#but i shall dream smaller

[arodrwho]

i hate that inflation impacts even basic staple foods, like, the kind of stuff broke ppl buy. shit like store brand bread and milk and rice and beans and ramen and cereal and eggs. i feel like those things should get special immunity

[ozzgin]

Omg bro yk whats been on my mind for do long?? A demon king trying to court a hero reader. Like the hero has already fought and defeated the king but somehow he comes back and he's desperately trying to get the hero to join him (in more ways than one). He wants the reader to be his spouse and leader of his army against the corrupt human race and the reader (now fallen from stardom due to the evil kings defeat) just wants him gone and to be left alone. Idk if this makes sense but I need to see SOMEONE write abt it before I lose my last marble.

-Doll

This is giving me Dragon Quest vibes, haha. Not a trope I'm too familiar with, but it sounds interesting nonetheless. I shall do my best! Sorry for the delay, I hope it's close to what you imagined. :)

Yandere! Demon King x Hero! Reader

As it goes with villains, they always find a way to return. This time, the Demon King has a different plan in mind. You were prepared for anything, from evil schemes to ancient conjured weapons...except for a wedding ring cordially placed before you. Do you say yes?

Content: gender neutral reader, monster romance, 🔥proposal (literally)

[Part 2]

You still remember everything so fondly. How you crawled out of that enormous crater, body battered and weak, as everyone watched in horror and held their breaths. Finally, you raised your fist victoriously. The Demon King had been, at last, defeated. The people cheered and cried and pulled you up under thundering waves of applause. Peace was no longer just a dream.

A sweet, innocent memory, even more so given its fleeting nature. The genuine smiles of gratitude quickly turned into crooked grins asking for favors. Before you knew it, you became some sort of political accessory to convince the masses. Posing for photos, shaking hands, being interviewed with bizarrely planned questions reeking of propaganda. You suddenly felt burdened, heavy, disappointed. This was not the kind of fame you envisioned for yourself.

Thus, you gradually vanished from the limelight, keeping your distance from everyone else and spending most days in solitude. Better than having to look into those unscrupulous, opportunistic eyes measuring up your worth. You had fulfilled your job and purpose.

This morning you're woken up by the sound of your belongings rattling in their shelves. The wooden frame of your bed is creaking, and you struggle to get up. An earthquake? A wave of nausea flushes over you. You recognize this feeling all too well, though you never expected to deal with it again. This is a disaster alright, yet the forces of nature have nothing to do with it.

You rush outside, swinging the door open and nearly tripping in your hurry to confirm your suspicions: the demonic creature is approaching your humble adobe with heavy steps, as the ground crumbles and shatters underneath. The Demon King himself, in flesh and blood. Although the blood splattering his armor is most likely not his. Same for the visceral remains threading his weapon. Regardless, your jaw tightens nervously, and you stand back, in a defensive pose. "You're a stubborn one", you say smugly, trying to maintain your composure. "Can't say I'm a fan of dying, that is correct." A ragged, monstrous voice erupts from the tall, armored figure.

"What brings you back?" You demand. The surroundings are too peaceful for him to have tampered with the city. Did he stop by to formally announce his destruction? "I have an offer that might interest you." The Dark Overlord has closed the distance between you, now looming above your much smaller body. You shiver. "I don't barter with Demons!" You conclude, turning around, prepared to leave. "Even when your precious people are on the line?" The horned beast warns with a grin. "If there's nothing better to do as a Ruler of Realms than killing petty humans..." You swiftly retort, going back into your house and slamming the door shut.

He stands for a moment, speechless. "Y-your Majesty? Should I take care of the humans, or (Y/N)?" Only now he notices his scaly butler, bowing to his side with claws resting over the weapon. The Demon King raises a hand, shooing the servant away. The annihilation of the human race can wait. There are more important matters to deal with presently. He'd expected your rejection, naturally, but not in such fashion. The indifference, the flat voice, the empty eyes devoid of emotion. Have the city dwellers tampered with his hero? He expected to see your fierce rage and in return he was met with a hollow shell.

Bright blue flames erupt from the openings of his armor, resulting in a menacing show of lights. He's known it for the longest time, of course. Humans are rotten to their very core. Vile, deceitful creatures that have slithered their way up, exuding undeserved arrogance. He's been trying to show you this very fact, yet you were blinded by naive faith. Your unwavering, honest heart that won him over has turned out to be your early demise. Not anymore. His vengefulness knows no bounds when it comes to traitors.

The sudden spike in temperature alerts you. Was it your rudeness that angered the Demon? You don't care anymore. Whatever happens to the city is out of your hands. And yet...you're buckling the straps of your old suit made for battle. Sword in hand, you gaze at your reflection. What could the Beast want? The fortified city no longer holds the value of its olden days. Just like you've left your hero days behind. Without much contemplation, you run out and head for the main gates. The path is paved with ash and rubble and your grip on the weapon tightens. Regret immediately wells up in your chest, ready to burst out. Is it too late? The entrance is engulfed in fire, charred corpses toppling against the ruins of the walls.

You reach the town hall - or rather, what remains of it - and face the Demon King. Has he gotten stronger since your last encounter? You hold your breath as the horned monster turns towards you. "I've tried to tell you, again and again. Time after time." He sighs, defeated. "Between the two of us, I'd say you were the stubborn one all along." His voice is softer than what you would've expected from someone that had just massacred an entire settlement. There's not a single scratch or sign of struggle. Was he merely holding back during your last fight? One thing is certain: you're his final obstacle. You raise your sword, determined. Hot sweat trickles down your face as the flames surround you. "Well, at least you've convinced yourself now, I hope. There's nothing left for you here." The Demon King lowers himself, extending a fist towards you. A spell? Secret weapon? Your leg muscles contract in anticipation.

His fingers open and stretch out, slowly. In his palm, a barely noticeable ring. Given the ridiculous size difference, you assume this is better fitting for a human. You stare at it in confusion, discerning the wedding vows carved in the noble metal. "What's the meaning of this?" You mutter, glancing at the Beast now resting on one knee before you. "What? Is it not your human custom?" He looks away for a moment, clicking his tongue. "That useless butler. He told me- Forget it! You are to return with me to my Kingdom. As my spouse."

Of all the things you've prepared yourself for...Your brows furrow and your mouth hangs open in shock.

What is your answer? The Demon King will not leave empty-handed.

[thebestofoneshots]

No Sweeter Innocence than Our Gentle Sin Pt.2 | Remus Lupin x Reader

Read Pt.1

Pairing: Priest!Remus x reader

Word Count: 14 k

Prompt: You did not want to go to church that day, but your spirits are uplifted when you meet Father Remus, and your mind starts creating a mischievous scheme, to both retaliate over those years of being forced to go and take something from them.

Alternatively, R is really mad at the church and decides to steal one of their priests for it (but also kind of falls for him).

Warnings: SMUT, Non-apt for Christians(?). Reader is a little cynical (or maybe cynical Af). Suggestive talks, touching oneself, fingering,  oral (male and female receiving), dry humping, P in V. Reader seduces a Priest (so whatever you might expect from that), hierophiIia, corruption!kink, praise!kink (if you squint). Consent is sexy!

 Proofread by lovely @aremuslupinsimp

♡ NSFW: Smut under the cut

ACT VI: You shall not take the name of the LORD your God in vain

You quickly put the straps of your dress back on and wiped your hand on the inside lining of the skirt. You walked out of the door. You looked around, the church was as empty as it got, you smiled and knocked on his side. 

“You may come out, father,” you said, teasingly. 

You heard some adjusting, “I’m having a bit of an issue.” 

You giggled. “Yeah, I’m gonna help you fix that,” you responded, opening the door yourself and taking his arm, pulling him towards you. He stood up and roughly accommodated his coat over his boner. You bit your lip as he did and he gave you a rather impassive look, as if telling you that whatever you might do, could be going overboard. “Do you have an office?” 

“No.” 

You hummed, dissatisfied at his answer. “A place where you guys give talks? like for people who are going to get married and stuff? I know I was in one of those when I was my cousin’s godmother.” 

Remus seemed to think about it. 

“We can’t go there.” 

“Why not? You don’t have the keys?” 

“I do! But it’s not safe, if someone walks in–” 

“Oh,” you said with a smile and looked down at his boner again. “I’m pretty sure it won’t take too long.” 

Remus huffed, still rather unconvinced. So you placed your hand on his shoulder and pulled him down slightly so you could whisper something in his ear. His eyes shone and he turned to you with a gulp. “Are– are you sure?” 

You simply nodded in response. 

He shut his eyes and sighed, “We shouldn’t be doing this.” 

“You’re probably right,” you agreed, condescendingly.

“That would be like crossing the line.” 

“I suppose it would.” 

“Let’s go,” he said. 

It was Remus, that looked preoccupied but determined, who led you to the back of the church. You walked right next to the altar, your gaze lingered over it for a second before you went into one of the smaller rooms beside it, and then into another one. You knew the church was huge, but you hadn’t quite dimensioned it entirely. 

He was quick to come in and he shut the door. Turning to you as he bit his lip, he was still hard, and you leaned closer to him. “Allow me,” you said with an innocent smile, dragging him closer to the centre of the room. You placed your hands on his shoulders. “Breathe.” 

He did as told, a deep long inhale, and then a soft exhale, his breath smelled of mint, and a little bit of cigarette smoke. Remus had long ago stopped smoking, but since you appeared, and told him all about the things that’d happened in your dream, he’d taken up that terrible vice again, one of the few things that calmed his nerves. 

“Listen to my voice, I mentioned there was a way to control it, right? That I would teach you?” 

“Please do.” 

“Well, It’s quite simple,” you said as you rubbed your hands over his strong-toned arms, reassuringly. You were not expecting Father Remus to be so solid under all the religious attire, but you thought it was a wonderful surprise. You leaned a little closer to him, enough for your bodies to touch. You felt his boner against your stomach and you’d swear you felt how you clenched around nothing. But it’s not time yet for that. You told yourself. 

You knew it was a long game when you started and you were not about to ruin it all due to the heat of the moment, you weren’t that idiotic. 

“If you want to control those impulses, then you must give in to them.” 

He opened his eyes surprised when you placed your hand on him, carefully, tentatively, and pleasantly subdued. Your hand was much softer and kinder than his own had ever been, much smaller too. He shut his eyes close, his breath was ragged and looked like he might have been in pain. 

“Too sore still?” He nodded. “May I?” you asked as you placed your hand on his belt. He swallowed, unsure, and you stopped moving your hands. “Do you want to?” 

“But it’s wrong,” he excused. 

“Remus I didn’t ask if it was. I said ‘Do you want to?’ Because I’m dying to touch you but if you don’t want to then we should end this here and now.” 

“No!” he said, almost too quickly. If he’d had the willpower, that might have been the one and only moment in which things could have turned around. The sharp crossroad of decisions that would have allowed you both to choose a different result. But he didn’t want you to stop, he wanted you to do it, like he hadn’t wanted anything in his life before. “I want to,” he said in a low breath. 

You smiled, innocently, and started to unfasten his belt. Then slowly you went for the buttons of his trousers and the zipper. There, straining against his boxers, you could see the outline of his cock. Your breath hitched in your throat, he was big. You had seen that already but you hadn’t dimensioned it, but now, right in front of you? It was easy to see just how big he was, how pretty, you thought as you carefully slid the band of his boxers underneath. 

Remus hissed as the cold air prickled his sensitive skin, and you slid one of your hands, carefully, tauntingly, from his stomach and down to his cock. You were careful and light, you slid one of your fingers along his shaft, and you could tell he was stifling a groan. You looked up to him, he was biting his bottom lip and closing his eyes like he was really trying to concentrate. You looked at him and smiled, wrapping your hand around him in a grip so gentle it was as if you weren’t quite touching him. 

“Does it still feel sore?” you asked. 

He turned to you and nodded, breath ragged, he refused to look at your hand wrapped around his cock, he was sure he wouldn’t be able to forget it if he did. 

“That’s okay then, I know how we can solve it,” you said and started to lean down. Remus looked at you with shock as you levelled your head with his hips. 

“What are you–” he started, panic rising in his voice. 

“Shhh,” you said gently. And then leaned closer, pressing a small kiss to his tip. 

“Will you–” 

You pressed another kiss and he let out a short, ragged breath. Then you wrapped your mouth around him, just at the very tip, and felt the slightly salty taste of him against your tongue. Precum, you realised. Remus was as responsive as it got, and you loved that in an almost deranged way.  First, you just lapped your tongue around him. Slow and steady, listening in to the moans he tried to suppress. 

Remus’ hand was tense beside him, he didn’t know where to touch, he didn’t know what to do with them either. He was too in awe at your actions. You looked like an angel as you peppered kisses along his shaft and then wrapped your mouth around him. Always so incredibly fucking soft, it was insane. He thought he’d seen heaven with you in the confessionary, but he had barely gotten a glimpse at the gates back then. 

Eventually, you pushed yourself deeper into his shaft and started to bob your head. The sound he made was music to your ears, and fueled your determination. You quickened your pace and allowed him to push further into your throat, bordering the line between uncomfortable, but it didn’t matter, not when Remus was moaning like that. You imagined yourself with that beautiful cock of his inside of you and the mere thought turned you on even further. He moaned and cursed and kept saying all kinds of things in between mutters and ragged breaths. 

“Oh, God!” he breathed, when you used your hand to jerk the section of him that you couldn’t reach with your mouth, “Oh my GOD!” 

That one was by far your favourite of all his curses. 

Forget about fuck, and shit, when he said ‘Oh God’ when he sinned for you, that was what you loved the most. 

At some point, he started inadvertently pushing his hips into your mouth, “I’m sorry,” he said as politely as he could when he heard you cough, “I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry.” 

You looked up at him and he swore he’d never seen something as delightful as your teary eyes and your mischievous little expression. Your lips, though wrapped around him, were almost curving into a somewhat smile and you winked at him as you went back to moving your head.

“Fucking hell,” he breathed, his head fell back, breath ragged and moans escaping almost indiscriminately now. Then there were steps outside, far enough but Remus had always had a keen hearing. “Someone’s coming,” he warned, as he leaned on, a slightly worried expression. 

You leaned back, a line of spin connected your mouth and his cock and he felt a surge of electricity go through him at the sight. “How close are you?” you asked, panting. 

He gave you an exasperated look and you smiled, “I can work with that,” you said before going back and bobbing your head and jerking your hand faster than you had previously. Remus used one of his hands to cover his mouth and you tried not to laugh when you realised it.

“I’m going to–” he started, as he tried to push you out of him, but you were reluctant and you kept bobbing your head. He was both filled with pleasure and with stress. “Angel, stop. I won’t be able to hold it,” he tried next. And then, you felt it, the first ribbon of cum crashing into your mouth. He thought you’d pull back, disgusted at what he’d done to your precious mouth. “I’m sorry,  angel. I’m sorry I’m–” 

He was at a loss of words, rather than stopping and looking at him with disgust –like he expected– you just kept going, sucking him off until he was empty. The steps had grown louder by now, and there seemed to be some shuffling just outside the door. 

He pulled out a napkin for you to spit on it while looking nervously at the door, you gave him a smile and swallowed. “Isn’t it the almighty that says you should never spill your seed?” you said with a mischievous smile and his mouth went dry. 

You pressed a kiss to his happy trail and helped him tuck back in. The knob had started to move now. “Place your hand on my head, now!” 

“What?” He asked, confused. 

“Say a blessing or something, whatever it is you guys do,” you added in a quick whisper. You leaned your head down, closed your eyes, and placed your hands in front of your chest as if you were praying. 

ACT VII: You shall not bear false witness against your neighbour

Remus started to mutter something, and you remained in your place, licking the bit of cum that had slid down the corner of your lips earlier. 

The door burst open, and surprisingly enough, Remus stayed focused on his blessing, rather than turning around startled like you had expected him to. Either your little ruse had tired him, or he was a lot more scheming than he seemed. Perhaps as much as you were. Remus opened one of his eyes and looked at the man at the door, giving him a short acknowledging nod.

“Oh, I’m sorry–” the man hurried. He had a thick, velvety voice, resonant but not loudly disagreeable. “I thought the place was empty,” he added, adjusting his belt. You were not looking at him, since your back was turned, but the urgency in his voice was evident. 

“I was just giving this child a blessing,” Remus said calmly. “I’m afraid her aunt is very ill, and her family is losing hope. Care to join us?” 

You tried not to look surprised when he said that, you’d never seen Father Remus lie through his teeth so seamlessly. But you weren’t one to complain. You stood up suddenly, a saddened expression filled your face, “That won’t be necessary, Father. I’ve already consumed enough of your time,” you said meekly, and then, throwing him a look, you added, “and your blessings…” 

He threw you a warning glance, and you just smiled, diverted, your back still turned to the other man. You leaned in and pressed a small kiss to Remus’ cheek, muttering a ‘Thank you’, just loud enough for the other man to hear. By the time you turned around, your face was solemn looking again. 

You nodded towards the other father as you passed by, he had long hair and was rather good-looking as well. He eyed you with amusement. Remus cleared his throat. “Will you come back? For another blessing… I mean.” 

You turned around, “Of course, Remus. However, could I go on without them?” 

He nodded in return, more reassuring himself than anything. And watched as your dress flowed out of his sight. 

“That’s a sweet little lamb you got there,” the long-haired man said with a mischievous smile. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” Remus said and walked towards the exit. “I’ll go fulfil my duties,” he added as he walked out. 

“Of course,” the other man replied, the amused smile still playing on his lips. “Have fun.” 

Remus gave him a tired sort of look, something close to an eye roll, and left. 

Remus had never lied as much as he had lied that week. It started with that simple lie and then it just went on and on and on. 

“Father Lupin, could you take care of the Church retreat next week?” 

“I’m sorry, I have a family thing on Saturday. I’m on grandma duty.” 

Remus was, in fact, not on grandma caring duty. There was no grandma caring duty whatsoever in his family. Mrs. Lupin was old but held strong, and she would never ask to be taken care of, she had always been stubborn like that.

Then another time, he had locked his room door, ready to feed his delusions with the thought of you when there was a sharp knock on his door. 

“Father Lupin!” an urgent voice said on the other side, “Father Lupin!” 

Remus half opened his door and tried not to look too annoyed when one of his deacons waited at the door. He had opened it slightly, only letting his head through as he looked at the boy. He was the small blond-haired kid who he sometimes found amusing because of how much trouble he managed to get into. Not today though, not when it distracted him from the thought of you. 

“What is it?” he asked, slightly impassive. “I was in the middle of a very important prayer.” 

Yeah, right! He was definitely going to say God’s name a good deal of time but not in the way it would be expected of him. 

The kid gulped, he had never seen Father Remus be so stony. He was always kind and good-natured, no matter what. Heck, he had accidentally walked in on him while changing and Father Remus –although he hated people seeing his scars– had only ushered him out with a light reprimand and instructions to always knock on the door before walking in. 

“I’m– I’m sorry,” the boy staggered. “It’s just that the bishop was looking for you.” 

Remus sighed, also annoyed that his plan was ruined, shut the door, put on his shoes and stepped out again, still looking cross as he followed the boy to the Bishop’s office. 

“How may I help, Your Grace?” 

“Ah, Remus,” the old man said when he spotted him. “I’ve been told how excellently you’ve been performing on Wednesdays lately.” 

Remus didn’t speak, but he looked at the man attentively, the bishop liked to speak, and it didn’t take long for him to continue.

“The head priest was telling me how brilliant you’ve been. He’s seen you confessing, and dedicating the confessions it’s due time which can be complicated, and even tiresome. And you’ve always proved to be a very responsible young man. As you know most of the church will be heading to the retreat starting next Monday. 

“Of course, the church must not be left alone. But since you are not going to the retreat, and I have not had the opportunity to attend one for some time, some of the head priests and I thought it would be a sensible idea to leave the church at your charge. I believe there are a few other priests who will stay, but you would act as my eyes and ears during the week we’re gone. How does that sound?” 

Remus drew in some air, completely inexpressive as he tried not to think of all the wonderful things that could happen with the church all to himself. 

“It would be an honour, Your Grace.” 

“I thought you’d say that,” the man replied with an affable smile. “Thank you for your time, Father Lupin. I’m sure the church will be in good hands.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” Remus replied as he nodded to the man politely and he exited the room. 

That Sunday you’d gone to mass with your grandma again, she’d come back to the city and she had insisted on going to the beautiful church with her. Of course, this time around, you hadn’t been as angry about having to go to the church as before, if anything, you were excited about it.

Remus was absolutely delighted when he spotted you and your grandma. He had been dying to tell you that he’d be in charge of the church, that you could stay for longer, and not worry so much about being seen with him next week. That’s how he realised he had, in fact, no way to contact you outside of the church. 

You had always been the one to come to him, like an angel, uninvited but always welcomed. 

When he saw you walking beside your grandma, at a very slow pace and holding her arm as you climbed up the stairs to the entrance of the church, he was quick to excuse himself from the boring conversation he’d been having with the old lady who insisted on telling him all about her rogue godson and walked straight your way. 

“Ma’am, allow me to help,” he said politely and took your Nan’s other arm. Your grandma looked at Father Remus and gulped. 

“To what do I owe the honour of being helped by a Father?” she asked. 

“Oh, it’s just very nice to see you, it’s been a while,” Remus replied. 

“She’s not from around,” you explained. The way your lips moved, he’d dreamed about kissing them before but the need for that now was consuming him like a burning fire. He’d never thought of mass as boring or dull, today it hadn’t even started and he already wanted it to be over with. To have you, and to have you alone. 

“Of course,” Remus said. “But seeing your granddaughter so often–” 

“So often?” your Nan asked, surprised, turning to the man.

“Well, she’s been coming to mass, Ma’am.” 

“You have?” she asked, turning to you with a surprise. “You never told me!” 

“I guess I’ve found my way back into faith,” you said. “Perhaps all I needed was a good enough incentive to come to church more often,” you added, throwing a knowing look at Remus. 

“Incentive, of what kind?” 

“Well, how beautiful mass is given here, of course,” you lied. “Didn’t you find it delightful? The way the priests here preach? Remus is especially good at it, you should hear him say god. It’s always so… heavenly when he does.” Remus threw you a warning look, and you gave him a small, almost imperceptible smirk, and then winked, just before turning to your Nan. “Unfortunately he does not preach on Sundays.” 

“What a shame,” she said. You were already all the way up the stairs and you helped her into her seat. “See you around, Remus.” 

“It’s Father Remus–” your Nan started her chiding but shut up the second Remus turned to you with a kind smile and said. 

“See you around, dove.” He didn’t think too much about it, not about the nickname or how softly he’d said it. How loving it had been. 

“Dove?” your Nan asked you, Remus had already taken off towards the back of the church to change into his alb. 

“Oh, it’s like Lamb, Remus says that all the time,” you said dismissively, although you really wanted to laugh. Your Nan wasn’t stupid, she might be able to catch on, and perhaps she would have, if she didn’t have such blinding faith in priests, and of course, in Remus in particular.

You weren’t sure you’d mind too much. Surely she wouldn’t talk about it for fear of becoming a scandal, and no matter how good she thought of you, she might take the church’s side and blame you for corrupting Remus –which was arguably right. In the end, she had already called you heathen once, it wouldn’t be that complicated for her to notice, and feel guilty about being the one to bring you into the church.

It had been, after all, her fault that you ended up meeting Remus.

But even if you didn’t mind it, you feared Remus might have, so you decided to gaslight her into believing you were the innocent angel that Remus insisted on alluding to when referring to you. It was better that way, it would be easier to continue that way. And of course, you wanted to go all the way with Remus. you wouldn’t be done until it was done. And at this point, petty revenge wasn’t the only thing driving you. You liked Remus, how innocent and forthcoming he was, you thought he was absolutely charming. 

When the mass was done, you walked your Nan down the huge steps and helped her to the taxi. The church was pretty full still, but the desperate glances that Remus had thrown your way several times were enough for you to know that he wanted to talk to you. Especially that one reproachful look when you licked your lips as he gave you the host. 

You walked up the long steps again and spotted him being flooded by some ladies. Three older women who were all talking at the same time and he seemed to have trouble following, a girl younger than you looking at him like he was  Robert Redford –Remus was prettier than that–, and babbling something about her first communion along with one of the older ladies who shared her hair colour. And a smaller girl running around his feet and pulling on his pants aggressively every now and then while saying ‘Look at me, Father! I can twirl now’. 

You gave him a short look with a diverted smile and walked towards one of the seats. He looked at you with a pleading glance, his eyes opening wider as he clearly said ‘Help me out of this’. Remus knew you were clever enough to have all the people around him scatter, but instead, you sat down, pulled a book from your bag and read while you waited. 

You felt someone sitting next to you, “How’s your aunt?” 

You turned around with a frown, it was the long-haired priest who had almost caught you and Remus. He had beautiful grey eyes. Now that you actually paid attention to him: he was regal. If you had seen him before Remus, things might have gone an awful lot different. 

“She’s better,” you said, closing the book and turning to him attentively. 

“Are you here for another blessing?” He asked, he had a shrewd, very fox-like look on his soft and elegant features, as if he knew something and he wanted you to know he did. 

“Well, yes and no.” 

“I could help,” he said and placed a hand on your leg. On your bare leg that is. You had worn a skirt that day as well. You looked at his hand and then back at him. If he expected you to blush, he was surprised to see the way you smiled, averted your gaze and rolled your tongue over your teeth. You would have been more than welcome to accept this man’s advances if it wasn’t for the fact that you already had another one in sight. Who was, coincidentally, walking towards you right now. 

