#flames of the dark rites

[mango-unit]

something about termina, lorule, demise, and the flames of the dark rites

ok so i was thinking about the sword of demise and the goddess sword

the goddess sword is the blade of the goddess hylia, and is also the sword spirit fi, who is capable of dowsing. this capability is what allows her to track zelda, the reincarnation of hylia.

the sword if demise is the blade of the demon king demise, and is also the sword spirit ghirahim, who has the capability to track zelda, the reincarnation of hylia. this implies some dowsing ability.

in its default form, the goddess sword bears little resemblance to the blade of demise. however, when tempered in the sacred flames of the golden goddesses, it becomes the master sword.

both blades (masyer sword and sword of demise) feature winged hilts, embedded gems, and depictions of the triforce engraved in the steel. the sword of demise is very clearly a demonic counterpart to the master sword - although it was fully forged first. also, its triforce is upside down.

considering that hylia and demise have parallel blades, it is a fair assumption that demise is the demonic parallel to hylia, and was granted the role of king by some greater entities (just as hylia was). i revisit this later once i have some more laid out, bear with me.

it is also a fair assumption that, as the blade of demise resembles the master sword more than the goddess blade, it was similarly tempered in demonic flames.

and i think ive got a pretty strong contender.

the sacred flames are three flames containing the power of the golden goddesses. the flames of the dark rites are three flames containing the power of the demons. in fact, there are theories that the flames of the dark rites are actually the origin of all demonic power, although i dont subscribe to it.

i believe that there are three dark demons, just as there are three golden goddesses. the sacred flames contain the power of the golden goddesses, and embody the virtues of power, wisdom, and courage. the flames of the dark rights contain the power of the dark demons, and embody the virtues of destruction, sorrow, and despair.

i believe that demise tempered his blade in the flames of the dark rites, just as link tempered hylias blade in the sacred flames. this is why the sword of demise resembles the master sword so closely.

these dark demons, the parallels to the golden goddesses, left demise in charge of their domain, just as the golden goddesses did to hylia.

and, just as the golden goddesses created the light realm (hyrule and its sister kingdoms), the dark demons created the dark realm (lorule and its sister kingdoms). this connects to the master sword and demise sword - the master sword features the triforce of light (embodying wisdom, courage, and power) while the demise sword features the triforce of dark (embodying sorrow, despair, and destruction).

the gods rule the light realm. the demons rule the dark realm.

the triforce of dark, bearing the virtues of destruction, sorrow, and despair, was the original triforce of lorule. it, due to it having corrupted virtues, pointed towards the ground. just as the golden goddesses left behind the triforce (to sustain the light realm) and the sacred flames, the dark demons left behind their triforce (to sustain the dark realm) and the flames of the dark rites. the golden goddesses placed hylia in charge of the light realm; the dark demons placed demise in charge of the dark realm.

due to the dark realm being founded upon more corrupted virtues, the people were more cruel and paranoid. because of this, the primary settlement of the kingdom isnt even named - its just a town for thieves to rest before they head back out to rob and crime. i believe that this led to the era of chaos, the war over the triforce, happening much earlier than it would have in the light realm, even without demises interference. i will revisit this.

as for the actual layout of the dark realm, just to cover some bases.

look at the eastern border of termina and the western border of lorule

to the southeast termina, there is swampy jungle marsh

to the southwest lorule, there is swampy jungle marsh

just north of that marsh in termina is a desert

just north of that marsh in lorule is a desert

to the north of both kingdoms is a mountain range said to be cursed into eternal winter

i believe that termina is directly to the west of lorule. the small bit of desert in lorule connects to the ikana desert of termina, and the curse placed upon the termina range extended to death mountain.

there is more in-game evidence for this, in both albw and majoras mask.

the ikana desert bleeds into lorulian territory, so it would stand to reason there would be some transferred iconography. that is exactly what we see. in the stone tower temple - in the ikana desert - we see depictions of the triforce, being licked by demons. the triforce is right-side-up, if youre talking about the light realm, but its upside down, if youre talking about the dark realm. this would imply some connection with the tower and inversion, since such a key symbol is inverted.

oh wouldnt you know the entire dungeon flips upside down.

so, if we say its an inverted dark triforce, it actually serves as a guide to those who travel through the dungeon: it is a dungeon of inversion. similarly, since its a symbol of the dark demons who created the world, it is a simultaneous depiction of defiance against the gods and worship of the dark demons.

when inverted (resembling the light triforce), a pathetic, naked figure with a forked tongue (a weak demon) is licking the triforce from above. this seems to imply that those who defy the dark demons (the gods, represented by the inverted dark triforce) are lesser than even the weakest of demons.

when oriented correctly (resembling the dark triforce), that same pathetic demon is now below the triforce, straining to lick its tip. this seems to depict how most demons, even those greater than the gods, are still lesser than the dark demons who created the world and struggle for just a small taste of their power. this is a flattering image for their creator deities.

so, now that weve discussed the connection to the lorulian dark triforce in majoras mask, we can now discuss the connection to terminas culture in a link between worlds - although this is even more blatant.

thieves town, on the western edge of the kingdom bordering termina, has a group of people who wear masks depicting the faces of monsters in an attempt to become those monsters themselves.

termina is littered with magical masks that transform its wearer into the monster it depicts.

this seems pretty direct. they picked up the culture or myths of those masks from termina and, seeking salvation from the pain of human life in the dark realm, developed a religion from the concept of transformative masks.

so there is a connection to the other kingdoms culture and icons in both games, and theyre both along the proposed common border with similar geographic features.

now as for the mountains: there is a misconception held by some that the curse on biggoron is what caused the winter on terminas mountain. that isnt the case. the curse on biggoron caused the blizzard, yes; but he was only there in termina in the first place to investigate the endless winter.

the mountains were cursed a significant time before majoras mask, allowing for the time it took for biggoron to learn of the curse and travel to termina; this curse affected death mountain in lorule.

now, i said i would revisit what i said about the era of chaos happening earlier in lorule.

i think that there are two things at play: the dark world, which is more aggressive, had the era of chaos earlier as a result. and the light world, which was attacked by demise, had the era of chaos greatly delayed as a result (the hylians were sent to the sky).

i believe that the lorulian sages destroyed the dark triforce just before the events of skyward sword. the world began to unravel, which prompted demise (the dark realms guardian deity, equivalent to hylia) to seek out a new one. this led him to the light realm - to the triforce left by the golden goddesses.

demise did pretty much the same thing hilda would eventually do, except through much more active bloodshed and conquering. he was fighting to save the world he was tasked with protecting, and he was sealed and killed as a result. his attack led to skyloft, which further delayed the light realm era of chaos (and the sealing of the triforce).

the dark realm was left without a guardian deity. this prompted the giants to offer the people of termina the oath to order. they would sleep in the furthest reaches of the kingdom, and their power would sustain the land - and if the people ever needed their intervention, they could play a song which would awaken them.

they became the new guardians of termina, akin to the role the dragons serve in the light realm. lorule, however, had no being to protect it from the decay caused by the absence of the triforce. so it, slowly, ever so slowly, began to rot.

its probably a good idea to wrap this up now, so im gonna recap everything discussed here really quickly.

- termina is directly west of lorule, both are in the dark world

- the lorule desert is a small section of the ikana desert

- the stone tower temple depicts an inverted lorulian triforce, hinting at its ability to flip

- the thieves town picked up the culture of wearing masks to transform into monsters from termina

- the dark world was created by three dark demons who embodied the virtues of destruction, sorrow, and despair; these virtues were embodied in the dark triforce, and in the flames of the dark rites, the demonic counterpart to the sacred flames

- demise is the dark realm equivalent to hylia, tasked with defending the world

- demise tempered his blade in the flames of the dark rites, as link tempered hylias blade in the sacred flames

- the more aggressive dark realm battles over the triforce earlier, and so destroyed it before the events if skyward sword

- this led to demise seeking out the triforce of the light realm, further delaying the era of chaos in the light realm by forcing the hylians to escape to the skies

- the absence of a guardian being led to the giants delivering the oath to order

[littlest-w01f]

Chapter Two

Series Masterlist

Cw: Death/ Mentions of Death, Alcohol

It was a few days after the first battle, after Rheana and Rhysand with the help of their friends had won The Blood Rite, and claimed the title of 'Carynthian', two half-breeds and two bastards. She was a proud shame for the Illyrian males. She was the first female to not only compete in the Blood Rite but win it in a way not many had before her.

She stood outside near the camps, waiting for her mother and sister to take them to meet Rhys, Cassian and Azriel just after the four of them had emerged victorious. She hoped they would be proud, even if she knew her father wouldn't be, he didn't like her spending more time in Illyria than acting like a high fae, like royalty.

"You are Princess Night." Her father would tell her growing up, his tone gentle while he would sit and nurse any wounds she would get while Illyrian training, "You need to act more like the Night Court royalty you are, Princess." But she never did, she was a full brute at heart.

She met the females of her family in the middle of the woods, her sister, Cedrica, jumped on her in a hard hug, praises and relif flowing from both their lips as Rheana set her sister down and her mother embraced them both.

It was peaceful for a moment. Happy. Before it all ended. The scent of Spring coated the air. Rheana and her family straightened, putting on a guard.

"My Lord..." Rheana gave a short bow, and Cedrica and her mother followed, to the High Lord of Spring who stood in front of them, standing in front of Cedrica and her mother with Rheana in between them. "What brings you to this side of Prythian?"

"Ah, Rheana." The Lord of Spring greeted her rather coldly as if not expecting her to be there, his eyes on her mother. "Dalia, I heard your son is to meet you here..."

Rheana stood in a protective stance in front of the High Lord, her legs parted and back straight, her arms tensing by her sides, ready to strike. Before she could ask where he heard of anything related to her family, familiar screams made her spin around.

Big mistake.

Rheana saw her mother and sister trying to fight off the two heirs of Spring, and her violet eyes darkened. She took a step forward to help them but in her distraction, the High Lord tripped her and had her under him easily, she tried to fight off the weight on her. She struggled under his claws, she felt his power hold her down, it hit her too soon that she couldn't fight off a High Lord with magic multitudes higher than hers.

She helplessly watched as the High Lord's sons overpowered her family who couldn't hold a fight. Her mother was always under her father's protection, and no one dared to even think of hurting her, while her sister was more into the politics of Night than her Illyrian heritage. It didn't take long for the heirs to have her family on the ground.

"No, no let them go!" Rheana groaned under the weight and power of the beast that was the High Lord of Spring. "What are you doing!?"

"My dear son told us he was coming to congratulate you and that Rhysand." The man overpowering her spat out, "I'm just here to let your daddy dearest know that his precious family isn't untouchable like he pretends they are."

"Tamlin...?" Her eyes darkened, feeling the boy in the air. "He's here, isn't he?"

The speak of the devil, Tamlin walked out of the woods, looking awkward rather than evil, he held a large dagger in his hands, letting the females that were held down by the rest of the heirs and the High Lord himself know exactly what was about to go down. "I'm sorry Rhea."

Rheana spat on his feet, "I will never forgive you for this. Rhysand was wrong to befriend you, you asshole."

She tensed up when the claws of the High Lord dragged down her back as if to let her know they were there, not yet breaking the skin, a threat to her insulting his son who had got him such great intel, "Bring your wings out, little girl." The High Lord ordered her.

The females refused to say anything when suddenly the heirs holding her mother gripped her wings and twisted them, making her cry out in pain, something purely forbidden, a taboo, to touch an Illyrian's wings without their permission.

She yelled for Rhysand and her father in her mind, she was sure her sister and mother were trying to do the same, calling for them to come, but they had done something to her abilities, she felt a shield of the High Lord, rendering their magic useless.

Cedrica tried to reach her mother, but she was held just the same as her. Helpless. Both of them helpless.

Everything else happened in a blur, the High Lord of Sprige wanted to to kill them, but seeing Rheana, she wanted her wings as a prize first, wings she had kept hidden away. Cedrica was yelling profanities at the men while their mother offered herself up in place of her daughters, whispering words of love for them to hear.

"I love you, my sweets." Came from their mother, she looked as if she had already made peace with death, both the females tried to fight against those who held them down to get to their mother, get held one last time even if they couldn't save her.

Fear filled both the sisters as in seconds, tears staining their tanned cheeks, the Spring heir brought down the blade and severed their mother's wings from her back, It was her screams that alerted someone of the ongoings in the woods, hearing her scream the heir then took her head with the blade.

Rheana couldn't hear anything, her ears rung loud as she looked over her mother's mutilated body, killed without remorse. Wingless and headless. Simply dead.

She couldn't look at the body anymore, blood spreading through the grass underneath them, she was sure her sister was yelling in her direction to not let herself lose her wings as the High Lord held her under him, his claws digging into her back, making 3 symmetrical jagged cuts on her otherwise smooth back, if she had her wings out they would have been easily pulled apart by those scary precise cuts. The powerful male held her like he was a cat toying with a helpless bird. Rheana didn't feel the pain of it, even as tears fell, they were for his mother and for the fact her sister would be next after her if she did not let her wings out.

She could hear her sister yelling at her to not let them take her, she could feel her sister in her head.

If one of us is to survive, it should be you. I need it to be you. You can get revenge. Between the two of us. Revenge is more in you than me.

Before she could find the voice to disagree with her sister, Cedrica offered herself up, summoning her wings to her death. The sounds of the wind moving with the spread of large Illyrian wings made Rheana look up.

They made eye contact, anger and resentment in both their eyes, for the murder of their mother. Rheana then held the eyes of Tamlin, who looked at her guilty as he watched his brothers take on defenceless females.

Rheana watched in horror as her younger sister was dragged next, and no amount of pleading or begging made them stop, not even for a second. There was no emotion on their faces as they ripped the wings from her sister, giving her sobbing self the same treatment as they did her mother. Cedrica cried as the drags of the blunt knife, one wing after the other falling on the ground, there was no sound in the wood as the glare Cedrica had thrown at the High Lord, who still had his claws lodged in Rheana's back, soiling her clothes in blood, stood in the tense air.

With her sister's death, her breathing laboured as if their power flew into her, her eyes covered in darkness as she was surrounded by the Spring Court men. She had to get out of this, get revenge on them for what they've done.

"You will die for this" Her voice was hoarse from crying and screaming, "You will die."

Her eyes were full of pain and anger. Survive. Survive. She chanted to herself. Darkness from all around rose and fell with her breathing. She couldn't kill them, not now. Survive first.

She screamed and the darkness of the woods roared at her command, a newfound power. No one was coming to help her, so she would get the darkness to her side, every dark thing would be by her side.

The men around her started to whisper in fright as the shadows grew, covering her as if keeping her safe from them. Then there it was, something who had heard all the screaming. A monster of the Illyrian mountains.

She was covered by darkness like a blanket of cold, but the sound of the monster sniffing reached her ears. The next thing she knew whatever cover the High Lord had set up to negate her powers went down, she guessed they had winnowed away seeing the horrifying creature.

Then each message she had tried to get out to her brother and father reached them. They winnowed in instantly, the monster backed away slightly, sensing the power of his High Lord. Rhysand was instantly by the side of her darkness as both of the males saw the females they cared for dead.

"Rhea?" Rhysand whispered to the darkness, the darkness shimmering away from her to reveal her tear-covered face and her back with large wounds that all three of them knew wouldn't go away.

"I've got you, Rhea... I've got you."

"I've got you, Rhys... I've got you."

She whispers, by her brother's side in an instant. Holding Rhysand in her arms as the magic of their bargain woke him up, feeding him strength. She held him close as he groaned and tried to sit up on the bed.

"Is it our thing, little sis?" He cracked out as Rheana jumped to hug him, "For me to be all dirty and gross and for you to not care and hug me?"

She slapped him upside the head at his attempt at the joke, "Shut up! I'm just making sure you're ok before I beat you up for fucking leaving me and our entire court when you told me you felt something off about Amarantha's party invitation."

"I'm so mad at you." She claimed as they hugged tighter.

"And I love you too, Rhea..." Rhysand chuckled, melting in her hold.

Rheana rested her head on his shoulder, "I'm glad you're safe."

"I'm glad you're safe too." He replied instantly.

"Everyone is ok... As ok as we could have been." She told him, ending the hug, "All thanks to you."

Rhysand stretched on the bed, his joints popping loudly, with a groan, he noticed his body was nearly as healthy as it was before everything. "How did you...?"

"I don't know," She sighed, taking out some new tunics and pants for him. "I just said I needed you and our bargain glowed you back to health."

Before Rhysand could comment, she summoned some food, for both of them. "Forget that. we are going to eat together."

Rhysand gave a soft sigh, "I'm... Not really hungry. Whatever you did... It's as if I've never been fuller."

She frowned slightly, "Alright, if you say so, I won't force you to eat, but let me know if you need anything."

She instantly moved to a chair with some clothes on it, then threw them at him. "Wash up, I'm not letting you stink up the room any longer."

"Ugh, fine..." Rhysand groaned as he got up, and opened the door to the giant bathroom joint to his room.

Rheana excused herself from his room and stood just outside it, she leaned back and slid down on the floor, a smile formed on her face, her blood was suddenly pumping faster through her body, and her heart was beating stronger. Whatever their bargain had done, Rhysand had quickly gotten healthy again. She stroked her hand tattoo, signifying the bargain.

She could hear Rhysand turn the bath tap on to fill it, she didn't know why she stayed just outside his door, but a piece of her wanted to stay as close to him as possible. Half a century away from each other, all she wished to do was sit next to him and learn about what had happened. Certainly, something good had happened at the end of it, Rhys had found his mate, and she smiled at the thought, of her brother's mate.

But the gnawing feeling that something far worse than just torture had happened to her brother before it all stayed with her. She could see it in the ghostly man who he was before their bond healed him, he was physically better but there was something about him that just seemed, gone.

She looked up when she saw a pair of feet approach her, she looked at the male who stood in front of her and smiled, "He's up, Az.."

Rheana got up from the floor with Azriel's help, a soft smile on her face. "He finally woke up."

Azriel, the rather quiet Illyrian male mirrored her smile, "I heard a little," He claimed, the shadows sitting on his shoulders moving against his neck and jaw, whispering in his ear. "Spy remember."

She rolls her eyes at him and his gossip addict shadows, "You're not meant to listen in on your High Lord, you know."

"Forgive me, my Princess." Azriel gave a teasing bow, "Please do not mist me."

And with that, she chuckled, a louder laugh escaped her lips when he took her hands in his scared one to kiss over her knuckles, "I suppose he doesn't have to know."

Azriel smiled hearing her laugh, straightening his back up. "You haven't laughed like that in so long, Rhea..."

"Well, he's back... Rhys is back." Her laugh abruptly ended, but a smile stayed, "And even if he could be broken with what might had happened, but we can heal."

Broken. Broken meant something could be fixed. She would help him fix whatever had been broken Under the Mountain. If she thought about it, everyone in their lives was broken to some extent, and they had all helped each other

"We always do..." He smiled slightly, his burn scared hands stroking her rather scarless ones, "Even if it takes decades."

He led her to the open living room, night had fallen, and the stars covered the sky. The air felt lighter when she looked outside, a peaceful silence between them. The city was lit up under the stars and the moon. The power in the city felt increased tenfold simply by Rhysand's return.

Azriel had got her some food to eat, A damn busybody Rheana smiled to herself as she ate, her food floating on his shadows with a canteen of water by the bread.

"Come on, baby! We can finally bring out the drinks!" Cassian flew in, crates and crates of alcohol in his hands. A big dumb grin on his lips. "Our Rhysie is alive, and he's back!" He almost hollered, anyone could have easily felt the power of their High Lord fueling the city.

Azriel and Rheana look at each other, then at Cassian, "Maybe not just yet, he's just got back, let him rest." Rheana whispered, swallowing her bite.

Cassian frowned as he set all the alcohol down on the ground, giving her a look that he knew would make her get what he wanted, a look of the boy who had once never seen the inside of a house, they all paused when they heard Rhysand's voice, "I won't mind... Bring out the drinks, Cass."

The three of them turn to face Rhysand, cleaned up in his usual tunic and pants with a broad smile on his face. A smile that Rheana saw through instantly. Cassian and Azriel moved fast to tackle him in a hug, she looked at the three of them and noticed how he'd gotten quite uncomfortable with their touch as he tried to pass it off with a smile.

She finished the last of her meat as she let her talons gently scrape his dark fortress of a mind shield, and he carved out a piece of his mind to let her in, something that had made her raise her brow, he's never actually blocked her out before, he'd always trusted her to not snoop around in his thoughts and feelings.

Rhys...? Are you sure you want to party and drink?

I'll be ok, please, let me enjoy this, I've not had some good alcohol since I was taken, I just want to forget... Everything.

Her brows furrowed in confusion but she let it go, a part of her wanted to know what happened, but she would never force him to tell.

Cassian and Azriel were laughing, patting him on his back, talking about how he looked a lot better after his sleep, talking over each other, asking if he was alright. Cassian was basically jumping up and down on his feet, grabbing a bottle of Rhysand's expensive whiskey to pour them glasses. Azriel was a little curious looking at Rhysand, his shadows whispering in his ears whatever they thought was the reason for his physical recovery.

Rheana picked up a glass at the same time as Rhysand, who looked at Azriel and gave a broader smile, "To my return," He smirked and clinked the glass of whiskey with Azriel's.

Mor winnowed in the townhouse with Amren, Rhysand had probably called them in through their mind link as he pulled out more bottles from the crate that Cassian had got, he took a large swig of rum, sighing at the burn in his throat.

The females greeted Rhysand happily and Amren smirked, her nose crinkling slightly at the smell of whiskey. "Good to see you up, boy. Little Rhea was about to lose her mind when you would not wake up."

Rheana playfully shoved Amren and the tiny ancient one, making her eyes glare silver, "Oh shut up, Amren, I was not losing my mind."

"YES, YOU WERE!" Came a chorus, how the lot had managed to get tipsy in seconds was a mystery to her. Only Mor was the one who said nothing since she had panicked just as much, worried shitless for her brother.

A faint blush covered Rheana's tanned cheeks, taking a sip of her own whiskey as the rest poured more drinks, clinking glasses all around.

It took at most 30 minutes before the entire Inner Circle was drunk with how quick they were drowning drinks, Rhysand was smiling and chuckling, drinking more and more by the second. Rheana, too, drank her fill, she'd not let herself have a moment to be loose since Rhys was taken, but if he wanted to get a moment to get drunk, she would do everything to keep him happy, at least once.

Cassian was the drunkest, he'd soon started singing loudly one of the songs that frequently played at Rita's, grabbing Rhysand by his arms to pull him in a slow dance, twirling him around. Mor was laughing at them, even Azriel doubled over laughing at Cassian singing loudly at Rhysand's face. Amren just stood by the side, watching them with a smile.

Five centuries-old toddlers... Rheana thought to herself before she yelled the background vocals to Cassian's singing slightly less awfully, joining in on the dancing with Cassian who held both the brother and sister to dance with.

A real smile came on Rhysand's lips as the night carried on, Mor and Azriel also joined in on the singing and dancing happening in the townhouse, and Amren loosened up well too.

Rheana and Rhysand got twirled around and let out of the dance by the drunk Cassian and the two stared at each other, she reached her hand out to him, and he held it tight, her siphons glowed slightly, a warm humm between them. Whatever happened, they would get through it like any other misfortune they faced. Rheana would be there for Rhysand. They would be ok. They would heal. Together. Alltaf. Aeternum.

{Taglist: @anuttellaa @nox-ceur}

[furcas-knight-of-hell]

Mr Furcas, I am writing you to enquire upon your studies of pyromancy. After examining the syllabus I have been unable to find any mention of certain variations in the form taken by some more complex incantations. More specifically ones involving the creation of flame pillars, as I have observed some individuals summoning columns with a flater peak (similar to a hearth fire), whilst the same incantation cast by another results in a more singular tongue of flame (much like a candle). If you have any information on the matter it would be appreciated, yours [anonymous].

Depends on your brimstone seal, most of it is down to personal preference and purpose, but for the iconic pillar of flame look from the (spits) bible you're gonna want something that can invoke not only the sulfur demons but also the windstorm rite of the ancient desert blasphemies.

In any case you can't go wrong with the basic carved sigil of Umaglu-Luku-Pu speckled with the blood of a virgin she-djinn.

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Between Fire and Stone

Daemon Targaryen/Strong!female

summary: anxious about her approaching union to Aemond, the only daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen seeks comfort | word count: 2.8k~ | warnings: incest, reader is described with strong features, fingering, p in v sex, arranged marriage, Daemon being a cheeky cunt

A/N: idek what I was on to write this cos I'm not usually a Daemon girlie but here we are besties. Tysm @em-writes-stuff-sometimes for beta-ing 😘 appreciate you

The cold mist nipped at the skin around her ankles, a shiver running up her spine as she struggled through the jagged rock towards the Dragonmont. Her fingers brushed against the stark stone for balance, the other holding the lit torch to light her way before her in the darkness.

It was one of her favourite things, taking a stroll through Dragonstone in the hour of the wolf. Peaceful. Quiet. Something she could have all for herself. Away from the prying of her maidservants and the overbearing boisterous nature of her brothers. Though Jace, now a man grown, still held onto those immaturities.

Yet another thing that set her apart from her siblings.

For she, only a mere year younger than Jace, was considered a woman, ripe for marriage and bearing children, whereas the same hastiness was not pressured upon him. She knew her mother had never intended to bestow such responsibilities on her, but she understood, it was inevitable. As that time loomed ever closer, she found herself roaming her home more often, as if to savour the feeling of once being a child.

Where her brothers could seek adventure with their dragons once they were big enough to saddle, her egg had not hatched in her cradle. She would not inherit the birthright of the blood of Old Valyria, yet another judgement cast upon her that only inflated her sense of belonging at her mother's side. With her moonlit hair and pale lilac eyes, each of her children could not have looked more different.

Before the incident, there existed only one other soul who could truly fathom the depths of her solitude. No dragon. Ceaseless taunts. The notion of isolation, even amongst one’s family. Any semblance of camaraderie had been extinguished the day Lucerys took his eye. That defining moment when Aemond—her uncle—seized his birthright had marked the fracture in their familial bonds. In the aftermath, her mother, alongside her new husband Daemon, orchestrated a grand scheme to mend the shattered relations, a plan that involved her betrothal to him at an opportune moment.

Try as she might, she couldn't conjure the image of herself as his wife. The thought of residing in King's Landing under his roof refused to coalesce into a coherent vision. It remained an elusive spectre, haunting her thoughts with its intangible uncertainty.

Whispers of tradition and duty echoed in the hallowed halls of her childhood, spun by the gentle tongues of Septas who spoke of the sacred rites of marriage. Tales of Lords and Ladies, of the solemn exchange of vows, and the anticipated consummation on the wedding night. Some stories painted a picture of pleasure and intimacy, of unions founded on mutual desire and affection. Others whispered of duty, of sacrifices made for the sake of one's spouse, regardless of personal inclination.

Caught in the web of uncertainty, she pondered which version of Aemond awaited her, a tender partner or a distant lord, bound by duty and tradition. The unknown loomed before her like a shadow, casting doubt upon her heart and stirring a quiet fear within her soul. She knew not what to expect, but the uncertainty itself was enough to unsettle her, to sow the seeds of apprehension in her mind. And as the weight of anticipation hung heavy in the air, she couldn't help but wonder, which path would her marriage tread, and would she have the strength to endure whatever lay ahead?

Amidst the towering peaks of Dragonmont, she sought solace in the embrace of ancient flames and the soothing hum of Vermithor's slumber. Here, amidst the rugged terrain and the ever-watchful gaze of the dragons, she found a fleeting sense of peace.

But it was not the Bronze Fury that sang to her. 

“Hen ñuhā elēnī:

Perzyssy vestretis,

Se gēlȳn irūdaks…

Ānogrose.”

She felt the rush of heat at the nape of her neck. Daemon stood straight, back facing her, his voice near-matching the hum of Vermithor’s deep exhales.

“It is late, Princess.” Unlike her, Daemon remained as he dressed during the day, shown when he turned to face her, with the self-satisfied smirk on his lips. “What troubles you?” he asked.

She tried to raise her chin, but her eyes betrayed the turmoil that stirred within. 

“My fate,” she said, her careful steps drawing ever nearer. "I am to be wed to Aemond, but I fear what awaits me in that union.”

Daemon hummed, as if curiously amused.

