#full black cloak last year

[borom1r]

My Commitment To The Bit Has Been Questioned.

[novaursa]

Where Dragons Dare (2/3)

- Summary: After your declaration to marry Alicent in the small council meeting, the day of the wedding finally comes. And so does your first wedding night.

- Paring: male!targ reader/Alicent Hightower

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is twin brother of Rhaenyra and is bonded with a dragon. For more of my works visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 5 000+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @literaturedog

- A/N: This was requested by @witch-of-letters. Enjoy! ❤️ Battle of the Stepstones is add as a bonus, because I love writing dragon battles. The last part will be posted later tomorrow once it is done.

- Previous part: 1

- Next part: 3

The grand hall of the Red Keep is awash with the glow of thousands of candles. The flames dance across golden tapestries depicting the histories of Old Valyria, but today the storied past pales in comparison to the momentous occasion unfolding before all in attendance. The wedding is one spoken of in whispers and rumors, but now it blooms before the gathered lords and ladies with all the splendor and gravitas worthy of House Targaryen. 

You stand at the altar draped in black and red, the rich silk of your doublet catching the light in subtle ways. The fine Valyrian embroidery at the hems speaks of dragons in flight, each thread imbued with dark crimson that shimmers like fresh blood. A black cloak, edged in deep scarlet, flows from your shoulders, fastened at your throat with a clasp shaped like a coiled dragon. Your hair, the silvery-white of pure Valyrian descent, is tied back, letting your angular features and sharp violet eyes take in every gaze, every emotion displayed openly or hidden away. At your side hangs Blackfyre—your birthright as Prince of Dragonstone—its pommel set with a ruby that gleams like a beating heart.

Before you, Alicent Hightower stands radiant in a gown of deep emerald green. The dress, fitted perfectly to her frame, billows out in layers of silk and fine lace, each shimmering with golden accents as she moves. A delicate crown of silver leaves and pearls rests atop her auburn hair, carefully arranged in elegant curls. Her eyes, a brilliant shade of brown, reflect a mixture of pride, joy, and the quiet steel she’s honed under the pressures of courtly life. There is a softness in her gaze, however, reserved only for you as her eyes meet yours—a silent understanding, a shared relief, and a promise of what is to come.

The Septon's voice rings out, leading the words of the traditional vows. Beside you, Rhaenyra is practically glowing with excitement. Her smile is unrestrained, her eyes darting between you and Alicent with genuine happiness, a sister’s joy at seeing her twin brother embrace his own fate. She wears a gown of pale red, adorned with the colors of House Targaryen and a crown of silver atop her flowing locks, her presence radiating confidence as the heir’s sister and a firm ally to your cause. 

King Viserys is seated in a place of honor, his face full of warmth and pride. His smile is wide as he watches his only son wed the woman who has become a daughter to him over the years. He has the contented look of a father who finally sees his children happy, a rare expression in a court filled with ambition and schemes. He lifts his cup in a subtle toast to you and Alicent, his eyes misting over slightly with emotion.

Daemon Targaryen, your uncle, stands near the rear of the gathered nobles, his silver hair catching the light as he observes the ceremony. His expression is inscrutable, but those who know him well enough can see the slight curve at the edge of his lips, the way his gaze sharpens whenever it falls upon you. For all his unpredictability, there is a flicker of pride there—a satisfaction, perhaps, that you finally asserted yourself against the forces that sought to control you. Daemon has always favored those who carve their own path, and today you have done just that.

As the ceremony draws to a close, you step forward to place a cloak upon Alicent’s shoulders, the symbol of House Targaryen enveloping her as you claim her as your own. The green of House Hightower blends now with the red and black of the dragon, a union that cements alliances but more importantly binds two hearts that have long yearned for this day. When you lean in to kiss her, there is a softness, a tenderness in the way her lips meet yours, and the hall erupts in applause, though the world shrinks to just the two of you in that fleeting moment.

As the applause dies down, Otto Hightower, the Hand of the King, watches with a carefully controlled expression. His eyes flicker between you and Alicent, a mixture of satisfaction and unease buried beneath his calm demeanor. Though this is a victory for him in securing his daughter’s position, there’s a tension in his jaw—he had hoped to control this outcome more closely, but you’ve slipped from his grasp, a dragon untamed. He studies you with the gaze of a man who sees both a rival and a dangerous ally.

At the feast, Rhaenyra approaches you first, practically throwing herself into your arms. "You did it, Y/N! I knew you would," she beams, her joy infectious. "Alicent looks so beautiful, and you—you were magnificent. I’ve never seen the council so speechless!" Her eyes sparkle with mischief. "And Uncle Daemon, I think he’s actually proud of you for once."

You chuckle, wrapping an arm around your sister. “He probably is. But I didn’t do this for him or the council. This was always for her.” Your gaze drifts back to Alicent, who’s engaged in conversation with a group of highborn ladies, her laughter soft and genuine.

Viserys claps a hand on your shoulder. "You’ve brought honor to our house, Y/N. I couldn’t be prouder of the man you’ve become. Your mother would be so proud, too." His voice carries a slight tremor as he mentions Queen Aemma, but it is quickly overshadowed by his joy.

You offer him a warm smile. "Thank you, father. I’ll do everything I can to ensure that this union strengthens our house."

Daemon is the next to approach, a goblet in hand and that familiar smirk playing on his lips. "I didn’t think you had it in you, nephew," he says, voice laced with amusement. "I was beginning to think you’d let others chart your course forever. But you’ve surprised us all, haven’t you?"

You meet his gaze squarely, your own smile more restrained but no less confident. "Some paths are worth fighting for, uncle. Even if they’re not what others expect."

Daemon raises his cup in a mock salute. “Spoken like a true Targaryen. Perhaps there’s more fire in you than I thought.”

The feast carries on with music, laughter, and the clinking of cups. You and Alicent share dances with the lords and ladies of the realm, but every now and then, your eyes find each other’s, and the world falls away again, leaving just the two of you in this sea of people.

When you finally manage to steal a private moment with her in a quiet corner of the hall, she takes your hand, squeezing it gently. “I was so afraid,” she admits in a hushed voice, her eyes reflecting the firelight. “Afraid that we’d never be able to reach this moment. But here we are.”

You brush a strand of hair from her face, letting your hand linger against her cheek. “You’re mine now, Alicent. I’ll fight for you, for us, against anyone who tries to tear us apart.”

A flicker of relief passes through her expression, followed by a warmth that softens her usually reserved emotions. “And I’ll stand by you, no matter the storm we face.”

The words hang between you like an unspoken vow—one more binding than anything recited before the Septon. 

The night deepens as the feast continues, a blur of music and the warm glow of candlelight reflecting off the ornate dishes piled with food. Laughter and the sound of clinking goblets fill the Great Hall. You and Alicent sit side by side at the high table, your hands occasionally brushing against each other beneath the table. The touch is small, but each time it happens, there’s a comforting warmth, a silent reassurance between the two of you. Alicent’s soft smile, reserved just for you, never quite fades from her lips.

As you’re enjoying a brief moment of quiet conversation, the sound of footsteps approaches. Gwayne Hightower, Alicent’s brother, strides up, his eyes bright with joy. "Sister! Y/N!" he greets, his voice tinged with the exuberance of youth. His resemblance to Alicent is striking, though his features are more angular, his posture that of a man eager to prove himself. "I couldn’t let the night end without offering my congratulations." He gives you a hearty clap on the shoulder, his grin broad. "It’s about time someone put a spark in this old court! You’ve done well, my friend. I’ve known you since we were boys, and I’ve always believed you’d find your way."

You return his grin, reaching out to clasp his forearm in the familiar gesture of comrades. "Gwayne, your support has never gone unnoticed. I’ve always valued your friendship, even when we got ourselves into trouble as children. But I think this time, we’ve both stepped into something greater than mischief.”

Gwayne chuckles. “You certainly have, Y/N. And Alicent—” He turns to his sister, his tone softening with genuine affection. “I’ve never seen you look happier. I’m glad you’ve found this happiness, even if I’ll be the one who has to keep a closer eye on courtly matters with you from now on.”

Alicent smiles warmly at her brother, her hand gently resting over yours atop the table. “Thank you, Gwayne. Your words mean more to me than you know. And don’t worry, we’ll both make sure to keep you busy in your duties, though perhaps with fewer pranks than when we were children.”

The three of you share a laugh, the ease of old friendships and sibling bonds lightening the mood.

Soon after, the familiar figures of Lord Corlys Velaryon and Princess Rhaenys approach. The Sea Snake is every bit the powerful figure one expects, his deep blue doublet adorned with intricate silver embroidery resembling the waves of the sea. Rhaenys is resplendent in crimson and gold, her presence commanding yet warm. There’s a certain wisdom in her gaze as she looks between you and Alicent, as if she sees beyond what most do.

“Prince Y/N, Lady Alicent,” Corlys begins, his voice deep and steady. “Congratulations are in order. The union of Targaryen and Hightower is a strategic move, and one I hope will bring stability to the realm. But more than that, it’s clear to see the bond you share.” His eyes linger on you, a hint of approval in his expression. “And perhaps this is the start of a new chapter where the young find their own path amidst the expectations of the old.”

Princess Rhaenys nods, her lips curling into a knowing smile. “It is good to see love and strength walk hand in hand. The history of our houses has often been marked by conflict, but this—” she gestures subtly between you and Alicent, “—this has the potential to change much. You both carry the future on your shoulders now.”

You bow your head slightly in respect. “Thank you, Lord Corlys, Princess Rhaenys. Your wisdom is always welcome. I hope to earn that respect in time and prove that this union is more than just a political move.”

Rhaenys’ eyes glint with something sharp and approving. “Oh, I believe you will, Y/N. The blood of Old Valyria runs deep, and you’ve shown you’re willing to chart your own course. I, for one, look forward to seeing what comes next.”

As they step away, Lord Tyland Lannister, clad in rich reds and golds, approaches next. His sharp features and keen eyes give away his nature as a man ever mindful of the shifting tides of power. “Prince Y/N, Lady Alicent, it is a joyous day indeed.” His voice is smooth, practiced, yet there’s an undercurrent of genuine intent behind his words. “House Lannister is ever eager to lend its support to the Targaryen line. May your union be fruitful and prosperous. It seems the dragons have found a way to blend strength with the grace of the Reach.”

You nod, ever cautious with Tyland’s honeyed words. “Thank you, Lord Tyland. Your support will be remembered, and I hope our alliance will benefit all corners of the realm.”

He offers a slight bow before moving off, ever mindful of where the winds blow.

The feast begins to wind down, and as tradition demands, there is the looming expectation of the bedding ceremony. The air in the hall thickens with the anticipation of it. Some lords and ladies begin to gather, murmuring and glancing toward you and Alicent with barely hidden excitement. The tension, the ribald jokes, the whispers—it all threatens to reduce the sanctity of this moment to a spectacle.

Before anyone can make a move to initiate it, you rise to your feet, the air of command in your posture silencing the crowd before the teasing can begin. “There will be no bedding ceremony tonight,” you declare, your voice clear and firm, leaving no room for argument. The hall quiets instantly, the murmur of protests caught in the throats of those who thought to see the night end in such a manner.

Daemon, standing with arms crossed at the edge of the hall, lets out a low chuckle, his approval evident in the sharp nod he gives you. “Let the young prince make his own choices,” he says, his voice carrying across the room. “There’s enough spectacle in these halls without turning the most sacred of nights into another charade.”

The crowd hesitates, unsure whether to push the matter. But when you meet your father’s gaze, Viserys nods slowly, an expression of both surprise and respect on his face. Otto Hightower, who had been watching with tension in his eyes, finally relaxes, a subtle sigh escaping him. His face settles into an expression that resembles something close to approval, a rare look from a man who values tradition and order above all.

Alicent looks at you with deep gratitude and admiration, her fingers squeezing yours as she stands. You turn to her, your expression softening as you offer her your arm. “Shall we retire, my lady?” you ask, your voice laced with tenderness.

She dips her head slightly, eyes shimmering with emotion. “Let’s,” she replies, her voice barely more than a whisper as she takes your arm.

Together, you walk down the long aisle toward the doors leading out of the Great Hall, every eye on you both as you leave. There is a certain weight lifted from your shoulders as the doors close behind you, the noise of the hall fading as you enter the quieter, more intimate corridors of the Keep.

As you walk side by side toward your chambers, the echoes of your footsteps and the distant flicker of torchlight create an almost dreamlike atmosphere. Neither of you speaks, the silence between you comfortable, filled with the knowledge that this is just the beginning. When you reach the doors to your shared chambers, you pause, turning to face her fully. You lift her hand to your lips and press a soft kiss to her knuckles, your eyes never leaving hers.

“No more performances,” you murmur. “This is just us now.”

Alicent’s eyes shine as she steps closer, her other hand rising to rest against your cheek. “I’ve never wanted anything more than to be with you, like this, away from prying eyes.”

With that, you open the door and guide her inside, the world outside forgotten as the heavy oak doors close behind you both, sealing away the courtly intrigue and the expectations of the realm. In this moment, it’s just you and her, bound together by choice, love, and a shared determination to forge your own destiny.

The chamber is bathed in the soft light of the fire, shadows flickering across the stone walls as the door closes behind you both. The silence stretches, not uncomfortable but full with the awareness of what comes next. For all the warmth you share, the affection that’s blossomed over years of quiet moments and unspoken glances, this is new for both of you. The air is tinged with the sweet fragrance of candles, the soft rustle of fabric as you both stand there, suddenly unsure how to proceed.

You turn to face her, meeting Alicent’s gaze. There’s a nervousness in her eyes, a slight quiver in her breath, but beneath it lies trust, and something more—desire, hesitant but real. You step closer, reaching out to take her hands in yours, your thumb brushing over her knuckles in a gentle, soothing motion. “Alicent,” you murmur, your voice softer than usual, tinged with both affection and concern. “Are you sure? If you’re not ready—”

“I am,” she interrupts softly, her voice a tender whisper in the quiet of the room. Her cheeks flush pink, but her eyes never leave yours. “I’ve never been more certain of anything.”

You nod, letting out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Slowly, you lean down, capturing her lips in a kiss, tender and delicate. Her lips are warm against yours, the kiss a gentle exploration rather than a fervent rush. You both linger in the simplicity of it, letting it ease the tension from your bodies. When you pull back, you see her chest rise and fall as she steadies her breath, her eyes searching yours for reassurance.

Your hand moves to the clasp of her dress, fingers hesitating for a moment before you look at her once more. “May I?” you ask softly.

She nods, her voice catching slightly. “Yes… I want you to.”

With careful fingers, you undo the clasp and let the fabric slip from her shoulders, revealing the pale skin beneath. The dress pools at her feet, and she stands before you in just her shift, delicate and vulnerable. Her eyes flicker down, shyly avoiding your gaze as you take her in. In turn, she reaches out, her hands trembling slightly as she begins to unlace your doublet. There’s an unspoken agreement between you—a mutual understanding that this moment is as much about trust as it is about desire. You help her with the laces, guiding her hands until your clothing is cast aside, leaving you both bare in the warm glow of the fire.

For a long moment, you simply stand there, your breaths mingling, your eyes tracing the curves and lines of each other’s bodies. There’s a sense of curiosity mixed with reverence, your gazes shyly meeting before drifting again, both of you learning and memorizing the sight of each other.

“Beautiful,” you whisper, your voice filled with sincerity. Alicent’s breath hitches at the word, her eyes shining as she looks up at you, her lips parting as if to say something, but words fail her. Instead, she just reaches out, fingers brushing over your chest, her touch sending a shiver through you.

You gently take her hand and guide her toward the bed, the furs soft beneath your feet as you lead her down onto the mattress. You lay her down with the utmost care, your eyes never leaving hers, searching for any sign of discomfort. Her lips part as she draws in a shaky breath, her chest rising and falling rapidly, but her gaze is steady, trusting.

You lower yourself beside her, your hand caressing her cheek as you lean in to kiss her again. This time, the kiss is deeper, a gradual melding of lips as you both begin to relax into each other. Your hand trails down, brushing against her collarbone, then lower, until it rests just above her breast. You pause, your eyes flicking to hers for permission, and when she nods slightly, you continue, cupping her breast gently, your thumb brushing over the soft skin. A soft gasp escapes her lips, her back arching slightly as you explore her.

“You’re so beautiful, Alicent,” you murmur against her lips, and she responds with a soft sigh, her hand sliding up your back, pulling you closer.

Your kisses begin to wander, trailing down her jawline, to the tender skin of her neck. You feel her pulse quicken under your lips, her breath growing more uneven as you move lower. When your mouth finds her breast, she gasps, her fingers threading through your hair. You take your time, savoring each reaction, each soft sound she makes as your lips and tongue explore her.

As you move lower, her breath catches, her fingers tightening in your hair when you kiss the curve of her hip. You glance up at her, seeing the mixture of nerves and anticipation in her eyes. She’s never experienced anything like this, and neither have you—not truly. But you remember the lessons Daemon half-teased, half-instructed you on during that one visit to the brothel, showing you the ways of pleasure in a more practical, if unconventional, manner. While you hadn’t partaken that night, you watched, curious, and the knowledge lingers now, guiding your movements.

You press a kiss to the inside of her thigh, and she lets out a soft whimper, her fingers clutching at the furs beneath her. You murmur a line from an old Valyrian poem, the words ancient and filled with meaning, letting the sounds roll off your tongue as your kisses grow more intimate. “Gevives isse tolvie jelevre—beauty in every breath,” you whisper, your breath warm against her skin.

When your mouth finally finds her core, she gasps, her body tensing for a moment before she melts into the sensation, her hips shifting instinctively toward you. Her breath comes in shallow bursts, her hand gripping your shoulder as you apply what you’ve learned, taking your time, listening to the way her body responds. When she lets out a soft moan, her voice trembling with pleasure, you smile against her, murmuring another line from the poem—words of love and devotion that have been passed down through generations.

Slowly, you trail your kisses back up her body, feeling her trembling beneath you. Her hands reach for you, pulling you close, and when your lips find hers again, the kiss is hungry, filled with the taste of her desire and the passion that’s been building between you both.

You position yourself above her, your eyes locked on hers as you ask one last time, “Are you sure, Alicent?”

Her response is a breathless nod, her hand cupping your cheek as she whispers, “I want this. I want you.”

You enter her gently, inch by inch, mindful of her innocence, watching her every expression for any sign of pain. She winces slightly at first, her brow furrowing, but her fingers dig into your back, holding you close as she adjusts. When she finally opens her eyes again, there’s no hesitation, only trust. “Move,” she breathes, her voice barely audible, but full of need.

You start slowly, each movement careful, deliberate, letting her body adjust, her warmth enveloping you. Her breaths come out in soft, quick bursts, her nails dragging lightly across your skin as she holds on to you. The tension in her body gradually gives way to something else, her hips meeting yours in a rhythm that’s both instinctive and hesitant.

As the moments pass, the awkwardness gives way to a deeper connection. The tenderness remains, but passion begins to take root. Alicent’s breath hitches when she wraps her legs around your waist, her hands pulling you closer. You respond to her need, moving with more urgency as she finds her own rhythm, her body moving against yours in a dance that’s both new and timeless.

When she pushes herself up, shifting into your lap, there’s a sudden surge of boldness in her gaze, something wild and free. You guide her movements, your hands steadying her as she takes control, her breathless gasps mingling with your own. The intimacy between you grows not just in the physical connection but in the way you respond to each other’s needs, desires, and unspoken fears. It’s a union forged in trust, love, and the desire to explore the depths of what you share.

Eventually, when the night reaches its quiet peak, you collapse together into the furs, breathless and spent, your limbs entangled as you hold her close. Here, in this moment, there’s only the warmth of her skin against yours, the sound of her steadying breaths, and the knowledge that this is only the beginning of your shared life together.

As sleep slowly claims you both, you press a final kiss to her forehead, murmuring words of love in Valyrian, promising her with every breath that this night is just the start of what you’ll build together.

The sky is a bruised shade of twilight, thick with smoke and ash. The stench of blood, sweat, and salt fills the air as the waves crash against the jagged rocks of the Stepstones. This place is a wasteland—a battlefield stained with the bodies of the dead and dying. For over two years, the Crabfeeder’s men have held these islands, turning them into a butcher’s yard. But today, you intend to end it. Today, the dragons return in fire and fury.

You sit atop Dallax, your black-scaled beast, perched on a ridge overlooking the main encampment of the Triarchy’s forces. His green eyes gleam in the dim light, and his body shifts restlessly beneath you, eager to unleash his wrath. His teeth, hidden within the dark flesh of his jaws, retract only when his rage is stoked—a menace lying in wait. You run a gloved hand along his neck, feeling the raw power coiled within him. “Soon,” you whisper, your voice firm yet laced with anticipation. “We will end this.”