“I’m afraid you couldn’t,” you said as you cocked your head to the side. 

“No?” 

“I’m about to hire Remus for a hospital visit, my aunt is very fond of him.” 

When Remus reached the two of you, he gave the grey-eyed Father a murderous look. You smiled and gave him a small wink. “I was just telling Father, uh…” 

“Black,” the man said with a smile. 

“Black, right? I was just telling Father Black that I’m here to talk to you about the thing we discussed earlier. About visiting my aunt?” 

“Of course,” Remus said. The little girl had trailed behind him and was stopped by her mother right before she clung to his leg again. 

Father Black laughed and waved the little girl goodbye in a rather charming way. Remus threw a look at him which he returned in an equally taxing manner, then Remus nodded to his hand on your leg. He hadn’t even gotten close to touching your velvety legs and here Sirius had his hands all over them, he was livid, although he hid it pretty well. 

“Didn’t you have something to do?” 

Sirius sighed, “I’ve got to visit the convent.” He didn’t seem too eager to go. 

“I’m sure the Nuns will love to see you there, Father Black.” 

He turned to you with a small smirk, there was mirth in his eyes, “You think?” 

“Oh, I’m certain,” you said with a smile, and placed your hand on his wrist to drag his hand away from your thigh.  You stood up, Father Black looked at your legs for a second before he got another murderous look from Remus and stood up himself. 

“I guess this is where our paths diverge,” he said, with a slight dramatic air. 

“Perhaps,” you replied. “Good luck at the convent.” 

“Good luck with your aunt,” he said, with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes and a side look at Remus, who, in turn, just stared down at him. 

“Thank you, hopefully, she’ll get better,” you said, and waved at him politely. 

The second the father stepped out of the way, you felt Remus take a step closer to you, enough for you to feel his heat radiating on your back. You turned to him with a smile and tilted your head to the side, he looked adorable while jealous, “Are you taking confessions, Father?” 

“Didn’t you say you wanted me to visit your aunt at the hospital?” 

You raised an eyebrow, “Don’t you need special permits to leave the church and so on?” 

“Oh, no,” he said with a smile. “We’re not going to leave yet, first we have to make the arrangements at the office.”

ACT VIII: You shall make no idols 

Remus walked you towards a set of stairs, claiming there were old offices on some of the towers that were rarely visited.  As you walked up one of the towers, he lingered only a second while looking down at the stairs behind him, as if he was trying to make sure he had been followed by no one and then continued walking right behind you. It’s here, he said as he pulled out a big, old-looking key and opened one of the doors. 

You expected whatever you found inside to be dirty and filled with spiderwebs and whatnot from lack of use, but it was clean. In fact, it was like a small church museum, with all sorts of church memorabilia, some even hanging from the ceiling. The walls were plastered, and white, as if they had been taken care of not long ago, and there was a desk right in the middle of the room. 

“Well, this is… interesting,” you said as you leaned over the desk and looked around the room.

“It used to be a museum, got shut down a couple of months ago due to lack of visits. Now it’s a place we use to meditate and pray.” 

“And confess, I suppose,” you added with a small, teasing smirk.

Remus stepped towards you, hesitant but not stopping, he was close now. Close enough for you to feel his body heat. “He touched you,” he said as his hand hovered over your leg. 

You gave him a look, cocking your head to the side, “Father Black?”

“Yes,” he said, voice colder than he intended. 

You tried not to laugh at his childish display of jealousness and had to remind yourself how starved for love Remus had been when you first showed up at his confessionary. How you’d had to tell him to touch himself for him to even dare do it under his clothes and how out of practice he’d been. Even then, you couldn’t help but tease him, he looked lovely when he was being teased. 

“Does it bother you?” 

“What right does he have? He didn’t even ask for permission, he placed his dirty hands on–” 

“Right,” you interrupted. “I guess it was certainly unexpected.” 

“But not unwelcomed?” he retorted.

“Not” –he looked at you as if you’d betrayed him– “if I imagined they were your hands instead.” He swallowed thickly, the place was so quiet that the sound he made, combined with the bobbing of his throat, made it beyond evident. You smiled and bit your bottom lip as you looked at him. “Jealousy suits you, Father Remus, with the slight tint of your cheeks, you look delightful.” 

His gaze intensified on yours as if he was trying to look past your flirting and into your soul. Did you really think he was that handsome? With you being as beautiful as you were, he’d expect to see you with someone like Sirius, handsome, strong, pretty. Not with someone as rugged up as he was, not with someone that had scars on his entire body. “More than him?” 

“Than Father Black, you mean?” you teased again, he tensed, and you placed a hand on his arm. But rather than responding, you thought of showing him. “How about–” you started, your hand sliding down his arm until you had your hand in his and pulled it towards you, “How about you touch me like he did and see how I react to you?” 

Remus gulped again as if he couldn’t quite process what you’d said, “You– you want me to touch you?”

“Like in my dream,” you said as you leaned on your hands and sat on the desk better, your legs only slightly parted, not enough for him to realise you’d been wearing no underwear –again– but enough for it to be enticing, your skirt had ridden up just a little bit more, almost as much as Sirius had pulled it earlier with his hand.

Remus was hesitant as he looked at you, eyes blown as he stared but his hand still held firmly on the side. Up until then, it had been you the one to speak, you the one to tell, you the one to touch him however you wanted, he had never been the one to do it. Not even as you blew him had he dared to lay a hand on you. He wasn’t sure if he could debase the holiness of your body with his unworthy hands. 

You, upon seeing his hesitance, spread your legs a little wider for him, tantalising him. Remus was dithering as he leaned closer, you’d expected him to go straight for your leg, after all, you had purposefully laid them out for him, and you couldn’t help but be left breathless when he reached up and brushed his fingers on your face. “You’re so beautiful,” he said, almost in a whisper. The raw honesty he used sent a shiver down your spine, you had been called beautiful before, plenty of times, but none of them had felt as genuine as Remus’ words. As deep-rooted and meaningful. “Like an angel,” he added. 

Your breath was already heavier, and he had only grazed the pads of his fingers over your cheek. He brushed his thumb over your lips for a second before he moved it to the side and dragged it under your chin. One of his fingers behind your ear, and the rest accommodating along your neck while his thumb placed circles over your throat. “And so soft,” he said then. “I’m scared to break you. Like you really are one of those beautiful saint ikons we have all over the church.” 

“I’m far from being a saint,” you said in a whisper, your eyes were as blown as his. The way Remus touched you, how soft and careful he was, how reverential as if each of his fingers was laced with devotion was making you go insane. You weren’t sure anyone had ever touched you like that before, and it made you both crave more and relish in the little he gave. 

“Are you?” he asked. “I always feel like I’m floating when you’re around.” 

You bit your lips as you looked at him, his other hand had travelled to your arm, and he was holding it firmly, but not strongly, as if he was using it as a reassurance that you were real, that you wanted him. 

You bit your lip at that, looking at his, but not leaning into them, “Remus?” You said softly. 

“Yeah?” he breathed. He was enjoying the way your cheeks felt warm under his touch and the way the hair on your arm would stand on end as he traced his feather-light fingers over the back of your hand. 

“Remember my dream?” Remus wanted to respond that he could never forget your dream, that he had it every night, all the different variations of it that had gone through his head were so sinful he should have gone to hell just for desiring you with that vigour. He merely nodded. “Remember what I did after that?” Remus’ eyes lost in his hands, rushed back to your face. 

He hesitated, “You want me to touch you there?” 

You looked down at his hands, your gaze lingering over his broad chest, and the way the tight-fitted cassock looked on him, “Please,” you sighed.

Remus, who had never touched a woman like that in his entire life, was beyond nervous as you guided one of his hands to your leg. He was hesitant, playing with the soft skin of your thigh first, softly closing his hands around them and then letting go, each time, his hand reaching deeper in, closer to your core. You were looking at him with a gaze so lustful you might have as well been possessed by one of the seven deadIy sins. 

Or perhaps, it was him the one possessed. He wasn’t any better as he stared at you, gulping as he touched you, his cock straining against his pants in a way that should have been uncomfortable, but just with the sight of you embracing his inexpert touch became beyond pleasurable.

He’d become a debauchee, he wanted more of you, all of you. And here you were, giving yourself into all his lecherous thoughts, into all of yours. He was drowning in the idea of having you for himself, of making you his, vows be damned, he wanted you more than anything he’d ever wanted before. 

More than God? His mind asked him. Remus stopped moving for a second, and then you placed your hand on his chest, gripped the fabric covering it, and dragged him closer to you, the question was forgotten in an instant, and his hand, almost as in instinct, went right over your slit. But he pulled it back in an instant and looked at you in shock. 

“You’re not wearing any underwear.” 

You took his hand and dragged it back into your thighs, “I never do when I come to see you.”

His breath was slow and ragged, a part of him was furious over Father Black touching you earlier, of you knowingly letting him touch your thigh and ride your skirt up with his unclean hands, of you feeling any pleasure at all from his attention, from knowing that under the skirt there was nothing to stop him from touching you.

But Father Black wasn’t here, Father Black didn’t get to touch you in the way he did, and you had dismissed him with a kind smile, but had never looked at him with the licentious expression you were giving him now. You were not Father Black’s, and you had never been Father Black’s. From the moment you entered that confessionary, you knew what you wanted. And you wanted him. 

Remus’ hand closed the distance between it and your core. And as light as he had been earlier, he traced his fingers over your slit: Steady, kind, supple. Most men had rushed in, desperate to have you, but Remus did it with a patience reminiscent of a wolf stalking his prey. You opened your legs a little wider for him, and shuddered when his knuckle brushed against your clit.

He swallowed and placed one of his hands next to yours as he leaned a little closer to you, his forehead against yours, “Is this okay?” he asked as he repeated the action, his knuckle finding its way between your folds and brushing over your clit again. 

“Yeah,” you sighed. “That’s incredible,” you reassured. 

He did it again and felt his heart start to hammer against his chest when your sighs became soft, almost imperceptible moans. But he heard them, he was the one who got to hear all of those beautiful sounds of yours, and he loved it. 

Eventually, Remus changed his knuckle for his thumb, figuring out a more precise pace made your moans a little louder, as he touched you, as he heard you, he stared at your lips longingly, of what he’d do to kiss your lips, to become his own breath and feel the way they shivered under his touch. But Remus wouldn’t dare to kiss you without you doing it first, he thought you allowing him to touch you in the way you did, was already so much, that he didn’t deserve to also have your lips. 

If only he knew the only reason you hadn’t leaned in to kiss him was because you thought you’d scare him away, he would have closed the gap between the two ages ago. 

“Remus– Rem, Rem,” you said as you placed a hand on his shoulder. The way his name had fallen from your lips, so lascivious, was overwhelming all of his senses, almost making him short-circuit just from your voice. 

“Yeah?” he asked breathily. 

“You can,” you closed your eyes and attempted to focus on your words. “You can put your finger inside if you want.” 

He looked at you with a confused raise of the eyebrows. And then he mustered enough courage to ask for something he had only dreamed of since he saw you touching yourself in the confessionary. “How about my tongue?” 

His bold question was enough to pull you back into reality, his fingers now tracing slow circles over your clit, slow and steady, as if he was trying to keep you warm as you thought about it. He’d paid attention to the way you touched yourself, he’d always been good at learning, and this was no different.

“You–” you hesitated, trying to regain focus. This was him taking control of the situation, and he was brilliant at it. Your breath was heavy as you asked,  “You want to?” 

“I’ve wanted to since that day you gave me your handkerchief,” he admitted. You let out a breathy laugh and used your hands to push further back into the desk, so it was easier for him to bend over you, but instead, he took both of your legs and pulled them to the edge as he kneeled on the floor, levelling himself to your core. His hot breath against you sent a shiver down your spine.

Remus Lupin had never kneeled for anyone other than God or his saints. He had never kneeled for anyone that wasn’t already a spirit in the sky or a very important church figure. And he had certainly never kneeled for a woman. 

But you weren’t just any woman, you were an angel, you were his new saint, the one whose name he would repeat like a prayer over and over every night, the one he couldn’t and didn’t want to stop thinking about. So when he kneeled down for you, he didn’t repent for it. No, he adored the idea of surrendering himself to you, of giving you anything and everything you wanted. 

His angel, if he could, then he’d also bring you to heaven.

Remus looked at your juicy slit before leaning in a little closer and placing a soft kiss on your plush inner thigh. You shivered as he slowly, kiss by kiss, got closer to your core. You almost unwantedly clenched over nothing. He could see your movements, your hips bending just slightly up and your back arching at the mere idea of having him where you needed, and he smiled. Positioning himself right over your slit, but not closing the gap yet.

“Are you ready, angel?” 

“Yes,” you breathed, and Remus didn’t waste a second after that. He leaned down and his tongue traced your slit in the same gentle manner in which he had touched you earlier, he allowed his tongue to explore the outside, licking away all of the juices that had coated you when he used his hands to please you. He moaned when he first got a taste of you. 

Remus became desperate for more soon, his hands pulling you closer to his face and then carefully pushing your legs open wider, looking up at you to make sure you were comfortable in the new position, but without taking his mouth away from your cunt. Your face, leaning down on the desk was one of pure, unabashed bliss. He was doing that, he was taking you to heaven, and he loved every single stroke. 

Your soft moans when he licked, the gasping when he sucked and kissed your clit with a little more forcefulness, the whimpers you made when he brought his hand to your core, both to use his elbow to keep your legs widened and to trace circles over your clit when he distracted himself with licking some other part of you. With kissing or softly nipping at your slit. 

Remus might have not been an expert, but every single sound you made was his guidance, and when you sounded the most pleased,  then he knew that’s where he should stay, that he should keep going at it until you were a moaning mess, until you were pushing your hips onto him and he had to hold you back to continue doing it, since he figured you enjoyed it more than when you rocked your hips onto his face. Not that he minded it, he loved that just as much as the fact that he could touch you. 

“Fuck Remus,” you breathed, “I think I’m gonna…” 

Remus didn’t know much about women getting their climax, only really what his friends had mentioned to him before, and how much harder it was for them. It didn’t seem like that though, it hadn’t been all that hard to get you there, not when he had enjoyed every single second of it thoroughly. 

Remus knew though, that you would need a little extra stimulation to get there, so he switched his fingers from your clit towards your entrance, and his mouth back at your clit. He was soft and slow at first, only teasing the area as if to find it. And then he remembered the way you had done it inside the confessionary and dug his finger in. You gasped, and he did just the same. He didn’t know what the hell to expect it to feel, but it was tight, and soft, and slippery and he couldn’t help but imagine his cock inside, and how the warmth and the pleasure would feel. Divine, you were beyond fucking divine. 

You moaned his name and he curled his finger inside of you, causing you to gasp as he continued to suck at your clit, and then he massaged, softly but purposefully, curling and sliding his finger until you were trembling, one hand gripping at his shoulder and the other one curling on the side of the table, your nails scratching onto the soft varnish coating of the wood. As he looked at you, he realised just how turned on he was himself. He was throbbing behind his trousers, rocking his hips into nothing as he kept kissing you, the slight friction from his underwear was enough to make him want to tremble as well.

Eventually, you stopped trembling, your breath short and eyes closed as you panted. Your legs, which had been tense with clenching muscles, had relaxed into suppleness. He slowed down his movements when you did, easing you out of your high in the most tender way you had ever seen anyone do. Massaging your tights until your panting turned into a softer and more toned down breath, and just when he was sure you were relaxed, he pressed a soft kiss to your slit, as if he was thanking it for letting him touch you in the way he had. Like you would kiss a saint ikon or the feet of the Jesus statue themselves. 

Then he leaned his head on your thigh, and pulled a handkerchief from his trousers, passing it slowly over all the areas he had licked and sucked. Being careful when he got to your slit and noting how much more sensitive you were than at the beginning. When he was done, he pressed another soft kiss, this time to your inner thigh, and then closed his eyes as he enjoyed your warm soft skin pressed onto his cheek. 

You pushed yourself up by your elbows, and your heart fluttered at the tenderness of his expression. It was like a spell had been cast on him, where he looked so soft, like the pure, holy man he was and not like the lust-driven one you had turned him into. 

After looking at him for a minute, you pushed yourself into a sitting position and placed your hand over his head, he looked up at you like you were the most divine thing he’d ever experienced. Almost purring into your hand as you allowed it to brush over his head and neck. “Let me help you finish,” you said softly and slid from the desk, you were right in the middle of him and the piece of furniture, so close to him you could feel his breath on your face. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. 

You frowned as you pressed your hand to his lower abdomen, you thought he said it out of shame because he wanted to make you the one blessed today. But you knew that the poor man, starved from touch and probably love, deserved to come more than you who had touched yourself whenever you felt like it for years now. 

So you dug your hand in his trousers, but he was soft, and there was something sticky all over your hand. You pulled your hand out of them and stared at it in shock. “You came?” 

He was looking at you, neck and ears red with shame. Breathing in before nodding. He couldn’t quite decipher your gaze, but he knew enough about sex to know that when a man came early, it meant he was precocious, overly eager and childlike. Remus despised the idea of not being good enough for you, “I’m sorry.” 

“God, don’t be!” you replied. “Did you– were you touching yourself while you…” 

“No,” he said a little too fast. 

“So this” –you moved your hand, looking at his glistening cum on it– “this was just from giving me pleasure?” 

“Well, I’d never–” he started, trying to find an excuse that would make him feel less shameful. 

You just smiled and pulled him into a reassuring hug, leaning your head on his shoulder as you rubbed your hands over his back. “That’s okay, darling… It’s just, I never thought a man would feel such pleasure from doing that to me that he came without further stimulation. If anything, I’m flattered. You must not be ashamed.” 

“But didn’t you want more?” 

“Oh, Remus,” you said as you pulled your head up and leaned close to his ear, enough for your lips to brush against his still-red tips, “I always want more.” 

The way you were wrapped around him, the soft way you spoke, it was strangely reminiscent of the serpent tempting Eve. Wanting him to bite onto the forbidden fruit, the fruit that would be having you in the way he so intensely wanted –needed– to have you. 

Atonement, penitence…. Could he even have one when he didn’t regret any of his sins? When rather than feeling remorseful, he wanted more, more of anything you’d give him, more of you. You were delightful, stunning, and warm and perfect all over, he wanted to kiss you so bad, but he didn’t know if he was allowed. The image of your lips against him might have been more tantalising than the image of his cock inside you.

Satisfying his carnal needs wasn’t enough anymore, he wanted to appease his mind too, and the only thing that had that ability was you. You felt like peace and tranquillity. Like you were his sacred place, more holy than the very walls surrounding the both of you. But above all, he wanted more, he wanted to be able to touch you again, to feel you so close to him again that he could almost touch your very soul. 

“I’m gonna be in charge of the Church during the retreat,” he blurted out.

“Congratulations, Father Remus,” you said with a bit of a smirk, still hugging him as you did. 

“What I mean is– the Church, it’s going to be lonely. Probably just me and a few others who will be too busy studying the scriptures for the Pope’s visit next month.” 

That’s when you pulled back to look at him, a mischievous expression on your face, “Are you inviting me over for the night, Father Remus?” 

“I thought,” he started, and then smirked. “I thought you might want to confess again.” 

ACT IX: I am the LORD your God; you shall not have strange gods before me.

The priests were meant to leave by midday. At 9 in the evening, by the time you were set to arrive, the church looked almost deserted. The people from de Diose that would always be walking around in their robes were nowhere to be seen. In the chairs, there was nothing more than dust. You had seen the last person walk out as you walked inside.

She stood right at the entrance when you were walking up the stairs and then did the sign of the cross as she looked up at the altar. You looked at it as well, the altar at Saint Gryffin was beautiful. Made of marble and carved with a design so intricate it could have belonged to a museum. It had golden touches, that you suspected were not made of paint but rather real gold, and right behind it, a little on the higher side, there was a stunning round, stained-glass window that reflected its colours all over the church when the light hit it a certain way, or so you’d heard a woman claim.

You took a deep breath as you looked at it, outside of the church being the oppressive organism that you disagreed with, there was still beauty to be appreciated. But that was the thing about the world, there was something to appreciate even in the most wretched of things, even the most wicked being in creation, had something to be said for him. They had a huge painting of god casting Lucifer down to Earth near one of the walls, and there always seemed to be people who insisted on drawing the Devil as the most beautiful of men. That had been described in the bible of course, but it was very Wildean of the bible to have a man so corrupted be as delightful. 

Or perhaps it was very biblical of Wilde to write a book where a beautiful man became corrupted, gave in to every single lewd wish they had, and yet, remained as beautiful as an angel.

As your steps echoed on the empty church, you walked straight towards the confessionary. Since both you and Remus thought it was the best place to hide while he was closing it all down. You heard the big doors of the church being closed, and Remus dismissing one of his older deacons, the one who was studying to become a priest, with the characteristic solemnity of a man of the church. 

The same solemnity that seemed to leave him the minute he felt you, standing behind him. You had leaned onto him while he finished up with the locks and whispered in his ear. “Nice to see you again, Father. Will you take my confession?” 

He swallowed, he knew it was your little game, and he decided to play along. “Pray tell child, what have you done this time?” 

“I was walking on the street,” you said. “On a little one of those stores where they sell elegant underwear for women, or well, I suppose they really sell them for men, so they enjoy their women… I saw a little set.” 

“What kind of set?” he asked, his gaze fixed on the wooden door, he pretended to busy himself with the locks, although they were all done by now, he just kept touching them with an air of nervousness that he tried to contain as he spoke. 

“Well, it had a bra, one of those really nice push-up bras that make women’s breasts look delightful, and a small little thing for underwear that’s so transparent I might as well be naked while wearing it. But the best part, Rem, oh, the best part is the matching transparent little robe that came with it.” His breath got stuck in his throat, he resisted the urge to turn around as you pressed your body to his back, leaning so close he could feel your lips touching his earlobe. “Would you like to know the colour?” 

Remus gulped, so loud it almost made an echo in the church. “Yes.” 

“Then turn around and see it for yourself.” 

He did, and there you stood, wearing the exact clothes you had described. He imagined the colour you’d chosen had been forest green, like the girl from his magazine, but he never imagined how absolutely enchanting you’d look in such an outfit. 

“Your little story inspired me, thought you’d like it,” you said with a smile, and then you looked down at the visible bulge in his pants. “I gather you did?” 

Remus was speechless as he stared at you, he was never expecting anyone, let alone you to put such an effort for him, to dress in such a scanty little outfit just to please him. A part of him was dying to take it off, like he’d dreamed with that girl from the magazine, the other part of him, wanted to let you keep it, to have you like that forever. And then, there was the desperate part of him, the one that he couldn’t keep under control as he leaned down and kissed you. His mouth was in yours when he realised he hadn’t even asked if he could. 

“I’m sorry,” he said as he pulled apart. “I’m sorry I didn’t–”

You smiled and placed your hands around his neck, “I thought you’d never do that,” you breathed, and pushed him back into the kiss. His lips were soft, and gentle, and it was you the one to press your tongue against them. He complied with your wish, and suddenly your tongues were dancing with each other, deepening the kiss. 

Remus’ hands found their way to your waist, and he pulled you closer to him, your stomach pressed against his boner, and he almost flinched when he realised and tried to pull his hips back, but you didn’t let him. “I want to feel it, Rem,” you whispered in between kisses. “I like to feel how good I make you feel.” 

“You make me feel better than anything and anyone has ever made me feel,” he retorted. “That’s nothing, that’s just collateral.” 

You could have drowned in his words. But instead, you decided to drown in his lips, returning to kiss him with an even more ardent fervour. You somehow got Remus to sit on one of the benches and he pushed his head to look up at you while you kissed him. His hands had gotten just venturous enough to touch thighs, and the idea that he could was only making him harder. The strain of his cock on his trousers was almost painful at this point. You figured when he had to move one of his hands to adjust himself and hissed at the contact. 

That was enough for you to climb on top of him. “Sweet thing, what are you–” he tried to ask in between a kiss, but you were already rocking your hips against him before he continued, and his words were interrupted by a moan. 

You pulled back and smiled, “Helping you with that tension.” 

He stared at you, the way your swollen lips moved and turned upwards into that very like you smile, and he tried not to eagerly jerk against you the next time you leaned your clothed sex closer to him.  

“This is the first time I ever– fuck…” Teasing you was hard when you were so damn incredible at making him feel in heaven. “I ever see you wearing knickers.” 

“Perhaps your goodness is rubbing off on me,” you replied with an equal smirk. 

“That’s not the thing that’s rubbing onto you,” he somehow managed to joke, and you laughed. A laugh so angelical it might have as well come from heaven altogether, it echoed against the vaulted ceiling of the place and then came back to him in a lower, softer tone that made him smile, and drag you back into a kiss. He was clearly much more confident –or perhaps just more eager– today. 

“Father Remus,” you said as you pushed your hips on him, he struggled to get a grip on reality as he focused on what you were saying. 

“Mhm?” 

“I want to confess.” 

“Right now?” 

“It’s a very sinful thought I’ve had.” 

Remus arched an eyebrow and then moaned when you rolled your hips against him again, making sure he was turned on enough to comply with your, actually very sinful little wish.

“Then tell me, dove. I’ll absolve you. I’d absolve you from anything.” 

“But I don’t want absolution, Father,” you said and let out a shaky breath. “I want you to sin with me.” 

Remus laughed, “Anything you want.” 

“You haven’t even heard my request.” 

“My answer remains the same,” he said solemnly.