She had known no father figure since Laenor. And though she knew sooner than her brothers the truth that lay beneath the careful picture her mother had forged, since she had been wed to Daemon, he had taken practice with his own daughters and become almost a father to her alike.

She felt his eyes sink over her once before returning to her eyes.

"Marriage is a weighty matter," he said. "But is it the marriage itself that troubles you, or something more?”

She did not miss the lilt to his voice. The one, that like his eyes had done many times before, made something squeeze in her gut. A fire burning bright. A feeling that brought her shame.

He was her mother's husband.

“I cannot say exactly,” she confessed. “Perhaps it is leaving Dragonstone. Mother and my brothers. And being alone in the capital with no face I recognise with trust.”

Daemon nodded almost indistinctly, his fingers reaching out to brush a lock of hair back over her shoulder, admiring her hair loose of its usual braids. His touch sent a shiver down her spine, a sensation both familiar and disconcerting. She fought to push aside the conflicting emotions that threatened to overwhelm her, the warmth of his touch conflicting with the knowledge of their complicated relationship.

"Leaving behind the familiar can indeed be a daunting prospect," Daemon acknowledged, his voice a velvet caress, “But fret not. Within you resides the same fire that fuels your mother's resolve. Embrace it. You are as much Targaryen as any of them.”

She felt a blush creeping up her cheeks at the intensity of his gaze, at the way he seemed to see straight through her defences. She knew she should be wary of his advances, of the way he danced on the edge of propriety with his words and his touch. But there was something undeniably alluring about the way he held her gaze, about the way he made her feel desired and understood.

"Thank you, Daemon," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "Your support means more to me than you know.”

Daemon's smile was a slow, seductive curve of his lips, his eyes alight with a fire that mirrored the flames of the Dragonmont. 

"Ah, but my dear Princess," he replied, his voice low and husky, "you have yet to discover the true depths of my support.”

She felt her throat close up, the feeling mirroring somewhat what happened between her thighs.

What could he possibly mean?

“Do you fear it?” he asked. “The act of consummation?”

Her cheeks flushed crimson at Daemon's bold question, his words sending a jolt of both arousal and apprehension coursing through her veins. 

“It… is perfectly normal, I would think,” she answered, words failing her.

"Princess," he murmured, his voice a soothing caress against her skin. "There is no shame in feeling uncertain. It is only natural to have doubts, especially when faced with such intimate matters.”

She felt he was circling her, as dragons did their targets. And felt her heart thumping in her chest.

“With Aegon, I dare say, I would join you in your uncertainty. But Aemond, on the other hand… is a different matter entirely.”

“How so?” she asked, breathing out when he disappeared out of her line of sight, his presence at her back, fingers draping past the material of her dress.

“I am afraid he may be less… forthcoming with expressing his desires,” he purred. “He may be cold, or at least that is how it may be interpreted.” Her eyes met his with bated breath as he appeared on her opposite side, closer. “He may not be so adept with the pleasures of a female body.”

She swallowed, a chill settling on her front, her body reacting thus. He remained silent, as if daring her to say what he knew was already on the tip of her tongue. So, she took the plunge. “And…you are?”

Daemon smirked smugly, and she knew she already had her answer., “What do you think?”

Her heart raced. Her mind struggled to contemplate whether she should be honest or not, for she had heard stories and rumours. She knew she was treading dangerous waters, playing with fire in the form of her mother's husband, but there was a part of her that couldn't resist the allure of his confidence, his charm, his undeniable magnetism.

"I... I suppose I never considered such matters," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, her cheeks burning with embarrassment at the admission.

Daemon's eyes danced with amusement as he stepped closer. "Perhaps it is time you did," he murmured, fingers trailing lightly down the curve of her spine.

Her skin vibrated with anticipation as she fought to maintain her composure in the face of his overwhelming presence. She knew she should pull away, should put an end to this dangerous game they were playing, but the lure of Daemon's charm was too strong to resist.

“Mayhaps I could demonstrate and put your worries to rest,” he suggested, crossing the imaginary but daring line seemingly without fear. “Rest assured, my experience in such matters is... extensive."

Her heart pounded in her chest as she struggled to maintain her resolve, her body betraying her with every flutter of her lashes, every quickened breath. “But… you and Mother—”

Her lips clamped shut with the bruising of his grip in the softness of her waist, urging her back to the rocky, hard wall. Only now, when faced with the Rogue Prince, did she realise just how small she truly felt.

“Your mother is preoccupied with her own affairs," he replied, his voice dripping with a dangerous allure. "She won't concern herself with our little... indiscretion.”

The realisation sank in that she was alone with Daemon in the secluded confines of the Dragonmont, far removed from the prying eyes of the world. And yet, she still felt her lips go dry when he hung the torch and trailed his touch upon her skin where he was taking her skirts with it.

She could not hide her nerves, or the beating rush of arousal, “Bu—but… with Aemond, I must—”

The air felt warm as her skirt was rucked around her hips. She squeaked when his calloused fingers swept through her folds, ashamed to find she was affected by what he was doing to her as her slick coated them easily.

Daemon chuckled, a pleased hum in his chest that she was wet and ready, while his other hand busied with the laces of his breeches, “Sweet girl. When my dear nephew has his cock buried inside you on your wedding night, he will not know the difference.”

His words, combined with the tight circles he applied to the forbidden bud tucked between her legs, had white hot pleasure burning in her veins. Her lips were parted, but no sound came out. All she could do was look upon his pleased face with a hedonistic expression, feeling very much like they were doing something deliciously wrong but could find no reasonable excuse to cease.

“Do not look so surprised. I have seen the way you watch me. Are you not ashamed for looking upon your own mother’s husband with lust?” 

The more he touched her, the more arousal he coaxed forth, the sound lewd and forbidden in the raw silence of the Draognmont. She could not answer his question without subjecting herself to further embarrassment. Even so, attempting to concentrate enough to form words as his two forefingers slid within her tight, hot walls, was near impossible. She gasped quietly, the feeling so foreign and yet not unpleasant. And like Daemon in any other scenario, while his motions were forceful, somewhat brutal, they were calculated, without effort. Like it came innately. Her hands found purchase on his shoulders, his digits buried deep inside curved towards him, stoking a fire at the hearth of her.

“Answer me.”

She nodded frantically. “Yes—I am ashamed—”

It was all she managed before the feeling began to crest, building and building as if she were climbing some great height and was about to tumble off. But she only exhaled shakily as Daemon withdrew his fingers from her fluttering, sensitive walls, using the moisture to lubricate himself with a careful caress of his manhood.

He chuckled at the wounded expression on her face. “No need for shame, Princess.”

She caught the glint of his ring as he wrung the fabric of her skirts in his fist. Her eyes widened as the head of his cock disappeared easily between her swollen folds, with no real full feeling until he pushed forward, both with hesitation and a sort of evil excitement.

Her back pressed against the jagged stone, her lips only parted to suck in air where it had left her lungs. It was a feeling she could describe very little, the sting of being stretched around him painful and yet once sheathed fully inside her, hips pushing against her own. Daemon wrapped his fingers around her fleshy thigh to tug her leg over his hip, a flash of white hot pleasure creeping up her spine. He only grunted, her slick ridges gripping him greedily without any effort on her part. 

For a few moments, he stayed like that as if waiting for any complaint, but when he found none, began a steady rhythm, fingers creating crescent-moon shaped welts in her skin. He did not share in her reaction. He simply raised one corner of his lips in a pleased manner, watching her face, treating it very much as a lesson in pleasure more than anything else.

She could scarcely think with the violent push of his hips, the notch of his belt stabbing into her each time.

“My nephew does not deserve this perfect. little cunt.” He grunted from the effort. “Tell me, Princess—when he is fucking you with his narrow little prick, will you be thinking of this instead?”

Her eyes slipped shut, her head tipped back and fingers coming to her own mouth to muffle the lewd sound that threatened to come out. Her perceived embarrassment at her own enjoyment of this only seemed to motivate Daemon further, and he widened her hips with a soft nudge of his knee against her leg and groaned at the way she tightened around him.

“You liked that, didn't you?” He breathed against her face, looking briefly down between them to watch how he rooted himself inside her over and over, as if unable to believe this was really happening. “I bet he won't make you this wet. I doubt the little cunt will even know how to make you come.”

Her skirt fell from his hand as it drew down between them, and she resisted the urge to squeal when he began to apply pressure in tight, sure circles around her bud.

“You shall have to teach him those pleasures.”

Her fingers gripped his forearms tight as she climaxed, her tight, hot walls spasming around him uncontrollably. It was so utterly different to the way she had pleasured herself before. This time, the forbidden combination of Daemon stretching her open around him and the pleasure he coaxed from her with his fingers meant that this peak seemed to drain her entire body of energy. Her body feeling boneless in his hold, that if he let go, she would surely lose her balance.

A flash of fear cracked like lightning across her subconscious. Surely he did not intend to spill inside her?

He did not overstimulate her for much longer as he neared his own end. Rather, he savoured the feeling of her warmth sucking him in for just a few moments more before pulling out, stroking himself vigorously to completion, warm ropes of his spend coating her lower stomach.

In the quiet dead of night with only her laboured breathing to echo within it, she felt her eyes could not keep up with her mind as she glanced back up at him. His rapidly cooling seed began to dribble towards her thighs, swiftly covered by her skirts once more as Daemon lowered her clothing back into place. The reality of the dangerous and yet delicious sin she had committed with him began to rise into clarity.

Upon his fingers shone the damning proof of his sordid claim on her, pearly in the glow of torchlight. “What a waste. I’d have liked to see it dripping from you.

But that pleasure… I shall save for my nephew, sweet girl."

General Taglist: @aemondsfavouritebastard @bellstwd @blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch @castellomargot @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @mochi-rose @natty2017 @nenelysian @risefallrise @thelittleswanao3 @theoneeyedprince @thetrueblackheart @tsujifreya @urmomsgirlfriend1 @valeskafics @valleyof-goldenlilies

[softpascalito]

Dulcissima I Marcus Acacius x Vestal!Reader I Chapter VII - Bona Dea

! This Fic contains major spoilers for Gladiator II ! Proceed with caution !

Spoiler-Free Summary: Set before and during Gladiator II. General Acacius finds himself entranced by a highly valued priestess of Rome – A Vestal Virgin. Both have taken vows that make sure their paths may never cross. Until they do.

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Vestal Virgin Reader Rating: Explicit / MDNI Word count: 18k+ Tags: Secret Relationship, Vestal Virgins, Religious Guilt, Gladiator fights, Gladiator II compliant (more or less), Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Ancient Rome, Age Difference, Slow Burn (ish), Injury, Kissing, Historical Inaccuracy, (Attempted) Sexual Harassment, Smut, First Time, More tags to be added

AO3 // Series Masterlist // Masterlist // Fic Playlist

notes: ! last major spoiler warning for gladiator II below the cut !

i was supposed to upload this two days ago but silly me decided to have a mental breakdown instead. anyways, enjoy the new chapter ♡

bona dea - a goddess/her festival subligaculum - underwear

Chapter VII

The house is filled with the overpowering scent of strong wine and blooming flowers. Food and drink is being served, the atrium of the roman villa that belongs to the senior magistrate and his wife transformed into a place of worship as much as a place to celebrate.

The annual winter festival of Bona Dea, one of the most important (and as some argue, fun) nights of the year for the women of Rome. A tribute to the goddess that promises fertility along with chastity and healing, in return asking for her worshippers to hold the values of a good, roman wife. Her celebrations allow strong wine and sacrifices led by the Vestals and most importantly–ban all men from the villa and its grounds. Just laying eyes upon the holy celebration and the rites would be enough to condemn a man to a life of blindness.

It is so different from the worship you are used to from Vesta. She is quiet, a prayer whispered into the flames, the crackling noise of the wood, the only company for women who ask for safety and blessing on lonely nights.

You have barely been able to eat, despite the food seeming worthy of the gods. Bona Dea has always made you nervous, the prospect of trying to effortlessly fulfill the rituals that have been passed down from generations of women before you. But the prospect of meeting Acacius in mere hours had you trembling the moment you rose from your bed this morning. The hours seemed to tick by agonizingly slowly all day, making you wonder if the sun would ever set.

But it did. And with the early darkness of the winter night came the loss of appetite. And the later it becomes, the worse you feel. The comfortable anticipation starts mixing with an anxiety you’ve rarely felt before. Nothing can go wrong.

Of course, something goes wrong. When you reach the large front entrance of the atrium, the one you hoped to slip out of unnoticed after fulfilling your duties, is far too busy. The columns are decorated with skillfully woven vines, the entire room alight with candles and torches. A thin layer of smoke still hangs in the air from the rituals you conducted earlier, making the space feel even more sacred.

You settle on making another round, speaking some words here and there, disappearing into a crowd that has evidently already enjoyed the strong wine forbidden to them on other occasions. You catch a glimpse of Severa chatting animatedly with a few other women and duck away just in time to avoid attracting their attention.

It is already late, far later than you meant to leave. You know Acacius will be waiting. He has no rites to attend to tonight. Instead, he will be able to casually stroll out into his–

The gardens. Just like the other houses, there are spacious gardens attached to the villa you are currently trailing through. There has to be a way to slip out into that direction and get up Palatine Hill, which is rather close. Pretending to long for some fresh air, you step into the lush green, plants and trees imported from places where they do not wither in the winter. They lend themselves to your cause perfectly, barely allowing the guests inside to catch a glimpse of your white stola as you tread the small paths, the light around you becoming less and less. You slip past a few trees, fight your way through bushes–and are met with solid stone. Of course. A wall to keep out everyone who tries to sneak into the gardens. Or in your case, sneak out of them.

Your heart is pounding in your chest. Heading back inside, finding another way–it will take too long. He could be gone by then. With a small shake of your head, you step forward and let your hands run over the cold stone. The moon is hiding behind clouds, giving you essentially no light to work with. Still, you somehow manage to find two crevices to tuck your fingers into and pull yourself up. Panting slightly once you've heaved yourself up onto the stone wall, you look back for a brief moment, catching a glimpse of the lit up villa through the trees, listening to the voices and music drifting over to you.

Suddenly, it feels like you're looking down upon your whole life, like you are seeing yourself from the perspective of the gods you so worship. You try and think of something to hold you back, any excuse to just jump back into the gardens and have no one ever be the wiser about the ideas in your head. You think about the dishonor you may bring to the Vestals, to your family. To him. The punishment they would settle on. The whispers that would follow you, even after death.

You try and think of a good reason to stay. But not a thought comes to mind.

So, you jump down on the side that leads further down the path and up to the house with the lavender gardens, a path you do not wish to leave now that you’ve started walking it. Even if it leads straight down to hell.

***

Acacius sighs quietly as he gets up from the bench he sat down on what feels like hours ago. His mind is as restless as his body, his head spinning a different direction every time the wind carries the sound of what could be someone sneaking toward him through the night. The statue of Mars stands quietly next to him as he begins to pace back and forth, eventually expanding his rounds onto the stairs. Up. Down. Have you changed your mind? Back. Forth. An invisible tug of war with the thoughts racing through his head.

The small pavilion is lit by only a few candles, providing just enough light to see but not enough to shimmer too far through the trees. On Bona Dea, the whole town below is alight with the celebrations of the women. Song, Chatter and Light travelling through the night air, distractions that lay like a shroud around your meeting. A protection not unlike your veil. An indication that what lays below is not to be touched–an indication he so desperately longs to ignore.

It's not any sound that makes him turn his head. It is an instinct that he cannot name that has him turn towards the path below. And there you are. Looking almost like a ghost, dressed in a festive, white stola that swishes around your body as you hurry the last few steps, the top of your head crowned by the very veil he just saw in his mind. And he suddenly feels like he cannot wait a second longer.

Acacius meets you halfway up the stairs, his arms sliding around your waist like they belong there. Like a child resting its head in their mothers lap, like a soldier returning to his village after the war. Like the most natural homecoming, a nestling of a body against that of its lover.

“Acacius–” You whisper his name, a relief that it can finally fall from your lips again. “I’m sorry for making you wait.”

He hums quietly, his thumb rubbing gentle circles into your side. “I would wait all night for you, Dulcissima.” He cannot see the blush that spreads over your cheeks but he can hear it in the small breath that escapes you. “May I?”

Keeping one arm firm around your waist, he leads you up the stairs, towards Mars who stares into the distance. Unlike the stone eyes of the statue that are forced to stare at one point on the horizon for eternity, Acacius’s eyes never leave you. Even when he leans down to the small tray he brought along earlier, grabbing a glass filled with red wine and handing it to you, he keeps his focus on you. You barely get to whisper a thank you before a frown spreads over his face. “What happened to your dress?”

“I had to climb the garden wall,” you mutter sheepishly, embarrassed that your original plan has so clearly gone awry. He watches as you take a sip of the wine before you continue. “I will clean it in the morning, it is not worth speaking of.”

Acacius doesn't agree. It feels like another thing he's making you do. A visual representation of the way he is soiling you, tainting your beautiful white gown with reminiscents of the dirt and grime that stains his armour after returning from battle. “It is my turn for apologies. You should not have to–”

He is shut up by your lips coming to rest on his. He can taste the red wine he picked out for tonight and by the gods, he does not think there is anything he likes more. Picking out what you taste like for him.

There is a small tremor in your body, an insecurity that he immediately recognizes as inexperience. He sighs into the kiss at that, his taunt muscles finally relaxing as he blindly reaches behind himself, finding the stone bench and lowering both of you onto it, never breaking your kiss. Sweet. You just taste so sweet.

He allows you to dictate the pace, only pulling back when you do, your breath coming in short pants. His forehead rests against yours as he reaches down to take his own glass, nudging you until you toast him, glass against glass creating a light melody that fades as quickly as it has appeared. You both drink in silence, only the distant noises of the celebrations and those of the garden around you reaching your ears. 

“May I ask you something?” He hums, his voice low in his throat as he watches you raise your wine to your lips, the flames of the candles reflecting in the glass and liquid, sending smooth shadows over your face. At your nod, he continues. “Why did you ask to meet tonight? Bona Dea must mean a lot to you.”

You smile softly, though there is still a hint of nervousness present in your eyes. “The gods are busy looking down onto the feasts.” It is the unspoken part of your response that makes Acacius feel almost light-headed. If the goddesses eyes are truly on the feasts happening in the city, they are too busy to see you under the cover of darkness. One of his hands is still supporting your waist and he uses the other to set his glass down again before coming up to caress your ankle. A sliver of skin pokes out from under your stola, giving him a taste of what is waiting below the linen and silk that you are wrapped in. He feels you lean in, a hand gently coming to rest on his shoulder for support as he maneuvers you onto his left leg. In one smooth motion, Acacius runs his calloused hand past the hem of your stola and up your calf. You shiver, shifting slightly. “Acacius–”

It's somewhere between a whisper and a begging command. He forces himself to pause, his hand resting on your knee, the fabric of your dress bunched up around his forearm. “Do you want me to stop?” You shake your head silently. And he decides that maybe, he can push a bit further. “Is this why you wanted to meet?”

He can practically see you pause, your eyes flickering nervously back and forth. He may be completely wrong. It may not even have occurred to you–this. That you could do this. Because technically, you can’t.

“Maybe,” you whisper and he smiles at the subtle hint in your tone that sounds less like a maybe and more like a yes. And he'd be lying if he said he didn't have the same train of thought. He just didn't expect you to want him like this. Hell, he barely expected you to show up. Not with how much you are both risking.

“I’m sure you know–” you whisper as his hand travels further, slowly but surely inching up your thigh. “That Vestals are sworn to celibacy.”

He gives as gentle a squeeze as he can, watching with a smirk as you bite your lip, stopping yourself from letting out a noise. God, how he wants to hear that noise. How he wants all of Rome to hear the noise, wants to hear his name fall from your lips as he gives you the pleasure you've been denied your entire life.

“There are other ways,” he muses, his thumb trailing over the edge of what he assumes to be a subligaculum covering your most private area. “Other ways of pleasure.” He cocks an eyebrow at you, his hand gently rubbing over the soft skin of your inner thigh, not quite crossing the invisible threshold yet. “Dont tell me you have not discovered any of them?”

This time, he can watch as the blush spreads over your cheeks and down toward your throat. His gaze softens slightly. “You do not have to tell me, if you do not wish to.” Acacius sighs quietly, his eyes watchful, trying to gauge if he's gone too far. If he should retreat. “Does this feel good? We do not have to–” He can feel himself stumbling over his words. “I do not wish to force myself upon you. We do not have to do anything if you are not ready.”

“What if I'm never ready?” You whisper before you can stop yourself, resting your head against his shoulder and he tuts as he looks down at you.

“Then we will never do anything.”

“Go on.” It is a whispered plea. And Acacius gently obliges. He knows how to give commands that demand to be followed. But he also knows how to take them.

His fingers sneak under the delicate cloth that forms your underwear, his index finger finding the space between your legs already deliciously wet. He can feel himself getting hard at just this. The thought that merely sitting on his lap, kissing him, feeling his hands on your leg, is enough to arouse you to this point. He swipes his thick index fingers through your folds, making you clutch onto his shoulder and whimper in surprise. A low chuckle leaves his lips as he stills his hand again, not wanting to overstimulate you right away. He is keeping that trick up his sleeve for later.

“Your body does not know of your vows, dulcissima,” he rasps, his beard scratching against your skin as he places soft kisses against your neck. He feels you shiver and while he is sure some of it can be attributed to the excitement, he has a feeling the cold is also doing its part. He has a sudden urge to pick you up and carry you inside. If you truly want him to see you, to bare yourself before him–the first man to ever touch you like this–it cannot be on a cold stone bench.

“Let me take you inside.”

(art by art by Gökberk Kaya)

notes: okay, i know, i know, bad moment to stop. i promise the next chapter is in the works! ♡

[fairyysoup]

the devil i know

chapter ten: i'm gonna stay faithful to the devil i know

(repost)

fic tag | fic playlist | fic masterlist

pairing(s): crossroads demon!eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: Your full moon rite sparks some unexpected confessions.

cw: explicit, smut, monsterfucking, piv sex, rough sex, name calling, public sex, exhibitionism, mild choking, brat taming, dumbification, reader is in heat, sex in a cemetery, eddie is a tease, marriage mention, sex pact, demonic rituals, love confessions, animal death mention, dead dove: do not eat

please check masterlist and individual parts for content warnings before reading. this fic contains dark themes. your media consumption is your own responsibility.

ALL OF MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

It doesn’t take you long to find a rickety motel in the middle of rip-roaring Cleary, across the river from Eastwick. You don’t imagine you’ll stay long enough to warrant another rental house or apartment, but you don’t want to think about what you’ll do when this is all over. You didn’t stop to collect anything besides a change of clothes after your apartment went up in flames; you hopped out the bedroom window and took off in your car, trying not to focus on how the fire never burned you, or how Eddie kissed your hand before disappearing into the flames. 

The motel is backed up by trees, trees, and more trees. It’s a sprawling campus with two two-storey buildings, and a bungalow of a few cottages. The check in desk is inside a small reconstructionist Victorian-style house that doubles as a tavern on the weekends. 

Thankfully, it’s not the weekend. 

You stalk up the stairs of the second building, careful not to be heard by other guests. The motel still uses physical room keys; yours boasts a tag that reads 237. You slip mostly quietly into your room, and shut the door before leaning heavily against it. Checking in took more confidence than you have at the moment. You weren’t sure if the clerk could still see blood in your hair or your skin, smell the smoke on the clothes you’d quickly snatched from your dresser before the flames could touch them.

You’d washed off by pulling over and jumping into the river on your way out of town. The water was fucking freezing, and now instead of blood you have river water in your hair. Go figure. 

You walk forward and collapse onto the motel bed. The box spring squeaks, the A/C unit clatters as it turns on, and you flop over to stare at the asbestos popcorn on the ceiling. 

You laugh. You got out of everything easily; being attacked by Andy, your shithole apartment burning to a crisp, and (god forbid) skinny dipping in the Eastwick river. Eddie’s mark still burns on your wrist, under the sleeve of your sweater.

You don’t have anything now, aside from your car and the clothes on your back, and the money in your wallet. The police are stupid enough that they’ll assume you’re dead. You’re sure that if the complaints about gunshots aren’t enough to convince them, the blood on the walls that hasn’t been boiled away by the fire will. 

Dante emerges from the shadows, barks happily once and hops onto the bed to settle beside you. He doesn’t have blood on him anymore, thank god– you don’t know what you’d do if you had to leave the motel with random bloodstains all over the white linens. 

And the darkness forms into the shape of your lover, who sinks onto the bed beside you and stares down at you with the darkest, most beautiful eyes you’ve ever seen in this life or the last. Eddie’s cheeks flush the prettiest carnation pink to match his lips when you reach up and trace them with your fingers. You lift yourself up to settle into his lap, all smiles as you wrap the demon around your little finger and catch his bottom lip between your teeth. 

And you… you’re alive, and you can do anything that you want.

Whispers in the dark. Footfalls behind rotted trees, scuffs of earth that haven’t actually been stirred. It can’t entirely be in your mind. The crossroads is a volatile place at night, and even worse when the moon is full.

You asked a very confused motel clerk where the nearest crossroads she knew of was– she directed you to something in the center of town. That wouldn’t work, of course. You could only imagine Eddie throwing you down in the middle of an intersection and fucking you halfway to Sunday in front of the entire town.

You’re sure he’d love to do that, too.

You sighed and just ended up asking Eddie if he could tell you where the closest one was. If he’s a crossroads demon, it only stands to reason that he’d have a spidey-sense for that sort of thing.

There’s one about a hundred yards into the trees behind the motel. Take your time.

Of course, he isn’t there when you arrive. You don’t know why he’s drawing things out, while your body is breaking out in a cold sweat at the thought of him. Considering you fucked again last night, after you got to the motel, managing not to blow the place up this time, you would think that you’d gotten your fill. 

But no, your body is still going insane with fever and lust, like it just can’t sit still without him there. The moon hangs overhead, bright white in the sky. There’s the littlest peek of it through the tree cover, but it’s enough to let you know that you have the right time, and you’re certainly in the right place. Your body knows that it’s in a more liminal place, now.

You tear at your clothes. You throw your shirt over your head so that your bare chest can hit some sort of fresh air and, theoretically, find some relief. You yank your pants off roughly and toss them into the bushes. All it does is cause another form of stimulation– the cool night air on the dampness of your skin, paired with the burning realization that you’re undressing in public. 

Sort of. You’re the only one here. Or, at least, the only living person. 

You’re not… nervous. Per se. You just don’t know what to expect out of a full moon rite. Will the ground split open and swallow you? Is it just gonna be a normal fuck with your demon boyfriend? Are you going to be able to walk afterwards?

“Probably not.” 

Eddie. His presence pulses, screaming at you from across the clearing. Two paths cross in the center of it, creating an X on the ground where he stands, like he’s dead on a target. 

“Look at you, getting started without me.” He chuckles. “And here I thought I was excited.”

The rabid animal in your chest leaps for him, and you follow it, like everything that you’ve felt and done for him up to this point has been preamble. Eddie’s arms come around you like they’re meant to be there, and you want them to be. Forever and ever and ever, until the meek inherit the earth and the sea swallows the land, et cetera. 

Until the only thing left in the universe are your intertwined souls.

Your kiss is brutal, bordering on desperate rather than sweet. Eddie giggles into it– you don’t think you’ll ever get tired of hearing that soft, manic giggle, or feeling it on your lips as you kiss him. 

Eddie is too sweet for Hell and too chaotic for Heaven. You’re not sure how to reconcile it. At the end of it all, you don’t really see how spending eternity with him could ever be a bad thing. You don’t see why you wouldn’t give him your soul, again and again. 

Eddie’s hands cradle your face, stroking strands of hair away from it while his eyes glow warm and inviting. “Did you get everything you wanted, sweetheart?” he asks, his fingers toying with a little strand beside your ear, curling it tightly around his fingertip before letting it slip free. 

You think about it. In total, roughly two weeks have passed since you first signed over your soul to Eddie, and so far you have everything to show for it. You had your promotion, you got your car, a new dog. You killed your shitty ex and now you have a real reason to get the hell out of dodge. 

It doesn’t seem like it makes sense. It doesn’t seem like a happy ending, but it is. It’s the happiest ending in the world for you, because you don’t have to stay in Eastwick with all the stones being thrown and taunts being yelled in your direction. And you’re in love with him.