Below, Daemon Targaryen plays his part to perfection. Clad in soot-streaked armor, a white banner clutched in one hand, he approaches the enemy lines. The Crabfeeder’s forces, a mix of hardened sellswords and conscripts, watch from behind their sharpened stakes and crude fortifications, unsure whether this is truly surrender or another of Daemon’s ruses. The Prince of the City moves with a calculated slowness, his steps deliberate, his head lowered just enough to give the impression of defeat. But you know him better. There’s a fire in his eyes—a fury barely contained behind that facade of submission. The plan hinges on this moment, on the Crabfeeder’s arrogance and greed.

From your vantage point, you spot Lord Corlys Velaryon’s forces hidden in the shallows, ready to pounce the moment the trap is sprung. The Sea Snake commands his men with a veteran’s precision, their silence a stark contrast to the braying jeers coming from the Crabfeeder’s ranks.

Daemon finally stops, mere feet from the Crabfeeder’s line, where a grotesque figure emerges from the shadows. Drahar, the Crabfeeder, is a ghastly sight, his face hidden behind a cracked and twisted mask, his skin mottled from disease. He raises a hand, halting the jeers, and for a moment, silence reigns.

Then, chaos erupts.

Daemon’s false surrender is cast aside as he draws Dark Sister in a blur of Valyrian steel, cutting through the nearest soldier in one swift, practiced motion. Blood sprays into the air, catching the dim light as the battlefield roars back to life. The Triarchy’s soldiers charge forward, desperate to claim the prize they believe within reach, but they are rushing headlong into a trap.

It’s your moment.

With a word in Valyrian, you urge Dallax into a dive. His wings unfurl, dark as midnight, blotting out the dying light. The air screams past you as you plummet toward the battlefield, the ground rushing up to meet you. “Dracarys!” you roar, the command slicing through the din of battle.

Dallax responds with a torrent of flame that incinerates everything in its path. The first line of the Crabfeeder’s men is engulfed in a roaring inferno, their screams swallowed by the relentless fire. Armor melts, flesh sizzles, and bone turns to ash in mere moments. You bank sharply, pulling Dallax into another dive, this time focusing on the siege engines positioned along the ridge. The ballistae, meant to keep the dragons at bay, are shattered under the crushing weight of dragonfire and claws. Timber explodes, splinters raining down on the screaming soldiers below as you rip through their defenses with ruthless efficiency.

You catch a glimpse of Daemon, now fully engaged in the melee, his sword a blur of lethal grace as he carves a bloody path through the Triarchy’s forces. He fights with a savage joy, laughing as he dodges and counters, the battlefield his stage. Corlys and his men surge from the shallows, catching the enemy in a brutal pincer. The once-confident soldiers of the Crabfeeder are thrown into disarray, their lines crumbling under the combined might of dragon and steel.

You circle back, eyes locked on Drahar, who attempts to retreat deeper into the labyrinth of stakes and pits his men have constructed. But there’s no escape. You guide Dallax lower, skimming the ground, his claws gouging the earth as you close in on your prey. The Crabfeeder looks up in desperation, his eyes wide behind his mask as he realizes his end is near.

“End him!” Daemon’s voice echoes in your mind like a phantom’s dare, though the words are drowned out by the roar of battle.

Dallax’s jaws snap open, his teeth glinting as they slide out from their hidden sheaths. With a snarl, he lunges, clamping down on Drahar with a sickening crunch. The Crabfeeder’s mask falls away, revealing a twisted visage frozen in terror before his body is torn apart in a spray of blood and gore. Dallax shakes his head, flinging what remains of Drahar’s corpse into the dirt before incinerating it with a final jet of flame.

Around you, the battlefield is a scene of utter carnage. The ground is slick with blood, littered with the hacked remains of soldiers. Men scream, their limbs severed, or burn as they try to flee, only to be cut down by Corlys’s disciplined troops. The cries of the dying are a symphony of suffering, underscored by the relentless roar of flames. Dallax moves among the survivors like a shadow, crushing and burning any who dare to resist.

As the last pockets of resistance are snuffed out, you land amidst the ruins, stepping down from Dallax’s back. You scan the battlefield, taking in the broken fortifications, the piles of charred corpses, and the men who now kneel in surrender. Victory is yours. The Stepstones are won.

Daemon approaches, blood splattered across his armor, a wild grin on his face. “Well done, nephew,” he says, his voice carrying a note of satisfaction. “I thought I might have all the fun, but you’ve stolen quite the show.” His eyes gleam with shared triumph, the bond between you strengthened through battle and bloodshed. “The Crabfeeder will feast no more.”

You smirk, wiping sweat and grime from your brow. “Someone had to keep you from getting killed. I couldn’t let you take all the glory.”

He laughs, the sound cutting through the dying echoes of the battle. “You’re learning. Perhaps there’s more of me in you than anyone cares to admit.”

As Daemon moves to rally the remaining men, your thoughts drift, carried away on the winds of victory. The image of Alicent appears in your mind—her gentle smile, the way her hand rests on the curve of her belly, swollen with the child she carries. You think of your son, Aegon, barely more than a year old, his bright eyes so full of curiosity. It is for them that you fight, for the future you intend to build, for the family you have claimed as your own.

The taste of blood and ash lingers on your tongue, but underneath it all is the yearning to return to them, to hold Alicent in your arms and feel the soft weight of your son as he rests against your chest. You think of how you will recount this victory to them—how Aegon will listen in awe, his little hands reaching out as if to grasp the tales of dragons and battles. You smile to yourself, imagining the way Alicent will scold you softly for the bloodshed, though you know she will be proud all the same.

“Soon,” you murmur to yourself, the words almost lost in the wind. “Soon I’ll be home.”

But for now, the battle is done, and the Stepstones are yours. The fires burn low as you gaze out over the broken landscape, your thoughts with your family, even as your dragon’s shadow stretches long over the conquered land, a reminder of the price of victory.

[apoemaday]

Eurydice

by Carol Ann Duffy

Girls, I was dead and down in the Underworld, a shade, a shadow of my former self, nowhen. It was a place where language stopped, a black full stop, a black hole Where the words had to come to an end. And end they did there, last words, famous or not. It suited me down to the ground.

So imagine me there, unavailable, out of this world, then picture my face in that place of Eternal Repose, in the one place you’d think a girl would be safe from the kind of a man who follows her round writing poems, hovers about while she reads them, calls her His Muse, and once sulked for a night and a day because she remarked on his weakness for abstract nouns. Just picture my face when I heard -- Ye Gods -- a familiar knock-knock at Death’s door.

Him. Big O. Larger than life. With his lyre and a poem to pitch, with me as the prize.

Things were different back then. For the men, verse-wise, Big O was the boy. Legendary. The blurb on the back of his books claimed that animals, aardvark to zebra, flocked to his side when he sang, fish leapt in their shoals at the sound of his voice, even the mute, sullen stones at his feet wept wee, silver tears.

Bollocks. (I’d done all the typing myself, I should know.) And given my time all over again, rest assured that I’d rather speak for myself than be Dearest, Beloved, Dark Lady, White Goddess etc., etc.

In fact girls, I’d rather be dead.

But the Gods are like publishers, usually male, and what you doubtless know of my tale is the deal.

Orpheus strutted his stuff.

The bloodless ghosts were in tears. Sisyphus sat on his rock for the first time in years. Tantalus was permitted a couple of beers. The woman in question could scarcely believe her ears.

Like it or not, I must follow him back to our life -- Eurydice, Orpheus’ wife -- to be trapped in his images, metaphors, similes, octaves and sextets, quatrains and couplets, elegies, limericks, villanelles, histories, myths…

He’d been told that he mustn’t look back or turn round, but walk steadily upwards, myself right behind him, out of the Underworld into the upper air that for me was the past. He’d been warned that one look would lose me for ever and ever.

So we walked, we walked. Nobody talked.

Girls, forget what you’ve read. It happened like this -- I did everything in my power to make him look back. What did I have to do, I said, to make him see we were through? I was dead. Deceased. I was Resting in Peace. Passé. Late. Past my sell-by date… I stretched out my hand to touch him once on the back of the neck. Please let me stay. But already the light had saddened from purple to grey.

It was an uphill schlep from death to life and with every step I willed him to turn. I was thinking of filching the poem out of his cloak, when inspiration finally struck. I stopped, thrilled. He was a yard in front. My voice shook when I spoke -- Orpheus, your poem’s a masterpiece. I’d love to hear it again…

He was smiling modestly, when he turned, when he turned and he looked at me.

What else? I noticed he hadn’t shaved. I waved once and was gone.

The dead are so talented. The living walk by the edge of a vast lake near, the wise, drowned silence of the dead.

[cottonlemonade]

Dracula And His Damsel

word count: 1135 || avg. reading time: 5 mins.

pairing: post-time skip!Kyotani x chubby!Reader

genre: fluff with a pinch of spice

warnings: mdni, suggestive

request: watching Nightmare Before Christmas with pumpkin-spice, dressed as a tomato with Kyotani || fluffy-spicy, Halloween costume shopping with boyfriend Kyotani

Only through the power of undying love was Kyotani able to cross the threshold of the costume parlor. After weeks of hints decreasing in subtlety by the day, had he agreed to a couple’s costume for this year’s Halloween party under the condition that it would be nothing too out there or embarrassing. Even though, in all honesty, you could have asked him to wear a dress and he would have, just to see you smile.

“How about this one?”, you asked, holding up a picture of the Barbie movie on your phone, “You’re halfway there already. You’re hot, blond and your name is Kentaro.”

You giggled at your own joke and it turned into a full laugh when you saw his unimpressed expression.

“Let’s make this quick, alright?”

“Ah ah ah, good things take time, babe. Now, what are you in the mood for? Something dangerous? Creepy? Funny? Sexy?” With each new word, you pulled a different costume from the rack.

Your boyfriend raised a brow at the last piece. “What’s that supposed to be?”

“The Phantom of the Opera. A classic…”, you sighed dreamily, “And pretty simple. I just need a fancy ball gown for my part. Wanna try it on?”

“I’m good.”, he replied, disinterested, “Let’s get that one and leave.”

You hit him with the big doe eyes - a trick that had yet to fail its effect.

“But I wanna see how it looks beforehand. Please~?”

Today was no different.

“Fine…” Snatching the cloak and mask from you, he let you usher him to the spacious changing rooms - no wonder they were so big, considering some costumes were made to be worn by two people.

Five minutes later you brushed the curtain to the side to inspect. Kyotani flinched, needlessly trying to cover himself even though he was fully dressed.

“Ya can’t just come in here, ya know?”

“Says who?”, you replied and began brushing along the cloak and fixing his collar, “You look so handsome… even more so than usual.”

It was no use pretending that he didn’t love your praise. Years of pathetically crushing on you, followed now by months of clumsily being a boyfriend for the very first time had taught him that when it came to you, anything was his weakness. And your warm hands running over his chest, combined with sweet talk ensured he would stay in this dressing room until closing time if you told him to.

Reaching out of the curtain for a moment, you produced another hanger with a - to him - absolutely identical costume you found.

“If the phantom isn’t it, how about we go with another classic? Draculaaaa~”

“And who would you be?”

“Well…”, you said, tapping your finger thoughtfully on your chin, “I could either be some woman you seduce ooor maybe a vampire huntress?”

He hated how that idea made him blush and he was even more embarrassed when you noticed.

“Oh? You like the idea? Well, say no more! Imma grab a dress.” And with that, you wooshed out of the changing room.

A little while later, while he was tying the black and red cape, you slipped back through his curtain.

“Could you please help me with the corset, baby?”

“The c-…”

You would 100% be the death of him. It was only a matter of time.

Part of the reason he fell for you in the first place was that you were the exact opposite of him, bright and friendly, definitely something people would call approachable. And where he was considered lean and lanky, you were soft and rounded. This had led to many many afternoons of him bringing you home after a date and not being able to stop when you kissed him Goodnight because the feeling of your warm chub between his cold fingers was more addictive than anything he’d ever experienced.

“Babe?”, you asked when he could only stare.

“Hm?”

“The corset?”

“Right.”

You smiled and turned your back to him expectantly.

He examined the laces.

“Uhm… what… what do I do?”

“It’s kinda like putting on shoes, just tighten it a little. Not too much though, I like to breathe.”

The knowledge that he could hurt you in this situation if he did something wrong, made him hesitate but with a bit more encouragement (praise) he finished the job in no time.

“What do you think?”

You tilted your head a little, meeting his eyes in the large mirror.

“Pretty.”, he said, clearing his throat. His eyes had dropped down and landed on your breasts, plump and on display with the corset.

Obviously, you caught him looking. “Yeah?”, you teased, “Let’s take a picture. I wanna try something.”

You turned to the side, leaning your back against the wall, and pulled out your phone.

He stood there, waiting for instructions.

“Come here and pretend to bite my neck.”

And there was that stupid blush again. He stepped closer and opened his mouth as wide as he could, hovering over that sensitive bit of skin that usually made you so… noisy when you were alone. The camera clicked and he straightened, waiting for your verdict.

“Hm.”, you said, “It doesn’t look quite right.” You turned the screen so he could see. He looked very very stiff but that was his default in any pictures to be fair. He only had two modes. Stiff or glaring - already a huge upgrade from his high school days.

“Maybe this time try putting your hand here - yes, like that, the other there - perfect - and when you lean in, maybe just kiss my neck but with a bit more teeth.”

A truly terrible idea as he came to realize soon enough. The smell of your perfume and feeling of your warmth had him entranced and he could only vaguely hear you taking one picture after another.

You didn’t tell him to stop.

Only a small eternity later did he hear you gasp his name.

He moved in even closer, pressing his body against you, and automatically slotted his leg between yours.

His sharp incisors raked over your skin, making you shudder in his arms.

You brought your hands up to rest on his shoulders, steadying yourself as he continued to kiss, touch, and grind.

A large calloused hand came up to your breasts but with the corset, it was impossible to grab. He focused on his thigh pushing up to your core, groaning with frustration at that piece of impenetrable fabric keeping him from feeling heaven.

“Excuse me? Sir? Miss? What are you doing?”, the voice of the store clerk rang through the curtain and burst the hot bubble you were in.

“We’re almost out.”, you replied, decidedly croaky sounding.

Suddenly glad for the robes hiding his otherwise very prominent problem, Kyotani panted quietly, “We should get these ones.”

art: @_geolatte on Twitter

a/n: request for @rosetakemi

Thank you very much for your request! Ngl I thought I would struggle a whole lot more writing for him but it was actually really fun! I hope you enjoyed it 🌟

That concludes the Halloween event. Thank you so so much to everyone who participated, liked, commented, and reblogged. While the event was going on I surpassed 1000 followers and I can’t wrap my head around that. That’s so many of you!!! The next event will be a much simpler one that I had planned since… like May, but always kept pushing back because I thought of other things xD

[livinginshambles]

Preview: I thought you'd be different | James Potter

Pairing: James Potter x Fem!Slytherin!Reader

Summary: A Cinderella Story, but Hogwarts. (Enemies? to lovers)

Notes: Sorry I've been mia; i wrote this today, it's all I have so the full fic will probably take a while, not proofread, mistakes blah blah, enjoy!

PS. I am currently no longer making a taglist because I can't keep up with it, I'm really sorry!

Masterlist. Taglist

------------------------------------

You could still remember the moment vividly, as if it was engraved in your memory.

That moment when the sorting hat placed you in Slytherin instead of Gryffindor like your two older sisters had been sorted. You could still see the look of surprise, concern, horror and then eventually disgust, every time you closed your eyes.

“Now we finally know your true colors,” is what you sister Alyssa had hissed coldly at you. You had pleadingly looked at your other sister, but Marla had supported her twin sister, disregarding the confused and scared look in your eleven-year-old eyes.

“Don’t talk to us, don’t look at us and don’t mention us at all,” she sneered down at you and for a moment you wondered how she hadn’t been the one to be sorted into Slytherin instead. But you had cast your eyes down and agreed.

But years passed and you had become the very stereotype of a Slytherin student, completely leaning into the cold, distant, quiet but calculating persona that your sisters had created for you. Might as well, you figured after your parent’s dismay at the revelation of your house.

You were making your way down the corridor, long strides as you passed your sisters while looking them straight in the eye. They grimaced at the sight of you, but without their entire group of classmates, they didn’t dare make any comments.

A feeling of victory erupted inside of you, and you couldn’t help the small smirk that crept up your face.

“What poor soul suffered for you to look so satisfied?” You turned your head to look at the person who called out to you. James Potter and Sirius Black were both leaning against a statue in the open yard.

“Did you get rid of Regulus or something?” Sirius taunted. “Finally had enough of him following you around, did you L/N?”

“Go die in a ditch, Sirius,” you retorted with an eyeroll, but seemed unphased.

“Why so much hostility,” James unpleasantly remarked, and you halted in your step.

To be petty or not to be petty, you sighed and rolled your eyes.

“10 points from Gryffindor for loitering,” you decided.

The two marauders started to protest.

“If you have nothing to do, other than insulting students, I would love to recommend you to Professor McGonagall for detention. Heard she was still looking for the person who made all the pumpkins explode last week during Halloween, and you guys are terrible at getting rid of the evidence.” It effectively shut them up, and with a last glance up and down, you continued your way towards the room of requirement.

When you entered the sober room with a sigh, you noticed the small scrolled up piece of parchment in the middle of the room. You frowned. This was your space. The room didn’t open this space for anyone else, you made it specifically as a safe haven.

You cautiously approached the parchment and rolled it open to reveal nothing. It was completely blank. You shrugged. If the room left this here, it was meant for you, and so you took a seat and started drawing on it.

James sat in an empty room, his invisibility cloak hiding him from plain sight as he pulled the now folded paper from his back pocket. He inspected it closely, almost pressing the paper to his glasses in a curious manner.

He had gone to the Room of Requirements earlier that day and found a piece of paper floating in the air. Of course, levitating stuff wasn't that strange, but it had intrigued him nonetheless.

James unfolded the paper, and his eyebrows flew up. Lines were appearing on the paper by itself, and a beautiful portrait of a weeping willow with a girl who was crying on a bench under the tree, appeared.

James fumbled to find his quill and ink. Then he started to write something on it, in a handwriting that he only ever used for written exams.

(Credits to Professor McGonagall who had announced that she would not be grading anything she couldn’t read. And she had looked over her glasses at him while she said it.)

It’s beautiful.

You dropped the parchment at the words that formed right under your drawing. You traced it with your fingers. Then you decided to write back.

Full fic

[spicybunni]

Yandere Dark Wizard x Maid!Darling

Little Dark Wizard blurb ! I’ve had this idea for like all of October and had to get it out of my system, enjoy! 🌙

WARNINGS!! ⚠️ : NSFW IMPLICATIONS, YANDERE TENDENCIES, OBSESSIVE, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

You swept the floors clean by 8AM this morning, and now it was time to start on dusting this horrid tower again. Even though you dusted a week ago there are somehow a buildup of cobwebs and thick layers of dust on almost everything! It’s almost as if he uses his magic to make the tower more dirty, keeping you busy with work while he is away. He is Faris, the dark Wizard. About a year and a half ago you came to him, as a castle maid looking to give assistance to either a Witch or Wizard in exchange for lessons in magic wielding. He told you off the bat that it would take time and patience since you didn’t have the gift of magic to begin with.

When you first met him, you certainly did not expect him to be so…handsome, to say the least. With the rumors you’ve heard around the kingdom and castle, you thought he would look scarier. But he did have an intense look on his face giving you his full attention. Long black curls piling in the hood of his cloak, his robes gray and colorless, and his eyes were sage green. No wonder the other maids gossiped about him constantly when he visited. But for your sake you pushed your attraction for him to the side, just trying to make a business deal to better your life.

Through the months it was harder and harder to push your feelings down. He was stern but never had an outburst or became violent like the royals you used to serve. The only thing damned about your position is that he never lets you leave the tower without him. Needing to buy food? He’ll escort you through a portal to the nearest Market place. Need new clothes? No need for travel when he special order them for you.

He’s so stingy whenever you ask him about the “business” he takes care of during the day. 4 days out of the week, he leaves the tower from morning until late evening doing heaven knows what. You had gathered a technique in finishing your chores early. Which he absolutely despised. It’s not that he hated you having free time. He just doesn’t want you roaming into certain quarters of the tower. He kept such dangerous artifacts in certain rooms that if you explored, you just might hurt yourself. Which was the last thing he wanted. But usually when you did finish early you kept busy with either cooking dinner or doing some crafty hobbies you liked in your chambers. If he didn’t spot you in the kitchen he would either teleport to your room to knock or just peak to see you if you're there from afar.

Over the past year, unbeknownst to you, Faris has actually depended on you being here at the tower. At first he labeled it as just being reliant on a maid or a housekeeper to keep the place in order. But something sparked within him when you had the courage to speak to him outside the Royal Palace. You were a mistreated maid there and wanted a better life, a magical one. Who was he to refuse a future apprentice? Unfortunately for him now, he see’s you as more than a beloved maid. You were his.

