#i will never see my mother again i will never see my father again i wi

[the-flaneur]

four-tune favours the bold (mv1)

pairing: max verstappen x alonso!reader [smau]

summary: having won his fourth world title, max finds no better time to tell your father that you're dating (and to maybe also get his blessing)

warnings: none (i think)

a/n: now that we finally have M4X (yipeeeeee), can we please get goatlonso back, preferably in the next few years (pls let the newey rocketship work)

[masterlist] [requests]

-> instagram

y/n_priv

liked by fatherofthree, blackdontcrack, inchident_no1 and others

y/n_priv reactions after max told me he had told dad about us (he lied)

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blackdontcrack max stop sending your girlfriend into a heart attack, she's already getting one from your kids

fatherofthree she learnt that one from you and roscoe 💀 blackdontcrack HEY. my son is very well behaved

notnowinsnomore I DONT UNDERSTAND WHY YOU WONT JUST TELL HIM, IT'S NOT THAT HARD MAX

fatherofthree DO YOU WANT TO TELL HIM FOR ME 🤨🤨🤨 notnowinsnomore NO???? DO YOU THINK I WANT TO DIE??? notnowinsnomore IT'S ALSO YOUR RELATIONSHIP, NOT MINE

honeyhoney you've got to give him like 10 years to process that you're even in the same social sphere as his daughter...good luck man

fatherofthree thanks dan 😖 fatherofthree padel later? y/n_priv no? we have our date??? 😧😧😧 honeyhoney you beating up max now y/nnie? y/n_priv 😁👍

yourbff_priv babes ditch the men for me 😍

y/n_priv yes wifey 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩 fatherofthree @/yourbff_priv stop stealing MY girlfriend yourbff_priv skill issue

fatherofthree

liked by y/n_priv, inchident_no1, notnowinsnomore and others

fatherofthree stopped her from becoming blonde and still got kisses xoxo

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notnowinsnomore that second picture is exactly is what's gonna put you on top of fernando's kill list

fatherofthree no it wont notnowinsnomore yes it will inchident_no1 yes it will blackdontcrack yes it will honeyhoney yes it will ima5starmichelin yes it will buzzlightyear yes it will y/n_priv yes it will fatherofthree ok maybe it will. but fernando doesn't need to know

inchident_no1 your rendition of my heart goes on is truly...

y/n_priv truly what CHARLES? say it with your pussy fatherofthree YEAH WHAT SHE SAID inchident_no1 rubbish 🙄 y/n_priv BOOOOOOO YOU'RE RUBBISH

y/n_priv

liked by fatherofthree, spicysugarbaby, inchident_no1 and others

y/n_priv PUTTING IT ALL ON BLACK! VIVA LAS VEGAS BABY 🤩 YOU ARE WELCOME TO JOIN US AT THE MGM UNTIL THURSDAY MORNING @/f1

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inchident_no1 should've bet on red 😉 wouldn't have lost you 100k

spicysugarbaby agreed 🤭 blackdontcrack well i SEVERELY disagree since we won 250k on the next spin on black so.... fatherofthree I LEAVE YOU ALONE WITH THEM FOR 10 MINUTES AND YOU'VE ALREADY BET 250K??? y/n_priv yeah but it's an investment babe 😘

antman can i join you guys? 🥺🥺🥺

y/n_priv not yet little kimi, in another three years (i think; i'll take you to the casino then myself ☺️) y/n_priv and yes you too @/we_are_barebears we_are_barebears YESSSSS 😌

f1 can i come over pls pls

y/n_priv of course admin ❤️ f1 yay 😁

-> messages

-> instagram

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, lewishamilton, fernandoalo_oficial and others

yourusername feeling right at home here, dressed and betting on red

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user1 HOLY LORD MOTHER IS FINALLY BACK TO SERVE CUNT IN THE PADDOCK 🥵🥵🥵

user2 the sexy spanish alonso genes are real with this one yourusername i would hope so! 🥱 user3 istg ive never seen a spanish person look bad in red

user4 GOD REALLY GIVES US Y/N AS AN APOLOGY CAUSE HOW DOES SHE EXIST????

user5 she's literally a goddess on earth user6 the face economy is unreal with her 😍 yourusername cant just be a nepo baby, gotta make papa proud 😘

user7 super hyped for vegas now that you're here with us y/n 🤩

user8 hopefully we see another alonso top 10 (i can copium for a top 6) user9 he will literally dnf everyone if it means y/n gets to see him podium or win again (2023 was literally iconic) yourusername papa will be ready to make stroll do crashgate 😉 (but i've asked him to refrain for this weekend) user10 ya'll y/n's cooking 😌😌😌

user11 ERM ANYONE GONNA BRING UP PIC 3 CAUSE....