You fell for the demon you sold your soul to, in a grand fucking total of two weeks and counting. And if that doesn’t scream irony, you don’t know what does.

“I did,” you say, nodding between his hands. You suck in a deep breath, smelling his smoke and the warmth of his body, and it makes your chest ache. “You’re what I want, Eddie. I love you so much.”

Eddie stops, blinking his fiery eyes at you. “What– what’d you just say?”

“I said I love you,” you repeat. You’re not taking it back. Not now. And you don’t have the ability to feel embarrassed about it, either. “I love you, baby. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before–”

“That’s because you’re in heat, baby,” Eddie insists, anxiously stroking your hair again like he’s trying to self-soothe. “Your body’s just gearing up for the rite, it’s not– you’re not in love with me–”

“Yes. I. Am.” You shoot him a caustic glare, balling your fists against his shoulders. “You can read my mind, right? You must know, Eddie. I think I started falling in love with you the minute you showed up with that stupid smirk and I– I fell for you, and I don’t care about the deal or heat or fucking rites, I just want you.”

Shushing you, he pets your head with a gentle hand. He sounds pained when he says, “I’ve loved you since Lacey brought me your petition.”

You freeze at that. “Lacey?”

Eddie nods. 

“My… my dog?” You can’t wrap your head around it. Your blood is pounding in your ears, adrenaline making your hands vibrate as they grasp at him. Your dog– your sweet little girl who you thought was simply gone forever– is still protecting you, still pulling strings to give you a happy ending? “Lacey brought my–?”

“She chose me,” he tells you honestly. “She chose me for you. Because… she knew I was meant to be yours. And I am. I am yours. Forever, if you’ll have me.”

You’re nodding, excitedly, but you also smother him in a kiss before he can continue. You’ll have him forever, and ever, and even longer after that. Your need and your love both stretch on for eternity, and Eddie won’t say no to it. He’s kind of selfish that way.

He takes your wrist, and raises it to kiss the mark of his name on your skin. His eyes meet yours, and the mark burns, glowing orange and bright like it’s just been placed there. 

“Eddie, what–? ” You whimper, your grip tightening on Eddie’s shoulder, but he just cradles you against him, soothing his lips over the mark on your skin until it stops burning, seconds later.

“Have to start the ritual, baby,” he says, and winks at you. “Doesn’t count if we just fuck like idiots without clocking in, y’know.” 

His hands on you are wretched as sin, kneading at you like he’s just trying to memorize your body. You make a soft noise in your throat, letting your head fall to his shoulder with a huff of breath. Your eyes feel heavy as you breathe in his scent– his smoke, his fumes. They surround you, shrouding you in comfort and warmth, safety in the unforgiving cold and empty night.

“I’d do it without the ritual,” you hear yourself murmuring into his shoulder, your lips grazing across his tattered denim vest and up onto his neck. There’s a pulse beneath his skin, something that feels so human that it makes your own heart tremble in your chest. You can’t seem to stop yourself from talking, now. “I’d fuck you anywhere. All the time. I just fucking want you…”

“I know,” he chuckles, his hand cradling the back of your neck. “So let’s have some fun, yeah?”

You nod. You expect him to lower you down onto the ground, something like last night but with dead leaves and dirt all over you instead of blood. But instead, he just presses a sweet kiss to the corner of your mouth, and then he swats your ass so hard that it makes you gasp.

“C’mon baby,” he whispers into your ear, his eyes and touch burning hot. “I know a spot.”

And with a blink, Eddie disappears, leaving you alone in the crossroads. 

“Wait, what–”

A noise in the bushes makes you startle, and then something pushes you from behind, urging you into the trees. You yelp, and then a voice in your ear says, Trust me.

Stumbling, naked and delirious with lust, you trip and throw your hands against a tree to steady yourself. Darkness clings to the black night around you, just like your mind clings to every sound behind you, alerting you of Eddie’s presence. 

It takes a good amount of you stumbling through the trees, guided by gentle prods at your back and sides, before you start to hear things behind you. You wonder if he’s climbed up into the trees and he’s watching you from above, like some angel of death. 

The ground is uneven and damp from recent rain. There’s no path before or behind you, just infinite trees, looming out of the abyss apathetically. The trees don’t care what you do. They’ve been here, time and time again, and you’re sure that you are the least horrible thing they’ve seen.

In retrospect, you probably should have brought a flashlight. At least you’d be able to see him, wherever the fuck he is. Or where you’re going. You’re moving by the light of the moon in the trees. 

He wouldn’t let you, like… actually eat shit, would he?

Eddie appears close to your shoulder once, just a flash of glowing eyes and a brush of a hand on your bare shoulder, a huff of breath in your ear. Toying with you, letting you know that he’s still there, guiding you in the direction that he wants. You whirl around to grab for him, but he’s already gone, leaving nothing but a giggle and a puff of smoke in his wake. He makes it clear, you can’t catch him; he’ll just appear, whenever and wherever he pleases.

You watch him skulk through the trees up ahead, just wandering as though he has all day. As if you aren’t aching for him and seething with rage at the trees that appear out of the darkness just to get in the way. His eyes are yellow, glowing in the dark like beacons, letting you know exactly where to go. 

He leads you to a cemetery.

The back fence backs up to the trees, bent and mangled from teenagers breaking into it at night to party. Eddie disappears into the shadows, phasing out of existence in your periphery, leaving you alone to duck into the cemetery and weave through the weathered stones.

You can feel Eddie’s breath on your neck, even though your other senses tell you that nothing is there. It ignites every nerve in your body, raises the hairs on your skin. You stumble around a mausoleum, and that’s precisely when a looming shadow figure steps right in front of you. Clawed hands solidify out of the darkness, clad in heavy rings, and grab you by the waist.

“Eddie!” you screech as he materializes in his full form, monstrously large and covered in writhing, living tattoos. Enormous pointed horns and sharp teeth, black bat wings curling around you as he pulls you into him with a grin.

“You know you can’t hide from me,” he purrs at you in his low, demonic voice, and it might come off as disconcerting if you weren’t entirely in love with him. If you didn’t know that his claws will never bring you any pain that you don’t want, and his wings caging you in only serve to protect you, rather than imprison you.

You press in close to his hot chest, smelling his smoke and his aether, near purring, yourself. “Thank God for small favors.”

Eddie laughs, dragging his hand up to cradle the back of your skull. He bends down and kisses you sweetly, in a way that disarms you. So much more tender than you expected, savoring and long. He gives a deep sigh, and looks down at you with his beautifully glowing eyes, swirling with lava and ash, warm and near doting. “Much more romantic, huh?”

“Oh, yeah,” you scoff, glancing around at the lonely tombstones in the darkness. “Real inviting spot you picked, honey.”

“I knew you’d like it,” he murmurs. And then sharper, when a mischievous grin crosses his face.

And he grabs you by the hips and spins you around to throw you down across the steps of a mausoleum.

“What– Eddie?!” Your stomach hits granite, your hands slapping against the hard, cold stone beneath you. Your knees brush the edge of a step and you squeak at the shock of the temperature, but something long and thin like rope wraps around your thigh and yanks you back towards him, spreading your thighs and making you collapse forward, your torso bumping the stone. 

You yelp. “Do you have a tail?”  

“Surprise, surprise,” Eddie murmurs into your ear. Then he drops the seductive tone to add, “Kinda cool, isn’t it?” 

You find yourself giggling, pushing backward to press into his warm chest. He’s so big in his true form– hulking, like all of his bones have to grow in order to accommodate the amount of power he emanates. He crowds you, hovering over your bent body on the steps. “I fucking love it.”

“I know you do,” he hums. His tail, still wrapped around your thigh, pulls your leg until your knees widen. A quiet gasp leaves you when his hand, large and weaponized with sharp claws, cups your sticky cunt. “Think I can’t tell how much you fuckin’ love this? You were just made to be my whore, weren’t you?”

His teeth scrape your shoulder as he rubs your pussy, his whole hand rocking between your legs and kicking up a lewd squelch into the air. You choke, arching your back and wiggling your hips further toward his. 

“Please, Ed– fuck!” He replaces his hand with his cock, and the moan you make is pornographic. Your breasts scrape against the stone underneath you, your nipples hard from the cold and the rough texture of it. The chill is fading, slowly being warmed by your body and his, practically burning hot in comparison to it. 

His cock glides teasingly through your folds, making you keen softly; the sound still echoes, bouncing off the granite and into the cavernous mausoleum, louder than hell. Straight ahead is an abyss full of the dead. 

Eddie pauses. “You know, it occurs to me that this is technically our wedding night– I mean, right?” 

“Oh, nevermind about that,” you huff, wiggling your hips back against him. He’s right there, and you’re so fucking wound up that you can’t bring yourself to have a goddamn conversation at a time like this. “Just– dammit, Eddie, fuck me already.”

“No, I mean, really,” he muses, still not moving. You groan. “Like, if we got married on the dark moon, then isn’t this technically the consummation? I mean I know we already fucked and everything last night–”

You growl and jam your hips back against his. “Eddie, shut the fuck–”

His clawed hand clamps down over your mouth. You squeak, and then roll your eyes as he continues, “Prepare for the first day of the rest of your life. That’s how it goes, right? Or– no, wait. That’s not for weddings…”

You slam your hands down on the granite, roaring as hard as you can against his hand while you writhe back against him, trying to get the words that are running around in your brain across without saying them. The empty mausoleum creates an echo chamber that throws the sound of your roar back at you. 

Eddie obviously gets the message, because he chuckles and pinches your cheeks between his fingers. His claws press into your skin as he tuts, “You want to fuck me so bad you’re gonna throw a tantrum about it? Really?”  

You whimper, shaking your head slightly but still trying to force back against him. His tail yanks your legs further apart, making you lose your little bit of balance and slip back down against the granite again. 

“Oh no no, baby, that won’t do,” Eddie coos, sounding so saccharine sweet, but you don’t think there’s anything sweet about what he’s thinking. “Look around. You’re in my house now, and I get all night to fuck that attitude out of you. Consider this a courtesy.” 

And then he all but slams his cock into you in one go, throwing you forward across the steps with a wail that could scare all the ghosts back into their graves. He doesn’t give you time to adjust– just starts fucking into you with abandon, letting you scratch at the granite beneath you while you scream from the overstimulation. 

You’re so sensitive after having gone a full day in heat, even though he’d given you everything you wanted and more last night. He’d been so gentle and giving, made love to you slowly and passionately on the cheap mattress in your motel room, careful to make sure you didn’t burn that place down. 

There’s nothing of the sweet and slow of last night when he weaves his fingers into your hair and yanks your head back by the roots, growling, “Say, ‘Thank you, Eddie.’”

“Thank you, Ed– FUCK!” You moan obscenely loud, arching your back as your eyes nearly cross. His brutal pace is too much all at once, making you go slack, literally fucking you dumb. 

You can’t think. You drop your head onto the granite step beneath you and just let him use your body, because nothing in heaven or on earth will ever feel as good as it. 

In Hell, maybe. 

“That’s it,” Eddie snarls at you, with the sound of skin on skin filling the air as punctuation. “Little brat always telling me to shut up– how’s it feel when I do it to you, huh?”  

He strokes over something inside you that makes you lose all train of thought. Fire burns inside you, your voice cracking as you moan, rutting back against him to get him to hit there again–

And Eddie snatches you by the hips and lifts you until your back is entirely against him as he pounds into you. Manhandling you until you can’t move or kick, you just have to stay and take it. 

“Stay down, like a good fucking girl,” he spits, his fangs scraping your shoulderblade as he bends over you. Your hand wraps around the edge of one of the steps, nails scratching audibly against it.

His balls slap your clit from each angle, and a moan dies with a squeak in your throat when he hits your g spot again, making you contort and writhe despite his hold. Eddie hisses behind you, feeling you tighten on his cock, his breath breaking across your skin in waves of warmth.

“Right there, sweetheart?” The snicker in his voice is infuriating. You’d snap at him if you weren’t unable to speak from the way that he fucks into you again with the same fluid motion, making stars burst behind your eyelids. His breath hitches, an audible groan in his throat when he says, “Love all those little noises you make when you’re getting fucked dumb. I could do this for ages, baby, you have no idea–” 

“Oh fuck, please, Eddie–” You’re so wet, the sound of the slickness of it nearly echoes in the cavern of the mausoleum. Your face burns, your body breaking out into a sweat.

“Mmm, what is it?” Eddie’s clawed hand comes up to wrap around your throat, completely eclipsing it and pulling you to him. “What more do you need, huh?”

It’s like the minute he finds the pace and angle that has you mindless, he focuses all his energy on it. You feel like you’re melting, your body turning into that same lava he embodies and molding with his own. Spinning and swirling until you’ve fused together and nothing can separate you.

You let out a noisy whine. “N-need– I need to cu– hmm–”

Eddie croons, “Yeah? Little witch needs to cum? Gone all day without it, you just have to cum so soon?”  

Your eyes nearly roll back into your skull when his wings slam down on either side of you, cracking the stone steps you lean on with the force. He uses his free hand to stroke down your tummy, over your pelvis to where the lips of your pussy part around his cock. Eddie parts his fingers, gliding them around the seam of your cunt to feel the way that he pumps in and out of you, your body stretching to make room for him. 

“You think you deserve it?” He whispers threateningly, beginning a torturous back and forth with his fingers, avoiding your clit entirely. You don’t think you can stand much more teasing– everything in you is wound up tight and ready to snap, your toes curling hard as your muscles flex in warning.

“Yes– yes, Eddie, for the love of fu–” You get cut off because Eddie squeezes your throat a little bit, making your sentence die with a moan.

“Just do one thing for me,” he rasps, sounding wretched and beautiful and so close to losing it, himself. 

“Anything, I’ll do anything–”

The push and pull is intoxicating. You feel ecstasy vibrating in your limbs, removing any other thought or sensation from you until all you can focus on is him. Eddie, your demon, the one who was made for you and the one who was fated to be brought to you. 

“Say that you love me again,” Eddie says, a gentle waver in his voice that makes your breath hitch and your heart race. “Tell me again, I want to hear it.”

You were always going to end up here. It just so happens that you came together sooner, rather than later. 

“I love you,” you whisper back, and it feels like your entire body will burst with the intensity of it. And he kisses your shoulder once, just enough for you to know that he heard you. Enough for you to know that in spite of his teasing and his mind games, this is the truth.

“I love you so much,” Eddie tells you as his breath ghosts your ear, lighting a fire beneath your skin. And his fingers drift up to your clit.

When you cum, it’s with a cry that resounds in the cavernous chamber of the mausoleum and bounces back out into the hazy night. He grips your hips hard and fucks you through it. You feel lazy, sated, unable to move or speak or do anything other than take everything he gives you with weak whimpers that sound so much louder to your ears than they actually are. 

Eddie growls and fills you, until you drip with him and the evidence of what you did here; the first of many full moons to come.

He cradles you there on the mausoleum steps, giving you sweet kisses as your body stills and lowers into a thick, post-orgasmic lull. You curl into his warmth, naked in the pale moonlight and shivering a bit from the early autumn chill.

“Hey, you know…” Eddie says after a moment, pulling you from the soft refrain of your thoughts, “I wasn’t entirely kidding about this being… my house. I guess.”

“You live in a fuckin’ mausoleum?” You slur tiredly, your head lolling to the side to look up at him.

“What? No, not the—” he sighs. “We’re, ah. Technically in the Otherworld right now.”

“Oh.” You blink up at him, watching the way the embers in his eyes swirl and glow bright orange. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” he scoffs, a bit of a half laugh that lets you know he’s embarrassed. As embarrassed as a demon can be, more or less. “It’s kind of where stories of the Witches’ Sabbath come from. Certain rituals… when the demon is present… they take place in the Otherworld.”

“And what does that mean?” You whisper up at him with a conspiratory grin.

“Just look.” Eddie gently tilts your head up, prodding you to look out across the cemetery. And you gasp.

Spirits. Ghosts and ghouls and the like. They mingle among the stones, the above ground tombs, the trees. A bonfire in the distance– the near distance, just in the treeline– shows you another rite happening. Another sabbath. 

There are more witches in Eastwick than you thought.

“Holy shit,” you breathe, sitting up in Eddie’s arms. Mist hangs in the air, getting thicker the more your presence within the realm solidifies. Everything is eerie, foggy like it’s happening in a dream. 

“A lot more fun than your standard crossroads,” he muses. “Am I right?”

You glance back at Eddie, all scars and horns and sharp teeth, but looking no less beautiful than he always does. You’ve chosen the prettiest of all the demons, you’re sure of it.

Or, is it that he chose you? Or… weren’t you chosen for each other?

A little figure materializes in the darkness, galloping toward you on tiny legs that don’t seem to touch the ground. The smoky figure of the Dachshund shifts in and out of focus– she’s getting the hang of manifestation, slowly but surely. It’ll take more work, but she’ll get there.

“Lacey?” you whisper, bending forward to let the little figure sniff your hand. She doesn’t need to, though. She barrels toward your hand and bonks into it at full force, her smoky head dissipating for a second with her excitement. Despite how much you wish you could pet her, you giggle, and it sounds echoey and strange in the liminal atmosphere. “Oh my gosh, I missed you so much.” 

“She missed you, too,” Eddie says fondly, twirling a lock of hair at the base of your neck around one of his clawed fingers. “She might have to wait a little bit until she can hang with you in your realm, but as long as you’re here…”

He trails off, watching as Lacey yaps and happily runs back and forth in front of your legs, excited to see you again.

“Well, it’s only appropriate, considering who brought us together,” Eddie concludes, chuckling a little when she tries to jump on your legs and still passes right through them. “Lacey, she isn’t from this realm. You won’t be able to cuddle just yet. Aww– she’ll get there. She’s a smart one.”

You turn to gaze at him, teary-eyed and lovestruck in spite of your surroundings. “What do we do now?” You ask him shyly, in a whisper, as if you’re afraid that one of the spirits will hear you and take exception. As if you didn’t already fuck nasty right in front of them.

Eddie smiles, and the embers in his eyes explode into picture perfect fires. Roaring with love and affection. “Whatever you want, baby.”

There’s a rhythmic drumbeat from within the trees, where the witches dance around the fire with their respective demons– just as you always imagined a stereotypical witch’s Sabbath might look like, if old accounts from ye olden days held any merit. You tug Eddie by the arms, leading him toward the bonfire, the drums mimicking the rhythmic thump of your own heart. Lacey excitedly zips around your ankles, passing directly through them in her haste on occasion.

You dance.

And you dance.

And you fuck on the tomb of some guy named Roland, whose stands off to the side as a ghost, glaring at you the whole time. You don’t care at all. You’re looking at Eddie the whole time, anyways.

He’s everything you could have wanted and more.

[the-greatest-magic-of-all]

With such a God-focused season, one day, once Junior Year is finished and I have both the time and energy to do it, I want to make a Fantasy High God AU zine. It'd be from the pov of a mythologist/theologian in Spyre who's found strange links between minor deities throughout different regions' pantheons.

Half-Elves have a God of Dance and Flames who has been said to have defeated a Tiefling vagabond (and tamed his Hellhound mount) and charmed Fire itself with only a dance and his silk battle sheet. And if you look deep enough into his history there are rare depictions of him wearing an oddly shaped pendant and riding into battle with a sling-wielding Goblin peeking out of his rucksack. Interestingly enough, there's a minor Goblin God of Justice and Mysteries, the son of a Goblin Folk Hero and the Goblin Goddess of Knowledge, Laws, and Justice, who famously wields his father's enchanted sling. Though he and his father are often shown with angelic wings. So, why would he dally with a God so closely associated with Fiends?

Tieflings have a trickster Goddess of Music, Rebellion, and Devotion. The daughter of an Archdevil and a Wood Elven Goddess of Archery & the Wilderness. She's said to be a paramour of a Half-Phoenix Pirate Goddess of Wizardry and Knowledge and once toured the lands, performing with a Half-Orc companion. A lot of artistic recreations of that tour depict the Half-Orc companion with flower motifs that correspond with a Gnomish/Half-Orcish God of Tinkering and Rage. One that once outwitted a Sphynx and regained his spurned Saytr paramour's love by speaking to/reaching the stars with the help of a band of Tinkerer Gnomes.

There are tales of a Twice Risen Goddess who was once the chosen one of the Demigod Helio, but took one look at him and thought she could do better. With the wisdom to raise Gods from the dead and remove unholy rites without any divine power other than her own, this God-Saint of Doubt travels across Spyre not to spread her own religion but to inquire about others. This deep curiosity is probably how she ended up in some Fallinel depictions of the First Elven Oracle, who upon death ascended to becoming the Goddess of Sight, Intelligence and Righteous Fury. There are even short hymns written about the Oracle foreseeing the God-Saint's rise (against the Elven Moon Goddess' wishes) and of the God-Saint banishing some dark entity from possessing the Oracle with only a profane curse of its name.

And even more stuff connecting them all. Like the fact that all of them have tales of them defeating an Ancient Red Dragon. Or the tales of The Festival of the Crab King: a strange, delirious story of mortals witnessing a euphoric revelry of the deific kind that involved all these Gods from different pantheons.

[thestrangeblob]

okay so I've been seeing a lot of this "lucien didn't come to rescue elain because he was on a mission that she really wanted him to go to"

this argument is horrendously stupid for a few reasons:

fae males are supposed to go batshit crazy over their mates and if elain was taken captive and chained and gagged in a dirty tent fearing for her life shouldn't her "mate" show some concern for her? ofc we do see a male go feral to rescue her but thats another post :)

okay so poor lucien cant winnow long distances and was in the continent (not very leading man material but whatever) shouldn't he at the very least as elain if she was okay when he saw her the next time? show some relief that she's okay? but no, he doesn't even seem to have realised she was in danger

we know that mates can sense when each other are in danger a la rhysand's dramatic af entrance when feyre was having a breakdown on the aisle on her wedding day (he came ALL the way from night to spring btw) or when cassian was loosing his mind over Nesta in the blood rite.

so why did perfect dreamy lucien not show an ounce of concern over elain's kidnapping??? why was he in the continent trying fond another woman??? sureee elain says she saw a woman of flame in her visions (thanks to azriel for figuring out what she was seeing) but did sis say anywhere that she really wants lucien to go find this woman??? no it was something he did out if his own volition.

if he somehow did go on that journey for elain, because of elain shouldn't he have stayed by elain's side after completing his mission? should he have at the very least proclaimed that he accomplished what his mate desired? but no. he didn't. and he won't.

the ONLY male in the series that takes elain seriously and actually listens to her is a man clouded in shadows. a man who only finds peace and deprive from his darkness in his lovely fawn.

[rawrsatthetree]

Old Habits Die Hard.

Ascended Astarion x Dark Urge Reader

Set after the events of the game. Lord Astarion falls into old habits and gives his pet Bhaalspawn some much needed enrichment.

Completely gender neutral reader, but they are a bottom.

Warnings: gore like really fucked up gore. Cheating. Smut. Dub-con/non-con. Not at all safe or sane for either parties. Dead Dove, Do Not Eat.

The rite of profane ascension had given him so much. The ability to see his own reflection, the ability to permanently walk in the sun, the power to take whatever he pleased, and the power to keep his beloved at his side for all eternity. However for all these gifts there were many things that remained. Much to Astarion’s disappointment ascension had not magically healed 200 years of torment, it had not fixed the feeling of disgust and loathing.

As much as he wanted to indulge, as mush as he had dreamed of a hedonistic life style awash with blood and sex; he could not over come the deep rooted disgust, the bile in the back of his throat. That night with his dear sweet consort and the two drow prostitutes had been deeply disappointing. Despite his desire to enjoy himself, he hadn’t. All he felt was disgust and anger, it took all of him to hide the hurt it caused him.

He could lie to you, but he could not lie to himself. Yours was the only touch he could tolerate. The only touch that didn’t cause his skin to crawl and his guts to twist. He could hardly stand the idea of any hands, other than the hands of his little love, touching him. He only longed for you and the familiar comfort of you body and blood. Not that he would ever tell you this, gods forbid you ever know the power you command over his newly beating heart. He needed to retain some semblance of dominance and control.

Despite his lack of interest and very public marriage to you, it didn’t stop the suitors of court from throwing themselves at him. How could they not? He was devastatingly beautiful, disgustingly wealthy, powerful, and darkly mysterious. On top of it all no one seemed to respect his marriage to you. Your presence much more suited to presiding over a cult and stalking the sewers than being paraded around court. No matter how he dressed you or how many lessons in educate he made you endure, you stuck out as an outsider. All the young suitors of court and their ambitious families were convinced they could still worm their way into his power and status. Surely the new lord of the crimson palace would be better off with a spouse of noble birth. Little did they know it would take far more than a trip to the court house to divorce you from him.

He could see it in their eyes the way they looked at him. They didn’t see him. They saw his wealth, his power, his status, his body. Unlike you, you looked right through him right down to his twisted soul. Despite your adorable naivety from your amnesia, you had always been deeply wise and perceptive. Your eyes were as sharp as your blades. Oh how they used spark and flare with passion and mischief. But as of late they had seemed dull and heavy. He was happy you had rejected your father’s will so you could be fully his; however, it seemed as though Bhaal had taken an important part of you when he killed you on that alter. All of this, the parties and court drama, it bored you terribly. Sometimes he worried you had grown bored of him as well. He missed the flame of murderous rage and manic hunger in your eyes. His consort, his dearest friend, his most precious spawn, his first, his baby.

He watched you now from across the crowded ball room. You sat bored out of your broken mind on your thrown, simply watching the party with empty eyes. He was standing in the middle of the ballroom floor, the center of attention as always. He had become completely lost in thought gazing at you so far away from him atop your perch. He hadn’t been giving any attention to the gaggle of young lords and ladies the had been fawning over him. Apparently long enough that one lady had the gall to grab his arm pressing it firmly into her breast.

“My lord Ancuin, you seem so distracted.” The girl spoke low in a voice dripping with lust. Gods she was practically humping his side like a dog. “Perhaps you and I should go get some air,” she paused before leaning into his ear. “Somewhere private.” She punctuated her words with a soft playful blow of air on his sensitive ear.

His gut turned and twisted at the feeling. He should push her off, humiliate her for being so forward, hells he should kill her as an example to those who would dare touch him. But something about her forward advance caught him off guard, triggering an instinct that had been beaten into him centuries ago.

Instead of pushing her away, he turned and pulled her by her waist. Pushing her body against his, as he eyed her plush pink lips. He could feel the warmth radiating off of her, hear her little heart hammering in her chest pumping heated blood through her veins. “So forward my lady, surely you wouldn’t pull me away from such stimulating company.” He voice dripped with charm and seduction.

The girl almost swooned in his arms but she was determined to claim him. Instead she took his return of her embrace as an open invitation. She leaned into him, pressing a burning kiss to the under side of his jaw. She pulled back, mere centimeter above his lips as if daring him to kiss her right there on the ball room floor. Her hands wandered dangerously low. The feeling made Astarion want to crawl out of his own skin but he choked down the feeling like he had done countless times before.

The crowd of young eager bachelors and bachelorettes that surrounded him watched with baited breath. Their eyes all burning into him with jealousy and lust. The girl leaned in just a hair further, he could feel her breath on his lips and smell her pheromones. He took her jaw into his hand, cradling it gently rather than grabbing it harshly as he had intended. “Not here my lady, in front of so many prying eyes.”

However there was one pair of eyes he didn’t feel, the only pair of eyes he did want on him. He spared a glance over to your throne. He expected to see you sitting there burning with jealous, eyes filled with rage and blood lust. But to his disappointment, you were gone.

His heart broke. You had left him. Did you not even care that he was holding another? Had you truly lost your love for him a long with your murderous urge? A profound emptiness and sadness washed over him before it was quickly replaced with anger and hatred. In his spiteful fury, he turned back to the girl. She flinched at the intensity in his eyes but he held her firmly. Astarion forced his lips against hers locking her into a fierce passionate kiss. The crowd gasped and she melted into him. He kissed her till the poor thing was dizzy with desire before pulling away just enough to whisper in her ear. “Ask the servants to escort you to the boudoir and wait for me there, my dear.”

With out another word the girl ran off to do as she was told. Astarion turned to his party now in an uproar over what had just occurred. They lavished him in their attention desperate for even a taste of his. He let the party go on watching to see if he caught any sign of you but you had fully vanished. It hurt to think of how you had abandoned him.