Teaching magic to non magical humans did take time, but it was easy. You start with the basics of elemental magic, then energy magic, and if you asked him, he would teach you dark magic to defend yourself.

But teaching you to become your own Witch meant you would leave eventually…And these feelings of loneliness have swelled over the years before you came into his life. Perhaps he can push it a few months, making more excuses that you weren’t ready, or that his work requires his full concentration. He found that getting in close proximity to you and simply saying “Not now, Y/N.” when you asked questions made you stop for a few days. He found it so endearing that you would blush madly for him and be so shy to be close to him when he did stuff like that.

But you on the other hand we’re ready to take your lessons into your own hands now. You’ve done your part of the bargain. You just won’t ask anymore. Better to ask for forgiveness than permission right? Putting your broom and other cleaning equipment in the kitchen, you head over to the library with many anxious thoughts in your head. ‘Maybe he’ll be impressed when you show him- No, no don’t show him! He’ll find me out sooner if I do that- Ughh’

Finally coming up on the massive door, you bring out the spare key you borrowed from Faris. You only took it because he kept it in the same office drawer of a desk you clean every week. You knew it was for the library because it shared the same symbol of a skull that the library doors adorned on the wood. Obviously he didn't think you were such a curious darling. Plus it’s still midday, you’ll have plenty of time to browse and put things back where they belong.

With a click, the door unlocks. You push the doors open, revealing a massive collection of books with towering shelves holding them. Right when the doors opened a spark flew from the torches at the entrance to light all candles in the library. You gasp in amazement, quickly putting the key into your apron’s pocket. You step in further, glancing at the book spines, reading their titles. Some were just regular story books while others were encyclopedias, dictionaries, How-To’s and much more. There was a particular book that caught your attention. It was a faded purple color that shined in certain lighting. You pull it out reading the title ‘LOVE SPELLS AND POTIONS’. The book obviously stayed untouched for years, the spine wasn’t worn and the pages were crisp. You can tell by the color and feel of the paper that it’s an old book though. You had no need for any spells or potions within this book, but taking a peak is almost harm right?

You opened and flipped to a random page. The potion was for fertility and love making. But before you could even read the details a black swirl of mist appeared in the middle of the library, making the shelves rumble. It opened up like a portal, making you tremble holding the book to your chest like a shield. You panic thinking it’s an entity of some sort coming into the tower but then you see Faris walking through, looking around until he spots you. His face looks both displeased and amused at the same time. He takes languid steps towards you. You gulp, not having expected any of this, to be caught so red handed by your Wizard most of all.

“I did not expect this, my darling maid. You actually had the gall to trespass into my library and get ahead of yourself.” He chuckles, removing his coat as he comes to you.

“And I see the thing you’ve decided to learn from first is?..” He raises his hand with his palm down, turning it up and flicks his wrist back, making an unseeable force take the book hiding within your arms. “W-Wait! Faris I-“ he pays no attention to your cries of embarrassment. As the book floats into his grasp he holds his other hand out in a stop motion, making the invisible force block ho. He marks the page you were at with a finger before looking at the front cover.

You can see his eyes read the title, creasing slightly by his grin as he looks back to you. “Really Y/N? Love Potions?” His magic releases its hold on you. You’re fidgeting with your hands with a face as red as rubies. You were about to speak your truth before you see he’s about to see the page you were on. Your mortified expression fuels him to carry on with his torment. You didn’t really think you were going to be unpunished for sneaking into a forbidden room of his tower?

He looks over the potion ingredients with the…expressive.. illustrations on the page. He chuckles at you begging to stop and trying to grab the book. “Oh dear, a fertility potion huh?” He looks back at you now, making you freeze in your actions.

“Listen Faris, I just thought the book looked pretty! Stop drawing it out like this! You know I didn’t-”

You were pulled to him by his magic, your front against his. A hand rests itself on your lower back. You look up at him, hands on his robes. You’ve never embraced him like this before. It was making you flush so warm against his body.

“If you’d like, my dear Y/N, your first magic lesson can be from this book…”

~~~~

Part 2??

[wheels-of-despair]

The Best $7 Eddie Munson Ever Spent Pairing: Eddie Munson x You Summary: In the fall of 1983, Eddie bought something he thought was cool… but he didn't realize how important it was until a year later. Contains: Uncle Wayne, shopping, time-jumping, snuggles, a little bit of Eddie and Evil Woman's early days. Words: 1.3k

The best $7 Eddie Munson ever spent was at a thrift store just outside of Hawkins, Indiana, in the fall of 1983.

But he didn't know it until a year later.

The night before his Uncle Wayne disappeared for Thanksgiving - the man had worked overtime on every holiday he could, since he'd determined that Eddie could take care of himself - he slapped $40 on the kitchen table between their TV dinners.

"Wha'sis for?" Eddie asked through a mouthful of noodles.

"Don't talk with your mouth full."

Eddie swallowed and repeated, "What's this for?"

"Sales everywhere on Friday. Go get yourself a new coat, it's supposed to be a bad winter. And a pair of gloves that still has the damn fingers in them. Looks like I'm raisin' a hobo."

"Does not," Eddie mumbled as he swirled his fork around the pasta in his bowl. He liked his old coat… even though it was faded. And coming apart at the seams in a few places. And the cuffs were so frayed, every time he tried putting it on, his fingers got caught in the threads. And there was that hole from when he'd gotten caught on a chain-link fence during a high-speed getaway. But he'd patched it! And the gloves he'd cut the fingers out of were cool!

Wayne looked up from the piece of bread he was buttering to give his nephew a pointed stare.

"Fine," Eddie gave in. "Thanks, Uncle Wayne."

"Yeah, yeah." The old man's eyes twinkled as he waved off his nephew's thanks and took another bite.

Being a practical and frugal-minded teen, Eddie started the search for a coat at his favorite thrift store.

"Hey, kid," greeted George, the store's owner, who barely looked up from the battered Tupperware he was sticking price tags on. "Just got a pile of 8-tracks, haven't even priced 'em yet, you interested?"

"Business before pleasure," Eddie grinned at the gray-haired man. "I come seeking winter-wear."

"Winter-wear, huh? Good call. Heard it's gonna be a rough one."

"Yeah, that's what my uncle said, too," Eddie nodded.

"Check the back wall, might be somethin' back there that'll fit ya."

"Thanks!" Eddie carefully treaded through the crowded aisles of discarded treasures and found the wall of outerwear. He flipped through cheap plastic hangers holding neon windbreakers, matted fake fur, and load of crunchy raincoats that reeked of cheaper cigarettes than his. And then… he found it.

It was long, and black, and it was way too big for him.

But when he put it on and turned around, it swished around his calves and made him feel like a vampire in a cloak.

Eddie walked to the grubby mirror leaned up against the wall and checked himself out. It was whole. Almost new, even. It was warm, and he could easily fit it on over the lighter leather jacket and battle vest he wore year-round. He lifted his arms out, and the fabric rippled to his sides. He reached for the edges and pulled them away from his body, holding them out to see just how big the coat was.

It made him look like a bat.

He lifted the paper price tag attached to a button-hole by a string.

$10? Sold.

He twirled in the mirror, watching the fabric rustle and sway around him like a creature of the night. He held up an arm to cover his mouth, like he was hiding his fangs. Yep. This is it. This is the one.

He took it off and draped it over his shoulder, deciding to see if any cool t-shirts had arrived since last he'd looked. He sorted through the rack quickly. Nothing new, but you can't win 'em all.

Eddie returned to the front with the coat, and George laughed when he spotted it. "Kid, I could fit five of you in that thing."

"I like it," Eddie grinned. "It's roomy. How 'bout those 8-tracks?"

George heaved the box full of newly acquired 8-tracks onto the counter so Eddie could dig through them. It was mostly show tunes and Christmas music, but he enjoyed the hunt nonetheless.

"Nothin'?" George asked when Eddie looked up.

Eddie shook his head. "A Partridge Family Christmas isn't really my style."

George laughed and scribbled ".50 each" on the flap of the cardboard box. "Will you find a spot for that in the front window?"

"Yessir." Eddie picked up the hefty box and walked it to the front of the store. He moved some creepy dolls and nudged a red tricycle aside to make room, placed the box down with the price facing the window, and returned to the counter.

"Just the coat, then?"

"Yessir."

"$7."

"$7?" Doesn't the tag say $10?

"That thing takes up too much room. I can fit four more in its place."

Eddie grinned and passed his cash to the man behind the counter.

"I'd ask if you want a bag, but I don't think I have any I could fit that monstrosity in," George teased as he handed Eddie his change.

"Thanks, George," Eddie laughed and collected his coat. "See ya soon."

"Stay warm, kid."

The morning Wayne came home from his long and tiring holiday stretch, he found far more change than he'd expected on the table, two pairs of new gloves… and a hulking mass of black draped over the back of a chair.

Wayne picked up the coat and held it out in front of him, marveling at its size. Well, it was warm, didn't have any holes in it, and clearly hadn't cost an arm and a leg. He folded it and put it back where he found it, spotting a note underneath the cash.

"Coat was $7. It'll come in handy when I finally become a vampire."

Wayne snorted.

"Gloves were buy one, get one free. I can show you how to cut the fingers out of yours if you want to look as cool as me."

He rolled his eyes at the boy snoring down the hall, put down the note, and started getting ready for bed.

"Why is it so fucking cold? I'm freezing my balls off."

Eddie raised an eyebrow at his girlfriend of three months in the Hawkins High parking lot. Most of the sensible students went on inside when it was this cold, but his girl - who hated this place as much as he did - decided to stick it out with him outside until the bell rang and forced them in.

"Shut up, you know what I mean." Her eyes rolled and her teeth chattered.

He checked his watch - seven minutes before the bell - and took one last drag off his cigarette. He exhaled as he dropped the butt on the ground and put it out with a twist of his boot.

"Wanna go in?"

She shook her head and wrapped her arms around herself. Stubborn.

"C'mere, then." Eddie unbuttoned the massive black coat he'd bought the year before - now decorated with band buttons on the lapels - and held it open to her. Now it was her turn to raise an eyebrow. "Come on," he urged.

She looked at him suspiciously. Shit, was this weird? Was inviting your girl into a coat cocoon more of a six-month thing? And then she walked into him. He wrapped his arms and his coat around them both and felt her relax against him almost instantly. She slowly slid her arms around his middle and rested her head in the crook of his neck. Oh god, oh god, did she just nuzzle her cheek into him?!?

Eddie was glad she couldn't see the grin on his face. He tilted his head down and let his hair fall around his face so no one else could see it either. He leaned his cheek against her head and inhaled the scent of her, closing his eyes and wishing the bell would never ring so they could stay just like this forever.

What had George said the day he bought this coat? That he could fit five people in there?

Eddie was quite happy with just two.

[hogwartslegacyreactions2]

HLC REACT TO SEEING MC AGAIN AFTER SUMMER BREAK

MC steps down from the Hogwarts Express on the Hogsmeade Platform. The birds singing they're departure south as the cooling fall air blows the leaves from the trees. MC takes a deep breath, it was good to be back.

Through the crowd of students filing out of the train, MC spots a familiar face. With a smile as big as their excitement, they charge their favorite friend.

~~~

Sebastian Sallow: He smiles. The few months of summer felt like a liftime, and letters would never do MC justice. He plays coy at first, letting MC do all the running for a hug, but he can't keep a straight face. He's just as enthusiastic and even spins them around if he can lift them. He laughs, "Missed me?"

Ominis Gaunt: He doesn't see them coming, but still manages to dodge their attack. He smirks when he hears MC hit the ground with a satisfying thump. "I missed you as well, MC. Please, don't run on the train platform. It's quite dangerous." He reaches out his hand for them to take.

Anne Sallow: She's just as pumped to see MC. She nearly runs over a first year getting to MC and locking herself in their embrace. She keeps hugging them, longer than what would be considered "normal". The embrace softens and they stand together until the groundskeeper has to shout to get them moving with the other students.

Imelda Reyes: She doesn't see MC, but when they attempt to grab her from behind, she slips out of their grasp and pins them against the train with enough force to nearly dent the metal train car. Her angry glare turns to immediate shock and she steps back. "MC!? Wha- WHY WOULD YOU SNEAK UP ON ME LIKE THAT!?" She catches MC as they slump away from the train, the wind knocked out of them. "Um...welcome back?"

Natsai Onai: She locks eyes with MC and meets them stride for stride. Her smile widens with every step and she hugs them as tight as possible. "I have missed you so much. It felt like summer would never end." Her hug is strong and warm and was the best way to come back to Hogwarts.

Garreth Weasley: He's pulling jellied lacewings out of his hair when MC approaches. "Merlin's blooming beard! These things have far more adhesive properties than i- oh, hello MC! Have a nice summer?" He goes to wave but his hair sticks to his fingers and yanks with own head sideways. "OW!"

Leander Prewett: He's talking to another friend when MC pounces. He's nearly knocked to the ground but finds his balance. "WHO-!?...MC?" His surprise immediately melts to awkward bashfulness. "MC why are you- that is, what are-...uh..." He doesn't know what to do. He never expected MC to miss him this much.

Amit Thakkar: He's trying to reclose his trunk for the 15th time. It keeps popping open from the amount of textbooks in it. He catches MC out of the corner of his eye and turns to them just in time for their hug. "MC! It's so good to see you!" He quickly ends the hug to pull out a book and give it to them. "Here, I found this study done on Ancient Magic. It wasn't taken seriously at the time of its publishing, but considering what happened last year... Maybe you'll find it useful."

Everett Clopton: He feels a tap on his shoulder. He turns and no one is looking at him. He feels a tap on his other shoulder. "Wha..?" He does a nearly full turnaround when he finally catches MC's cloak running around behind him. He turns around in the other direction, sharply and catches them. "HA! Gotcha!" He shares a sincere hug with them and pulls out a few dung bombs. "So, who shall we prank first?"

Poppy Sweeting: She sees them coming and hides in the sea of black robes, using her height to her advantage. She manages to take MC by surprise and hug them first. Her hiding and hunting skills would make any Kneazle proud. "If you thought you'd get to me first, you had another thing coming. Missed you too. Have you been as worried as I have been over the beasts in The Room? Deek is an incredibly capable elf, there were quite a few-" She's silenced by MC hugging her tighter.

[shadowdaddies]

The Offering

Nesta x witch!Reader smut (AU)

A/N: I'm very much in the Witchy Girl Autumn spirit. This is an AU where Nesta is a Death Goddess; be warned it's a bit dark and twisty.

Warnings: mean domme!Nesta, fingering, oral f!receiving, tribbing, pussy spanking, breath play ish?, degradation, idk this is filthy just beware and minors dni or I'll hex you

Ice-coated leaves crunched beneath your bare feet, the remnants of snow a dulled sting against your skin. Unable to fight the shivers that wracked through you, you inwardly cursed yourself for being such a weak witch to be phased by something as little as the weather. 

The heavy black cloak draped over your body provided your only protection from the late December air as you found your small opening in the forest and knelt. Shaky hands, stiff from winter air clumsily pushed debris to the side, pulled kindling from your pack, carved the spell circle into the dirt.

Hands dirtied, breath cloudy in the crisp cold, you looked to the sky as the stars seemed to dim even without the light of the moon. The second full moon of this month - and the last of this year - would guarantee the strongest connection to the earth. As mother nature began anew, you would so draw from her power, praying to the goddesses for guidance and strength to begin anew as well.

Regretfully, you pulled the black shawl from where it draped across your neck, sucking in a deep breath at the chill that filled your bones when you laid the offering at your makeshift altar’s base beside the purple candles and fruits you’d set to honor the Crone. 

The symbol of new beginnings, wisdom, and serenity - your last hope was sacrament and supplication to the waning facet of the Triple Headed Goddess. As darkness enveloped the land and the wind grew eerily still, you breathed light into the candles with a whisper of a spell-cast. The kindling caught quickly, blazing to life with a ferocity that had you pulling off your cloak. 

Completely bare in the darkness with the spirits of goddesses and witches past watching curiously, you began to chant in the old language - your story, and your please for help. A soft smile graced your lips as the flames raged higher and higher, the only source of light in this Black Moon night, signaled that your voice had been heard.

As warm hope swelled in your chest, you closed your eyes, head thrown back in whole surrender to the powers that listened, only for that warmth to be brusquely ripped away. No gust of wind signaled the suffocation of the flames before you. It was the cold, a supernatural force that rattled your core which told you something was amiss. 

Eyes fluttering open, you gasped at the sight of the North Star shining brightly in the sky, where it had been missing only moments ago. 

“It’s snowing,” a sultry voice purred. You jumped at the sight of a woman - not a woman, but something... more - leaning against the pyre, seemingly unbothered by the simmering embers of extinguished flames against her exposed skin. 

Translucent silver fabric draped over the curves of her body, your eyes drinking her in as they trailed upwards. The thorned diadem that circled her braided hair seemed to mimic the silver flames that danced in her eyes, and you gasped at the realization of who was before you.

Lady Death read your expression with a taunting smirk, eyes glittering with amusement as she leapt from the altar with grace. You watched in awe as she picked up a pomegranate from the offerings, humming a cheery tune that seemed to betray the nature of her being. 

“It’s snowing,” she repeated, brow arched in question as Death’s gaze raked unabashedly over your naked body. “Aren’t you cold, little witch?”

The heat from her gaze sent a shock of confidence though you, your expression shifting to match her own. “I could ask the same of you, Lady Death,” you countered, accentuating your own, slow stare. You allowed yourself to fully revel in her form, the unexpected beauty of a goddess of death. 

Her long legs reflected the star’s light through the slits of wispy fabric in her gown, her breasts peaked from the cold, nearly as pale as the snow that had begun to drift upon the forest floor. 

A laugh echoed through the air, and your eyes snapped to hers to find that same taunting smile, lazy like a predator who’s caught its prey. “I am Death,” she purred, plunging a finger through the flesh of the pomegranate in her hand. “I don’t get cold, pet.”

Tipping the fruit to her lips, pomegranate juice flowed down, staining her lips a deep red and trailing down. Down her throat, the red liquid flowed slowly between her breasts and below the dress. 

You could feel heat rise to your cheeks, cunt fluttering at the mere sight of her, of everything you could and could not see. The fruit rolled from the goddess’s fingertips, dropping to the ground unceremoniously as she strolled toward where you still kneeled on the ground. 

A single finger curled under your chin, easily maneuvering you how she pleased. “Why did you summon me?” 

Heart thundered in your chest, eyes widening as you registered her question. “I-I didn’t mean to summon you,” you argued, voice pleading. “I was making an offering, hoping for a blessing from the Crone-“

“You meant to summon the Crone?” Death’s grip sharpened on your chin. 

Willing your heart to still, you forced yourself to look into her eyes, the depths of them swirling with dark power. “No, I meant to ask for wisdom. For blessings with a fresh start. My life-“ You choked slightly at the press of her hand at your throat, just hard enough to make your head feel lighter.

“You summoned me, you naive little witch.” She spat the last word like a curse, cupping your jaw as she jerked your head to face the circle behind her. “You summoned the Crone. Hecate, Coatlicue, Muerte, Meng Po, Lady Death.” The briefest pause. “Nesta.”

I go by many names, witch. And yet, you somehow ‘accidentally’ summoned me, for a mere blessing?” 

“W-well, yes. I just wanted to move on, my relationship-“

A sharp cackle cut off your rambling, the noise so unlike how the goddess had sounded earlier that you nearly jumped again. 

“You know, pet,” Nesta whispered, leaning down until her face was a breath away from your own. “I appear to those who call on me as what they truly desire. And you, my dear, see me as myself.” Drawing back slightly, the goddess’s hand moved to stroke your hair in a frighteningly soft manner.

“So tell me, pet, what do you truly desire?”

Eyes dropping down to the trail of sweet juice that stained Nesta’s skin, you could feel her smile as though she could read your thoughts. Lust overcame you like a force of its own, head cloudy as you heard yourself babble admissions of want. 

“Take it. Take what you need, little witch.” Nesta gasped as you lunged forward, pulling her to her knees along with you in the dirt. Lips instantly found hers, a clash of teeth and tongues as you licked every bit of remaining fruit from her mouth. 

Trailing down, you followed the path of temptation down her chest with a frantic need you had never felt before, pawing at the scraps of fabric that held Nesta’s dress in place. She laughed softly, the sound quickly turning to a moan as you took one of her nipples into your mouth. 

“Lay back,” you panted, Nesta’s amused lack of urgency only spurring on your own frustration. “Please,” you whined, helpless in your need to touch her, taste her. With a soft hum, she obliged you, laying back on the thin blanket of snow with a slowness that allowed you to strip her bare before she hit the earth.

Bringing your lips back to her chest, you licked and sucked dark bruises that drew sinful moans from the goddess. She reveled in the pain and pleasure, and with that knowledge you dragged your nails down her thighs, cleaning up the juice until you hovered above her glistening cunt.

