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plutonianeris · 1 month ago

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𝖕𝖑𝖚𝖙𝖔 𝖙𝖍𝖗𝖔𝖚𝖌𝖍 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖍𝖔𝖚𝖘𝖊𝖘 𝖛𝖎𝖇𝖊𝖘

🖤PLUTO IN THE 1ST HOUSE: Intense stare, powerful presence, dark hair or intense eye color, transformation through personal appearance, always reinventing yourself, piercing gaze, people are drawn to your energy or feel intimidated, a survivor mentality, fascination with the taboo or mysterious, deep inner strength, obsessive about self-improvement, intense aura, tattoos or body modifications, people sense you’ve been through a lot, constantly evolving, trauma leaves a mark on your personality, fiercely independent, powerful first impressions, doesn’t back down from a challenge, constantly seeking deeper meaning in life.

🖤PLUTO IN THE 2ND HOUSE: Intense focus on money and possessions, wealth obsession, resourceful, making money from transformative experiences, power struggles over finances, secretive about income, investing in taboo industries, a need for financial control, deep fear of losing security, obsessive saver or spender, finding security in unconventional ways, financial rebirths after losses, never gives up when it comes to earning or building wealth, magnetic attraction to luxury, fiercely protective of material possessions, deeply attached to values, transforming personal worth through challenges, accumulating wealth through intense effort.

🖤PLUTO IN THE 3RD HOUSE: Piercing words, intense communication style, probing questions, unafraid to speak uncomfortable truths, obsessed with learning deep or hidden knowledge, power through communication, fascination with conspiracy theories or mysteries, deep conversations, secretive about ideas, mind games, manipulative or transformative writing, able to persuade or influence others easily, a powerful voice, intellectual intensity, using knowledge as a tool for transformation, might have a secretive sibling relationship, constantly seeking deeper understanding of the world, fascinated by psychology and what lies beneath the surface.

🖤PLUTO IN THE 4TH HOUSE: Intense family dynamics, power struggles with parents, emotional transformation through home life, secrets in the family, controlling or obsessive about home environment, ancestral trauma, deep psychological roots, powerful emotional foundation, fiercely protective of family, drawn to living in dark or mysterious places, renovating or transforming homes, deep emotional transformations that start from childhood, hidden issues in the family that surface later in life, obsessed with privacy at home, intense need for security and emotional stability, emotions run deep within the family, feeling a need to uproot and start over.

🖤PLUTO IN THE 5TH HOUSE:Intense romance, obsession with creativity, passionate about self-expression, transforming through love affairs, dramatic romantic experiences, power struggles in romantic relationships, drawn to dangerous or taboo love interests, intense connection to children or the idea of having them, fiercely protective of creative projects, secret love affairs, obsessed with hobbies or creative outlets, taking risks that lead to transformation, emotionally powerful artistic expression, not afraid to explore the dark side of fun and pleasure, passionate about creating things that provoke thought or stir deep emotions in others.

🖤PLUTO IN THE 6TH HOUSE: Obsessed with health and fitness, power struggles in the workplace, control over routines, transformation through daily habits, workaholic tendencies, wanting to master every task, secretive or manipulative coworkers, healing through intense self-discipline, fear of illness leads to obsession with health, chronic health issues that bring about transformation, intensely focused on perfecting skills, transformative experience in everyday life, a powerful need for control over your body and your day-to-day, drawn to deep psychological work through service, healing others through intense care and commitment.

🖤PLUTO IN THE 7TH HOUSE: Intense and transformative relationships, power struggles with partners, magnetic attraction to powerful or mysterious people, obsessive relationships, drawn to partnerships that change you, deep soul connections, fear of betrayal or manipulation in love, possessive tendencies, relationships that challenge your sense of self, experiencing deep transformation through marriage or partnerships, fascination with partners who have a dark or taboo side, unafraid of emotional depth in relationships, partner may have Pluto-like qualities (powerful, intense, secretive), relationships that help you confront deep psychological issues.

🖤PLUTO IN THE 8TH HOUSE: Powerful connection to death and rebirth, fascination with the occult or taboo subjects, intense sexual energy, magnetic attraction, drawn to the mysterious or dangerous, emotional transformation through shared resources, secretive about finances or inheritances, power struggles over shared assets, exploring the depths of intimacy, sexual healing, fear of loss leads to obsession with control, a natural healer when it comes to emotional or sexual trauma, drawn to mysteries, constantly transforming through crises, incredibly intuitive, may experience life-changing financial shifts through inheritances or partnerships.

🖤PLUTO IN THE 9TH HOUSE: Obsessed with the pursuit of truth, drawn to deep or hidden knowledge in philosophy and spirituality, power struggles in beliefs, a need to transform your worldview, fascination with taboo cultural practices, intense traveler, finds profound transformation through foreign experiences, a desire to change the world through higher knowledge, unafraid to challenge traditional belief systems, transformative spiritual awakenings, secretive about your beliefs or personal philosophies, drawn to esoteric knowledge or occult studies, power through education and learning, constantly seeking deeper meaning in life and the universe.

🖤PLUTO IN THE 10TH HOUSE: Intense ambition, obsessive about success, power struggles in career, a magnetic presence in public life, willing to undergo personal transformation for professional goals, drawn to powerful people in authority, secretive about career moves, a need to be in control of your professional destiny, public persona may be intense or mysterious, transformations through career changes, power dynamics in your professional relationships, unafraid to confront difficult issues in public, may rise to prominence through crisis or transformation, obsessed with leaving a lasting legacy, constantly evolving your public identity.

🖤PLUTO IN THE 11TH HOUSE: Powerful connection to social groups, intense friendships, drawn to taboo or unusual communities, transforming the world through social causes, obsession with changing society, fascination with hidden power structures in group dynamics, secretive about personal goals or dreams, power struggles with friends, drawn to friends who challenge or transform you, deeply involved in underground or fringe movements, obsessed with social change, transformative experiences with social networks, a deep desire to revolutionize or transform humanity, fear of betrayal within groups, constantly redefining your social identity.

🖤PLUTO IN THE 12TH HOUSE: Deep connection to the subconscious, obsessed with understanding hidden motives, fascination with the spiritual or the unseen, profound spiritual transformation, power struggles with your own inner world, secretive about your fears and hidden desires, exploring the darker side of your psyche, healing through confronting your deepest fears, powerful intuition, drawn to the mystical or occult, may experience power struggles in isolation or through retreat, emotional transformation through solitude, a need to face your shadows, powerful dreams or psychic experiences, constantly seeking to understand the depths of the soul.

#astrology #astrology observations #astro observations #pluto astrology #pluto through the houses #astrology notes

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pseudowho · 9 months ago

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Fire and Iron

Forced to stay the night with Nanami Kento, the town's blacksmith, after tending to his wounds, you find yourself smouldering in his irresistible flame.

Warnings: 18+, fluff and smut, loss of virginity

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Your boots cracked through the ice-topped slurry puddles scattering the mud path in the village. The shawl bundled over your shoulders was not enough, and the biting cold wind whipped your cloak back, stripping its usefulness off your shivering shoulders.

Townsfolk waved to you, nodding, smiling; greetings for a familiar face, many of them grateful for your travels to their icy town over the years, lacking even a basic healer of their own, let alone one so talented.

Passing by the blacksmith's hut on your way, you paused out the front, feeling the heat bellowing forth like dragon's breath. You tipped your head back, the smell of ash and steel filling your nose. As you paused, moments after, so did the clang of hammer on anvil.

You opened your eyes, stinging in the brutal cold and smoke. You, once more, like a hundred times before, had caught the eye of the blacksmith. He, whose name you did not know. He, who looked but never touched. He, to whom you had passed so many thousands of hours of your life, and his life to you, through gaze alone.

Stood proud at the anvil, shadowing the forge like the door to hell behind him, his broad shoulders wore only an open-chested white linen shirt, and a thick brown leather apron. With his ashy blond hair, and the lines of his face filled with soot, he was ageless and unknowable. He looked to you, his sharp face quiet and impassive; expression always somewhere between fury and tranquility.

Your lips parted once, as if to speak, and it jumped the blacksmith to life. With a barely perceptible nod, and a grunt, he swung his hammer back, brought down in beautiful accuracy, shaping smouldering steel. The clang rung through you, your chest jolting with a short gasp, and you collected yourself, stepping onwards. You were sure you could feel his cool gaze through the back of your head.

Another patient; another healed. Another grateful family; another life prolonged. The days were short now, and as you stepped out of the house of rough-hewn wood and stone, the forest pines were bathed in dying light, netting the low winter sun above the horizon. It was a punishing journey home, on foot, and the horses were long since put to bed.

The blacksmith's hut held its own sunset, the forge open but unattended. You heard stamps, heavy feet and cursing. You paused in the burst of warmth, illuminated, listening. Curiosity carried your feet into the hut, the heavy wet hem of your skirts collecting ashes, absorbing the blacksmith's domain.

"Are you...are you alright?" You called, uncertain, "Sir?" The footsteps, the swearing, had stopped. You stepped further in, feeling the forge belch at you, almost excruciatingly hot now.

"Get away from there!" The bark, deep and commanding, made you squeak and stumble. Darting through the side door, the blacksmith looped one thick arm round your waist before you fell towards the forge, effortlessly lifting you round, his back to the furnace, his face in shadow.

He was close; close enough that you could smell the soft sweat, the tang of fire and metal. He hissed as your hands dropped to his forearm, and you felt a cold dripping cloth draped over it.

"Do you often wander into places uninvited?" He snipped at you. You recognised the cadence in his low voice-- pain.

"I-- ...you're hurt," you insisted, voice barely above a whisper. Looking up, your eyes tried to gauge his unreadable face in the gloom. You felt him huff, warm air across your cheeks. His arm loosened, releasing you. As he stepped back, turning away to close the forge, you saw the blacksmith's mountainous shoulders tense, twitching.

"It's nothing," he retaliated, brisk. You stepped forwards again, placing a soft hand on his shoulder. At first, he flinched, then begrudgingly allowed you to turn him, and lift the damp rag covering his forearm. A thick welting burn, running the length of his forearm, lay weeping and angry on his skin, already nicked with so many little scars. You heard his teeth grit as the air hit his wound.

"Nothing," you scoffed, "this needs dressing. Let me help you." You felt him flinch beneath your hands, hesitant. He felt his skin prickle under yours, finding such curious pleasure in your touch alongside his pain. Your beseeching eyes took him the rest of the way, and he found himself accepting you.

"I...not here," the blacksmith toned, his eyes flitting to the town around him, "if they believe me injured, I'll lose business." You nodded, rummaging in your overburdened satchel, until he took you gently by the hand.

"My home," he began, hesitant, your hand so soft and small in his broad calloused palm, "you'll...you are welcome. It is clean. Quiet. I...I will not harm you. I promise."

Aware of his size and strength, aware of the air of mystery surrounding him amongst the townsfolk, the blacksmith was quick to reassure you. Your eyes softened, and his thumb brushed lightly over your knuckles at your words, electricity crackling up your arm.

"I know you won't," you assured. The briefest smile graced his severe face when you offered your name. You felt it warm you from the belly downwards. As he pulled encouragingly on your fingers, leaving the forge to die naturally with the approaching nightfall, you were led through the back of the hut, seeing a newly revealed sprawling cabin of wood and stone, at the edge of the forest. You felt the first kiss of snow upon your cheek.

"Nanami Kento," the blacksmith replied, welcoming you over the threshold. You smiled up at him, taking in his home; barely lit, at first, until he struck a lantern to life. You placed your bag upon a table, rummaging for salves as Kento began to build the fire, skilled and efficient.

You basked in the homely room; autumnal tapestries lining the walls, skin rugs on the floor and furs on the chairs, hanging herbs above a countertop, circled with hung skillets and pans. You relaxed easily into the sincerity of Kento's welcome. A frigid wind slapped the windows, rattling the door.

Before long, an enormous cast iron pot boiled with water, and you knelt before Kento, appraising his wound in the orange glow. Cleaning your hands, wetting a rag with clean water, you moved to clean the ash from his arm before pausing.

"This will hurt," you apologised, looking up to him. Kento's heart stuttered; how many hours had he spent, imagining those sweet eyes, those gentle fingers? Too long. Too many words unspoken over too many years. He was not used to such tenderness.

"I am used to pain," he hushed, smooth and barely audible above the crackle of flame, "my job has certain...hazards, after all." You hummed, swiping the cloth gently, removing dirt and debris.

"Still," you hummed, "I don't like to hurt a friend." Kento chuckled, and you felt yourself blush from hairline to toes at the rich mirth of it.

"We are...friends, are we?" His voice was low and conspiratorial, and you felt it stir a hunger deep within you. You smiled back, mulish as you dabbed salve onto his burn. His knees were parted, with you knelt between them, and your elbows rested on the thick muscle of his thighs. You felt safe, warm, held.

"All those years, passing back and forth," you sighed, teasing, "and not one hello? Just lots of nods," your stomach swooped as Kento laughed again, "and our friendship is just that. An accumulation of nods."

"Would we have stopped at 'hello'?" Kento retaliated. He caught the brief pause in your bandaging, before you continued. You spoke, uncertain again.

"Well," you hummed, testing the water, "offer me one now...and we shall see where it goes." Looking up, you gasped to find your face just inches from Kento's. He smiled at you, his eyes flicking briefly to your lips and back up again.

"Hello," he whispered, quiet and mischievous, "and thank you."

Your breath fluttered out; Kento could feel it against his lips, beckoning him.

"I...it's getting late," you started, and Kento blinked out of his reverie, glancing to the inky black outside his windows, "I should go."

Kento grasped your fingers once more, rising with you as he stood, your shawl shushing against his chest, barely covered by his soft linen shirt. Kento hummed, sounding grave, stepping to the other side of the room.

"It is night," he said, hands cupped around his eyes as he squinted out of the windows, "and the woods are barely safe in the day. I...I cannot allow you to travel. Alone, in the snow. You must stay."

His tone broached no argument, yet still you tried, packing your bag, your cheeks aflame.

"I...it isn't..." you stuttered, and Kento turned to you, chin inclined to the floor, one fine eyebrow raised. You took a deep breath, certain that if you didn't leave now, you may fall too deeply into Kento's insistent heat. Yet...you knew he was right. The path was treacherous. The snow would take you before the dawn.

"Would you like a bath?" Kento offered, turned away to save you your blushes; a gentleman.

"I-- please don't go to any trouble--" Kento swiftly ignored you, beginning to grasp the enormous iron pot, lifting it with stunning ease. His voice didn't even hitch.