As the party died down and the last of the guests took their leave, Astarion thought of the girl he had stupidly sent to the boudoir promising a night of passion. He felt like an idiot now, what had come over him in that moment? No he knew what, he fell into old habits and when you didn’t run to his rescue nor lashed out in jealousy, he had wanted to hurt you. Maybe if he hurt you enough you would come back to him, he could shock you into being yourself again. But you hadn’t even been there when he kissed her and promised to fuck her. Stupid. Now he has a horny young lady awaiting him. He wished the thought thrilled him but it only filled him with an old anxiety.

He supposed he could just retire to his courters and have a spawn deal with her. However something in the back of his mind told him to go to her. If anything it would give him the opportunity to tell the audacious girl off and perhaps even kill her. Or maybe he would swallow his disgust and fuck her, just to spite you further. As he approached the door to the boudoir he hesitated. His instincts told him something was terribly wrong. But what had he to fear as the vampire ascendant. Swallowing his fear he threw open the door.

The sight that greeted him made his blood run cold. What lay before him was definitely on the list of the most gruesome twisted things he had ever witnessed, even during his time under Cazador. The room reeked of blood, bile, and piss. On the bed was what he had to assume was the young girl and his beloved consort giggling to themselves.

“Little love what have you done?” Astarion asked just above a whisper. In your free hand you held your sister’s old blade. The girl he had sent to wait for him lay back against you. You kept her propped up in full display proud of your work. The skin of her once pretty face had been carefully peeled away, large frightened lidless eyes watched him. Her dress and under garments cut from her body, breasts and cunt on full display. Her torso had been expertly sliced open from the bottom of her rib cage down almost to the top of her clit. Layers of flesh and muscle had been peeled back. Her organs gently pulled from the cavity but still fully intact. He could see them pulse and squirm. Gods above the retched thing was still alive. You had vivisected the girl like a true expert.

You only giggled sweetly, “I thought I would come down and get her ready for you, help her strip.” You where clearly pleased with your self. You caressed the girls exposed intestines as you trailed you hand down to her cunt. The girl only gasped and sputtered in horror. Astarion watched eyes darkening as you caressed the girls sex. Running your fingers along her slit, you spread her lips open exposing her pink vulva and clit soaked not from arousal but from having pissed herself.

“Come my love, she’s ready for you.” You taunted him, dared him to fuck her in this state. You had expected him to react in anger, in horror and fear. However Astarion’s eyes were filled with nothing but carnal desire. Rage filled you as he stalked towards the bed stopping right before the edge. He reached forward, just as you thought he was about to touch her cunt he grabbed you wrist instead pulling you harshly to your feet.

“What are you doing!?” You fought against him trying to pull your wrist away. “You’re not going to make me leave! If you want to fuck the whore’s putrid carcass so bad you can do it in front of me.” You spat venom at him letting him feel the full fury of your anger.

Astarion only watched you with that hungry gaze before wordlessly scooping you up into his arms. He carried you out of the boudoir, only stopping to tell one of his spawn to “take care of the mess” as he headed for your shared chambers. You squirmed and fought him trying to escape, even attempting to stab him, but Astarion was far stronger than you now, it was hopeless to fight him.

He tossed you down onto your grand bed prying Orin’s blade from your grip tossing it aside and out of reach. With out letting you utter a word of protest he kissed you. It wasn’t a sweet kiss but one filled with passion and desire, the desire to consume and dominate.

You fought against him fruitlessly, pushing helplessly at his shoulders as he pinned you down with his body. You could feel his erection, heavy against your thigh. He finally released you lips, now raw and bruised, to move his attention to your neck.

With your mouth finally free you could tell him off. “What!? Did that whore arouse you so much you’ve lost control my lord.” Your voice oozed with venom, desperate to hurt him even a fraction of how he had hurt you. “How dare you kiss me with those same lips that kissed her.”

Instead of answering you he bit down hard enough to make you yelp. As he drank your blood, he forced your leg apart so he could grind his hard clothed cock against your sex. You began to feel light headed as he took his fill before releasing your neck with a low groan.

“You fool,” he rasped starting to loose himself to the taste of your blood and the pleasure of your body. “You did this to me, you’ve driven me to this madness.”

He released you only for a moment to lower his trousers releasing his throbbing cock. Just as you were ready to fight him again he spoke.

“You,” he groaned as he tore through your clothes baring your sex to him. “I only want you my love.”

You were left stunned by his confession and the tenderness beneath the burning lust in his eyes. He took full advantage of your shocked state by pushing you back down and forcing the head of his cock into your entrance. You cried out, far to tight and ill prepared to take him, but your cries of pain fell on deaf pointed ears. Astarion was determined to take you even if he had to rip you open.

“Hells your tight,” he hissed as the pleasure of taking you over took him. He speared you on his cock, forcing inch after inch deeper. Tears welled in your eyes as you tore at his fine silk doublet. Normally he’s scold you for ruining his clothes but he was too far gone, lost in your comfort.

“My dark consort,” he moaned as he bottomed out. Astarion paused giving you a brief moment of relief. He looked down at you taking in the sight of your teary eyes filled with agony. His expression was unreadable to you, perhaps a strange perversion of affection and regret.

He maintained eye contact as he began to fuck you. Slowly dragging his cock along your walls, making sure you felt all of him.

“My dearest spawn,” he called out to you as he pumped his cock in and out at an agonizing pace. His slow pace eased the pain caused by his forceful insertion. The burning stretch melted into pleasure.

“My baby,” he caressed your cheek gently, maintaining intense eye contact. Your head started to grow fuzzy with pleasure, the slow brag of his cock calming the fury in your heart.

“Master,” you moaned softly, your eyes falling closed.

A sharp smack to your cheek pulled you from your haze. “Don’t,” Astarion reprimanded you, he hip stopping as he grabbed your face forcing you to look at him. “Say my name, like only you can.” He let go of your face and rubbed the sore spot on your cheek. Astarion restarted his slow but strong thrusts. “And keep your eyes on me darling.”

You do as your told holding his gaze only breaking it to blink away tears from being struck. “Astarion,” you call his name, pleasure building again at an unbearable pace.

“Yes, gods just like that.” He smiled down at you. Hearing you call his name a balm to his broken heart. “Tell me little love, why did you kill the girl?”

The mention of her while he made sweet love to you soured your mood. Anger bubbled back up in your heart. “Because she dared touch you, you hissed. “And even worse, you kissed her putrid lips and promised to fuck her.” Rage settled back over your pretty face.

Astarion picked up the pace only slightly, your anger arousing him further. “Why didn’t you stop her when she dared touch your master and husband?”

“Gods Astarion, all these questions.” You groaned trying to focus and failing as he fucked you.

“Humor me pet,” he tried to play it off as playful curiosity but the hint of insecurity still lingered.

“I couldn’t, ah fuck- I wouldn’t have been able to control myself.” You could tell from the look he gave you, he wasn’t convinced. “Ah- if I had tried to confront her in the ballroom, I would have killed her in front of your guests.”

“How oddly considerate of you,” he teased. “I guess those educate lessons are paying off after all.” He rewarded your answer by bring his hand to you sex adding to your pleasure with gentle ministrations.

“Oh gods Astarion,” you try to move you hips his slow pace edging you. “I can’t take this teasing much longer.”

“Patience love,” he hushed you holding your hips in place. “Tell me how it felt to kill her.” He picked up the pace growing sensitive himself.

“Fuck- ah- it felt amazing!” You arched you back, pleasure now building at a blinding pace. “Gods it felt so good to slice the flesh from her pig face.” You clench around his cock at the memory. “The relief of her guts squirming in my grasp, ah how I’ve missed it!”

“Oh fuck,” Astarion’s pace grew frantic chancing both of your ends. He was getting close, the slow pace having teased him to the point of over stimulation. He takes you lips in a desperate kiss, needing to be closer to you.

“Astarion!” You call out to him, wrapping your arms around him holding him close. “I’m gonna come.” Your walls squeezed him as your eyes rolled back.

“Say you love me,” he begged into the crook of you neck. His hips stuttering so close to the edge.

“I love you Astarion,” you cried out. Your whole body trembled as your walls contracted wildly, pulling him over the edge with you. “I love you! I love you I love you” you moaned into his shoulder, holding him so tight your claws pierced his skin.

Astarion just whimpered and gasped as his seed filled you. He continued to fuck you through your orgasm, wrapping himself around you trying to hold you as close as possible.

You bit him possessively, growling as you body tingled from overstimulation. Astarion just groaned, cradling your head as you drank his blood. He tugged at your hair gently when he began to feel faint. You bared down for a moment making sure he felt you before reluctantly releasing he neck.

He kissed you tasting himself on your lips. He didn’t pull out, not ready to leave the embrace of your body. But your poor little body shook as your walls still contracted around him. You were both completely fuck out and sensitive to the point of pain. Astarion deepened the kiss as he let his soft cock slip out of your hole.

Tears rolled down your cheeks again, over whelmed by all the emotions of the night.

“What’s wrong my little love?” Astarion cooed at you, whipping your tears.

“I lost control,” you sobbed. “We fought so hard to be free but I still yearn to kill like I’m Bhaal’s bitch.”

“Oh my love, do not fret, you are mine and mine alone.” He laid down beside you, pulling you to lay on his chest. “Don’t forget you’re a vampire now, your bloodlust is hardly unnatural.”

You cuddled into his side. “Why did you kiss her Astarion? Why agree to fuck her?” Your ask voice still wavering from your sobs.

Astarion stiffened, hesitating as if he’s not sure how to answer. He hates to be weak in front of you but lying would do nothing to ease your hurt. “Old habits.” Was all he could bare to say. You didn’t need to know how he had desired to scorn you.

You grew quiet, knowing what he meant. You felt foolish, like you had failed him. That whore had upset your master, triggering old instincts from when he had to seduce whatever tramp threw themselves at him. You knew ascending hadn’t healed his past, even if he wanted to pretend it was all behind him. Despite his power, he still awoke from nightmares and dissociated from time to time.

“I’m so sorry my love,” you shift to were you can gaze into his eyes. “Next time someone dares to lay a hand on you, I’ll naw it off.”

He smiled at you fondly, the expression not quite reaching his eyes. “How sweet.” He turns to kiss you. “I do appreciate your restraint though, we can’t have you staining the floor of my ballroom.”

“But master,” you protest. “How am I to protect you?”

“Hush love, I’m not saying you can’t kill them. I would just prefer if you kept the mess to a minimum. Ugh speaking of mess.” He gestures to the two of you coved in various dried bodily fluids, the shredded remains of your clothes barley hanging off of your bodies. He scoops you up in his arms, “I think a long hot bath is in order.”

“Oh gods the poor servants,” you think of the mess you left in the boudoir, embarrassed at the over dramatic display you had made of the girl.

“They better have the boudoir spotless by morning or I’m putting those useless wretches on pikes.” You weren’t sure if he was joking or not but you laughed all the same.

[throneofsmut]

Bound In Flames - Part 8

Eris Vanserra × Archeron-Sister-Reader || WC: 4.8k || Warnings: Smut

Summary: Feyre and her younger sister go hunting in the forest behind their family's cottage and go through life changing experiences.

A/N: This part has to do with calanmai which is basically a faerie fuck fest. So if you guys are just as sick and depraved as I am you’ll eat this shit up.

****

“Eris, I swear to the Mother if you hurt her-“ Lucien snarled, baring his teeth, as he pushed the tip of his dagger deeper into Eris’s porcelain skin. A droplet of crimson red blood sliding down the column of his throat.

The sight of it had you moving on instinct.

In seconds you had moved away from the dagger Eris had pressed against your throat, disarming Lucien and pressing his own dagger against the sun tanned skin of his throat. Fae—mating—instincts coming to the surface, you growled and then whispered two words deathly soft into Lucien’s ear, “Watch It.” You pulled back, still keeping the blade against his throat and looked at him. His face had blanched and his eyes were wide with fear or shock, you weren’t sure.

You blinked once and saw yourself through his eyes and blinked again and you were looking at him through your own eyes again. His eyes were still wide, but now you knew it was mostly fear. He knew you wouldn’t actually kill him, though he knew you definitely could if you wanted to by the way you had the knife angled at his throat.

Lucien had finally realized it for the first time in that moment, that you weren’t all talk, that you would and could kill him. And you scoffed. Flipping the dagger in your hand so the handle was facing him, “Enjoy the Rite,” handing it back to him.

He took it and sheathed it.

Behind you Eris chuckled in amusement. Though not at his little brother but at your antics. Turning around to face him, you took one step towards him, but stopped. He had a look in his eyes as he took you, one that you couldn’t describe, “What?”

He shook his head softly, “Nothing,” but you noted the way his pupils dilated when his eyes met yours again. Then he held out his hand for you to take. A silent invitation.

Before you could even take a step Lucien’s hand was gripping your arm and a growl ripped its way out of Eris’s throat—possessive and protective. Your eyes never left your mate, not even as he glared at his brother. Lucien sighed once he realized you weren’t going to look at him, “I know I can’t stop you so. . . be careful, Y/n. He’s not safe.” But you didn’t want safe, you wanted him. Eris.

You still didn’t look at Lucien as you ripped your arm free of his hold, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Lucien. Enjoy the rite.” Your voice sounding sharper than you intended, but this would likely be the only night you would have with Eris, your mate, and you were wasting time. You made your way towards Eris and he was still glaring at his youngest brother when you finally stood before him.

He was the most beautiful male you have ever seen. Dressed in Autumn Court colors, his clothes—all dark wine red with gold threading, all finely made—cut close enough to his body that you could see how magnificent he was. Anyone with eyes could see that by the way they clung to his muscular body. Eris wasn’t bulky with muscles he was more so lean. His red shoulder length hair dancing in the night spring breeze like living flames. And his amber eyes seemed to be gifts from the sun as they both glowed the same shade of gold.

You were standing so close that you could feel the heat radiating off his body and his scent. His scent was intoxicating—cedar, citrus and crackling fires— invading all of your senses and before you could even stop yourself you were in his arms. He was so tall that you had to stand on the tips of your toes to wrap your arms around his neck. Not even a second later you felt his arms immediately wrap around your waist, holding you to him.

One second you were standing in fields of the Spring Court, the next the world seemed to fold in on itself as you winnowed to a cabin. Your body wanted to stay near him but the years of training that were drilled into you had you pulling away taking in your surroundings. Eris seemed to still as you looked around, “Where are we ?” You asked quietly.

“My home away from home.”

You only nodded your head, letting him know you had heard him as you continued to look around. The cabin itself was beautiful; floor to ceiling mahogany and autumn court color and style furnishings. It was very much Eris. The small living room had the fire place going but you heard wood crackling from the back of the cabin. Tilting your head so you could look past your mates broad shoulders, what looked like a bedroom door was open and just past it in the room was a bookshelf. A well stocked bookshelf. Eris cleared his throat, voice tight, “Do you like it?”

You looked at him and gave him a sweet smile, “I like it.”

He threw his head back and laughed and you realized you had never heard a sound so beautiful before. Eris was still laughing when he stepped closer to you, and you didn’t back away this time, as he cupped your face in his large hands. Then he leaned down so close that if he spoke your lips would brush against each other. . . and he did. One word.

“Liar.”

He took a step back and it was your turn to laugh, “I’m not lying,” you said in between giggles.

“All right, fine. You like it but. . .”

“But, my favorite color is blue and it’s just a lot of red, orange and yellow everywhere.”

He bowed deeply at the waist—mockingly, playfully—“I apologize, little flame, that our cabin is not up to your standards. I vow that the next time you see it will be to your liking.” Eris stood back up to his full height wearing a teasing smile on his face.

You wanted to roll your eyes at his theatrics and tell him to shut up, but instead you only asked, “Our?”

“Our.” He affirmed.

You blinked at him, brows furrowed, “Why?”

“What belongs to me, belongs to my mate. What’s mine is yours, little flame.” Eris said matter of factly.

“About that. . . how did you find out we were mates?”

“You.”

“Me?” He nodded his head, “Eris I need a little more than that.”

He took a step forward until he was right in front of you and you had to crane your neck back to meet his eyes. Then he lifted his right hand that was adorned in gold rings and tucked your hair behind your left ear. “Since last winter, when you made it over the wall, I’ve been dreaming of you every night. And every morning since then I’ve had the same nightmare.”

“What nightmare?” Your voice was barely more than a whisper.

“You’re not by my side when I wake up,” he breathed.

You didn’t miss the way he was looking at you, like he was drinking in the fact that you were still here. That you were actually here and you realized you were doing the same thing.

You don’t know how much time passed before he spoke again, “How did you find out?”

“The Suriel told me.”

His brows furrowed, “You ensnared a Suriel?”

“No, he found me.”

This time his eyes narrowed and he blinked, “The Suriel found you and told you?” He sounded skeptical.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“They’re an old friend,” you shrugged.

Eris shook his head as he gave you a broad smile, “My mate is friends with one of the Suriel.”

You nodded your head, “Mhmm.”

“What did the Suriel tell you?”

Your eyes flickered between his amber eyes and then settled on the crackling fire beside you, “That like me, my mate has fire in their blood and we would find each other on Calanmai. You’re the heir to the Autumn Court. The both of us bound in flames. Bound to each other.” Your eyes met gold ones again, “That we have always been meant to burn together." You didn’t tell him that the Suriel also said you were heir to Spring. You couldn’t tell anyone, not yet.

“How did you know I was your mate and not Lucien?” You didn’t, not for sure. Lucien was powerful enough in his own right to be a High Lord’s heir. You could feel it.

“I felt a tugging in my gut — in my chest a couple times like there was a string inside of me and when I saw you it felt warm like it was glowing,” You smiled softly because that same feeling hadn’t gone away yet.

Eris’s eyes tracked your lips movements and you noted the way his pupils dilated and the way his scent shifted. It was muskier and even though you weren’t in exactly in Spring territory anymore you could still hear, still feel, the pulsating drum beats.

His left hand that was also adorned with gold rings, cupped your face, his thumb swiping against your cheek as he uttered a single question, “Can I kiss you?”

You felt your cheeks heat and only nodded your head in response not trusting your voice. His nostrils flared and you knew he scented your arousal.

“I need words, little flame. I want to hear it from your lips,” Eris commanded, his voice rough with lust.

“Yes, please.” Your voice a breathy sensual whisper.

His large hands cupped your face and then he was surging forward, your mouths met with a desperate need, it was all teeth and tongue. He was savoring every brush of your tongue against his, every drag of your lips, eagerly exploring every part of you. You both knew what you wanted—needed—and were going to take it.

His hands moved from your face to roaming over your figure before settling on your ass making you moan into his mouth. You buried your hands in his hair, it was soft beneath your fingertips as you tugged and pulled on it. Making him groan into your mouth every time you did.

You both begrudgingly pulled away needing to catch your breaths. Eris’s eyes darkened as he took you in, “You are so beautiful,” he murmured panting softly.

You felt your cheeks redden at his words again and shook your head, looking down at your feet.

His hands titled your head up, making you meet his eyes, “I’m serious, little flame, you’re beautiful. You are a goddess. . . My goddess.” You were going to brush him off, but the sincerity in his eyes and voice made you believe it.

“Then prove it. Worship me, Eris,” your voice was breathy and raw with lust. You were both succumbing to the effects of the magic felt on Fire Night. The drumbeats were now pounding and pulsating rapidly and something shifted in both of you. You needed him and he needed you in any and every way you could have each other. Neither one of you knew who moved first, but the both of you began tearing at each others clothes, your mouths meeting again.

Once you were both bare before each other, you pulled away again drinking him. Your mate was beautiful, his body was powerfully built, corded in muscles as if the Mother herself carved him from marble just for you. His body was sparsely littered in scars, the pink raised skin stark in comparison to his porcelain skin and you had no doubt he’d had more on his back. If the scars peaking over his shoulders were any indication.

You were for once grateful that the blood spell your mother used on you covered your scars. You wouldn’t ask him about his scars, in a way they made him more beautiful to you, but yours were more brutal than anything.

Both of your chests were heaving as you drank in the sight of each other. Breath hitching when you saw him, hard and at attention. He was long and thick, you knew it was going to hurt, but some fucked up part of you wanted it to. Wanted to feel every glorious inch and vein of him as he buried himself in your cunt. Licking your lips at the thought of him inside of you.

And he licks his lips when he sees your cunt glistening with arousal. The both of you make eye contact and you don’t know what he sees on your face, but the sight of it had him closing his eyes as a groan fell from his kiss swollen lips. Then he placed his hands on the back of your thighs, hoisting you up and carrying you to the only bed in the cabin.

Eris kissed you again, like a starved man who couldn’t get enough of the taste of you. He pulled away only to start kissing and biting the tanned skin of your jaw, neck and chest. The only sounds coming from the both of you were lewd moans and groans as he laid you atop the soft bed.

Climbing on top of you, he trails his tongue down your neck and to your chest, swirling it around your hardened nipples and between your breasts. Down your tummy and between your thighs. All while leaving kisses behind.

“Eris,” his name was a plea and prayer on your lips.

He moved to sit back on his haunches as his eyes rove over your body before settling on your soaked cunt, “Yes, little flame?”

“I need you,” you whimper.

“Have you—“ he shudders as his jaw and hands clench and unclench. His eyes darkening with the promise of violence, “Have you ever been with—“

You don’t even let him finish the question, “No. . . just you.”

He visibly relaxes and smiles, “Gods, the Mother really made you just for me,” he says under his breath to himself. Amber eyes meet yours, “I’m going to be the first and only male to ruin you,” he promises.

“So what are you waiting for Eris. . . ruin me,” you tilt your head at him, your mouth curving into a teasing smirk.

Without another word he settles himself between your thighs and puts your legs over his shoulders. His large hands holding your thighs apart as he licks a single long broad stripe through your folds. Digging his fingers into your soft skin, groaning at the sweet taste of you on his tongue and your hands fist the sheets beneath you at the feeling.

Back arching off the bed as his tongue flicks your clit, “Oh. . . f—fuck Eris,” you cry out in pleasure. Then he circles and swirls his tongue before sucking on your sensitive bundle of nerves.

You start to squirm beneath him as he savors you, heat begins pooling in your lower tummy, but his large hands keep you spread and in place for him. Sucking in a sharp breath at the feeling of his tongue entering you, “Eris, Eris, Eris !” His name a prayer on your lips and he is your god.

Muscles tensing as his tongue leaves you feeling empty, but then he goes right back to sucking on your swollen clit. Your walls spasming and contracting on nothing as the heat in your belly turns to fire and spreads throughout your body. Time seems to stop as he begins to suck harshly, the sheets fisted in your hands ripping out of pure pleasure and then you shattered.

Your mates name on your lips as you fall apart.

Eris doesn’t give you to time to catch your breath as he moves to sit on his knees beside your still trembling body. One of his hands plays with your tits while he uses the other to run through your folds, gathering your arousal on his fingers, your hips jerking up in response.

Then he’s moving his hand that was playing with your tits, resting it atop your lower belly as he buries two slicked covered fingers into your cunt. Eris moves them in and out at a relentless pace fucking you with them, pushing down a bit on your belly, applying pressure with his other hand, as he curls them inside of you. Hitting that sweet spot inside of you that has you crying out in pleasure.

“Eyes on me,” he orders.

Your nerves, your entire body feels like it’s on fire.

“Eyes on me or I stop.”

It takes everything in you to open your eyes, but you do. The sight of him nearly taking your breath away entirely. His red hair was mused, blown pupils with small rings of gold around them, his mouth and chin covered in your slick and a smug smirk on his lips.

“That’s it’s, little flame. Eyes on me,” he coos. Walls fluttering around his fingers at his words, his voice, him. The coil inside of you tightening, legs shaking and then the coil snapped.

You were a babbling incoherent mess as you squirted, soaking his fingers, your thighs and sheets beneath you. “Good fucking girl,” he praised, but he didn’t stop. You couldn't tell where one climax ended and another began as continued thrusting his fingers in and out of you relentlessly. You didn’t know how many times he made you squirt before he stopped.

Your body was still shaking and your chest was still heaving as he licked a long stripe from your sensitive cunt—making you whimper—up to your lips. Kissing you and then swiping his tongue along your bottom lip asking for permission, your tongue met his, making you moan as you tasted yourself on his tongue.

Eris pulled back smiling proudly at you before placing a soft gentle kiss on your forehead, “You did so good, little flame.” You looked at him with heavy lidded eyes. “Can you keep going or do you want to sleep?”

You knew if you said you wanted to stop he would stop, but you also knew this might be only night you get to be with him and you weren’t going to waste it. So you nodded your head.

He chuckled, “I need words,” he pushed your hair out of your face, “I need to hear you say it.”

“Yes,” you breathed, your voice raw and hoarse from all the pleasure.

Eris kissed you on the forehead again, praising you, “Atta girl.”

You were still panting softly when he rose from the bed and said he would be right back, he left the bedroom, coming back with two glasses of water in hand. “Drink up, sweetheart. We’re just getting started.” You didn’t even reach for the water as you stared at him, his cock, unabashedly. Eris was still hard as rock—just from looking at you. Since he saw you bare before him.

The sight of him, his tip red and angry had you running your tongue over your lips, hungry to feel him in your mouth. You didn’t say anything as you crawled to him, to where he was standing at the side of the bed and wrapped your hand around him.

He hissed when you pumped him a few times which only motivated you do more, so you could see how he’d react. But before you could, Eris stopped you pulling your hand away, “Drink,” he ordered.

Taking the glass of water from his hand you gulped it down greedily. You didn’t realize how thirsty you were until you were knocking back the glass. Practically chugging it as water trickled down from the corners of your mouth and down your neck. Eris only shook his head, chuckling, “Good?” Taking both of your empty glasses and setting them on the nightstand.

You nod, giving him a shy smile, wiping the water off your chin with the back of your hand, “Good.”

His hand wraps around your neck, guiding you to where he wants before he leans down, kissing you hungrily. Then you’re wrapping your hand around his length, pumping and twisting slowly, his hips bucking in response to your touch.

The both of you pull away from the kiss and he groans as you grip him harder and pick up the pace. Letting out a shuddering exhale as you lay on your stomach infront of him, biting your lip, enjoying how your mate reacts to your touch. Stroking him a couple more times before licking a long broad stripe on the underside of length.

Eris lets out a lewd moan as you swirl your tongue around the head of his cock. His hands brushing your hair back as you lightly lap at his sensitive tip, savoring the taste of the salty bead of precum that was on it.

Kiss swollen lips part to take him, making you gag as his cock hits the back of your throat, “Oh fuck,” Eris rasps out. Hollowing your cheeks as you pull almost all the way back. Making eye contact as you swirl your tongue around his tip, working his long thick length with your hand, the other playing with his balls. “Mother’s tits,” he groans.

Lips wrapping around the head of his cock as you guide his hands to grip your hair. His amber eyes twinkle when he realizes what you want him to do, “Are you sure, little flame? I won’t be gentle.” You hum a ‘yes’ to him as best you can with him in your mouth. The feral look in his eyes matches the smirk he wears and he doesn’t waste another second.

Not as he tightens the hold he has on your hair and mercilessly bucks his hips into your mouth. Eyes watering as you sputter around his cock, “That’s it. . . fucking take it like a good, little slut,” he growls.

Tears run down your cheeks and saliva runs down your chin as he fucks your mouth. Hips grinding on nothing in response to the obscene noises he makes and the lewd sounds of him roughly bucking his hips into your warm mouth. Then he’s suddenly pulling you off of him and crashing his lips to your swollen ones. Before you can even catch your breath he’s swirling his tongue around yours.

He pulls away, both of you breathing heavily, he presses his forehead against yours. He chuckles, “You all right?”

You nod your head, “Mhm.”

“Gods I wanted to finish in your mouth, but I’d rather finish in you,” he confesses.

“Please,” you breathe and he nods his head.

Then he’s moving, positioning you in the middle of bed and sliding a plush pillow beneath your head, as he sits on his knees between your thighs. He sighs contentedly, scanning you from head to toe, “Gods, my beautiful beautiful, mate.”

You sit up on your elbows, wrapping your right hand around his cock and stroke him, “My beautiful beautiful, mate,” you repeat back to him. The smile Eris gives you, causes butterflies to flutter in your belly and then he’s leaning forward capturing your lips in a way you could only describe as loving.

His left hand cups the side of your face as he lays you back down, still kissing you and his large right hand covers the one you have wrapped around his cock. Then he’s rubbing the tip of it through your folds, hips jerking when it rubs over your clit as he swallows your moans.