You smiled and leaned closer to him, making sure to lean your hips on his, feeling how hard he was on your core making you so wet you were sure your new knickers were already stained. You whispered what you wanted in his ear. Low, steady, as if you weren’t alone in the church. Then you pulled back to look at him, “So?” 

He gulped and looked behind you as if considering your request, there was a nervous gaze on him, a small frown, and you worried your request had been out of line, “I’m sorry,” you said quickly, and pulled from him, leaning on his thighs instead of his hips. A worried expression plastered your features, terrified you might have killed the mood. “If you don’t want to then we don’t have to, we–” 

He pulled you into a kiss, he thought it was lovely how quickly you had changed your mind for him, but his words carried meaning, and when he said ‘anything you want’, he really meant it. He pulled his lips from your and pressed kisses all the way to your ear and then whispered “I was just thinking how to get us there.” 

You were thrumming with excitement by the time he dragged his hands to your thighs and pulled himself up with you wrapped around him. 

“I won’t let you fall,” he said as he noticed you steadying yourself. 

“I know,” you said with a smile and pressed a kiss to his neck that made him falter. “I may have my doubts now.” 

“I would never let you fall, darling, not without going along with you,” he whispered and started walking towards the chancel. He looked at the Bishop’s chair and imagined having you there, but that wasn’t what you’d asked for.  

When he reached the altar, it was easy enough to lean on it and let you sit, the height was just about perfect for him, with how tall he was, your faces were levelled with each other. Remus had been taught to care for the altar, to kiss it, to worship it since it was the symbol of sacrifice, the symbol of God, the cynosure of all eyes during any Eucharistic celebration. He thought it rather proper to place you there, since to him, you were the real cynosure.

And he would treat you like such, he would kiss you, and worship you, like you were God yourself. Because at this point, you might as well have been. 

The altar was bare except for a few candles that he hastily pushed to the side as he stared at you, sitting there with your profane little clothes while still looking as holy as an angel. He had been behind the altar perhaps thousands of times, yet he had never felt nearly as illuminated as he had that moment.

“What?” you asked as you tilted your head to the side, a small smile playing on your lips. 

“Just admiring how incredibly stunning you look,” he said. And then he tilted his head, his tone changed, “I think I need to confess.” 

You smiled, you loved it when Remus joined your little game, you bit your lip and placed your hands on each side of his flushed cheeks. “Speak, dear one, I will absolve you with a kiss.” 

“I want to sullen this sacred table by worshipping a different god on it.” 

“Different? To him?” you asked as you nodded towards the cross in the back. “A better one?” 

“A much more tangible one,” he said. “One that dresses in beautiful lingerie and steals his priests.” 

“Just one,” you corrected. “I only want one of his priests.” 

He chuckled, “Just one then.”

“Come, I’ll absolve you,” you said and leaned closer to him, pressing your lips on his again.

There were warning signs all around Remus’ head. Red flags telling him to stop, voices calling him a harlot, weak of mind and body, a heathen and a pagan. His reproaching father telling him how much of a disappointment he was, the elder being disappointed at his lewd actions, and the part of him that was still a priest telling him to stop before it was too late, before he wouldn’t be able to do it, but that line had long ago been crossed, and all of those thoughts were the easiest thing to ignore when your sweet lips were in his.

You had to be an angel, there was no other way you could make him feel as incredible as you did. And if not an angel, then you really were a god, his Goddess. And so he would venerate you and worship you on the altar like he’d learned to worship his previous god.

ACT X: You shall not kill

Remus stopped kissing your mouth and started placing soft, feather-like kisses all over your face until he got to your neck, gently moving the thin, translucent fabric of the little robe to the side so he could kiss the skin of your collarbone. Open-mouthed kisses and soft licks that felt desperate filled your senses as he pressed his face to your skin and breathed in your smell.

The slight scent of rose he particularly enjoyed when the church was filled with them for a wedding that the soap you’d specifically bought for today had tainted your skin with, the smell of the city air where you had commuted, and the ridiculously delicious natural smell of your skin. He kissed again and again, slowly letting his hands wander through your body, digging them down to the robe until the small bow that tied it was undone and he pushed it off your shoulders and allowed it to pool down on your hips. 

He pulled back to look at you again, lips swollen and red from how much he’d kissed you, lustful gaze lost on you, pupils blown out and softly panting as he regained his breath from the previous kisses. He bit his lips as he stared at your breasts. He’d seen them, but he’d never touched them, you weren’t even sure if he’d ever actually touched a pair in his life, and he had been purposefully avoiding them altogether as he kissed your neck. 

You smiled, “You want to take it off, or do you want me to do it?” 

He swallowed thickly at that, looking up at your eyes as if trying to make sure you were serious about your words, you raised your eyebrows at that. 

“It might be tricky, but I’m sure you’d manage, you’re a clever man, after all.” 

He wrapped his hands around you after that, first on your shoulders, and then he got closer, slotting himself even deeper between your legs as he allowed his fingers to delicately brush over your shoulder blades as his eyes were focused on your neck. You looked at him while he did, your own breath nervous and as slow as you could make it. The way he touched you, the way he revered you with every brush of his fingers against skin was almost overwhelming. 

You bit your lip as his fingers found the clasp, and tightened your grip on the edge of the altar as the anticipation ate you up, his hands were slow, as if he was trying to figure out what the mechanism was before actually undoing it. But once he did, he didn’t take long, with one hand he pressed one side to your back and with the other he undid the clasp. After that, he placed his hand flat on your back and allowed you to rest there for a second before travelling back to your shoulders and playing with the straps. 

He gave a questioning look and you nodded, he didn’t waste time as he slid them down your arms, while carefully removing the green item from your breasts. He saw the way they bounced slightly down and stared at them solely as he removed the rest of the garment and threw it backwards. He got to see the way they perked with the chill air of the night and he stared as if it was the first time he ever looked at them. Perhaps it felt like that since the last time it had been through the confessionary, and he hadn’t even had the time to touch them.

His hands hovered over your breasts before you gave him an approving nod and he leaned close enough to touch them. He went back to kissing your neck as he brushed his thumb over your lower breast and only after he’d felt how soft, and sensitive they were –due to your reaction to his soft touch– did he dare to cup them in his hands. 

“Is that okay?” he asked as he tightened his grip on the one he was holding. “I’m not hurting you, am I?” 

“Not at all,” you responded and leaned closer to him, your other breast brushing against his cassock. “Can I take this off?” you asked as you gripped his shirt.

“You may do as you please to me,” he said honestly. You allowed your hands to travel to his white necktie and pulled it off as you too found a way to kiss his neck. He was pressing kisses to your hair as he delicately brushed his thumb over your nipple and moaned your name from the way you kissed him. It was a little complicated to find the buttons of his shirt at first, but when you did you were quick to undo them and shrug his shirt off. Above it all, you wanted to feel his skin against yours. 

You allowed your hands to brush over his scars, you hoped one day he’d tell you why they were there, but for now you did nothing more than admire them as you kissed from his neck all the way to his shoulder. He sighed your name as he delicately pinched your nipples, and then he allowed his hands to travel to your back and push forward, holding you as gravity pushed you down, allowing your back to rest against the cold marble of the altar. 

“You’re the prettiest thing my eyes have ever laid upon, you know that?” he asked as he looked at you. At your breasts, at your hands, at the curve of your neck and at the way your hair had sprawled all over the marble. The place had been designed so that the light from the stained glass window fell over the altar at certain moments of the night and day, and at that precise moment, it was reflecting all over you, tinting your skin with infinite colours. The light from it was casting a halo around your head.

If Remus hadn’t realised by then that he would not only break his vows for you but do anything you asked, be it eat from the forbidden fruit or kill a man, he knew it when he saw the way you leaned over your elbows and cocked your head to the side, looking at the way he stared curiously. Remus had already forgone his god for you, and he was ready to forgo himself if you asked. 

“Will you kiss me again?” You asked, voice soft, almost innocent. 

“I’d do anything you wanted,” he said honestly and leaned into you, pressing kisses to your neck. You felt his skin against yours, rough and soft and you sighed at the blissful feeling his kisses gave you. His kisses went from your neck to your collarbone and then he tentatively brushed his nose over the valley of your breasts, looking up at your reaction before pressing a kiss to one of them. A  soft and innocent sort of kiss, before he actually opened his mouth and sucked on one of your nipples, nibbling on it when he realised you shivered at the grazing of his teeth. 

Then he continued going down, and slotted himself between your legs, feeling how wet you were over your thin lingerie. He teased you by pulling on the elastic of the knickers, and slid them down your legs before he pressed a kiss to your thigh; and while you were dying to feel his lips on your clit again, there was something else you wanted, something neither of you had dared to try with each other, and if things went anything like they had done the previous time he’d gone down on you, he would have been too spent to do it. 

“Not–” you breathed. “I want to do something else today.” 

He looked up at you curiously, his hot breath against your core sending shivers down your spine, “Yeah?” he asked, he was clearly as much in a haze as you were, absolutely and irrevocably drunk on you. 

“I want you inside me,” you breathed out. He looked at you as if your request was alarming. “Please.” 

There was nothing, not in heaven, not on earth, and certainly not in hell that would have made him deny you. He pressed another kiss over your thigh and then he moved you a little further up into the altar, climbing up himself so he had at least a little more leverage. “I’ve never–” he hesitated. “You’ll have to teach me, angel.” The smile you gave him was the most devilish one you’d ever given anyone, but to him it was nothing short of angelical. “Will you?” 

“With pleasure,” you retorted, pushed yourself up and turned the two of you around, now his back was on the altar. “It’s quite simple Father Remus, I’m sure you’ll master it in no time like you’ve done with everything else I’ve taught you.” 

He just stared at you, eyes filled with lust as he nodded in acknowledgement. You tilted your head forward and let out a soft sigh, lips curved into that same smile as before. You placed your fingers on his collarbone, “I assume you already know the way it works,” you said as you allowed your hand to lay flat against his toned chest, and then dragged it down. “Should I teach you that as well?” 

“If it pleases you,” he answered. 

You looked at him with a teasing grin and then pushed yourself up to straddle him, knees on either side of his thighs as you slowly undid his trousers and pulled them down. Once they were out of the way you went for his boxers, allowing your hands to brush over his thick-length just to hear his reaction, the groan he tried to suppress was nothing short of thrilling. You didn’t waste much more time before you too pulled them off. His cock sprang up, thick and proud. You bit your lip and dug your nails in your tight before you reached for it. 

Remus was sensitive, and you did not want him to come before he was inside of you, so instead of teasing him further with your hands, you accommodated yourself right on top of him and pressed yourself over his cock. Your folds wrapping themselves around it as you rocked your hips back and forth to coat him with your juices. You heard him curse and groan, and you were trying really hard to hold yourself together, but you couldn’t help the mellowing sounds that escaped your mouth as his cock brushed against your clit. He thought it was heavenly, he thought nirvana was at his reach and he wasn’t even from that religion. 

“So what you have to do,” you breathed.

“That wasn’t it?” he teased as he saw you attempt to raise yourself from his cock and fail, he placed his hands on your waist to help, but when he figured how good that particular position made you feel, instead of raise he pushed you down on him again, moaning at the way your folds made the skin of his cock pull back. 

“Well, that’s great for me,” you said as you leaned towards him and rocked your hips again, your lips so close to his that they brushed each other as you spoke again. “But I can make it better for you.” 

Remus wasn’t sure that was possible, but he had thought there was nothing better than touching himself with the thought of you and you had proved him wrong with your sweet lips around his cock. “I wouldn’t mind it if we stayed like this.” 

You rolled your hips again and he moaned, “Bet you wouldn’t,” you laughed. And then raised your hips again, his cock sprang up again, and you bit your lip as you looked down and reached for it, accommodating it towards your entrance. You brushed his tip against your clit a couple of times and moaned his name before slowly letting it find your entrance. His breath got caught in his throat as his tip entered you, “Is that okay?” you asked softly. 

“Fuck– yes…” he let out. You smiled, and continued with your task, slowly sinking in deeper. Remus was moaning your name as he felt your walls stretch around him. “It’s… really fucking tight.” 

“If it’s too much I–” 

“Don’t dare stop!” He rushed out. You smiled and continued your careful descent until he was completely inside you. Your head was laying on his chest as the two of you panted, getting used to the intoxicating feeling the other brought. He was filling you up and making you feel things without even having to move.

“How’s that?” You asked as you clenched around him. 

“My god, did you just–?” You clenched again and he groaned. 

“Gather you liked it?” He gave you a look. “Tell me when you’re ready for more.” 

“More?” he asked confused, and you rocked your hips forward, he moaned and felt himself throb inside you, “Okay,” he breathed. “May I?” 

You nodded, he placed his hands on your waist again, helping you move your hips on him, and cursed, eyes closing shot as he got used to feeling so overwhelmingly good. You smiled and rolled your hips as you pushed yourself up, resting both of your hands on his chest and using them as leverage for rolling your hips even more. 

He accidentally pushed his hips into you, “M’sorry,” he muttered. 

“No, that’s good,” you encouraged, and he did it again. “You feel incredible,” he said, almost to himself. “You look incredible,” he added, looking at your face, brows slightly furrowed as you bit your bottom lip and rocked your hips on his, at the way your breasts bounced with the rolling of your hips. 

You would be lying if you said you didn’t love his praises. He was always so adamant with them, and they always made your stomach flutter, even now, as he was inside you. His thrust got more desperate, and you realised your weight was making it harder for him to move freely.

“Let’s– Let’s switch,” you stammered. “Take the top so you can move better.” 

“You sure?” he asked hesitantly and you nodded. He placed his hands on your back and carefully flipped the two around without disconnecting your bodies and started pounding into you with a little more urgency.

You smiled, and allowed him to rut into you, as he leaned closer to kiss you. “I like this position too,” he said with a smile.

“Mhm?” you asked as you looked into his eyes.

“I can kiss you as much as I please like this,” he said and closed the gap between your lips, biting on the bottom one as he pulled back to look at you again. You clenched around him in retort and he moaned. “When you do that…” he breathed, his forehead pressed into yours.

His thrusts started to pick up the pace as if he was losing control over himself, you instantly knew he was close and dragged your hand down to your clit to rush your own climax. 

“What are you?” He asked and lost his trail of thought after you touched your clit and let out a soft mellow moan. Your knuckles brushed against his cock with each rut and he was quick to drag his own hand down –the one he wasn’t using to hold himself above you– and push yours out of the way to draw circles over your clit. “Good?” 

 “Mhm…” you moaned, eyes shut and completely lost in the feeling of his hands on you. He pounded against you again and somehow reached that spot inside that made you squirm. Your panting increased, and your heartbeat quickened even further. Remus, who was adamant on seeing every single reaction his touch made you feel, decided he had to do it again to hear that sweet sound of yours and soon enough he had you melting for him. 

Now he had been the one to take you to heaven, so perhaps he had, in a way, converted you back, since you once again believed such a place existed, even if it was just for a second. 

“I think I’m going to–” he cut himself off when he felt cum shut out right inside you. “Fuck. I’m sorry,” he said as he tried to get out. But you were faster, gripping onto his neck and dragging him to a kiss. 

“It’s okay,” you clenched around him, feeling yet another ribbon of his warm cum inside you. “Please do it inside.” 

Remus tried not to moan at your request and hid his blushed face in your neck as he continued to thrust inside you, movement erratic as he milked the rest of himself on you. 

When he was done, he fell on top of you, his head beside yours as he breathed thickly, his weight crushing you in a way that you thought was insanely pleasurable. After a few minutes, you tilted your head to the side and reached your hand up to play with his hair as leaned your lips close to his ear. “So, how was it?” 

He scoffed at your question, you definitely knew how insanely good it had been for him. “As if it weren’t obvious.” 

“I’d still like to hear you say it,” you said with a wicked smile. 

“Insane,” he said and turned to look at you. “Absolutely, and undeniably mental.” 

“Yeah?” 

“I thought I was in heaven.” 

“Maybe we both were,” you said honestly. He pulled from you and allowed himself to lay beside you, not missing the way his cum slid down your folds. You slotted yourself in between his arm and his chest, and brushed your hands over his toned chest. 

“Father?” you started. 

He turned to you,  “Don’t call me that anymore. I’ve broken my vows, I’ve killed him.”

You looked at him with a sort of forlorn expression, “I’m sorry,” you said honestly. You had wanted him so much, that you hadn’t thought of how your wishes would affect him. 

“Don’t be,” he said with a smile, “I am not.” 

Even if he had shattered his vows, even if he had broken most of the church’s rules, he’d had seen heaven, and he did not want, and wouldn’t want to go back from it. Remus recognized every single thing he’d done wrong, he’d seen his vileness, but he decided he’d go on with it. 

Because how could it possibly be wrong to kiss you? How could it be wrong to touch you and to feel himself inside you when it felt so good? There were no righteous men and no catholic god that could have convinced him that what’d he’d done with you was wicked, not when he saw your smile, and not when he looked into your hypnotising eyes. Every single thing about you was perfect, and he wouldn’t have changed a thing of what he’d done. 

Remus had decided to switch religions, he’d decided to get a new creed, he now fervently believed that you were his everything. 

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Read more Marauders Fiction

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Steve Harrington x fem!reader[2.6K] a bad dream, a concerned steve, mentions of cheating and self doubt-- and this is definitely not inspired by the way i woke up this morning.

Honestly, you thought you’d gotten over it. 

But upon seeing Steve walk up your driveway, you couldn’t help yourself. You didn’t wait for him to get to the door, to ring the bell and ask you if you knew any pretty girls that would like to go on a date with him. It didn’t matter that that had been the routine for years now, one that normally has you rolling your eyes and batting at his chest until he caught your wrist and pressed a kiss to your palm. 

You didn’t wait for any of that. You rushed at the boy before he could make it past the hydrangeas that grew in your front yard, crashing into him in a hug he didn’t expect. Steve caught you anyway, the breath knocked out of him, his arms right around your ribs. 

“Hi,” he said through a laugh, hoisting you closer, your toes barely touching the ground. “Did you miss me or something?”

You mumbled some sort of reply into his shirt, hiding your glassy eyes and hot cheeks as much as you could. You’d seen your boyfriend the night before, it would have stupid to miss him— but after that dream, well. You felt pathetically desperate for him. 

You couldn’t even call it a dream. Not when you’d woken up tangled in your sheets with tears already burning at your eyes. It would’ve been embarrassing if the feeling hadn’t clawed at your chest for the rest of the day, images that your silly mind had conjured up, playing over and over in your head. You’d tried baking, you’d read for a little, you’d even sat down and tried to watch a movie about space and hairy aliens. 

Nothing had worked. 

And now? Now that you were in Steve’s arms, the feelings only intensified. Because this Steve was real and he’d never hurt you, you were sure of it. But still, could see his cold eyes in your dream, the humourless laughter, the pitying staters of your friends—

“Hey,” Steve’s voice broke you out of your thoughts, tearing you away from the familiar nip starting in the corners of your eyes. “You okay?”

You sucked in a deep breath and gathered yourself before you pulled back, peering up at the boy and giving him your best smile. It was more of a press of your lips, but you nodded and took his hand. “Yeah!” You said a little too brightly. “Yeah, yeah, shall we go?”

Steve looked at you suspiciously but he didn’t dig. Not yet. Instead he let you lead him back down the driveway, only taking charge when you came to his car. He opened the door to the passenger side for you, stopping you before you dropped into the seat with his hand on your chin. He grinned when you turned shy for him, his eyes fond. 

“There she is,” he murmured before he leaned over the top of the car door to meet your lips. A sweet kiss, a quick peck that you wished went on longer but you were sure your neighbours would have had something to say. “I didn’t even get a chance to tell you how pretty you look.”

You ducked your chin, wrinkling your nose. Four years on and Steve Harrington still made your tummy flip. It was a full on gymnastic routine in there when the boy looked at you with those eyes. You gazed back up at him, suddenly wishing you could skip the cinema in favour of clinging to him all night instead. 

“Yeah?” You asked. The sudden need for validation, for reassurance, was like a tidal wave. “You think?”

Steve frowned at that, confused by your question. Normally, he’d talk all sweet to you and get another kiss in return, a big smile and a happy hum, all the things he wanted to see from his girl. But right now, you looked a little forlorn. Smaller, quieter, with an uncertainty in your eyes that he didn’t understand. 

He pushed a hand to your jaw, coaxing you to meet his gaze, his thumb skimming over your bottom lips, your cheek. “What’s wrong?” 

Embarrassment burned at your chest, a white hot flush that creeped up along the back of your neck. “What? Nothing.” You were going to have to be more convincing. 

“Yeah, there is,” Steve accused. He was still eyeing you, gaze roaming over your features as if he could find the secret there. He didn’t mean to sound rude, but he knew you too well to fall for your lies. You blinked at him, a sad excuse for a smile stretching over your lips. “Baby—”

“C’mon, we’re gonna miss the movie, Steve,” you tried, smiling a little more brightly as he continued to frown. 

He didn’t say anything, just studied you a little more before he realised you weren’t going to talk yet. So he leaned in again and pouted at you, all sun kissed cheeks from yesterday's day at the pool, new freckles and too long lashes. “Gimme another kiss first,” he bargained. 

So you did, leaning up to meet him this time, pushing up on your toes as you gripped the top of his car door. Steve caught the back of your neck with his hand, holding you close so he could kiss you a little deeper, a little longer, like he could banish away your funny mood with the stroke of his tongue over the seam of your lips. 

“You sure you’re okay?” He asked once more when he let you pull away for a breath. His nose nudged your cheek, bodies kept apart by the door frame. “We can stay home, if you want.”

Steve watched as you considered and he could see you mulling over his question. But then you tucked your bottom lip between your teeth and shook your head, that same far away look still in your eyes. He’d been looking forward to seeing the new Indiana Jones movie since he’d first seen the trailer but he’d wait it out, for you. 

“No, no, it’s fine,” you assured him, already ducking into the car. You looked up at him from the seat with big, doe eyes, buckling yourself in. “I’m fine. Let’s go, come on.”

But you weren’t fine and Steve knew that. ‘Cause you spent the drive over to the shopping mall with your gaze set on the streets that were blurring by you. But when Steve curled his hand around your bare thigh instead of the gear stick, you grasped onto his fingers and didn’t let go until he had to park. Even in the cinema, as Steve bought the tickets and the popcorn for you to share, you clung to his side, chin pushed to his bicep and hand twined with his as he passed over his card, not even looking at the cashier as he peered down at you, the same concern making his brows draw together. 

And when Indiana Jones was fighting off another enemy and chasing after his hat, Steve made sure to offer you his hand across the seats, bringing yours to his lips when you took it before dropping them back into your lap. You played with his fingers the entire movie, tracing the lines on his knuckles, laughing when everyone else did but entirely distracted the whole time. 

You didn’t talk much on the way home. The streetlights came and went as Steve drove you both back to his, the yellow-amber glow giving way to navy shadows that made your sad eyes look even sadder and Steve felt a heavy ache in his chest over it all. He started to worry, that maybe he’d upset you somehow, that maybe you didn’t want to be with him anymore. It had to be him, right? 

But you tilted your head up for a kiss when you stood by the front door, waiting for him to unlock it. And Steve obliged, happily, ducking his head down to meet your lips, trailing his affection to your cheeks, your jaw, your nose and chin as well. He kissed you until you whispered his name, thick with fondness, smiling a smile that looked a little more real than before. He gave you one more, a lingering thing that was sweeter than the butter popcorn he’d bought before he was leading you up to his room. 

It eased Steve a little as you toed off your shoes and fell onto his bed, a clumsy shuffle up to his headboard so you could curl yourself into the mountain of pillows there. The boy was quick to follow, crawling up the sheets until he was crowding over you, manhandling you in a way you didn’t object to, letting him nudge his way into your arms until he was between your thighs and resting his chin on your stomach. 

He closed his eyes when your fingers found his hair, lashes fanning over his cheeks, humming at the scratch of your nails on the nape of his neck. And then he blinked at you, his own hand squeezing at your side until you met his gaze. 

“Are you gonna tell me what’s been eatin’ at you?”

Your face scrunched at the question, as if it was an awful thing to answer. But the heavy weight you’d felt at six am that morning came crawling back, forcing itself between the cracks in your ribs until you felt your eyes water. You took your hands from your boyfriend's hair and covered your face with them instead, wishing you could hide away under the duvet until you could wake up and start the day again. 

“It’s so stupid,” you told Steve mournfully, words muffled in your palms. 

“Babe,” Steve sat up and you felt the bed dip and shift as he flopped down next to you. His hands found your wrists and he tried to gently pry your hands from your face. “Baby—” 

You whined when he tugged a little harder, ignoring the way he laughed a little, but you gave in, only to bury your head in his shoulder instead. 

“Hey, come on,” Steve coaxed softly. “What’s wrong, huh? Is it— is it me? Is it something I’ve done?”

Your heart ached with the worry in his voice, an awfully sorrowful thing that made your eyes turn a little more glassy than before. You burrowed closer, needling your arms through Steve’s so you wrap yourself around him. “No— well, yeah in a way.” You heard his sharp inhale and you panicked. “No! It’s not, it’s not like that! God, Steve, it’s so lame, forget I said—”

Clearly reaching his limit, Steve nudged you away only to pull you back in, this time settling you on top of him, your legs thrown over his lap until you were coaxed into straddling him, chin to your chest as he tried to meet your gaze. His hands found the sides of your face , big enough to cover the line of your jaw too and he urged your head up until your cheeks squished between his palms. You pouted. 

“Honey,” Steve breathed out and his eyes were wide, caramel brown and panicked looking. “Please, you’re gonna make me burst a blood vessel here— it’s not lame, okay? Whatever is bothering you this much is not lame.”