"It's no trouble. I bathe every night. You can go before me." Kento carried the pan, stepping behind a folding wooden screen, and you followed him as if to argue, watching him begin to fill an enormous copper bathtub. Your hands shook as you began to remove your shawl, still blushing, so briefly overwhelmed before squashing it down.

Kento glanced up at you, pausing as he poured hot water, "This will take me some time," he said, apologetic, "please make yourself comfortable. I'll call for you."

You nodded, clearing your throat, hands twisting in your removed shawl. Kento chastised himself for admiring the soft curve of your breasts into your waist, the hidden delight of the swelling of your hips beneath your heavy skirts. He did not see how the steam rose fast, dampening his white shirt, how you could see all the way to his navel as he leaned over the bath. Neither of you knew how the other stirred within.

As you walked the length of the room, your fingertips brushing tapestries and grazing over warm furs, your curiosity drew you to a wide, flat trinket box, inlaid with mother of pearl, the colours an aurora in the rolling firelight. You stroked the box just once, before lifting the lid.

Your eyes crinkled immediately with joy at the treasures within; the box was full of lovingly crafted necklaces of gold, silver, pearl and gem, the chains finer and softer than any you had ever seen. You did not feel Kento approach as you admired them.

"I'd like for you to choose one," he offered, sincere, as you spun to face him. He raised his hands placatingly, a smile at the edge of his mouth, "not in lieu of payment, of course. A gift, I...made them with no real aim as to who should receive them."

"You made these?" You gaped, unable to fathom how such enormous hands crafted such intricate delights, "Kento, I-- they're beautiful, I couldn't possibly..."

If Kento had held any reservation, after hearing his name tumble from your lips, he was filled with the burning certainty that the jewellery should be for you, and you alone. His hand closed over yours as you moved to shut the box.

"Please," he breathed, so close, "choose one, or I shall give you them all." Swallowing, your hand hovered over a fine chain of silver and emerald, your fingertips brushing the gem. Kento hummed his approval, before picking it up, his calloused fingers all softness and grace.

"My favourite, too," he rumbled, brushing your hair off the nape of your neck as he clipped the necklace into place. You shivered at the feeling of his fingers on your neck, and almost ran as he whispered beside your ear, "Your bath is ready."

Stripping behind the wooden screen, hearing Kento amble around the room beyond, you sighed as the hot water enveloped you. Washing yourself with a soft sponge, cleaning off the grime of the day, your hand wandered absentmindedly downwards, fingertips grazing through your folds, naturally moving to relieve yourself of the building tension--

"I've left you a shirt." Your hand darted upwards with a guilty splash, Kento's voice only meters away behind the screen.

"Thank-- thank you," you squeaked, blushing, before climbing out, so naked apart from your exquisite new necklace. Drying on a soft towel, your hand hesitated over the shirt draped over the screen, before pulling it on over damp skin. It reached down your thighs, but left little else to the imagination.

Kento remained outwardly stoic, unreadable, averting his gaze as you crept out, arms holding yourself and squashing your breasts together, the colour of your nipples as faint as a ghost under the white linen shirt. He cleared his throat, coughing lightly before skirting past to the bath. You felt heat creep up your neck at the gossamer hush of his clothes hitting the floor, the shifting water as he stepped in, the way he sighed in relief, almost as if--

"I shall sleep in the chair tonight," Kento said, slow and considered, "and you shall have my bed." You felt indignation roll within you.

"Don't be ridiculous," you scolded, "you're injured, and this is your home--"

'-- and you are my guest," he grumbled.

"I won't allow it," you insisted, almost forgetting yourself as you approached the wooden screen, "I'll put some furs on the floor and--"

"You believe I would let you sleep on the floor?" He growled, furious at your suggestion, "I should rather you have me share the bed with you over that--"

"Fine. Then we shall share the bed. And there will be no more argument." You clapped a hand over your mouth as the words tumbled forth, unbidden. Mortified by your own suggestion, you removed your hand to speak again.

Kento stepped round from behind the screen, his towel draped lazily round his waist. You gaped up at him, stunned. He was...younger than you thought, his blond hair now soft and floppy, the ash removed from the lines in his face, taking ten years off him. You faced him, his towering form, the practiced rolls, peaks and planes of muscle belonging to a working man, his forearms so thick--

"Then...we should get to bed," Kento insisted, stepping past you, through a doorway to his bedroom, where you heard him rummaging for clothes, "it is late and I am up with the lark."

You hesitated where you stood, feeling your heartbeat between your legs, desperately curious, but paralysed.

"I don't bite," Kento called out, and you gulped down the sounds of soft fabric dropping over his body, still crippled with indecision and embracing yourself as he stepped out to put out the fire. You were lost momentarily in darkness before he stepped to you, the lantern between you, a beacon in the dark. You felt his hand close around your fingers again. You heard him whisper.

"It will become cold quickly, now the fire has died. Come. Stay warm."

You allowed yourself to be led to Kento's bedroom, hypnotised by the small swinging lantern. Kento led your hand downwards, placing it to the edge of the bed for you to feel your way, your fingers gliding through soft fur and cool sheets. With shaking hands, you crawled across to the head of the bed. Kento waited for you, flipping down the sheets, flipping them back up to your chin as you both slipped between them.

You heard nil but your own heartbeat. Kento faced you, the torch light embering behind him leaving him only just visible as your eyes adjusted to the light. The sheets had not yet warmed from your bodies, and you shivered. You felt Kento shift beside you.

"You...are cold," he stated as if in question. You remained quiet, gripping your hands to your chest lest they reach out for him.

"I'm...I'll warm up. Soon," you reassured yourself as much as him. You heard one doubtful grunt from him. Five minutes passed, and still, Kento felt you shiver against the sheets. Pulling a fur up to your chins, he felt prickles up his legs as one of your feet reached hesitantly out to touch him. He felt rather than heard you sigh.

"So warm," you whispered, your little voice soft with comfort in the dark. Kento's breath caught in his chest, feeling his cock twitch inside his soft trousers.

"Do you...need me?" He offered. He felt your other foot reach out in answer, cold toes wiggling against the downy hair on his leg. He felt a dangerous, needy arousal thread through him.

Reaching out his uninjured arm, he hooked it round your waist, chuckling as you squeaked when he pressed against you. You hummed in pleasure at the heat rolling off him, basking in his warmth, forgetting your awkwardness for a moment. Kento and you lay intertwined like that, with you softening like butter in his arms.

After a few minutes, you shifted against him, about to drift off to sleep. Kento must have been near sleep as well, groaning into your hair as you shifted, reflexively clinging you closer to him. Your bottom, completely bare with his shirt shifted up your body, pressed back to his groin. His clothed cock was hard and barely restrained in his loose trousers, and pressed between your thighs.

You felt a jolt run through you, feeling a warm trickle of arousal, so alien to you, seep out between your thighs. Kento almost saw stars as it dampened the trousers over his cockhead, and he frowned, his forehead pressed to your shoulder blade in apology and embarrassment.

"I-- I'm sorry, I--...it's been so long...since I've felt a woman-- shit, I'm--" Kento rested his nose against your neck, unable to stop himself from ghosting his lips there. You dropped your head back to him, and he growled in appreciation, nuzzling your neck, feeling your thighs clamp around the tip of his cock, your arousal seeping through his trousers and mixing with his own.

"I've never--" you whispered, blushing furiously, drunk on the feeling of his body against yours, feeling so curiously empty and aching to be filled. Kento understood immediately, and moved to pull back.

"No!" You squeaked, holding onto his arm, pushing yourself back to chase him along the bed, "Please, I-- I want--...you. I want you." Your words sat heavy in the air. Kento shifted behind you, at war with himself.

"You don't know what you're asking," he growled, fighting against you to remove his arm, "I am no boy."

"And I'm no girl, nor stupid," you reassured, "I'm not ignorant."

In an instant, Kento moved above you, on all fours, his arms caging you in, corseting you to his bed. He stared down at you, enormous chest heaving, eyes roving down your body, quickly intoxicated by your peaked nipples, beneath his shirt, the hem of it barely covering your sex, still feeling your arousal dampening his cock.

He leaned down, nestling his mouth against your neck again, tongue flicking out, tasting you. He felt you still under his lips, just a little mouse, in the jaws of a bear.

"And yet, all that knowledge is just academic, until you're crying out that my cock is too big for you," he growled, warning you away, barely able to stop himself. He felt you squirm beneath him, his head swimming with you. He was lost, then, to your tiny whisper in the gloom.

"Show me-- please." Kento shuddered, a drop of pre-cum seeping out of his cock, soaking through his trousers and your-- his-- shirt, to dampen your belly. You shivered, desperate to know Kento biblically, desperate for this fabled ecstasy.

Kento raised his mouth from your neck, reading your eyes, seeing such certainty in them. Tangling his fingers with yours beneath the sheets, he pressed the length of his body down against you as he kissed you, his other hand framing your jaw, gently encouraging it open to slide his tongue against yours. Your soft little moan was like music to his ears.

Kissing you deeply, learning your voice and your mouth, letting you learn the peaks and planes of his body with your free hand, Kento kept your other hand plaited with his own, fearful of leaving you to take this journey alone.

He felt himself shudder with the unbridled privilege of being able to worship you, jealously grateful that you had not been left to some boy. He was overwhelmed by the need to set your standards high at the first hurdle.

"Let me taste you," he murmured into your mouth, and you hesitated, unsure of what he meant. Swiping his thumb across your palm, Kento's mouth ventured downwards, sucking the skin of your neck, nipping before soothing the skin with his tongue, feeling you become pliable, supple as water. His fingers danced over the laces holding your shirt together, giving you opportunity to stop him, before untying them, freeing your breasts.

Laying his tongue flat over one nipple, Kento allowed it to curve to the shape of you, to know you, before drawing it into his mouth, sucking on your nipple while his hand toyed with and kneaded the other. He revelled in your whines, a high, keening mewl as you arched off the bed into his mouth. You felt his licks and sucks, curiously, between your legs, and you could not help but buck up against him.

Kento grunted at the feeling of your pussy pressing against his thigh, and moved one hand down to hold your hips still.

"Slow down-- let me show you," he ordered, gentle in his insistence. You trembled under his fingertips, your hips settling back to the bed. He rumbled his approval, rolling your nipple under his tongue again until you sighed, breathy and ecstatic, "Good girl."

In reward, his mouth continued to trail downwards, and your eyes fluttered closed, one hand coming to rest on the back of his head, your fingernails scratching through his damp hair. Kento shivered at the sensation, feeling his cock leap against his thigh.

When his mouth reached your mound, you squeaked out in alarm, flipping the blankets down to see Kento, illuminated in the orange light.

"What are you-- your mouth, Kento--" Kento's eyes crinkled up at you, and two arms came to loop round the top of your thighs, pulling you down the bed towards him, your shirt being rucked up against the drag of the mattress to completely expose your glistening pussy to him.

Maintaining eye contact with you, you trembled with anticipation as Kento poked his tongue out into a point, first grazing your folds, before stroking from side to side to ease in between them. The sound that broke out from you as his tongue stroked over your clit, hot and wet, was one Kento masturbated to for years to come.

You felt as though you had been lifted from earth and dropped amongst the clouds as he licked at you, sucking, stroking, tasting, the pleasure so otherworldly compared to what your own hand could achieve, that you felt yourself being rushed towards your peak at speed.

Twisting and squirming against his mouth, you reflexively tried to pull your pussy away from Kento's attentions. His arms tightened around the tops of your thighs, growling into you, pulling you back as you tried to scoot away. Your hand tugged at his hair as you arched, whimpering, coated in a fine sweat. As Kento groaned into your cunt, you watched his hips roll and hump against the bed, the sight alone enough to send your orgasm crashing through you, and you worshipped his name in a long, keening cry.

Kento let his laps and sucks become softer, languid, letting you float through the haze of your pleasure. Nuzzling at you, tasting you as you trailed lazy blissful fingers through his hair, Kento planted soft kisses to your inner thigh.

Moving back up, stroking his nose against your neck, Kento felt your hand move down his shoulders and back, before coming round to ghost over the front of his trousers. Kento shuddered, kneeling above you to remove his shirt, skin prickling with the need to feel yours against his own.

Gazing down at you, his eyes like whiskey in the flickering light, he grazed a palm from in between your breasts, down to the hem of your shirt, pulling it up over your head in one swift tug, exposing you completely to him.

Your hand still trailed over his groin as he knelt, and you were captivated, obsessed with the shape, weight and length of his cock in your hands, blissfully unaware of what you were doing to him. As you grasped the lace at the front of his trousers, undoing it, and squeezing the head of his cock between your fingers, Kento moaned, ragged, leaning one hand sideways to support himself.

"Fuck-- I haven't-- not for so long," he moaned, low and husky, feeling your inexperienced fingers explore his cock and balls in a way that felt almost abusively naive. As your thumb glided beneath his foreskin, collecting the wetness of his pre-cum, exploring his slit, Kento hissed, panting and grabbing your hand.

You broke out of your reverie, blushing with mortification, tears pricking in your eyes as you began to apologise. Kento interrupted, shushing you, one hand still gripping your fingers around his cock, the other coming up to cup your face, his thumb swiping across your cheek.

"Not you," he huffed, stroking your cheek, smiling down at you with fevered eyes, "me, it's-- I-- I'll cum in your hand if you carry on." Your eyes glimmered, hungry to see how he looked as you pleasured him, and you moved yourself, leaning close, squeezing him again beneath his own hand, and he cried out in pleasure. You felt another drip of his arousal across your fingers, and you gulped, your tongue darting out across your lips.

As you lowered yourself to his lap, Kento's eyebrows raised in shock, and desperate awe, as you licked the weeping cockhead sticking out from your joined enclosed hands.

A low rumble ebbed through Kento, his eyes suddenly dark and hungry as he looked down at you, wordlessly using your hand inside his own, to pump the length of his cock. Feeling the intoxicating glide of soft skin over woody hardness, you let him use your hand to masturbate himself as you took the head of his cock into your mouth, licking, tasting the musty pre-cum there.

Every instinct screamed at Kento to chase his orgasm, to press your head further down his cock so he could use your little hand to jack off into your mouth, and he felt overwhelmed by the innocent licks and sucks you gave him, eyes cast upwards to see what effect they had on him. Kento moaned desperately, twisting on his haunches, fingers in turn tangling into your hair and coming away, clenching and unclenching at speed.