Pulling back, pressing your forehead to his chest, “Eris. . . please. . .” you whimper.

“Please what, little flame,” he chuckles darkly and you don’t even have to look at him to know he’s smirking.

“Fuck me—“ your voice dies in your throat at the feeling of his cock pushing into you. Your hands move to grip his biceps as you hiss out in pain, you know you’re wet enough but he’s just so big. Eris continues pushing in slowly, inch by inch, until he’s fully buried in your cunt.

Your chest heaving at the lingering hint of pain, but he doesn’t move, letting you stretch and adjust to his size. He just places kisses all over your face as you adjust, “You’re doing so good,” he praises. “Take your time.”

You both stay there not moving and he just continues to kiss you and talk you through it for a couple minutes longer.

Letting out a shaky breath, you utter one word, “Move.”

That’s all it takes for him to start slowly rolling his hips, your walls fluttering around him, making him groan. “Fuck,” he drawls out. Eris continues fucking into you with slow but precise rolls of his hips, but he’s starting to tremble with restraint from holding himself back. Not wanting to hurt his sweet little mate.

But any hint of lingering pain is long gone and you want—need—him to ruin you. “Eris?”

“Yes?” He grits out.

“I need you harder. . . faster,” you murmur against his skin.

His hips still for a second, then he’s throwing your legs over his broad shoulders, hips snapping against the back of your thighs and ass as he fucks into you at an impossibly fast pace. This new position making you cry out as his tip repeatedly hits your sweet spot, “Ohh f-fuck Eris!”

“Gods. . . you take me well,” he says between pants, “You were made for me, little flame.” Then he sets your legs back down and puts his hands down on the bed, beside your tits as he deeply thrusts into you, causing you to throw your head back into the pillow. Screwing your eyes shut and screaming his name out while your nails scratch his back.

He lets out a hiss that has you opening your eyes, scanning his face, you open your mouth to ask if you hurt him. But he quickly shakes his head ‘no,’ “I—I just feel you, little flame.” He reassures you, shifting his hips at another angle, hitting spots he hadn’t hit before.

“Fuuuck, Eris.” You cry out, your hands finding his back again, scratching.

"Look at you," he murmurs as he moves inside you.

You manage to rise up enough to see where you were joined—to see his cock pulling almost all the way out before disappearing back into your body. And the sight of it wrecked you so thoroughly that it pushed you right over the edge. Your mates name on your lips as you fell as he worked you through your orgasm.

You stay like that for a little while longer—him rutting into you—then he’s flipping you around so you’re on top. He doesn’t even move yet and your body shudders, the fit so much deeper in this position.

Pressing your hand against your lower belly and gasp, his cock twitching inside of you. He has a smug smirk of pure male satisfaction on his face, “See, you were made for me. We’re a perfect fit.”

You lean down to kiss him, and then whisper in his ear, “I want to make you feel good. Let me make you feel good.”

Eris sucks in sharp breath and now it’s his turn to beg, “Please, little flame.” So you sit up, hands braced on his broad chest, and rode him.

Eris howled your name—thrusting his hips up to meet yours—like the devotee of a god. Your tits bouncing wildly in his face as you rode him, faster, harder. His fingers digging into the soft skin of your hips, no doubt leaving bruises behind in their wake. “Touch me. . .” you breath, your voice dripping sin.

Grinding your hips down on him as he moved his hands to grope your tits, pinching and pulling your nipples. His touch making goosebumps appear and spread all over your body. Breath hitching every time your swollen clit rubbed against the muscles of his abs. His own pleasure making his abs twitch only adding to your own pleasure. Causing heat to build in your belly from the friction.

You braced your hands on his chest again, slamming your ass against his hips, drowning out the drumbeats that still sounded outside for Calanmai. The only thing you could hear was the sound of skin slapping skin and your sounds of pleasure.

Then he pulled you against him so you were chest to chest, wrapping his arms around your back, jackknifing up into you relentlessly. “Be a good little mate and fucking take it,” he grits out. The fire in your belly turning to molten lava. Your hands fisting the sheets at his sides before biting into his shoulder.

It looked like they were glowing with starlight, or maybe your own vision fractured as release barreled into you again like a lightning strike.

And Eris found his, gasping your name over and over as he grinded your hips onto his with a bruising grip. His cock twitching as he spilled himself in you. Your walls spasming and contracting around him, milking every last drop of his cum, as he held you there on him until he was well and truly empty.

When you were done, you remained atop him with him still inside of you and he still had a hand on your hip, while the other played with your hair.

For other parts: Bound In Flames Series Masterlist

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 9 part 10 part 11 part 12

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[bl00dlight]

A Song of Shadow & Flame

CANON Dark! Aemond Targaryen x OC niece Targaryen. | SERIES

Warning; This chapter includes:

Mentions of underage SA, inappropriate treatment of underage characters, violence

Word Count ~ 5k+

Author's note • Expanding upon that warning; prepare for Aegon being Aegon. Also I have not edited this shit, I wrote it in like a 10k block of writing. I ain't got no fucken time for that atm.

Index

i ● ii ● iii ● iv ● v ● vi● vii● viii ●ix ● x ● xi ● xii ● xiii ● xiv ● xv

v ~ 'Nameday'

123 AC

Prince Aemond heard the muffled sighs of his elder brother Prince Aegon, who did little to hide his disinterest during the Lady Laena’s funeral rites. He’d grimaced at the way he found out his cousin had perished, though he supposed at least she went out as a dragon rider and not some writhing woman at the mercy of the Maesters. As he gazed over the detailed carving of her coffin, his mind drifted to just how she might look in there, probably burnt to a fine, gruesome crisp – and the babe probably resembled a lump of roasted meat more than a child. Aemond shook his head at the thought, wishing to gag at the mere notion of it. His mind drifted in and out as the funeral rites rattled on, yet he couldn’t help but notice the rumbling of Lady Laenor’s mount in the skies above. His attention was once again quickly captured by the Queen, his mother, Alicent Hightower pinching the sides of Prince Aegon as he sighed again. His elder brother let out a soft wince, and Aemond smirked to himself before feeling the soft eyes of his elder sister Princess Helaena upon him. Her face was aloof, her eyes neither narrow nor wide as she gazed at him for a moment – her silver curls seemingly white in the light of the overcast sky.

Helaena looked away, uninterested and Aemond could not help but to feel rising sparks of envy every time he gazed at his sister. Not only for how unaware she seemed, but also of her recent betrothal to their elder brother Prince Aegon. He was far more worthy for a betrothal than Aegon, no it was a match which his elder brother surely would not fail to let go to absolute waste. How could drunkard, lecherous Aegon be wedded in their tradition, and Aemond merely used as whatever political pawn his parents pleased? Was he truly that unimportant? Why should Aegon be worthy of Helaena’s hand and not he? Aemond did not wish for some gossiping Lady of the court, he deserved a wife worthy of him, worthy of a dragon’s blood. The fact remained that even if Prince Aegon was one day to be King, he was still unworthy in Aemond’s mind, in fact he had been secretly hoping their mother would suggest he and Helaena be betrothed in order to solidify Aemond making for a greater claim when the time came. For why would his mother wish for Aegon to be on the throne and not he, why would Alicent not see Aegon was insufficient and make it, so his claim was far less preferred of Aemond’s? The young Prince knew who sat on the Iron Throne was merely a matter of who men see the most beneficial, surely his mother could not be so stupid as to not see how everyone regarded his elder brother as a useless lech.

His blood boiled at the thought of all of it, at Aegon, his mother, his brother’s betrothal – yet as his eyes wandered upon the funeral guests he came across another infuriating sight he had done well to ignore thus far. Princess Visenya.  Aemond looked over to her, Visenya stood beside her mother Rhaneyra, the young princess kept her eyes glued to Lady Laena’s coffin. He scanned her for a moment, yet she did not seem to notice his gaze as small tears ran down her pale face. Aemond felt himself struck for a moment, gazing at his niece and perhaps for the first time, noticing her properly. He felt himself cringe at the thought, though when the Princess was not speaking, or vexing – she seemed to be rather, fair. His mind turned to what he considered a dark place as he gazed upon his niece, taking in the fact she was indeed the picture of a Valyrian princess. If she weren’t so unbearable perhaps he would not refuse a betrothal to her. Visenya was indeed a rather pretty girl, even for her age, though a tad taller than he. Regardless, she was a Targaryen as he, and all the great Targaryen men seemingly had Valyrian blooded wives. Why should he go without? It was not like he had to have affections for her, all they had to do was perform their duty and Aemond had grown most comfortable with doing so in the pursuit of his own gain.

Yet… that is what troubled the young prince all the same as he narrowed his gaze upon the young Princess, Visenya, was probably a bastard, and an irritating one at that, but still worthy she may be. And though it bothered him terribly, she was of pure Targaryen blood, and her poorly held tongue proved as such. Mayhap she could probably be kept like a doll, if he was to wed her, he thought in jest. But the thought lingered more than he wished it to, and as he continued to wonder he thought for as long as did what she was told, upheld their duty, and remained comely, she might be far more ideal wife for him than a woman he hardly knew.

He shook his head at the thought, reminding himself that Princess Visenya was nothing more than a stupid, vapid girl and that she had oft taken pleasure in her brother’s tormenting him. They were nothing alike anyway, the princess liked frivolous and superficial things, she enjoyed jewels and pretty gowns. Cakes too… he was positive she enjoyed sweets. At every family supper at King’s Landing, he had watched with disgust as she masticated any meat or vegetable that befell her, often spitting it out crudely. Yet, when desert came she would gorge herself on puddings and fruits – much to his disgust too. The prince was surprised her teeth hadn’t rotted from her mouth, though he supposed she must have some sort of tonic or salve from the Maesters to keep her teeth like pearls. No, of course, no consequence would dare befall her for her own gluttony, she would never allow it. If there was one thing to be noted about Princess Visenya, it was how little she resembled their great ancestor Queen Visenya. No, the young princess was no warrior, no woman of hard will or brute force. The princess was weak, easily tempted, and most of all terribly vain, he thought. Aemond had once caught her admiring her reflection upon the small pond in the garden’s once, he had the mind to push her in. His mind dwelled and battled with itself as he thought of her, and he supposed she would not make a terrible wife if she did not speak. Though that was another problem, the princess lacked the tact to keep her thoughts to herself. Mayhap he could get her mouth sewn shut; Prince Aemond stifled a smirk as the image entered his mind.

As the moments passed, Aemond shuddered at the realization of how much he actually knew of her, how much he thought of her… why was he thinking of her? Disgust then rage filled him, no… no…twas her fault, not his. Her fault for being so utterly dreadful that he loathed her to the point of dwelling on her! Her stupid sad face, her lips pouting as though she truly felt sorry for her Lady Laena. It was all just artifice, all just an act to appear as though she had any morals in that blackened soul of hers.

 ●

Lady Laena’s funeral came and went in a horrid flash, Visenya had all but ran to her half-sister’s Baela and Rhaena upon seeing them again, taking them both in her arms tightly as the two younger girls both wept softly. She had spent most of the repast with her sisters, and of course, shadowing her half-brothers. Visenya watched the gloom on Jacaerys face glaze his eyes, every time she swore a tear would form it would be quickly concealed by the wiping of his hand or shaking of his head.

The Princess had soon taken refuge by the shores of Driftmark, her gaze drifting upon the yellowed sand, the gray sea which brushed gently up upon the rocks. Her mind dwelling on her father, how his eyes softened as quickly as they hardened. Her heart aching with that familiar pang of longing for a life she simply did not have. Something Visenya oft tried to suppress with the joys of material goods, though futile it proved as time and time again she was left with that familiar empty sensation she couldn't quite name.

As she continued upon the edge of the rock pools, she came across a familiar sight looking up to the skies above at the mourning Vhagar. Silver hair contrasting a green cloak; Aemond.

Cautiously she approached him as he continued to look upwards at Vhagar, he heard the sound of soft footsteps approaching him, he slowly turned his gaze towards the young princess. A small scoff was heard to escape from him as Aemond crossed his arms, looking back at the sky. "What do you want? Are you here to shove me once more?"

She paused and looked up to the mournful cries above, the dark silhouette of Vhagar lining the gray clouds, “Not if you are not so rude as to grab at me again.” Visenya retorted back, her gaze finding the back of his head.

Aemond merely rolled his eyes at her words, he continued to stare up at the sky, not daring to look at her. She did not deserve his attention, not after their previous encounter all those weeks ago. The prince had a small frown upon his face as he kept his arms crossed. "What is it that you want? You must want something from me, if you've come to seek me out."

She scoffed and raised her brow, "I did not come for you. I came to seek solace away from the funeral. How was I to know you would be here... lurking?" Her voice crooning, he was always creeping in the shadows she thought.

The small smirk that had been upon Aemond’s face vanished, he turned swiftly, his tone sharp as that familiar annoyance within him bloomed. He shot Visenyal a cold look and took a step towards her, grumbling out his words, "I was not lurking! I was here just to think, I had already been here well before you graced me with your presence."

Visenya let out a vexing chuckle, her look incredulous as she smirked, “I doubt that. You probably came down here to scour for some helpless sea creatures to torment.”

He looked at her with a huff, it was like she had read his mind for he had indeed been looking for creatures to torment. The prince’s eyes glanced down to her with an unyielding stare. "And so what if I did? The creatures are weak, they are nothing to me or to you. They might as well be servants for me to command." He had taken a step towards her and Aemond's cold stormy eyes were met with Visenya's smirk, as if she was not the least intimidated by him.

Visenya opened her mouth as her expression coiled with disgust, she didn’t expect him to admit to such cruelty, "Ugh. I do wonder what exactly went wrong with you and your siblings. If it is not Helaena whispering to spiders, or Aegon accosting serving girls - it is you sulking around and toiling with the lives of helpless creatures. Truly... the lot of you are so strange."

The princess shook her head, stepping back from him as though he were riddled with disease, and in some ways she supposed he was. Not of the flesh of course, but of the mind. Certainly, it was the spawn of Alicent’s Hightower blood, crafty and cunning intertwining with the blood of the dragon that left the Green children terribly abnormal.

The cold look on Aemond's face morphed into one of anger as his eyes darkened at her words. How dare she insult him? How dare she? Anger took hold within him like no other as Aemond took another step towards his niece before him, standing in front of her now. "What did you just say to me? I will not listen to the likes of you spewing harsh words of my family!" His voice darkened, Aemond's hands balled into a fist, his knuckles turning white in the process.

Small waves crashed upon the rock pool as Visenya stepped back, raising her brow in judgment, "Calm yourself. Twas only a jest."

Aemond's eyes darkened, even more, his jaw clenched tightly. "That was not a mere jest. Do not tell me to calm myself! Do not presume to speak of my family, what do you even know of us regardless? Nothing but your own mindless little judgements it seems." He felt himself grow overwhelmed once again, she was so utterly irritating, how could he ever have thought to maybe wed her? Even despite the use of Dragon riding heirs, Visenya was not worth it.

"Now you defend them? You have spent half our youth complaining about Aegon for one?" Visenya smiled smugly and chuckled, her gaze upon her uncle sharp.

"I complain about him because it is the truth, but he is still my brother, my blood. Something you would know little about, niece." His words came out through clenched teeth, Aemond could feel his anger growing, his blood boiling under his skin with every sly smirk and sharp jest.  Yet the prince fought to keep his composure in front of her, for would not succumb to Visenya’s vexing.

The anger finally won over Aemond, and a smirk was now plastered on his face. "Do you want me to say it then? The truth we have all been barred from speaking?" His voice filled with a callousness beyond the likes she had seen, a spite that surprised him.

Suddenly, a bitter air fell between them. Visenya wanted to lunge, wanted to grab his vile little tongue and pull it from his stupid little mouth before she looked down, tempering herself. As she did, another familiar voice filled the space.

“Brother?! Brother where-”, The lanky gait of Aegon approached the two Targaryen children, his hair longer, shaggy. A flailing rag of silver locks whipping as stumbled upon the rocks. Aemond’s gaze hardened further as he watched his elder brother approach, muttering under his breath. Now was not the time.

Aemond's smug expression turned to annoyance as he watched his brother drunkenly stumble his way through the rocks. "What are you doing here Aegon?!” He snapped slightly.

Aegon merely ignored his brother's anger as he walked up to the two young Targaryen’s, he let out a snicker before flailing his arms, swiftly approaching and gripping his Aemond's shoulder. Visenya noticed how he had flinched at the touch.

"I was looking for you, fool!” he said drunkenly, turning his attention back to who stood before him. His lilac gaze widened as a smirk appeared upon his face, “Oh, hello, Visenya.”

The Princess stared indifferently at her elder Uncle before her brow raised in amusement, the princess tilted her head as she noticed how Aegon leered upon her. "Hello Aegon."

Aemond's gaze deepened as he watched his brother lean against him. His brother was drunk, again. The boy's arms remained crossed, as he stifled down that sickly feeling of embarrassment he had always felt in front of others while Aegon was present.

"Well, now that you have found me, you can go stumbling somewhere else," The younger prince spoke distantly, still glaring up at his older brother.

"Ah! Do not be such a bitter old man, brother. I merely came to see you, and here you are…with our pretty niece." Aegon's voice slurred, a drunken smile upon his face. Aemond felt a flash of frustration and disgust, though he kept his composure, merely rolling his eyes at the comment.

The Princess found herself in slight disbelief of the situation, it was terribly awkward, though she admittedly enjoyed seeing how terribly uncomfortable Aemond had gotten, his gait stiff and eyes downcast.

She tilted her head, smiling softly as she could not help but beam at Aegon’s compliment of her. “Hm, thank you, Uncle.” Visenya said coyly.

The younger prince felt his eyes narrow as he watched that small, self-satisfied smile curl upon her face. He felt bothered by her indulgence of his brother’s depravity. A strange silence bloomed between the three before another wave crashed upon the rock, leading Aegon to stumble, his hand gripped his younger brother’s shoulder as the elder prince slurred, “Mm fuck.”

Aemond's fists were still clenched, as he attempted to keep his composure. His temper still flared from his previous conflict with Visenya, and now his brother had come to make it worse. He kept his gaze down, his heart coiling in rage and humiliation. Finally, the sweaty grip of his brother upon him set the young Prince reeling, "Get off me, you stink!’ Aemond muttered, shoving his brother away from him.

Suddenly, Aegon stumbled backwards, his vision unfocused as he nearly fell. Aemond however, could hardly give a shit, silently hoping his brother to fall and crack his head upon the rock, mayhap then he might find some bloody peace. The princess at scoffed Aemond’s inaction, she stepped out, her fingers wrapping around Aegon’s arm to keep him upright.

A drunken smile returned to his face, “My sweet niece, I see you care for me.” He crooned, chuckling lowly as he noticed the way a small blush crept upon her cheek, he leaned in and mumbled, “It is a shame our mothers cannot make amends.. you would have suited me better.”

Visenya’s brow furrowed in confusion, before she registered his drunken muttering, he must have been referring to his betrothal with Heleana. She smiled coyly and shook her head but as she went to speak Aemond interrupted harshly, disgusted by both of his kin before him, “Do not say such things.”

The elder prince scoffed and rolled his eyes, muttering softly, “Yes… yes..”, he turned and then leaned upon Visenya steadying himself. Without warning, Aegon brought his hand up to her face, his thumb grazed her lips, making her flinch as he spoke again whispering, “I do doubt she would please me as you might-“

Before Aegon could mutter anything more, the Princess withdrew her hand that held his arm, almost tittering backwards in a slight fear of his ogling. The feeling of his cool, sweaty palm upon her cheek made her want to wretch as the dark revelation of his intentions hammered through her. She had never liked such sentiments from men, always found them frightening – as she had grown over the years she had noticed the once innocent gazes and touches of men around her turning to something darker. Something she couldn’t explain but knew was wrong. Despite it all, despite being told she was soon a woman grown, she still felt like a girl – and by all means; she was.

“Aegon...” The younger Targaryen prince stepped forward; his tone low yet oddly submissive – as though he could not quite find it in him to stand up to his brother.

Aegon ignored Aemond’s warning. His free hand grabbed her chin, lifting it so to better view her face. “Come on, Visenya, you’ve grown quite becoming.” The silver haired boy’s breath was hot, a slight scent of alcohol wafting from him.

The tension grew rapidly, the princess shook under his grasp her hands pushing at his chest though it were no use. He was taunting her, laughing softly as he examined her face. Visenya wince in frustration, “Mm, you’ve our half-sister’s cheeks…” Aegon muttered, his eyes narrowing. “Actually, you know who you remind me of? Brother, come… tis remarkable how much our little niece looks like the Prince Daemon?” A harsh chuckle left the elder prince’s lips as he taunted her, his breath hot and distinctly yeasty.

The Princess felt her heart soar with rage, she flickered her gaze over to Aemond as his eyes were to the ground. She brought her knee soaring to Aegon’s groin but missed and slammed into his upper thigh. Aegon scoffed and squeezed at her fleshy cheeks. “STOP!” Visenya exclaimed, she felt weak, humiliated.

As Aemond watched the grotesque display of his brother’s depravity he felt himself fly into action, he charged furious at the sight of his brother's drunken hand on her. "Did you not hear what I just said, you fool!" He yelled, as he pulled his brother's hand away from their niece. Aemond gripped the bony flesh of his brother’s wrist, forcing him away.

The elder prince was taken aback by his younger brother’s sudden aggression, he feigned ignorance and raised his brow, looking at Aemond with widened drunken eyes. "What? I was only looking at her."

"You were squeezing her face, as if it was a toy." Aemond's voice was filled with fury, his hand ached before he thrusted it away from Aegon. "You say you wish to seek me out, yet all you've done is act as a drunkard."

Aegon let his head cock backwards, laughing mischievously – so what if he was in a sorry state? Was it not his right, after all his mother is convinced he shall be King. Aegon had thought many a time on how he shall spend his day as King constructing a large personal brewery and brothel in the Red Keep. Finally make the bloody place good for something. No, it was not he who was the issue, perhaps Aemond was just too dull to see that he was only fooling around. His voice softened, "Relax, little brother. I was merely teasing her; you needn't accost me. Regardless, drink was the only worthwhile element of such a boring affair."

The two Targaryen boys bickered and Visenya felt herself grow sickened. She looked away, her mind filling with rage and humiliation, and betrayal. How could Aemond just stand there for so fucking long, useless as though he were one of the rocks beneath their feet. She felt tears clawing at her and she turned her head away, concealing the hot droplets with her hand.

Aemond's turned and noticed the princess in distress, he grimaced and a small pang in his chest appeared as he caught the glimmer of her tears. Yet he pushed it away, reminding himself that it was indeed Visenya and not some innocent girl, she was wicked and just as cruel as Aegon. He would not concede to caring for her now, even with that pain within his chest. He muttered lowly again to his brother, “Go away.”

The elder prince leaned in, giving his brother a light tap on the cheek before smiling "Shut it, little brother," Aegon muttered as he turned and pushed his silver hair from his face, straightening himself. "And you," he said, turning to Visenya, "Don’t go crying, I meant nothing by my words." He looked at her with half-lidded eyes, smiling. "I simply meant to say that you have grown very beautiful, Visenya." His voice gentle.

Rage boiled in the princess again as she snapped, “Do not dare touch me again!”

As her shrill voice clashed against the swelling sound of the waves, Aegon raised his hands as a sign of surrender, though his ever present smirk remained. "Relax niece." The elder silver haired boy then turned his eyes upon Aemond, smirking at his cold eyed brother. "Why don’t we all temper ourselves, yes? We are kin after all." His smile was sickly.

Neither spoke, Aemond’s gaze remained on the rocks below, gazing between the dark inky curling tide as Visenya kept her gaze like daggers upon Aegon. He shook his head, growing with frustration as the younger Targaryen’s refused to embrace what he thought was light hearted play.

Aegon stepped forward to the princess and spoke, “Oh, come on! I didn’t mea- “Aegon flailed his arms, and then stopped as he noticed just how his niece coiled backwards in fear. He hummed at the slight tinge, examining her for a moment before a flicker of guilt in his gut rose.  

Aemond's icy gaze only darkened as he listened to Aegon speak. He did not understand why his brother behave so perversely, for this was awful, even for Aegon’s standards. He looked between the two as they spoke, his fists clenching tighter and tighter. Yet his eyes softened slightly as he saw the flicker of fear upon their niece when his brother moved closer. Suddenly a wave of guilt hit him, why did he do nothing?

He felt useless, he was just as bad as Aegon. In his guilt, Aemond spoke lowly, “Just leave, brother.”

The elder prince turned swiftly and scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief “No… no, I’m not going up there, tis bloody miserable.”

“It’s a funeral?” Visenya quipped back bitterly. Of course it was bloody miserable, she thought. A mother and her babe had just died.

Aegon turned his head to his niece before trailing off, his gaze lowered as he looked at the rocks below, slowly pacing, “Indeed, it’s utterly awful...”

Silence fell between the three, Visenya still felt bitter wrath in her, though her eyes were upon Aemond now. With a swift whoosh, Aegon turned again and pointed to Visenya, “Was it not your name day this week?”

Her eyes did a double take before settling on Aegon, slightly taken aback by the abrupt change in tone, Visenya muttered, “Yes.”

A small, amused grin appeared upon his sharp face as he tilted his head and tutted “I feel sorry for you Visenya… however are you going to celebrate it again? It shall depress everyone knowing Lady Laenor died only a day prior. No more festivities it seems…” Aegon sighed, feigning pity before he began to pace again, continuing to ramble.

“…At least… not at Dragonstone, mayhap you ought to come to Kings Landing – I pride myself on the most unforgettable name day celebrations.” Aegon threw his head back slightly as he bragged, his eyes coming to his younger brother, noticing how Aemond shifted in discomfort, “Isn’t that right, brother? Tell our niece about our trip to Cock Inn, last year. You were turning ten and three, just like her.”

He knew it was coming, the young prince… he knew Aegon would find a way to humiliate him further. Slowly Aemond felt his cheeks burn, turning read from further humiliation, he looked up to see the disgusted expression upon Visenya’s face. “Be quiet.” Aemond grumbled.

Visenya watched as the dragonless prince shifted in discomfort, his fists and jaw clenched tightly as Aegon began to bring up a past that clearly had not been forgotten. She could only watch quietly as Aegon spoke on the name-day celebration, his drunken laughter filling the evening air. The young princess's eyes widened with shock as she heard Aegon mention the name of the Inn. She shook her head in confusion.

"No, no… I insist you tell her! Visenya is nearly a woman grown, I am sure she shall be betrothed soon. You ought to educate her as I did you!” With a wave of his hand, Aegon continued pacing, awaiting what was to come.

Aemond's cheeks flushed bright red, his fists clenching even tighter as Aegon began to reminisce that fateful night. He could still remember how Aegon’s vile words were still etched into his mind, “Time to get it wet.” The flash of what he had done that night, to whom he had done it to filled him with shame. He could still smell the saccharine perfume upon the weathered skin of the madame. Aemond furrowed his brow, wishing his mother were here. Aemond’s gazed laced with disgust before he turned his head away. A he avoided his brother's teasing sneer as a mixture of mortification and irritation filled his heart. How could he have been so foolish to follow his brother into such a wretched night? He muttered lowly to himself, the wind almost carrying his words away, “No.”

A high pitched, snivelling snicker left Aegon, and another lashing of that heavy feeling settled in the younger prince’s chest. He cursed his brother and his big, vile mouth, why did he have to mention such sin in front of Visenya? His fists tensed as Aegon's laughter bounced upon the jiggered cliff wall, he could feel his jaw clench as the mention of a past made his cheeks burn. He tried to ignore the pain and dishonour that came when Visenya's gaze shifted towards him.

The princess felt an overwhelming dread rippled through her, pulsing into her very bones. It was dreadful, the whole conversation seemed to derail into absolute horror before her eyes and though she knew not what Cock Inn was, she was ignorant to what its name suggest. “What are you blabbing on about?” Her tone sharp as she sneered at Aegon.

“See, our niece wishes to know? You would be a grand teacher for our sweet niece, after all he learned from one of the more… aged and experienced Lady’s.”  Aegon snivelled lowly at his lewd implication.