user12 YA'LL GIRLIE I WAS GONNA SAY THE SAME THING user13 who's that @/yourusername 🤨 user14 who's that @/yourusername 🤨 yourusername no comment 🥺👉👈 user15 whoever that is do be looking fine affff user16 also probably fearing for his life, considering she's got like ten godfathers and then over twenty drivers ready to bash a man for her 💀💀💀

user17 THE FERRARI AURA IS STRONG WITH THIS ONE 😆

fernandoalo_oficial who's that princessa

yourusername i will tell you soon papa 😁

maxverstappen1

liked by yourusername, charles_leclerc, landonorris and others

maxverstappen1 suited up and ready to take on vegas. 💪 bring on the race 🎰

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user18 STILL COOKING WITH A SLIGHTLY COOKED CAR, LETS GET TITLE NUMBER 4 💪💪💪

user19 literally salivating over pic one, cause he's so fine 🥵

user20 waiting for "2024 fia f1 world champion is max verstappen"

user21 SIMPLY LOVELY PUTTING YOURSELF INTO A STRONG POSITION

user22 getting the ladies i see in pic two 🤣

user23 he knows what he wants, and what he's going to get afterwards 😏

user24 VIVA LAS VEGASSSSSS, GETTING READY TO RUMBLE

-> twitter

-> irl

as max stepped out of the cockpit of his red bull - his gloved hands trembling slightly - he could feel the relief coursing through him, palpable even under the thick layers of his racing suit and balaclava. the cold autumn air nipped at his damp skin, but he barely noticed, lost in the overwhelming rush of emotions.

after a very, very long season, filled with challenges both in and out of the car, he had finally done it…he had won his fourth world championship. 

as he stood there under the vegas lights, savoring this triumphant moment in front of the roaring crowd, his thoughts drifted to you.

throughout the year, your presence had always been a beacon amidst the chaos, a constant reminder of what truly mattered to him beyond the roar of engines and the glare of millions of fans. as he ran towards his team, his chest pounding and blood rushing in his ears, he thought of your earlier message, and his heart swelled with affection for you. he knew now was finally the perfect opportunity to share his love for you with the rest of the world.

as you watched max leap into the waiting arms of his jubilant crew, who slapped his back, clapping and cheering, chanting his name, you tried furiously to blink away the tears. your boyfriend had finally achieved his fourth world title, and he was making both of your wishes come true.

walking over to the other drivers, max felt the hand of another behind him. turning around, the butterflies in his stomach heaved once again, coming face to face with your father, fernando alonso. max's exuberant gaze locked onto the figure before him, and as their eyes met, max felt the familiar flutter of nervousness in his chest, a sensation he'd grown accustomed to whenever thinking of you and your father.

"max," fernando greeted him warmly, extending a strong hand. "congratulations. you've earned every bit of this championship." max clapped his hand firmly, trying to hide the slight tremble behind his grin. "thank you, fernando,”

max blushed for a second, as fernando leant up to pinch his cheeks, while also grinning widely at him. as fernando's gaze lingered on max, he thought for a second that he had found out about the two of you, and was instead ready to pull him by the cheek in for a very obvious threat and kick to the balls.

"i must say," fernando began, his tone sincere, "you've shown remarkable resilience this season. much like myself. i hope to see you continue working hard for many years," his words carried a hint of approval.

max swallowed hard, his mind racing, as he opened his mouth to speak.

“i-i’m dating your daughter,” max’s heart pounded in his chest, the words tumbling from his lips before he could stop them. fernando’s expression remained jubilant, but there was a glimmer of something unreadable in his eyes. the air between them seemed to crackle with tension.

“i…i didn’t know she was seeing someone,” fernando said slowly, his voice low and controlled, as he waved to the crowd, whilst pulling max towards the other drivers. there was no denying the facts now – fernando knew about their relationship. and while max couldn’t read the older man’s thoughts, he felt a surge of nervous energy course through him. would this revelation change things? between him and fernando?

as if sensing his turmoil, fernando turned back around abruptly, causing max to jump slightly.

fernando studied max intently, his expression unreadable. then, slowly, a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "but i'm glad to hear that it's you max. my daughter deserves nothing less than the best."

with those words, fernando extended his hand once more, this time with a newfound warmth that spoke volumes. max grasped it firmly, sealing a silent pact between them. as they released their grip, fernando placed a hand on max's shoulder, pulling him in. "but listen closely mijo," he said, still grinning but his voice low and conspiratorial, "you mess with my daughter, and i will not hesitate to run you off the track or run you over. if you care for her, then show her that she's your number one priority, both on and off the track."

max felt a chill run down his spine at fernando's warning, but he also sensed a strange kind of respect behind it. this was a man who protected his family fiercely, and max wanted nothing more than to earn his place within that circle.