You relented, leaning to the side so Steve could take the weight of your head and all the silly little worries that rattled inside of it. His thumb stroked over the apple of your cheek and he waited, one side of his mouth ticking up in a smile when your idle fingers found the front of his shirt. You clung to him. 

“I had a dream, alright?” You spoke to his collar, nose pressed to the boy’s throat, all cologne and laundry detergent. “It’s so stupid. It was awful though, you cheated on me with this— this girl and I don’t even know who she was supposed to be. But she was super pretty and you were so mean about it and—” 

You cut your own rambling off with an embarrassed groan and it only turned into a distressed whine when you heard Steve laugh softly. You rolled off him, letting yourself flop to the side so you could hide your face in his pillows but the boy followed suit. Fingertips dug at your ribs until you squealed and flailed, rolling over to battle away his wandering hands. But Steve was over you, hands on either side of your face as he carefully kept his weight up, his eyes bright and searching your own. 

You squinted back at him, heat clinging to your neck and your cheeks and you didn’t want this, you didn’t want him to make fun of you. Why was he smiling?   

“You don’t know how happy I am to hear that it was dream me that was a dick and not actual me.” Steve grinned at you, even when you huffed back at him, but you didn't try to squirm away. “Babe, you shoulda told me, huh?”

“I told you,” you whispered. “It’s lame.”

The boy leaned in, nose bumping your own, foreheads touching. Your breath hitched at his closeness, the feeling of being almost kissed was one that never went away. His lips just touched yours, a barely there thing. “It’s not lame, it’s sounds pretty fucking awful, actually.”

“It was,” you agreed mournfully. “I woke up sweating.” 

Steve laughed at that, a huff of warm air over your lips and you couldn’t help but smile back, a lightness taking over that suffocating feeling that had been stuck in your chest all day. You shook your head at yourself, at your own silliness, letting your hands reach up to slide under Steve’s shirt so you could press your palms to his waist. You wanted him on you. 

“S’that why you’ve been holding onto me all night, huh? Like I’m gonna run away?”

You frowned, head rolling to the side so you could bite affectionately at his bicep. “More like make sure no one stole you,” you mumbled. 

Another laugh, still as soft, still as warm. “You know that won’t happen, right? Like, hell would freeze over before someone else caught my eye.”  

You were silent, eyes trained on Steve’s arm. 

“Babe,” Steve leaned in further, his thighs pushing yours apart so he could lie between them, one of his hands pushing back your hair, his thumb running over your brow bone. Every touch made your body hum. “Baby, you know that right?”

You conceded then, nodding as you turned your head back, lips parting as he caught them between his, a kiss that was much more heated than the others. This one had intent, a meaning behind it that he was trying to make you understand. 

“Would never do that to you,” the boy whispered, his words tumbling onto your lips. You swallowed them whole, used them to close up the yawning crevice that was intent on making your ribs crack. “Ever.”

“I know,” you whispered back and your hands were clinging higher, fingertips pushing into the lines of his back, the muscle that covered his shoulders so you could press him down closer. “I know that. That’s why I said I was being lame.”

Steve tsked at your language again, the awful way you spoke about yourself. But he let you drag him down, giving up on keeping his full weight off of you and he grinned into your hair when you wrapped yourself around him, legs circling his waist, arms around his neck. 

“Dream Steve is an asshole, huh?” He mumbled into your jaw. He pressed a kiss there, a whole line of them until he reached your ear and nuzzled his nose to the spot underneath. He snorted when you nodded your agreement. “Want me to have a word with him?”

You grinned something stupid, squealing when the boy rolled you both over, victorious underneath you when he saw your smile. A real one. You nodded, settling into Steve’s lap as he held your hands, fingers twined between your own. 

“Yes please."

[vhagarys]

Issa Ānogar {My Blood}

pt.2

targaryen!siblings x reader, brother!aemond x reader, brother!aegon x reader, sister!helaena x reader

summary: drunken words are sober thoughts. you confess your desire for your siblings and come to find such affections are more than reciprocated.

warnings: canon-typical incest, brother x sister, eventual smut, horny reader!, sexual harassment, possessive!targ!siblings

MDNI

Your eyes blearily opened as the throbbing in your head began to finally subside.

I certainly outdid myself last night. You groaned as the sun peaked through the curtains.

The prior evening’s events buzzed through your mind. You recalled chugging from your goblet atop the royal table, stuffing your mouth with lemon cakes, your siblings saving you from the pervy Lannister lord.

Your siblings…

A draft from the open windows delivered a cold sensation to your lower region. You pushed off the blankets to discover a large wet patch on the sheets, your small clothes uncomfortably damp.

You had peaked during your dream. Your dream in which you fantasized of your brothers stretching you open with their cocks while tasting your sisters sweet arousal between her thighs. Though the scenarios varied slightly each time, you had dreamt of this many a time already.

“Seven hells,” you buried your head beneath your pillow as you recalled your brazen actions.

They knew. Knew of the desire you had for them. Your cheeks burned at the thought of having to face them.

Perhaps if I lock myself in here for a fortnight they will have forgotten about my declarations.

Nothing ever sounded as appealing as that.

But, your mother’s timing never fell short of impeccable, and a quiet knock was heard at the door.

In a panic, you darted under the sheets, hoping the intruder will not see you and leave.

“My princess,” your handmaiden Elyse said softly, “The dowager queen has requested your presence at breakfast this morning. Shall I run a bath?”

You sighed in relief upon realizing who was there. You were very fortunate to have such a thoughtful and attentive handmaiden. Peeking through the covers, you shook your head.

“You know how I hate the formalities,” you narrowed your eyes at her. A small smile made its way onto her face as she bowed lightly and entered your chambers.

“That won’t be necessary, love. I may request something else though.” Curious, she approached your disheveled form and once in arms reach you dramatically clutched onto her arm.

“I believe I did something foolish last night,” you muttered. Though many may deem inappropriate, you shared many things with Elyse, developing what you hoped was a friendship with each other.

She reciprocated your touch, rubbing small circles on your lower arm. Chuckling to herself, she mused, “This wouldn’t happen to correlate with your indulgence in last nights wine, would it?”

The blush that spread across your cheeks was almost instantaneous. You pulled her down into an embrace, reciprocating her laugh.

“Ugh, I made such a fool of myself!”

Pulling back and observing the pout on your face, she couldn’t help but feel sympathetic for her friend.

Grabbing your hand, she pulled you onto your feet and led you over to your vanity and began brushing through your tangled knots.

“I thought the dress you wore last night was lovely, Y/N,” she divided your hair and started three smaller braids.

You smiled softly and reveled in the heavenly sensation of her fingers combing through your strands.

Once finished, she walked over to your closet and pulled out a satin, emerald gown. She knew how you hated to dress in a corset in the morning, thus she opted for a piece that naturally hugged onto your curves.

While she dug through your clothes, you quickly replaced your wet small clothes, preferring not to be wet between the legs at breakfast.

How she was able to transform you into something presentable, you swore was some form of witchcraft.

Sliding on some wool slippers that disappeared under your gown, you realized you would not be allowe solitary confinement.

Before opening the doors, you reached for Elyse and pleaded, “Stay with me, eat with me please,”

At this, she pulled you into a hug, “Everything will be alright, Y/N. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

If only she knew, you gulped.

———

You stared at the doors to the dining room, hoping to the gods to only find your mother inside. The door creaked opened, and to your misfortunate, were soon in the presence of the very group you had prayed to avoid.

Your mother sat at the head of the table with all three of your siblings engaged in some light chatter. They all seemed cheerful as they feasted on warm lamprey pies and intricately baked raspberry tarts. The sight made your mouth water.

Upon hearing the door open, four sets of eyes landed on you.

You prayed no one could hear the loud thrum of your erratic heartbeat.

“Good morning mother, brothers, sister.” You bowed your head lightly before taking your place at the table next to Helaena.

“I trust you slept, my dear? Your siblings were informing me of your restlessness last night when they brought you to your chambers.”

Staring down at your plate, you were more interested in the pastries and fruit than entertaining any sort of conversation.

Across the table, you could feel your brothers gaze drill holes in you.

You cleared your throat, “Yes mother, I apologize for my brazenness last evening. I was just so thrilled of our families victory and indulged too heavily on the wine. It won’t happen again.”

Helaena chuckled and lightly grazed your arm, her touch seared into your skin. “It’s quite alright, dear sister. No one faults you for engaging in the celebrations.”

You shifted your gaze away from her fingers on you to her face. Looking into her eyes, there was no doubt she remembered everything that transpired last night. You offered a half smile before returning to your food.

Aegon couldn’t hide his amusement at your obvious discomfort. He added, “And you looked absolutely delightful, sister. Do tell me, where did you conjure such a beautiful gown from?” He smirked darkly at you.

Awaiting your response, you quickly lied, “I found it in my closet buried beneath some other clothes,” your cheeks were inflamed at your brother’s hidden accusation.

He shook his head, “You know, I seem to recall Helaena wearing a dress almost identical less than a fortnight ago”, an almost sadistic smile graced the kings face.

Aemond watched the scene unfold, almost wanting to step in and tell his siblings to stop their teasing. A more devilish voice in his head wanted to see you squirm, to return the favor from last night.

He leaned forward and folded his hands in front of him. You met his gaze and pleaded with your eyes for him to change the subject.

“I worried for our sister last evening. From now on, I think her intake of wine at such festivities should be monitored closely. I’d hate for something to happen to her,” he spoke to your mother yet kept his eyes fixed to you.

A surge of annoyance flared through you, gripping your fork tightly “I am not a child, that will not be necessary.”

“On the contrary, mandia. After you were nearly assaulted by the Lannister man, it would put my mind at ease knowing someone was watching over you. Perhaps I will accompany you at the next celebration.”

They were ganging up on you, attempting to humiliate you in front of your mother. Their actions only served to confirm they indeed remembered your words from the previous night.

As with many Targaryens, one of the biggest flaws were their tempers. As hard as you tried to refrain from losing yours, Aegon’s patronizing words caused you to snap.

Your fork clanged loudly on your plate as you seethed, prior thoughts of embarrassment long gone.

“Pay mind to how you speak to me, brother. I will not be disrespected.”

Aegon grinned cruelly at your outburst, satisfied for getting a rise out of you.

Your mother quickly intervened, “Enough. The matter is through. Y/N, do not be wasteful and eat.”

You gritted your teeth, the urge to slap each of your siblings the most appetizing thing in your mind.

Finishing your plate in a hurry, you asked to be excused and stormed out of the room. Your siblings all exchanged a glance as you left.

———

Forgoing your morning Valyrian lessons, you barged through the gates of the dragonpit, calming when you saw your dragon Vermithor.

Sensing your presence, the dragon lifted his head and nudged you with his snout.

You had claimed the ferocious dragon when you were only eight years of age. Since then, you two had developed quite a close bond.

Your mother had screamed in terror when she saw your reaching up to touch the most terrifying of beasts in the pit.

As if sensing your distress, he let out a growl to which you whispered, “Kostagon īlon sōvegon tubī?”

(Can we fly today?)

Spreading his majesty brown wings, he leaned down enough for you to climb on. Soon, you were soaring through the clouds, the transpirations with your siblings long forgotten.

You reveled in the feeling of the cold wind against your face and the freedom of escaping the daily mundanities of the land below.

A sudden twirl which caused you to hang upside down for a moment evoked a yelp from you. You laughed and Vermithor responded with a pleased grunt.

Taking refuge in the misty clouds above Dragonstone, you were blissfully unaware of the larger dragon gaining traction behind you.

Vermithor whipped his head around and let out a warning shriek. This promptly snapped you out of your day dreaming and soon saw the head of Vhagar peaking through the clouds.

“Ziry’s sȳz, ziry’s issa lēkia,” you soothed, though irked at your brother following after you.

(It’s okay, it’s my brother)

Once they were closer, you could make out the shit-eating grin on Aemonds face.

“Sōvegon qrīdrughagon hen īlva, byka mandia?”

(Running away from us, little sister?)

Vhagar let out a roar and attempted to intercept your path, to which your dragon grunted and dived down beneath the clouds.

You were happy the two of your were on the same page.

You pulled the reins towards the left, directing your dragon towards a range of mountains to the east.

“Gaomagon daor mazverdagon issa jiōragon ao,” Aemonds voice descended upon you. A shadow soon encompassed you and knew he was right above.

(Don’t make me chase you)

Vermithor let out another menacing roar, unwilling to submit despite Vhagars sizable difference.

Frustrated, you commanded your dragon to return to Kings Landing, knowing your brother wouldn’t leave you alone if you didn’t.

———

Dismounting from your loyal friend, you could hear Vhagar making her descent towards you.

Can this day get any worse?, you rolled your eyes.

Eager to lock yourself in the comfort of your chambers, you sprinted down the hall. It was only past noon and yet were exhausted from the emotional roller coaster today had become.

The guards looked puzzled as you approached, however you made no mind and strode past them hastily.

Any hopes of solitude died quickly as a laugh rang through the room.

Lounging on your bed laid your brother Aegon as well as your sister, both who seemed to perk at the sound of you entering.

Your annoyance was palpable. Spinning on your heels, you didn’t wish to entertain any sort of conversation with them and opted to simply relocate.

Suddenly, you collided with a hard presence, body landing with a thud on the cold marble floor. The initial shock quickly wore off and you looked up to find your brother Aemond smirking cruelly down at you.

The pot boiled over. You collected yourself and made to push past him, using as much force as you could muster.

This evoked a chuckle from him as he grabbed your outstretched arms and commanded, “Sit down.”

You wrenched yourself out of his grasp. Feeling like a corned animal, you all but shouted, “Why are you doing this?! Haven’t I made it plain that I wish to be left alone! I do not wish to fight with any of you!”

The lack of response made you throw your hands up and take a seat at your vanity. You cradled your temples with your hands as you simmered.

Your sister was the only one who seemed to take an ounce of pity on you. She sauntered towards you and removed one of your hands from your face.

“Sister, do you remember what you said to us last night?”

You froze.

The tension in the room could be sliced with a knife as they awaited your response.

Too cowardly to admit the truth, you replied with a meek, “no.”

Aegon’s mocking chuckle filled the room and you heard foosteps approach your nervous form.

His pointer finger lifted the bottom of your chin, forcing you to look up to meet his wicked gaze. You shrunk under his scrutiny.

“I think she does remember. Why else would she take such great lengths to avoid us, hm? Tell me sister, have you forgotten the feeling of my cock stiffening from your touch? I certainly haven’t.”

Embarrassment washed over you like a bucket of cold water. Though, you couldn’t stop your core from leaking at his vulgar words.

You craned your neck to look at your other brother, tears starting to teeter over the brim of your lash line.

Aemond observed you. How cute.

Dousing the flame with gasoline, Aegon continued,

“I recall her saying something along the lines of “I only want all three of you, my blood?,’ Did I mishear you, byka mandia (little sister)? Or does my innocent sister want the three of us to have our way with her, hm?”

Helaena played with a piece of your hair, and tugged lightly, evoking a small gasp from you.

“We want to hear you say it, dear. Did you truly mean those things?” a tinge of desperation could be heard in her tone.

You knew you couldn’t evade them any longer. Their heated gazes made your dress unbearably hot. A moth who ventured too close to the flame.

You murmured, “Yes, I meant it.”

She tucked the strand she’d been playing with and slowly her lips meet your cheek, similar to how you had kissed her at the banquet.

“We want you too, sweet sister. Isn’t that right, lekias,” (brothers) she cupped your cheek and the ghost of something mischievous danced across her features.

You look over to your brothers, who seemed enraptured by the scene before them.

“I’ve dreamt of claiming you as ours for quite some time,” Aegon confessed, to which Aemond agreed with a nod of his head.

Was this truly happening?, you feared the gods were playing a cruel jest on you.

A dark shadow loomed over you as your brother Aemond extended his hand to you, which you nervously took.

Once on your feet, he roughly pulled you to him, pressing your bodies together.

The room was thick with suspense, you gasped and gripped his arms to steady yourself.

Strong and sturdy, you felt yourself reveling in your brothers form against your own, you softly bit on your lower lip to stifle your heavy breathing.

Observing this, he pressed his thumb down on your lip, forcing your teeth to release it. Applying more pressure, you instinctively parted your lips.

He was enraptured by your plump, soft mouth. The innocent gaze in your eyes, the way you gripped his arms tightly to steady yourself.

The urge to manhandle you on the bed and claim his rightful place between your thighs went straight to his cock.

You let out a breath as you felt him hardening against you, filled with a sense of pride that you had such an effect on him.

Breaking you out of your trance, he gripped your hips and twisted your body so you were now facing your other siblings. His hands traveled up the sides of your hips, sending shivers down your spine, and soon began toying with the bow on the bodice of your dress.

His stiff member pressed deliciously between your cheeks.

You felt your garments loosen with every pull of your brothers nimble fingers on the strings of your corset.

A gentle voice behind you sent goosebumps down your skin.

“Be careful what you wish for, sweet girl. Get on the bed.”

part 3??? hmmmmm

authors note: i am a tease

enjoy!

- alice •••

taglist: @sparklywagonghostduck @notsuremarie @suga-baby-darling @arya-brooke @roselyhills @aegonssswifey @minaridior @gruffle1 @eloiseloverwtt

[foxyaries]

My Shifting Story That Keeps Me Motivated To This Day

Well hello again! I think it is time I share my own "almost" success story. I know a lot of you might not be interested in reading about my ALMOST success. But trust me... the more I tink about my own story the more I realize how silly it was of me to procrastinate actually doing it for so long. It's almost funny. But let's get into it, shall we?

As I have already mentioned it in my previous posts (please do read them if you haven't already to fill in any blanks that you may or may not have). I have been at a very dark place at that time. And I didn't wanna live the way that I had for as long as I could remember, because I simply wasn't happy.. with my life or my family. And I felt like I was a good kid. And I was! So when I discovered the subliminal world.. I saw it as my escape and a way to finally become happy. And that's when the subliminal "Wake up in your desired family" came into picture.

Like I mentioned before, there were only a couple success stories under that subliminal, but at that time our community was even smaller compared to what it is now. And those 10 - 14k views was more than enough for me to believe that it was a real deal. It's a bit funny to think about it now because these days we tend to pick subliminals that has thousands and thousands and thousands of views? Am I right? :) That's how we decide whether the subliminal works or not.

Anyways.. back to my storytime. I have already mentioned in another post of mine that those success stories that I did see all said the same thing. That for them to start feeling the results it took them a couple months. And if you remember as well as I do. Back then everyone set a limiting belief that for a subliminal message to start working you need to listen to it for at least 21 days. Even tho that wasn't true, I didn't know much about shifting so I believed it. And I also wasn't desperate enough, so since the stories told me it took THEM 1 - 2 months, I figured it'd take me the exact amount of time. And I thought it was nothing compared to the future I was gonna have.

So all that I did for those couple months was listen to that subliminal at least 1 hour a day and sometimes if I could overnight with the idea that I could wake up in my desired family any given moment. Pay attention to that. I didn't set a deadline or put pressure on myself for doing anything wrong. I just listened and knew it was going to happen. When exactly? No idea. How exactly? Not a clue, but I didn't care. Because knowing less was actually more of a blessing than I thought. I had no limiting beliefs. All it did was awaken my inner child and that whole journey felt magical to me and I really looked foward to my results.

Probably a month passed by when I started getting tired around the same time, every single day so I'd take naps. At a time a half an hour nap was more than enough to make me feel rested and I'd get in the state of being awake yet asleep at the same time. You know what I am talking about. The state during which it feels like you are in and out of sleep. When the sounds feel like they are far far away and then they dissapear. It almost sounds like I was close to tapping in the void state, no? :)

So whenever I'd feel tired I'd just have one earbud in my ear and lay in whatever comfortable position I wanted to lay in. It usually was on my side. And I had no intention to shift because I KNEW it was gonna happen either way. So I'd lay down and just have myself doze off listening to my playlist (I had a couple boosters too but then I'd just loop the main subliminal). And then I started feeling unusual sensations and feelings I have never felt before. All I did was just lay there and day dream about how I was gonna wake up in my desired room and I tried imagining it in detail. How I was gonna walk out of my room and see my best friends that I was going to shift there with. And literally all I did was just loop that scene because it made me happy :')

I keep rambling haha I'm sorry. Back to what happened. I was probably a month in when I started to get tired and naking naps around the same time and suddenly my naps were different? I would just mind my own business, think about my future when suddenly I would feel this insanely strong sensation that I was being lifted off of my bed and that my body was turning and flying somewhere?? But because I didn't know exactly what it was it'd freak me out and my body would flinch. That's when I'd recover the feeling of my body back and it felt like I'd literally fall back into my bed. And I mean LITERALLY get slammed back into my body. And this wasn't a one time thing. Same thing kept happening every single day for like 2 weeks (until I got insecure and shifted my focus somehwere else as I've mentioned in another post). What's funny is that I didn't even realize what was happening. I was just like "Oh? That's a new feeling" I was just curious and wanted for it to keep happening so I could understand it better. I only realized what it was when it stopped happening all together and for that I blame myself.

But you know what? It's okay. I've learnt so much since then. And it's insane how all I did every day was look for other success stories to convince myself that this was real. When I had my own very real success story. I KNOW all fo this is real because I experienced it. And I am done looking for a confirmation from other people. I know the truth and that's enough. And you should too. You don't need any of these methods. All you need is to do whatever makes you feel comfortable and happy and that you know works for YOU. Cause what actually matters is that YOU KNOW is gonna work for you. That's all that ANY of us really need.

I know this is a lot, but if you actually read this I hope it helped and made you realize something... anything really. Be your own success story and make your dreams come true.

I believe soon you will hear about my own final success story:) Goodbye for now. Next post will be more about my fairy companion. Do look forward to that!

Much love,

Foxy ♡🦊

[huramuna]

blue dove - oneshot request.

dark aemond x best friend / modern

request: Helloo! Can I get a dark modern aemond who is in love with best friend reader and is possessive and jealous whenever reader meets a guy and aemond does everything he can to keep reader to himself only with smut plss😊😊🙏

warnings: smut (specifics under the cut), possessive aemond, gaslighting, manipulation, toxic dynamic, aemond is his own warning here. reader isn't described, she/her pronouns. work is 18+, minors do not interact or you shall be smited.

word count: 3.7k

a/n: this is my first time posting smut & also writing it in a long time-- leave a like and comment if you liked it! <;3

paparazzi - lady gaga • baby hotline - jack stauber's micropop

content: p in v, unprotected sex, fingering, pussy slapping, hair pulling, copious biting, creampie, breeding kink, belly bulge

She had a few constants in her life, things that would never change, no matter how hard she tried. 

One; she would never be able to drive herself anywhere. She was befallen to being a frequenter of public transport, cycling, and whatever other benign thing she could rope herself into that didn’t involve getting behind the wheel of a car. 

Two (which tied into one); she would always suffer from crippling anxiety. She didn’t know why she was this way, nor could she fix it. She tried every cure— smoking, medication, meditation, hypnosis, and other obscure treatments. She used to be a bright and sprightly child, shining with confidence and determination— she had all the makings to become something special.

She was in all of the gifted classes, read well above her grade, was an eloquent writer and an aspiring artist. Until, of course— something in her snapped. Around the age of hitting puberty, rather than blossoming into what she should’ve been, she wilted. Wilted into a shadow of what she was, who she was. Suddenly, her gifted mind turned into one that was average at best, and at her worst, stuck into remedial classes. 

She hardly remembers who she was— and dreams of what could’ve been. 

The third thing tied everything up into a bow; Aemond Targaryen. Her best friend since elementary school, they’d always been glued at the hip. Even now, almost two decades later. He had seen her at her best and her worst— and so had she. 

They were both on the smaller side as kids, scrawny and short— this made them an easy target for bullies and the like; how it usually goes. After Aemond lost his eye, she became fiercely protective over him, even throwing out a few punches and getting beaten into the dirt if anyone said anything untoward to him. 

That was when they were kids, though— when she was fierce and lively. Their roles have somewhat reversed now. Aemond grew into himself, shooting up to well above her height, while she stayed sort of small. He protected her when anyone looked at her the wrong way, even if she didn’t see it.

They were both twenty-six now, sharing a birthday just a few days apart. They were always close in everything. 

It was a crisp autumn day, her oversized sweater rippling slightly in the growing breeze. Shivering, she knocked on the door of Aemond’s flat. 

“Aem,” she hummed softly, “I’m here.”

A few moments later, the door opened— in all his six foot tall glory, Aemond. His hair was down and a bit messy. A plain white shirt and gray sweatpants were his lounge clothes of choice, it seemed. 

He perked a brow, “Didn’t feel like using your key?” he asked, moving aside so she could walk in. 

“Oh— yeah, the key,” she scratched the back of her head with a halfhearted chuckle, “I forget— and I don’t wanna just barge in…”

“You aren’t barging,” he mused with a small smirk, “I gave you a key for a reason— I trust you. Aegon doesn’t even have a key.” 

She kicked off her boots, “Well, Aegon is an idiot— he would just come here to raid your fridge and steal all your… expensive liquor,” she giggled, genuinely. Unwrapping the scarf from her neck, she instantly felt herself warming back up, “I don’t get how you like that stuff anyhow— it tastes like… spicy brown piss or something.” 

Aemond snorted, “It's top shelf whiskey, my dear. Not ‘spicy brown piss’ as you so lovingly put it,” his hand reached out to her bare neck, thumbing over her throat for a moment before he walked towards the balcony, sliding the door open. Lighting up a cigarette, he took a deep drag, “You just don’t have a sophisticated enough palate to get it, dove.” 

