over his shoulder, he then swiftly whirled around completely, “what are you doing?”

Weaving your fingers in the thin material of your chemise, you blinked back at his stunned features, “I’m sorry, am I doing it wrong?” sure that he could already see everything through the sheer, white fabric. 

His feet didn’t move as he asked, “what are trying to do?” before he averted his gaze to the stone floor. 

“Well,” you uttered quietly, “it’s our wedding night.”

“Oh…” was all he breathed. 

“To be transparent, I’m actually not quite sure what’s to happen, but I do know it’s something,” reaching up, you took the gold and twisted circlet, that crowned your head, off and carefully sat it down on the side table to your left, “I don’t know the details, I just know that I should strip down. Do you know what we’re supposed to do?”

“Fuck,” he cursed, briefly squeezing his eyes shut, “yes I do, but, your majesty, please, keep your clothes on,” his gaze flickered back to you as you slowly began to hike up the last layer. 

“Why?” your fingers froze, “isn’t it a tradition here for us to–”

“Well, yes, but–…” he let out a strained sigh before slowly stating, “I’m gonna go.” 

A chill crawled up your skin, “…oh, I see…” you uttered quietly as he crossed the room, “did I do something wrong?”

Halting in the doorway as he ripped it open, “no, you–…” but the rest of his words crumbled as his gaze settled upon you one last time, instead letting a low sigh flow from his lungs, “sleep well,” and added nearly subconsciously just before the door slammed shut, “goodnight, dove.”

Even though a wave of relief washed over you, a sting of hurt also followed suit as the king left. 

Had you done something wrong, or did he just find you that repellent, that hideous, that he refused to perform his marital duties?

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