He felt the approaching rush of divine ecstasy, thrumming up his back in waves, his balls tightening up against the base of his cock--

Snapping, Kento pulled your hand and mouth off him, heaving you up the bed and back onto the pillows, before pinning you down with his body, panting into your neck, trying not to spill his seed over your belly. You were thrilled, ecstatic with Kento's pleasure, eager to see more of it.

You crept your hips up to his, trying to ease his cock into you. Kento huffed, his hand shooting down to press your hips down again.

"--going to kill me-- I swear-- no idea...you have no idea what you're doing to me--" Kento panted, quaking above you, one forearm planted above your head. As his peak ebbed away, Kento plaited his hand with your own again, above your head. He felt his cockhead resting against the smooth resistance of your entrance, and he suddenly felt so responsible for you.

"I don't want to hurt you," he huffed, aware he was bigger than average, but knowing from the fevered look in your eyes that he could not dissuade you-- not that he wanted to, at this point, his cock throbbing with urgent need.

"Please," you begged, "please." You felt Kento's hips press forwards into your soaking wet heat, feeling a slight sting as it met resistance. Kento rested his nose to yours, his eyes still feverish, his body still smelling of iron and ash and smoke.

"On one condition," he pressed, authoritative as his cockhead pressed deeper against your stinging resistance, breaking past thin membrane, gripping your thigh up to his hip as you trembled, biting your lip, tears in your eyes as you nodded-- anything, you thought, anything.

"Marry me," he whispered against your lips, and you squeaked as you felt a twang of pain, his cock suddenly nestled deeply inside you. Kento rocked his hips gently, shushing you, soothing you, his thumb stroking your palm. Not moving, just holding you as you adjusted to feeling so full, Kento waited for an answer.

"Y--yes...yes," you mewled, and Kento growled his approval against your neck, slowly pulling out of you before rutting back into your wet, tender pussy again, so intimate and deep that you cried out for him.

Kento rolled his hips, like a boat on the waves, whispering into you, certain he wouldn't last long; "First-- I'll cum inside you-- then I'll treat you like a queen...haaah...for the rest of my days."

You clung to Kento, lost in the ecstasy of him plowing into you, delighted by his rumbling groans in your ears, blissfully proud of being able to make such an unflappable man fall apart inside you. When his grip on your hip faltered, his shaking hand dropping to stroke quick little circles around your clit, Kento growled and bit into your neck to feel you rock your hips upwards to meet his own.

The sting almost completely eased, you felt quick pangs of pleasure, rising with every beat of your fast little heart, completely carried along by the eroticism of Kento's frantic groans and mumbles into your ear.

"My love I-- you feel so good...so good...god, I need to cum, need you to cum I-- aahhhh, fuck--" Kento felt your pussy clench around him, and he came inside you as you drank down his moans, fascinated by how they matched up with the bounding twitch of his cock, how his hips juddered into you involuntarily, how his face contorted, jaw clenched, somewhere between rage and serenity.

You were famished, starved of him, immediately desperate for more, and you felt him crumple into you, caging you in, shoulders heaving and spent. Kento chuckled as you peppered him with kisses, gripping your thighs round him and rolling him over so you lay above him, straddling him as his cock softened within you.

With his chin on his chest to look down to you, and a lazy lopsided smile across his face, Kento played idly with your hair, stroking your nose, your cheeks. He proudly fingered the beautiful necklace, resting against your breasts, squashed and plush against him.

"You meant it?" He asked, eager, concerned.

You hummed in delight, pressing a tender kiss to his chest as you nodded; "You had me at 'hello'."

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Would the anon who requested Blacksmith!Kento PLEASE STAND UP so I can credit you for breaking my brain.

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moeitsu · 3 months ago

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Explaining the James Logan Howlett (Wolverine) Lore for the new fans :)

I made this as a little cheat sheet for all the new Logan/Wolverine fans, in case you’ve never seen the movies or read the comics. Hopefully it’ll help with your fanfics and understanding his character better <3

Logan is my favorite of the Marvel superhero’s, and he and I go way back….so far back that my Dad dressed up as Wolverine and I as Rogue for Halloween in 2006. So he holds a very special place in my heart.

Lore - Part 2 Wolverine Comics

If you’ve seen X-men Origins: Wolverine, I hate to break it to you, but that backstory is not canon to the X-men universe. The later movies really screwed up the timeline. So the information here is strictly from the comics.

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Pre-Adamantium Binding:

His real name is James Howlett, ‘Logan’ is later used as an alias to distance himself from his past.

He was born sometime around 1880, in Alberta Canada.

He is the illegitimate son of Elizabeth Howlett and Thomas Logan. He grew up on the Howlett estate and believed John Howlett was his real father.

His mutant powers first appeared when he was a child. He has accelerated healing, heightened senses, and retractable bone claws.

The trigger was caused by Thomas Logan killing James Howlett. The overwhelming fear and anger made his power manifest, blinded with rage he kills Thomas.

As his biological father dies, he reveals to Logan that he is his true father. The event is deeply traumatizing, and Logan runs away from his family estate. His mother commits suicide shortly after.

Logan has a half brother known as Sabertooth (Victor Creed) who has similar powers to the Wolverine but is more ‘animalistic’

The details vary across the comics but the brothers are always seen as rivals. And often pitted against eachother.

Logan served in WWI, WWII, the Korean War, and the Vietnam War.

He also served in a Canadian military force known as ‘Department H’ that specialized in superhuman affairs. (This was after the experiment, I’ll go into more detail later)

Sometime before the Weapon X program: On Earth-616, Logan had a wife (Itsu) and son in Japan where he was training at the time. They were killed by the Winter Soldier (Bucky Barnes)

Weapon X Program - Adamantium Binding:

The Weapon X program was run by multiple people working in secret for the Canadian government. Originally beginning in 1845, their goal was to experiment on mutants and create their own super-soldiers.

Logan was deceived and manipulated into undergoing the Weapon X experiment. He did not consent to being a test subject.

For some reason the X-Men Origins movie makes it out to be that Logan willingly chose to undergo this process, only to later reveal that he was tricked into doing so.

Before being captured, he was still struggling with his identity, he was close to 100 years old at the time. His life was filled with violence and loss. Making him physically and mentally vulnerable.

He was a prime target for exploitation.

Part of the experiment was to completely erase his memories and replace them with false ones. This allowed them complete control over him.

This also made it difficult for him to recall how he ended up in the program to begin with.

I repeat: they completely wiped his memory. His whole identity was gone.

100 years of memories were gone.

The bonding process turned his entire skeleton and bone claws into indestructible metal.

Due to his regenerative nature, Logan was not given anesthetic or put under for the procedure. It was excruciatingly painful.

Logan worked as a mercenary for private military contractors. He took on these assignments without fully understanding their implications because of his fragmented memory.

Sometime later he became a member of X-Force, a private military unit (affiliated with the CIA) that dealt with incredibly violent operations.

The purpose of the project was to create an unstoppable killing machine. With their end goal being to erase his humanity all together. However Logan’s mental fortitude allowed him to resist the conditioning and make his escape before it was too late.

After escaping, Logan developed a mistrust with authority. And just people in general. He felt deeply betrayed by the Weapon X program. And he struggles with the fear of being used as a weapon.

The escape and aftermath of Weapon X:

After everything Logan went through, the intense trauma and confusion significantly impacted his actions and mindset.

He was left with extreme psychological damage, and behaved more as an animal than a man for the first few years of his freedom. Living in the wilderness of Canada.

Quite literally a feral man. He lost touch of his humanity. Embracing his animalistic abilities, turning him into an apex predator.

Logan has the ability to enter something called “Beserker Rage” which he becomes entirely driven by animalistic instinct. Turning him into an unstoppable force and exerting himself for very long periods of time.

Think of when you see him running on all fours…

Over time, Logan began to regain bits and pieces of his humanity. He was later discovered by Heather and James MacDonald Hudson who took him in and helped him recover physically and mentally.

(Logan actually fell in love with Heather, and James became his best friend. They were the closest thing he had to a family)

After he recovered, he was recruited by the Canadian governments ‘Department H’. They were responsible for a lot of his training and became a key member in Canada’s superhero team: Alpha Flight.

This is where he took on the code name “Wolverine”

His time with Alpha Flight was short lived. And soon he was approached by Charles Xavier, who was looking for mutants to join his X-Men. He recognized Logan’s potential and offered him a place on the team as well as the promise to help him regain his memory.

Logan accepted, and his time with the X-Men marked a critical and significant moment in his life. Under Xavier’s guidance he was able to rebuild his identity and gradually piece together his past. All while fighting for the rights of mutants.

Being part of the X-Men gave him a sense of purpose and direction. Although his main goal had always been to uncover what he had lost, which was himself. He still struggles with trust and relationships, but eventually forms strong bonds with the other X-men.

His past with Weapon X still haunts him. And he has vivid and terrible nightmares about what he had done and what was done to him.

I won’t go into detail about his time with the X-men because that varies a lot across the comics. Just know that he had a love-hate relationship with them, but he ultimately loved them in the end.

Some sad facts about Logan that actually haunt me:

Logan has outlived everyone he ever loved. Family, friends, even his own children. He is so so so lonely.

Immense amount of survivors guilt. He feels unworthy of the life he continues to live.

He suffers from chronic nightmares. Often waking up in a violent and panicked state.

Deep-seated fear of abandonment that goes all the way back to his early childhood. He isolates himself to protect himself from more pain.

Tons of self-loathing. He believes himself to be nothing more than a killer. He thinks he is unworthy of love and happiness.

In the “Old Man Logan” storyline, he is tricked into killing the entire X-Men team. This event haunts him for the rest of his life.

Logan had a long, unrequited love for Jean Gray. He has watched her die multiple times, and each time a piece of him dies with her. On one occasion, he even had to kill her himself.

When he succumbs to “beserker rage” he loses control of himself. And the aftermath horrifies him. He is even afraid of himself at times and one of the reasons why he distances himself from others.

Some happy/soft facts to make up for everything you just read:

Logan is incredibly fatherly at times, often taking younger mutants under his protection and guidance. He becomes a mentor to them and looks out for their well-being.

In one of the comics he takes a young girl (Jubilee) to the mall and followers her around carrying her bags. He loves doting on her and I find it so adorable.

He also teaches another mutant named Kitty how to dance.

In one mission he is tasked with taking care of an infant, Hope. And he is incredibly gentle and tender with her. Cradling her in his arms and being fiercely protective.

He has a deep love and connection with animals. Especially ones that have been mistreated or misunderstood.

Caring for an injured wolf, he nurses it back to health and releases it back into nature.

He also adopts a stray, abused dog at one point.

In one of the timelines, he funded and ran the ‘Jean Gray School for Higher Learning’ He was the headmaster, and was dedicated to protecting and teaching young mutants.

In one scene he literally makes pancakes for all the students. I love him so much.

His relationship with Nightcrawler (Kurt Wagner) is very brotherly. They share alot of respect and understanding for each other, and Nightcrawler often serves as Logan’s moral compass.

His happiest memories are when he was training in Japan. And he has a deep appreciation and admiration for the culture. Taking on the samurai code of honor, and respecting its discipline and humility.

His entire relationship with Laura Kinney (X-23). Essentially his daughter. Taking on a father-figure role for her.

In one of the comics he organizes a birthday party for her, knowing she never had one. He goes all out and it shows just how much he loves her.

Logan has a great sense of humor. Often dry and sardonic, he’s known for his quick wit and playful banter. Which adds a layer of warmth to his otherwise tough persona.

He is very fond of life’s simple pleasures. Which reflects his inner desire for peace and normalcy. He values the little things that make life enjoyable.

His numerous acts of kindness towards strangers. Logan is compassionate at heart.

He doesn’t comfort others with his words, but rather his presence. Logan has a very unique understanding of grief and tries to give others relief in knowing they aren’t alone.

WOW okay I wrote way too much. Tbh I actually cut a ton out of this but if anybody wants a part 2 I’d be happy to share more. Shoutout to my brother for helping me source all this with his comics lol.

If you read all this, you’re a real one. And I’m so glad we’re all witnessing the Logan Howlett Renaissance

#logan howlett xmen #james logan howlett #x men comics #wolverine #deadpool and wolverine #hugh jackman #logan howlett x you #logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #marvel

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princessbellecerise · 4 months ago

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Beacon of Hope

Summary ✩ After the war, Jacaerys finally finds his purpose for living again

Warnings ✩ Slight spoilers for Fire and Blood

Notes ✩ Hosue of the Dragon has been so depressing lately and I needed a little something to lift my spirits. I hope you guys enjoy!

Some days he just couldn’t sleep.

It had nothing to do with his bed, as he had slept in multiple uncomfortable places during the war. But it was more so that Jacaerys was still in disbelief that this was his life now.

A year ago, the realm was at war and he was on the brink of death. After getting shot at during the Battle of the Gullet, Jacaerys suffered a major injuries that many didn’t believe he would survive. He spent his days floating in and out of consciousness, one foot in the grave until miraculously, the fever broke, Jacaerys rose again.

When he did, he learned that he was no longer a Prince. The war had ended with the death of his mother and the poisoning of the usurper, Aegon. And when he opened his eyes, he was a King.

Broken by the losses he took at war, yes. But slowly over the years, life turned.

Along with the many allies that still fought for him and his mother, Jace begin to rebuild the kingdom until it was whole again. What was once destroyed by dragon fire and blood was rebuilt, and in a few years time, King Jacaerys was able to restore what his family had destroyed.

It made the nights easier, knowing that the threat of war was gone and the realm was finally at peace, but even though his two remaining brothers were alive and the realm had settled, Jace still felt as if something was missing.

The holes that the death of his mother, his brothers, and his stepfather left never seemed to go away. And their death haunted him. For a while, the King believed that even though the realm was whole again, he never would be. The war had taken so many things—precious things—from him, that he no longer thought that hope and love was possible.

Then he met you.

When you came into his life, Jacaerys’ world had been upside down. He was alone with only his infant brothers to share his pain with, and he constantly felt like he was submerged in darkness.

But you…you were his light.

Not like dragon fire, which destroyed everything in its path, but rather the kind of light that inspired hope and growth.

With you, he learned what it meant to love again. What it meant to trust, and to have someone by his side that loved him unconditionally.

You were his greatest hope, and though many credited the maesters for keeping his broken body together, it was you that made his soul whole again. You were his missing piece, his beacon of hope, and he would never have it any other way.

So sometimes, when he couldn’t sleep, and the memories that he tried so hard to repress during the day came hunting for him at night, Jacaerys would stop and he would look upon your sleeping face and realize that everything was okay again.