She let out a mock indignant snort, moving to the couch, “I have a sophisticated enough palate when it comes to things that are actually good— like well-marbled beef or earthy mushrooms stewed with thyme and garlic. Not alcohol,” she scrunched her nose, “That shit will kill you, Aem,” her eyes flicked to his cigarette. Another one of her one-and-done vices she used to have— her and Aemond started together, as she’d heard it might help her anxiety. It didn’t help, and tasted horrible, so she quit the next week. 

Aemond, however, didn’t quit. That was eight years ago. When Aemond fancied something, he never gave up; that she knew for a fact. He gave one of his signature toothy grins, blowing smoke in her direction, “Lots of things will kill me, dove. If I die from smoking, so be it.” he took another drag, a deep and performative one. 

She let out a quiet ‘hmpf’ noise, grabbing her phone out of her pocket. They were used to sitting in silence with each other, leaving one another to their own devices— as long as they were in the room together, it was fine. 

Aemond watched her as he finished up his cigarette. When she would look up, he would look away, as if he wasn’t just staring a hole through her. She could feel his gaze— his blind, milky blue eye boring into her, while his undamaged eye observed her like she was a specimen underneath a microscope. 

Every expression, every minute movement of her face was absorbed by him. He knew her better than she knew herself— and that was fine with her. She hardly knew herself anymore, anyways.

Her jaw clenched as she looked through her phone, scrolling through messages. The quietest of sighs left her, deflating her ever so slightly. 

“What is it?” Aemond asked, suddenly appearing next to her, settling down on the couch. 

She blinked profusely a few times— he was so silent when he wanted to be. She locked her phone and put it aside, “Oh— that guy I’ve been talking to… we were supposed to go out tonight. Apparently something came up…” her voice trailed off as she looked down at her hands, cracking her knuckles idly; one of her nervous habits. 

Aemond’s jaw clenched, his hand flexing slightly— then he relaxed, “I’m sorry, dove,” he murmured, “Maybe we can do something tonight, just the two of us? I’ll order Thai.” 

She continued to crack her knuckles, “I-I dunno— I don’t want to be a burden. We don’t have to do this every time a guy cancels on me…” 

It had become a longstanding tradition for takeout at Aemond’s flat when she got ghosted by a guy— which admittedly, happened a lot. 

His hands were on hers in an instant, eclipsing them and prying them apart, “Stop that,” he said firmly, “You are not a burden. You never will be a burden. I won’t hear another word of that shit, got it?” 

She fidgeted slightly at his harsh tone, but nodded, “… can we get Italian tonight instead of Thai?” 

His tone and demeanor softened instantly at her acquiescence, “Of course, dove.” he gave her hands a quick, firm squeeze before letting go— one of his hands resting against her neck, arm wrapped around her. 

They feasted and laughed all night, watching some of their favorite shows; overdramatic reality cooking competitions. They bickered back and forth about who should’ve won, who should’ve cooked what and who they think should’ve been eliminated. 

At the end of the night, she was exhausted, leaning against him. She had eaten enough pasta to feed a small horse. 

“Don’t think I’ll make it back to mine tonight Aem,” she mumbled, her forehead pressed against his arm, “Too bloated. Might fall asleep on the train if I try to go home— can I stay here tonight?” 

“You don’t even have to ask,” he said softly, his hand caressed behind her head. He always got touchy-feely late at night like this, and she didn’t wholly mind— it made her feel special. 

She usually wasn’t keen on physical touch from anyone but Aemond, no one else got it right. She had a few flings in college and they all ended sourly— all of her romantic ventures seemed to end sourly. Aemond, however, was always there— always there to pick up the pieces, to tell her that she is worth it, to make her feel like she mattered. 

It was him— always him, wasn’t it? 

The realization dawned on her, making her heart ping-pong in her chest. She… loved him. She did, didn’t she?

“You can sleep in my bed, if you want,” he suggested softly, unaware of her inner turmoil. 

She felt like her eyes bulged out of her head at that proposition, “Uh-uh,” she managed to croak, “Don’t wanna take up your space n’ all that…” 

He didn’t press the issue. “Goodnight, dove.” 

She wrapped herself in a blanket, getting comfortable on the couch— as much as she could, anyhow. Eventually, from sheer exhaustion alone, she drifted off to sleep. 

When she woke up, she didn’t know what time it was— it was still dark outside. She blinked a few times, looking around. It took her a minute to remember she was at Aemond’s. 

Her eyes, blurry with sleep, landed on a figure— Aemond, illuminated in the darkness across from her. He was holding his phone— no, that was her phone. 

He was looking intently at something, holding his phone in his free hand, typing something into it, obviously from her phone. 

Why was Aemond on her phone? Not that she minded, of course, she had nothing to hide— but what… what would be so interesting that he was saving from her phone to his? 

“Aem?” she murmured softly, “What are you doing?” 

A moment of panic went over his face— she caught this immediately, as she could count all of the times on one hand she’d ever seen him make that look. That is when she knew something was wrong. 

“Nothing, dove— go back to sleep.” he cooed, trying to sound as soft and soothing as possible. 

But it didn’t work, her guard was up, her suspicions raised. She got up from the couch, “Aemond. What are you doing?” she asked again, a bit more firm. 

“Nothing— I just needed… to get something off of your phone.” he said, still obviously hiding something. 

“What would you need off of my phone?” she pressed, walking up and snatching it back from him. 

On the screen— it was her dating app profile. The list of messages of all of the people she’d talked to were pulled up, including all of their personal information. 

“Um… what— Aemond, why are you looking at all of their profiles?” 

He stared at her for a long moment, his brow furrowed. He finally spoke after a stretch of silence, “I had to. I had to, you know. They aren’t worthy of you, none of them.” he said, his voice taking a serious note. 

Shivers ran down her spine, “Aem— what the fuck are you talking about?” 

“They needed to be told that you were already spoken for— that they needed to back off.” he moved a bit closer to her, his closeness suddenly oppressive. 

She shook her head, still not understanding, “I-I don’t… wh—,” 

He was on her then, grabbing her hands as they went to crack her knuckles, his grip on her tight, “They aren’t fucking good enough for you— no one is— no one except me, dove,” he growled low, his one seeing pupil blown wide like a predator, “You really think that every man you tried to go out with willingly ghosted you? Sweetheart, you can’t be that dumb.” 

Suddenly, it all began to make sense. All of her failed attempts to date after college were failures— and it wasn’t because of her. It was because of Aemond. 

She had spent years thinking that it was her fault, her inadequacies— 

“Look at me,” he grunted, one of his hands going to her chin, forcing her gaze upward. Tears were streaming down her face, “I did it for you— for us— I am the only one capable of loving you,” his thumb caressed her bottom lip, parting it ever so slightly, “You think that anyone else on this planet would be able to handle you— besides me? I know you better than you know yourself. No one else would be able to handle all of your little quirks, your insecurities, your fears, your anxieties— but I will and I do.”

She sniffed, “I-if you liked me that way— why wouldn’t you just tell me?” 

The pad of his thumb swiped the gathered wetness from her lip, “I’m patient— I’ve been patient— I needed you to realize,” his thumb slipped between her lips, pressing down onto the soft of her tongue, earning a small whimper from her, “That I’m the one— that you and I were made for each other, hm?” 

She garbled a tiny reply, but it didn’t come through from his digit suppressing her tongue. Even through this— it felt like betrayal in some aspect to her— she couldn’t help but feel… warmth. Something akin to sickening elation. The good and bad parts of her were fighting, her emotions swirling within her. 

He removed his thumb from her mouth, smearing her lips with her own saliva. He craned his neck downward, “Don’t you want me, dove?” he whispered, his lips ghosting over hers. They were exchanging breaths, sharing their oxygen between one another without actually touching yet. 

She was still crying— but she nodded slowly, “Y-yes,” she murmured. After all— he was right, wasn’t he? Who else would deal with her? Who else would love her?

He lifted his hand to her neck— he always had loved to rest it there, why hadn’t she seen it before? — his fingers pressing ever so gently against her skin. He closed the almost nonexistent gap between them, their lips pressing together. 

She hummed a tearful whimper as they kissed, the delightful warmth spreading throughout her body, mingling with the sting of betrayal and disgust. Eventually, his tongue invaded her mouth, lips moving together as if he wanted to fully consume her. She’d never been kissed so desperately before— it was as if he was starving. 

They fell into a rhythm, his hand lowering from her neck down to her collarbone, tracing the very being of her. She didn’t know what to do with her hands— her fists were white-knuckled, clenching at his shirt as if to hold on for dear life.

His large hand palmed her breast, immediately eliciting a response from her in the form of a gasp. She felt him smile against her mouth, pulling back ever so slightly, “So responsive for me already— I knew you’d be,” he hummed, his thumb rasping over her sensitive nipple, causing it to harden immediately. It sent shivers straight to her core, where she felt a growing wetness.

He shifted them back to the couch, placing her on his lap, “I’ve been waiting for this for years,” he growled, nipping at the soft flesh of her neck, “I’ve been in love with you since we met— all of that time. I’m a patient man,” he continued, leaving little red marks on her skin, biting gently, then kissing, “I let you have your fun in college— I let you fuck your way through a few guys, letting that first one take your virginity— should’ve been me,” Aemond bit down into her shoulder, slowly moving his way down her body. His hands lifted her shirt off easily, practically snapping the wires of her bra in tow. “Now, my dove, we are going to make up for lost time, hm?” 

He tossed her bra aside, her breasts, well endowed as she was, rested heavily upon her chest. He pawed at one right away, her nipple pebbling into a stiff peak. 

“Why didn’t you tell me— why,” she mewled. It’d been so long since she’d been touched this way, and never so attentively. Her skin felt like it was on fire. 

“I needed you to realize it,” he explained, biting at her nipple. She let out a cry, earning a laugh from him, “I only needed a little more time. Too bad you’re a light sleeper, hm?” 

Her body felt tight and hot, as if she was going to melt if she didn’t relieve some of the growing ache between her legs. She felt his hardness— pretty significantly, in fact— pressing against her pelvis. Almost out of primal need, she began rocking her hips against it, hoping for some friction. 

“Needy girl,” he admonished, “But I’m a giver, aren’t I?” his hand slipped beneath the waistband of her pants, down to her damp core. “So fucking wet for me already, hm? Just needed me to tell you that I love you and you’re practically gushing in my lap.” 

His fingers parted her folds, honing in on her clit almost immediately. She fidgeted, pressing her head to his neck, breathing heavily against his skin. He worked at a slow pace at first— but she didn’t need much to begin barreling towards her first peak. 

Aemond’s free hand snaked into her hair, yanking her back from his neck, “Don’t hide,” he purred, “I want to see your face when you come on my fingers, dove.” 

She looked a mess, her face red and tear stained, kiss swollen lips parted as she whimpered in pleasure. She wasn’t loud in bed by any means— her little whines and moans were enough. 

The cord within her began unraveling, slowly, slowly, as the pleasure intensified. He was able to achieve a level of euphoria that she could never do with her own fingers, nor could any other man. 

“Aem, Aem— f-fuck,” she cried, tears still streaming down her face, “S’close, p-please.”

He grunted a moan in response, as if the act of getting her off was getting him off in turn, “Come on, let go for me.” 

The pleasant feeling of wetness turned into a rush of pure ecstasy as she reached her peak, whimpering unintelligible praises while struggling to keep her eyes open. 

“That’s it,” he cooed encouragingly, “Fucking beautiful.” 

He kept up his ministrations on her pearl well after she came, causing her to squirm, “Too much, too much,” she murmured, a fresh string of tears falling down her cheeks. 

The sight of her tears made him throb a bit— it was a wonder he lasted this long without fucking her already. He stopped his assault on her clit, prodding his fingers into her mouth so she could taste herself, then he licked them clean himself. 

Shifting their positions slightly, he laid her down gently on the couch on her stomach as he pulled his sweatpants down. She glanced back, zeroing in on his member— he had a sizable length and girth, his tip messy and wet from her grinding earlier. Her mouth felt dry and wet all at the same time and she swallowed harshly.

He wiggled her pants and panties down her legs, her now soaked undergarments sticking to her folds. He gave her a playful swat between the legs, causing her to jump. 

“So sensitive,” he hummed, pulling up her posterior in the air. His hand smacked lightly against her bottom before gripping it, “This; is mine,” he moved his hand down between her legs, pinching her clit, “This is also mine.” 

She let out a mewling moan, keening under his possessive declarations— she found herself not only blooming in pleasure between her legs at such language, but her heart wrenched and wrought against her chest in a delightful pain. She wondered if this is what it was like to be in love. 

“This changes everything, you know,” he said as he positioned behind her, moving the head of his cock between her legs, gathering the wetness there and creating a sticky friction. “There isn’t going back to the way things were— you are well and truly mine now, dove.” he cooed before easing himself inside of her, hissing lowly at the tight fit. 

He bottomed out in her quickly, his member prodding against her sweet spot. Aemond let her adjust to his size for a minute— while also focusing to ensure that he didn’t come immediately. After a few moments, she relaxed— so he began to move. 

His pace was slow and meticulous, filling every nook and cranny of her, committing the shape of her to memory. He paid close attention to when she would clench when he hit that spongy sweet spot, her hand going to the arm of the couch to find purchase, anything so she still felt like she had control. 

Her mouth was agape, strings of saliva wetting the leather couch. “A-Aem— p-please,” she simpered, asking for what— she didn’t know, she just needed more.

He took it as a spur to increase his pace, the room filled with her tiny whines, his grunts and skin slapping against skin. His arm hooked under her chest and pulled her back, switching their position to where she was pressed against his back. His legs hooked between hers and pried them open, “Keep them open, sweetheart,” Aemond bit into her neck once more, leaving a few more additions to her growing collection of marks by him, “Need more of these on you, then there won’t be a,” his stopped as he groaned, his pace quickening, “fucking doubt in anyone’s mind who you belong to– you’re mine, always been mine– fuck.” his mouth was upon her ear, muttering sweet nothings to her as his free hand pressed her flat to his chest. He thrusted upward, taking her hand and putting it over her abdomen– the bulge of him inside of her could be felt, “Mine have, mine to hold, mine to fuck– mine to breed,” his breath quickened– he was close.

The double entendre of feeling the bulge inside of her and the head of his cock bullying that sweet, spongy spot just right– pushed her over the edge for the second time. She clenched and fluttered around him, earning an animalistic growl from him as he came, ropes of his seed coating her walls.

They stayed like that for a while, his cock softening inside of her while she regained her breath, coming to terms with the situation she was in. Soon enough, he pulled out, his seed dripping out of her. The stimulation to her already battered core made her squirm. 

He leaned forward, still encircling her, encompassing her in his arms. “Tell me that you love me.”

She didn’t know when she started crying again– or perhaps she’d been crying the whole time. She sniffed, acquiescing, “I love you, Aemond.”

[feyhunter78]

Chapter Four - Jon goes to visit Old Nan and sets his future in motion.

Series masterlist

Jon dreams of you again, and again, and again, night after night, your back against the wall, bleeding out in his arms as you beg him to protect you. The time for him to set off for the Wall grows ever near, not too close, but not far enough away he can forget its approach. It plagues his mind, his desire to join his uncle, to prove that he is worth something, warring with an inherent need to be near you, to protect you from the horrors that live within his slumbering consciousness.

He has other dreams as well, smaller, less gory dreams, and when they start to bleed into his waking world, he turns to the only person alive he believes will have some semblance of an answer.

“Greendreams, they run in your blood.” Old Nan says simply, once he has finished telling her of his plight. Her needlepoint is in her lap, her frail body wrapped in thick blankets, even with the fire roaring beside her.

“Greendreams? But I am not a warg, Ghost, and I do not share a mind.” He protests, half serious, half humoring the old women.

“You need not share minds to have the dreams, nor do you need to be a greenseer to possess greensight, they are not one and the same.” She explains, her voice growing stronger as she speaks. “You must listen to these dreams, prevent the horrors if you are able.”

“I am to go to the Wall, but Lady y/n will return to King’s Landing, how am I to protect her?”

She fixes him with a look, one that he knows means she thinks him simple.

Jon stares into the fire, a silent prayer to the gods. He cannot protect you from his place on the Wall, he must make a choice, though he’s unsure if it is fully his to make. He alone cannot choose to return with you, he is a bastard, he has no place in King’s Landing.

Old Nan dismisses him without sparing a moment for his internal turmoil, and in his meandering, he runs directly into your father.

Tyrion looks up at him frowning, and Jon already fears he has spoiled his chances.

“My apologies, Lord Lannister.” He says, taking a quick step back to give the man room.

Tyrion scans him, searching him for weaknesses, his piercing green eyes, picking him apart. “My daughter, she is beautiful.”

Jon says nothing, only nods.

“Speak boy.” Tyrion snaps, glaring up at him with the might of a man three times his size.

“Yes, Lady y/n, is very beautiful.” He shifts his weight imperceptibility, hoping someone will come and save him from this encounter.

Tyrion nods. “She grows more beautiful each day, I worry for her, as all fathers do.”

Jon nods again.

“I know the circumstances of your birth are not…conventional, but they are many ways for a bastard boy to earn a name for himself in King’s Landing.”

Perhaps the gods had been listening to his prayer. “My Lord?”

Tyrion clasps his arms behind his back. “I have spoken with your father, he is to join my good-brother as Hand to the King and return with him to King’s Landing, he is bringing Lady Sansa with him, and you, if you agree to my proposition.”

Jon knew his father wouldn’t be able to deny King Robert anything, but to think…

“If you come to King’s Landing you shall come as my daughter’s guard, her sworn-shield, you will not leave her side, you will give your life for hers, and in return you get to escape your dreary life here.” Tyrion continues, giving him an expectant look.

“I am not a knight.” He says dumbly, the implications of what Lord Tyrion is asking him weighing heavily on his shoulders.

“Not in this moment, but my good-brother would be more than happy to knight the son of his dearest friend.”

“Why?”

Tyrion scoffs. “I offer the boy the chance of a lifetime, and he asks why? Because boy, I have seen you fight, and I know how deep loyalty runs in Stark blood, I will not worry for her safety if you are at her side. Besides, she is…fond of you.”

His heart sings, pushing all worries and tortured thoughts aside. She’s fond of him, his lovely lady is fond of him. “And my father approves, truly?”

“Yes, boy, he does, now will you give me an answer, or will we stand here all night while you ruminate in brooding silence?”

Old Nan’s words fill his head, accompanying the sounds of your sobs, of your pleas for him to promise you, to save you. “I will go.”

Tyrion nods. “Good, now we need to get you knighted, and some better clothing, my daughter shall not be seen with such a rumpled looking sworn-shield.

Jon looks down at his tunic. “I was asleep before this, Lord Lannister.”

“Still.”

It’s a blur, Arya’s anger then tears, Sansa’s distance, Robb and Theon’s claps on his back, Lady Catelyn’s strained smiles, and his father’s genuine one as he kneels before the king to be knighted.

The Great Hall of Winterfell is nearly empty, the bannermen returned to their homes, the servants busy cleaning or helping load the luggage of various royal family members back onto the monstrous wheelhouse Queen Cersei travels in. The sconces lit, his family and yours in a half circle surrounding him, King Robert at the center, Lord Stark beside him, Queen Cersi on the other. Prince Joffrey leers at him, but Jon ignores him, keeping his head bowed.

Ghost sits by his side, a red kerchief tied around his neck, a gift from you, one Jon was surprised Ghost allowed you to tie around his neck. It’s darker than the normal Lannister colors, more crimson than ruby.

He knows you and your father don’t have a personal coat-of-arms, but he has noticed your gowns, and your father’s doublets tend towards darker, more cool toned shades of red and gold. A small act of rebellion, a way to set yourselves apart? He’s unsure, but now he knows he’s part of that act, willing or unwilling.

It matches his eyes. You had said, smiling up at Jon as you smoothed down the fur between Ghost’s ears, the crimson fabric stark against his snow-white fur.

Kneeling before the King, Jon doesn’t feel he truly deserves to be knighted. He has won no battles nor performed any great feat of valor, he has trained, he has studied, he has been loyal, but he hasn’t done anything the bards sing about, or anything detailed in those books Sansa reads.

“Rise Ser Jon, shield of the Lady Y/N Lannister, bound before the gods, and your King.” King Robert commands once his sword has left Jon’s shoulders and returned to its sheath.

He does as he’s commanded and bows to the King before turning to you, bracing himself for the regret in your eyes. Surely this is a jest taken too far, he will look into your eyes, those verdant eyes, bright as spring, and see you realize you’ve made a mistake, see you ready to cast him aside.

“Lady y/n Lannister, daughter of Lord Tyrion Lannister the second son of House Lannister, my sword and shield are yours.” He says, taking a knee once more and finally summoning the courage to meet your gaze.

The persistent voice in his head that whispers how unworthy he is goes quiet. You’re looking at him with such reverence, such excitement, there is no sign of regret or jesting.

All that ran through his mind as he knelt before you now was this: he was not a poet, and he could not call himself a lover. For he did not have the skill with words others did. He could only say that he was yours, even if you did not want him, even if right now you fled across the continent, returned to the South, and cursed his name for all to hear. He would be yours until the day his breath escaped him for the final time.

“I am grateful for your sword and shield, now arise Ser Jon Snow, my sworn sword, my protector.”

When you bid him to rise, addressing him by his name, calling him yours the air that fills his lungs tastes sweet, and he presses his lips to your hand, clasping it a moment too long, evident by Tyrion’s sharp cough.

“I will serve you well, I swear before the old gods and the new, my life is yours.” He says, keeping his voice steady, his face set in an expression he hopes reads as serious but not stern. He’s always had trouble walking that line, finding he often looks far more sullen than he feels.

“As mine is yours, Ser Jon, I entrust it to you.” Your words are clear, ceremonial, and he would easily believe the words are typical of a sworn sword ceremony if not for the way King Robert’s eyes flicker to your face.

The next days fly by, and soon he is standing outside your door, red cloak marking him as a guard of House Lannister, hanging from his shoulders. It’s one that’s not darker than the others, which makes him feel odd. Did you not wish him to match you? Was he not deserving of your crimson fabrics? His armor is new and shined to perfection, his boots new as well, and slightly stiff, his sword hangs at his side as Ghost sits patiently waiting at his feet.

Lord Tyrion exits first, dressed in finery, a small satchel at his side. He looks up at Jon and nods. “Red suits you, do not make me regret this.” Then he brushes past him, heading down the hall and towards the main gates.

You appear next, form wrapped in dark red velvet, a white fur lined cloak folded over your arm, your gown belted with a chain of gold, that accentuates your waist and hips. Your hair is down in a Northern style he finds quite familiar, it looks beautiful on you, framing your face just so.

Jon jerks his eyes away before you can notice his stares and bows his head. “My Lady.”

You smile at him, your bracelets jingling as you reach down and hold your hand out for Ghost to sniff. “Are the others ready to depart?”

“Yes, My Lady, all but Lady Sansa.” He says, offering his arm to you.

You take it and begin to walk through the halls with him, your brows furrowed in concern. “Is Sansa alright?”

He thinks through his words, speaking slowly. He doesn’t want to give you a bad impression of Sansa, you seem fond of the younger girl. “Lady Sansa is…upset at the addition of Lord Theon.”

You snort, then hide your smile with one hand, embarrassed. “She did not expect your father to let him remain here, did she? He is an assurance the Iron Islands will not revolt, if he is not within Lord Stark’s grasp then what danger would he be in?”

He hadn’t thought of it that way. While Theon was an outsider like him, he existed in a space entirely different from Jon. Theon was Robb’s closest companion, the two shadowed each other, fought together, jested, and patronized brothels together.

“I think it is less that he is accompanying us and more that he is to be her guard.” Jon continues, half entranced as the scent of jasmine rises from your hair when you toss it over your shoulders.

“But he is not her sworn sword, so she will not have to spend every moment with him by her side. Besides, it is not as if he is unpleasant to look at.” You say nonchalantly, as if you two are simply friends having a casual stroll, your lips quirking up as you bite back a laugh.

You have perfect lips, plush and soft looking, stained a light red color by the berries from your morning meal, for a moment he wonders if you would taste of them.

“You find Theon handsome?” The words spill out before he can stop them, and he fights a rising blush when you fix your emerald eyes on him, taking him apart the same way your father did those few nights ago.

“Perhaps…” You stop right as you both reach the gates and turn on your heel, making a show of adjusting the fastener of his cloak. “Why? Do you feel threatened my sworn sword?”

“I—Theon is not a threat; he would never turn his sword against our house.” He cannot stomach the thought, though they weren’t close, he would never doubt Theon’s loyalty. The older boy had proven himself time and time again, in fact he believed Theon would turn his sword on himself before he turned it on Robb.

You pat his armored chest smiling up at him with a mischievous smile, before returning your hand to his arm and beginning to walk through the gate and towards the others. “We shall see how he feels if he and Sansa are stuck in the wheelhouse together for several hours.”

It’s begun to rain, the temperature dropping, and he wonders who will remain on their horse instead of taking shelter inside the wheelhouse. “Will we not ride alongside the wheelhouse? Theon and I?” Jon asks, scanning the crowd gathered outside the gates.

“You may if you so desire.” Your answer is vague, but your grip on his arm tightens and when he sees the assembled groups outside the Queen’s wheelhouse he understands why.

You, Myrcella, Joffrey, and Sansa along with the Queen, and Tommen seem to be relegated to the wheelhouse. King Robert and Lord Stark remain on their horses, the two in deep conversation, their heads bowed towards each other, while Theon sits off to the side looking bored.