Practically panting in your crazed state, you spread her legs to settle in when you felt yourself suddenly lifted. Death had easily flipped you onto your back, her hips nestled atop your own as she pinned your wrists into the dirt. 

“You look so cute like this. Needy, desperate enough to let me do anything to you,” she growled. So wrapped up in your lustful haze, you simply nodded along, weakly arching your hips for some sort of friction. “Don’t worry, I’ll give you what you asked for, baby,” Nesta cooed. Her hips lowered to meet yours, legs interlocked as she slowly ground her clit against your own.

Soft moans flowed from her lips like a melody, your own soft pants swallowed by her lips crashing against yours, her teeth sinking into your skin, lips sucking your tongue into her mouth as though she was trying to consume you. Nesta kept you pinned beneath her, using your body as she humped and rolled her growing slick against yours. 

You had never felt so helpless yet so powerful, lacking control but seizing pleasure. Your pussy clenched, lips gaping as you felt yourself begin to hit your orgasm when Nesta abruptly pulled away. “Not yet, pet,” she tsk’d at your fucked out confusion beneath her. 

“You need to take care of me.” Turning around, Nesta slid up your body, her sticky cunt perched over your mouth as her hands skated down your hips. “Show me that you deserve my blessing.”

Fully pressing her weight onto you, you moaned at the feeling of breathlessness, the taste of her dripping against your chin and lips as her hips began to rock. Taking advantage of Nesta releasing your wrists, you wrapped your arms around her thighs, pulling her closer to lick her clean, sucking and lightly nipping at her clit while you studied her reactions to every motion. 

You could tell she was close, doubling down your efforts when she suddenly thrust a finger inside of you, curling against your slick walls with embarrassing ease. She chuckled, adding to the humiliation when she added a second finger, twisting a curling with tortuous slowness that stole your focus from her pussy.

Nesta’s thumb found your clit, your hips bucking up at the sudden feeling. Before you could register what happened, Nesta was fully sitting on you, cutting off your air as a harsh smack landed on your pussy. Your scream was muffled by her cunt on your lips, but Nesta rolled against you in response, moaning at the vibrations.

Lifting up slightly, the goddess rolled a soothing hand over your puffy clit. “You take what I give you, pet. Now, stay still. I will not ask again.” She gave no warning before plunging her fingers inside of you once more, this time faster as her tongue licked a wet stripe down your clit. 

Your legs burned from keeping them still against the cold, hard ground, head swimming from how long you’d been held between Nesta’s thighs when she fluttered around your tongue. “Come, now,” she commanded, and your body obeyed. Shaking and moaning, you savored her release as she worked you through yours. 

Sitting up with an impossible grace, Nesta smirked at you over her shoulder, lips stained red and shining with your arousal as the North Star cast a glow over her silhouette. You lay, sore and exhausted, as the goddess crawled up your body, sitting her wet pussy on your stomach. She looked down at you with a sense of appraisal, hands lazily roaming every inch of your skin.

“I think I’ll have to keep you,” she hummed, thumb lazily dragging across your bottom lip.

“Keep me? What does that mean?” you squeaked out in a whisper, eagerness and fear eddying within your mind at the possibilities. 

Nesta only offered you a cryptic smile, thumb dipping into your mouth where you could still taste the pomegranate’s sweet nectar on her skin. Tongue flicking out, you wrapped your lips around her like second nature. “Good girl,” she muttered as the forest grew dark around you once more.

[breakdownsbuttlights]

What style of clothes do drift and ratchet wear?

I've written before about Drift's weaponized athleisure, and it is true that for a good long while, he tended to look like he was travelling to or from the gym with a sword on his back because, well, he was. And besides, he could make a wardrobe of sweats and ankle socks work in a way that only extremely pulchritudinous people can.

However, if we expand our frame of temporal reference beyond his Lost Light years, our vision of Drift's style changes. As Deadlock, he favoured black tactical gear accentuated with copious gold jewelry, as if a waterproof ninja had robbed a pawn shop. In his later years, as his punishing athletic routine gave way to teaching and writing, and his natural eccentricity braided with his aversion to cold, heavy capes and cloaks became de rigeur. His love of jewelry returned at this time in the form of intricate beads and amulets, and thus adorned, he entered his wizard phase,* which would last until his death.

*Sadly, Ratchet did not live to see the wizard phase in full effect.

Were it not for Drift, Ratchet would inhabit the same pair of jeans with the same brown leather belt and the same denim work shirt every day of his life. Thankfully, Drift buys his clothes, so he has several identical pairs of jeans to wear with his belt, as well as a few flannel shirts to mix in with the denim, and some cozy cardigans for Drift to steal when he takes a chill. The only suit he owns is the one he got married in, and he has worn it exactly once. Far from appearing slovenly, Ratchet's Levis uniform has a lived-in sexiness that suggests James Dean, if James Dean had been allowed to get old, develop love handles, and build cabinets in his spare time.

[petalsthefish]

Smutty Saturday: The Animagus Factor

Summary: After a long week as Prongs, James is struggling with the lasting side effects of being a hormonal teenager. Sharing his body with a rutting Stag certainly doesn’t help his case. As a result, his girlfriend gets really lucky thanks to her perfume that has been spiraling him into utter madness. 18+ smut fic. Click summary to read on A03 ♥️

James Potter was buying Lily Evans more perfume for Christmas.

She first started wearing the special edition ’Petals by Wonder Witch’ perfume in their fifth year. From the moment he caught a whiff, it seemed to haunt him, following him into his dreams with a persistence that bordered on maddening.

It wasn’t something she wore every day, though. Usually, he only encountered the intoxicating scent on special occasions—parties, Hogsmeade weekends, or other moments she deemed significant enough. Yet, there were times when the fragrance clung to her, trapped in the folds of her velvet cloak, or imprinted into her hair.

The lingering scent teased him relentlessly, lingering in his mind long after she had started to complain that she was almost out of it. James nearly had a heart attack when she mentioned it casually, because she was having trouble finding a new bottle.

“I only have a months worth left at best.”

It was a damn shame if he couldn’t get her more. He attributed it to her, only her. If another girl was wearing it he ached to go look for Lily instead.

It wasn’t entirely his fault that he was so attuned to the damn perfume. Becoming an Animagus had heightened all of his senses, his time spent as a stag sharpening his awareness of smells, both a blessing and a curse. He could pick up subtle scents others wouldn’t notice, and her perfume mixed with her regular scent? It was impossible to ignore.

It didn’t help that the fragrance was so uniquely her when it was on her and not another girl—a blend of hyacinth, black currant, and honeysuckle that opened with a sweet, heady decadence, before soft florals took over, grounded by a base of vetiver, patchouli, and musk. It suited her perfectly, effortlessly graceful and complex, even if she had no idea just how deeply it affected him. It drove him mad in the most frustrating way, and his girlfriend was blissfully unaware.

The full moons were the worst, though. When he shifted into his stag form to help Remus, his heightened senses became almost unbearable. He could pick up her perfume even when she wasn’t in the same room, the scent drifting through the castle like a ghost that refused to be exorcized.

November’s full moon had been particularly brutal. Three nights spent looking after Remus had left him in a state of sensory overload, his stag instincts heightened to the point where every little thing felt like too much. And her perfume—oh, her perfume—had been everywhere, swirling in his mind even though she hadn’t even been near him for hours.

By the third night, after Wormtail and Padfoot had fallen asleep in the Shrieking Shack to keep an eye on Remus, James was on edge. His muscles ached from the transformation, and his senses were frayed. But he couldn’t sleep, not with her scent, her body, still lingering in his thoughts.

He had a meeting with Professor McGonagall in the morning that he couldn’t miss—not even for Quidditch practice—so he had dragged himself back to Gryffindor Tower after the final night of the full moon, bone-tired and desperate for a shower.

It was nearly three in the morning when he finally made it inside to the shower. He stood beneath the scorching spray, letting the hot water burn away the exhaustion and the pain of three nights spent in his Animagus form. But no matter how much he scrubbed or how long he stood under the water, he couldn’t wash away the smell of her inside his head. It clung to him, as stubborn and intoxicating as ever, and he couldn’t help but wonder if she was in the bloody shower with him.

Wouldn’t that be a good, very wet, dream?

James, wrapped in nothing but a fluffy white towel slung low on his hips, padded barefoot across the cool floor of the dormitory. His body still ached from the strain of three nights in his stag form, and all he wanted was to collapse into bed and forget the world for a while. As he reached his four-poster bed, he tugged the curtains open, only to freeze in place. The second the fabric parted, that familiar, intoxicating scent washed over him—the one that had been tormenting him for three days.

Lily was in his bed.

She’d charmed a soft bubble of light to hover above her, casting a warm, golden glow across the bed. She was half-sitting, half-reclining against his pillows, with a book open in her grasp. His eyes quickly caught the title—it was one of those romance novels she swore she only read for "the interesting plots."

That was the first fact that made his mind go directly into the gutter.

For a moment, all James could do was stand there, water still dripping from his hair, his mind trying to catch up to the situation. The sight of her in his bed, surrounded by the familiar scent of her perfume mixing with his own scent, was enough to make his brain go into survival mode.

“What did I do to deserve you?” he said, more to himself than her sleeping form. She moved a tiny bit at the sound of his voice, her eyelashes fluttering against her pale cheeks.

The second thing James noticed was Lily’s position. She was slumped comfortably against the headboard, her body sinking into the pillows as if the bed had gently claimed her. Her head rested at an odd angle, and her soft, pink nightgown had ridden up around her thighs, exposing the smooth curve of her legs where the fabric had slipped in her sleep. The book she had been reading lay loosely in her hand, its pages slightly bent, resting precariously against her stomach. Though the way it was propped suggested she had tried to stay awake.

“Lily,” he murmured softly, stepping closer, not wanting to disturb her too suddenly. “Love?”

She stirred at the sound of his voice, adjusting her position slightly, but her eyes remained closed. Her lips curved into a sleepy, contented smile, and she sighed softly. “Welcome back,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, laced with the warmth of familiarity and comfort. Though she didn’t fully wake, her words carried the ease of someone who knew where they were.

The third and final straw was her nightgown. It was practically see through, the thin fabric barely hiding what was underneath. No bra. No underwear. James felt something in him, the animal side, go feral when his eyes zeroed in on her tits erected through the thin material. She had the best tits, hands down, and he hadn’t tasted one in an awfully long time.

Three days to be exact.

It was a travesty.

James crawled overtop of her gently, starting to kiss her pale neck. Lily’s left hand immediately lifted to loop her fingers through his curly black hair. She tugged twice as if to encourage him. He nuzzled Lily fondly before he licked up her neck sensually, one of his hands cupping her breast through the thin fabric.

“Mmmm,” she hummed greedily as her legs fell open for him to settle between.

“You like that, babe?” James grinned into her neck. He took a nice deep breath, smelling nothing but that fucking glorious perfume. Her breast was heavy in his hand and when he flicked a thumb over her rounded nipple, she practically purred for him.

“I love you.” She said the words sleepily, but she was only sincere. ”Don’t stop.”

He had always had a hard time controlling his hormones around her, but now? He rutted his hips up and into her without even meaning too. James’ cock was straining against the stupid towel. It was so uncomfortable, but he was drinking her in, tasting her skin, while he played with her breasts.

He alternated between each tit, flicking, playing, sucking, and teasing. Below James, Lily was really waking up, her body eagerly lifting her hips up to catch his for some more delectable friction. James smelled her arousal now and moaned into her skin as he realized that it was mixing with her heavenly perfume. Transitioning back to human with his heightened senses was almost unbearable when it came to quality with his girlfriend.

He just wanted to fuck her.

And not gently.

His tongue thrusting into her mouth with no warning might’ve been overkill. Her squeak was from surprise at first, but then her mouth opened willingly against his and the initial shock turned into need. Lily stroked her tongue against his, passing between their hot, open-mouthed kisses. the book between their bodies was annoying so he chucked it through the opening in the curtain.

He had poor aim. He heard the lamp break, and glass shatter. He tore his mouth off hers to try and see whose lamp it was. Lily didn’t even seem to notice. Both her fists were suddenly wound up in his hair, dragging his face back to kissing. He shut just eyes, letting himself fall into her lead.

She tasted so distinctly. Honey and mint exploded on his tongue, like the tea she drank religiously every morning. James’ hands tilted her head with ease to change the angle, just so he could deepen the stroke of his tongue. Her body rolled against his in response, leaving him to meet her for the next roll.

“How wet are you?” He teased between kisses.

“Not much.”

He opened his eyes to find her wearing the biggest shit grin. Liar. He made a small pass through her folds with two fingers and found out she was sopping. Lily breathed in deeply through her nose, her hands moving up his skull, scratching at some part of his brain that was instantly pleased. He could feel the half moon of her nails digging into his skin. The desperation she was showing him only made James’ cock throb harder.

He pressed her back into the pillows and the headboard hit the wall with a resounding thump. She laughed as he used his free hand to grab onto her red hair in half a ponytail. He sank two fingers inside of her while he simultaneously tilted her head back. She squeaked, like a little mouse, her hips moving in a jerky fashion.

“I want you to keep making those sounds.” He said, “I like to hear you.”

He licked up the column of her throat first and then sucked generously at her pulse point where the smell of that perfume was the most insistent. She was hot now, and her neck tasted salty from her sweat, nearly like tasting her cunt whenever he ate her out.

“More,” she urged, “harder.”

His third finger slid in so nicely. “You take three fingers so well, just like you take my cock.” In and out and in and out, James went.

She was wiggling underneath him, her breath now coming out in short sharp bursts. He stopped marking up her neck so he could lean back and watch her. She was red in the face, her mouth open wide with each pant of pleasure. James curled his fingers. experimenting. Lily gasped but James didn’t do it again. He pulled out, lifting his hand between them in a three fingered salute.

His fingers shined with her arousal. James waited for her eyes to open, refusing to do anything else until they did. Seconds later, one green iris appeared. Then another. The light from her charmed bubble bounced off her to create dark lines and curves. James offered her his fingers to Lily and was rewarded when her mouth opened.

James praised her happily, as she swirled her tongue around him before clamping her lips shut. “You taste that? You like it?” Her hum of appreciation vibrated from his fingers in her mouth straight down to his balls. “I need that pretty mouth of yours everywhere, Lily.”

One of her hands dropped from his hair and James felt her nails trail down her chest. She teased his nipple with a little circle, then made a circle around his belly button. He wasn’t prepared for her palming his hard length through the towel. James hissed and tugged his fingers from her mouth so that he could grab the headboard for leverage.

“James,” her voice was so messy and so needy. “Oh god, James, you’re so hard for me.”

“Do you want it, baby?” He asked, staring deep into her green eyes. “Take it. Touch me.”

“Am I dreaming?” She asked hazily, sliding her hand between the folds of the towel until he felt her hand take ahold of his cock.

James chuckled but it turned into a pleasured cry when her thumb flicked over his weeping tip. “Oh damn, I hope not.”

He was pleased to see he’d marked her neck up efficiently with his time. When his eyes met hers, he noticed her pupils were blown out, and her lips were flushed with red. She raked her one hand back through his hair, just as she started jacking him off with the other. Her movements were making James’ chest rumble with pleasure. His hips bucked into her grasp, the need for more attention drowning out his self respect.

James let go of the headboard, using both hands to keep himself balanced overtop of her. His nose dropped onto her temple and he closed his eyes. He sucked in a breath again and was immediately drowning in her honeysuckle sent.

“Lily,” he said, “have I ever told you that your perfume has been haunting me every night since the day you started wearing it in fifth year?”

He struggled not to complain when she stopped touching his dick. “My perfume?”

“Yes,” he leaned forward to take another sniff, “it smells so good, so fucking nice. I smell it in my sleep, babe, when I’m dreaming about fucking you. When I’m in class, I have to hold my breath sometimes, so I don’t spend all class with my face buried into your neck…your hair…your beautiful breasts…”

“I like your smell.” He opened his eyes to find her smiling up at him. “You smell like fresh soap, the forest after it rains, and cinnamon.”

“Hyacinth.” He blurted out, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“What?” She tilted her head.

“Hyacinth and black current—a musty smell. Maybe from your books?” He kissed her cheek. “I do love how you read smutty books.” He kissed her nose. “Oh, and there’s always honeysuckle, like the ones you pull off the vines in herbology to eat when you think no one is looking.”

He moaned as he described it, all while he basically humped her through her nightgown, desperate for sex. Desperate for her. His cock persistently pressed into her curves. Lily arched her hips up as her legs fell open wider, allowing him to press himself insistently into her. She was burning for him between her thighs. Even the towel couldn’t hide the fact.

Her eyes closed again when he made a second pass. “Oh. Oh my god, you’re so horny! Fuck.”

He rode into her with specific purpose, knowing the only thing between them was really the towel now covered in his pre-cum and likely her slick as well. He loved being on top, loved making her writhe underneath him in pleasure. Her entire body was covered by his, and with each rut into her core, Lily grasped at him more.

Sweat was mixing between them now. James pressed his forehead to hers as he kept dry humping her like a fucking teenager. Lily’s breathy and pitchy moans pleased him even more. She was getting off from it as well.

“I’m gonna—“ she couldn’t even finish a sentence because her body was too busy contracting as she clearly slipped into a small orgasm from their movements. He didn’t stop grinding into her the entire time. “Dear God, James!”

“I’ve been a bloody deer for three days,” his voice was gruff as he lifted the edge of her nightgown while he kept pressing his hard cock where he could. “All I want to do is fuck you. Hard. Let me tell you how divine you smell, baby. How sexy you look in my bed. How hot you look when you finish.”

Their mouths slammed back together and James didn’t stop Lily as she frantically undid the tie to his towel, pushing it down his ass with her hands until he could kick it to the side entirely. Her hands caressed him from his shoulders down to his thighs, guiding him so his cock slipped closer to her center between her thighs.

James bit her lower lip and tugged, only letting go so that he could leaned back and watch the way her lips reached for him. He teased her, light kisses, until her growl of frustration made him laugh wickedly.

“Fuck me,” she gasped into his mouth, “holy fuck, James! Just fuck me! You’re killing me tonight.”

James had to agree as he grabbed himself so he could position his cock right where they wanted it. He made a motion with his hips swinging forward, his breath catching in his throat as the head slipped into her. She was so ready, so wet, that he slid right in. Lily felt like heaven, but her little sounds of pleasure were even more enticing as he filled her up with his cock.

James stopped kissing her again just to take in the way she looked under him. She was happy to sheath his whole dick, her legs dropping wider and knees bending further. Once he was fully inserted up to his balls, James stayed there, loving the odd sensation of it. He felt Lily constricting around him, her soft and hot pussy responding so well to his thick cock. He moved again, sliding against those welcome walls almost all the way out, before he went deeper with a more pointed motion.

“Oh.” Her gasp was one of pleasurable surprise, and then she got greedy.

James moaned at the feeling of Lily fluttering herself around his cock. She was doing it on purpose, clenching herself around him. Lily’s body was practically begging for another orgasm from him. He had only made her come with penetration once, he hoped he could do it again tonight. He grunted loudly as he sped up, rutting into her with such intensity that the bed underneath them was slamming into the wall by his headboard.

This was why they couldn’t have penetrative sex around anyone, and now, especially not after a full moon. His breathy pants were nothing short of animalistic. James fucked her harder and harder, until she was trying to meet every thrust, desperate for the feeling of coming undone.

“James.” She whimpered his name close to his ear like she was begging.

That was the final spark he needed. The world could’ve been burning as James met the brunt of his orgasm, unable to hold on with how long he’d already had with her. James proudly pumped his cum deep inside her with each shuddering thrust. The relief of release was so satisfying that his arms were shaking, but he knew it wasn’t over. He already wanted her again and he’d please her until he could go another round.

“Don’t worry sweetheart, I’m not done with you.” He promised as Lily continued to push herself up into him, desperate for that feeling of him thrusting deep again.

James didn’t waste a second before he was pulling out of her. He grinned as he started crawling backwards, until he was face to clit with her bright pink folds. In seconds, James had his tongue licking their shared desire from her wet skin. Lily lurched up straight, one of her hands back in his hair so that she could guide him.

James teased her clit with ease, attending to it with the tip of his tongue. He decided to try something he’d read over her shoulder in one of her smutty books. His nose pressed into her fine curls as his mouth covered her and then he sucked on her clit. He was rewarded for that action when her thighs squeezed at his head.

“James, yes! Yes, James! Just like that—oh God—you’re so fucking hot tonight. Oh God, I’m so—!”

She was praising him as her hips lifted in response to his suckling. James placed a hand on her outer hip, keeping her down as he continued until she was so close that she was begging with nothing but his name, over and over.

James!

James!

James!

It rang in his ears like bells but she still didn’t crash. They’d built up stamina over the last few months. Tonight it worked in his favor because he just wanted to keep hearing Lily sing his name.