Though the losses he took would never fully heal, he felt the pain ease knowing that he had you, little Aegon, little Viserys and little Luke to keep him striving towards the future.

Along with the babe that was currently in your belly, your growing family gave Jacaerys purpose. For the first time since waking up, the darkness that shrouded him faded, and it was instead replaced by hope.

Hope a better life. Hope for a better future.

A future he swore that no one would ever take from him again.

#house of the dragon #hotd #hotd x reader #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys velaryon x reader

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delulujuls · 5 months ago

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healing sessions | aegon II targaryen

hi, it's been a hot minute since i posted here, the last weeks were pretty intense for me and since i have a summer break now, i would like to start writing again and do it more regularly.

this is something new here and since new episode of hotd dropped, im in my westeros era, so please prepare for something other than my last shots (i will still write for f1, don't worry)

and lemme set this straight, im team black till the day i die but those green bastards are FINE AS HELL lmao. also @alicenthightcwer is author of those gifts

summary: aegon isn't dealing well with his father loss, but gladly there is someone who's gonna do her best to lift his spirit a bit

warnings: it's fluff without basically any plot, sister x brother romance so targaryens at their finest, mentions of death, depression, alcohol, drugs

pairing: sister!reader x aegon targaryen

The news of King Viserys's death did not surprise the residents of King's Landing. Nonetheless, the loss of the kind ruler dealt a painful blow to the city, which seemed to freeze in time with the king's passing. The capital plunged into mourning, and in addition to the banners, black flags were hoisted. Westeros was left without a king.

Viserys's successor, his second child and first son, Aegon Targaryen, had not been seen since the king's funeral. Aegon had lost not just a king but, most importantly, a father who, unfortunately for him, named him the future ruler on his deathbed.

Aegon would have gladly given the throne to Rhaenyra, his older half-sister. He would have done it without hesitation, even placing the crown on her head himself. Unfortunately, his mother Alicent, who was with her dying husband and heard his wish to elevate their eldest son to the throne, decided to fulfill her beloved husband's last wish at any cost.

To be honest, Aegon couldn't care less about being king. The young prince had not left his bed for several days, thick curtains blocking any light from outside. Occasionally, servants were allowed into his chambers, but only with wine and poppy milk. Aegon did not eat, allowed no one near him, and slept. Sleep was his salvation. Even the prostitutes, who once outnumbered the rats in the castle, were no longer summoned. The fiery prince had dimmed.

Alicent knew she needed to give her son time to grieve. She didn't bother him, only inquiring about his condition from the servants who managed to enter his chambers. It was enough for her to know that he was alive. Aegon's siblings dealt with their grief in their own ways, and his condition hardly impressed anyone. Except for Y/N, who, despite her own pain, worried about her brother. Sitting at breakfast, she silently observed Aegon's chair, which remained empty. After her husband's death, Alicent decreed that all meals, not just dinners, be taken together. The firstborn had not appeared at any of them since.

After a silent breakfast punctuated by brief, formal conversations, Y/N stood up and grabbed a plate, filling it with Aegon's favorite croissants and a portion of strawberries. She was done pretending nothing was wrong. This had to end.

"You shouldn't go to him," Alicent said quietly as the servants began clearing the table. "You know him, he'll come out when he's ready."

"Or he'll drink himself to death first," she replied, not even glancing at her mother. Alicent clasped her hands and pressed them to her lips, watching her family fall apart without knowing how to stop it.

Y/N left the dining room and went to Aegon's chambers. She knocked first, wanting to maintain decorum, but knowing it was futile, she grabbed the handle and pushed the heavy door open. Inside was darkness. Only a nearly spent candle by the bed gave off any light; the room looked like a cave. She blindly set the plate on a table, and with arms outstretched, she made her way to the windows. With a swift motion, she drew the curtains, and even she was blinded by the sudden light that flooded in. Not hearing any curses from her brother, Y/N looked over her shoulder. On the large bed, a figure lay curled up, back to her. From the waist down, he was covered with a sheet that blended with his pale skin. White hair in disarray touched the crumpled pillow. Aegon was either in a deep sleep or dead.

Y/N opened the curtains at every window, flinging some open. The room was stuffy, reeking of stale alcohol, sweat, and the sweet scent of poppy milk. She circled the bed, crouching opposite her brother. He was indeed asleep, but his breathing was shallow. His lips were cracked, stained with dried blood. His eyelashes were matted with tears, and dark circles marred his eyes. There was a bruise under his left eye that was different from the ones under his eyes, as it began to fade and turn from purple to green. Y/N remembered her mother, who had been rubbing her hand while sitting at the table for several days. She could only guess that Alicent was trying to shake her son off in her own way.

Aegon slept, lying on his side and hugging himself, seeking comfort only he could provide. Y/N brushed the tangled strands from his forehead and kissed him. Aegon did not stir.

The princess knew he wouldn't allow servants to tend to him. She left the room quietly, asking the maids to prepare a hot bath quickly and silently. Y/N returned and sat beside him on the bed, gently stroking his head.

Aegon wasn't the bad person many thought him to be. True, he was unique, and in a room full of people, he was impossible to ignore, but no one is born evil. Now, Aegon was simply engulfed in darkness from which he couldn't free himself. The slender, sticky fingers of depression had tightened around his throat, allowing only alcohol to pass.

After some time, a maid stood by the bed, whispering that the bath was ready, nervously glancing at the sleeping prince, afraid of waking him up. Y/N thanked and dismissed her, then leaned in and kissed her brother's forehead again.

"Aegon..." she began softly, close to his ear. "Wake up, I have strawberries for you."

He furrowed his brow, feeling her hair tickle his face. At first, he thought it was a dream or a drunken hallucination, but when he felt the urge to sneeze, he wiped his face with his hand. When he opened his heavy eyelids and saw how bright it was, he pulled the pillow over his head.

"I said no one was to come in," he muttered, his voice muffled by the pillow. "I'll have you killed for this."

"It's nice to see you too, considering I haven't seen you in over a week," she replied, sitting back on his bed and placing the breakfast she brought on the table beside him.

Hearing the familiar voice and wanting to ensure it wasn't a drunken hallucination, Aegon removed the pillow from his face, clutching it to his chest. From squinted eyes, his violet gaze spotted a well-known figure.

"Y/N?" he asked hoarsely, his voice betraying that he'd only spoken to chase away servants in the past days.

"Yes, it's me," she nodded. "And if you still want to kill me, you'll have to get out of bed, which I doubt you can do."

Aegon sighed, more of a grunt of dissatisfaction. He wanted to cover his face with the pillow again, but his sister took it and easily pulled it from his arms.

"Did you come here just to make my life more miserable?" he groaned, looking at her with displeasure.

"I came to stop what you thought was the best solution," Y/N explained. "I brought you breakfast and a hot bath."

"I don't want breakfast or a bath," Aegon replied, turning onto his other side. "And you can leave. Tell mother I'm not dead yet."

"I'm not leaving until you get out of bed," she informed him, staring at his back.

"Then enjoy your stay," he muttered, closing his eyes again.

Y/N sighed. She knew it might be hard, but in a few days, she had almost forgotten her brother's character. And Aegon's character was sometimes the textbook definition of a Targaryen.

"I came here because I want to help you," Y/N began, feeling a lump in her throat. "No one talks to each other, and when they do, it's just some fucking formalities. Aemond flies on Vhagar every day, Helaena spends hours in the garden with her books, Rhaenyra has been on Dragonstone since the funeral, mother is banging with Cole at every turn, and I don't even know if you're alive," she said in one breath, feeling tears prickling her eyes. Only when she said it all out loud did she realize what was happening. It wasn't just about informing Aegon; it was about making herself understand. The truth hurt her even more than she expected.

Hearing his sister's trembling and upset voice, Aegon sighed and turned onto his back, sitting up and leaning against the headboard. Only now could his sister see his full appearance. It was the image of a boy deep in mourning and struggling with unimaginable pain.

For a moment, they exchanged looks in silence until Aegon glanced at the nightstand beside his bed.

"Did you bring strawberries?"

She reached for the plate and placed it on the bed next to her brother. Aegon weakly lifted his hand and took one, eating it whole, including the stem.

"Croissants with filling?" he asked, chewing. Y/N nodded again.

"Nut and chocolate," she answered. Aegon silently took a croissant and slowly began to eat.

Y/N quickly wiped her cheeks as two single tears escaped from the corners of her eyes. The young prince looked at his sister, who also seemed different than he remembered from a few days ago. Her hair was still neatly combed, with a few small braids woven into it. The dark red dress, which he thought he had seen her wear before, now seemed to hang a bit loosely on her shoulders and wrinkle at the stomach. The color of the dress reminded him of the bloody cuticles around her nails, which she must have bitten out of nerves. Her face, still beautiful, was now paler than usual, almost as white as her hair. Her swollen eyes lacked their usual sparkle, and her lips seemed to have completely forgotten what a smile was.

"How are you feeling?" he asked after a moment when he had finished eating. Y/N pushed the plate closer to him, and as he reached for another croissant, she only shrugged.

"I'm sad. And I sleep poorly," she replied, staring out the window.

"You know, poppy milk—", "I won't drink it," she interrupted him.

Aegon raised his hands in a defensive gesture, taking another bite of the croissant.

"And you?" she asked, looking at him. "How are you feeling?"

He also shrugged.

"I don't even know. Now I think I feel nothing," he said, looking back at her. "Most of the time I feel nothing, except when a wave of sadness hits, and then I cry like a child until I fall asleep again."

Y/N nodded silently. She could tell that Aegon had spent many hours crying.

He put the last piece of croissant in his mouth and reached for a strawberry, handing it to his sister. She took it and ate it, nodding with appreciation.

"Not bad, right?" Aegon said, seeing her reaction. "Unusually sweet for this time of year."

Y/N let out an involuntary snort, lowering her head. Their father was dead, the country was without a king, the family was falling apart, and this idiot was talking about how great the strawberries were.

"They really are good, I don't know what you mean," he replied, taking the last strawberry and popping it into his mouth. The girl smiled, for the first time in a long while, then looked at her brother.

"I miss you, you know?"

"I'm not dead yet," he said sarcastically, rubbing his face with his hands. Y/N set the plate aside, and Aegon extended his arm toward her, silently inviting a hug. The girl shook her head and stood up.

"Maybe I miss you, but not enough to hug you after so many days without a bath," she replied, nodding her head towards the bathroom.

"You've got to be kidding," he snorted, but she shook her head again and pointed to the bathroom. Aegon sighed and slid off the bed, looking at her reproachfully the entire time. When he stood, the sheet slipped off completely, and he, naked and unbothered, walked unsteadily toward the bathroom. Y/N asked the servants to change his bedding and clean the room while she locked herself in the bathroom with him. As he sat in the water, she perched on the edge of the tub, rolling up the sleeves of her dress.

She reached for the nearby comb and slowly began to untangle his matted hair. They both remained silent, as words were completely unnecessary at that moment. After a while, she put the comb down and picked up the sponge, wetting it and pouring water over his hair. Aegon closed his eyes and tilted his head forward.

Y/N grabbed the soap and lathered it in her hands, adding a few drops of lavender oil. Aegon smiled as the familiar, pleasant scent filled the air, while she began to wash his hair. He sat there with his eyes closed, allowing his sister to take care of him. Aegon felt that of everyone in the family, only Y/N truly cared about him. Despite being the second youngest sibling, just after Helaena, he had always gotten along best with her. They were almost inseparable, always sitting together at feasts, stuffing sweets into their pockets to eat later in the garden when they managed to escape the table. Rhaenyra, their half-sister, was always the oldest and most composed. Aemond, younger than Aegon, was calm and collected but could stab a knife into someone’s neck without blinking if provoked. Helaena lived in her own world, surrounded by books, flowers, and maesters who had tried to help her ever since they noticed something was off with the growing princess. Aegon was often irreformable, acting and speaking first and thinking later. When he was younger, he was incredibly unruly, the mastermind behind every wild idea that Y/N almost always eagerly supported. The young princess loved her brother, who always tried to make her smile. Aegon loved his sister and knew that of all the people in the castle, she was the only one he would kill for and die for either.

Young prince winced quietly when Y/N, massaging his tense shoulders, ran her thumb over a particularly tight muscle.

"You're as hard as a rock," she said, continuing to massage his back. Aegon smiled to himself.

"Not quite yet," he joked.

She rolled her eyes and soaked the sponge again, rinsing the soap off his back with warm water. As she got up to stoke the fire, Aegon submerged himself in the water, washing the soap off himself and his hair. After a moment, he sat up straight and wiped his face off, leaning on the sides of the tub. He silently watched his sister, whose silhouette was highlighted by the flickering fire in the fireplace. Her white, slightly wavy hair cascaded down her back. The young prince smiled and bit his lip. Blood of my blood.

When Y/N finished tending to the fire, she stood up and dusted off her hands. She looked up, feeling her brother's gaze on her. He watched her in silence.

"Care to join?" he asked, glancing at the tub before looking back at her.

She shook her head, stepping closer and looking at the murky water. "I think I'll pass this time."

Aegon extended his hand toward her, and she gave him hers, which he pressed to his lips, planting a wet kiss on her skin. She smiled at his gesture.

"I'll go dismiss the servants," she said, stroking his cheek. "Make sure you wash away all the sadness."

The princess left the bathroom and returned to the chambers. They looked much better now, with two servants finishing changing the bed linens. When they were done, she thanked and dismissed them. She approached the large wardrobe, looking for clean clothes for her brother. She planned to get him outside for a walk, even if just a short one.

She placed the clothes on a chair and sat on the bed, running her hand over the freshly made bedding. Shortly after, Aegon emerged from the bathroom, not bothering to cover himself with even a towel.

When he stood in the doorway, Y/N involuntarily looked up at him. She looked him up and down, causing Aegon to smile.

"Like what you see?" he asked, approaching the bed without taking his eyes off her.

"I'm just checking if you washed yourself properly," she retorted, lifting her head to meet his gaze when he stood right in front of her.

Aegon still wore a faint smile as he cupped her face, his thumb stroking her cheek. His pale skin had gained a bit of color from the hot bath, but he had goosebumps from the cool, fresh breeze coming through the windows. The dark circles under his eyes were still visible, but his gaze was now clear and certain, darkening as he was looking at his sister.

"I missed you too," he said after a moment of silence, during which they exchanged looks. He brushed his thumb over her lower lip. "Make love with me."