"yes, sir," he replied fervently, meeting fernando's intense stare head-on. "she is my priority, always. i promise you, i'll do whatever it takes to make her happy and keep her safe." fernando studied him for a long moment, searching for any sign of doubt. finally, he gave a curt nod, releasing max's shoulder.

"alright then," he said, "just remember what i told you. and welcome to the family, officially." as fernando walked away, max took a deep breath, his mind already racing. he glanced around at the celebrating crowd, their faces alight with joy and admiration, and couldn't help but feel a sense of pride swell within him.

but more than anything, max yearned to share this moment with you, to bask in the glow of his victory together and celebrate the love that had sustained him throughout the season. max scanned the bustling crowd, his eyes searching for a glimpse of your familiar features amidst the sea of faces. spotting you lingering nervously near the red bull personnel, he pushed through the throng of people, making a beeline directly for you. as he drew nearer, you couldn't help but notice the look of pure adoration etched across his handsome features. his dark hair was damp with sweat, his broad shoulders still trembling slightly from the exertion of the race. but his eyes shone brightly with triumph and something far warmer - his love for you.

"y/n!" he called out, his voice ringing above the din of the party. pulling you through the celebrating crowd, he wrapped you up in a crushing embrace, lifting you off your feet. you melted into his embrace, pouring every ounce of your joy, pride, and adoration into it.

your laughter mingled with the roar of the crowd as max set you back on your feet, his hands lingering on your waist. he gazed into your eyes, his own shimmering with unshed tears of happiness. in that moment, the rest of the world faded away, leaving only the two of you, suspended in a bubble of pure bliss.

"y/n," max whispered, his voice thick with emotion, "i did it. we did it." he pressed his forehead against yours, savoring the warmth of your skin and the closeness that came with sharing such an intimate moment.

your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer until your lips met in a searing kiss, pouring years of shared dreams and unspoken promises into that single, passionate gesture. the world around them melted away as max lost himself in the taste and feel of your lips, his body molding perfectly against yours. his hands roamed over your curves, tracing the contours he knew so well, as if mapping out the path to your heart.

when you finally broke apart, both panting for air, max rested his forehead against yours, his eyes shining with a mixture of triumph and tenderness. "i want to spend the rest of my life making you feel this way," he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. "i want to wake up every morning with you by my side and fall asleep every night in your arms."

he reached into his pocket, his fingers brushing against the small velvet box that had been burning a hole there since the day he decided to propose. max dropped to one knee, his heart pounding in his chest as he gazed up at you with a look of pure adoration. the crowd around them seemed to hold its collective breath, the anticipation palpable in the air.

with trembling hands, max opened the box, revealing a stunning diamond ring nestled within. the stone glittered under the bright lights of the track, casting glittering cascades of light across your face.

"y/n," max began, his voice steady despite the overwhelming emotions coursing through him, "from the moment we met, you've been the driving force behind everything i've achieved. your love, support, and unwavering belief in me have pushed me to become the best version of myself, both on and off the track."

he paused, swallowing hard as he fought back the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes.

"marry me," max breathed, his voice barely above a whisper. "become my wife. let's race through life together because i want to spend the rest of my life with you, and no one else, i love you,"

with a shaky nod, you sank to your knees before him, cupping his face in your hands as you peppered his cheeks with tender kisses. "yes," you whispered, your voice choked with emotion. "a thousand times yes."

max slid the ring onto your finger, and pulling you up with him to your feet. spinning you around once more, your laughter ringing out like the sweetest melody. the crowd surged forward, enveloping you both in a sea of congratulations and well-wishes, their excitement nearly tangible in the air.

as the celebrations continued around them, max pulled you close, his lips finding yours in a passionate kiss that left no doubt about the depth of his love and commitment. in that moment, surrounded by the people who mattered most, max knew that this was just the beginning of a lifetime of victories, both on and off the track.