James reached up with a hand so he could fondle her breasts, still covered by her nightgown. He ripped the shoulder down without even looking up. When he pushed the fabric over her heavy breast and latched his finger and thumb onto her perky nipple, Lily whimpered so loudly it sounded like she was about to cry.

“Good girl,” he said as he started wiggling his way back up to kiss her beautiful tits. “I want to put one of your breasts in my mouth, babe, so touch yourself for me.”

His mouth replaced his hand a second later and James’s tongue swirled around her lovely tit. Her nipple was rock hard, she was so stimulated, so perfect. Lily did as he had asked, absolutely spectacularly, might he add. He could feel her wrist against his side, twitching with the motions of a person fingering themselves.

“You know,” she laughed breathlessly, “the more I have sex with you, the more I think my smutty books can’t even get me off anymore.”

“That’s because you want me to be the one to fuck you,” he said, “don’t you?”

“Yes,” she replied, “I only want you.”

James was growing hard again. He could feel his gut clenching with anticipation but tried to ignore it. He wanted to make this experience last as long as possible. He’d go to the meeting with McGonagall in a few hours looking like hell, but this was so worth the loss of sleep.

“Mmmm—I love you. I love you. Oh, I’m so close, baby! So close.”

Encouraged by her talking, James kept flicking and swirling Lily’s nipple with his tongue. He was not giving up until he heard her cry out sharply and her hand between them stopped moving. It happened seconds later. James kissed down the plane of her chest, smug as he heard her catching her breath, then moved back up to her mouth.

Lily was spent, but he’d just gotten a second wind. James purposefully rubbed his dick on the inside of her thigh as Lily swore his name between grazed lips. He grunted into her tongue heavy kisses, feeling his balls grow heavy with the need to release again.

He wasn’t going to last much longer either.

James sat up and Lily protested until he was straddling on her knees. He stared down at her, pumping a fist in quick shirt bursts. Lily pushed at his hips a bit and he let up, watching as she rolled over. He kept jacking off his cock as he moved to the side, expecting to finish himself off alone. Instead, Lily lifted herself into a crouching position, her elbows digging into the pillows. Her perfect round arse was sticking straight up in the air.

“Please.” She begged, her voice muffled by his pillows.

Fucking hell, she’d be the death of him.

James stopped touching himself so he could come up behind her and grab her soft hips. His tip brushed against Lily’s backside, waiting for permission. He was rewarded when she ground her hips up in response. James pressed forward, and his cock slid into her for a second time that night.

James’s nose fell against Lily’s freckled shoulder blade. He bit down on the skin the second he smelled that blasted perfume, this time from the hair that hadn’t swung forward with his thrusts yet. She arched when she felt his teeth against her skin, like it pleased her to feet the sharp bite of his canines into her soft flesh.

“Aren’t you a vegetarian?” She huffed, but her tone was pleased.

“You smell so good. You taste good, too.”

“Just don’t break the skin, vampi—eye—ah. Oh my god, James!”

He’d thrusted eagerly and she cried out as he hit her right where he knew would make her body practically envelope his cock so tightly he’d be forced to stifle a gasp into her skin. He dragged his teeth (carefully) down her spine as he did it again. She hid a pleased cry in the pillows while he sat up to change the angle.

”You want me to come inside you again, baby?” He rutted his hips faster, their skin slapping together roughly. “You want my cum to fill you up? You want to make me come, don’t you?”

“Oh, yes,” she agreed, “oh, fuck yes!”

James was so mad with lust that he fisted her hair. Instead of being scared, because he’d never been that rough with her before, she leaned her neck back to let him take more if he wanted. James brought the ends of her fiery red locks to his nose, breathing in the smell that was so Lily. So fucking tempting. And all his.

Hyacinth.

Black current.

Honeysuckle.

James knew she must be touching herself again. Her walls were squeezing at his dick as if trying to suction him into place. Two more thrusts was all it took. James felt his balls tighten first and then he coated her insides with his primal satisfaction. He wanted himself on her outside too, so that she’d smell like that glorious perfume mixed with his own aroused scent. James pulled out, and without asking, let some of his cum shoot directly onto her pretty arching backside.

“James!” She complained, the second she felt the warm liquid start sliding down her spine.

“Oh, but babe,” he groaned as he watched the white liquid paint her freckled skin, “I’m so sorry. You just look so good for me. I wish you could see how fucking perfect you look.”

“Next time, ask.”

Could next time be right now? “I promise, baby.”

He coaxed her to sit back into her knees. His chest pressed into her back, his cum sticking to him as well. James reached around to play with her breasts and kiss her neck, trying to sooth her back into a steady rhythm.

“Are you too overstimulated?” He asked. She shook her head, no. “I’ll help you, then.”

Lily fell into his hold more and rode her own fingers. He watched greedily from behind, smelling her perfume, hearing her wet cunt slosh every time her fingers moved. He praised Lily again, his tongue tracing the outside of her ear until she pressed her free hand over her mouth to hide the muffled scream that let lose once she felt the tension break.

It took them both more than a few minutes to move again. James was pretty certain he was going to regret all this activity tomorrow when the transfiguration muscle pain flared. It was worth it though. She was worth it. James kissed Lily over and over as he cleaned her up using the previously discarded towel he’d walked in with.

Lily laid back once he was done cleaning up, letting him massage her legs, looking utterly angelic and happy. “I might just wait for you after every full moon.” She smirked down at him, her brow arching. “What even brought this on? I expected you to be too tired to even realize I was here.”

James grinned back as he worked on a spot by her knee. “How do I put this delicately?”

She snorted, kicking at him slightly. “Nothing about you is delicate. Ever.”

James lifted her knee so he could press a kiss to it before admitting, “Prongs—my animal form—is a deer.”

“I know that, dear.” She teased, sitting up so that they were eye to eye again. “What does that have to do with tonight’s behavior?”

“It makes my senses become more heightened,” he explained, “smell, touch, hearing…and…hormones.”

Something mischievous sparkled in her green eyes. “So the animal side of you is what made you act like a fucking barbarian tonight?”

He had the decency to look a little ashamed. “Yeah.”

He was worried she’d ask him to never do this again, but her hand cupped his cheek, making him keep eye contact.

“Listen to me very carefully. On the next full moon,” she said slyly, “I will be here, with you, for the holidays. I want you to come find me after you’re done being Prongs. I want you to look for me, using those heightened senses of yours. I’ll wear my perfume, a cloak, and nothing else. Not even this nightgown. And if you find me, wherever I may be, I want you to fuck me so hard I won’t be able to look at you without blushing the rest of the week.”

He was buying her whatever she wanted for Christmas.

[petitemistletoe]

S.O.S. She's In Disguise

Part Two to She-Wolf

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Reader, Sirius Black x Remus Lupin, Potter!Reader

Warnings: smut and angst!

Word Count: 4.8K+

A/N: I had to do a deep dive into Beauxbatons and all I can say is I wish we got more Beauxabatons and Durmstrang content because they're both phenomenally interesting. Also the James Potter in She-wolf absolutely eats up the James Potter in Grudges! There were a few of you who asked to be tagged that you could not be :( so sorry! If I left you off the taglist please let me know :)

“What do we do?” Peter asked, wringing his hands. 

“You two get Remus back to the shack. I’ll try to carry her to the hospital wing.” James put on his authoritative voice but everyone could tell he was incredibly rattled. 

“Do you want one of us to help you?” Sirius asked but James shook his head, picking you up gently and hoisting you over his shoulder. 

“No, no. Take the cloak and go. Madame Pomfrey should be down here any minute you have to go now.” James was not able to hide the quiver in his voice. 

“Okay. We’ll see you soon.” Peter nodded at James before helping Sirius support Remus back to the shrieking shack. 

You woke up as James was setting you down on a bed in the hospital wing. 

“Don’t try to talk, it’s alright,” James said when he saw your eyes widen, “Madame Pomfrey will be back in a few minutes. I filled her in on everything but you need your rest.”

“You know?” You croaked, accepting the water from James and soothing your scratchy throat. 

“That you’re a werewolf? Yes, I worked that out what you stumbled out of the woods.” James pursed his lips and you could tell that he was trying to hard to keep his voice level. 

“I imagine you have some questions, then.” You said, trying to keep your own voice steady as well. 

“Yes. But you can rest first if you’d like.” 

“No, no. We can talk now.” You sat up straight in the hospital bed and smoothed out the blanket that was laid out in front of you. 

“When exactly did you become a werewolf?” He asked. His nails were digging into the palms of his hands. 

“Last year. Beauxbatons has a requirement for outdoor education for all wizards and witches and I’d chosen the option of solo fitness survival. I failed the first round of solo fitness survival so I apparated to a random forest last summer to practice. I did not pay attention and it was during the full moon and I was attacked by one of Greyback’s pack. I barely survived and when I apparated back home I splinched myself pretty badly. My parents knew they couldn’t take me to a hospital because I would be forced to register myself immediately. My mum called your mum and she was able to stitch me up and then was sworn to secrecy. The medi-witch at Beauxbatons tried to help me as much as she could but she’s never dealt with this kind of thing before. Then your mum mentioned in an owl a few months ago that Madame Pomfrey had some experience in this field so I went down yesterday to try to find more information but there were too many people in the hospital wing so we did not have any privacy. I ran into the woods last night and thought that I’d be able to pull myself into the hospital wing in the morning and get Madame Pomfrey’s help then. I knew that Madame Pomfrey’s experience must have come from a student who was also in hiding but I had no idea it was going to be your friend Remus. I also still don’t understand why you were there?” You took a deep breath as you realized you hadn’t taken one breath the entire time you were speaking. 

“Oh fuck, I’m so sorry,” James looked deflated as he put his hand on top of yours, “I was there because Sirius, Peter, and I are all animagi. We became unregistered animagi to help Remus during the moons. They make his moons easier, having other animals to run around with  and he doesn’t have to be stuck in the shack.” 

“Oh James,” you bit your lower lip hard to stop yourself from tearing up, “Remus is so lucky to have friends like you. The moons can be so terribly lonely.” 

“I wish you didn’t have to go through this,” James said, finally breaking. He laid his head in your lap and sobbed. You just ran your fingers gently through James’ hair until his sobs were reduced to a few sniffles. The curtains were pulled open and Madame Pomfrey stepped in, pulling the curtain closed behind her. 

“How are you feeling, Ms. Potter?” She replenished your water and ran her hand soothingly over your forehead. 

“Tired.” You said with a small smile. 

“Of course you are. Take this sleeping draught. Your parents will be coming by later and meeting with Professor Dumbledore. Will you be staying, Mr. Potter?”

“Yes I will. Is Remus awake?” James asked, standing and shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans. 

“Yes, he is. He’s supposed to rest so make it quick, Mr. Potter.” Madame Pomfrey left after she made you drink the rest of the draught and you drifted off to sleep. 

James made his way over to Remus’ bed where he was engaged in rapid conversation with Sirius. He was only able to catch the tail end of what Sirius was saying, 

“-That explains why you were so attracted to her. It was the wolf instincts and-”

“James!” Remus cut off Sirius off when James pulled the curtain back. 

“Alright Moony?” James asked, taking the seat next to Sirius’. 

“Yeah, yeah. How’s your cousin?” Remus asked.

“She’s alright. My aunt and uncle are coming to meet with Dumbledore but neither of us know what it’s specifically about.” James sighed. 

“Are you okay?” Sirius asked. 

“I just…I don’t get why she didn’t tell me. We tell each other everything.” James shook his head. 

“You didn’t tell her about being an animagus.” Remus offered. 

“That was different.” James thought about it for a moment before looking back at Sirius and Remus, “You two were talking about attraction and wolf instincts. What the hell is that about?”

“I think it’s probably time for me to go back to bed!” Remus said quickly. 

“Alright. I’m going to see if I can catch my aunt and uncle before they see Dumbledore.” James said with a sigh and left Remus and Sirius on their own. 

“That was close.” Sirius said once he heard the door to the hospital wing shut behind James. 

“Definitely.” Remus nodded. 

“How are you feeling?” Sirius asked. 

“Honestly, the best I’ve felt in a long time. The moon was invigorating rather than draining.” Remus sighed again, thinking about the uncomfortable, awkward implications. 

“You should talk to her.” Sirius suggested.

“Yeah…maybe I will.” Remus said with a small shake of his head. 

✰

When you woke up again, your father was leaning over you, rubbing your forehead gently. 

“Hey,” you said softly, blinking the sleep out of your eyes. 

“Hello darling, I’ve heard that you’ve had quite a night.” Your father said with a sad smile on his face.

“That’s an understatement.” You said, weakly. You pushed yourself up on your shoulders and saw your mother, your Aunt Effie, your Uncle Fleamont, and James were all sitting around your bedside. 

“Have some more water, love,” Aunt Effie poured a goblet for you and held it up to your lips. You drank gratefully, not realizing until the present moment how dehydrated you had been. 

“Professor Dumbledore will be coming down in a few moments to talk. I’m not exactly sure what he wants but I’m sure he will help with the situation. James shared with us that you know about Remus. Your parents said you do not want to register with the ministry, is that correct?” Uncle Fleamont pushed his glasses up further up his nose as he explained the situation. 

“Yeah,” you nodded, “my life will be ruined if I register. I…I don’t want that.” 

“Of course. Then we’ll make that clear to Albus.” Uncle Fleamont said it as if it were the simplest thing in the world. 

“Thank you,” you croaked, “for all being here. I…I don’t know what I do without all of you.”

“We’re your family.” James said, grabbing your hand and giving it a tight squeeze. You nodded and accepted another large gulp of water as you heard the door to the hospital wing open and the deep, calm voice of Albus Dumbledore say,

“Thank you, Poppy. Just that bed over there?” 

“Yes sir,” Madame Pomfrey replied. Your mother stood and pulled the curtain back for Professor Dumbledore to enter. 

“Hello Mrs. Potter, Mr. Potter. Oh, Euphemia, Fleamont, I was not expecting to see you two as well.” Professor Dumbledore bowed his head respectfully as he entered the room. 

“Hello Albus. We thought it best that we come to help with our niece at this time.” Uncle Fleamont said, standing to shake hands with Professor Dumbledore. 

“Of course. Ms. Potter I trust that you are recuperating well.” Professor Dumbledore set his bright blue eyes on you. You nodded. 

“Yes, Professor Dumbledore. I want to apologize for any alarm I may have caused.” You responded. 

“Yes that is something I would like to discuss. I have no problems with the young Ms. Potter finishing her schooling here at Hogwarts where Madame Pomfrey can better care for her. However, Ms. Potter, I am sure you are aware of the ministry’s registry for werewolves.” Dumbledore said. He was speaking perfectly calmly but there was something off-putting about his statement. 

“She will not be registering. Just like Remus.” James said, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. 

“Is that how you feel, Ms. Potter?” Dumbledore asked. 

“Yes sir.” You nodded. 

“I would be remiss if I did not highlight how seriously the ministry takes such affairs. There are severe implications that are in place for witches and wizards who fail to register.” Dumbledore said, placing one of his hands on your bedpost. 

“She is quite sure of her decision, Albus.” Uncle Fleamont stood so he was eye-level with Dumbeldore. 

“You know as well as I do, Albus, that the registry is discriminatory and the way the ministry has treated magical creatures has been nothing short of barbaric.” Aunt Effie said, placing her hand over yours and giving it a light squeeze. 

“I will have Professor McGonagall bring the sorting hat over and then we will set up your schedule and accommodations. I understand, Ms. Potter, that you were Head Girl of your house at Beauxbatons?” Dumbledore diplomatically changed the subject. 

“Yes sir, I was. I was also in Ombrelune house at Beauxbatons. I believe the closest house to it would be Gryffindor.” You said, scratching the back of your neck awkwardly. 

“Ah, Ms. Potter, the houses of Beauxbatons do not directly correspond to the houses of Hogwarts. I will arrange with your future head of house for a prefect position for you as we already have a head boy and girl. If you would be more comfortable, you may stay in James’s dorm this evening, as I understand it has been quite a weekend for you.” Dumbledore left without saying much else. Your parents and aunt and uncle wanted to stay for longer but you sent them off, promising to write and telling them not to worry, the Christmas holiday was just two months away. 

Remus, Sirius, and Peter joined you and James as you waited for Professor McGonagall to come back with the sorting hat. 

“Here,” Peter said, thrusting a wrapped package into your hand, “it’s a chocolate frog. Moony always says they make him feel better after a moon.”

“Yeah,” Remus nodded, munching on his own chocolate frog, “chocolate makes everything better.”

“Thanks Peter,” you said, patting the boy’s hand lightly, “so I take it you forgive me for the broomstick incident.”

“Never! I don’t care if you are a werewolf.” Peter laughed. But the word hung heavy in the air. Werewolf. You looked down at your lap.

“Nice going Wormtail.” Sirius elbowed Peter hard in the stomach.

“Hey! I didn’t mean anything by it.” Peter grabbed at his stomach and glared at Sirius.

“No, you never mean anything. Do you?” Sirius retorted. 

“Tell us more about the houses at Beauxbatons.” James interjected, sending a look Peter and Sirius’ way. 

“There are three houses: Papillionlise, Ombrelune, and Bellefeuille. Papillionlise is the house of kindness and good nature. Ombrelune, my house, is the house of ambition, curiosity, and logic. Bellefeuille is the house of bravery, sensitivity, and compassion. Everyone wants to be in Ombrelune and we have a little rivalry with the Bellefeuille students.” You explained. 

“Ambition and logic?” Remus asked, “That sounds like Slytherin.”

“There’s no way that you’ll be sorted into Slytherin. She’s a Potter. All Potters are Gryffindors.” James said with a sense of finality in his voice. 

“There’s nothing wrong with being sorted into Slytherin.” A new voice said. It was Lily, carrying a tray of sandwiches that must have been from dinner. 

“Cheers Lily.” You said with a grin, practically shoving an entire sandwich into your mouth. 

“What are you doing in the hospital wing?” Lily asked, “Remus, you’re out of bed early. Feeling better already?” 

“Uh, yeah, well…you see…” James was searching for an excuse but you just shrugged. 

“I’m a werewolf.”

“Oh!” Lily almost dropped the tray.

“You can’t just go telling anyone.” James scolded you.

“Lily isn’t anyone. She knows about Remus and I didn’t want to be a secret between you and your girlfriend, James. Besides, you’ve gone on and on about how smart Lily is, she would have figured it out herself eventually. Lily, I trust you won’t tell anyone?”

“No, no. Of course not. Are you all right?” Lily asked, immediately sitting at your bedside and grabbing a cool soaked rag and placing it on your forehead. 

“I’m fine, thank you.” You said with a small smile. You filled Lily in on your new attendance at Hogwarts.

“Like I said before, there’s nothing wrong with being sorted into Slytherin. One of my good friends is a Slytherin and so is Sirius’s entire family!” Lily said, glaring at James. 

“That’s not much of an argument.” Sirius rolled his eyes. 

“I can’t protect her if she’s sorted into Slytherin, Lily.” James narrowed his eyes, “Those Slytherins are bigots and you know it.”

“It’s not very safe for Remus in Gryffindor either. The way werewolves are seen in the eyes of the wizarding world is not only a Slytherin problem.” Lily crossed her arms over her chest.

“Respectfully, Evans, stay out of this.” James said, coolly. 

“There are many fine and brave wizards in Slytherin. Don’t listen to James.” Lily told you, 

“If this is about Snivellus again, so help me Evans.”

“Fine,” Lily stormed out of the hospital wing. 

“So much for coming between you and Lily.” You said sheepishly. James was still seething with anger but he took a deep breath and said, 

“I’m going to go for quick walk. Sirius, call me when McGonagall gets here.” James stormed out of the hospital wing as well.

“Is Slytherin really that bad?” You asked Sirius, Remus, and Peter.

“A lot of dark wizards, most of my family included, come from Slytherin.” Sirius said with a sigh. 

“That’s all? A lot of dark wizards come from Ombrelune too but so do a lot of amazing wizards. I can’t believe James is being so silly about this.” You shook your head. 

“I think he just wants to protect you.” Peter said, obviously uncomfortable at the idea of speaking ill about his best friend, “you’ve always been like a baby sister to him and he already hates that Sirius and Lily have strained relationships with Slytherins. I don’t think he wants anything like that for you two.”

“All that is premature, anyway.” You said with a head shake, “I haven’t been sorted yet.” As if on cue, you all heard the voice of Professor McGonagall in the corridor. Sirius whipped out his pocket mirror, one that you recognized from your family vault, and whispered for James to come back. 

“Ms. Potter, I’d like to introduce myself. My name is Minvera McGonagall, professor of Transfiguration, head of Gryffindor house, and deputy headmistresses of Hogwarts. Do you have any questions before you are sorted?”

“No Professor.” You said, taking a deep breath as James made his way back into the hospital room. Professor Dumbledore placed the hat on your head. 

“Another Potter,” the sorting hat murmured in your ear, “in all of my years I have only ever sorted Potters into Gryffindor. But you, you are not like the other Potters. You are ambitious. You are curious, always seeking more and more. You have secrets, more than most of your contemporaries. You seem to be the perfect fit for Ombrelune. You know the origin of the name Ombrelune, don’t you?” 