It wasn't a command or even a request. It was a quiet murmur filled with desperation, almost sounding like a plea. Aegon needed to feel her warmth, needed to feel something other than the alcoholic breath of death that placed cold kisses on him.

She silently stood from the bed, and before he could say anything, she touched his cheek and kissed him. Aegon wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close, returning the kiss. Blindly, he started to fumble with the ties of her dress, but seeing his struggle, she began undressing herself. He cupped her face in his hands, kissing her tenderly. When she loosened her corset, Aegon grabbed the bottom of her gown and quickly pulled it over her head, tossing it aside. She shivered at the sudden chill but soon felt Aegon's warm body against her skin. He smiled into her mouth.

"You're so soft," he whispered between kisses, holding her tightly as if he wanted to lock her inside his ribcage. "Go on, lie down."

She obeyed, positioning herself comfortably on a pile of pillows. Aegon hovered over her, kissing her gently. Their hands tangled in each other's hair, touching and grasping every bit of skin they could reach. Lips swollen from kissing released soft sighs and moans mixed with tender words.

Aegon could be gentle, delicate, and caring. He wasn't like this with the whores he sometimes brought to his chambers to relieve himself and kill boredom. But he loved his sister dearly and would never harm her.

The young prince couldn't remember the first time his sister came to his chambers and stayed the night. It was probably before their father's illness. One autumn, Aegon caught a terrible cold. He couldn't sleep at night, and his cough kept the entire western wing of the castle awake. One night, a sleepy Y/N went to his room, silently took the nearby laying ointment, sat on his hips, and began rubbing it on his chest. Aegon, feverish, thought he was hallucinating. But when he woke up the next morning and saw his naked sister asleep in his bed, he knew the events of the previous night hadn't been a fever dream.

Now, too, Aegon had to think twice if the soft body in his arms was really there or just a trick of his drunken mind.

"Are you real?" he whispered, pulling away from her lips and looking at her face.

"You'll have to find out for yourself," Y/N replied just as softly.

Aegon smiled involuntarily and hurriedly disappeared between her thighs.

At dinner, not only Aegon's chair was empty. The chair next to his, Y/N's, was also vacant.

Aemond glanced sideways at his sister, who tried to hide her smile behind her hair. Otto looked at her as well, then at her mother.

"Helaena?" Alicent spoke, looking at the blushing face of her daughter. "Is something wrong?"

"Aegon is feeling much better," she said. The young princess knew this first because the garden she particularly liked was just below her brother's chambers, and the windows, this time, were wide open.

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen x reader #house of the dragon #hotd #aegon the second #hotd fanfic #hotd one shot

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acid-ixx · 2 months ago

Text

to you, my greatest passion (soft yandere! batfam x traumatized! reader oneshot)

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

tw: allusions to stockholm syndrome, flawed relationship (they have no concept of boundaries) and mild descriptions of injuries and torture (not by the batfam). read until the end for an author's note. happy 4k followers to me :)) uh leave comments if u like this type of analysis and want to see more. i had no direction for writing this. please don't let this flop huhu i might delete this since i don't like it

as much as i love my angst, we all need something soft at times, and moments with yan!batfam with a reader who is absolutely fucking broken from their past that the mere implication that someone could love them is enough to let them melt into whoever's chest they lay upon that night.

just, hurt/comfort. one that heals the soul in its overly possessive embrace. the same way chapped lips peck softly on your cheeks, muscled arms caress your fragile, shivering body, and legs tangle upon yours in a cacophony of warm, cozy blankets.

where as the longer time passes in the manor, the more you learn to love. to let go of the painful memories your tormenters left you. to allow past scars to heal into a mere visage of what once was streaks coated in blood. your family acts as your new abductors, yes, but how could you hold your freedom against them when it is them that comfort you from drowning through the deepest depths of your nightmares?

nightmares of the past, of the knives that break through your already gashed skin, or the ropes that burn through bruises and laceration— every time you wake up crying, with tears running down your cheeks and a pained cry; a recollection of the torture you were subject to, it is them that come running to your room not a moment after.

it's bruce's tall, domineering form that crumbles into soft, snug pillows for you. your father arms that punches criminals into prison become the shoulder you lean on. calloused fingers rub your cheeks, wiping away your tears, holding your face in his palms like you're the most fragile thing on earth— and you are. every time he looks at your dampened eyes and sniffling nose, he gets reminded of how lonely he was as a child, who lost his parent too young to the cruelty of the world, of gotham and her unyielding coldness. and when he reminisces, he begins to cage you in his arms a tad bit tighter, begins to comfort you longer and softer than he has ever done with anyone else, as if he is reassuring himself. it is with you that his vulnerability, that fear of loss becomes all too stronger. and every time you cry a bit longer, your hold on his sleeves becoming unyielding, does bruce become crueler in his pursuit of fighting crime, a lesson to himself that the people he punishes are those with hands capable enough to harm you, his precious, his pearl that glints throughout the moonlight.

whenever your father is unavailable, it's dick who runs to you, with all the intention to provide you comfort. it's him who calls you his baby bird, as he reassures you that you're no burden in his eyes every time you scream in terror as your sleep. it's him who loves to drown you in his affection, always near, always close, never far and never too much. physically, he's the most doting to a fault. tender, yet tight were his hugs. his kisses to your cheeks and your forehead always linger, as if hesitant to release itself from its rightful place. it's a testiment to how much he loves you, how he's incapable of separating himself from you. god, he loves you so much he wishes he'd just melt right into your skin, so that you actually finally realize how you're the most important thing in the world to him. you, his baby bird. if he had met you sooner, quite earlier, right after his parent's have died, then maybe he could've managed his anger better, could've learned to cope with you through the battles you both fought. it's with you that dick feel unbearably euphoric, ready to spill his love to the point where tears consume his eyes and his head laid on your chest refuses to detach itself.

jason isn't familiar with what warmth feels like, not anymore. but when he sees your hapless state, he sees a reflection of himself in that abandoned warehouse. broken, defiled, hurt. with nothing to comfort you from the cold other than the ropes that burn through your skin and the adrenaline that runs through your veins. he forgots what solace feels like, what it means, but through your shared trauma does jason learn. he learns to talk to you, with you, learns to pinpoint each and every emotion he felt at the time, what you felt inside that putrid basement. he learns to manage his grief because he doesn't want to anger himself looking at you, at just how much justice can only serve so many. the longer you talk to jason, the more he becomes softer, yet hungrier. he learns how to hold you in a way a brother learns to hold his baby sibling for the first time when conceived. he relearns the warmth he felt, like when he was finally able to be good enough to be the successor to the title of robin, when he felt you drool on his chest when you trusted him enough to sleep in his room. yet this time that feeling was accompanied with that ominous, distracting essence. one that makes jason's knuckles crack and have him prepare his guns, as he discovers that you can never truly erase the past. and even though it might take years for him to be your ideal brother, he could at least be your sole protector.

then there's tim, who never truly had the opportunity to develop that deeper sense of love he wanted to feel until he was officially adopted into the wayne family right after his parents' death. don't get him wrong, he loves his mom and dad, and so does he loves his current family— but it's obsession that drives him nonetheless. the need to prove himself, to gather information about everyone to know who they truly are; beyond that there's nothing more than shallowness, a neverending hole he can't satisfy. but with you? oh god, you. to tim, you're his everything. you devour his being whole. with you, there's always something new. the need to track every single thing about you leads him into this cycle of want and need that coagulates into desire, into drive. every time you smile, or laugh, or frown, he gains newer intel about you, one he loops into the deepest crevices of his brain at a constant, you are his constant. but staying right behind you can only do so much. and as he sits right beside you in bed, awkwardly comforting you through the ways he mirrored off from his brothers: a sloppy kiss to your knuckles, a joke cracked here and there, and wiping your eyes and nose with his sleeves; tim learns that stalking can only do so much. he learns what it feels like to be needed for emotional connection and nothing else and that only further motivates him to be perfect for you, and to be with you, his sibling, more often than to simply live right under your nose.

and damian, your baby brother, who's unsurprisingly the one who sleeps in your room, or has you sleep in his room, the most. damian tells himself he's incapable of love, of showing it or reciprocating it. but for you, he tries, and like jason, he learns. he discovers just how depraved both of you are when it comes to love. it enlightens you both and it makes damian feel a deeper sense of connection with you than anyone else. with you, he feels like a child: vulnerable, yet uncaring and free, like the true meaning of being a robin, one the soars through the skies with no grandfather or mother or league to watch your every step as their successor. all the times you cry, he silently sobs with you, holding your cheeks down to his level with scarred palms. silent, yet comforting, he'd allow his smaller form to simply become your teddy bear whilst he whispers consolations. about how strong his older sibling is, how precious you are for being comfortable with him to speak of your problems, how you're everything to damian just as he wishes to be the world for you. it makes you think you're more immature that him, it makes him grateful that he has you. even though he doesn't say it, he shows through actions just how truly important you are whenever he draws a sword towards his enemies, thinking about you and his unsaid promises.

nights where you're reminded of that solitary confinement, of the darkness that creeps into your vision and the voices that pierce through your ears. nights where you feel you've exhausted yourself of hope, where what was once warmth that hugs your heart is now that frigid, yet burning spikes that penetrates into the confidence that you'll somehow, someday, run away from that hellhole— those were nights you thought you'd never live with proper sleep. but as one or two of them holds you in their embrace whenever your nightmares consume your being, you're slowly allowing your established walls to fall apart, all for the mere implication of their love.

who would save you, if not for them? their hushed whispers of consolation, hands that wrap around your figure, and fingers that knead your cheeks provide you that deep sated comfort you always wanted. the sleeves they use to wipe away both saltine liquid and snot, to slowly silence your blubbering rambles, your inconsolable crying; it's warmer than the basement you used to be locked in as a child, with dripping faucets the only source of your water— they saved you once before, who's to say they won't save you a thousand times more?

every time you feel like crying, every time that familiar faulty tap in your eyes begins to dampen against ashen skin, it's them that asks you if you're alright. even if you grit your teeth, even if you seeth or bite or beat or punch or kick, to punish yourself, to cope through the trauma, to not feel nothing.

every time pain begins to sear through your skin, it's your grandfather, father, brothers and sisters that huddle around you and tell you 'you're safe here, in the manor, with us'.

every time they spend hours, ditching patrol nights, cooking your comfort food, reading your favorite books, watching movies for hours, ignoring your assigned sleep schedule, kissing your scarred hands gently, reverently, cuddling your form against their strong ones as a silent promise that with them, there's nothing to harm you no more— you'd feel lighter every time, a tad happier, even. slowly, but surely, melting against the confines of your adorned cage and the embrace of your loving captors.

every time they help you heal, it makes you forgive, and it makes you forget their prior kidnapping in return of building new memories with them, in a safer haven, with nobody to hurt you any longer, with nobody to bash your head against concrete walls, to punish you. you who is underserving of the circumstances bought upon you back then.

safe, a word you thought you'll never feel, a word you didn't even know existed in the crevices of your heart. but it is with them that you slowly start to associate safe with family.

the family that you've come to love and cherish in your own imperfect ways, the same way a stray dog becomes too loyal to a passerby when given bones for leftovers every day.

but you're not an animal, and you're not a pavlovian dog meant to be conditioned. no, you're their baby, their love, their treasure and their only one. the love they feed you exceeds beyond leftovers. only you can devour them wholly, the same way they cloak your world in the love that fills that neverending pit in your heart.

you're not biologically related to any of them in any way, too. yet it was all a matter of coincidence that they stumbled upon you.

but really, past is past.

then is then.

now it's just you and them.

it's you, with them.

just your family. overbearing, overprotective, overpowering.

but nothing is always over to you. their love isn't too much. how could you tell yourself it's too much? not when you were never given a basis of what is too much. how is one too much when you were never even given enough?

trust is built upon a foundation of connecting with others who can relate with you one way or another, who can see past through your flaws and mistakes— it's a bond that precedes mere acquaintanceship.

you might've met them later than everyone else, but it's you that completes them.

you're the puzzle that completes the family photographs, the goal for bruce to continue his legacy as batman and to ward off all evil, the inspiration for dick to be that aspiring hero everyone sees him to be, the reason jason begins to reform himself for your sake, the purpose for tim's endless pursuit of knowledge, the muse for damian's painting, the subject for his love he thought was no more, the ambition for steph's prolongation despite her countless of failures, the motivation for barbara to seek out all the criminals who have harmed you, the influence for cass to be stronger to protect you, the catalyst for duke to use his metahuman abilities for good, to take out those who walk in broad daylight, as if they weren't involved in your past tortures.

you're everything that they are.

their sunshine and moonlight, their companionship and loneliness, their pain and pleasure, their yin and yan.

their greatest passion.

a/n: hii guys erm. this is so sudden and also counts as a rant but yk... i feel like quitting this blog but at the same time not. it's just, i feel like writing has been more of an obligation than anything else. it doesn't help the fact that i've only been getting interaction if i were to actually produce something good. beyond that, it feels like people are expecting more of me. i get it, updates are sporadic, they appear in the blink of an eye when you least expect it, but at the same time it's just hard juggling what i want to write and what i feel like i need to write. this blog was primarily to post about my thoughts and to talk to people but lately, every time i open this app to write, i feel these plethora of thoughts and expectations telling me that if i don't do well enough then people would merely ignore whatever i post or it's just bad by standards. and yes i'm grateful for all the people supporting my writing, but at the same time i'm lead to a cycle of me losing my motivation to continue writing. ugh idk what im doing anymore help :((

tl;dr: will i stop writing? no, but at the same time i don't know. someday, i may deactivate this account out of impulse if i feel too much, or not. it depends hehe.

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dramaticals · 11 months ago

Text

did you hear what i said?

pairing: theodore nott x gryffindor reader

summary: after a year of secretly dating, theo breaks things off when classes start up again. it's now christmas eve and he's back with a figurative box of regret / requested by anonymous.

author's note: angst! there will be a part two with fluff, but i just needed to get this out since i've been writing this for too long. (please) feel free to leave angsty requests in my inbox because this is the genre that gets my gears going! but i make no promises on resolutions and happy endings ♡

"You look happier."

Theodore stands in front of the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, his hands shoved into his pockets. His presence garners murmurs all around, even though the Great Hall was emptier than usual for the holidays. The sight of him makes your breath catch. It's been three months since you last spoke to him, but the memory of that night resurfaces, ripping open the wound on your healing heart.

It was back in September.

Theo had passed you a note in Potions, asking you to meet him in the Astronomy Tower after dark. It wasn't a peculiar ask, so you didn't think much of it at the time. The Astronomy Tower had become your and Theo's spot. A quiet place for the two of you to just exist—no interruptions and no expectations from the outside world. Your house rivalry was nothing in that tower. It was just you and Theo.