Jon has never spoken directly with you regarding your cousin, the eldest prince, but he has seen your thinly veiled contempt for the boy many times, seen the way you shrink back when he becomes overly excited or angry.

You stop on the edge of the crowd, scanning it for your father, a pout appearing on your lips when you see him next to his horse. “And of course Father will wish to ride his horse, but he never allows me to ride alone unless we are within the bounds of Lannister land, so I cannot even use that as an escape.”

“It will be safer for you in the wheelhouse.” Jon says, nodding gratefully at the servant who brings him his own horse.

“For whom?” You grumble miserably as your father climbs onto his horse, ignoring Joffrey’s calls.

“For you, there is no other’s safety I care for.” It’s not a full lie nor a full truth, he cares for his father, Sansa, and Theon’s safety, but he has sworn himself to you, so outwardly your safety takes precedence.

The rain picks up, no longer a sprinkle, and he lifts his cloak, stepping forward to shield you from the rain. You are so much smaller than him, delicate, your hands are soft, your skin unblemished by scars, and you move closer to him, further into the safety of his cloak.

You coo at his words, your lighthearted spirit returning. “Do you care for me Ser Jon? I am flattered, truly.”

He brushes your teasing aside and begins to walk towards the wheelhouse, keeping you within the confines of his cloak. “Please allow me to escort you aboard, Lady y/n.”

You go with him, albeit begrudgingly, your frown reappearing as you draw closer to the wheelhouse. “Ser Jon, can I not ride with you? I promise I am a very good rider, and I will not bother you at all.”

“You know her father has quite the appetite for whores, I would not be surprised he had hired some to give his daughter lessons.” Theon had jested, elbowing Robb as you passed by, heading towards the library tower.

Robb rolled his eyes but laughed, which only encouraged Theon.

“What must it be like to have a lioness in your bed? Do you think she bites as she rides a man’s cock? Are lions not known for their teeth?”

“Their claws, they are known for their claws.” Jon snapped, unable to hear such vile words spoken of you, even if Theon’s questions did spark something in the recesses of his mind.

“Ah, see Jon is in on it as well. She scratches, mystery solved.”

“No, My Lady, I am sorry, but it is not proper.” He says, dropping his cloak and gesturing towards the stairs.

The disappointment in your eyes pierces him through, and he almost gives in, but Theon’s voice rings out from up ahead and he steels himself.

You nod and release his arm, traveling up the steps without looking back at him.

“Lady y/n.” He calls before he can think better of it. “If you have need of me, call out my name.”

You give him a smile and pick up your skirts, your steps looking considerably lighter, until the door closes behind you, and you are lost from his sight.

Jon TL: @mostclevermiss, @solacestyles, @2valentines

[adnauseum11]

Target Lock (John Price x Reader)

Insomnia is a real bitch, except when it is mildly productive.

1.2k words

Kissing only - reader discretion advised regardless

Swearing

Feedback welcome

I have lost control of my life in a very real way and this is helping somehow, I don't know how but it is. Let's not examine that too closely, shall we?

About a month ago you started hallucinating, and you haven’t stopped yet. Your oldest friend, John, turned up to take you on a date you hadn’t realized you had agreed to. When he kissed you after returning you home that night it was like time slowed and a fever dream had taken up residence in your brain. Something in your body chemistry had shifted and it hadn’t returned to normal yet. You were starting to worry it never would.

You can’t help but notice little things about him now that you had previously been immune to. The largeness of his well-muscled body and how close he stands to you. The way his sleeves pull taut over his forearms when talking animatedly. The way his spicy cologne seems to pair with his cigars like a fine wine. Even the way his jeans stretch over his wide thighs when he sprawls on your couch, waiting for you to get ready. You’re pretty sure you are losing your mind, because this is John. John. The same man that used your purse as a sick bag in the back of a taxi one memorable night out.

You are so used to his big presence taking up space in your life that thinking of him in this new light seems vaguely wrong. You can’t seem to stop yourself though, and say ‘yes’, each time he asks you out afterwards. You’ve gone from overly comfortable with him to flighty and nervous when he’s around. You’re not convinced you like the change. 

He's on his way tonight to help put up plastic over the drafty windows at your new rental. It’s so dangerously domestic. You spend so long debating about whether or not you should blow out your collection of tealights (too inadvertently romantic?) that you run out of time and end up having to leave them flickering on the mantel. You answer the door with an overly cheerful hello, and John leans down to press a gentle kiss into your flushed cheek. 

“You alright, love?” He asks, his familiar and steady demeanour bracing your nerves already. Your affectionate smile is genuine, watching as he locks the door behind him and humming an affirmation for him. He follows you to the kitchen where you’ve laid out your tools – such as they are. Hairdryer? check. Double sided tape? Check. Plastic film? Check. 

John’s shrugging out of his lambskin jacket, hanging it off the back of a chair in a habitual motion as you get the kettle going. You can feel the weight of his gaze and inexorably find yourself turning to meet it. He looks uncharacteristically unsure of himself in the middle of your small kitchen.  

“What’s wrong?” The words have escaped before you can think. He shakes his head slowly, his eyes staying on your face, locked on like a predator. There’s something in his expression you aren’t familiar with, can’t quite read. His hands find his pockets, elbows pressed in against his sides, making himself seem smaller. You frown at his unusual behaviour, a different kind of anxiety overtaking you now. 

“You’re freaking me out.” You warn, your voice warbling as your sentence ends. 

“Did I fuck this up?” He blurts out, blue eyes widening as if he’s surprised himself with his outburst as well as you. 

“Fuck what up?” You ask for unnecessary clarification.

He gestures between you with his thumb, the rest of his body tense and waiting to hear your verdict.

“…No.”

“Are you sure? Cause it seems –“ He cuts himself off.

“Seems like what?” 

“Seems like you’re running scared. Not like yourself, love.”

“John.” You exhale in a breath. You’re startled by his incisive comment, cut to the quick with no retort at the ready.

“Don’t say my name like that if you’re just going to call this off.” His voice lowers an octave and your stomach swoops in response.

“…I’m not calling anything off, I just…” You shouldn’t be surprised John couldn’t watch you struggle without comment. Or pressing the issue. A man of action, through and through. 

“You what? Talk to me.” His voice is soft, concerned.

“What if we do fuck this up? Is it worth it? To throw away over two decades of friendship?”

Something passes over his face and he’s closing the distance between you before you can process that he’s moving. His tone is urgent, like he needs to you understand this, and understand it now.

“You can’t fuck this up. There’s nothing you could do that would make me stop caring about you. You don’t know that by now?”

His big hands come up to cradle your face, thumbs swiping over the apples of your cheeks lightly. The nearness of his big body makes your own respond in ways that you haven’t allowed yourself to process.

“John.” You say his name helplessly, unsure what to do with this information he’s placing in your hands. He’s unbalanced the dynamic between you. Your instinct is to duck and hide, to deflect to something more appropriate for old friends, a joke or insult, but that won’t help you now. You know your eyes must be wide with the fear clawing its way through your chest. He’s moving to step back, to let go of your face before you can muster anything else to say.  

“It’s alright, if you don’t – “ 

You know he’s about to backpedal and your heart feels like someone has taken a hold of it and is squeezing for all their worth. 

“No.” You manage you squeak out, your voice not altogether steady. 

You cut him off with such eloquence that it stops him in his tracks. You’re reaching for his hands, nuzzling back into the space between them before you can think it through. Instead, letting the soft, small animal of your body timidly search out what it wants. 

“No?” He breathes, stroking his thumbs over your cheeks again, like he’s scared to jostle you for fear of something shattering.

“Whatever you were about to say… don’t.”

His familiar chuckle is comforting, and then the slightest pressure from his fingertips is angling your face up to his. You oblige his unspoken request, his nearness making your skin prickle and your thoughts scatter.  

“Alright, love.” He breathes again and your eyes meet his. This time you can read the want on his face, plain as day. It makes your stomach quiver in anticipation. John’s intense blue eyes are searching your face for something. Whatever it is he must find it, because he’s lowering his mouth to yours in the next heartbeat. 

The silken heat of his lips pull at your own until you open for him, pliant now where before you had been stiff and recalcitrant. The tip of his tongue finding yours sends sparks scattering behind your closed eyelids, sensation overtaking self-consciousness. Your hands take on a mind of their own, sliding up his solid chest to press in to the short strands of his hair and clutch at the back of his shirt, a subconscious effort to ground yourself. 

One big hand cups the back of your head, subtly steering your movements as he plunders your mouth. The other settles on your hip, strong fingers pressing into your soft flesh. A soft whine escapes before you can corral your reaction and you can feel the response thrum through John’s body. You don’t realize you’re moving until you feel your back press up against the cool door of your fridge. The scattered magnets dig into your back as you slowly give in to his onslaught, willingly pinned in place by his big body. The windows can wait a while longer, you absently decide.

[wholoveseggs]

next parrtttttt plzZzzzzzZZZZZzzz of gardener

The Gardener {Part Four}

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

Part Four

Things come to a head when you decide to confront the Mikaelsons, before your magic consumes you.

♡♡ Sorry for the slow progress on this one! I hope ya'll enjoy the ending! ♡♡

6.4k words - Warnings: little bit of smut, lots of violence, Klaus being Klaus, more brother fighting, Elijah down bad, lots of magical hijinks and lots of death..????...

{Part One}{Part Two}{Part Three}

@gorgeouslydangerous @starkleila @lydia1369sworld @notleylaaa @vampiresluv

@myanmy @xflowerbombxo @maryvibess @always-and-forever-daydreaming

@spnaquakindgdom @amournoir @meeom @damienmorton@wickedmuse

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@itsjulzandmydiamonds @spideysbabe @witch-of-letters @elijahstwink @rosecentury

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@absolutemarveltrash @darkened-writer @nina6708 @evasmlp @sweetieseven

The building was a ruin, a pile of rubble, and the ground was covered in vines and roots, spreading out and delving deep into the ground. The street was cracked and broken, and the air was thick with the smell of death and decay.

Wolves, witches and any other enemy to the vampires were clambering over the ruins, hacking away at the wood, taking whatever they could.

Maeve was giddy, stumbling around cheering and encouraging the rabble. You watched her hack off a smaller branch and start whittling at it with a dagger, laughing and dancing around.

"Take as much as you can! Don't stop!" She shouted, a feral grin on her face.

She handed off her newly made stake to one of the wolves, who looked at it, confused.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" He asked, his brow furrowing.

"Stab a fucking vampire!" She yelled, and then turned back to her task, snapping off another branch.

You were watching from afar, sitting on the curb, your mind still reeling. You couldn't believe it. They were all gone.

Agnes, Beatrice, Ava, Liza, the coven, all of your friends, gone. But you could still feel their magic inside you, their essence lingering. It made you sick, the way it made you feel powerful, but it also filled you with guilt.

"This is the best day of my life," Maeve said, skipping over to you, her arms laden with branches.

"Really?" You asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh yes, definitely," she said, dropping her load on the ground, her eyes alight with joy, "it's not every day that you destroy a thousand year old evil and become a god."

"You're not a god," you said, shaking your head.

"Oh but I am," she said, her smile growing, "and so are you! Can't you feel it? The power, the energy, the magic, it's all ours now, the city is ours!"

She was practically vibrating with excitement, and you couldn't help but smile.

"It is pretty amazing," you admitted, looking up at the giant tree, "but I can't believe they're all gone."

Maeve's expression grew somber and she sat down next to you, wrapping her arm around your shoulders.

"I know," she said, squeezing you close, "but it's okay. We all knew the risks, and we all did this together. They'll be watching over us, guiding us."

You nodded, sniffling and wiping the tears from your face.

"I didn't think I would make it, honestly," she said, letting out a soft laugh, "I was so sure I was gonna die, I didn't think I was strong enough, or smart enough. But I did, and I'm here, and now, we're gonna win."

You looked at her, a smile tugging at your lips, and then a werewolf jumped onto the curb, brandishing his new stake.

"I dedicate this stake to Klaus Mikaelson! The great abomination!" He bellowed, and the crowd of vengeful rabble cheered, pumping their fists and screaming. "I shall sink it into his heart and watch the life drain from his eyes!”

The group erupted into roars and cheers, and the werewolf ran off, the crowd following him, chanting and howling.

"That werewolf is too stupid to realize he's dead already," Maeve said, shaking her head.

"Then why give them the stakes?" You asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Because they need to feel useful," she said, shrugging. "And maybe there is a chance, like throwing a bunch of darts at a dart board. Who knows? Maybe one will hit the bullseye."

"Maybe," you said, staring up at the giant tree. "It's up to us though, isn't it? To finish this, to kill Klaus."

"Yep," Maeve said, smiling. "Then the rest of them… Including Elijah....," she trailed off, giving you a sideways glance.

"Yes, Maeve," you said, rolling your eyes, "I know."

"Do you?" She asked, her tone growing serious.

"Yes, and I'm fine. I don't- ....I won't let my feelings cloud my judgment," you said, holding her gaze.

"They died for this, Agnes, sweet Bea...," her eyes welled up with tears, "they gave their lives for this. I need to know, if it comes down to him or us, which will you choose?"

You hesitated, her words hitting you like a ton of bricks. You looked away, trying to avoid her stare, but she grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at her.

"Choose."

"I will choose freedom from oppression always," you said, your voice low. "Even if it means killing him."

She studied your face, searching for any hint of a lie, and then nodded, letting go of your chin.

"I know we've never exactly been close... But it's just us, you and me now," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, "I've got your back, and you've got mine. Right?"

"Right."

She smiled and stood up, stumbling a little as she dusted herself off, looking around at the wreckage and all the people grabbing branches and chunks of wood.

"We don't have long, I don't think we can hold this magic forever. Not if we want to live," she said, turning back to you. "That means we have to go now," she nodded towards the tree.

"Now? Like right now?" You asked, surprised.

"Yeah, why not?" She said, shrugging, "we're going up against the biggest, baddest, most powerful vampire ever, the element of surprise is the only advantage we have. So, let's use it."

"I just thought, I don't know, we would have more time," you said, running your fingers through your hair.

"More time for what? More time for us to lose our nerve? To think about certain suit wearing obstacles? We gotta act now, while we can," she said, the corners of her mouth turning up slightly.

You sighed, knowing she was right, knowing that there was no point in thinking about anything else. You couldn't save him, you had sacrificed too much for this already, it had to be worth it.

You stood up, giving her a small nod.

"Alright, let's do this."

The city was under siege, the French Quarter on fire. Werewolves had returned to the streets, attacking vampires left and right, their stakes at the ready. Witches were casting spells, creating traps and ambushes, luring vampires into their clutches.

It was chaos, the kind that Klaus usually relished, but this was different. This wasn't fun. He was being hunted, and he could feel the rage bubbling beneath the surface, the urge to destroy everything in his path.

“Niklaus!" Elijah's voice cut through the noise, and Klaus turned to see his brother rushing towards the entrance to the compound.

Marcel stumbled inside, covered in blood, a werewolf bite on his neck and a stake sticking out of his back. Elijah caught him, helping him to his feet.

"What the bloody hell is going on out there?" Klaus demanded, grabbing Marcel's shoulders and shaking him.

"Witches," Marcel said, gasping for air, the werewolf venom burning through his veins.

Elijah pulled the stake out of Marcel's back, guiding him to a sofa. Klaus watched them, his eyes narrowed.

"Witches are causing this?" He asked, his anger growing, "they're the ones responsible for the chaos in the Quarter?"

"Not just the Quarter, the whole city," Marcel said, wincing.

Klaus let out a sigh and bit down on his wrist, offering his blood to Marcel. Marcel hesitated, his eyes meeting Klaus'.

"Just take it, Marcel," Klaus said, his patience waning.

Marcel took Klaus' wrist, drinking the blood. The wound healed and the venom was neutralized, leaving Marcel weak and exhausted.

"What had made them so bold? Why now?" Klaus asked, pacing the room.

"Maybe it had something to do with this," Elijah said, his voice oddly quiet, and Klaus looked over at his brother, his gaze falling on the wooden stake.

"Is that?" He started to ask, but the words died on his lips.

"White oak," Elijah finished, holding it out to him.

Klaus stared at it, his expression completely blank, like his brain couldn't process what he was seeing.

"Impossible," he whispered, taking the stake.

"Apparently not," Elijah said, and Klaus could hear the fear in his voice.

"Where did this come from?" He asked, his hands shaking, he looked at Marcel, who was slowly getting up off the sofa.

"The wolves were the ones who attacked me," Marcel said, rubbing the spot where the stake had pierced him. "I killed a couple of them, but the rest fled. I think they are planning on attacking you,”

Klaus' eyes darkened and he stormed out of the room, the stake still in his hand. Elijah quickly chased after him, catching up to him before he exited the compound.

"Niklaus, wait," Elijah said, grabbing his brother's arm.

Klaus stopped and turned to face Elijah, his eyes filled with fury.

"They will pay for this," he growled, his grip tightening on the stake.

"There could be more out there," Elijah said, his eyes pleading, "we need to regroup, to plan, we cannot rush into this."

"You expect me to do nothing?" Klaus hissed, his anger rising. "You think I'll stand by and let my home burn? That I'll let these insolent fools threaten my family?"

"If they get to us, our sirelines go with us, you know that," Elijah said, his expression steely.

Klaus growled, his eyes flashing yellow, he hated feeling hopeless, stuck, weak.

"So what do you propose?" He spat, his words dripping with venom. "You want me to sit and wait for the axe to fall?"

"We need to stay here, let the vampires and werewolves handle each other," Elijah said, keeping his voice steady.

"It's not the wolves!" Klaus roared, pushing Elijah back, "it's the witches, they're the ones behind this."

"Niklaus," Elijah said, his voice soft, "how could they possibly-"

"I don't know!" Klaus yelled, throwing his arms in the air, his frustration and fear overwhelming him.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. His mind was racing, going a hundred miles an hour. He had to fix this, had to end this, he couldn't let anything happen to his family, his home.

Suddenly, it was like a light switch had flipped in his brain. His eyes widened and he turned to look at Elijah, his expression grim. He sped past him, up the stairs to the study, with Marcel and Elijah quickly following behind.

Klaus ripped the portrait off the wall and opened the safe, pulling out a small, wooden box. He held it in his hands, staring at it, his jaw clenching.

"What's that?" Marcel asked, his brow furrowing.

Klaus didn't respond, just opened it, and Elijah felt his blood run cold, his heart shatter. It was gone.

"Impossible," Elijah said, shaking his head.

Klaus threw the box across the room, the wood splintering, embedding into the wall. He was breathing heavily, his entire body was tense.

"I told you," he muttered, his hands clenched into fists. "I told you what she was... what she was capable of..."

Elijah stared at him, his heart sinking. He remembered the day that he had met you, the first time you had come to the compound. He remembered how beautiful you were, so soft and full of light. How could you possibly be capable of such a betrayal?

Klaus lunged at Elijah, his fist colliding with his jaw, and Elijah stumbled backwards. He recovered quickly, his own fists flying, striking Klaus across the face.

They brawled, punches and kicks being exchanged, and Elijah grabbed Klaus, throwing him into a table. They crashed to the floor, grappling and struggling.

"You have always been blinded by your feelings for her!" Klaus spat, his fangs bared, his face inches from Elijah's.

Marcel grabbed at him, trying to pull him off Elijah, but Klaus shrugged him off, pinning his brother to the ground.

"You fell for the oldest trick in the book! My noble brother, always willing to see the best in people, even when they're plotting against you," he snarled, his eyes flashing yellow, "how many times has it cost us, Elijah? How many times have we nearly died because of your stupid sentimentality?"

Elijah snarled, pushing Klaus back and landing a blow to his nose, knocking him to the ground. He pinned him down, his hands wrapped around Klaus' throat.

"You think I'm the fool?" Elijah growled, his grip tightening, "it was you who pushed the witches too far, you took away their hope, their freedom! You're the reason they're fighting back!"

Klaus grabbed the stake and jammed it into Elijah's neck, his eyes widening in shock. He pulled it out, and Elijah gasped, falling to the floor.

"Enough!" Marcel yelled, and he yanked the stake from Klaus' hand.

Klaus stood up, breathing heavily, staring down at his brother, his face filled with rage. Elijah coughed and sputtered, blood spilling from his mouth, the wound slowly healing.

"If we are going to survive this, we need to work together. Save the family drama for later," Marcel said, his voice hard.

Elijah stood up, wiping the blood from his face.

"He's right," he said, his voice hoarse.

"So, what do we do?" Marcel asked, glancing between the two brothers.

"We hunt them down," Klaus growled, his eyes filled with fury. "Those foul witches and their ilk."

"And then?" Elijah asked, his expression grave.

"We kill them all," Klaus said, his voice barely above a whisper, and the room grew quiet, the weight of his words hanging in the air. He looked at Elijah, his face filled with determination, "Every last one."

You made your way through the city, ducking into alleys and hiding whenever a vampire passed by. It was a bit odd to see the city so barren, the streets empty. You tried not to think about it, pushing away the memories of when they were thriving, full of vampires, witches and werewolves alike.

You didn't talk much, keeping quiet to avoid drawing attention to yourselves. But Maeve pointed to the trees and grass, the once green and vibrant plants that now lay withered and dead.

"Was that us?" she whispered. "Our magic?"

You just nodded, trying not to dwell on it. You had sacrificed a lot to get here, you couldn't lose focus now. You had to keep going, no matter what.

"We are going to die, aren't we?" She asked, her voice barely audible.

"Maybe, but so is everyone else," you replied, your voice equally low. "This is bigger than us, we have a chance to free everyone, to end the tyranny,"

You could feel the magic you had taken on, it was too much, twisting your insides, making you nauseous. You knew that the longer you kept it, the worse it would get. The ancestors didn't care that you were in agony, you were their vessel, a tool for their revenge.

"I've never really thought about the afterlife," Maeve said, a small smile creeping across her face. "But, I hope that it's peaceful, that my family is there waiting for me,"

"I'm sure it is," you said, your voice wavering.

"What about you? What do you hope the afterlife is like?" She asked, glancing over at you.

"I hope it's worth it," you whispered, "I hope that everything we did was worth it."

She nodded, her expression solemn. You didn't know what else to say, so you just headed towards the compound, the one place you didn't want to go.

As you grew closer, the damage done to the streets became more pronounced, the rubble thicker and heavier. You had to climb over fallen walls and dead trees, concrete stained with blood. There had been a fight, wooden stakes and branches lay strewn about the ground, but no bodies. Whatever wolves, vampires or witches had engaged them here were either dead or dragged away to be fed upon.

You tried not to think about it, clambering over the rubble, making your way through the gate, sticking to the shadows of the courtyard. It was dark, the sun hidden behind stormy gray clouds. You were glad for it, it would make sneaking around the compound easier, but a part of you wanted to see the sunshine one last time.

The bodies of a werewolf army lie strewn about the courtyard and the large pool of liquid in the middle of it. There were torn off heads, limbs, all in a pile and it was impossible to tell which person belonged to which body. There were a few witches as well, their bodies laying next to those of the wolves.

It was gruesome, the smell of blood and rot filling the air. You covered your mouth, trying not to vomit, but the sight was too much, the magic coursing through you amplifying your senses, and you dry heaved, clutching your stomach.

Before you had time to process what you were looking at, there was a strange shift in the air, and Klaus Mikaelson stood before you. He was covered in blood, his shirt torn and ragged. He was staring down at the pile of corpses, his expression blank.

"I presume it was you that caused this... massacre," he said, his voice eerily calm.

"No, pretty sure that was you," you retorted, and he smirked, a cold, hollow thing, turning to face you.

"I call it self defense. Why? Well they had these..." he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, and he held up a number of poorly whittled white oak stakes, "and were not afraid to use them."

He dropped the stakes, his eyes roving over you, then his gaze turned to Maeve, a cruel smile twisting his lips.

"I see you brought a friend," he said, his voice mocking. "Does she care to explain what's happening here, or am I going to have to torture it out of her?"

Maeve glared at him, her eyes narrowing, and she lifted her hand, a ball of flame appearing in her palm.

"We've come to kill you, to end your reign of terror," she said, her voice hard.

"Is that so?" He replied, his eyes gleaming. "I'm impressed, little witch, it takes a great deal of strength and cunning to kill an Original vampire."

He looked over at you, his expression turning dark.

"And quite a bit of debauchery too, considering the lengths in which you went to," he hissed, his tone bitter.

"This has nothing to do with us, Klaus," you said, taking a step towards him.

"Oh no?" He snapped, his voice rising, "sleeping with Elijah wasn't a calculated choice? That was all just a means to an end?"

"Don't," you growled, your voice low.

He threw back his head and laughed, a loud, mocking sound. Then he lunged, grabbing you by the throat, lifting you off the ground.

"I should kill you," he growled, his eyes burning with rage, "I should rip your throat out and tear your body to pieces."

Maeve's hands clenched into fists, the fire growing hotter, brighter, and she let out a scream, sending the ball of flame hurling towards Klaus.

He dropped you, flying backwards, crashing into the side of the building. You landed hard, the breath knocked out of you, your body aching. Maeve rushed to your side, helping you up. She pressed a stake into your hand, and you gripped it tightly, the wood smooth against your skin.

"Come on," she said, jerking her head towards Klaus, "let's finish this."

Klaus stood up, his shirt smoldering, the skin beneath it red and blistered. His eyes flashed yellow, and he lunged, moving faster than you could follow.

Maeve ran at him, the force of her magic causing Klaus to stumble, and he let out a roar, charging towards her. They collided in a flurry of blows, their hands and feet moving impossibly fast.