As the words left Aegon’s lips, Aemond could not contain himself. The sheer shame of it all, the sheer disgust he felt within himself – which sparked tears in his eyes. Tears? No… no he could not cry, not in front of Aegon, not in front of Visenya. He would not be faint-hearted, he couldn't let his brother continue to humiliate him in front of others, even if it was his own blood. With a low growl, Aemond lunged at Aegon, tackling him to the ground and began punching him, his fists hitting his brother's face relentlessly.

The princess gasped, her eyes widened as she watched the young princes' wrestle on the ground, their fists flying wildly. As Aemond managed to tackle Aegon, he began to punch him repeatedly, his fists landing on his brother's face with a flurry of anger. But, the elder dragon's smile never left his face, he just giggled as if he were merely being tickled by a little boy. With that, a scoff left Aegon’s lip as he brought his hand to Aemond’s smaller chest shoving him to rocks.

Aemond stumbled back as Aegon shoved him away, his body crashing hard on the ground with a thud. He felt the pain as the sharp rocks dug into his back, it hurt, but he knew he had to continue fighting. He rose back up to his feet, his fists still clenched tight. He let out a loud yell, filled with anger and frustration, before charging back towards his brother. The younger prince swung freely at Aegon, and his fist connected with his brother's face once more.

The heavy sounds of grunts and giggling filled the air, and Visenya folded her arms, tilting her head at the rather pathetic sight before her. Aemond desperately trying to get one up upon his brother, and Aegon rolling about the floor dodging his advances, snivelling like a child.

She sighed after a few moments, waiting for them to tire themselves out and slowly approached them. With one final push, Aemond crashed upon the rocks again, and he himself let out a sharp, air hungry breath before he gave up his attack. Aegon stood up unsteadily and then looked down to his younger brother, a small moment transpired, a wry smile upon the elder prince’s face as his hand whipped Aemond hard across the back of his head, “Twat.” He spat.

As Aemond winced, he felt himself cower, more rage and shame curdling within him, but he had little energy to keep fighting. His gaze returned to his brother above before a small tap upon Aegon’s shoulder drove his attention to their niece behind him, “Keen for a slap too niece?” He laughed.

Suddenly, the dense thud of Visenya’s boot came in contact with Aegon’s groin. Aemond’s eyes widened in a strange enjoyment as the whimpering of Aegon filled the space. His elder brother practically crumbled to his knees and gagged. The elder prince coughed and groaned more, clutching at his breeches before he choked out, “You little… cunt…”

Visenya’s gaze was indignant and sharp before she looked to Aemond, extending her hand. The young prince refused her but as he went to speak, her harsh grip clawed into his wrist and forced him up. Without another word, Visenya tore Aemond away from his brother. Aegon shuffling to lean again the rocky cliff wall, inebriated and moaning in pain.

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[novaursa]

The Flames We Loved (dark baptism)

This is one of my darker works. If it's not your cup of tea, skip it. All warnings are up for this additional part of the story.

Happy Halloween! 🔥🩸

- Summary: You are called to Aerys' chambers. A ritual that is familiar to you, one which always happens in wake of his burnings. But this time is more unholy than ever before.

- Pairing: daughter!reader/father!Aerys II Targaryen

- Note: You can place this scene everywhere you wish in the story's timeline.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- The first part of the story: prelude

Ser Jonothor Darry and Ser Gerold Hightower flank you, silent and unmoving as they escort you through the darkened corridors of the Red Keep. Their faces remain impassive, revealing nothing of what lies ahead, but you feel it—the ever-thickening dread that seems to claw at your skin. Your father, the King, has summoned you, and you already know what this night holds by the strange energy in the air, like the silent fury of a storm building over Blackwater Bay.

As you approach his chambers, the heavy scent of smoke and copper clings to the air. Blood—fresh, potent—fills your senses. Ser Gerold opens the door, his white cloak barely brushing your shoulder as you step inside, and your heart seizes at the scene laid out before you.

The room is dark save for the dancing flames in the hearth. A dragon egg, dormant yet pulsing with a life long snuffed out, rests in the embers, radiating a feverish heat. But it is the blood—spattered across the floor, the walls, even the bed’s silken sheets—that halts your breath. It drips like a sacrifice offered in some forbidden rite, and you realize, horrified, that the blood is his. Your father’s.

He stands before the bath, skin pale and ghostly under the smears of red that trail from his chest, arms, and hands. Cuts line his flesh, jagged, cruel things, like he’s waged a silent war against himself in the throne room. Aerys’s eyes, wild and unchained, fall upon you with a strange, predatory glint as you step forward.

"Father," you murmur, throat tight. "What happened? Why are you bleeding?"

His expression shifts, his mouth morphing into something halfway between a smile and a sneer. He raises a hand—bloodied, trembling slightly—and gestures for you to come closer. "Y/N," he says, your name falling from his lips like an invocation. His voice is thick, weighted with something dark and unholy. "The Iron Throne does not yield easily to mere men."

Without breaking his gaze, he motions to the bath, its water shimmering faintly in the firelight, waiting. "Undress," he commands, his tone leaving no room for hesitation.

Your hands shake as they move to the fastenings of your dress. The fabric slips from your shoulders, pooling at your feet, and you feel exposed, vulnerable in a way you cannot name as his gaze sears across your bare skin. You take tentative steps forward, lowering yourself into the bath. The water is warm, almost scalding, but it does little to ease the chill sinking into your bones.

Before you can fully adjust to the heat, Aerys is there, sinking into the bath beside you, the water turning crimson as it mingles with the blood from his wounds. His hands find your face, his touch harsh yet feverish. The fierceness in his eyes flares, and he presses his lips to yours, fierce, hungry, claiming. The taste of copper stains your tongue as his kiss deepens, consuming, as though he intends to devour every part of you.

"Do you understand, daughter?" he murmurs against your lips, his words slipping into Valyrian, a language as ancient as the dragons themselves. "The blood… it is our birthright. It is the legacy we pass on, the fire within our veins."

His hands roam over your skin, leaving bloody trails in their wake, the red smeared across your pale flesh like a lover’s caress, an artist’s mark. He moves with purpose, his body pressed tightly against yours, and when he enters you, there’s no tenderness, only an unrelenting intensity that steals your breath.

A gasp escapes you, involuntary, and a twisted amusement lights his face. He strokes your cheek almost mockingly, leaning down to whisper, "Does it frighten you, my sweet? The blood? The power that thrums beneath your skin? It should. It is a gift few are worthy of."

His pace quickens, his hands gripping you tightly as he continues to move within you, his breathing ragged, punctuated by muttered words in perverted Valyrian, half-prayers, half-madness. And then, his hand reaches for something beside the bath, a flash of metal catching the firelight. You barely have a moment to understand before he draws the blade across the skin just above your breast, a quick, sharp slice that makes you cry out.

“Shh,” he murmurs, a mockery of comfort as he presses his hand to the wound, his blood-stained fingers mingling with yours, your blood running together, sinking into his skin as though binding you to him in a way words never could. "Do you feel it?" His voice is low, almost reverent. "Our blood as one, a union of fire and flesh."

His lips find your neck, trailing down to the fresh cut, where he drinks in the sight of your blood with a fevered gaze. "You are mine, Y/N. As I am yours. We are bound by blood and by fire, by destiny and by madness. There can be no other."

Each movement, each thrust, feels like a command, binding you tighter to him as his words sink into your mind like a brand. The water swirls around you both, darkened with blood, the scent of iron and smoke heavy in the air, a grotesque ritual binding you to the Mad King, your father, in a way that feels both holy and damnable.

And as he moves within you, his words grow softer, becoming a chant, a prophecy, spoken only for you. "We are the blood of the dragon, daughter. Ours is the fire that shall never die. And in the end, the world shall burn, and we shall watch it burn together."

As your bodies move in sync, your breaths merge, shallow and gasping, his hands rough yet steady as they hold you firmly in place. The intensity builds, like fire caught in a tempest, and you cling to him, fingers digging into his shoulders, holding on as if you are the only things keeping each other tethered to this world. The iron-scented water sloshes around you, crimson and murky, but you are too lost to care. His eyes blaze into yours as you both reach that blinding height, his mouth turning into a near-manic grin as he basks in your grasp, your shuddering breath against his blood-streaked skin.

Your gaze drifts, just for a moment, falling upon the dragon egg in the hearth. It sits lifelessly amid the flames, long turned to stone, a relic of a time and magic that seem long gone, yet it calls to something deep within you—a shared memory, a yearning for the impossible. You feel the weight of it in your chest, the hollow ache of something that will never truly be reborn.

Aerys notices the direction of your gaze, his hands cradling your face. He presses his forehead to yours, a rare, fleeting gentleness in his insanity. "It will awaken someday," he murmurs, his voice soothing, almost tender, as though he’s comforting a child haunted by nightmares. "Our blood, Y/N, our fire. One day, it will return, and the world will tremble as it did in days of old."

He kisses your temple, his lips ghosting over your brow, calming you with the ease of someone who has held you since infancy, as if his words hold an unspoken promise that everything, no matter how twisted, is as it should be. "But it needs sacrifice," he whispers, as if sharing a secret. "And we are both made for this, aren’t we?"

The bathwater, still tinged with the remnants of his blood, feels heavier as he pulls you to your feet. His grip is possessive as he leads you from the crimson-stained waters, not sparing a glance at the mess of diluted red that remains behind. He draws you to the bed, a glint of satisfaction in his gaze, and you follow, half-dazed, a strange warmth filling you as his fingers tighten around your hand.

As dawn approaches, he finally loosens his grip, and you drift into an uneasy sleep beside him, his arm draped over you like a claim etched into your very soul. The silence is heavy, almost oppressive, the room filled with the lingering scent of iron, smoke, and something darkly primal, bound by the memory of his feverish touch.

The servants enter the room with the first light of morning, their footsteps hesitant, almost fearful, as if they sense the aura of something forbidden before even crossing the threshold. The scene before them stills their breath—blood pools around the edges of the bath, drying into dark streaks upon the floor, the sheets tangled and streaked with red, as if an unholy rite had been performed in the dead of night. Their eyes widen as they catch sight of the stone dragon egg in the hearth, its black surface cracked and scorched, as though touched by something unearthly.

One servant dares to look upon you, lying beside the king in a deep slumber, your skin still marked with the faint streaks of his blood. He holds you possessively, his hand splayed over your shoulder, his fingers stained with dried crimson. Even in sleep, his grip upon you is fierce, binding, as if he would never allow you to leave.

Another servant averts her gaze, swallowing against the horror curling in her stomach as she approaches the bed. She shudders, her hands trembling, but Aerys’s eyes snap open before she can even reach for the sheets. His gaze is piercing, feral, and the servant stumbles back, her cheeks blanching as his lips curl into a twisted smile.

“Did you come to see the remnants of our union?” he asks, voice low and mocking, the hint of mania bleeding through. "Look upon her,” he commands, his hand moving to rest against your cheek. “Look upon the blood of dragons made flesh, the fire reborn. We are eternal, she and I."

The servants exchange wary glances, their faces pale, eyes flitting between each other as though afraid to look directly at either of you. Aerys’s laugh fills the chamber, hollow yet ringing, a sound that seems to seep into the stone walls, leaving an imprint that will haunt the room long after dawn has faded.

"Tell them," he murmurs, voice dark and soft as he settles back beside you, eyes drifting closed once more. "Tell them the blood of the dragon is more than they could ever understand."

[harrystylesfan2686]

Ferryman

Pairing: Azriel x Archeron!Reader.

Summary: (I have no idea how to summarize this.)

Warnings: slight mention of suicide and hating oneself.

A/N: This is an idea i got after watching TVD and Legacies. For those who dont know, Ferryman is a psychopomp, the ferryman of the Greek underworld, also known as Hades. He carries the souls of those who have been given funeral rites across the rivers Acheron and Styx, which separate the worlds of the living and the dead. This definition is taken from wikipedia. I changed the legand a little bit. I hope you like this. 🫶

Masterlist

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My life changed entirely after me and my sisters were forced in the world of fae.

Being thrown in a cauldron and turned into a powerful being can be dreadful after having heard all the stories about fae. Hearing how cruel they were to humankind sure was terrifying but after knowing what they looked like and how they acted, I have different thoughts.

The man male, my sister married is one of the most powerful lords of Prythian. One that is so sweet to two of my sisters and so rude to the other.

After we were all thrown into the cauldron, we all got different powers along with our immortal bodies. As we slowly discovered our powers, we got our names too. Elain got named a Seer, discovering her ability of supernatural insight. Nesta became The Death Lady, because of her silver flames.

And I?

I became the Ferryman.

The one who connects the living world and after life. The one who carries souls to their finale destination after death. The anchor guilding the lost souls.

Every fae that dies has to touch me in order to go to the after life. Now while they have a painless journey, I on the other hand, feel everything they did while dying. When they touch me, I feel thier pain, distress, sadness and everything that filled them in their last moments.

At first I was alright with it. But it got tiring very quickly. Then I started despised it. And now? I'm petrified.

I fear it so much, I'm starting to hate myself. I dread my every living moment, just fearing that I will see a soul lurking around and will have to send them to the other side. Feeling thier pain and going through it all over again.

Everyday exactly like the one before. See a soul, touch, feel, hurt, and do it again and again with no end in sight.

Can't you just handle it and get over yourself?

Nesta had hissed at me when I tried to share my feelings to her. Indeed, she was in pain too but she isn't the only person our father's death has effected. I wasn't there that day. At least they got to see father for one last time before he died. I didn't. I was held up in a tent, following Rhysands commands, saying it's too dangerous for me out there.

Her cruel words still roam my head everytime I try to feel sorry for myself. I can't communicate my feelings to anyone anymore.

Feyre forced me to reveal myself one day and couldn't do anything else as she, too, doesn't understand what I go through everyday. She told me that she'll see what she can do and try to help me but hasn't said or done anything else so I believe nothing can be done about this except to accept it just as what it is.

I just suffer in silence and not tell anyone.

-☆-

I take a sip from the wine bottle I stole from Rhysand's finest wine stock, and rest it between my spread legs, holding the bottle from it's neck. I look down at the mountains beyond me. My legs dangling off as I sit on the balcony edge.

It's starfall tonight.

And I'm sitting on a balcony of the only room I saw empty. It only views is mountains, lining up from The House Of Wind, of all sizes and shapes.

It's a beautiful site.

Stars in the dark sky, shining down on the mountains and forests that rest between them. I can see nothing but the hills and the beautiful start sky. It's so peaceful not being around strangers and just staying here, lost in the nature, drinking wine and just being with your own thoughts.

"What are you doing here alone?" A deep voice asks behind me. I don't turn to see who it is, already knowing it is the Spymaster.

"What does it seem like?" I take another sip of the wine. The sound of boats against the floor, walking towards me. His presence looms behind me, his shadows already wrapping around me. They seem to like me. Always surrounding me whenever we are near. I raise my free hand to play with one.

"You going to fall." He grunts.

"Nothing's going to happen. It's not like I can die." I chuckle at the irony, the sound doesn't seem real.

It's true. I truly cannot die. I'm the anchor, after all. If I die, nobody is going to get their haven after life. I tried a few months ago, when I finally decided I couldn't live in this much pain my entire life. It didn't work. I'm still standing. I did end up with a lot of injuries though.

I take another sip.

"I hope you know you can talk to me whenever you want. We can sit without talking too." He sits beside me. Dangling his feet off of the edge too.

I silently offer him the wine bottle. He silently accepts. We sit there for god knows how long, just quietly passing the wine around and looking out in the sky. Drinking and enjoying one another's company in silence. I feel good, comfortable around him.

Suddenly stars start to move. Skiping through the sky, shimmering glitter. Colors of all kinds fill the sky. I breath out. My lips tug up on thier own, curling into a small smile I can not contain.

"It's truly beautiful, isn't it." My eyes on the stars when I speak to Azriel.

"It truly is." He whispers.

I force my eyes to move to him, noticing he's not looking at the sky.

He's looking at me.

His eyes on my face, switching between my eyes and lips. I feel a rush to my cheeks. For a minute we don't move at all. Just looking at each other, drinking in how we look under the sparkling colourfull stars.

We smile at the same time and look away from one another.

For the first time in a while, my face holds a genuine smile.

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[mllemaenad]

Hm. Blight.

The thing about Blight is that it shapes the world. It shapes people into ghouls and broodmothers, and through procreation into darkspawn. It shapes the landscape with its black tendrils and bulbous growths. It notoriously ruins the fertility of the soil, and creates deserts where there was once farmland.

It also sings. That's one of the first things we learn about it. And every darkspawn, bar the Awakened, is consumed by the Song. Darkspawn are, of course, people, and their reaction to events differs on a case-by-case basis, but we know from the Mother that the song can act as a kind of anaesthetic. She was unable to survive what was done to her without it.

We can tie this to the experience of the Tranquil. I keep coming back, again and again, to Pharamond's description:

I find it ironic the Rite of Tranquility cuts one off from the land of dreams. because a dream is exactly what it feels like. Everything in a dream is as it should be, nothing is out of place … yet part of you knows something is not right. This isn't your home, this isn't your life … it isn't you. – Dragon Age: Asunder

Everything is right, but everything is also wrong at the same time. I also think of the text from Eddin the Meek:

Some laugh at me. I no longer mind. Once upon a time, I studied as they did. I learned under the tutelage of an enchanter and attempted to master the art of bending magic to my will, and while I did well enough, I know that I struggled. I saw the way the enchanter looked at me, the sidelong glances of worry and disappointment. While other apprentices were conjuring fire, I could barely light a candle. I was frightened of magic. When I was a boy, my grandmother regaled me with tales of the terrible Flemeth, the Witch of the Wilds. She told me of the magisters and how their evil magic infected the world with the darkspawn. She told me of demons, and how they were drawn to the dreams of those who possessed magic like moths to a flame. She told me all these things because, she said, the talent ran in our family's blood. And so it ran in mine. All my young life I had dreaded the thought, prayed to the Maker that I was not so cursed, but I knew otherwise. Deep in my heart, I knew. When the templars came to our home, I knew. The mages' tower was terrifying, full of secrets and danger. The templars glared at me as if I could spring full into an abomination before their very eyes. My enchanter patiently attempted to teach me to marshal my willpower, my only defense should a demon attempt to enslave me, but it was no use. How many nights did I cry myself to sleep in that dark and lonely place? Then my Harrowing came at last, my final test. Face a demon, they said, or submit to the Rite of Tranquility. They would sever my connection to the Fade, and thus I would never dream and no demon could ever touch me—but I would also be unable to do magic, and I would never feel an emotion ever again. Facing the demon was certain death, so my choice was easy. It was not so painful. Now I serve in other ways. We Tranquil manage the archives. We run the tower, purchase the supplies and maintain the accounts. Our condition also allows us to use the magical element lyrium without ill effect, and thus we are the ones who enchant the magical items. We are the merchants who sell these items to those the Circle permits, and the coin from those sales provides the Circle's wealth. Thus, we Tranquil are vital. The young and old may stare at me, ill at ease, but they would be worse off without me. They may think me a failure, but there is no horror for me now. I feel no fear of what I am. The shadows are merely shadows, and I am content. —Eddin the Meek, Tranquil of the Circle of Magi of Starkhaven, the Free Marches. – Journal of the Tranquil

Tranquility is generally described as torture, but some people who have undergone it, especially those who have been traumatised in some other way, believe that, like the Mother, they would not survive a cure. Avexis, in Inquisition, also believes she would not survive the reversal of her Tranquility.

Darkspawn operate as something like ... proxy bodies for the dreams of the Tranquil Titans. Tranquil mages are described as being like sleepwalkers, and I think you could reasonably describe darkspawn the same way. They are both lulled and compelled by the Song, and as Pharamond puts it "Yet [they] cannot act other than the dream allows. It follows its course, and [they] follow it believing nothing is real". A darkspawn may be cured of its condition (at least mentally) by a form of the Joining. Whether or not they can survive that cure is a separate question.

Cool.

But I also think about demons. Specifically about abominations. Or, well, to be really specific, about this:

That does not look exactly like a darkspawn, no. But there's a certain similarity there. When a demon decides to consume its host it also produces a distorted horror of what once was.

And a demon is a spirit that has been perverted from its purpose. It is also a being in distress, although it may not be able to articulate that. If things have gone this far, the demon is lashing out in helpless misery.

Which brings me back to the top. Blight shapes the world, and Blight sings. Titans also shape the world, and Titans sing. Isatunoll, as Harding is learning.

Blight operates like a Titan forcibly removed from its purpose. It acts with the will of a Titan, but distorted into horrors and destruction. It acts like a demon.

The distinction between living being and spirit is increasingly muddy: spirits can clearly become living beings – the elves did it. Do the souls of the dead become spirits? Unclear, but a possible theory among the mortalitasi. And Cole, of course, who is simultaneously a spirit of Compassion and a dead human boy brought back to life.

And Titans? Well, they are the pillars of the earth, but they are also magic incarnate – lyrium makes magic, and magic is a connection to the Fade. So they are, or were, simultaneously of the waking world and the Fade.

But there is a physicality to them that is not present in spirits. Lyrium is their blood, and it brims with magic. But it's a real material that you can mine and touch (although don't touch it if you'd like your brain to keep working). And Blight ... Blight is almost like ... bacteria? Perhaps a poor analogy, but as close as I can come.

The Taint has a real, physical presence in the world that is independent of other beings – although it can infect other beings. Like bacteria.

Isseya had this problem.

And it was her fault. Isseya still didn't understand exactly how or why, but she knew that it was so. The scarlet sickness that was overcoming the griffons was tied to the ritual she'd imposed on some of the fighting birds during the Blight ... but she didn't fully understand what it was doing to them, or how it was spreading, and she had no inkling of how to effect a cure. If it were a real disease, then their bloody spume might be the means of transmission. But it wasn't a real disease. Was it? How could it be, when she'd made it? – Dragon Age: Last Flight

Her Joining ritual failed, yes: instead of producing the resistance you get in Grey Wardens, it made griffons more susceptible to the Blight, and allowed it to spread more easily. But she didn't make a disease. Blight already acts like a disease. How do you catch Blight? From contact with the Taint, either in an infected person (like darkspawn) or from the environment.

The bodies of the Titans have magical properties – they might even be magic incarnate. The dreams of the Titans, tormented into violence by Tranquility, are a physical presence in the world, which mimic a sickness to produce their horrors.

They are backwards to what you see elsewhere: here is a person – they are solid presence in the world, but their mind travels to the Fade in dreams. Here is a spirit – they are imbued with magic, but lack a physical presence unless they possess something.

It feels like ... a fascinating look at what the world might be like if the Veil came down. A world where those rules simply don't apply.

[fangsandfracturedhearts]

Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Chapter 16: Riddles

Summary: After embracing eternity as a vampire spawn under Astarion's wing, the Crimson Palace becomes a haunting symbol of the man he once was. As his personality unravels into a dark abyss, you flee. A year of hardship unveils the harsh reality of existence as a vampire spawn.

Just as all hope seems lost, a twist of fate reunites you with Astarion, revealing a glimmer of hope amidst the shadows. As you navigate the complexities of your relationship, you must confront the unsettling truth behind the Rite of Profane Ascension and the devilish secrets it holds.

In a race against time, you embark on a daring quest to save Astarion from his descent into darkness. With each choice you make, the stakes grow higher, testing the limits of your courage and determination.

Will Astarion find redemption, or is he destined to succumb to his own inner turmoil?

Word Count: 6.8k

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x female!Tav Spawn

Warnings: [Will try to continue to add more, but in general expect explicit content for mature audiences]

Possible spoilers. Eventual Explicit Content. Slow Burn. Thoughts of Suicide. Violence. Blood. Injury. Mature Content. Self-Harm. Mentions of in-game content. Completely fabricated camp events. Mentions of Astarion's Trauma.

If you notice a very critical tag missing, please don't hesitate to let me know

Rating: Explicit 18+ - [Meant For Mature Audience]

The manor is mute except for the scratch of paper as you flip the page of Astarion’s sketchbook and contemplate the detailed drawing of yourself. You frown as you try to brush the name over the woman, painting her with the letters and hues of every syllable. It doesn’t matter what portrait you look at; the name still feels foreign and unrecognizable.

Whoever the woman in these drawings is, she is lost to you. She took her name to the grave, and some things cannot be exhumed. You close the book, your eyes sailing up the wall toward the ceiling.

Should you miss her? Grieve her? Forget her?

Climbing onto the bed, you hold your palm out, summoning the flames from the candles. You close your fist to extinguish them and let the black wings of darkness envelop the room. You have a strange feeling that you’re not entirely that woman any longer, which you can’t put into words. You were disassembled somewhere between life, death, and this everlasting afterlife, and your pieces weren’t arranged in quite the same pattern.

You have lost and gained so much in so little time. Would you recognize yourself even if you had a reflection?

There’s an ache in the vacant chamber where your dead heart hangs, frozen in the static state of death. The pang of discomfort doesn’t belong to you, though. Astarion has been leaving the link open more and more, and you’re learning what he meant when he said the world around him seems to move in slow motion.  

You once made the mistake of thinking Astarion could no longer feel, but you couldn’t have been more wrong. The reality is that he feels everything with an intensity you cannot begin to fathom. His emotions are like shooting stars. They streak through him, blazing bright and winking out in the blink of an eye.

His beating heart gives away Astarion's return. He doesn’t bother lighting a candle when he enters the room, hanging his formal suit coat.

You light a candle with a twitch of your finger. “You must forgive yourself, Astarion.”

Astarion sighs, rubbing his face. “What gave me away this time?”

“The same thing.” You splay your hand across your chest. This is not the first time you’ve mentioned the ache, as if your heart is in a perpetual state of being torn. “When you hurt, I hurt.”

You feel his intention to cut the coupling, to give you a break from the pain, and you fight against it.

“Don’t,” you rebuke, narrowing your eyes at the increasing pressure in your head. “Please. Stop trying to shut me out.”  

Astarion’s eyes fall to the sketchbook you left on the bedside table. “Do you not recognize your name still?”

“No,” you say, shaking your head and fidgeting with your fingers. This is the whole reason for the pain he’s been wallowing in—a bog of guilt and shame. He’s more upset over it than you are. You smile, making your voice a gentle hug. “Give me some time, and I will get used to it.”

“You should not have to get used to your own fucking name,” he hisses, squeezing his eyes closed, and the pain in your chest increases. It feels like your heart is warping itself into knots. “Not even Cazador went as far as to remove my name from my memory.”

“You are not Cazador,” you snap back sternly. “Stop comparing yourself to him. The situation is entirely different.”

“No,” Astarion growls, raising his voice, overtaken by repulsion. “I’m something much worse. At least there were limits to his power. No restrictions hinder me.”

“Good Gods! Just stop!” You yell, jumping off the bed. You’re unsure if your anger is partly due to what Astarion is feeling or your irritation at his self-loathing. At least he cannot remember taking you to the kennels. You don’t think he will ever recover. “You’re not him, and you’re not the darkness inside. You must separate the two.”

Astarion scoffs, turning away and waving dismissively, “I think it best if you rest in your room tonight.”

You deflate, anger being replaced by his disregard and the sharp sting of rejection. Astarion has been making you sleep in your room for days. At first, you thought he needed space, but he’s only become increasingly distant and withdrawn.

“Why are you doing this?” You step toward him, but he tenses and shies away, making you halt. You try to decipher his retreat through the bond, but Astarion is carefully guarding his emotions.

“Doing what?” He asks casually, keeping his blank stare on the wall.

“You show me an open door, then slam it on me and pull the rug out from under my feet!” You look up, hating that tears have begun crawling down your cheeks. “You think keeping your distance from me is keeping me safe, but you’re tearing me apart. Do you even want me here anymore, Astarion? Should I go?”

“Don’t go,” he whispers, brittle and weak. If your hearing were not so sharp, thanks to your vampirism, you wouldn’t have heard him. There’s another stab in your chest that feels like it rips the muscles right off your bones, and you whimper, clutching at your skin. “Please.”

“I can’t take this anymore,” you plead, taking another step, only to watch him tense. Your arms drop to your sides. Your heartbreak is affecting him. You can see it in the way his jaw clenches, and he winces almost imperceptibly at every sob you stifle. “Why are you pushing me away?”

Astarion finally turns, wracking his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know if I can be what you need me to be—what you deserve.”

“I know you don’t love me,” you sigh, shrugging. It always comes back to this. “You need to listen to me; let my words sink into your skin and fade into your soul. I missed you with such intensity that it felt like I died every day we were apart. You are my forever, even if I am not yours, and that’s okay.” You shake your head dismially, unsure how to get through to him. “I love you. Goodnight.”