The two of you would spend hours hiding there, often cuddled on top of a lush blanket you had hidden nearby. You'd talk about anything and everything with him, from learning about each other's likes and dislikes to venting about classes and classmates. On nights where the two of you favoured serenity, it was never unpleasant. You'd embrace the quiet, exchanging sweet kisses all the while enjoying the comfort and protection of his arms.

That night in September was different, though. You sensed it the minute you ascended the steps to see Theo standing stiffly by the railing, his gaze concentrating on a bird on the horizon.

Theo didn't even turn to face you—acknowledge you—before he was muttering the words that shattered your heart into pieces.

"I'm over this." Theo said, his tone void of any emotion. His hand clutched onto the railing so tightly that his knuckles were pale.

Stunned silence fell over you. You just looked at him with a puzzled expression.

"Did you hear what I said?" Theo turned to you then, and you could see the pained expression on his features. But then something shifted, and his expression turned cold. "I'm breaking up with you."

His words on their own were harsh, but the inflection on each syllable felt like he was personally twisting a serrated knife into your heart.

"I don't understand." You said. "Why? What did I—"

"I feel like you're getting attached, and I think we've run our course." Theo interrupted. His eyes, the ones you became so accustomed to, were dark and flooded with an expression even you weren't familiar with. Theo scoffed. "You didn't actually think we'd last, did you?"

Maybe it was the naive and hopeless romantic in you, but you truly believed you would. House rivalries, judgemental friends, and family expectations were merely obstacles the two of you would deal with together. You just felt so strongly about him, and you were certain he felt the same about you.

"Did you hear what I said?" The Theodore standing in front of you jerks you back to the present.

You blink, and you nearly drop your fork.

"I heard you," you say firmly, returning your attention back to the half-eaten plate in front of you. You make yourself look busy and uncaring (as much as you could with food and a full stomach), as if Theodore's sudden presence had no effect on you.

Theodore shifts in his spot, his eyes darting to the empty seat in front of you, silently contemplating whether he should take it or cut his losses and leave. Reluctantly, he settles on the former. This makes you tense, your lips pursing as he sits. It doesn't help that you were highly attentive to the whispers; your classmates were surely speculating why Theodore Nott would be choosing the company of a muggle-born on Christmas Eve. You put down your fork, bring your gaze to his, and let out an exhausted breath.

"Nott, what do you want?"

Hearing his last name from you makes his jaw clench. It was cold and formal, stripped of any history you two shared.

"Just wanted to know if you were as happy as you looked."

"You have no right to that type of information anymore."

"Humour me."

You glare at him. Theodore looks back at you with such shy tenderness that your gaze softens slightly.

Am I happy? you think.

Some days, sure. But most days, you find yourself wandering back to that dreadful night in September. Even after all these months, you still wonder if you had just said something different or fought back instead of taking it, maybe you and Theo would still be together.

It was why Ginny, the only poor soul who was aware of your relationship with Theo, had set you up with Michael Corner, a cute Ravenclaw boy in your year. He was smart, funny, and occasionally sweet, but he wasn't Theodore Nott.

Still, you persisted. You allowed yourself to indulge in the idea of being with Michael because the brooding Slytherin boy who had your heart had made his choice. You went on a few dates with Michael; he'd walk you to class, sit with you during Quidditch matches, and sometimes—when he was feeling courageous—he'd plant a kiss on your lips in the middle of the bustling corridor.

"I am." You lie, and you bite down on the insides of your cheeks. What good would it do to admit you weren't, especially to the cause of your turmoil?

Theodore watches you, practically analyzing your features. He doesn't have to say anything for you to know he didn't believe you, and you hated that—hated him, for having been so attentive to you that your tells were obvious.

"You are?" Theodore questions.

"That's what I said, didn't I?"

"I think you and I have a habit of saying things we don't mean."

His careful words and wistful gaze make you flush with embarrassment and anger. To this day, you still weren't sure why Theo had broken things off with you, and it was something that had kept you up countless nights. Through gritted teeth and cheeks stinging with remembered hurt, you say, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," Theodore starts, his eyes flickering around to ensure no one was listening in. While a few lingering glances were sent your way, everyone was spread out far enough that it'd be hard to eavesdrop. He drops his voice anyway. "I shouldn't have said what I did that night. I didn't mean it. I don't mean it."

The anger bubbling in the pit of your stomach erupts, your eyes blazing. "Is this some sick game to you? It's been three months, Theodore. I spent three months crying over you and wondering what the hell I did to you to be so bloody cruel. And now when I'm finally ready to move on from you, you come back to tell me you... you didn't mean it?" The last words leave a dirty, salty taste in your mouth.

"No, no," Theodore shakes his head, swallowing thickly as you recounted the months of hell. He hadn't been doing any better either, but Theo was generally good at hiding his afflictions. Numbing the pain with weed and alcohol were among his favourite remedies. "It's not a game. It was never a game. You should know me well enough to know that I would never mean any of the things I said."

"Know you?" You almost laugh. You had replayed the breakup and the weeks leading up to it in your mind countless times, trying to make sense of the bullshit non-reason he had given when he broke up with you but nothing made sense. The whole thing made you spiral, questioning everything that had ever happened between you two. "I'm actually convinced I never really knew you, because the guy I knew would never have done that to me."

Having had enough of the conversation, you get up, leaving your half-eaten plate and a pained Theodore at the Gryffindor table. You're almost past the door of the Great Hall when Theo, as a last-ditch effort, grabs a hold of your wrist, hauling you to a stop. You let out a small huff and turn to face him.

"Meet me in the Astronomy Tower after dark." Theodore says softly, almost pleadingly. He makes a conscious effort to ignore all the prying eyes that turned.

"Because that worked out so well for me last time."

"Just—please. If you want to continue never speaking to each other again after that, then fine. But at least let me explain."

You had every intention of ignoring Theodore’s request. He didn’t deserve a chance to explain—the statute of limitations for explaining ended months ago. And yet, you found yourself sneaking out of the Gryffindor common room and up to the Astronomy Tower, inebriated by the countless what-ifs and string of memories: Theo sneaking a kiss on your lips as everyone turned to view whatever Hagrid had for Care of Magical Creatures, Theo resting his hand on your thigh during potions, Theo winking at you as you watched him play Quidditch.

“You’re here.” Theodore says, just as you reach the top of the staircase. He was sitting by the railing.

“I am,” you say as you walk toward him reluctantly. You settle next to him.

Theodore looks at you, and it looks like he’s about to say something, but then he shuts his eyes, shakes his head, and sighs.

You’ve never seen him at a loss for words. He was intentionally silent, sure, but his quick wit never failed him.

“I’ve regretted that night every day, you know.” He speaks up, his solemn eyes trained on yours. “I replay it over and over.”

Theodore’s gaze is unrelenting, brimming with seriousness and a vulnerability that you haven’t seen before. You tear your gaze away from his because the more he talks and looks at you like this, the more you find it hard to breathe.

“Then why do it? Why say those things?” You manage to ask.

Theodore’s jaw clenches. “Lesser of two evils.”

When you look at him with a confused expression, he continues, “It was better to lose you on those terms than to lose you completely.”

Silence falls on both of you, filling the space like a thick fog.

“I lost my mom when I was seven.” Theodore explains, his eyes darkening. “A freak accident.”

Out of the year you and Theo dated in secret, he had rarely mentioned his mom. And if he did, it was small tidbits—precious memories. Regardless of how small and insignificant the memory would seem to others, you gathered how important Theo’s mom was to him. Underneath Theo’s stoic expressions and calculating demeanour was a softness to Theo that could only be accredited to his mom.

“She got caught in the crossfire between some death eaters.” Theodore says, his expression pained. He drops his gaze now, but you keep your eyes on him. There’s a mixture of grief and anger that flashes across his features, and it takes everything in you to hold yourself back from reaching for him. To comfort him.

“It took me years to get over it. I don’t even think I am yet—I’m still angry at my father for allowing this shit into our lives and for continuing to do it.” Theodore says, letting out an exasperated breath. You knew what everyone else knew about Theo’s father—he was a blood purist, rumoured to be loyal to you-know-who. He’d hate you the moment he’d find out you were muggle-born.

Theo meets your gaze now, and it’s your turn to feel winded. It was like you were looking at your Theo again. The sweet, sarcastic, pain-in-your-ass-but-in-a-good-way Theo. “I lost my mom, who meant the world to me, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to handle it if I lost you too. So I pushed you away. I figured it was best to cut our losses before I pulled you into something you had no reason being in. Before I lost you permanently.”

“What’s changed?” You ask, shaking your head. His words were hard to process, but the pieces of the last few months were beginning to click into place. “I’m still me, and last I heard, your dad was still your dad.”

“I realized that, in a way, I was kind of like my dad.”

“What?”

“I mean,” Theo says. “My dad never gave any of us a choice. Not me, and not my mom. We always had to go along with him and deal with the consequences of his actions. I took a choice away from you, and you just had to deal with it. I don’t want to do that anymore. I still think I did it for the right reasons, but I regret it. I want to be with you. I should have told you what I was worried about—told you about the risks of being with me, so we could make a decision together.”

Together.

That’s all you wanted. You were more than willing to have dealt with any obstacle that was thrown your way, so long as you had Theo by your side.

But that was three months ago. And while his words brought goosebumps, butterflies, and heart palpitations, they also brought a slew of conflicting feelings. You understood why he broke things off now, and although his reasoning was well-intended, it didn’t excuse the fact that you had spent the last three months in a state of despair and heartbreak. You didn’t eat as much, your grades dropped, and you couldn’t even look at him until recently in fear of tears and the overwhelming rush of memories.

“So?”

“Theo,” you say softly. Your eyes search his face.

There’s a ghost of a smile on his lips at the sound of his name. Not Theodore, not Nott. Theo.

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

He exhales sharply at your response, and his expression shifts as he turns to face the horizon. He wanted you to say it was worth the risk and that you wanted to be with him as much as he did. He wanted you to forgive him for what he did to you. “It’s fine.”

“No—I just... I need to think.” You say quickly. Your heart was screaming for him, but your brain was weary. And if the past three months taught you anything, it was that you needed to act with your brain and not your heart. “I just need time. This was a lot to process.”

“Right, of course.” Theo says with a curt nod. He turns to you again, offering a weak smile. It was his heart’s turn to break. “Well, thanks for coming tonight and letting me explain. I guess, just let me know.”

You watch him stand, brush the dirt off his robes, and turn away. Just as he reaches the staircase back down, he looks back at you. Your eyes catch his gorgeous arctic eyes, your cheeks burning and your heart racing.

"Merry Christmas, by the way." Theo says before he descends down the stairs.

#theodore nott #theo nott #harry potter imagine #slytherin x reader #theodore nott x you #theo nott x you #theodore nott fanfiction #theodore nott imagine #theodore nott x reader #theo nott x reader #theo nott x y/n #theodore nott x y/n #slytherin boys #theo nott imagine #*writing

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serpentandlily · 1 year ago

Text

Now That We Don't Talk

Part I

Now That We Don’t Talk - Azriel x Reader

Summary: Dealing with the aftermath of your mate’s betrayal.

Warnings: major angst, mentions of grief and loss, mention of infidelity

a/n: this has a happy ending, I promise! I’d also like to mention that I never usually blame the woman when a man cheats, but in this case, both parties knew of the existing relationship and bond so *death to all of them* lol jk…for now…I hope this lives up to your expectations!

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“That’s it, Y/n,” Madja said, taking a step backwards as she carefully monitored you between two support beams. “Go slow.”

Your shoulders and arms were straining as you held yourself up using the two beams, slowly raising your foot to take another step forward. You groaned at the pain, feeling flustered and embarrassed that walking was taking you so much effort.

Cassian and Nesta had turned one of the larger chambers in the House of Wind into a physical remedial room. You had sessions in here every day with Madja, Cassian almost always there with you and in times he couldn’t be, Rhys would fly up to be with you during these.

You didn’t have the heart to tell your brother that you preferred when Rhys was here instead of him, only because he always magicked his wings away so you didn’t have to see them. Cassian’s were just a reminder of what you had lost.

Relearning to walk has been one of the hardest parts of losing your wings.

Even now it was a struggle to simply stand. You were too used to the weight of having wings on your back and using them to balance. You felt their absence in more ways than one.

But this one was easier to deal with—the physical part. It was the mental and emotional part that still kept you up at night. The loss of freedom, having to know you’d never be able to fly again. The nightmares. The embarrassment. The shame.

You had never been a particularly proud Illyrian, never agreeing with the way your people were raised and the culture they lived in. But still, having those wings made you a part of something bigger than yourself—a community, a tribe, a family.

You weren’t like Rhys, not a half-breed like him. You didn’t have the pointy ears to make you fit in with the wingless High Fae. You’d always be other to them. And now you’d be other to your people as well.

You tried to blink away the tears forming in your eyes but it didn’t matter. Your brother seemed to sense the change in your mood and rose from his chair in the corner where he had been monitoring the session.

“You’re doing great, kiddo,” Cassian said, trying to encourage you to keep trying. “One step at a time.”

“I can’t,” you choked out, your muscles straining from the effort to keep you upright. “I-I can’t.”

“You can and you will,” Cassian said, sternly. “Come on, I know you can do it.”

“I can’t.”

You wobbled, letting out a long exhale. You had only made it halfway to the other side of the mat. Pain pierced through your still healing back, serving as another reminder of what you had lost. Your fractured hip had healed already but the bones still felt like they were being grinded together every time you moved your legs.

“Thank you for your help today, Madja,” Cassian said, sharing a look with the older healer. “I can take it from here.”

Madja, as if also sensing the shift in the atmosphere, took her leave without argument to give you some privacy with your brother.

“Just make sure she eats something after this. Her body needs more nourishment,” Madja said on her way out. The noise of the door shutting behind her was all it took for the hold on your emotions to completely crumble.

You felt your legs give out as a cry escape from your throat. Cassian darted forward, catching you only just before you hit the ground. He slowly lowered you the rest of the way, going with you to hold you in a tight embrace as sobs racked your body.

“I-I can’t do this, Cass,” you cried over and over again. “I can’t do this.”

He knew you weren’t just talking about walking.

Every intake of breath reminded you of the heavy weight of your heart in your chest. It was unbearable, all consuming. The heartache, the pain, the feeling of the mating bond still lingering in the background of it all. You wanted to rip your heart out, wanted to scream and scream but all that came out were inaudible words and sobs.