Klaus grabbed Maeve, his hands wrapping around her neck, and he began to squeeze. You ran at him, leaping onto his back, plunging a stake into his shoulder. He screamed in pain, throwing Maeve to the ground, and reached behind him, grabbing you by the throat.

He tore the stake from his shoulder, tossing it aside, and slammed you against the wall, his hands crushing your windpipe.

"Tell me, love," he sneered, his eyes boring into yours, "did you enjoy it?"

You stared at him, your mouth open, struggling to breathe, the magic within you bubbling and churning.

"All the pain you have caused, all the suffering, the lives ruined," he growled, his eyes darkening, "and you had the gall, the nerve, the audacity to pretend you are righteous,"

He was breathing heavily, his jaw clenching, and his hands tightened around your neck.

"To claim that you were better than me," he hissed, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous tone, "to make Elijah believe that you loved him."

The magic inside you burst forth, exploding outward, and you sent a pulse of energy towards him, knocking him off his feet. He hit the ground hard, rolling a few times, coming to a stop against a stone pillar.

You collapsed in the heap, coughing and gasping for air, the magic flowing through you burning, searing. You screamed, your back arching, your limbs twitching, your muscles contracting. It was too much, the pressure, the pain, and the magic began to escape, slipping from your grasp, flowing into the air.

You watched it, like a wisp of soft twinkle lights, drifting away, it gravitated towards the wood, the stakes and branches strewn about the compound, to the beams above you. It sank into them, filling them, and the wood began to glow, burning with the same white light that flowed through you.

Maeve stumbled to her feet, stake in hand, it was disintegrating, falling apart in her palm. She knew this was her last chance, she couldn't afford to wait any longer, the magic was escaping her, draining from her body and draining her life.

She snarled and launched himself at him and they rolled across the ground, grappling and fighting. She screamed and struggled, the force of her magic beating against his chest, but he was too strong, pinning her down.

You took a single step forward, and then you felt it; a sudden rush of coldness, a wave of despair, as his hand touched your arm. You turned, and he was standing there, Elijah.

He looked like he had been through hell. His clothes were tattered, his face covered in dirt and blood. But it was his eyes, his beautiful brown eyes that broke your heart. They were full of pain, a sorrow so deep, so profound, that you couldn't look away.

You stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity, neither of you saying a word. And then you heard a cracking sound, Maeve's scream, and Klaus' triumphant roar.

You saw her body fall, limp and lifeless, the white oak stake gone, Klaus holding the splintered remains in his hands.

The whispers grew deafening, chanting in unison, filling your mind, the voices blending together, drowning out all thought, and you were filled with rage.

You struggled in Elijah's grip, the magic swirling and coiling within you, ready to be released.

"Let me go," you hissed, your voice filled with venom.

He didn't budge, his grip tightening, but he wasn't looking at you. Klaus stood up, wiping his hands on his pants, his mouth twisted into a smug grin.

"It's over, brother," he said, his voice mocking, "kill her and end this,"

You snarled and kicked, lashing out with your magic, the air rippling. You struck him in the chest, and he fell backwards, his grip loosening, and you ripped yourself from his arms, turning to face him.

He looked like you had stabbed him in the heart, his expression crumpling. You felt dizzy, drunk almost, on the power. Everything was so vivid, so intense. Your senses were overwhelmed, your head spinning. Maeve's magic flowed through you, and you could feel her essence, her soul. The voices of your ancestors were a chorus in your head, a chorus calling for the deaths of all vampires.

Elijah moved, reaching out, trying to grab you, but you sidestepped him, dodging his attempt to restrain you. You turned towards him, the anger and pain that you had kept locked away, bubbling to the surface.

"You're all monsters," you hissed, your voice barely above a whisper.

"We are," Elijah said, his eyes full of anguish.

You felt a surge of emotion, your vision blurring, and a tear rolled down your cheek.

"I wish I had never met you," you whispered. "Why... Why did you have to take everything from me?"

He didn't answer, just stared at you, his face pale. You could hear Klaus chuckle behind you, his footsteps echoing in the silence.

"Come now, love," he drawled, "that's hardly fair."

You spun around, the magic inside you thrumming, your fingers twitching.

"You have no idea what's fair!" You snapped, your voice shaking.

Klaus smirked, taking a step towards you, but Elijah blocked his path, standing in front of you.

"Move," Klaus snarled, his eyes glowing yellow.

"No," Elijah said, his voice strained.

"You can't save her, brother," Klaus said, his voice low, his gaze fixed on Elijah. "She took too much on, look around,"

The ceiling was collapsing, the walls crumbling, the foundations cracking. All of the wood and plants were rotting and dying, pulsing with the same white light that you could feel pulsing through you.

"She chose this, to die for her cause," Klaus sneered. "How noble of her."

Elijah pushed him away, his jaw clenched, and he looked at you, his expression pained. Klaus grabbed him, pulling him away, and he let out a shout, struggling against his grip.

"Just let her go," he snarled, "it will be over soon."

Elijah shook his head, his tear filled eyes now turning to rage, and he punched him, hitting Klaus so hard, he stumbled, releasing his hold. Elijah's eyes burned with anger, his fists clenched.

"No, I will not kill her," he hissed, "not now, not ever."

"You're weak," Klaus spat, wiping the blood from his mouth, "she betrayed you, she lied to you, and you can't bring yourself to end it, to do what must be done. You are a fool, a pathetic, sniveling, little fool."

Elijah charged at him, his hands grabbing Klaus by the throat, slamming him into the wall. He punched him repeatedly, his knuckles smashing into his face, his eyes filled with hatred.

"You have only ever despised those I love," Elijah snarled, his fist connecting with Klaus' face, "because you are a coward, afraid of any emotion that does not serve your own selfish desires."

Klaus laughed, spitting blood, his lips split, his nose broken.

"You will never learn," Klaus said, his voice thick with disdain.

"And you will never understand," Elijah said, his voice barely above a whisper, his fist connecting with Klaus' face once again.

You could hear the whispers, the voices, the magic in the air calling to you. Your coven was gone, they were dead, but their spirits lingered, their voices echoing in your mind. You held all their power now, their legacy, and the weight of it was crushing. You were barely holding on, with Maeve dead all the magic was yours, and it was destroying you.

Your knees buckled, and you fell to the ground, your body wracked with sobs. You were alone, all alone, and the power was too much. You couldn't hold on anymore, your grip was slipping. the pain too intense, and you let go.

Everything went white, the light blinding, and there was a horrifying crack, and the earth beneath you exploded. The ground gave way, and you fell, the air rushing past you.