“Uh…no I don’t.” You said, fiddling with your fingers. 

“Ombre is shadow and lune is moon. You hail from the house of shadow moons. Quite ironic, isn’t it? Considering your currently monthly situation,” the hat chuckled, “alas there is no equivalent to Ombrelune so I will have to say SLYTHERIN!”

There was an eery silence that broke out over the room. Professor McGonagall took the hat back and cleared her throat. 

“Congratulations, Ms. Potter, on being sorted into the fine house of Slytherin. Your head of house is Professor Slughorn. I believe tomorrow during breakfast you will be assigned a companion from your house that will show you everything you need. I’ve been told that you’ll spend this evening with your cousin?”

“Yes, Professor McGonagall, that’s correct. She’ll spend the night in my dormitory.” James said quietly. 

“Alright then, have a pleasant evening.” And with that Professor McGonagall marched away. 

“So the conversation is no longer premature.” You said with a weak chuckle, “I’m a Slytherin.”

“It really isn’t that bad James,” Remus said. 

“I can’t protect you in Slytherin.” James said with a sad shake of his head. 

“I can take care of myself, thank you very much.” You crossed your arms over your chest.

“It’s been a long night. Why don’t we go to bed and revisit things in the morning?” Peter offered. You all nodded and headed back up to the dormitories for bed. 

Remus had a restless night. The moon was over but he still felt on edge around you. Of course, things made a lot more sense now but he didn’t want to make an advance for a number of reasons. He didn’t want to burden you, he wasn’t really sure of what he was feeling himself, and he did not want to bring down the wrath of James Potter. It must have been four in the morning when he turned again from his side to his stomach to his other side and then settled on his back. 

“Alright Moony,” Sirius’s sleep laced voice cut through Remus’s thoughts, “what the hell is going on?”

“Can’t sleep.” Remus sighed.

“I figured,” Sirius propped himself up and glared at Remus, “considering you’ve woken me up at every toss and turn.” 

“Sorry. I’ll go downstairs and have a smoke.” Remus pressed a kiss to Sirius’s forehead before making his way downstairs. He wasn’t expecting to see you leaning at one of the open windowsills, angling your blunt out the window so the pungent smoke made its way outside instead of back in the common room. Remus cleared his throat and you turned at the noise, giving Remus a small smile. 

“Hey Remus. What are you doing up?” You asked. 

“Couldn’t sleep.” Remus said with a sigh. 

“Me either.” You handed Remus to joint, which he took gratefully, “Is it always this hard? This soon after a moon?”

“I usually sleep better after a moon, because I’m so exhausted from it. Having you here, though, it’s been different.” Remus realized that he had smoked half of your joint without thinking. He handed it back to you with a sheepish smile. 

“Me too. It’s been easier, having you with me. I guess that was the goal, though, right? Being able to connect with others who could understand my…being a werewolf.”

“Yeah, it can be lonely sometimes. I’m glad to have you here with me.” Remus realized that your eyes had been trained on him the entire time he spoke. You closed the distance between the two of you, crawling into his lap and pressing your lips against his. 

Remus was caught off guard at first but then he kissed you back just as hard. It was intense, hungry, teeth clashing against teeth. You kissed down Remus’s neck and bit along the way, sinking your teeth into the soft flesh. Remus winced at the pain from your sharp teeth but he couldn’t bring himself to tell you to stop because he loved the feeling. You pulled his thick jumper off and ran your nails down the front of his chest, tracing his scars. He felt, awkward, ashamed at first, but you took off your own shirt and he saw the pale, magical scars that lined your own chest. He took a moment to kiss down your chest, kissing your breasts and around your nipples. Finally, he took your right nipple into his mouth and bit down harshly. You moaned out in a mix of pain and pleasure and shock but nodded at him to continue. 

Remus’s hand went down your pants next, tearing your panties off. He held them up to his nose and sniffed harshly. 

“You smell delicious. Good enough to eat.” Remus said, running his tongue over his sharp canines. He pulled your pants all the way off and shoved his face between your legs. You had never been eaten out like this before. Two of his fingers were deep inside you as his tongue made a repeated assault on your clit. His teeth would bump your clit occasionally, sending shockwaves through your system and you had your fingers buried in his hair, yanking the tendrils so tightly that you were near the point of ripping them out. You came on his face, your legs spasming, and you released a howl. That sobered you and Remus right up. You pulled up your pants and chuckled nervously. 

“I, uh, I’m going to go back to bed.” You said, rubbing the back of your neck. 

“Yeah, yeah. Have a good night.” Remus was cursing everything as he watched ascend the stairs and couldn’t help but think about how it might be better that you were going to be sleeping all the way in the dungeons. 

The next morning was a bit awkward as you made your way down for breakfast. The place was alive with rumors swirling about the new girl at Hogwarts. You sat down at the Gryffindor table next to James. Lily gave you a warm hello and then sent an icy glare James’s way before sitting down next to Marlene and Mary. You desperately wished you have spent the day with the Gryffindor girls but the boy you saw a few days ago made his way over to your table. 

“What do you want, Snivellus?” James glowered at Snape.

“I’m your cousins assigned companion.” Snape returned the glare. 

“It just keeps getting better and better, huh.” You said with a small smile. “Alright Severus, I’m all yours.”

Snape barely let you out of his sight for the next month. You were more than adjusted to Hogwarts after the first week but Snape wouldn’t leave you alone, much to James’s chagrin. The marauders joked that Snape must have some twisted crush on you but you weren’t so sure. It felt much more sinister than that. The moon was this evening and you felt like you could crawl out of your skin. It didn’t help being close to Remus. Everything about Remus felt like your nerves were exposed, especially being so close the moon. Tensions were still high between James and Lily, the couple were barely speaking and when they did, it only devolved into a fight. 

You were lucky enough to have potions with Gryffindor but the lovely Professor Slughorn had assigned Snape to be your partner. Your spine felt like it was doing somersaults and kept shifting in your chair uncomfortably. 

“Are you alright?” Snape whispered in your ear as Slughorn prattled on and on about whatever the day’s lesson was. 

“Fine.”

“That time of the month, eh?” Snape asked. 

“What?” Your blood ran cold. 

“Forget I said anything.” Snape said with a smug grin. Icy sweat ran down the back of your neck. You pushed it out of your mind. Snape didn’t know. He couldn’t know. Right? You were lost in thought as you walked with the boys up to lunch. Snape had made some rude comment to Lily which caused James to jump in front of her and draw his wand. 

“You take that back, Snivellus.”

“Or what, Potter?” Snape asked, drawing his own wand. 

“I don’t need you to defend me, James.” Lily crossed her arms over her chest. 

“Shut up, mudblood.” Snape spat. You felt yourself surge forward but Remus held you back. 

“Don’t. You’re emotional because of the moon,” he whispered in your ear.

“Get away from us, Snivellus. Take your disgusting plague somewhere else.” Sirius looked down his nose at Snape.

“Oh I’m the disgusting one?” Snape laughed, cruelly, “You would know all about unsavory actions, wouldn’t you Black? Lupin?” 

“Take that back.” Sirius was very pale. 

“Everyone keep moving,” it was that boy, the one who looked like Sirius. You knew by now his name was Regulus and he was indeed Sirius’s brother. Regulus was a prefect for SLytherin and it looked like he would be making head boy next year. 

“I don’t answer to you, Reggie.” Sirius said with a hard look on his face. 

“Just go. Before I take points from Gryffindor and Slytherin.” Regulus gripped Snape’s arm hard before Snape could fire off another comment. Everyone made their way to lunch in a much more sour mood than before. 

The moon descended upon you and Remus that evening and things had been great. But for the second time, you woke from a moon at Hogwarts with an uneasy feeling in your chest. James wasn’t there, which was odd, but Sirius was. Sirius looked down at you and Remus with a nervous smile and said, 

“So I messed up.”

Taglist:

@sceleratuspoeta, @hotchnerswife, @8crazy-freak8, @the-marauders-psyche, @spiderman-stilinski, @valencia-rou, @gettheetoanunneryimmediatly, @padf00ts-l0ver, @nevillescomslut, @simpfoegeorge, @willbedecided, @harry-pottah-as-an-otter, @knmendiola, @moonlightwonderlan, @wolfy-kat, @im-a-simps-blog, @mangodamochiii, @justmadethistoreadotherblogs, @princessmiaelicia, @eviethetheatrefreak, @screamqueen1996, @the-slytherin-library-12, @chi1d-0f-the-m00n, @avee09

[themotherofhorses]

Vic!! I have a request pretty pls hehehe,

Creepy dark! Aemond forcing his way with fem!reader as she sleeps after stalking him for many moons? PWEASEEE

what was mine is still mine, regardless of time.

pairing: soft but dark!aemond targaryen x fem!targaryen!reader

warnings: explicit language. nsfw smut. slight breeding kink towards the end. consented abduction. aemond is (as usual) obsessive and possessive but is actually kinda a sweetheart in this.

notes: ok so small thing: i kinda put my own twist to this request, because this sort of idea has lived in my head RENT FREE since forevvaaa. hope u enjoy it :)

masterlist

Dragonstone was quiet when arrived, the sea tide calm and peaceful.

Aemond Targaryen could not remember the last time he stepped foot in the castle, if he ever did at all, having spent the entirety of his life behind the bronze doors of the Red Keep. He did not care for the damned island, nor did he hold any love for its people, but his twentieth nameday was fast approaching, and his mother was insisting more and more that he take a wife soon.

“Now, where will you be,” he mumbles to himself as he rips off his riding gloves and tucks them into his belt.

The castle hallways were without light, and no houseguards stood afoot. Aemond smirks. It would be much easier for him to find you, tucked away in your own chamber.

Your personal chamber was nicely furnished, in the colors and style of your shared noble house, and had an aura belonging only to a Targaryen princess. Thick wool carpets covered the floor instead of harsh black stone, and your windows were cracked open just a little, with pretty drapes swaying from the light ocean breeze. The walls were hung with different tapestries, all of horses and dragons, and the doors were flanked by Valyrian sphinxes.

And to the corner was your bed, where you, his niece, lay atop, fast asleep.

Aemond wills his heart to continue beating, and for his cock to behave.

He has not laid eyes on you in almost a full decade, ten years too long for him. Both your parents whisked you away to Dragonstone when you were still a child, soft-faced and in the mid of girlhood.

They refused his mother’s offer for a betrothal between the two of you, and broke his heart to the tiniest of pieces that he wondered if they were still scattered around the Keep. But that was so many moons ago, and time slipped by him.

“Gods be good,” Aemond whispers, moving closer.

What has happened to that little girl, that kid niece of his? In her place sleeps a living goddess, too lovely for mankind. You’ve grown beautiful, a mirror image to your mother, his eldest sister. He bends to kiss your bare shoulder- just a simple and tiny kiss- and you stir in your sleep. It is cute, he admits, but he also can not wait another second longer.

Only the gods above know how much he’s wanted you.

With a hard yank, Aemond draws back the bedsheet covers, causing you to jolt up from the bed. You look around, confused and scared and still half-asleep, purple eyes clouding from drowsiness. In front of you sits a stranger, a man- silver-haired and cloaked in black riding leather. Across his eye, an eyepatch.

Your heart quickens at the sight. “Aemond…?” you call out, unsure.

He smiles, teeth and all. “You do not know how happy it makes me to know you are still able to recognize me, my niece. After all, it has been awhile- ten years, has it not?”

You shrug, trying to wipe the sleep away from your eyes. “What…what are you doing here?” you ask, while patting down the bed, looking for the sheets to cover your chest. “Should you not be at King’s Landing? Why are you here?” Your eyes grow as wide as a dinner plate as you soon add, “Oh no, has something happened? Is it my grandfather?”

But Aemond scoots closer, bringing his face to yours. “Do not fret, nice. I’m here on my own wishes,” and he twirls a thin strand of silver hair around his finger, humming as he watches it fall back around your shoulder. In that sheer Dornish nightgown, you look good enough to eat, and the princeling is feeling beyond ravenous.

“I’m here to collect a debt.”

Lucerys…you think, a sinking feeling in your chest. His stolen eye, that night on Driftmark…

Ten years and Aemond still seeks revenge.

“No,” Aemond says, shaking his head. He moves even closer, grabbing at your shoulders. His palms are rough and callous. “I would dare not hurt you. Anyone but you. You…” he sighs, “-you were promised to me, back when we were children. You were meant to be my wife, and they stole you from me. The only good fucking thing in my life, and it was taken away…”

He studies you, his eye running across your face, down your neck and to your chest.

That Dornish nightgown clings loose to your body, and he can see your nipples perk against the fabric. It sends blood rushing between his thighs. “Tell me, niece, what did I do to deserve that?”

“Aemond…”

“No!” he hisses, tightening his grip on you. “No! You have not the slightest idea of the fucking torture I’ve endured these years. The nights I stayed up, begging to the gods that I might have you. I thought…maybe if they heard my pleas, saw my faith, they would…but no. Ten years, and not a single glimpse of you.” Your breath hitches when he meets your gaze, “I dreamt of you, every damned night. Fought the urges to fly over and collect you from here…”

You shake your head. “Aemond…” you say, softly. “I’m betrothed to another, this cannot be.” You press your hand against his cheek, feeling him lean into your touch, and kiss his forehead. “I have missed you greatly, uncle, but it has been years! So many years. I’m to be married soon.” You pull back, “It is best if you return home, and start finding a lady of your own choosing.”

Aemond sighs, and inside his chest, he feels his heart being ripped apart again.

“You are right, my dearest niece. My sincerest apologies for waking you up, it was quite wrong of me. I shall see myself out,” and he kisses your hand, brushing his lips against your knuckles. “I wish you all the luck in your marriage, and may your husband love and appreciate you till the dying days of his damned life.”

You smile at him, though a bit sad now. “Thank you, uncle. To you as well.”

The princeling turns to leave, and you sit up watching as he makes his way to your door, before sinking back into your bed. “Goodbye, Aemond,” you call out, one final time before your eyes close, failing to see him pause and turn around to look at you.

What was he doing? Foolish man, he thinks. Foolish, stupid man!

Was it in his nature to admit defeat so easily, and to some unnamed wastrel cunt of a man? No. Throughout his life, Aemond suffered nothing but tremendous losses, while being denied the goodness and fairness that a child should’ve had. His lips pucker at the thought.

You were right there, close enough for him to finally claim.

And so he did.

“Shhh, keep your voice down,” Aemond tuts next to your ear, a heavy arm slung over your naked breasts as he holds you as close to his chest as possible. It feels as if he is frightened to let you go, worried you would disappear before his very eye, with another ten years slipping by until he finds you again.

His other hand lies between your trembling thighs, fingering you with such an intensity and speed that it leaves you utterly ruined and in tears. “Aemond…” you hiccup, nibbling at your bottom lip as he groans. “Fuck! You sound so good when you say my name like that. Gods be good, you are wet. Absolutely soaking my fingers. Doesn’t this feel good?” he asks, using his thumb to rub at your clit. “Yeah…it does, doesn’t it?”

You sniffle, fat tears streaking down both cheeks as you nod.

Oh, it feels good. So good, but so wrong as well.

You were to be married in less than a fortnight, to a highborn lord of House Stark, handsome and kind. How would you explain this to him? Or to your parents, who proposed the marriage between you two? How would you tell them that you were ruined? And it was your uncle’s fault.

“Please, Aemond…”

Aemond grabs at your jaw, cradling it in his hand before pulling it close to his face. “Shhh, it will be alright, my love. Do not fret. You will be okay, just give in,” he whispers, quickening his fingers as he fucks them into you, curling two to hit your sweet spot. You almost scream, so overcome with pleasure that it hurts. “This is where you are meant to be, darling, make no mistake in believing that. My bride, my love.”

My woman, he thinks gleefully, watching how your face scrunches up. Your eyebrows furrow and your mouth press together in a tight line, and it is the most beautiful sight.

My woman, made for me. Made for my love and protection and seed…

Goosebumps prickle along your arms as wet sounds echo across the chamber, followed by a strew of whimpers and moans. It sounds so dirty, so sinful and wrong that you pray to whichever god was listening in that no one would overhear such, especially your parents and siblings. Your father would have Aemond’s head, no doubt, and your older brother might rob him of his only other good eye.

“Oh, fuck…” you moan, flinging your head back, “-don’t stop, don’t stop, please don’t stop!”

A minute or so later, your vision blackens, the room spins, and your jaw slacks as you cum plenty around his fingers, all with such a high-pitched shriek that Aemond slaps a hand over your mouth to muffle the noise. “What did I say? Stay quiet!” he hisses before chuckling, smearing the mess around your folds while you make an attempt to catch your breath. “Very good, my love. You did so well for me.”

He brings a finger to his mouth, to suck at the taste. “Your taste is heavenly,” he moans, swirling his tongue around it. He then brings two to your mouth, swiping at the tiny bit of drool pooling before stuffing them in. “Suck. Taste yourself now.”

“Dirty girl,” Aemond hums, a smirk curving on his lips as he watches the way you lick and suck at his fingers. “You are digging a grave too deep to escape, darling.”

Ruin me, you want to say. If I’m to die, I rather it be in your hands than anyone else’s…

He lays you back down on the bed next, making sure your head rests comfortably against the pillows. Ten years, Aemond reminds himself. Ten fucking years. He can feel his resolve slowly weakening by the second. You’re too beautiful, too soft and womanly and perfect for him. Every fantasy he dreamt up during boyhood never claim as close as to this. “I dreamt of this for fucking years,” he admits while kissing your pink and pouty lips. “All the possible ways to take you, to fuck this pretty cunt of yours.”

Your legs wrap around his hips as he pushes his cock inside you. It is painful- undeniably painful- yet he swallows every cry and wince and moan that you give. Your fingernails dig into his skin from the terrible pain- the stretch and the sting and the weird feeling growing deep within your tummy.

“It is too much…!” you whimper against his lips. “Hurts!”

“Of course it hurts, darling, it is your first time. Every woman hurts when a man takes her first blood. But you can take it.”

“No,” you whine, trying to shove him away. “No, Aemond, it hurts too much-” But Aemond only kisses your temple, sweet and gentle and lovingly, while rocking his hips against yours. “It’ll feel so good soon, my love, trust me. I would never do anything to hurt you, not my precious and sweet girl,” he coos, leaning to rub your noses together, “-my brave girl.”

Ten years.

He could not stop, even if he wished to. No, not now that he finally has you, underneath his body and wet and ripe for his seed.

“I’ll give you our child,” he mutters beside your lips as he pinches your nipple between two fingers and keeps his thrusts hard, deep, and fast. All of it makes your face twist in a soft gasp, your body tightening as you feel that thick rush of pleasure from before, right before you creamed over his fingers.

“Take my seed and have our child. I promise to take you back to King’s Landing and marry you," he vows through ragged breaths, "and spend the rest of our lives making up for those ten years.”

“Aemond,” you pant, clutching onto his shoulders and dragging his face down for a kiss. His skin is sweaty and flushed, and he has never appeared so beautiful before. You love him. You love him so much, how did you spend ten years without seeing him? It makes no sense. You understand his woes now, clear as day, and you want to rid of them forever.

“I love you! I love you, I love you, make me your wife, please. Please!”

He feels your cunt tightening around his cock, and he is ready to give you everything: his heart, his soul, and his seed.

Come the morning, his son will be swelling within your belly, and he will have you seated atop Vhagar, flying back to the Keep to make you his wife, in both the eyes of the gods and the laws of the land.

The next day, at dawning, Rhaenyra Targaryen’s only daughter does not join her family to break fast together. Her three half-brothers and two half-sisters raise eyebrows as they munch quietly on their meals but keep silent, all until little Joffrey asks where his older sister might be. Rhaenyra does not know, and neither do the houseguards, the men of the small council, and the maesters, and it worries her greatly.

Her husband, though, is quick to remind her that the princess- ever their trueborn child- enjoys morning rides on dragonback. “Give her a few hours and she will surely return with a new story to tell us,” Daemon says, while sipping on his wine.

But a few hours turn into the rest of the day, and soon evening creeps by.

A raven arrives from King’s Landing, bearing the family a note:

“I’ve taken what was owed to me. Such a pity you all forgot that what was mine is still mine, regardless of time.”

[latinasforace]

Crimson Petals in the Night ( Giyuu x Blood Hashira F! Reader )

n/a: hiii i’m starting a new series!!! hope you all r interested. This is just the introduction but I will have the first chapter ready by tmr (hopefully…)

:3 enjoy!

reader is female coded!!!! & the blood hashira. Abilities will be explained later on. oh and i’m hsing she/they for reader.

& pls keep in mind, this is taking place 2 YEARS BEFORE CANON EVENTS. so 2 years before tanjiro’s family was attacked & nezuko turned.