-> instagram

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, lewishamilton, charles_leclerc and others

yourusername I LOVE LAS VEGAS BABYYYYY 😘 but in all honesty, i'm so so so proud of you max (more than words or actions could ever express). seeing you grow throughout the past four years into the champion you are today, is more than any gift i could ever receive. there were far more battles and challenges from this season, but you rose above them every time. you are a champion, both on and off the racetrack and you will never be alone in this world, as long as i'm here. keep them coming baby. i love you, forever and always 🧡

comments on this post have been limited

maxverstappen1 i love you very much schatje, thank you for always being there for me 😘

fernandoalo_oficial i am very happy for the both of you 😁👍

yourusername thank you papa ☺️ promise me you wont shunt into max next race? fernandoalo_oficial no promises sorry princessa 🤭

maxverstappen1

liked by landonorris, francolapinto, yourusername and others

maxverstappen1 four time world champion baby!!! a season full of challenges, but with the support, dedication and the effort of the team, this result would not have been possible 🙌 a huge thank you to all involved for this incredible achievement 👏

and i just want to say the biggest thank you to the love of my life, my girlfriend of four years, and now my fiancee, y/n alonso. i love you so much, and i can't wait to spend the rest of my life with you (even if your dad wants to run me over now)

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yourusername i love you more than anything else in this world maxie 🧡

permanent f1 taglist (comment or msg me to join)

@charlesgirl16 @tallrock35 @sweate-r-weathe-r @unlikelystay @alex-wotton

@daisyfreecs @euphorihan @louloucs @oikarma @dying-inside-but-its-classy

@fadingcloudballoon @princessminjikwon @chick-from-nz @nina-or-anna-or-nora

© the-flanuer || do not copy, rewrite or translate any of my work on any platform.

[prythianpages]

Out of My Head | Azriel x Reader

Azriel x Reader x Eris | Your father, the Night Court’s astrologer, is called to Velaris and you tag along with the hopes of catching a glimpse of Azriel, the one you’re madly in love with. The opportunity for Azriel to show you around comes up and you take it, unaware that things are about to become messy…

warning: this was meant to be cute & short to show your relationship with Az but it ended up being 5,685 words oops lol, some angst, rhys kinda being an asshole again

a/n: Eris does make an appearance in this if you look closely 🤭 I tried to write this fic off as a stand alone so it's still easy to follow but if you need more context, here is the masterlist.

Meeting Azriel had felt like fate, as if the stars and his shadows themselves had conspired to cross your paths. Becoming his friend had been a choice. But falling in love with him? That was out of your control, like being swept away by a tide you hadn’t noticed rising. 

Now, you were drowning and happy to drown. To let the flood of him consume you entirely. Every time you’d see him, even from afar, it’d fill your chest with a feeling you couldn’t explain, your heart leaping at the mere thought of catching his gaze.

You welcomed the flood of emotions, let it carry you to depths you’d never dared to explore. Your heart was so irrevocably his, you had no desire to find the surface.

So when Rhysand had invited your father to Velaris to discuss his first born’s birth chart, you insisted on coming along. It had taken days of pleading to wear down his resolve, but you had done it. Manifested it, rather, with the help of the moonwater you kept hidden beneath your bed.

Seeing Azriel was not guaranteed, as you were unsure if he’d even be in Velaris. But that wasn’t the only reason you wanted to go. Leaving behind the harshness of the Court of Nightmares, even for a short while, was reward enough. And if fortune smiled upon you, perhaps your father would let you assist with the reading, just this once.

Your father had never quite embraced your desire to follow in his footsteps.  The way he’d look at both you and your brother with that disappointed gleam in his eyes stung. He had always hoped you would stay at home and learn the ways of a “perfect,” traditional Night Court wife, much like your mother. His dreams of a successor rested squarely on your brother’s shoulders, not yours. But much to his dismay and your relief, your brother had chosen to become a warrior in Keir’s army.

Everything you knew of astrology, you’d learned by sneaking into his sessions, stealing glances at his star charts, or losing yourself in the dusty books of the Night Court’s observatory. That cold, stone-walled tower had become your sanctuary—your only glimpse of the night sky.

Though still in the Night Court, the air in Velaris was different. It felt cleaner, lighter. Freer. A wonderful contrast to the oppressive weight of the Court of Nightmares. You took a deep breath, savoring the rare glimpse of the day sky from the High Lord’s impressive townhouse, your father having just winnowed you both.

The sun felt so warm and soothing against your skin. Too caught up in the beauty of the daytime sky, you didn’t notice when your father abruptly stopped. You walked straight into him, sending the heavy box and stack of books in your arms tumbling to the ground.