You screamed, falling, falling, and the voices grew louder, the light blinding. And then everything went black.

~~~

You awoke slowly, a dull throbbing ache in the back of your head. You couldn't feel your legs, your entire body was numb.

You blinked, your vision blurred, and slowly everything around you came into focus. There was rubble everywhere, a huge pile of it. The air was filled with dust, making it hard to breathe. There was a rumbling sound, as debris began to rain down, a piece of rock became dislodged and tumbled down, smashing into a pile of bricks, shattering them.

There was a ringing in your ears, and you could hear the muffled sound of shouting, a distant siren. You tried to move, but your body was heavy, your limbs were leaden, and you were stuck under something warm and solid.

You looked up, and Elijah's face came into view. His eyes were closed, his chest rising and falling in an unnatural way, his neck was at an odd angle, his hair caked with dust. He had you caged under him, his body covering yours, protecting you from the worst of the destruction.

"Eli?" You croaked, your voice hoarse, the sound of it muffled.

He slowly opened his eyes, blinking, his gaze focusing on you. His pretty brown eyes full of heartache and despair.

"Why?" He whispered, his voice breaking.

"I had to," you said, your voice wavering.

He looked down at you, his eyes roving over you, taking in your injuries. He moved slightly, pushing up against the rubble, his immense strength allowing him to lift the heavy wooden beam that was pinning you.

You winced as the movement jarred your legs, a sharp stab of pain shooting through you. You were sure they were broken, the bones in your lower half crushed, shattered.

"You used me," he whispered, his voice trembling, tears rolling down his cheeks, "you made me care for you, made me think..."

He broke off, shaking his head, his eyes filled with anguish.

"And then you betrayed me," he continued, his voice hollow.

The voices were screaming, the magic within you burning, searing.

"I was always told vampires were evil," you pleaded, the pain in your chest unbearable. "And then, I met you, and it was like, everything I knew, everything I believed, it all changed. You made me see the world differently."

His face crumpled, and he looked away, his shoulders shaking.

"I had a mission," you said, your voice cracking, "I was to destroy you, and bring peace back to this city."

You looked at him, pleading, your eyes welling up. You felt a stake next to you, the wood felt so hot, the magic inside it vibrating, the whispers in your head growing louder, a cacophony of sound.

"I never meant to fall in love with you," you cried, the tears rolling down your face.

"Killing me, would cause the thousands I sired to die too, many of them innocent. Who are you to decide who is worthy of life or death?" He asked, his voice trembling, his gaze full of anger.

"It doesn't matter," you said, the words spilling out of you, "they're all monsters."

"Just like me," he whispered, his eyes searching yours, "just like you."

"No," you whispered, your voice barely audible. You lifted the stake, pressing it against his chest, the wood burning against your skin.

"This is a mercy," you said, the tears rolling down your cheeks, "an end to the suffering, a chance for peace."

"Do it," he whispered, his voice shaking. "Kill me."

"I don't want to," you cried, the pain in your chest becoming unbearable.

"Do it," he yelled, his voice laced with anger, "End it. Put me out of my misery."

"No," you choked out, the pain overwhelming. "I don't want to, but the voices, the magic, it's too much, I can't, I can't hold on," you sobbed, the stake glowing brightly.

He leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, his breath tickling your face.

"I can't watch you die," he whispered, his voice soft, his face twisted with agony.

He kissed you then, a soft, gentle kiss, his lips brushing against yours, and you clung to him, the stake pressed against his heart, the wood burning. You knew you didn't have it in you, to make the choice that would end him, forever.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, the pain in your chest overwhelming, "for everything."

"Me too," he said, his voice filled with sorrow, he took the stake from your hand, casting it aside. You watched as it slowly disintegrated, the weapon you sacrificed everything for, turning to dust. Just like the magic you had inside you.

Elijah placed his hand on your cheek, cupping your face, his thumb brushing against your skin, his eyes meeting yours. Then he groaned, pushing hard against the debris that trapped you both, lifting the heavy wooden beam that pinned you to the ground. He pulled you free, holding your broken body close, and you felt his arms wrap around you, his touch gentle, careful.

You looked around, the devastation was worse than you thought. The entire compound was gone, the building demolished. There were fires burning everywhere, and a thick layer of dust and debris covered everything. The city was eerily silent, the sky dark, the only light coming from the fires. You were the cause of this, the destruction, the death. You couldn't take it anymore, the guilt, the shame, the pain.

You buried your face against his chest, letting the tears flow freely. He held you, his embrace warm, his touch comforting. You could feel the heat of his breath, the beat of his heart. The voices grew louder, and you were drowning in the sound, the pain was excruciating.

"I'm dying," you whispered, your voice muffled against his shirt, "and I'm afraid."

"Don't be," he whispered, his hand rubbing your back, his voice thick with emotion, "I'll be with you, every step of the way."

"I love you," you said, your voice trembling, the tears streaming down your cheeks.

"I love you too," he whispered, his voice choked, "with all my heart.”

He tightened his grip, holding you closer, his arms wrapped around you, his chest pressed against yours.

"Please," you begged, "please, kill me."

You felt his lips on yours, the taste of blood and tears. His fingers dug into your back, and you felt the pain, the fire in your bones, your muscles, the magic tearing through you, burning, scorching. You were going to die, and there was nothing you could do to stop it.

"Not yet," he said, his voice breaking, and you felt the sharp pinch of teeth in your neck.

The pain was intense, like a fire, burning through you. You screamed, arching against him, and he pulled back, his eyes wide, his pupils blown, the veins beneath them protruding. He was feeding from you, draining you, killing you.

You felt the darkness creeping in, the whispers fading, the voices growing quiet. Then it was all blackness, nothingness, a void. You were floating, drifting in the darkness, and then you felt something, a tether, a rope, and it was pulling you back, calling to you. It was not the continual haunting drone of the ancestors, but one singular, familiar voice. The voice of the person you loved the most.

Epilogue

A soft sigh escaped your lips as Elijah's warm hands held you underneath him, the movements of his hips slow and controlled.

His hands roamed your body, the look of lust on his face making your heart skip a beat. You would never tire of the way he made you feel, the way he knew what he was doing. This slow, lazy dance, the intimacy of it, the gentle brush of his lips, the smooth silk sheets on your bare skin, the pleasure he made you feel. It was all overwhelming, intense, the sounds you were both making echoing in the room.

You stared up at him, the golden glow of the fireplace shining on his skin, his dark eyes staring down at you. A rare smile was on his lips, and he sighed in contentment, his thrusts becoming more forceful, the bed creaking beneath you. It didn't take long for you to fall apart, the sweet pleasure ripping through your body, Elijah following soon after.

The two of you laid there for a while, not saying anything, just enjoying the peaceful silence. As much as you wanted to, you couldn't stop the questions racing through your mind.

"You're thinking too much, my love," he whispered, his face nuzzled in the crook of your neck, his breath hot on your skin.

"I'm sorry," you sighed, shaking your head, trying to dispel the memories that were plaguing you.

"Talk to me," he murmured, propping himself up on his elbow, looking down at you. "I want to know what's going on in that beautiful mind of yours."

You closed your eyes, not sure where to begin. "I... I just miss it sometimes," you whispered, unable to meet his gaze, feeling the shame burning inside of you. "The power, the magic. It was so overwhelming, so intoxicating, and now... I feel empty without it."

"I know," he replied, his voice soft, his hand reaching up to stroke your hair. "I can't imagine what that was like, having all that power, feeling it consume you."

You nodded, the guilt weighing heavily on your shoulders. You knew what he was feeling. He was angry, hurt, betrayed, and you didn't blame him. It would take a long time for him to forgive you, if he ever did. You were grateful that he was even giving you a chance, allowing you into his life, his bed. He had been so patient, so understanding, so loving, and you didn't deserve it.

"I'm sorry," you said, your voice cracking. "I shouldn't have brought it up, I know it's a sore subject for you, and I'm sorry."

He sighed, shaking his head, his hand resting on your hip, pressing your legs apart. "No," he whispered, his eyes full of sorrow, his touch tender, his lips pressing against yours, his tongue slipping into your mouth. "It's not a sore subject for me, not anymore," he said, his voice firm, his words ringing true. "I forgave you a long time ago."

You blinked back the tears, his words washing over you, filling you with relief, with joy, with hope. You didn't deserve his forgiveness, his love, but you would cherish it, cherish him, for the rest of your life. And now that you were immortal, that would be a very long time.

You never expected to find peace or love with Elijah Mikaelson. Of all the ways your paths had crossed, this one was by far the most unexpected. Laying here, in his arms, a vampire, his wife, was never part of your plan. You chose this, him, and he chose you, and that's all you ever needed.

{Part One}{Part Two}{Part Three}

[swallowtail-lotus]

Sakura Mochi {Hades x Mitsuri!Reader}

Repost

I'm in love with Hades as always 😂

Nothing too bad

____

"Is there any reason why you're so excited?" The lovely voice of the Goddess of Beauty, Aphrodite broke you out of your dream-like stance. You turned to face the beautiful goddess with the smile most of the deities grew to love.

"I'm eager to see Lord Hades! I haven't seen him for thousands of years!" You exclaimed, cupping your own face with your dainty hands.

"I take it you heard word of his arrival?" The goddess giggled. You nodded your head fast, the excitement growing more and more. Aphrodite always found it amusing to see you fawn over certain deities.

"I wonder what he looks like now? Will he be the same or will he look different?" You asked, mostly to yourself. Aphrodite opened her mouth but stopped when the smell of sweets caught her attention.

"You've been eating those sweets again, haven't you?" Aphrodite teased, her blue eyes filled with mischief. You lowered your head down in embarrassment.

"I can't help it! They're so delicious!" You said, folding your arms and huffed like a child.

"Anyways, I shall leave you be! Tell me everything when you're finished!" The Goddess was carried away by her golem like male servants. You stood in place, trying to process her words.

"Eh?! Aphrodite!!"

___

You smiled like a child that just received their favourite candy as you practically chomped down on your favourite sweets. After finishing a huge bowl full of them, you began walking around. You realised that you had to look for the god you've been waiting on all day, so you picked up the pace.

Meanwhile, a god with formal wear was on his way back to Helheim when his nose picked up a sweet smelling scent. It was something unfamiliar to him, but he remembered something his younger brother told him.

"If you suddenly smell something sweet, to be more specific, the scent of cake, a little goddess may be nearby!"

Hades was well aware of his younger brother's... problem when it came to females, but never really got involved in any way. He assumed this little goddess was his next target, but at the same time, he wanted to see why most of the gods spoke so fondly of her. Now that he thought about it, Zeus had never spoke of her in such a way that implied wanting to sleep with her. He spoke about her as if she was a daughter to him.

The scent got stronger, but he never moved an inch. He felt something run into his side and turned a little to face whoever it was. To his surprise, it was a smaller female with (f/c) and (s/fc) hair.

You managed to catch yourself before you could injure yourself. Your two toned hair was a little messy from the running, but it was still in good condition. When you looked up, you couldn't believe who you ran into.

"Ah! I'm so sorry, Lord Hades! I was in a rush and-"

"It's fine, (Y/n). But please be careful next time."

You shut your mouth, nervously playing with your hair. His voice was so calming it made you explode with embarrassment.

"Okay!" Your answer came out shaky.

"Lord Hades is so handsome! He looks so dominating!" Gushing about the stoic god in your mind, your gaze landed on the floor, avoiding the slight mischief in the god's eye.

"Lord Zeus must've told Lord Hades my name. Hearing him say it makes my heart flutter!"

You mustered enough courage to face the god again, looking him straight in his eye. His fingers made their way under your chin and tilted it up and leaned closer to your ear.

"Your scent is intoxicating. Hopefully you taste the same." His breath tickled your ear and sent chills down your spine. He pulled away and left you, his lips forming a smirk. You stared blankly at the ceiling, not blinking even once. After a minute, you fell to your knees. You clutched your chest with your hands, trying to calm down your heart.

From afar, a certain blonde goddess had watched it all and giggled to herself.

"This is really interesting. I wonder what will happen next~"

[amica-aenigmata-naboo]

Harmony

Mizu x Y/N - drabble - 886 WC

Masterlist

Warnings: blood, injury, mention of breasts but not in a sexual sense, healer reader, kissing, he and she used for Mizu, pretty fluffy tbh

-------------------------

“Lovely aren’t they?” you said to the mysterious man next to you in the secluded forest by your cottage. He nodded slightly, not responding verbally. You picked a smaller branch off the tree, a few soft pink cherry blossoms were scattered on it. You lifted the branch to your nose, breathing in the sweet smell of the flowers. You walked over to the man, placing the branch between the fold of his haori. You heard him suck in a sharp breath. You finally saw his face as he looked up to meet your gaze. He was strikingly beautiful. Sharp cheekbones, full lips, a button nose pink from the snow chill. But above all, his eyes. Your eyes widened slightly, never having seen such a shade in person. “Like the sea after a storm.” you whispered, not even realizing your hand had gone to gently hold his cheek. You felt him lean into your touch, sighing with content. He hadn’t been held in a while. The man started to slump against you, you heard him groan, his hand going to hold his side. You saw blood seeping through the blue cloth. You gasped, putting his arm around your shoulder and pulling him towards your house. Just as you crossed the threshold, he fell to his knees before falling unconscious. You pulled him towards the warm fire pit before pulling his glasses off and his haori open. You saw bandages wrapped around his chest, the gash led under the bandages so you quickly unwrapped them. Your eyes widened as you saw the samurai with two breasts. You shook your head, grabbing your stitching kit from your healers cabinet. You stitched her but didn’t rewrap her before pulling a blanket over her. You pulled her katana and glasses off so she could rest comfortably, setting it next to her so she wouldn’t panic when she woke. 

You sat nearby, making tea and soba before stitching her haori up where something had slashed through it. You looked over to the samurai every once and a while, admiring them while also checking to see if they were comfortable. You sat and drank tea next to them when the stitching was done. A small huff left the samurai, causing you to look at them. Their face shifted slightly, a look of pain or fear scrunching their brows. Their body twitched randomly. She was running or fighting something in her dream. You put your tea down moving to sit next to her face; you smoothed your thumb over her cheekbones, hoping to calm her. You hummed a calming tune as your repeated this over and over. Her hand moved up to hold yours against her cheek yet she remained asleep. 

“The most beautiful samurai…” you whispered. You stayed with her, holding her hand.

When the samurai woke, it was the dead of night. She shot up but instantly laid back down as the gash across her chest screamed at her for the sudden movement. You quickly made your way to her side. She instinctively scooted away from you. You held your hands up, showing you meant no harm. You passed her a loose shall to cover up with and not disturb her stitches. She pulled it on quickly. 

“You can tell no one you have seen me. Is that understood?” she said in a gruff voice. 

“Of course.” you said bowing your head, “Eat, drink, sleep. Regain some strength before you leave.” You got up and set down the tea and soba next to her before getting your own and eating across from her. “Eat. It’ll help you heal and keep the chill at bay.” 

Mizu ate quickly, observing you the whole time. The faintest tattoo on your wrist caught her eye. It looked like a mirror.

“An old legend. Your face is that of the one you loved most in your past life.” you said, “The mirror reminds me to love myself, for I loved this face once… more than anything.”  you said with a soft smile.

Mizu looked down, who could have possibly loved her face? Nobody. Perhaps she was a mere demon. She felt a gentle hand caress her cheek, tilting her chin up.

“I can see why one would love your face so much. Fire and water live within you. Such harmony is rare.” you smiled. 

Mizu didn’t know why but she kissed the back of your hand. You had been nothing but kind, she didn’t know how to return it but this felt right. You blushed deeply, lifting her hand closer to your face and kissing the inside of her palm.

“It doesn’t bother you?” she asked softly.

“What?” you asked, rubbing your thumb over the inside of her hand in soothing patterns. “That you’re a woman? The heart cares not for such fickle things, only that it is loved.” you replied, smiling in a way that brought a warmth to Mizu that she hadn’t felt in years. 

She sat up as best she could, pulling you to her so she could kiss you gingerly. Almost questioning her own actions. You kissed her back gently, soothing a thumb over her cheek bone to reassure her. She grew more confident, kissing you over and over again, chasing the warmth she felt when with you despite you being a stranger.

------------------------

Naboo's Note:

Hello! Three fics in one day?! Who is this Naboo? Lol had this one sitting for a while and decided why not finish it. I hope ya'll enjoy and would love some recs for her character. Thank you, talk soon! XOXOXOXOXOXO

[vrystalius]

GENERAL HC: demons usually have nests, not traditional like straw and fur nests but little tucked away areas they tend to guard.

Muzan and Kokushibo’s nests are in the infinity castle

Douma’s nest is very comfortable. Very demure. (He tears up pillows and goes apeshit. And then makes his cult members clean up and make a larger pillow for him. Because beds are for basic bitches)

Akaza probably has his nest in the infinity castle too, but he’s a bit more secretive, and prob has somewhere else

Gyutaro has his nest in the red district, (it’s filled with bones and all trinkets he likes.)

(Hantengu + clones bc I LOVE THEM) they probably have a nest in the infinity castle since he and his clones need separate areas to keep them from strangling each other… but JANEHWJ

Urogi has a more traditionally bird nest (he steals shit and makes it into his BED)

Sekido just has a bed. Shames everyone else for having a messy nest

Karaku’s nest is very soft. DO NOT BELIEVE HIM THERES SOME FREAKY SHIT IN TYERE- I know he told me :3

Aizetsu’s nest is a few rocks. He feels he doesn’t deserve a proper nest. (Get him some damn pillows. It’s causing back pain for everyone)

ENMU MY LOVE, his nest is inside the train station, idk the word but it’s where all the trains go when not in use, it’s very comfy! No sunlight, he probably uses train lights to illuminate for his human mate

TURNING HC’S (TW HUMAN EATING MENTION)

Muzan isn’t used to being gentle, and seeing his former human mate in such pain to become a demon like him. He has all his servants tend to them; Kokushibo at the door guarding, Douma out going to get nesting supplies for the newly formed demon liege, Akaza getting human meat for them. Fun stuff! 🤩 he throws a massive festival for his new demon spouse. (It’s an excuse to execute random demons)

Kokushibo has a smaller situation, he brings you a small personal feast, (well hidden human meat so you don’t feel guilty) and goes to some people to have them make human meals (just with human meat instead of beef) and personally brings you his nesting materials

Douma has everyone in the cult, and has a sacrifice for your “ascension” (cult bullshit to explain demons) and how you’d need to be quarantined for awhile (cuddles while you calm down from bloodlust) and you two eat the sacrifice

Akaza calms you by taking you out with him. Probably uses a muzzle so you stop biting him… he doesn’t try and keep you contained so much, just supervising so you don’t hurt yourself… or get caught-

Gyutaro has you and Daki in his nest, pampering you both and is hopeful his sister approves of his mate, power wise and demon appearance. (She’s just excited to have another demon to talk too dw)

Hantengu and his clones are waiting on you hand and FOOT, his clones’ mate shall have the same respect as Muzan, since Muzan chose you to be his demon mate.

Enmu puts you to sleep while this happens, easing the growing pains and hunger, you wake up basically the same just a demon bc of the dreams he gave you. 10/10 very nice.

This was very long 👍

I took pictures just in case if tumblr ate this.

This was so good!! I keep thinking about clawing and skinning Douma during the transformation while he just giggles and laughs loudly. Also, I love the nests- Gyutaro’s would probably stink of decay while Daki’s is the most prestige and comfortable. Only the most expensive fabrics and jewrely is allowed to come even near her nest.

I’m not the biggest fan of Hangengu’s clones, but Urogi stealing things for you and dropping it off at his nest, or trying to feed you foods he stole out of people’s hands like a seagull seems super funny to me XD

Also, I think Enmu tried more than once to nest inside a train but never could decide wich one to settle in since his favourite train model changes almost every week and it would be exhausting to change nests so many times, so probably decided to stay near or inside the busiest train station he could find. And yes, he will kick his feet in delight when watching a train pass by or stop to let passengers in.

Akaza probably is letting you chew and rip his forearms apart as much as you like during your transformation, he literally doesn’t care. Also, he’ll probably try to convince you to don’t eat women as well, but doesn’t mind if you eat them anyway. As long as you’re happy and fed.

I can see Muzan getting ashamed of nesting. He’s the demon kind and supposed to above such animalistic behaviours, but he can’t help to hoard the finest and highest grade pillows/blanket. He likes it comfortable and prestige. Muzan would probably spray some cologne over all of it as well to make sure it smells divine, just like him.

Muzan is probably being a little annoyed at how long your transformation is going. He’s gonna stand there, tapping his foot and checking his watch. He might even get worried and check you for any signs of a bad transformation.

Perhaps I should write more headcanons, those are fun!

[asnowdriftsomewhere]

Daylight pt4

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Cassian x F!reader

AN: Thank you to everyone for reading this series and enjoying it! Part 1 now has over 100 notes, which makes me very happy! I hope you continue to like what i have to say!

Summary: Helion comes to check on you in the Night Court. You have feelings about it and Cassian is shirtless.

Warnings: talking about death and expectations and pressures

Word count: 1596

You sat perfectly still in the seat across from Rhysand. Everything in your body begged you to run, to flee this room where the walls pushed in. Suffocating you, trapping you. But your spin was a pillar of steel and your eyes belied none of your discomfort. As far as anyone in the room was concerned you were perfectly calm as you kept your gaze on the High Lord before you.

“Y/N?” The voice came from the seat next to you. A warm, familiar tone that once wrapped around your bones and soothed your anxious heart. Now it made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up and a muscle in your jaw tic.

“My research is slow moving,” you spoke to Rhysand, your fingers interlaced over your crossed knees, “but it is progressing.”

Violet eyes flicked from you to the male beside you and back again, “Do you require anything to aid you? The resources of the Night Court are at your disposal.”

“A most generous offer, High Lord-”

“Y/N-”

“Perhaps you can spare your Shadowsinger for a few questions,” you continued as if not hearing him speak. “I think he would have some most illuminating things to say.”

Rhysand nodded once, “When Azriel gets back from the continent, I'll send him to you.”

You bowed your head in thanks as you got to your feet, “Until then, I shall return to the library.” You started to leave but paused, “Males aren't allowed down there unless given permission, correct?”

“Correct.”

“Y/N-”

“Good to know,” you turned and left without another word to either male. The door slamming in your wake.

Rhysand turned to Helion, who slumped into his chair and raised an eyebrow. “Well…” he started, and the High Lord of Day let out a low groan. “You've certainly managed to piss her off. What did you do?”

“I brought her here,” Helion sighed as he stood to cross the room to the window. The golden rays of the sun seemed to shine even brighter in his presence. “The Grand Library was her home, and I sent her away.”

Rhysand hummed softly, “Why did you bring her here, old friend?”

Helion's amber eyes closed briefly, a shiver of what almost seemed like regret running through his powerful body, “Y/N had a sister. My father's chief advisor and a brilliant researcher. She died defending the library from being looted again just before Amarantha fell.”

“Ah.”

“Y/N hasn't been the same since,” he continued, slipping his hands into his pockets. “It's as if, because she survived, she feels she needs to live up to her sister's legacy. That she needs to be as good or better than her. But Y/N already was those things, just in a smaller way.”

Rhysand tipped his head to the side, “What do you mean?”

“Her sister made miracles, feats of magic that we never could have dreamed possible. Y/N…” he trailed off, turning back to the Night Lord. “Her research was about philosophy. The very concepts of Life and Death. She dove into the essence of Religion and Mythology and the laws of the universe itself. She sought answers to questions no one else in my court would have ever bothered with because they did not affect or change our day to day. And I believe she felt like she had the freedom to do so because her sister's accomplishments shielded her from the competition my father fostered among his Advisors.”

Rhysand steepled his fingers in front of him, “And with her sister dead, her own lack of answers is weighing on her.”

Helion nodded once, “She feels that if she can't provide results, then the wrong sister died.”

“Do you know what she's looking into now?”

“I don't,” he admitted with a sigh, “I've not been privy to her research since coming back from under the mountain. She hides it from everyone.”

Rhysand seemed to ponder something for a moment, “She asked Cassian if he's ever heard a swan song. Are you familiar with the concept?”

Helion turned back to him, “I am.”

“And now she's asking to speak with Azriel,” the corners of his mouth ticked down.

Helion raised an eyebrow, “What are you thinking?”

“I'm thinking about death…” he trailed off before meeting his friend's amber gaze. “I'll need to speak to Clotho to verify but…” the two males fell into conversation quietly as Rhysand relayed his theory to Helion. Too engrossed in the debate to notice the slip of daylight that slithered under the door and into the hall.

***

You found yourself not in the library as you had intended after winnowing back to the House of Wind, but instead in the training right above it. You don't know why you ended up here. What force drew you to this place you'd not yet had need of in the two months since coming here. But once you were staring into the wide open sky above, you let out a scream that nearly shook the mountain before collapsing into the middle of the training pit.

Your breath was coming in shaky, uneven gasps as if your lungs were being held in a vice, so you buried your hands up to your wrists into the gravel. Focusing on the cool stones against your skin helped sooth and smother your roiling anger. The burning you felt in your soul dissipating into the mountain below until slowly your breathing evened out and your body stopped shaking.

Your rage was still there. It never left entirely. Like a ball of fire, it squatted in your chest, waiting to be unleashed. Some days, it was the only thing that got you out of bed. Others you had to lock yourself in your room to keep from lashing out indiscriminately. Regardless, it was always there, always prepared for however you would wield it.

“Are you okay?”

The voice came from behind you, and your head snapped up in response. Cassian stood at the edge of the pit. Shirtless and sweaty, he'd clearly been in the middle of training when you'd stomped through the space like a viper ready to strike.

He'd know better than to intercept you. A female with that look on her face was more dangerous than entire armies, and Cassian wasn't stupid enough to think his presence would improve the situation. Especially after he heard the scream that came out of your small frame. Pain and rage and sorrow- he knew that scream. Knew how deep the hurt had to run to be able to produce a cry like that. He'd heard every single one of his family members make that scream and knew what caused it. A wounding of the soul itself.

He'd been about to slip back into the House, intent on giving you your privacy when he saw you collapse into the training pit and bury your hands in the stones. It confused him enough that he lingered in the threshold and baffled him entirely as he WATCHED the anger leak out of your body.

Cassian approached then, not only to make sure you were okay but also because some central part of him wondered at what you had done. How you had leashed your rage.

“Are you okay?”

Your head snapped up to face him, your expression turning weary. He held up his hands to show you he had no weapons and your shoulders eased some.

“Why are you always sneaking up on me?” Your voice was heavy and held none of the bite he imagined you intended your words to carry.

“In my defense” he shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest, “I was here first this time. You just didn't see me.”

You let out a hard breath, eyes falling back to the stones, “Indeed.”

“Y/N,” he said your name so softly, so sweetly, something in your chest cracked in response, “Are you okay?”

You looked up at him again, your gaze crashing into his, and your vision blurred. “No,” you admitted, something straining in your voice, “But I will be. I must be.”

“What does that-”

“Thank you, General,” you silenced him as you stood up from the gravel. Wiping the dust from your hands as you did. “For caring enough to check, but please, let's not fool ourselves into thinking this is anything more than court politics.”

He frowned at that, “Court polit- Y/N-”

“I am a member of the Day Court, your High Lord's closest ally. I was sent here to be kept from breaking under the weight of my role,” you said simply, studying the dirt now crusted under your nails. “I know this, you know this. Your kindness, while appreciated, is not needed or wanted. I will fix myself. I will not break.”

Cassian was at a loss for words, “Y/N-”

“I will not break,” you said again, your eyes flicking to meet his, and he felt his world shift out from under him. He was not in Prythian. He was not in the Night Court or Velaris or standing atop the House of Wind. He was standing on a sunbeam, walking on the wind, fingers trailing through the clouds. And across from him, there you were. Glowing and graceful, a star made just for him.

Cassian blinked, and the vision was gone. He was back in the training pit, his gaze locked with yours. Only you were fading, like the edges of your body were fraying into the wind as you disappeared before his eyes. He blinked again, and you were gone.

Part 5

[tiredwitchplant]

How to Use Herbs: Basil (Sweet Basil)

Hwello again! This time we shall be talking about how to use basil in different forms. If you want more information about basil, please click this link to get to my basil post: Basil Let's get started.

Alchemist Formulas:

*Remember always try to see one part as a teaspoon before going into other measurements. Doing a smaller amount first and then trial and error is better than making too much and a mess.

Mars:

two parts red sandalwood

one part honeysuckle flowers

one part basil

one part ginger oil

one part juniper oil

Health

one part frankincense (Sun; vitality)

one part basil (Mars; energy)

one part cinnamon (Mercury; nervous system)

one part bay oil (Sun; health)

one part sandalwood oil (Moon; Inner Self)

Oils

Basil Essential Oil:

Ingredients

12 ounces olive oil

2 ounces basil, 1 packed cup

Remove basil leaves from stems.

Place olive oil in a pint sized mason jar.

Carefully stuff basil into mason jar and close the lid.

Store on a sunny windowsill for 1 day.

Use a funnel to strain oil and a spoon to smash last bits of oil out of leaves and discard the leaves.

Transfer oil to a decorative jar and refrigerate for up to 1 week.

Prosperity Oil:

1 part mint

1 part basil

1 part cinnamon

1 part pine

Carrier oil of your choice (olive oil, jojoba oil and etc)

Simply take a small mason jar and fill it a 1/4 of the way up with your chosen oil.

Add in your herbs while thinking of your intentions of prosperity and abundance and swirl the jar around clockwise.

Then add a little bit more of the oil before closing the lid.

Awakening Oil:

*This needs to crafted on a full moon

1/4 cup carrier oil

Mason jar

2 drops of basil oil

2 drops of thyme oil

Pour your carrier oil into the mason jar and then added the drops of thyme and basil

Swirl it gently in a clockwise direction so it will mix thoroughly. Say, "I awaken, I listen, I see. Enlightenment come to me. Awareness, mindfulness, clarity. Illumination come to me."

Anoint your temples on your head and pulse points with your oil before doing divination work.

Spells

Basil Growth Spell

Chop fresh basil into fine threads.

Warm honey gently over the stove. (A double boiler or bain-marie is recommended, as honey scorches easily.)

Add the basil to the honey and simmer.

Remove the basil-enhanced honey from the source of heat and murmur over it something like this: "Flies flocks to honey, Customers flock to me, Bears flock to honey, Business flocks to me, Ants flock to honey, Contracts flock to me."

Run a warm bath for yourself.

Rub the honey over your body, and then enter the bath.

Soak in the water for a while. When you emerge, before you drain the water, reserve some of the used bathwater.

Toss this on the grounds of your business.

Sex Worker’s Better Business Spell

Dress a lodestone , a magnetite rock, with essential oils of basil, bergamot, and lavender. (In theory, the lodestones' gender may be coordinated with the gender of the clientele you wish to draw.)

Sprinkle with magnetic sand and a pinch of ground cinnamon.

Carry or wear to charm up added business.

Exorcism Powder

Blend the following ingredients together and grind into a fine powder:

Dried basil

Frankincense

Rosemary

Rue

Yarrow

2. Blend this powder with arrowroot powder.

3. Sprinkle as needed.

Basil Cleansing Bath

Pour approximately one cup of boiling water over one heaped teaspoon of dried basil.

Allow this to stand until the water cools, creating a strong infusion.

Add this to your bath.

Financial Dreams (For Solutions)

Sprinkle either infused basil oil or essential oil of basil onto a lodestone, just before going to sleep.

Get into bed, turn out the lights and gently rub the scented lodestone in a sunwise direction on your forehead. (When you awake, your forehead will probably be dirty. Don’t panic; lodestone dust is lucky.)

Keep the lodestone near the bed, so that you can inhale the basil

Since two of these spells ask for lodestone, here is where you can get some and arrowroot powder. Lodestone , Arrowroot Powder

Kitchen Witch Recipe:

Wisdom Soup

Serves: 4

Prep Time: 30 minutes

Cooking Time: 30 minutes, plus a little bit until it’s just right

1 cup red lentils

2 cloves garlic, minced

1 can coconut milk

1 lime, sliced into thin wheels

Oil Options: Olive oil, toasted sesame oil

Sour Options: lemon juice, lime juice, rice vinegar

1 onion, diced

Sweet Options: Sugar, honey, agave

2 sprigs basil, de-stemmed and chopped

Salt Options: Soy sauce, sea salt, sweet miso (make a paste with miso and water before adding)

2 inches fresh ginger, minced

2 cups water

2 sprigs cilantro, de-stemmed and chopped

2 sprigs mint, de-stemmed and chopped

1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper

In a pot, place the lentils, coconut milk, and water, and bring to a boil.

Reduce heat and simmer.

Add the onion, garlic, ginger, cayenne.Stir. Do not cover.

Once the lentils are cooked and not firm (about 15–20 minutes), add one thing from the sour category, one from the sweet category, one from the salty, and some oil (add about a teaspoon of oil at a time). Taste. Repeat with a different item from each category.

Garnish with sliced wheels of lime and minced-up basil, mint, and cilantro.

I hope you enjoy these spells, recipes, and formulas and put them to good use. Use them wisely and bye byes~

Sources

[bittersweetsadboi]

So I've not watched a single episode of House of the Dragon, but I had dream that confused me and had me giggling uncontrollably. Rhaesaria never leaves my mind apparently.

I shall tell it in story form. Enjoy.

(Rhaenyra is busy looking for Dragon Riders via bastards like in the show but Vermithor does not claim any of them.)

With every group or person brought forward Vermithor rejects them. It's gotten to the point where he doesn't even kill them anymore.

He just huffs and lurks back into the shadows or turns his attention to the balcony where the Queen, Mysaria, Jace and any Guards or councilman stand watching in growing exasperation at his stubbornness.

Rhaenyra is gently banging her head against her desk trying to figure out what to do as their options dwindle with every trial.

"I had known Dragons to be specific in their choice of rider but not like this." Mysaria says softly as she slides a folded article of clothing under the Queens head, effectively ending her self abuse, though the head of white hair remains bowed on it.

"I do not understand, we have tried every drop of dragon seed, low and high born alike." Comes the Queens muffled reply.

"He does not even find them worthy enough to burn or eat. Instead he turns to us as if offended." Jace grumbles from his seat in front of the desk.

This has become a familiar scene. The three of them in the library or council room or the Queen' study, plotting and scheming. Though as of late it's more Mother and Son grumbling while the Mistress of Whispers paces silently, mind working overtime.

"There are still a small number of bastards that await their chance at being chosen, there is still hope." Mysaria says, stopping beside Jace as the Queen lifts her head.

"Have your Whispers gotten back to you about the others?" Jace asks, looking up at Mysaria with eyes so much like his mother. Curious. And intense.

"They have. A smaller group is traveling from further east." Mysaria answers.

"It is less likely that any of them will be claimed than those here on Dragon Stone." Rhaenyra states, staring blankly at the desk.

"Less likely, sure, but not impossible." Jace states, making his mother look up at him.

He gives her a gentle smile, one she can't help but return.

"Your confidence in this has remained steady in all this." She says, proud.

Jace nods his head in acknowledgement, glancing up at Mysaria who also smiles down at him, a small one, almost unnoticeable.

"Yes well, it's best not to lose faith now. We must remain hopeful, even if the odds are against us. You will claim back your throne, Mother. No matter how long it takes. I trust in you and our cause." He says, sitting straighter, chest puffed and voice strong.

Rhaenyra almost cries at his declaration, looking to Mysaria, who's eyes shine with the same devotion in her son's words.

Despite all this though, in the next few days and serval tries later, Vermithor also remains steadfast in his stubbornness. Still refusing to claim any riders. Even Silverwing had claimed someone at this point.

With the guards escorting the last of the group of bastards out the dragon pit, Rhaenyra marches herself down to where Vermithor waits. Jace and Mysaria looking at each other, shrugging.

The Queen gets right up in front of the Bronze Fury, almost puffing out smoke herself as she squares up at him, eyes a flame in frustration.

"I have brought every bastard and high born of dragon blood out from under every rock and still you refuse. What is it that you look for then? Is no one good enough?" She all but yells in frustration at him, not at all fearful, knowing that he won't harm her.

Instead he puffs out smoke at her, making her throw her hands up. He growls softly, shifting his big head slightly.

She turns to him, ready to vent some more when she sees his attention somewhere else. Following his line of sight, she turns to see Jace and Mysaria now joined on the balcony by Beala, serval nobleman and their guards.

Frowning, not really understanding his seeming fascination, she shakes her head and turns her heel. Clearly she has other things to do.

The next day a nobleman tries to claim Vermithor, and is unsurprisingly unsuccessful. Again, the Queen makes her frustration known. Again he ignores her and watches the balcony.

On the third try of this endless cycle Rhaenyra is close to tears, almost begging Vermithor to claim someone, anyone at this point. Still, he refuses and watches the balcony.

She stares at him, eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"What is it that you want?" She asks, almost a whisper.

Vermithor turns to her, looking her in her eyes, before turning back to stare at the balcony.

Rhaenyra turns as well. This time it's only Mysaria and Baela, who are watching with concern. The Queen frowns, looking back at the bronze giant. Then back at the balcony. Confused, feeling like she's missing something. She never gets the chance to figure it out as she's called for a meeting.

Day turns to night and the Queen is unable to sleep. Pacing her chambers. After about half a candle mark of this she takes to stalking the halls, before finding herself in the dragon pit once again.

Vermithor seems to have expected her, as he waits where she left him. She doesn't speak. She just looks at him, hoping he could just tell her what it would take to get him to cooperate.

He moves in closer and she puts her hand on his head, feeling his warmth, taking comfort in it.

"I am sorry." She says softly. He rumbles in acknowledgement.

They stay like that for a while before something seems to catch his attention. He lifts his head and, once again, watches the balcony.

Rhaenyra turns her own and her eyes find a lone figure resting against the balcony wall, watching them. Glancing between the figure and the Dragon, the Queen finally figures it out.

The next day Rhaenyra bursts into the library where Jace and Mysaria are bent over serval parchments.

They look up and frown at the Queen's sudden entrance and the clear excitement on her face, lavender eyes shining with a new found hope.

"Mother?"

"Your Grace?"

Rhaenyra strides up to them, Blood humming.

"I know who is to claim Vermithor." She says before grabbing them both by the hand and dragging them through the castle halls to the dragon pit.

Jace and Mysaria share looks of confusion and shock, unable to even speak as their Queen leads them.

Once reaching the pit, Rhaenyra pushes open the large doors and there, The Bronze Fury waits, seemingly also sharing in the Queens excitement.

Jace and Mysaria look around confused, not seeing anyone else around. They thought at least this person the Queen claims to be Vermithor's potential rider would be here as well.

Rhaenyra slides up to them, more specifically her Mistress of Whispers, gently taking her hand in her own, her other cupping a soft cheek and looking her in her chocolate brown eyes.

"Do you trust me?" She asks, voice softer than it's ever been.

Mysaria blinks in shock, mostly surprised by the Queen's open display of affection. Usually it's reserved for when they're alone.

"Of course." She answers, just as soft.

Rhaenyra smiles brightly and starts to slowly lead the dark haired woman towards the Dragon.

Jace breaks out his daze, still reeling from seeing his mother's fondness for her Lady clear for all of Westros to see. Not that he didn't know already. She only ever smiles like this when in her presence.

He steps forward and halts them in their advance, grabbing firmly on their interlocked hands.

"Have you lost your mind!" He says, glaring at his mother who looks at him in shock. A look mirrored by Mysaria.

"Jace-"

"I understand we are desperate but to just sacrifice anyone!" He says, enraged and forcefully breaks their hold on each other, stepping forward so Mysaria is behind him.

Rhaenyra stares wide eyed at her son's protective stance as he regards her. His eyes filled with confusion and something akin to betrayal.

"Jace I-"

"Just because he has not set anyone aflame in as many weeks does not mean he won't suddenly start again with one who is not of Dragon blood." Jace says cutting her off.

Rhaenyra stares as he looks her dead in her eyes, voice stronger than she's heard in a while.

"If you truly must attempt this trail, fine. But I beg of you Mother, choose anyone else. Not her." He's voice breaks slightly at the end, stepping back so he is closer to Mysaria, as if to emphasize his point.

This seems to break Rhaenyra out of her shock as her face softens. She smiles at her brave boy.

For some time now she has seen how Jace has gravitated towards her secret love. First it was small talk in the halls, then it was joining them in the library after council meetings.

Much like she had, he has started seeking Mysaria's council and even comfort when his mind won't let him rest.

Many times she has seen him, and even Baela, talking softly with Mysaria in the library.

Seeing the gentle smile the on Lady's face as she watched the young couple bicker. Giving them ideas for what to do to strengthen their relationship, and even the future wedding they wish to have.

More often than not, Jace and Baela would seek Mysaria's company, much like they would with her.

Rhaenyra looks behind her darling boy at her beloved. Apparently she was the only one who noticed all this if the absolute bewilderment on Mysaria's face is any indication.

Before anything else can be said, a deep rumble comes from behind her. She turns to look at Vermithor, who shifts impatiently, huffing as his eyes bore down at them.

Turning back to her son, who has not moved an inch from his place, she steps forward and cups his face.

"Believe me, my darling boy, I would not even think of doing this if I was not absolutely certain no harm would come to her." She tells him honestly.

He looks at her with tears in his eyes, not convinced.

"It's madness. She's not of Dragon blood. How do you know he will not hurt her or worse?" He asks, more like the young baby boy who used to sit in her lap when he was upset, rather than the brave man he has come to be.

Glancing behind him, Rhaenyra catches Mysaria's gaze, who's eyes ask the same question.

"Because he has already chosen her." She says completely serious, completely sure.

Mysaria's eyes widen, glancing between Vermithor and the Queen. The Dragon, almost as if to prove her point, bows his head slightly, eyes never leaving Mysaria.

"That's why he never claimed anyone else. He already has a rider. One he watched from a distance, waiting for her to claim him as well." Rhaenyra continues, looking back at her son.

Jace's mind runs through every trial and every interaction his witnessed and finally understands what his mother means.

Every time Vermithor has watched the balcony, there was only one common denominator in every pair or group of people that stood and watched back.

Mysaria.

He turns his head back, to look at her, as if seeing her for the first time. She looks at him, not entirely sure what to make of his expression.

Vermithor, tired of being ignored, huffs in annoyance. They turn to him and he tilts his head, trying to see around the Mother and Son who keep blocking his line of sight on his apparent chosen rider.

Rhaenyra turns back to them. Looking at Jace now.

"Do you trust me?" She asks.

Jace swallows a lump in his throat as he looks between his mother, the dragon, and the Mistress of Whispers.

He gives his answer by reaching back and taking Mysaria's hand. Then taking his mother's. Then he joins their hands and steps back, eyes still shining with tears.

Breathing a sigh of relief and gratitude, Rhaenyra looks to Mysaria, who remains silent as she nods her consent.

The Queen slowly leads Mysaria to Vermithor who eagerly waits. Once they're close enough, he moves his giant head closer until he's but an arms length away.

Not even waiting for any command or anything, he rests his head on the platform before them, eyes gazing deep into Mysaria's, seemingly ignoring Rhaenyra altogether.

She's almost offended but she gets it.

Mysaria stands frozen as she gazes down at this hulking beast. She has seen him burn and eat people with no mercy and yet here he is, like a puppy waiting for head pets from his favorite person.

Glancing at her Queen, who gives her and encouraging smile, she steels her nerves and slowly steps forward.

Lifting a hand, she rests it on his head and a sudden calm enters her bloodstream. Her body vibrating with the deep rumble of contentment she feels pass along the dragon.

Emboldened, she moves closer, resting her other hand on him, running them along his warm scales as he huffs softly, enjoying the attention.

Rhaenyra smiles brightly, happy and in awe as the two embrace the bond. Syrax's own cry of triumph heard in the distance.

Jace let's out a breathless laugh as he stares in absolute shock, a tear falling from his eye, running his hands through his curls, bewildered.

He looks around, still processing until his eyes land on the balcony where Baela stands frozen, eyes wide and jaw hanging. He chuckles and turns to make his way to her, excitement and new hope humming in his veins.

Once there, she turns to him, filled with questions. He answers as much as he can as they watch the trio in the pit.

Rhaenyra and Mysaria talking softly, arms around each other as they shower Vermithor in affection.

Baela let's out an all out belly laugh that has Jace raising an eyebrow at her. She just smiles smugly, eyes on pit.

"Father will die once he finds out."