INTRO CHAPTER

The moon hung low in the night sky, its silver light spilling over the quiet garden like a gentle kiss from the heavens. The world was draped in a cloak of darkness, with only the soft rustle of leaves and the occasional song of a nightingale breaking the stillness.

The garden, though dirty and wild with untamed plants and broke pottery, abandoned, held a certain charm—a promise of what it could be with tender care, bathed in the soft glow of the full moon, feeling like a hidden relic from a time long forgotten. The silence is almost palpable, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves as the night wind weaves through the dense, overgrown foliage.

A small, arched bridge stretches across a narrow stream, its wooden planks creaking faintly under the weight of time and neglect. The water below glistens with a silvery sheen, reflecting the moonlight like scattered pearls on a dark canvas.

At the far end of the garden stands a small shed, its wooden walls weathered and darkened by years of exposure. Vines snake up its sides, clinging to the structure like nature’s determined attempt to reclaim what was once hers.

The shed’s roof, once a testament to craftsmanship, now sags slightly, covered in moss and creeping ivy. It blends seamlessly into the surroundings, as if it has always been a part of the garden’s quiet, melancholic beauty.

The flowers, though still vibrant in their hues, grow haphazardly among thick clusters of weeds and vines. Their petals catch the moonlight, giving the garden an otherworldly, almost surreal quality. It’s a place that feels both real and imagined, where the boundaries between the physical and the fantastical blur.

The air is thick with the scent of damp earth and the faint sweetness of blooming flowers, creating a heady mix that lingers with each breath.

In the heart of this quiet abandoned sanctuary, a young woman knelt, her delicate hands cradling a handful of seeds. Wearing a kimono of the finest silk, with a contrast of deep black, adorned with intricate red flowers that seemed to bloom across the fabric like a garden at midnight. Her hair caught the moon’s light, making her appear ethereal—like a spirit of the night, come to bless the earth with new life.

She pressed the seeds gently into the soil, her touch careful, as if she were whispering secrets to the earth. There was a calmness in her actions, a peace that belied the danger lurking in the shadows beyond the garden’s borders.

But peace was not meant to last.

“Why are you out so late at night?”

The voice was stern, edged with authority, cutting through the tranquility like a blade. The young woman did not startle; instead, she looked up slowly, her eyes meeting those of the man who had spoken. He stood at the edge of the garden, his form partially obscured by the shadows, yet the intensity of his gaze was unmistakable. The man wore the attire of a Demon Slayer, his half patterned haori billowing slightly in the breeze, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

The figure in the kimono tilted their head slightly, a confused expectation reflected on their face. “Why shouldn’t I be?”

His eyes narrowed, clearly unamused by the casual response. “There are demons out at this hour—deadly ones. You’re bound to get eaten, standing here so vulnerable.”

“Is that so?” The figure’s voice was soft, yet there was a teasing edge to it that suggested they found his warning more amusing than frightening. “And here I thought the night was for everyone to enjoy.”

He stepped closer, the moonlight revealing the sharp lines of his face and those b. “This isn’t a game. If you stay, you’ll get yourself killed.”

There was a brief pause, and then the figure let out a soft, almost mocking laugh. “Oh, I see… You’re worried about me.” She leaned forward slightly, the red flowers on her black kimono catching the light as they did. “Do you make a habit of rescuing strangers, or am I just special?”

He didn’t answer right away, taken aback by the unexpected response. There was something unsettling about how calm they were—how unafraid. He had expected fear, or at least concern, but instead, they seemed to be toying with him, as if the danger he spoke of was nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

“You should leave,” he said, voice hardening as he tried to regain control of the situation. “Now.”

The figure regarded him with a knowing smile, their eyes glinting with something that almost resembled mischief. “Perhaps I will,” she replied, her tone light and unhurried. “Or perhaps I’ll stay a little longer… The night is still young, after all.”

For a moment, he didn’t know how to respond. He was used to dealing with fear, with people who needed protection—but this young lady, with this mysterious aura and defiant calmness, was something else entirely. A puzzle he wasn’t sure how to solve.

Without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving the figure alone in the garden. Despite his warning, she felt no fear—only the quiet satisfaction of having stood her ground.

As she continued her work, a faint glint of metal caught the moonlight, hidden among the gardening tools and materials by her side. A closer look would have revealed a deep crimson blade, its hilt wrapped in black and red, with a guard shaped like a blooming rose. But the swordsman, now long gone, hadn’t noticed—his attention too focused on the mystery of the woman herself than to notice the subtle hint of her true identity as a slayer.

She watched him disappear into the shadows, her smile lingering as she resumed their task, planting seeds in the dark earth with the same deliberate care as before.

The night air was cool and still, but the tension left behind from their exchange hung in the air, like the scent of something yet to bloom.

To be continued…

[popjunkie42]

Hungry Thirsty Roots

Read on AO3

Chapter One: The High Lady of the Night Court has everything she could ever desire - a loving mate, a beautiful baby boy, her family in Velaris. What does she have to fear when the autumn Goblin Market comes to town, shrouded in mist, there only for a single night of revelry and enchantment?

Tags: eventual smut and some dubcon magic-style, Under the Mountain vibes. Mostly porn with plot.

I got the spooky Feysand urge and wrote this in a flurry over the past few days. Thank you to @climbthemountain2020 and @berd-nerd for the encouragement and beta reads!

Read on AO3 or under the cut:

“Did you miss me? Come and kiss me. Never mind my bruises, Hug me, kiss me, suck my juices Squeez’d from goblin fruits for you, Goblin pulp and goblin dew. Eat me, drink me, love me; Laura, make much of me; For your sake I have braved the glen And had to do with goblin merchant men.” -Christina Rosetti Goblin Market

Feyre stood on the edge of the Goblin Market.

Once a year, Rhys had said, in fall after the harvest time, in the last full moon just before the first taste of winter, it appeared. Quietly, appearing out of mist and shadow. The people of Velaris burned dried rosemary and rue and shut up their windows tight when it settled next to the docks.

“Cassian, Azriel and I used to dare each other to go in. We finally gained the courage to go in after we returned from the war.”

“What did you find?”

His smile had been distant, wistful. Fingers reached out to grasp a curl of her hair, twirling it half heartedly around a finger. “Oh, the usual darker underbellies of magic. Brews, enchantments, illicit ingredients even the fae have banned.” His smile faded. “Promises to fulfill all your darkest dreams. Bargains that sound sweet in the ear but taste bitter on the tongue.” Rhys sighed. “It’s not a safe place. It will be gone by morning, but everyone who visits will still be bound by the promises they made in the dark. I wouldn’t stop you, but I hate the thought of you there.”

Hopeless, as he knew, was any thought at keeping her away.

How could she not want to know everything about her Court? About magic so powerful and forbidden it could tempt anyone astray?

Feyre Archeron, High Lady, had everything she could ever want. More than she had ever dreamed of. What could possibly tempt her?

And how could she ever turn away?

The air in the city streets was filled with the scents of autumn - the chill first, settling on the land as soon as the sun set. Then the change in the markets: baking of heartier breads, cloves and cinnamon, rich mulled wine stirred on a fire all day long. And behind it all, the fires burning, the citizens of Velaris either dancing in the streets despite the chill or retreating to cozy homes and warming the dark with toasty fires. The moon, fatter and fatter each night, that freshy risen, glowed orange against the gathering mist next to the harbor docks.

The High Lady of the Night Court strode through the streets of Velaris in a dress fit for the finest revelry. Black with long lace sleeves, a “V” collar cut deep to her sternum. Skirts of flowing black tulle over white and silver. She glistened in the moonlight as she walked, fog whirling around her boots.

Feyre would not sneak into the market under a cloak - although she had considered it. No, let the market know their High Lady had arrived.

There were no gemstones, no pearls on her dress, no sparkling jewelry adorned her neck or ears. Only a circlet - simple and severe, a silver half-moon perched atop a braided band of metal.

In fabric layers closest to her skin, a bag of gold pieces and gemstones was sewn into her skirts.

Closer still were the knives hidden in her gown, one strapped to her thigh.

But the fine Illyrian sword, plain and well-used, hung from a scabbard around her waist for all to see.

Tonight, her city of song and light was as quiet as the tombs of the Hewn City.

What few fae she encountered on her journey were rushing, hurried. The metal sound of locks bolting behind doors shut fast.

A jolt went through her as she rounded the corner and was upon the Market, long lost in her thoughts.

The fog has come in from the sea, heavier than she’d ever seen it, like smoke from thick fire. It swirled in unnatural formations. Gusts of wind masking as ghosts.

Feyre swallowed. The sounds of laughter, merriment, of song and dance were deep within. Muffled as though underground.

The cold drifting in from the ocean began to bite at the skin along her collarbone.

The fae here dealt in the forbidden - unmet desires, unslaked hunger, the desperate, the needy. Feyre was none of those things. She had her family, her powers to protect them, her joy and love bursting like overripe fruit.

Feyre Archeron has looked into the ouroboros mirror, bargained with Bone Carver, slain the Middengard Wyrm.

A few enchantments and hungry merchants wouldn’t keep her locked behind her doors.

She steeled herself, straightening her back, and stepped through the thick mist.

The darkness changed, shifting around her.

No longer was her vision blurred by fog and dark shapes. Before her were bright tents, precarious shanties, wooden stalls covered in cobwebs or draped with spider-silks. All lit by fires burning all colors of the rainbow, and soft fae lights -

The market was a cacophony of sound just like the busiest hours of the streets in Velaris. Scents of the unknown variety assaulted her nose. Sulphur and burnt tar and unfamiliar spices. The air was filled with the sound of arguments and laughter and the hum of artisans at work, even if a dark haze hung about every little walkway.

Fae and creatures of all kinds walked the small alleyways. She had to remind herself the stone under her feet is still Velaris - a moment ago she could hear the ringing of the ship bells in the harbor.

There were scales and tails and jagged horns - but she was accustomed to that in Velaris. Here there was something more - fluttering iridescent insect wings, metal the size of her wrist looped through stretched flesh, enchanted patterns glowing in the dark.

She walked by stalls of pungent potions, brewers promising true love or the endless misery of your enemies. In the windows of an apothecary, the limbs of creatures she had never seen the likes of hung like slabs of meat at the butcher’s. A merchant with dragonfly wings tried to sell her jewelry that she swore would make all fall in love with her at first sight.

Another with iridescent scales guaranteed her spells, once read aloud from parchment, that could turn a whole army into swine. Still another tried to sell her fried meat on a stick that looked like a three-headed eel.

The High Lady wandered aimlessly, drinking in the market, smiling politely to all who caught her attention to hawk their wares. Not a single fae bowed to her, or addressed her by an honorific even once.

After an hour and the formation of a rough blister on her toe, Feyre relented, and paid a bronze piece for what looked like a simple dish of eggs and tomatoes cooked over rice.

She repeated the words Rhys told her, feeling slightly foolish, but better safe than sorry. “I give one bronze piece for a bowl of food, nothing more and nothing less, freely exchanged between us.”

The food was hot and warm. She ate it standing, shoveling spoonfuls into her mouth.

What could she desire here? What was here that was dangerous, and what lured the fae that risked it anyway? The fae that recognized her shied away: citizens of Velaris, many known to her, here on business they obviously do not want observed.

Breathing in deeply, Feyre was determined to learn more. What were her greatest desires, what could tempt her, what must be learned? What things - after so much war, suffering, adventures - could surprise her, frighten her, unsettle her?

Maybe her pockets get picked and she would have a story for the boys tomorrow. Thus far, the worst she had seen were the open expressions of such desperate desires - and the array of illicit ingredients for spells and potions.

Feyre smiled. Maybe she’d buy presents for all the boys, just to have something to taunt them with for the next year. Little mummified rats with pigeon’s wings, and a plate of roasted beetles the male at the other corner had crackling atop the fire.

Would it be asking for trouble to find something for her husband, for her son? Maybe just for Rhysand to examine, since he had been away so long. Surely the jewelers would make something with a harmless enchantment, such as your tea always being just the right temperature, or your socks never getting wet.

She would just explore a little more, visit one or two stores. Then she would go home to Rhys, who was alone in the River Manor, surely awake and anxious awaiting her. There were questions she wanted to ask the fae here, although she was afraid of their reception. Or of appearing naive. Certainly she stood out like a sore thumb - made no attempt to hide who she was.

Tonight, they had sent the servants home for the evening, most of their circle scattered throughout the territory on assignments. Nyx had been bundled up and flown to the House of Wind with his aunt and uncle for the night.

Feyre knew why. Though he may try to hide it, she knew her mate’s protective instincts were still roaring inside of him. When Nyx cried in pain from his teething, she had to reinforce her shields, bombarded as she was with the pain of her infant son and the screaming unmet desire to protect, to fix coming from Rhys’s side of the bond.

His smile had been tired as he explained: Nesta had gotten new books from the library, and was excited to read them to her nephew. It wasn’t quite a lie, as both of them knew the truth, but chose not to speak of it. Not just now.

She knew he felt the same towards her. Glimpses of nightmares - blood soaking a bed, their son quiet and unmoving, the feeling of the bond slipping away -

And all because of me, the thoughts echoed.

Those evenings, he held her like a fragile thing, hands so gentle. Reluctant, even. Healing even though she still was, body and soul, sometimes she still felt herself longing for his fire. They laid in bed, head to head, like two flower buds on the same stem, curled in towards one another, whispering.

“I want to, cauldron knows I do. It’s just, all I can think about is blood and -”

“Shhh, I know. It’s all right, my love.”

“The market isn’t for gawkers, your highness. We’re here to make a living, not be on display.”

Feyre whipped around, skirts and sword flying, to the croaking voice behind her.

The goblin woman stood hunch-backed, skin layered and wrinkled in a way fae rarely were, tufts of white hair sprouting out from a green scalp.

She was dressed in flowing robes, worn and patched until it was difficult to discern the original fabric. Her nose was bulbous and covered in warts, and in her knotty hands she held a curled walking stick.

Feyre balanced a wrist upon the pommel of her sword. “Perhaps I haven’t yet found something that took my fancy. Although I have a feeling you’re about to tell me why your wares are best.”

The goblin smiled, a few brown teeth peeking out from curled lips. “Mother Enfys does not go calling for customers in the street, High Lady. The fae come from far and wide to beg for the magic at my hands.”

Behind her, the fabric covering her door blew back and forth in a breeze, revealing a glowing green fire and piles of rugs and furs in her little hut.

Perhaps Feyre wouldn’t have to seek out someone to answer her questions.

Or perhaps she was being lured like a spider into a web.

“What sort of services do you provide, Mother?”

The goblin smiled, idly sweeping dirt off of her small stoop with a straw broom. “Oh, sweetie, just the usual. Answering all of your dreams. Revealing your greatest desires.”

“Revealing them? Do people often not know what it is they desire?”

“Rarely, my lady. And rarely are they happy at the answers I provide. But I am too old and too tired to lie to my customers for a few extra coin. Not like those frauds across the way peddling their watered-down love potions. No, Mother Enfys deals in truth and desires, for better or for worse.”

“What if I already have all that I desire?”

“Then I would say you are dead in the ground. It is not in our nature not to want.”

Feyre looked around, this side of the street quiet, fewer stalls with loud merchants and haggling customers. “It doesn’t look like you’re too in demand at the moment. Perhaps the people of Velaris are more content than your usual customers.”

The goblin smiled. “I was waiting for you, High Lady. You’ve already used up the first five minutes of your appointment.”

“But I didn’t -”

“Come, or go, Mother Enfys doesn’t care. Just know that if you step into my doorway, all that is revealed comes from you, my dear. I don’t give refunds for unpleasant realizations.”

Moving quicker than Feyre expected, Enfys was gone, retreating into her little hut.

Feyre paused for a moment at the threshold.

She could return home, walk away satisfied she had seen the market, and laugh at it the next morning over breakfast. She had nothing to prove to anyone but herself.

Ducking low, the High Lady of the Night Court followed the goblin inside.

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

The hut was larger on the inside than it appeared. Feyre wondered how they traveled, as small jars of potions and ingredients lined the walls in precarious configurations. Worn rugs covered the floor, and furs and tapestries were draped from the ceiling. The room was warm, and smelled of burning cloves and whatever thin stew was boiling in the fireplace.

A round table sat in the center of the room, two mismatched wooden chairs on either side. In the middle was a golden plate overflowing with fruit and a decanter of wine.

“Please, the wine is for you, High Lady.”

Mother Enfys bustled about, gathering bottles and dried herbs.

“I’d be happy to accept the wine, as a freely given token to a guest.”

At that, Enfys turned on her heels, once again faster than Feyre would have imagined her capable of. “The newborn fae is learning our ways,” she said with a grin, those teeth gleaming in the low green light. “Yes, my dear, it will be as you say. The wine is free and without enchantment or expectation of return. I give it freely to my guest.”

Feyre poured herself a small glass, sipping at the dark red wine, rich and well aged.

Enfys returned to the table, her arms full. A bowl filled with burning embers and handfuls of herbs and ingredients in small bottles clattered on the table.

“Why do you think so many are unaware of their own desires?”

“Ah. I am reminded you are so young, my dear. Just a stumbling colt newborn in the spring.” She pulled out a mortar and pestle, and began grinding her herbs. “Most people are afraid of themselves and their own minds, have you not seen this yourself?”

Feyre recalled her time in the Spring court, falling into Prythian like tumbling down a hill. Smacking her head on rocks and brambles as she went. Confused about her feelings, the dangers around her, who to trust. Who to love.

Enfys clattered more on the table, pulling Feyre out of her reverie. The goblin mixed herbs in a bowl, grinding something that looks like a desiccated slug with a pestle into the mixture. “I can lift the veil from your eyes, the lies from your niceties, I can show you what you truly desire. And then, I can give you the means to achieve it, to hold it in your hand.”

“For a price, I imagine?”

Mother Enfys grinned. “Of course, High Lady. But when you see it before your eyes, you may find there is nothing you would not give to hold it tight. My only requirement is that you are bold enough to speak your desires aloud, that you give word to your dreams. Otherwise the magic can be muddled, directionless.”

“I know who I am, what I want. You cannot tell me anything I don’t know about myself.”

“Perhaps it is true, lady, you are a new creature on this speck of earth. Perhaps you are different from everyone who has ever set foot into this place. If that is the case, please at least be availed of my hospitality, so I can say I served the High Lady of the Night Court well and sent her off satisfied.”

Feyre sighed. She was stubborn, but her curiosity was not slaked.

The fruits on the golden platter glittered in the low light of the fire, a rainbow of ripened flesh. Fresh drops of dew glistened on taut skin - currants black and red, the wine-red skin of a pomegranate, the globes of blood red cherries larger than a gold coin.

Feyre picked up a peach, downy-cheeked and yellow-pink, and bit.

Stars, galaxies exploded behind her eyes.

Suddenly, everything was beautiful.

Before she took her second breath it was only a quick whisper of a thought - oh fuck - and she was gone under the spell of the faerie fruit.

Feyre watched as Enfys plucked the peach from her still fingers. Pointed nails speared the pit and Feyre gagged. It smeared out of the fruit, black and rotten, shining sickly in the light.

Mother Enfys only hummed. Grabbed Feyre’s wine glass, now empty, and spilled the dregs onto the table in front of her.

She examined the sediment as if reading the constellations in the sky.

Feyre could only feel the giddy euphoria of joy, of love. The hut was warm and cozy. Rhys was waiting at home, and tomorrow, they’d have breakfast with their son. The fire crackled merrily and the potions bubbled in colors she had never seen before.

“Don’t worry, child, Mother Enfys will care for you. Sometimes we must remove the mask before the truth can be coaxed to the surface.”

As the goblin observed her puzzle, she turned her head this way and that, piecing some mystery together. “The fae in you is still so young, so new. Your human heart beats strong inside. Already when you were reborn you had two faces. Now there are more still - wife, mother, Queen. Sometimes they are at peace. Sometimes they war. Like sisters inside of you.” A tooth nibbled on her green lip. “The fae are still a mystery to your mind. You speak it as if it were a second language. You still long for the kindness, the straightforward answer.”

“Is that so wrong?” Feyre asked, smiling at the sound of her own voice.

“No. But sometimes the fae desires what the human does not. Tell me High Lady, what do you dream of?”

Fingers closed over her windpipe, her mate’s strong arms wrapped around her, holding her still and pliant as he moved in her, head pressed down harder into the mattress -

Feyre’s eyes opened and she gasped, the memory real and pulsing.

Enfys looked up from her scattered wine, brow furrowed. “Why do you blush, lady? It is good for the land for the High Lord and Lady to be so in love, so desirous of one another. The soil of the fae lands feed off the magic let off by deep passions, as much as deep hatreds. Like the market - it is a darkness but one born of magic itself, and the way the fae wish to use it. To deny it is to deny our true selves. I think you know something about that darkness inside, child.”

Feyre hadn’t thought herself a prude, but her cheeks heated uncontrollably in the warm room. Closing her eyes, she was lost in her thoughts. Rhys was suffering - echoes of what could have been following them to bed.