You’re near your room when Astarion appears in front of you out of thin air, and you bump into him. He vaults you off your feet and into his arms before you can register his movement, making you yelp at the surprise of having your feet swept out.

“Shit,” He holds you firmly against him, his lips pressed to your forehead in a lingering kiss. “I’m sorry. I don’t want you to leave. Stay with me, little love. I need you.”

“Stop pushing me away.” You tangle your fingers into his hair, with your face nestled into the crook of his neck.

“I will.” His hand comes to the back of your head as he walks back to his room and places you gently on the bed with adoration in his eyes. “You are my forever, Illyria. Aeterna Amantes.”

“Lovers forever,” you finish, sidling up close to him and laying your head on his chest.

The teeth of guilt gnawing inside your chest cavity have finally relinquished your heart as their chew toy, and all that remains is the steady thrum of Astarion’s borrowed heartbeat.

“Until the world falls down, my love,” he purrs, placing a finger under your chin and his lips embracing yours.

The slow rocking rise and fall of his chest is like the sway of gentle waves; the beat of his heart is a lullaby whispering serenity into your soul, and you slip peacefully into your trance.

Upon waking, your hand meanders across the silken surf of the sheets, only to find Astarion’s side of the bed cold and void. Rolling onto your back, your eyes drag open, and you listen for the telltale susurrus of a heartbeat. A frown creases your forehead when you’re met with nothing but the anonymous creaks and groans of the manor.

Astarion doesn’t usually leave without mentioning his absence as a warning to stay indoors and away from the windows. A florid scent catches your attention, prompting you to turn your head.

On Astarion’s pillow, a red rose rests and a folded note with your name penned in his delicate, flowing hand.

“Good morning, beautiful.

I apologize for my absence, but I am not far. I’ve left blood for you in the kitchen.

Eternally yours,

Astarion.”

The promise of awaiting blood stirs you to your feet hastily. Your belly coils with anticipation, and you barely have enough restraint to dress and run a comb through your hair before you’re bounding down the stairs.

A golden goblet, elaborately etched with prismatic dragon scales that mirror yours, sits on the counter. You snatch it greedily and bring it to your lips. The blood is cool, so you allow your palms to heat slowly, warming it as it inspires your taste buds to recite their devotion to the ambrosial elixir. It’s unmistakably Astarion’s blood. It knocks you over in a wave of delirium that makes your knees weak, and you lean into the counter to keep yourself from melting into the floor.

You’re not sure if it’s your imagination or reality, but you veritably hear Astarion chuckling in your head.

The meal is finished too soon, and you groan as you clean the last traces from your lips. When you open your dreamily heavy eyes, another folded note, previously hidden by the flared base of the goblet, catches your attention. You blink rapidly to clear the insensibility glazed across your sight before you can make any sense of the words before you.

“Find me using the clues I have scattered for you, my clever Illyria.

We have much to discuss.

“Reminisce beneath the faded tapestries, where laughter once echoed; seek the embers of our stolen kiss."

Clues? What in the Hells is Astarion up to, and what the fuck do you have to discuss? An icy shock runs from your dead heart into your feet. Is it possible he found out about Mizora and knows you’ve been keeping something from him? Would he play a game of cat and mouse with you?

You would not put it past him.

He’s left the link between you open, and you cannot feel any malice vibrating in the orchestra of emotions. If he’s figured out your secret, he’s hidden it well.

You stare at the hint with a furrowed brow. Embers of your stolen kiss? Faded tapestries? The pad of your finger rubs over the fringe of scales scored into the goblet’s surface while you think, and then you realize the damn chalice itself is another tip.

This does not belong to Astarion, or it didn’t before you and he stole it after breaking into a shop one night during your adventure. Astarion caught you eyeing it while you were buying supplies. You deemed it an impractical purchase. There was a far more dire need for healing potions and other necessities than to waste coin on frivolous trinkets.

He woke you up that night, dressed entirely in black, and dragged you back to the shop for a thrilling night of thievery and resulting debauchery. Where did you two go after to celebrate?

The Blushing Mermaid.

You dress quickly in a red dress with lace sleeves and a glimmering, golden dragon that snakes up your side. The skirt hugs your hips, flares slightly, and flutters around your knees. The golden bands of the matching hairpiece and circlet wreathe your forehead and long hair.

Throwing on your sandals, you stop dead at the door. The sun still shines outside, as evidenced by the tawny luminance glowing between the cracks in the drapery.

Astarion’s voice frisks across the bond: “You needn’t fear, love. You are safe.”

“What are you up to, Ascendant?” You query back, opening the door slowly and sticking your hand in the small ray to validate his claims.

He giggles, “Solve the riddles, and all will be revealed in time.”

The sky sings of sunset in hues of fire hearths gilded with golden inlays. Despite Astarion’s assurance, your skin still flinches over your muscles as if trying to pull itself away from your figure. Your eyes keep steadily on the majesty of the horizon as you trot through the streets to the Blushing Mermaid.

With the recent meal sloshing around in your stomach, your bloodlust is easier to manage. Still, when citizens brush by with their dainty necks on display, you’re tempted to give them a nibble.

The tavern is as busy as it typically is for late afternoon, but most patrons take no notice of you, engrossed in their revelry.

“Ah, the leaking blood bag.” Captain Grisly’s voice drifts from her quarters. “Nice to see you again. I hardly recognized you without your quarterstaff and haggard, blood-soaked robe.”

When you turn and her eyes catch the cracked crimson of yours, she gasps but holds her tongue with a clenched jaw.

You smile reassuringly and taunt, “Don’t worry. I won’t bite unless you ask very nicely.” There is something about people being afraid of you that’s thrilling. You cannot explain why. Perhaps you’re learning to accept this new you instead of feeling ashamed. It’s freeing. “Was my pale companion here earlier?”

The woman eyes you skeptically and nods, “Yes, Lord Ancunin was in earlier, but he warned me not to assist you.”

“Of course he did.” You roll your eyes as Astarion chuckles in your head. “It was nice to see you.”

“Please try not to make a meal out of my patrons,” Captain Grisly smirks. “The cleaning bills are already enough of a menace.”

You chuckle while your eyes dart around, trying to remember what you and Astarion got up to that night. The memory is garbled under the lagoon of ale you must have drunk.

You drank a lot. You danced. Oh Gods. You danced on the stage.

Your eyes swing to the faded tapestries hanging above a small alcove. Astarion had dragged you off the stage when your provocative swaying earned the attention of too many ogling eyes for his comfort.

“You are a godsdamned delinquent, Illyria,” he’d purred in your ear while he ironed his body to you possessively, shielding you from the onlookers with a forearm pressed above your head. “I have half a mind to take you right here, enchantress, to show these fools you belong to me.”

A small table sits in the alcove with a single candle lit. A white rose rests on it, with a dainty silver chain wrapped around the verdant stem. Unwrapping it, you hold a locket in your hand. The edges are adorned with two exquisitely detailed dragons, one light silver and one dark, forming a heart. In the middle, a black diamond is held by the silver dragon, and a normal diamond is held by the dark one, creating a magnificent contrast.

Opening the clasp, your eyes anchor to a sketch you haven’t seen before. It’s not of the mortal woman you don’t remember. It’s of you, as you must appear now. Your eyes are the only thing in vivid colour, and your fangs peek out of your smiling lips. Even though the picture is small, it holds an impossible amount of detail.

The smooth metal of the back is engraved with Astarion’s nickname for you, Amarillis. It’s Elven, your mother tongue, for Flame-Flower.

Putting the locket on, you find another note nestled between the petals of the rose.

“Where the forgotten lay to rest under the celestial canopy, find the crimson-kissed stone where a single star shines alone.”  

If you know Astarion, he’s left another hint somewhere in plain sight, like the goblet. You scan your surroundings for anything that looks out of place, and you find an image hanging on the wall behind the stage that you don’t recall being there.

You recognize the statue, Balduran Looks Out to Sea, located in the Tumbledown district of the outer city. It’s not an area you’ve spent much time in. Astarion and you went to sit on the cliff and watch the sunrise the day before you went to kill or be killed by Cazador.

Now, you just need to get there without eating anyone.

Twilight is a tangible whisper, bruising the stretch of sky in purple and navy when you return to the streets. Alleys and paths are easiest for you to traverse, and sometimes you Misty Step and skate over the roofs when you feel bloodlust evaporating from your control.

At least Tumbledown is far less busy than the Lower City, thanks to the misty veil that never seems to disentangle from the town. The soft percussion of waves from the River Chionthar pulsing upon the cliffside is rhythmic as you walk up the quiet path leading to the statue.

You reread the note, “Where the forgotten lay.”

Cliffside Cemetery.

The large graveyard spreads before you, composed of a bafflingly complex network of headstones, tombs, and old mausoleums. You keep your eye out for anything red, which will appear brazenly against the drab background of the assorted greys and greens of the mossy tombstones.

The moonlight casts eerie shadows that stretch and disfigure the terrain. The stars ignite the velvet wreath of night as you finally come upon a headstone with a red rose draped over it.

The weather over the centuries has worn, stained, and cracked the stone. Crouching, you carefully wipe off the grime that dulls the worn epitaph.

“Astarion Ancunin,” it reads.

Rest Peacefully Beneath a Canopy of Stars.

Your fingers trace the jagged lines unconsciously as tears brim in your eyes, sinking to your knees.

“I have not returned since I punched a hole in my coffin and dug through six feet of dirt nearly 200 years ago.” Astarion’s voice floats from behind you.

Leaping to your feet, you whirl with more agility than you’ve ever possessed and thrust yourself into his arms. Astarion is dressed in clothing reminiscent of his camp clothes, leaving the typical opulence of the Vampire Ascendant behind.

“You are not forgotten, Astarion,” you whisper against his chest.

Astarion’s arms wrap around you. His timbre is angelic and deep, vibrating through your skin and massaging your spirit. “I was. For 200 years, I was a ghost stalking the streets while whoever I was, whoever I could have been, lay dead and buried."

Taking your hand, he walks toward his grave, letting his fingers coast over the roughened stone. “Cazador was waiting for me when I surfaced, hacking up dirt and congealed blood. I was his from that day forward. Even this grave is located on lands once owned by the Szarr family. Yet another nod to his ownership of me, I suppose.”

His finger taps the headstone, but he’s smiling when he turns to look at you—a real, genuine smile that fills your heart with warmth. “Then you fell like an angel from the heavens, quite literally, and waged war on everything I thought I knew about the world. You gave me something I had been without for centuries—hope.”

“I’m no angel,” you whisper.

“You’re my angel, Illyria,” he asserts. With Astarion’s attire and the way he’s speaking, which is so entirely familiar, there’s a shot of recognition that stirs your psyche. For the first time since you relearned it, your name is not an abstract word in your head. Astarion must feel it because he smiles broadly and continues, “No one cared, no one gave me a second look, and no Gods answered my prayers. No one is like you; you’re you. You stood with me through bloodlust, pain, and misery. You trusted me. You were patient. You cared. You were the only one who never gave up on me. You still haven’t given up on me, even though it’s an objectively stupid thing to do.”

“You were being very sweet until you called me stupid.” You giggle as he wipes the tears from your cheeks.

“Sweet and savoury, my dear,” he chuckles. “I’ve been free for over a year. Yet, I am just beginning to figure out who I am and what I truly want out of this newfound life.”

“What do you want, Astarion?” You lean into him. “The world is yours for the taking.”

“Not what,” he says, shaking his head, sliding an arm around your waist, and his fingers grazing over the locket on your neck. He smiles, “But you will have to finish this little quest to find the answers you seek.” He hands you another note and winks, “I’ll see you soon.”

Astarion gives you a small, playful shove and strides away with a smirk. He bows and shifts into an unnaturally large, white bat with crimson eyes you would recognize in a sea of them, soaring around you while you laugh.

“You’re adorable, but are you soft?” You ask.

He answers in your head with a lilting laugh, “Shall we find out?”

He lands, folding his wings and resting on his headstone, and cocks his head. Your fingers tremble, unfoundedly afraid you might hurt him, as they stroke down the alabaster fur.

“Soft and cute.”

“I aim to please,” he snickers, taking off to kiss the stars. “You are wasting time, my treasure.”

You giggle at his jeering and watch him streak through the sky, so beautifully free, before reading the note.

"Seek the shore’s embrace, where stars align, and ascend the steps, bathed in candlelight’s shine. There, seek the terrace above the riverside; a question to decide.” 

Shore’s embrace. Now, this you know well. When Astarion turned you he insisted on renting a villa with this name near the river in the Lower City.

The trek back to the Lower City somehow feels lengthier as nervousness hits you, ticking away in your chest, every beat of Astarion’s heart amplifying your anxiety as if the seconds were grains of sand slipping away, impossible to grasp.

You can’t entirely tell if it’s yours or his. With the bond open and uninhibited, you are entangled, a tapestry of threads entwined so seamlessly that it’s difficult to distinguish where one of you begins and the other ends.

If Astarion has figured out you’re hiding something, he’s given you no indication, but some part of you still wonders if you’re walking into a trap. It’s hard to control your thoughts so they do not transfer to him, which he’s been trying to teach you so that you can keep the bond open, but your private thoughts can remain your own.

It makes you wonder what thoughts he keeps from you.

You smell the aromatic perfume of roses before you round the corner. The villa hangs onto the wall and overlooks the River Chionthar. The silver waves sway and reflect the impending dawn’s early light, cradling the morning’s first blush. Candles light the steps covered in white and red rose petals. It almost feels wrong to step on something so wonderful.

The beat in your chest thrums with anticipation, like your extinct heartbeat has woken and risen from the grave as you ascend the staircase to the grand entrance. Your breath catches in your throat as you enter the foyer. The sparkling crystal chandelier is lit, casting scintillating rainbows across the room. Rosemary incense burns, filling the air with an aroma that reminds you of home—of Astarion.

You follow the scattered rose petals leading to the terrace as the golden crown of the sun crests the horizon. Fear typically follows such a sight, but you’re revelling in grandeur.

The heartbeat behind you is the only thing that alerts you to Astarion’s presence. The man seemingly appears out of thin air, but if you had that ability, you would take advantage of it too, you suppose.

“This is beautiful,” you say, and your words are abruptly cut off.

As your eyes fall on Astarion in his resplendent tailored suit, he descends to one knee. His crimson eyes meet yours, sparkling with a celestial constellation mirroring the infinity of his love. The newborn sun lights up the adoration in his features.

“Illyria, my love,” he begins in a soft whisper before your brain can catch up to what is happening. “You are the fire that lights up my darkness, a melody that soothes my troubled soul. After being with you, there is no doubt that I have touched the heavens.” He hesitates momentarily, and the bond surges with warmth, longing, devotion, and good Gods, love, “I love you, and I fall more in love with you every day. I do not know what tomorrow brings, but right now, with you, the world feels right.”

His hand reaches into his pocket and produces a small, velvet box. Lifting the lid, the quick breaths you didn’t realize you'd been taking catch in your throat as your eyes fall on an exquisite ring, nestled on a bed of crimson silk, intricately crafted with a dragon claw, clutching a heart-shaped diamond to match the locket.

Astarion’s warm caramel baritone holds the sweet promise of eternity: “Will you marry me?”

Your hand shoots to your mouth to stifle the sound that erupts from your throat, somewhere between a whimper and a squeak. Your knees fold, unable to hold your weight any longer, and you drop, folding your arms around his neck and draping yourself over him.

His hand comes to your back, and he kisses your cheek. “Is this happy crying, or have I made a grave miscalculation?”

“Happy crying,” you stutter through shaky breaths.

He chuckles, nuzzling you. “Is this a yes?”

“Yes!” You pull back, nodding in case he cannot understand you through your weeping. “But I need one thing from you."

"Ask, and I shall make it yours,” he purrs.

You cradle his cheek, sweeping your thumb across it. “Say it again.”

He smirks, wiping the tears from your cheeks. “I love you.”

“One more time,” you choke out.

“Gods above,” he giggles. “Is this all you will have me say now?”

You smile, the tips of your fangs peeking from your lips. “It sounds very good in your mouth.”

“You know I do not repeat myself for anyone,” he taunts. “Anyone but you, my love.” Astarion takes your hand, slipping the ring onto your finger, looking deeply into your eyes. “I love you, Illyria, my wife, my everything.”

“I love you, too, Astarion, my husband, my shining star.”

He beams, “I do rather like that, you know,” he muses. “When you call me husband.”

His arm wraps around your waist, easing you to your feet. You clutch onto him to keep yourself upright as your knees wobble like a newborn fawn and try to watch the sunrise with your head on his chest, but your eyes keep drifting to the ring adorning your finger, reminding yourself that this did, in fact, just happen.

“Do you like it?” He murmurs, catching your eyes moored to it.

“I love it,” you whisper. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“I should hope not,” he chuckles. “I designed it. No one will ever have anything similar.”

“How do you know?”

“Oh, you know me,” he shrugs. “I killed the jeweller to make sure he could never replicate it.”

Your head snaps up, wide-eyed, to look at him. He glances at you and bursts into laughter. “A jest, sweetheart.”

“I hope you at least compelled him to forget it,” you snicker. “Or I may have to drain anyone I see with anything similar.”

“Oh,” he giggles. “I do so adore it when you’re murderous. Speaking of draining someone, I’ve had you running around the city all night. You must be positively famished.”

“You fed me,” you say, arching a brow at him. “Lucky for the citizens of the Lower City. Some of them smell very tasty.”

Astarion’s hands find the back of your thighs, and you wrap your arms around his neck as he lifts you. “Not as tasty as me, I hope.”

“No one could ever be as tasty as you,” you purr. “Your blood is nearly as charming as you are.”

He chuckles, taking you into the villa and setting you on the lofty mattress. “Well, who am I to deny your hunger? I would not be a very good husband if I did not keep my lovely wife satisfied. Would I?”

“What are you saying exactly?” You sweep your fingers through his hair as he undoes the elaborate clasps of his suit jacket. He discards it and loosens the collar of his shirt. You quirk your head at him. “Speak plainly.”

“I want you to bite me,” he purrs, pushing your legs to part for him with his knee and leaning over you. His lips mould to yours in a reverential kiss as his hands wander your body and ignite your desire.

“Bite you?” You breathe. “You said I couldn’t.”

“No.” Astarion removes his shirt, and your palms skim over his chest. “I said you can’t unless I permit you. You are as close to a True Vampire as you can get, my consort. It will not change you.”

“I don’t want to change,” you murmur, your fingers pressing firmly into his sculpted muscles. The offer of blood is tempting your hunger. “You’re giving me permission?”

He smirks, “Go on then. I’ll allow it.”

“Where?” Astarion cranes his neck to the side in an invitation. It takes everything you have not to leap for that magnificently pulsing vein. “Your neck?”

“Is there something wrong with my neck, my dear?”

“No. Of course not,” you giggle. “You have a very lovely neck. This is just new, that’s all. I didn’t think you would want to be, uh, well, bitten.”

“Your bite, my sweet,” he purrs, pressing his chest against yours and pinning you between him and the mattress. “Is divine. Only you will ever get the great honour of biting the Vampire Ascendant.”

“I godsdamned better be!” You huff, “I don’t share, Astarion. Not your body, not your blood, and definitely not your heart. You are mine and only mine. ”

He giggles, “Possessive little thing. Aren’t you? Not to worry, my love. I do not intend to share. I am yours. Wholly, and completely yours.”

You trace your lips down the shell of his ear. Your heart frolics at the ardent shudder that courses through his body and how the breath hitches in his throat. Kissing his neck until you feel the vein pulsing against your lips, you wait until he whispers his shaky, anticipatory approval.

The razor-sharp points of your fangs kiss his skin, and you wait for your body to seize up, but it doesn’t. You bite quick and sure, trying your best to be gentle. You feel the pop of your fangs puncturing his skin. His blood erupts into your mouth, caressing your tongue with heavenly heat that cascades through the channels of your veins and nestles between your thighs. You drink from him slowly but deeply, and your body trembles.

Astarion groans, deep and rich, his hot breath fanning the cool skin of your neck, and you feel the icy pinch of his fangs sink into you. You wash through him, and he passes through you in a paradisiacal torrent. The pleasure that harmonizes over the bond is transcendent. You swear you could come undone for this alone, and you ease your fangs from his neck and moan.

He kisses you with a bruising intensity. His tongue parts your lips so you can taste the essence of each other, and he bucks his hips into your aching sex, sending you spiralling into that frisson of pure delirium.

The clothes on your body feel much too restricting, and you whimper. The barrier of fabric between you feels unbearable. Astarion’s fingers go to his trousers, but his usual adroitness is nowhere to be seen as his fingers fumble with the laces.

He stares at his fingers dumbfounded for a moment and then looks at you with an arched brow and giggles gleefully, “Do you by any chance feel absurdly intoxicated?”

You writhe on the bed, unable to contain your ardent lust, as your brain awkwardly processes his question.

“Entirely,” you laugh. Gods. You thought you were high on him last time, but you are almost senseless in your need. You’re not even sure if you’re walking on the planes of reality or in some delightful hallucination, and you cannot find it within you to care. “Is this not normal?”

Astarion throws his trousers to the side, rucks up your dress clumsily, and tosses it away. “I’m not entirely sure. I may have read something about it, but I cannot quite remember where or when.” He shrugs. “We will have to experiment.”

Precum glistens, dripping from the head of his swollen cock. You are overcome with the absolute need for his salty, heady taste on your tongue. You lunge at him, bowling him over. Your movements are somehow swift and equally ungainly.

You lick up his shaft with a long, broad tongue stroke, feeling the ridges of his distended veins, before you engulf him in the wet heat of your mouth. Swirling your tongue around the blunt head of his cock. He sucks in sharp, shuddering breaths, fingers in your hair as you worship him, hollowing out your cheeks and sucking, taking him deeper and deeper until his cock tickles the back of your throat.

“Illyria,” he moans breathlessly. “Hells. You’ve got to stop before I lose my composure.”

But you’re not entirely sure you could stop, even if you wanted to. No. You want to feel his cock twitching on your tongue and his seed shooting into your throat. You want to drink his essence like a fine wine.

“Illyria,” he warns, trembling fingers curling into your hair. You feel the telltale pulse, hear the way his breath becomes ragged and uneven, and you take him over the edge in a few bobs of your head. He cries out, your name a sweet litany in his voice.

His seed bursts into your mouth, and you moan at the salt of him, swallowing every drop he gives you like a thirsty traveller. He is candied like heaven, wicked like hell, and, oh, so fucking delicious.

He pulls your head back by your hair and stares at you like he has found an oasis in an arid desert. You lick your swollen, red lips, determined to get every last drop of him that you can.

“Bad girl,” he purrs, shoving you flat on your back and pressing his lips to yours. He explores your mouth. “I taste exultant on your tongue.”

His fingers run through the seam of your dripping folds, coating them in the sleek of your arousal and easing into your fluttering channel. Astarion presses the pads firmly into that sweet spot inside that blinds you with pleasure, the heel of his palm caressing your clit with mind-numbing friction.

It does not take him long to settle into a rhythm that throws you somersaulting over the cusp of your own release with a lewd, wild cry, and he does not stop until he’s lured every possible shockwave from your body.

Astarion grabs your waist, tugging you down the bed as he settles between your thighs, sliding his length through your folds, his head teasing your overstimulated pearl. He guides himself into you, working your sex open inch by inch as you stretch to accommodate his girth.

Where everything before this was wild, almost savage, and borderline uncivilized, this is slow, passionate, and unhurried. He rocks his hips in languid pumps, coming to his forearm with his forehead pressed against yours. He is not fucking you. He is making love to you.

“You are mine,” he rasps through shaky gasps. It is not a proclamation of his ownership of you. It is not a command. It’s more of a plea for reassurance. “Yes?”

“Yours,” you confirm breathlessly, your eyes squeezed closed in pure rapture as he massages every one of your ridges poetically. Your fingers slide into the hair at the nape of his neck, and you cling to him as if you might float away on this cloud. “I’ve always been yours.”

“Gods. I love you,” he shudders between uneven breaths.

You will never tire of hearing those words, tasting them as they hinge off his tongue, and feeling them as they dally over the bond.

You clench around him, expelling a sighing groan from his mouth that you catch on your lips, determined to taste his ecstasy. His arm folds around your waist, forcing you to arch into him with his other hand at the back of your head. Astarion changes the angle of his thrusts but keeps the easy tempo. The blunt head of his cock waves over the sensitive pad of nerves inside you with every roll of his hips, and his groin grinds against your needy clit.

Astarion purposefully brings you close to your climax and then eases you away from it until you’re a whimpering mess beneath him.

“Astarion,” you pant, unable to take this withholding any longer. From his taut muscles and the way Astarion shakes, you know he cannot either. “Gods.”

“Open your eyes and come with me, my love.” Astarion increases the sensual pace rhythmically. The building pleasure pools in your abdomen, coiling tighter and tighter with every snap of his hips.

You open your eyes, blinking away the daze of passion, and cradle his cheek as he gazes at you affectionately. You’ve never seen his eyes so vividly crimson, as if his love for you itself was shining through the scarlet depths.

He knows the moment you begin to tread the fine edge of euphoria, gripping his girth and begging him to flood you with his pleasure. You shatter, spasms and white-hot pleasure ripping through you so intensely that the candles in the room go out and reignite with every contraction of your walls.

“F-fuck,” he moans loudly, a roll of purring thunder echoing in his chest. With one last pump, Astarion tremors, cock pulsing, and spilling into you. His hips stutter, pulsing deeply within you with every twitch of his cock.

He pushes the sweaty strands of hair from your face as you both struggle to catch your breath. You may never get used to his new speedy movements because, before you even realize you’re moving, he’s rolled you so that your limp body blankets his.

His fingers caress up and down the valley of your spine as you nuzzle into the crook of his neck, heaving a sigh of pure happiness while you are once again captivated by the ring wreathing your finger.

Astarion kisses your palm, placing it on his chest, and plays with the ring on your finger. “Will you tell your friends?”

“Our friends,” you correct, even though many don’t fancy him. “Of course. I am not ashamed.”

Astarion nods with a lopsided grin. “Even Gale?”

“Especially Gale,” you giggle.

“I simply must be there when you do,” he snickers. “The look on his face is sure to be exquisite.”

“I am positive he will have choice words for me,” you laugh.

Astarion bristles, “He best watch his words when I am near. I will not tolerate him speaking down to you.”

“Easy, Ascendant,” you tut, clicking your tongue at him. “I am capable of dealing with Gale and his words. I am not a maiden in need of saving.”

Astarion relaxes, chuckling, “A maiden you most certainly are not. I am going to have to field noise complaints.”

You pat his chest, smirking, “All in a day’s work, husband. Our neighbours are going to hate us.”

“We will simply purchase all the houses in the neighbourhood if they become too bothersome,” Astarion chimes, jostling you. “Think of all the places I could make you scream for me.”

You both break into laughter together, still immersed in the intoxication of each other’s blood.

But your bliss doesn’t last long as reality grips its claws into your rapture and bleeds it dry.

You cannot possibly continue to keep what you know for him. How can you expect your love to thrive where secrets sleep? He has to know he can trust you to be honest with him, even when that honesty frightens you. You would want him to tell you if the roles were reversed.

Guilt and fear tangle together and ball in your throat. Astarion jolts at the sudden change in your mood as it resonates over the union, sinking into him as if it were his own. His brows furrow and his eyes dart around aimlessly as he tries to understand the trouble he feels.

“What is wrong, little love?” He coos, taking your hand in his. You can feel his anxiety and the quickened pace of his heart in his palm. “You are frightened. You needn’t be afraid. I am getting better at controlling it. You can tell me anything.”

You steel yourself against the panic. His. Yours. Your combined dread.

You swallow and force the words out of your mouth. “I know what ails you.”

Big thank you for everyone who takes the time to read/reblog/comment, and all the other magnificent things. Your support gives me the motivation to keep this fic going, and I appreciate each of you!

As always, please enjoy.

AO3 [Crossposted]

Master List of Chapters: Fangs and Fractured Hearts

If you're interested I write another fic with Spawn Astarion x Tav called - Shadows of the Past

Small Notes:

-We finally got Astarion to say he loves her, multiple times, and a lot more than that. ❤️💍

How is he going to react when she finally comes clean? 🫣

[whiskeyghoul]

Reprimand || [Secondo/Papa Emeritus II X F!Reader]

A/N: Hello friends. Different from my previous criminal minds fics I decided to dip my toes in writing Ghost fics. Since I watched rite here rite now the flames of this fandom have been awakened once more. I am literally going insane. This fic got a bit out of hand. Like… I am not sorry but yeah it is long.