“It’s going to be okay, sweetheart,” Cassian murmured, petting your hair on the back of your head. “I promise you.”

“My wings, Cass, m-my wings are gone,” you choked out, tears streaming down your face.

Cassian cradled your head in his neck, pulling you tighter against him. His own body was tense and you knew he was holding back his own emotions, trying to be strong for you. “I know, kiddo, I know.”

“M-my wings,” you cried. “My wings. I-I want them back, Cass. P-please, I want them back!”

“I would cut off my own wings and give them to you if I could, sweetheart,” Cassian whispered, his voice filled with despair. “I’m so sorry.”

He couldn’t understand this feeling, would never unless he too lost his wings. You remembered when he almost had after protecting Azriel in Hybern from the blast of the Cauldron. Azriel…Just thinking of his name was making you spiral further, choking on your own sobs.

There had once been a time when Azriel had been the one to save your wings. And now he was part of the reason why you lost them. You weren’t even sure which hurt more at this point. His betrayal or the loss of your wings.

Both felt so violating.

A piece of you, of your body, ripped away along with your trust and heart. Your mate sleeping with another female and coming home to you. Looking you in the eyes and keeping that secret from you each and every day. Making love to you knowing he was sharing himself with another behind your back. How were you supposed to move on?

It didn’t help that you weren’t fully rid of Azriel. The bond was still an unwelcomed presence inside of you, still sang his name–called for him–despite the hurt he had caused you. You wanted to tear it to shreds.

“Why?” You cried, wrapping your arms around Cassian’s neck to fall into him further. Your brother held you as tight as he could, stroking your hair, whispering words of support in your ear. “Why wasn’t I g-good enough, Cass? W-why wasn’t I enough for him? What is wrong with m-me?”

The guttural wails that came from you caused Cassian to squeeze his eyes shut, trying to keep his own tears at bay. Your chest heaved as you struggled to even breath under the crushing anguish that was consuming you. He held you as you shook, held you as your tears soaked through his shirt, held you as he restrained himself from shooting off to go find Azriel and kill him.

“There is nothing wrong with you, sweetheart. Nothing,” Cassian growled. “Azriel is a fool for losing you. He’s the fuck-up. Not you.”

“He is my mate, Cass, my mate. And he–he did this to me. Why?”

“Because he’s a miserable bastard who doesn’t know how to love,” Cassian growled.

You couldn’t even register his words over the pounding of your own wailing heart. “What did I do to deserve this?”

You felt so violated, so vulnerable, so completely and utterly shattered. The pain of your broken heart seemed to echo in the depths of your very soul. Why hadn’t you been enough for him?

Was Elain just that much better? Was she prettier, smarter, a better female? Could she give him something you couldn’t?

“You didn’t deserve this. You did nothing wrong,” Cassian murmured into your hair, kissing the top of your head. “You are so much better than them, sweetheart.”

“B-but then why wasn’t I enough?” Your cries met their crescendo, your hands shaking as you clung onto Cassian’s shirt with tight fists. “Why wasn’t I enough, Cass? Why?”

Your voice was hoarse, your words cracking as you spoke. But there was nothing left to say.

Nothing left to say at all.

You weren’t good enough for Azriel, for your own mate. You weren’t good enough to keep his attention. Not good enough to keep his love.

You were just simply not enough.

Cassian held you there as you cried and cried, held you as the weight of everything you lost engulfed you. Held you through the raw grief that surged like a tempest within you. Held you until you had cried yourself into a fitful sleep, only then rising to carry you back to your room.

────────────

As soon as Mor had gotten word about what had happened, she immediately started her journey home from the continent. She had gone to you the minute she landed in Velaris, but Cassian had turned her away because he didn’t want to interrupt your sleep, something you hadn’t gotten much of since the attack.

But that was okay because she had a few things she needed to take care of.

“Where is she!”

Mor’s shout rang through the entire house, the ground quaking underneath her as she stormed into the dining room where a very morose dinner seemed to be taking place with Rhys, Feyre, Elain and Amren at the table. Rhys shot up from his seat. “Y/n is at the House of Wind with—”

“Not her,” Mor snarled before pointing a finger at Elain, who stared at her wide-eyed. “You.”

Before anyone could stop her, Mor launched herself forward, grabbing Elain by the hair on the back of her head and slamming her face down on the wooden table she was sitting at. Rhys cursed while Feyre jumped up from her seat, thanking the Gods that Nesta wasn’t here for this.

Rhys grabbed Feyre by the arm, shaking his head at her. “Some things need to be fought the fae way. Let her learn.”

Amren leaned back in her chair, not so much as flinching at the display.

Mor kept her fist wrapped in Elain’s hair, pressing her face against the hardwood as the other girl cried out, blood dripping down her nose.

“That was for Y/n because she’s up there learning how to fucking walk again because of you,” Mor hissed before yanking Elain up by her hair until she was standing.

Elain cried out for Feyre but her sister just pressed her lips into a thin line, Rhys’s hand still around her arm. Feyre was disappointed in her sister for what she had done but she still bristled as Rhys’s amusement at the scene traveled down their bond.

Mor decked Elain in the face, the sound audible, causing Feyre to flinch. Elain’s head whipped to the side as she dropped to the floor with a loud sob. “And that was for Cassian because he would never lay his hands on a weak, pathetic female but I will. Remember that.”

Elain’s cries rung out in the room, blood dripping from her now broken nose and a bruise already forming on her cheek. Mor ignored her as she looked to Rhysand.

“Where is the other one?” Her voice was full of anger. “I’m going to fucking kill him.”

“I don’t know,” Rhys sighed, finally letting go of Feyre. She rushed to Elain’s side, helping her off the floor and out of the room, giving Mor a remorseful look, feeling guilty over what her sister had caused.

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“He disappeared once Y/n woke up and made it very clear she didn’t wish to see him. I have no idea where he went.”

“That fucking coward,” Mor grumbled. “Why is Elain still here? This is Y/n’s home, not hers. She shouldn’t have to be the one who leaves and you know she will if those two are still around. Cassian would leave with her too—I’m sure of it.”

“I know he would,” Rhys said, sitting back down and putting his head in his hands. “I don’t know what to do, Mor. If Elain wasn’t Feyre’s sister I would’ve had her banished in a second and Azriel…Gods, he’s my brother. I can’t believe he would do something like this. He loves Y/n. I don’t know why he would hurt her like this.”

“Azriel has always been his worst enemy,” Mor sighed, sitting next to Rhys. “We’ve all tried to help him as much as we could but this just isn’t something we can help him with. Y/n is going to need our support. This could destroy her.”

“It already has,” Rhys replied. “She might leave our court regardless of whether or not we send Azriel and Elain away. I wouldn’t blame her. I’ve already let her know that if she wants out, I’ll have everything set-up for her.”

“What of the girl’s mate? The redhead,” Amren piped up, crossing her arms. “Does he know yet? You know how males are. He might call for a blood duel against Azriel.”

“Lucien has already been informed about what happened,” Rhys spoke. “Cassian has been on a warpath and was all too eager to tell Lucien. I think part of him hoped he would duel Azriel. But Lucien wouldn’t.”

“So what happens now?” Mor asked.

Rhys looked at her and she took note of the heavy bags under his eyes. He hadn’t been sleeping. Neither had she. She was certain none of them had. Azriel had caused a giant rift in this family—one felt by them all.

Rhys held back his tears, clearing his throat.

“I know what was to be done,” he breathed out. “But it’s going to be hard. He was…He was my brother for over five hundred years. Regardless of what he’s done, it’s going to be hard to say goodbye.”

Mor rested a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I know, Rhys. Nothing about this is going to be easy.”

“He cannot be trusted anymore,” Amren added. “Anyone who could cheat on their mate cannot be trusted. He might as well have spit on the Mother’s face for what he did.”

“I just want to know why. Why would he do this?”

Mor let out a long breath. “I’m not sure you’ll ever get an answer. I think Azriel, himself, can’t even answer that question.”

“I failed her, Mor. I knew how dangerous that mission was. I should’ve never given it to her,” the quiet cry shook Rhys’s body.

“Azriel was supposed to be with her, Rhys,” Mor said. “It’s not your fault. He failed her. This was his doing.”

But Rhys just shook his head, the tears finally slipping free from both of their eyes.

“Get it out now, Mor, before you see her,” Rhys choked out. “It’s…hard to see her in the state she’s in. Prepare yourself. We have to be strong for her.”

“I know,” Mor whispered, wiping at her tears. “I know.”

────────────

“Hey, kiddo,” Cassian’s voice pulled you from your sleep.

You blinked awake, groaning at the pounding in your head. It took you a second to realize you were in your room. Cassian must’ve carried you here after your breakdown yesterday.

Cassian was sitting beside you, stroking your hair. “I brought you some breakfast and someone is here to see you.”

It was only then you noticed the other person sitting at the end of your bed.

“Mor?” Your voice was hoarse, the word barely escaping. “You’re here?”

“I came back as soon as I heard,” Mor said, leaning forward to clutch your hand in hers. “How are you doing, babygirl?”

Mor had always felt like an older sister to you. Her friendship with your brother had made the two of you close.

“I’m…I’m not doing good,” you replied, honestly. “I can’t…I don’t know what to do, Mor. I don’t know how to move on from here. Part of me wishes I died in that alleyway. I wish I died the minute my wings were cut off.”

“I know,” she said, sadly. “I wish I had an answer for you but I don’t. It’s going to be hard, but we’re going to be with you every step of the way.”

“Come on, why don’t you sit up so you can eat,” Cassian murmured, putting a hand on your back to help you up.

“I’m not hungry,” you protested.

“You have to eat something, sweetheart,” Cass said gently. “Madja’s orders.”

But you shook your head. You didn’t have an appetite. Everything still hurt so much.

“Just give her a second, Cass,” Mor murmured.

Cassian frowned but nodded. He brushed some of your hair away from your face again and the soothing motion started another round of tears.

“Hey, hey,” Cassian whispered. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay, Cass! How will I ever be able to show my face again?” you cried. “I will be shamed, spit on, shunned because I lost my wings—because I couldn’t fight for them. I can never return to Illyria. I won’t be able to help train with the girls anymore.”

“Emerie told me the girls are already awaiting your return. They miss you,” Mor reassured. “Who cares about what the stupid males are going to think? Most of those females have had their freedom of flight taken from them. They would never shun you for what happened.”

Your eyes fell on the many bouquets of flowers and get well cards on your nightstand. Cassian had been bringing them to you. Your heart ached at the sight.

“But I failed them, Mor,” you sobbed. “I failed them. I’m supposed to be strong. I’m supposed to be a warrior and all it took was one male to completely destroy me. I’m worthless to them now. How can I teach them to fight for themselves if I cannot even do that?”

“You are not worthless,” Cassian said, sternly. “You are more of a fighter than half of those Illyrian males. You continue to fight each day knowing you have to live with the loss of your wings. Most of the males would’ve given up already, sweetheart. You are stronger than you think.”

“I-I’m not. I’m weak and a failure,” you cried. “I couldn’t protect my wings. Couldn’t keep my mate’s love. Couldn’t…couldn’t–”

Your sobs overtook your words, your entire body shaking.

“Listen to me, Y/n.” Mor demanded. “You are not weak. You are not a failure. You are a million times better than the two assholes who hurt you. You will survive this. You will survive him. I promise you, Y/n, I promise you.”

She embraced you, holding you as you broke down into gut-wrenching sobs once again.

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The air was tense to say the least. Rhys was standing behind his desk, palms pressed flat against the surface as he stared at the two people sitting in front of him. Feyre stood next to him as both a pillar of support and the High Lady.

Azriel’s eyes were downcast. He hadn’t even looked at Elain since he had been dragged into this office by Mor—a new black eye and a bruised jaw decorating his face. Elain stared and stared at him, her eyes pleading with him to look at her but he ignored her presence.

Azriel looked rough. He hadn’t shaved, his eyes were bloodshot, but the most surprising thing was his lack of shadows swarming him.

“Where are you shadows?” Rhys asked. “I swear, Azriel, if you sent them after Y/n, I will bring Cassian down here to do with you as he pleases.”

Azriel looked up, shaking his head. “They won’t sing to me anymore. Not since…Not since the accident.”

It was true. His shadows had hissed at him, recoiled in his presence before they dissipated as if they too had felt his betrayal. They had wailed in agony at the loss of Y/n. They had always skittered away in Elain’s presence, probably the only reason they never yelled at him when he was with her…but it seems this time, they had left for good.

Despite his curiosity, Rhys decided to drop the subject. This was not the time or place for that discussion.

“Feyre and I have come to a decision about what must happen due to the results of your actions,” Rhys said, his voice full of authority and resignation.

“What? But we’ve done nothing wrong!” Elain exclaimed. “I know we shouldn’t have gone behind Y/n’s back but we’re in love!”

“I don’t care,” Rhys snarled, baring his teeth. “I don’t care how much you two claim to be in love! Azriel has caused irreparable damage to his own mate—a member of my court, of my family. And you were complicit in that.”

“Are we not your family too? Feyre is my sister!”

“And Y/n is mine,” Rhys retorted. “And Cassian’s.”

Elain crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair. “So we’re being punished for falling in love? It’s not our fault the Cauldron decided to make someone else our mates. It was never our choice.”

“You’re not being punished for falling in love, if that’s even what we can call this,” Feyre spat out, staring at her sister with disappointment. “You’re being punished for how you handled a sensitive situation. You’re being punished for lying to our whole family and for causing it to be torn apart.”

“You’re not being punished at all,” Rhys snapped. “If you were, both of you would be in a cell in Hewn City and I’d let Cassian decide what your punishment would be considering Y/n would never have the heart to hurt either of you. This is simply the consequence of your own stupid actions.”

Azriel’s head shot up at the mention of your name. “How is Y/n? Is she doing okay?”

Feyre went to answer but Rhys shook his head at her.

“You don’t get the privilege of knowing anything about her at this point, Azriel,” he huffed.

Azriel stood from his chair in anger. “She is my mate, Rhys.”

“Sit down,” Rhys commanded, his voice rising for the first time since the meeting started. “Funny how now you acknowledge her as a mate but not when you had your tongue down Elain’s throat.”

“Fuck you, Rhys,” Azriel growled, but sat, unable to fight the power of a High Lord’s order.