She certainly could understand. The terror and hurt of the past year - such sweetness mixed with such wounds.

Enfys smiled. “They come to see me, the powerful and the poor, the young and the old. All to make their dreams come true. Riches, fame, love, talent. And this one longs for nothing more than the embrace of her husband.” Feyre cheeks flamed hotter. “You are cauldron-blessed, High Lady, and it is good to see. Your fortune will be ours. But many will come for your happiness.”

Feyre dug deep inside to summon her voice, pulled it up through her chest. “So you know my desire. Now what?”

Enfys scraped the dregs of the wine off the table with a knife. She threw her crushed mixture into the smoldering embers in the bowl before her.

“I have a bargain to offer you, Feyre Archeron.” Naturally.

“What is your price?”

“Certainly more than that little embroidered purse hanging in your skirts, your Highness.” Feyre frowned. “I’ll give you the first two pieces of knowledge for free. But for the third, I ask only a small token.

“First, I have shared your true feelings, hidden under worries and concerns - it is yours to do with as you will.”

Feyre thought of her mate. Of the hazy first days of mating. She was filled with many faces - some grasped at, some thrust upon her. She ignored her past in favor of a bright future. Still they followed her - her human heart, her sisters needing her care. Buried deep down the fears of her own mother, of becoming her - pushing Nyx too hard, caring too little.

And Rhys. It felt so often that they were one, in each other’s minds, a circle of each other’s feelings - it could be frightening when suddenly they differed. The hurt of his lies, the pain of betrayal - not recognizing him, or worse, knowing exactly who he was all along. And despite all the hurt and anger, the longing to fall into him for support, the painful inability to hold onto her rage against him.

“Second, I give you your great desire. Not only for the male you love, but for the new fae blood running in your veins. Let it sink into your soul, High Lady. Let go of your worries and embrace the instincts - the mating bond, the trickster, the reveler. A cycle of light and dark, emptiness that is filled, over and over.”

If she had many faces then so did her mate - dark and menacing on Calanmai, vicious Under the Mountain, soft and new in Velaris, the beast on the battlefield, the father holding his son.

“For your word, I give you the third: the ability to possess what you desire.”

Feyre tried to bury her groggy thoughts, to get her wits about her. “And what do you desire from me? Don’t be coy, Mother. I have made bargains before.”

“All I ask, your highness, is you revisit the same hospitality I have given you today. One day I will show up on your doorstep and ask to be your guest, as you have been mine.”

Surely that sounded fine…surely it was a trick. “In equal measure to what I have been given today?”

“As you say, lady.”

Feyre rolled the words over in her mind, wished she wasn’t feeling quite so generous and light-headed.

Perhaps it was a trick, and perhaps she’d come to regret it. But Feyre had made many bargains, some more foolish than others. They had all led her here, to her family. To her home.

“I - “

“Before you agree, please consider my words again,” Enfys interrupted. “You must speak your desires aloud, to own it fully.”

“I accept your bargain, to return your hospitality in kind.”

A flash as Mother Enfys threw her potion into the embers, the air filling with foul-smelling smoke, until she flipped the bowl face down on the table.

“Speak your desire, and it will be fulfilled.”

“I -” Feyre’s tongue felt too large in her mouth, her foolhardy decision while under enchantment suddenly tasting sour - “I wish for one night with my mate where things are back as they were, in the beginning between us. Something healing that we both need.”

Slowly, the enchantress lifted the bowl.

Thick purple smoke was heavy on the table, falling off it like water, dripping through cracks in the wood. It pooled around their feet and swirled on invisible breath, escaping out the gaps in the corners of the hut.

Long, spindly green fingers extended, holding out the rotted pit of the peach.

“When you first step onto your manor, place this on your tongue, and swallow. Then all will be as you wish.”

The pit was large, nobbled, smelling slightly of mold. Feyre swallowed.

“And highness?” Feyre looked up, her mind slowly clearing from the enchanted fruit, “beware of those offering unsavory bargains. Not all here are as generous and kind as I am.”

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

At the edge of the market, a small, jittery fae bowed low.

Long silky ears fell down her shoulders against her hair, tipped white like a rabbit’s.

With a motion, she signaled her intent, and Feyre nodded, bending her knees.

Long woven strands of jasmine and moonflowers were placed upon the crown of her head, trailing down her shoulders to her skirts to brush the ground, sweeping as a veil.

The River House was quiet and dark.

Feyre rolled her neck as she unstrapped her sword and knives, as she kicked off her sea-stained boots.

A plate was set for her in the oven. She picked chicken off the bone as the fae lights floated around her, wandering tired to her bedroom.

When she downed a sip of red wine, Feyre remembered the pit in her pocket.

It didn’t look quite so foul here in the safe quiet of her home.

Feyre let out a deep sigh. These enchantments were silly. Or worse, dangerous. She had laughed at Rhys as he asked her to promise not to agree to anything, or drink or eat anything given with expectations.

She was no fool.

Not usually.

But the sensation of his hands on her - the way the feel of him changed inside her as he hauled her body up against him, sweat slicked flesh and a hand on her throat -

Without another thought, Feyre placed the pit on the back of her tongue and swallowed, chasing it down with the rest of her very fine red wine.

She coughed a bit, then magicked her leftovers away to the kitchen, licking her fingers as she turned down the hall to their bedroom.

It was odd, she thought, that it was so dark in here - usually she was the one forcing Rhys to bed, as he read or drafted letters in candlelight. Feyre had been sure he would be up all night worrying about her. But when she had reached out with her mind to say she was returning, the bond was quiet - fast asleep.

Feyre smiled to herself as she turned to slowly snick the door shut. If he fell asleep early, that was good. Perhaps a night with no nightmares, and no fussy toddler to wake them, was exactly what he needed. The dark bags under his eyes should worry her more, if she knew she wasn’t carrying the same on her own face.

She leaned against the door, pulling off her hose as she wondered how quickly she could get the dress off her and climb into the bed to cuddle with her mate.

Her heart was filled with longing - embarrassing, considering they had only been apart a few hours. Rhys, who was the most tender father, whose silver-limned eyes could make her burst into tears as he stared at their son. Even exhausted, attending most of the Court’s meetings, he still made sure her every need was met, doting on her so much she sometimes had to shoo him away before he was late to yet another meeting just to make her tea.

Whatever he wanted, whatever he needed to heal - she would be ready. She would take care of him the same way he’d always taken care of her - her sweet, doting husband.

Without warning, magic tendrils of darkness slammed into her body. Feyre was pinned up against the wall. Her skirts swayed above the ground, feet dangling.

Feyre gasped, the air to her lungs cut off. She tried to fight it, squirming, woefully unprepared.

Out from the darkness of their bedroom, she was met with the gleam of two violet eyes in a single slash of moonlight.

And a voice, a tone she hadn’t heard in ages - a powerful chill dripping down her spine - “What is this pitiful human thing doing lurking around the chambers of a High Lord?”

Oh shit.

[cambion-companion]

Hi, I love your blog! On the subject of "one bed", what do you think of this: reader is kidnapped. Aemond happens to find her. They're too far from the city, so they must set up camp in the woods/cave. His sword is placed between them (like Jon & Ygritte), but it's really cold, windy and rainy, their fire dies. 😮 They must share their body heat, and Aemond's extra warm bc of his dragon blood. 🥵 Even better if they're childhood enemies. I'm a sucker for the enemies-to-lovers trope. lol

Oooh, yes, I love the enemies to lovers trope more than anything. Let me see what I can cook up here! This is also the longest fic I've written in a WHILE lol

word count: 2,664

Aemond x fem!reader | enemies to lovers | 18+ only | there be a lot of SMUT | hot spring smut

The wind whipped about you, causing your cloak to flutter and swirl, the snow landing in thick white flakes on your shivering head and shoulders.

“Aemond, it’s close to nightfall!”  You shouted to the distant figure ahead of you. “We should make camp!”

“We don’t stop until we reach White Harbor!”  Came the muffled reply, his voice almost carried away on another strong gust of chill air.

“When will admit you got us lost?”  You jutted out your chin in defiance as the prince rounded on you, striding through the deepening snow to approach you.

He was taller than you, stronger too by the looks of him, but you refused to be intimidated even when he loomed into your personal space, forcing you to look up at him. “You are a traitor and now a prisoner to the Crown.  I have been tasked with bringing you back to King’s Landing.”

“And we aren’t going to get there if we freeze out here!”  You interrupted, glaring into his one eye. “I thought you were the smart Targaryen.  At least you were last I saw you…” You continued to taunt as Aemond took your elbow roughly, shoving you to walk ahead of him. “But I guess a lot can change in ten years.”

“Keep moving.”  Was your terse reply, you could almost hear his teeth grinding and you smiled to yourself in satisfaction.

“Oh, come on, Aemond!”  You looked over your shoulder, momentarily taken aback by how close he still was. “We were friends once, remember?  What’s changed since then?”

“What’s changed?”  Aemond echoed your question, incredulity and anger lacing his every word. “You fed information to the Black Queen and her allies.”  He touched the pommel of his sword with a gloved hand, staring daggers at you. “You are a spy charged with treason, and my brother entrusted your retrieval to me alone. Now walk.”

“How clever of him.”  You resumed trudging through the snow, it was up to your knees now.  Aegon had known your one weakness would be his brother, the boy you remembered so fondly as your childhood friend.

It has been easy for Aemond, tracking you down, asking after you under the pretense of reuniting.  You had fallen for it, of course you had.  Now your hands were bound in front of you with thick rope, and you were being led back to the Capital like a lamb to the slaughter.

“We will take shelter in those caves.”

Darkness had descended quickly as the snow continued to fall, you squinted, making out the shape of several large rock formations ahead of you.  

Aemond scouted out the shallowest of these caves, laying out the bedrolls and handing you some dried meat to eat.  You tugged dismally at the jerky.  It tasted terrible.

The winds seemed to be driving the storm away, soon enough the clouds dispersed, leaving a clear sky and a full moon above.  Your predicament momentarily forgotten you looked up in awe at the stars and the way the silver light of the moon reflected brightly off the white blankets of freshly fallen snow.

You felt Aemond’s gaze, turning your head to catch his eye.  His long hair was bright under the clear night sky, the light reflecting off the paleness of his skin.  You looked at each other, in heavy silence, for a long while.  Aemond gave nothing away, his expression smooth as marble.  Only his eye moved as it roved across your moonlit features.  

“You don’t have to wear that.”  You broke the silence, motioning to Aemond’s leather eyepatch. “I’m sure it’s soaked by now.”

His mouth thinned as he continued looking at you, not deigning to reply.

“I was there when it happened, Aemond.”

Another beat of silence.

“I recall.”  His voice was low, clearly audible now that the winds had abated.

In a fluid movement, Aemond lifted the patch off his head, still watching your face unblinking.  Despite yourself, your breath caught in your throat at the sight of what lay beneath.  A multi-faceted gemstone of rich blue caught the light and refracted into a thousand sparkling moons.  

“It’s beautiful.”  You breathed, entranced by the sight.  You laughed suddenly. “Of course, you would choose the most beautiful gem.”

“I’d much rather have my eye.”

“Of course.”  You repeated, feeling foolish.  You looked down at your hands, resting in your lap, still bound by rope.  “Is there any chance you can untie me?”

“No.”

“Great!”  Your eyes narrowed at him. “Can we make a fire?”

“No.”

“Well, you’re just a ray of sunshine.”  

“A fire would act as a beacon, drawing unwanted attention.”  Aemond rolled his eye, shifting to lay down upon his side. “At least I am not a traitor.”

“I had no choice, you insufferable upstart!”  Anger bubbled in your chest, your words cutting through the still night air. “I did it to save my family.”

Aemond was silent, he turned onto his back, looking up at the dark ceiling of the cave.

You took the opportunity to at last retrieve the small knife hidden in your boot, sawing slowly at the rope that bound your hands. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand, privileged as you are.”  The bindings began to loosen. “But I refuse to play the pawn in someone else’s game.”

With a snap your hands were free.  You came to your feet suddenly, turning to run in the direction you knew to be shelter and freedom.  The moon shone bright overhead as you ran through the snow, making your surroundings almost as bright as in daytime.  

You prided yourself on being fast and agile, however Aemond was still faster.  You felt a heavy impact at your back as he tackled you face-first into a snowbank.  You lashed out, making impact against some part of him that gave you an advantage, allowing you to wriggle out from under his weight, rising back to your feet.

“I thought you were clever.”  Aemond panted, facing off against you, his sword still in its sheath. “I suppose much can change in ten years.”  He mocked, tilting his silver head at you, a grim smile upon his lips. “Didn’t occur to you to wait until I slept before trying your escape?”

He approached you, deflecting your attacks as you tried to fend him off.  Aemond grabbed your elbow, practically dragging you back to the cave. “You are more trouble than you’re worth.”  

“Then why don’t you just kill me and be done with it?”  You collapsed against the stone ground as Aemond released you with a push. “Death is what I face at King’s Landing.”

“Indeed, it is.”  Aemond’s stance was still defensive as you struggled back to your feet. “My brother wants you to be an example to the people.”

“What do you want, Aemond?”  You asked, spitting your damp hair out of your mouth.

The prince didn’t answer you, busying himself instead with patting you down for more weapons, you little knife was lost in the snow.

His dexterous hands moved across your body, probing your clothing for more hidden daggers. You inhaled sharply as he pressed his fingers to the inside of your thighs. “Buy me a drink first.”  

He looked up at you, his prominent brow furrowing. “Do you feel that?”

“Yes, that’s why I-”

“Hush.”  Aemond interrupted you, straightening and looking intensely over your shoulder, deeper into the cave.

He stepped passed you, and you followed his movements with a quizzical quirk to your eyebrow.  Then you felt it.  Warm air. Seeping from somewhere deeper inside the dark cavern.  

Aemond muttered something unintelligible, returning to his pack where he rummaged a while.  Flame sparked as he struck stone upon stone, igniting a makeshift torch, holding it aloft and returning to where you stood watching.

“Ladies first.”  He motioned for you to walk ahead of him, deeper into the cave.

“Very well, but if I get eaten by a bear, I’m coming back to haunt you.”

“Promises, promises.”  Aemond half-laughed, his breath tickling the back of your neck as you explored further.

The warm air blew stronger against your face as you picked careful footsteps forward, the way ahead illuminated by flickering firelight.  You descended through rough walls of black stone, ducking every so often to avoid a jagged overhang.  Soon the sound of water met your ears, the air around you very warm and humid, the stone beneath your feet glistened and little puddles of water lay around the small cavern you found yourself in.  

“An underground spring!”  You exclaimed, excitedly turning back to Aemond. “I’ve heard of there being hot springs in this area, but have never found any.  Thank the gods!”

You shifted off your heavy cloak, beginning to undo the fastenings of your clothing, eagerly looking at the clear water and the coils of steam rising off its shimmering surface.

“What are you doing?”  Aemond sounded rather perplexed behind you, still holding the torch aloft.

“Drying my clothes and taking a bath, what does it look like?”

“Y/N…”

Your hands, which had been undoing the lacings of your tunic faltered, hearing your name upon his lips for the first time in over a decade.

You turned to face him; jaw set determinedly. “You can turn around or even leave me here in darkness, I will get into that water.”

Aemond looked away as you shuffled off the rest of your clothes, spreading the soaked fabric out on the stone to hopefully dry a little.  You splashed into the hot water, sighing loudly as your chilled body was enveloped by warmth.  “Aemond you’ve got to come join me.  It’s unreal.”

You looked over to where the prince still stood rigid, facing diligently away from where you bathed. “You can’t see me, silly.  The steam covers our bodies as good as clothing.”  A playful smile tugged at your lips as he finally looked back over to where you sat.

He lay the torch upon the ground, the firelight illuminating the small cavern in a cozy glow.  You watched as Aemond removed his cloak as well, only looking away politely when he started unbuttoning his shirt and trousers. You heard the water splash and felt little eddying waves as he entered the spring, choosing to sit as far from you as possible.  

You glanced over at him before laying your head back against the stone, watching how the torchlight cast dancing shadows on the jagged dome.  

“Who threatened your family?”  The question was soft, you almost didn’t hear it over the sound of dripping water.

“I’m not sure who, exactly.  Just the Blacks.  They knew of the position I held in the Capital, and how valuable the information I received could be for them.”  Unbidden tears pricked the corners of your eyes as you continued looking up at the ceiling. “They made gave me a taste…an example of what I could expect should I disobey.”

“What do you mean?”  Aemond’s voice was a little closer, concern lacing his words.

“Minerva.”  

“No.”  Aemond was next to you now, you could see him in your periphery. “Y/N, look at me.”

You raised your head, fresh tears falling down your cheeks to mix with the steaming water.  Aemond looked crestfallen, his eye sorrowful upon your face. “I loved your sister like she was my own.”

You nodded, your face crumpling, hugging yourself under the water. “I know, Aemond…but a lot can change in ten years…”

Light fingers grazed your cheek. “Where is the rest of your family now?”

“Still at home.”  Your lips parted slightly as you looked at the intense expression on Aemond’s face.

“We will retrieve them.”  He spoke firmly, his mouth shaping the words carefully. “Bring them to safety.  And you…”  His wandering fingers traced your jaw, his thumb brushing your lower lip.  “Y/N.”

You leaned into his touch, your gaze falling to his plush mouth. “What of me?”

“You will not answer to my brother.”  Aemond took your chin in his hand, tugging you still closer until you overbalanced, catching yourself against him with a hand to his bare chest.

“Aemond…”  You breathed out his name, whatever you intended to say forgotten as he pressed a kiss to your lips.

You moaned into his mouth as his hands skimmed down your sides to grope the flesh at your hips.  He pulled you flush against him, your breasts pressing against the planes of his chest. The water enveloping you in silky caresses as you moved to straddle Aemond’s lap.

He nipped at your lower lip, coaxing your mouth open to allow his tongue to roam and taste you.  You ground yourself against his hard arousal, frowning down at the prince as he stilled your movements with a firm grip.  

Aemond pulled away to look up at you through his hooded eye. “I will not take your maidenhead tonight, for we are not yet wed.”

The “yet” lingered in the air as he moved to place wet kisses to the hollow of your throat, sucking bruises to the soft flesh of your neck.  

“Then what-ah!”  You gasped, your hips jerking Aemond’s fingers brushed against your slick center.

“I want you to ride my fingers, Y/N.”  He mouthed at your breast as your rose up to position yourself over him.

He helped guide you down, his longer fingers entering your core, moving and curling inside of you as you began rocking against him.  Your body jerked as Aemond’s thumb brushed your clit, rubbing circles against the swollen bundle of nerves.  

“You’re so beautiful.”  He breathed, licking and sucking your pert nipples into his hot mouth while palming the swell of your breasts with greedy hands.

You moaned, arching into him, your eyes shut and mouth open from the pleasure of feeling him stroking deep inside your cunt.  The water splashed over the stone rim of the pool as you quickened your pace, your hands coming to grasp at Aemond’s strong shoulders for support.

“Aemond I’m going to-” The walls of your quim clenched around his fingers as, with another stroke to your clitoris, he sent you over the edge.  You rode out your orgasm on the prince’s hand as he continued kissing every inch of skin his mouth could find.

With a sudden movement, and the splashing of hot water, Aemond stood, holding you to him by your thighs.  He turned, placing you gently down upon the stone floor, spreading your legs wider before he knelt, still within the water, burying his face into your spasming cunt.  Your cries of bliss echoed off the rough walls as you felt his tongue licking up your juices, fucking into you with wild abandon. Aemond moaned against your heat, his fingers still gripping your shaking thighs, forcing them to remain apart as you writhed atop the ground.  Your fingers buried themselves in his silken hair, though you did not know whether it was to push him away or pull his face deeper into you.

With a lewd wet sound, Aemond released you, licking his lips and watching your wanton expression with a small smirk.  “It’s demanding all of my self-control not to take you right here, on the floor of this cavern.”

“I wish you would.”  You slid back into the water, kneeling to face him.  You pressed a kiss to his mouth, tasting your release still upon his tongue.

He groaned, cupping the nape of your neck with his hand. “You’re not making it any easier.”

“I know.”  You slid your fingers along the hard length of his shaft, before stroking him fully in your hand. “Stand up.”  He obeyed, the water dripping off his body, revealing his rigid member.

You bit your lip, admiring the sight of him fully bared to you.  The rivulets of water running down along the contours of his muscles, shimmering golden in the firelight.  

“We aren’t done yet, my prince.”  You leaned forward, placing a kiss to the leaking head, looking up at Aemond’s face through your long lashes. “You’ve been so generous to me.”  You licked a long stripe along his twitching cock. He hissed, grabbing a fistful of your damp hair in his hand.   

“Allow me to return the favor.”  The water lapped at your waist from where you knelt in the pool, you smirked up at his entranced expression, before sucking him into your greedy mouth.