Credits: Divider by @wrathofrats

WC: 6,1K 

Tags: p with plot, ghost, ghost band, secondo, punishment, purely self indulgent. 

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, unprotected,  p in v, spanking, abuse of power if you squint, just all of them…

3 times. 3 separate times you have managed to embarrass yourself in front of the head of your satanic church. Papa Emeritus the second was not known to be one of the more forgiving papas. In all fairness he scared you a little, he was cold, intimidating. Every time you ran into him he made you tremble, perhaps that is why you embarrassed yourself so many times. Though something about his imposing presence filled you with a conflicting feeling. Along with feeling intimidated, a little scared to anger him, you felt a certain attraction. 

The first time you embarrassed yourself, well, it was a doozy. You had joined the satanic church not too long ago. Settling in as a sister of sin quite well. The role assigned to you was mostly library duty, having a great insight in organization and keeping an inventory of texts, scripts and tomes along with other satanic literature. You were standing on a step stool, rearranging a shelf of books to make space for a new addition to the library. Softly humming to yourself, lost in thought as you pulled one of the larger books from the shelf. The biblichor filling your nose was wonderfully sweet and dusty. Giving it a thorough wipe with a dusting cloth. The gold embellishments shone on the leather as you tilted it side to side. 

You were pulled from your thoughts as a smooth voice cleared its throat next to you. “Hand me that book on the top shelf. If you could.” You turned awfully fast, the book slipping from your hands in surprise. A squeak passed your lips as you felt your heartbeat pick up. A pained groan leaving the man before you as you just realized you dropped one of the heavier texts on the feet of Papa Emeritus the second. “Sorella.” His voice was low, his eyes dark and brows furrowed. Nose flaring as he took a deep breath. A scrutinizing gaze that made your hands tremble, your knees weak. “Papa! I am terribly sorry! Oh Sathanas, please forgive me.” You rambled an apology, trying to step down quickly from the step stool to go fetch something, anything, to lessen the blow of the book. Instead, in all your nerves and bumbling about, you nearly planted your face first into the ground. That would be if he hadn't reached out, grabbing your arm in a strong grip to keep you from falling face first. You found your footing, feeling your face flare bright red at the foolish display you had just made of yourself. His hand left your arm, and with it it's surprising warmth. “Once again, I apologize, Papa.” A stammering message you were, trying to beg for forgiveness from the figure you had only envisioned as intimidating. Only ever having spoken in passing, literally, a simple exchange when you walked past. Or watched him sermon, powerfully, passionately. Those sermons left you wondering at times, what he would be like to speak to.

You were waiting for him to scold you. Your eyes cast downward to your neatly polished black heels, suddenly every speck of dust on them was interesting to you. Remembering the book at his feet you quickly knelt down, picking it up and clutching it to your chest. Your heartbeat hammering against the leather bound book. “I asked for the book on the top shelf.” He stated it simply but firmly, not the scolding you expected. Maybe, he was giving you some reprieve for being new. “Ofcourse, I'm sorry.” You quickly stepped on the step stool, carefully this time. Placing the book in your hands back on its respective shelf. Reaching up to the book that laid horizontally on the top shelf. Your hands were trembling as you picked it up. Habit feeling too tight, too short, as you brought down the book. Looking down ever so slightly as you handed the book to Secondo. Whose eyes flicked up to your face from somewhere lower. “Thank you, sorella, now. Do not let it happen again. These are priceless after all. You shall be off with a warning. Only one.” His mismatched eyes bore into yours as he spoke. You swallowed thickly, eyes wide, nodding your head. “Ofcourse, thank you, Papa.” words all falling from your mouth without thinking. “Continue your work then.” He turned, his robes moving elegantly as he walked out of the library. Leaving you to wallow in self pity at the fool you made of yourself.

The second time, a ghoul came with the message that Secondo had instructed you to gather papers and texts from the library to bring to his quarters. He even sent a list. Eager to please after the previous embarrassment, you agreed in a heartbeat. When you had found everything you made your way towards the wing of his room, arms filled with old tomes and yellowed paper. Sore from the weight of it. You didn't understand why he would need all of these, but it must have been for some important research. Most of the texts in your arms were old, rare, and barely anyone picked them up in the library. Yet he had asked for them specifically. Heels clicking on the tile as you made way down the hallways to his quarters, reaching the door you realized there was no way for you to knock. You furrowed your brows, deciding to twist so your elbow hit the door twice. As close to a knock as you could get. “Enter.” Secondo's voice sounded from the other side of the wooden door. Staring at the door knob you had to think of something. You knocked again with a sigh. “Enter.” His voice sounded annoyed, clearly he was busy. Or perhaps having a bad day. “I- I brought the books.” You spoke loudly, hoping he'd be able to hear you. There was a muttered word you couldn't quite make out before he spoke again. “I expected that. I said, enter.” He sounded ticked off now, voice laced with the barest hint of anger.

You sighed, furrowing your brows as you tried to maneuver your elbow and hip just so that you could turn the doorknob. Pushing against it to make it easier to open. With a click, the door swung open, leaving you unbalanced and falling through the open space. The books and texts falling to the floor. Sprawling out onto the wood and carpet. “Cazzo!” Secondo cursed as he stood up. You scrambled onto your knees, gathering the papers closest to you as you repeated continued apologies. Forgetting the pain in your nose and elbows from where you fell. Not even feeling the warm drip that slowly slid down to your lips. Eyes glued to the books and papers on the floor. “Those are priceless artifacts. Idiotta. How are you even considered to handle these when you are so incompetent. Dropping books here and there.” His footsteps came close, coming to a halt right in your field of vision. Still, you didn't dare to look. “I am so sorry, Papa, you are right. I should be more careful.” Your hands never stilled their work, piling up the books in front of you. “Look at me when I am talking” His voice commanded. Your head snapped up, swallowing thickly as you caught his mismatched eyes again. The blood from your nose dripping on your habit. “You are like a bumble bee. Flying into everything, causing chaos in our system. We do not need a bumbling idiota to ruin our priceless artifacts.” He was right. In his presence you were terribly clumsy. He made you nervous. Your heart beat faster. Hands feeling uncharacteristically clammy all of a sudden. And your face once again heating with a fierce embarrassed blush.

“Now, corporal punishment seems redundant.” His eyes flicked down, where the blood dripped down to your habit, landing just on the swell of your breast. A harsh exhale sounded through his nose. “Fix your habit, sorella. I expect everyone to be in pristine condition. Even the bumble bees.”  His remark was snide. You could imagine what you looked like to him. On your knees, blood dripping down your nose and mouth, reaching your chin to drip down further onto your habit and grucifix. Eyes wide, hands placed on your thighs, trembling ever so slightly. You licked your lips, tasting the metallic of your blood and embarrassment. You must have looked like a mess. Scrambling to your feet you wiped at your nose, finally daring to move with his permission. The blood staining the white cuff around your wrist. “I'm sorry again, Papa.” You repeated an apology before heading out the door and to your own quarters to change. Terribly disappointed in yourself you decided in that moment things needed to change.

So now you were here. The third time you were walking down towards the chapel with another sister of sin, you had been asked to bring the unholy communion to prepare for the mass that night. Being on your best behavior since the previous incidents. Your workload seemingly increasing, your proximity to secondo growing closer with each task he bestowed upon you. No more books dropped, no more stumbles, you did everything to behave and paid close attention to any movement you made. The efforts were working, Secondo had even so much as complimented you for it after you had helped prepare the altar for a ritual. In his own way. “Sorella, I've noticed a lack of bumble bees around. Your efforts don't go unnoticed. Well done.” hearing those two last words made your heart flutter. Perhaps it was due to finally receiving praise, or it was specifically receiving praise from him. Every look from him made your heart beat faster. Every chaste, accidental touch made you wonder what his hands would feel like on your body. Your thoughts wandering back to that second time, when he had mentioned corporal punishment. What that could mean, what he could do in that office of his. Especially after hearing a few of the sisters speak about singular thrysts they had had with him.

The pitcher of wine was surprisingly heavy in your hands. The fragrant wine was a deep, blood red. As you walked down the hallways you took careful steps, trying not to let the wine slosh over the side of the pitchers. “I don’t understand why we can not keep it in the bottles.” You sighed as you almost spilt a drop of wine. “Honestly it is probably just rituals left over from years ago. I'm almost certain they did an unholy prayer over them.” The sister, Elaine, answered in turn. You rolled your eyes at that, never understanding why traditions couldn’t be changed. “It feels almost like it is inevitable to spill it though.” You spoke, trying to keep up with Elaine. “Perhaps that is why you were asked to help.” She returned, a small smirk as she walked so effortlessly with the pitcher in hand. “What do you mean?” You hoped tales of your clumsiness hadn't yet spread all throughout the church. It was likely though. People talked, gossip was a given. “You don't know what they have been saying?” Elaine turned her face towards you with furrowed brows. A curious expression on your face. You shook your head no, truly not an idea of what she could be talking about. “Well, you have been given a lot of tasks by Secondo, have you not?” She questioned. “Yes, I thought he did so with most siblings.” you answered, honestly. Elaine shook her head no, a smirk playing at her perfectly painted lips. “Oh no, he's been testing you. Seeing if you will trip up again. He needs a reason you see.” Her voice lowered to a whisper as you walked. “A reason for what?” You asked, no longer paying attention to what was ahead of you. Fully invested in the information divulged. You rounded a corner together. “A reason to punish.” She smirked. The way she said it implied less than conventional punishment.

As you did you hadn't noticed the man you were just speaking about, a mere two steps away. “Sorella.” His voice was low and you jumped. Like you were caught red handed, gossiping about your papa. The pitcher of wine sloshed, the dark red liquid spilling out and down the front of your habit. the sound of it hitting the floor was incredibly loud in your ears. Watching as drops smattered outward and staining your shoes and stockings. Along with the hem of Secondos's papal robes. You had been doing so well. All efforts ruined by a simple muttering. By not paying attention to where you were going. Your eyes flickered to Elaine whose expression was a mix of amusement and horrified. Then, they landed on the stern expression of Secondo. His nostrils flared as he eyed your drenched habit. “Sec- Papa, I'm sorry, you frightened me. I- I should go get this cleaned up. I apologize.” The words fell from your lips in rapid succession, feeling the tension in your shoulders as you held on to the, now empty, pitcher like it was your life line. “No.” That one single word shut you up. Quickly shutting your mouth as you felt a shiver run down your spine. Maybe it was the wine, wetting your habit and making it cold and clingy. Or maybe it was the effect Secondo had on you. “Get a ghoul to clean this.” He turned his head to Elaine who nodded quickly,  “ofcourse, Papa.” She spoke before leaving. Her heels clicking against the floor, trailing off and away.

“You are coming with me. Punishment seems only fair.” His hand wrapped around your upper arm, harshly pulling you along to where you knew his quarters to be. “I truly apologize. I've been trying my hardest. Please, Papa, forgive me.” He didn't listen to your begging. It didn't matter to him what you said in that moment. He seemed enraged. “You beg for forgiveness when you just blamed me for your incompetence?” He nearly hissed the words as he opened the door to his quarters. Pulling you inside and leaving you at the entrance. “I didn't- no! That's not what I meant! I'm sorry!” You tried to scramble, take back the words you had said. It wasn't your point to blame him at all. “Strip.” He commanded. Mismatched eyes trained on you as he took a step away. Discarding his robe to reveal a sinfully tight button down tucked into slacks. Delicate embroidered grucifixes on the collar. Combined with the papal painted, it was a sight to behold. You froze. Jaw slack. Mind going a hundred miles an hour, not comprehending his words and his actions together. “What?” You were like a deer in the headlights. “You are dripping red wine. We can't have you spoil the carpet in my office, can we? So, strip.” His voice did something to you, the firmness left no room for questioning. “Of-ofcourse.” You spoke with trembling hands reaching up to take off the white collar, its pristine condition forever marred with deep purple red blotches. “Leave it at your feet. The wood can be cleaned.” Secondos voice commanded and you nodded your head ever so slightly. Dropping the piece of cloth down to the floor.

Then, your hands moved  to the back of your dress. Slipping down the zipper with practiced ease. you could hear your own heartbeat, feel it pulsing under your skin, each of your nerves on end as Secondo scrutinized every move. Slipping your arms from the garment, it fell to the floor in a pile at your feet. You felt naked. Every hair standing on end as the cool air hits your skin. The cool metal of your grucifix resting right in the middle of your sternum, falling between your breasts. You crossed your arms, trying to hide away from his burning eyes. “Feeling shy, sorella?” There was a hint of amusement in his voice, as if he enjoyed seeing you uncomfortable. “Well, I have a lot more planned to put you in your place. Maybe you will learn.” He added before walking over to the large, wooden desk that stood near the end of the room. Picking up a glass along with a crystal carafe, amber liquid sloshing around the bottom. He poured a glass, taking a sip and looking rather satisfied before topping it off. “This.” He said as he walked back over, “This is a whiskey, gifted to me when I became Papa. 25 years old, single malt, a bottle costs over 500 euros. You are to not spill a single drop from this glass. Easy enough, no?” He stared deep into your eyes, holding out the glass.

"Yes, Papa.” You said, as you reached out. It should be easy enough. Though the glass was shallow, and filled much higher than it should be. But standing there and holding a glass, even with your current trembling hands you could do that. He quickly moved it back ever so slightly out of reach.  “Not like this, that would be too easy. Come.” He moved to the left, where a leather couch stood, a coffee table to the side. You watched as he sat down, patting his lap with his free hand. A wicked smirk taunting you as you realized what was going to happen. “Naughty girls like you deserve a spanking. Don't you think?” He tilted his head in your direction. His eyes traveling down your body with a hint of hunger. Dropping your hands to your sides, clenching them in small nervous fists. “You're right, ofcourse.” There was no reason to argue. You could feel a knot tighten in your stomach, as you clenched your thighs together for a mere second. Hoping that the sudden onset of arousal was just an illusion. You took the few steps to close the distance, standing in front of Secondo who tilted his head up to look at you. “Don't make me wait too long, bumble bee. Or should I extend the punishment already for your insubordination?” He patted his lap again, gloved hand on thick, sturdy thighs. “no, of course not.” You spoke softly as you were driven to action. Bracing a hand on one of his thighs as you laid yourself onto his lap. Your knees are unable to hit the ground, trying to find stability before you take a deep breath and remove your hands from the ground. Accepting the cold glass into your hands like an offering. “Here you go. Remember, not a drop gets wasted.” You nodded your head as he spoke. “Yes, I remember.” You said. “Good, I think ten will be fitting, yes?” It wasn't a question but still you agreed. 

You thought you were ready, taking in a deep breath through your nose. When that first spank didn't come you were a little confused. Tilting your head to have a look at Secondo, but as soon as you tilted your head the first spank came. Jolting forward at the sudden, sharp impact on the left side. The feel of the leather glove on your exposed behind stung. The size of his palm branding in your skin. You gasped, looking back towards the cup, realizing that if you spilled but a single drop you would only get yourself in more trouble. “Count them out, sorella.” He said as his hand rubbed gently at the skin for a second. The leather was somewhat cool now against the reddening skin. “One.” You spoke, voice teetering on quivering. Your eyes stayed glued on the cup this time, as you felt his hand leave your skin. It came down again with force, pushing the wind out of your lungs with a strangled groan. “Two.” You said, counting out like he had told you to. His hand once again rubbing at the supple skin of your ass.

Again. "Three." Each time he switched sides. Around the fifth spank you had to bite your tongue. His hand lingered longer than before, squeezing. Just inches away from where you could feel a wetness start to form between the folds of your pussy. Praying to Satan that he wouldn't notice. “How many was that, sorella?” You could feel him lean in closer, his weight shifting as he nearly whispered wanting your answer. His breath hitting the shell of your ear. "F-Five." “Half way, you are doing very well.” He praised. Those simple words, the way he was touching you enough to get you hot and heavy. You moved your hips involuntarily, trying to get some form of relief. A low chuckle escaped him, “Something wrong, little bee?” He asked and you shook your head no. “No, Papa, please, continue.” Your voice was whinier than you expected, high pitched and a little breathless. His hand left your ass, your eyes flicked up to see him remove his leather glove with his teeth putting it to the side before he spoke. “So eager to get reprimanded, I might get used to it.” He spoke and before you could comprehend it he spanked you two times in quick succession. The stinging a mix of pain and pleasure. “Seven!” You exclaimed as you held your hands steady. Trying to focus on the amber liquid rather than the feeling of large hands inching ever closer to your trembling pussy. Or the swelling you could start to feel press against your side.

“Eight!” “Nine!” Only one more, and you hadn't spilled a drop. Even though your legs were trembling, your arms felt a little sore from holding the cup, ass incredibly sore from the spanking, and not even to speak of the state of your panties. But you were doing good. Great even. “Last one, little bee, do well and I'll be able to give you something you might enjoy.” His breath hit the shell of your ear, feeling hot and intimate in a way. His words do nothing to help the state of your arousal. Only worsening as thoughts began to run through your mind. Pictures of what he might do flashing into your subconscious. When that final spank came you were shocked, jolting forward as his hand hit lower than you were expecting. Directly hitting your wet cunt. You couldn't help the strangled moan that tumbled from your lips. A rush of pain and pleasure flowing through your body. “You did so well, sorella.” His fingers languidly trailed up and down your clothed pussy, the wet fabric was sticky and clinging to every curve and fold. His fingers felt large, thick, through the cloth. “Though… It seems you have been enjoying this punishment more than anything.” A chuckle sounded out above you as his free hand picked up the glass from your hands. Taking a deep sip and letting out an appreciative sigh. “Is that why you are so clumsy, little bee? Have you been distracted by your papa?” His voice was taunting, as his hand continued his ministrations on your weeping cunt. “I-i have been doing my best.” You answered. Refusing to confess to what you both knew to be the truth. "Yes, you have.” his fingers left your cunt. A whimper escaping you at the loss.

It didn't last long though. The glass of whiskey was placed off on the coffee table before Secondo easily maneuvered you from his lap. Onto your knees in front of him. You could see the outline of his dick, straining against the black pants. Mouth watering at the sight of it. “You've been doing so well, wanting compliments no? Wanting to be seen, to be rewarded for your efforts?” He asked, his hand cradling your face almost tenderly. Like he hadn't just used it to spank you sore, to tease you over your clothes. You nodded your head yes, not trusting yourself to answer verbally. “I'll give you what you want.” His words were short before his tender touch turned to a grip. Pulling you up, as he stood smoothly. You nearly tripped but kept standing, your face in his strong grip as he led you to his desk. Turning so you were with your back towards it, he lifted you, forcing you to sit on the edge. The cool, polished wood smooth against your raw ass cheeks. When you looked up at him, you saw hunger in those mismatched eyes. A sight you had only fantasized about up till now. Licking your lips quickly, wetting them just before his lips crashed against yours.

A mix of harsh kisses, biting teeth as Secondo guided you to lay back against the desk. The kiss tasted of caramel whiskey, smooth, bitter and still sweet. His hands roaming over your hips, your waist, squeezing over your bra before they moved down. Eliciting moans and gasps from you that were swallowed up into the kiss. You couldn't wait any longer though, needing more from him than he was giving. Legs wrapping around his waist, a silent plea for him to be closer. Your hand wandered down on its own. Cupping the bulge straining in his pants. His groan didn't go unnoticed, low in his chest as your fingers applied pressure. “Such a tease, sorella.” He pulled away from the kiss. Unbuttoning his shirt as he spoke. The paint around his mouth is already starting to smudge by the sloppiness of the kiss. “I'm not a tease Papa, I want it.” You panted out, licking your lips as you watched him. The trail of hair down his chest being revealed inch by inch. The way it thickened towards the edge of his  pants. How solid his torso looked. “Not just now, ever since the library.” His words came out strained, as he worked to undo his belt. The clinking of it signaled its removal, before the zipper sounded. “I didn't tease, I was surprised.” You countered, sitting up to help him but Secondo quickly pushed you back down on the desk. “You have no clue. Clueless little bee. In that habit, with those doe eyes, with that voice, in this lingerie. You. You are a tease.” His hand wrapped into the thin fabric of your panties. bundling it up between the puffy lips of your pussy. Giving it a harsh tug causing you to moan at the friction against your clit. That seemed to be the catalyst, he ripped the panties down, letting them fall to the ground at his feet. His left hand pulled his erection from the confines of those sinful pants, apparently having gone commando. A deep groan escaped him as he gave himself a few tugs. You watched, in awe at the size of it. The length was impressive, sure, but the girth was what really made you shiver with anticipation. 

“Seeing you, on your knees in front of me, I barely kept my composure.” Secondo slipped the head of his cock between your folds. Coating it with the slick and rubbing the tip against your clit teasingly. Biting your lip, you looked up, his words a confession. He wanted control, wanted tidiness and regulations. Yet he also seemed to get irrevocably turned on by your disruption of it all. You were, in his eyes, a perfect disruption. A groan escaped his mouth as the head of his cock bumped against your clit. “Please.” You begged, voice high pitched as you moved your hips slightly, creating more friction for yourself. “Such an eager thing. All wet from getting punished, pleading for your papa. Begging so nicely I might just give you what you want.” He said lowly. Using one of his large hands to splay across your lower abdomen, keeping you in place with a simple pin of his hand. The right one grabbing the base of his dick to line the tip up with your entrance. Pushing inside, the head slipped in with a delicious stretch, your eyes closing on their own. Teeth sinking into your bottom lip as he pushed in deeper. It was slow, you could feel every inch stretching you further with restraint. He was holding back, you could feel it, making sure you felt him completely. When his hips met yours and he was fully inside, Secondo groaned from the back of his throat. You could feel the fabric from his pants against your ass, the zipper a stark, cold contrast to the softness of them. “Look at me, Sorella.” He commanded, your eyes snapping open to meet his. His pupils were blown wide, the blue-ish gray and white almost completely absorbed by the black. His right hand, moving to grab your thigh, as he gave an experimental thrust. “Such a good sister. Doing exactly as her papa asks.” He said as a moan tumbled from your lips at the friction. The praise went straight to your core, feeling your walls clamp around his thickness.

“You like that huh, like to get praised?” He almost chuckled as he pulled his hips back. “Just your praise.” You managed to utter a little breathless as you felt him pulling out until the head of his dick was just inside of you. His right hand traveled down your leg, reaching your knee he pulled it away from his waist. Lifting it up to rest your leg against his shoulder. “I shall give you just that then.” he said, pressing a kiss to your calf before he plunged back inside of you with a force you hadn’t expected. A strangled moan escaped you as the air left your lungs. It was the start of a grueling pace. His thrust hitting deep, each one punctuated by a moan or a whine tumbling from your lips. His left hand pressed down on your lower abdomen. “I can feel myself inside you like this.” He groaned, leaning forward ever so slightly, “So tight. You are welcoming me so well. Like you were made for me.” He praised breathlessly. You clamped down at his words, earning you another moan from him. Leaning down further he captured your lips in a hungry kiss. Your hands reaching out, right arm wrapping around his shoulder as your tongues slid against each other in synchronicity. Left hand on his cheek, holding his face close. Your left knee was pressed up to your chest, the new position felt like he got even deeper, hitting that spongy area inside of you that caused white spots to infiltrate your vision. An incredibly wanton moan bubbled past your lips, being swallowed up by him. 

The only sound that filled the office was that of his hips meeting yours, sloppy and wet from your pussy. Paired with the moans and groans you shared in the kiss. Teeth clashing together every so often. It was electrifying. When he pulled away from the kiss he moved down, licking, kissing and biting his way down to your neck before moving away. You thought he never looked hotter. Completely undone, licking his shining lips. His papal paints now completely smudged away from his lips, black and white mixing around to create a darker gray. His breath comes out in pants and grunts with each thrust. Fanning against your lips and sending a shiver down your spine. His right hand moved up your side, reaching your flimsy bralette and fingers pushing underneath. Squeezing at the soft flesh, massaging your breast in his hand. Fingers reach to tweak at your nipple, causing another surge of pleasure through your body.

You dropped your left hand, finding his hand perched on your lower abdomen. The familiar knot growing inside of you, tightening with each thrust, each meeting of your hips to his. “Papa, I- fuck- touch me- more- please-” You beg, sentences cut short but it was clear what you wanted. A smirk graced his stoic features, his hand slid down and towards your weeping cunt, “look at me when you cum. I want to see how good your papa makes you feel.” His voice is strained, low and deep in his chest. When his pointer and middle finger started to strum slowly at your clit you could feel you were done for. Pussy started to clench around his dick that kept on hitting that spot perfectly. It was almost too much, almost. You had to force yourself to keep your eyes open.

Secondo continued to apply pressure to your sensitive clit, moving his fingers in tight circles as he watched your every reaction. A string of curse words fell from your lips as that knot tightened, clamping down as he never seemed to falter in his pace. The muscles in your thighs twitched as you felt it snap inside you. Jaw slack as you moaned, vision blurry with pleasure. Waves of it rushing through you like white hot lava under your skin. Your walls spasmed around him as he fucked you through the orgasm. When you came down, however, he didn’t let up. His fingers continued to work, as his pace picked up, nearing painful. Though the pain was mixed with undeniable pleasure. Not giving a moment of respite, you could feel the second orgasm building quickly. 

“I am going to fill you up.” Secondo groaned through gritted teeth. “And you will keep it inside you until after mass.” his pace faltered, becoming less controlled, more wild. “And if you spill a single drop. You will be punished again.” The idea of this not being a one time thing made you excited. “Yes, yes, please give it to me.” You spoke as you nodded your head. He picked up speed, you could feel his dick twitch inside of your sensitive pussy. Hips meeting yours, his fingers never faltered as he tried to push you over the edge of orgasming again. Still sensitive you could feel it all, this time you couldn’t even bring out a sound as it washed over you. Splotches entering your field of vision as white hot pleasure ran through you again. When your pussy clamped around Secondo’s dick you felt him reach his peak. Hot cum filling you up in spurts and twitches with a loud groan of your name. His hips stilled, slow thrusts as he emptied himself inside of you. His breathing was ragged as he stood up straighter, moving your left leg off of his shoulder gently. Still, with his softening dick inside of you. You watched his chest rise and fall, trying to match your own unruly breathing to his to calm down. Feeling tired and completely fucked out. There was a moment of serenity in the quiet, matched breathing. A peaceful moment as you kept his gaze.

A few seconds of pure devotion.

Secondo was the first to move again, slowly pulling out you hissed. Feeling empty and sensitive. You clamped around nothing. trying to keep his seed from spilling out of you. “You should get ready for mass.” Secondo said though his eyes were trained on your clenching pussy. “I don’t have a clean habit, or my panties.” you whispered, still trying to catch your breath. “A ghoul will get them.” Secondo spoke as his left hand reached out. His fingers find your entrance easily, dipping his middle and pointer inside causing a pained whimper from you. Giving a few lazy thrusts with his fingers he smirked as you squirmed away. “Not a drop. Remember?” He said before pulling his fingers out again. “Does that count as a spilled drop?” You asked as you could see the mixed fluids on those thick, long fingers. “Not if you don’t waste it.” He held them up and moved them to your lips. You opened your mouth wordlessly, welcoming those fingers and cleaning them off. Tongue moving over his fingers, in between and taking every drop of what he would give you. A strange combination of his and your arousal. His eyes darkened with lust as he watched you work his fingers like it could have been his dick. When he took them from your mouth he seemed a little torn.

“I will see you at mass.” He spoke as he started to button his shirt. You watched him get dressed before he disappeared into a different room. A ghoul entered the office with your clothes a few moments later. You covered yourself, a little embarrassed at your near nudity. Though the ghoul didn’t seem to mind, a knowing smile on his face. So, you got dressed after he left, getting ready to go to mass as you did everything you could to not spill a drop of Secondo’s cum. Sitting in the front pew at mass with the left leg crossed over the right, listening to him preaching about the dark lord. Squirming in your seat as you tried to keep everything inside. Switching to cross your right over your left you felt it. The slow drip of liquid pooling in your panties. Your breathing hitched, and your eyes met Secondo, a wicked glint in his eyes as he knew.

It was going to be a long mass.