“No fuck you, Azriel! I thought you were my brother! How could you do this to Y/n? To our family? Both of you should be ashamed. You are already getting off easy, don’t make me rethink my choice. Lucien has every right to storm in right now and demand a blood duel against you. And even though it’s not a practice in my court, I’d even let Y/n declare one against Elain.”

Elain’s face paled but Azriel only scoffed in indignation. “As if Feyre would ever let anyone kill one of her sisters.”

Feyre stepped forward, glaring at the shadowsinger and Elain. “I’m done protecting her. Nesta is done protecting her. We have spent our whole lives taking care of her thinking she was just too soft for this world—too naive and innocent. But I think we’re finally seeing the real you, Elain. And it is time for you to face the consequences of your own actions, make your own way in life.”

“So what are you going to do? Are you going to force me to live in the House of Wind like you did Nesta?”

“No,” Feyre said, stone faced before looking at Rhys. They had decided together how they would handle this situation.

“You are both hereby banished from the Night Court,” Rhys declared. “I will not tolerate Y/n having to lose her own home after she just lost her wings and we are going to do what's best for her. Lucien has made it clear that you both will not be welcomed in Day either and Helion is standing by his son’s decision. Beyond that, we cannot help you. You will pack your things and leave immediately. If you step one foot in this court after you leave, I will be notified and you will face worse repercussions.”

“What?” Elain exclaimed. “Feyre, you can’t be serious! Look, I’ll move out of the Riverhouse. We can live in Azriel’s apartment and avoid Y/n.”

“That apartment belongs to Y/n too, you know,” Feyre snapped. “We have already made our decision. We will not be negotiating any terms.”

“Rhys, come on,” Azriel said. “I will leave but you don’t need to banish Elain too. She did nothing wrong.”

“Elain knew you were a mated male, knew you were together with Y/n. While I agree that what you have done is worse, she still knew what she was doing wasn’t right.”

“Where are we supposed to go?” Elain cried. “I don’t have any money. I don’t have anywhere to go, Feyre. You can’t just toss me out like this.”

“Azriel has money,” Feyre shrugged. “I guess you’re his problem now.”

“You know none of the other High Lord’s will want me in their courts, Rhys,” Azriel snarled. “Not after the things I’ve done for you.”

“Should of thought of that before you betrayed our whole family.”

“I hear the old Manor is still abandoned in the human lands,” Feyre remarked. “Since Vassa had reclaimed her territory with Jurian at her side and Lucien had moved to Day to be with his father.”

“We can’t survive there,” Elain sobbed. “Humans hate faeries.”

“Not my problem, Elain,” Feyre said. “You’re not my problem anymore.”

“Azriel, do something!” Elain cried, looking at the shadowsinger.

“What do you expect him to do?” Rhys laughed humorlessly. “He no longer has his title, his place in my court. He has no sway here. You both don’t. You will not change our minds.”

“Nesta won’t allow this!”

“Nesta,” Feyre said, “is packing up your things as we speak.”

Elain fell back in her chair, crying.

“I’d say I wish you two the best, but I don’t,” Rhys said. “You have two hours to sort out whatever you have to before I expect you both to be out of my court. Two hours. Do you understand?”

“Please,” Elain begged. “Please don’t do this, Feyre.”

But Feyre only shook her head at her sister. “There’s no going back for either of you. Say your goodbyes, sort out your affairs, but you will leave in two hours.”

Rhys took his leave after that, giving Azriel one last look that was full of disgust, guilt, regret, sadness. One last look at his brother before striding out of that room, never to see or speak to him again.

────────────

Mor had just left when you heard the flapping of wings approaching your balcony. Thinking it was your brother, you pushed yourself to stand and hobbled over to the balcony doors using the walls of your room for support. You opened the door, expecting to see your brother, but your heart stopped when you came face to face with Azriel.

Your eyes narrowed and you went to slam the door, but he grabbed it before you could.

“Please, please just hear me out,” he pleaded. “I will leave, I promise, I just…I just—please.”

“There is nothing you can say that will make me forgive you, Azriel.”

“I know, baby–”

“Don’t you dare call me that!”

Azriel looked down at his feet. “Okay, I’m sorry. I’m not here to try to earn your forgiveness, Y/n. I know I fucked up beyond repair. I know I failed you, failed us. Words will never be able to convey how much I regret everything.”

You crossed your arms, leaning against the doorframe as your legs threatened to give out. You were debating screaming out for Cassian.

Azriel reached into his pocket and pulled out a small stone that looked to be enchanted. He held it out towards you.

“I can’t…I can’t hear the shadows anymore,” he murmured. “But I can’t just leave you without some way to contact me. In case you ever change your mind, in case there is ever a chance that we can be together again. You’ll be able to call for me with this.”

“That is never going to happen.”

“Please, just take it,” Azriel begged. “Even if you don’t want me, please. If you’re ever in danger again and need help, you can use it for that too. Just please, take it.”

When you said nothing, didn’t so much as open your palm so he could place the stone in it, he knelt down and placed it at your feet instead. You stared at him, emotionless. You didn’t want to give him anything. He didn’t deserve your tears or your sadness.

“I’m so sorry, Y/n. I’m so sorry for the way things ended,” Azriel said. “You deserve a better mate than me. If I never…If I never get to see you again after this, I promise I will find you in the next life and the one after that. I will do right by you. I will give us another chance.”

He stared at you, pleading with you to say anything. Anything. Even if you screamed at him, beat him, cried—anything was better than this utter silence. But you didn’t. You merely looked at him like he was nothing to you. Like he was a stranger.

“Goodbye, Azriel,” you said. “I hope you find happiness in your life. Truly.”

And then you slammed the door shut and walked away.

And he knew then that your words would haunt him for the rest of his life because he knew he had lost the one real thing that had brought him true happiness forever.

────────────

One Year Later ~ Winter Solstice

“Get up, you lazy cow!”

The sheets were yanked off your sleeping body, exposing you to the cold morning air. You let out a shriek, cursing at your brother and trying to grab the sheets back.

“What the hell, Cassian!”

“It’s Winter Solstice!”

“It’s also six in the morning,” you retorted, falling back down on your bed.

“Nope, you’re not going back to sleep,” Cassian said. “It’s time to get up!”

Before you could even respond, Cassian grabbed you by the ankle and yanked you to the end of the bed. You squealed as he tossed you over his shoulder like a bag of potatoes, pounding on his back as he raced out of the room.

“Cassian! Let me down, you big brute!”

But he only laughed at you, carrying you all the way to the kitchen where Nesta was sitting at the counter with a steaming cup of tea. She didn’t so much as blink as he dropped you into the chair next to her, already used to her mate’s antics.

“Goodmorning, Y/n,” Nesta said, pushing an already prepared cup of tea your way.

“Oh, you are an absolute goddess,” you groaned, greedily accepting the mug. You curled your ice cold fingers around it, relishing in the warmth.

“Hey! What about me?” Cassian yelled, swinging a wash cloth over his shoulder as he started to make breakfast for the two of you. “I’m the one making you guys food!”

“You’re also the one who woke us up, dingbat,” you scoffed, causing Nesta to snort.

It wasn’t long before Cassian was sliding a plate of pancakes your way. “Eat up. You have a long day ahead of you.”

You raised an eyebrow at him but accepted the food, scarfing it down. It was almost hilarious how out of the three of you it was Cassian who cooked the best.

After breakfast, you retired to your room to get ready to go down to the River House for the real celebrations. Cassian had cryptically told you to wear pants, so you did. You had no idea why until hours later, when you were all lounging in the sitting room after lunch.

A knock on the front door had you jumping up from your seat. “I’ll get it!”

No one batted an eye as you raced for the door, pulling it open to see Lucien standing on the doorstep. You let out a noise of excitement, grabbing him in a hug.

“Lucien!” you exclaimed. “You’re here early!”

A few weeks after the incident, Lucien had sent you a letter asking how you were faring and offering you support. He became a lifeline while you had dealt with the aftermath of saying goodbye to your mate and healing. You both leaned on each other during that time because you were simply the only two who understood the pain of having a mate who fell in love with another.

“Happy Winter Solstice,” he said as you pulled away and opened the door wider so he could enter. “I’m actually here to retrieve you.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion. “What?”

“Is everything ready?”

Your brother’s voice came from behind you and you whipped your head around to stare at him. He was wearing his flying leathers now only confusing you further.

“Yes,” Lucien nodded.

“What’s going on?” you asked, suspiciously.

No one else followed Cassian out. Not even Nesta. You frowned as he shook Lucien’s hand, giving him a friendly whack on the back.

“You’ll see,” your brother said with a grin. “Lucien is going to winnow us somewhere, kiddo, to your solstice gift.”

You looked between them with narrowed eyes but accepted Lucien’s outstretched hand. His grin was the last thing you saw before you were pulled away in a flurry of wind. A second later, you appeared in the middle of a clearing.

The tall green grass, the slightly warm breeze, the lack of snow, told you that you were in the Spring Court. You whirled to face your brother who let out a sneeze as soon as he got his bearings.

“What are we doing here?”

“So, you know how when Feyre was brought back she was given a drop of power from every High Lord?” Cassian asked.

You nodded, not understanding where this was going. Your hand slipped into your pocket, around a stone that was always kept there. The one Azriel had left you. You had never used it but for some reason, had never parted with it either. At some point, you had started holding it whenever you felt nervous or fell back into the heartache you had experienced last year.

“Well, of course she inherited part of Tamlin’s shapeshifting powers. And we thought maybe she could shapeshift others the way he does, but after numerous tries, unfortunately it seems as though the sliver of power she received only allows her to transform herself.”

“It was not fun being the guinea pig for those test runs,” Lucien laughed. “When Feyre was unable to do it, we had to turn to someone else.”

“Okay, but what does that have to do with me? Or my solstice gift?”

Before either of them could respond, a noise came from the shrubbery in the distance. Tamlin’s beast form pounced out from it, striding towards you. You gasped and backed away, right into your brother’s chest. He placed a hand on your shoulder.

“It’s okay,” he murmured. “He’s here as a favor to Lucien.”

“And Feyre and Rhys approved this?” you whispered up to him.

He nodded his assurance.

You let out another gasp as Tamlin shifted back into his fae form. He looked well, better than the last time you had seen him at least. He seemed to have regained some weight and gotten a haircut. You knew he was still in the process of recovering his court. You wondered what sort of strings Lucien had to pull to get him to willingly let you and Cassian come here considering his history with your rulers.

He gave you and Cassian a polite, but bland, greeting which you reciprocated.

“Are any of you going to tell me what’s going on?”

“Tam is going to help you shapeshift,” Lucien explained. “If you will allow him.”

“Shapeshift? But why would I–”

It clicked in your head, what they were implying, why they had brought you to this large clearing. You whipped around to look up at your brother who seemed to be holding back tears. He gave you a nod, already knowing what you were asking.

“W-wings,” you choked out. “He can give me wings.”

“It won’t last forever,” Lucien said. “But yes, he can give you wings.”

Tears started slipping down your cheeks and you lurched towards Lucien, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into a hug. You…you were going to have wings. You were going to be able to fly!

You didn’t care that it wouldn’t last forever. Just the chance to fly once more was a gift in itself.

“Thank you,” you whispered into his ear. “Thank you.”

Lucien laughed, hugging you back before you slowly pulled away from him. You looked over your shoulder at your brother. “This was your idea?”

Cassian shook his head. “As much as I wish I could claim this, it was actually Lucien who thought of this first. I’m just here to supervise–and to offer you a flying partner if you’ll have me.”

You smiled up at Lucien, unbelievably touched at the thoughtfulness. Lucien wiped your tears from your face, gently, before placing his hands on your shoulders. “Are you ready?”

You nodded with enthusiasm.

Lucien gestured at Tamlin to come closer.

“Thank you for doing this,” you said to him with a small bow of the head.

“I once watched a faerie die after losing his wings,” Tamlin murmured. “Its…Its a horrific crime. One my family has a history with. I’d like this to be my first step towards making amends for their mistakes.”

You weren’t sure what to say, so you just gave him a grateful nod of the head. He focused intently on you and you felt his magic surround you. It felt nice, like a crisp Spring breeze. And then you felt a familiar weight on your back. You stumbled for a second, readjusting to how it used to feel having wings. But it surprisingly came back to you quite easily.

You looked at them over your shoulder, stretching them out and flapping them a few times. They looked just like your brother’s and you realized Tamlin must’ve used him as a guide. You grinned, facing Cassian.

“Race you towards the end of the clearing,” you shouted before taking off into the sky.

Your brother’s laughter followed after you as he too launched into the sky.

+++

Hours after night had fallen, you found yourself behind the River House, leaning on the railing to watch the slow moving river. Your wings had since dissipated, but you hadn’t felt this light in a long time. Being able to fly today had healed you in some way.

You had spent a lot of time thinking while you flew amongst the clouds. Thinking of who you used to be. Sometimes you missed that girl, sometimes you wished more than anything to be her again.

But you hadn’t felt that today…

Today, you had felt like a new person. Like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon. And perhaps in a way, you were.

Life had never been predictable. Your whole life had been filled with tragedy and sorrow, challenges and hard work, happiness and joy, regret and insecurities. You had gone through so much, so much, but somehow, you were always able to come out on the other side.

It wasn’t easy. It involved many days of despair, awful thoughts, and soulless recovery. You had to fight to get up sometimes, had to fight just to feel something. Sometimes it seemed like you’d conquer one mountain only to be faced with another.

If it wasn’t for your brother, you were certain you would’ve fallen back a dozen times. But he had been your pillar of strength, your rock to rest against when things got too hard. And Mor and Rhys had been there to help lift you back up.

You had gained new friends, found a new life for yourself. Metamorphosed into a new person.

That girl from a year ago?

Well, you were finally going to let her die.

You reached into your pocket and pulled out the stone Azriel had left you. You ran your thumb over its smooth surface. It didn’t hurt as much to look at it now, not like it had before. Before it had represented so many things.

The loss of love, the grief of losing your wings, the reminder that he had betrayed you.

But now…now it just looked like a rock.

You gripped it in your fist and tossed it into the Sidra, watching as it hit the water’s surface with a small thud before sinking down into the black water. Down and down, until it would find its way to the bottom. Perhaps then it would drift out into the sea.

You heard the backdoor to the house open.

“Hey, Y/n, come on!” Mor shouted out to you. “We’re going to Ritas!”

You took one last look at where the rock had disappeared in the water, letting out a long breath.

“Goodbye,” you whispered into the cold air. “I’ll see you in our next lifetime. Maybe then you’ll deserve me.”

With a new weight lifted off your shoulders, you turned and marched back to your new beginning.

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