A hiss of disapproval escaped your father as he turned to scowl at you.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, quickly dropping to your knees to gather the scattered items.

“I should’ve left you at home,” he said with an exhausted sigh.

"But who then would assist you in bearing the weight of all these books, given the state of your back? Rest assured, my arms are more than capable,” you said with a huff as you slowly rose back to your feet, arms overwhelmed with the weight of your father’s things. “I shall gladly bear the burden for you, father."

“Clearly.” Your father said dryly, his gaze pointedly lingering on the dented corner of one of the boxes.

You winced at his tone, grateful his back was turned to you again. The door to the High Lord’s and High Lady’s house opened, the former being the one to greet you. Even Rhysand was different here. His violet eyes gleamed warmly, free of the cruelty he wore like armor in the Court of Nightmares. The smile he sent you both softened some of the tension knotting your chest.

 “Damus, Y/n,” he greeted. “I appreciate you both coming all this way.”

Rhysand gestured for you to follow him. This was not your first time in Velaris but it was your first time meeting Rhysand in a private residence of his here. You couldn’t hold back the small gasp that escaped you as you marveled at the beauty around. Paintings, no doubt crafted by the hands of your High Lady, adorned the wall and there was light. So much light and warmth in this house. It truly felt like a home. No stone walls, no darkness, no cold.

There was a flutter in your chest when you felt something cool and velvet-like brush against your legs. You instinctively glanced down, though the books obstructed your view. And when you looked back up, there it was–that giddy leap in your heart.

Azriel immediately rose from the couch he had been seated on, his hazel eyes meeting yours before they dropped to the weight in your arms. With a few swift steps, he was in front of you, plucking the boxes and books from your grip as though they weighed nothing. You exhaled softly, your thanks barely audible over the rush of blood in your ears.

Azriel smiled, shadows curling gently around him as he shifted closer. “I wasn’t sure you’d be coming along today,” he murmured.

“Neither was I,” you admitted, turning your head toward him as you continued to walk. “But I’m glad I did.”

“So am I,” Azriel said.

Your cheeks burned at his words, and you quickly averted your gaze. Azriel was glad you were here. Perhaps, even waiting for you, hoping for you to show up. That had to mean something, didn’t it? Perhaps it was proof of what you’d always suspected—that the bond you felt pulling you toward him wasn’t one-sided. A spark of vindication flared as you imagined Eris sneering at you from some dark corner of your mind. If only he were here to witness this moment. To see just how wrong he’d been.

Azriel did like you and it was only a matter of time before it evolved into something more.

You frowned, shaking the thought away. Why were you even thinking about Eris? And since when did proving anything to him matter?

“Y/n.” Your father’s sharp tone dragged you back to reality. “The books.”

“Oh,” you breathed, glancing at Azriel, who still held them. Before you could speak, your father’s gaze darkened as he realized the task you were supposed to handle had been passed off.

Azriel’s jaw tightened but he said nothing as he handed the books and boxes over.

You moved to follow your father into the study, but he blocked your path, his glare cutting through you. “Stay here and don’t cause trouble,” he said before the door shut with a resounding thud.

You flinched, staring at the closed door. “Sweet Cauldron,” you muttered under your breath, “did Mercury retrograde move into his mood?”

A shadow curled around your wrist, the soft caress of it soothing the sting of your father’s dismissal. The corner of your lips lifted slightly. Azriel had told you once how the shadows came to him during a time of unbearable darkness, offering comfort when nothing else could. They showed him that darkness wasn’t inherently wicked, that it could hold its own kind of solace and strength.

Azriel had also told you that his shadows didn’t approach others. At least not like this, so openly and friendly. To them, you were one of the few exceptions, having met them before you properly acquainted yourself with their master.

You often wondered why. Did they sense the sorrow you tried to bury beneath and conceal? The longing that seeped into your soul–longing not just for their master but for freedom, for a life beyond the suffocating confines of the Court of Nightmares?

Your gaze lifted, finding Azriel’s attention focused on the tendril wrapped around your wrist. His hazel eyes darkened slightly, thoughtful, as if trying to decipher a mystery.

“Well, what am I supposed to do now?”

Azriel blinked, his attention falling back to you, gaze softening. The siphons on his leathers caught the light and your eye. You followed the movement of his arms as he slid his hands into the pocket of his leathers and wondered what they’d look like in casual clothing. And how far did those tattoos stretch, the ones that peeked above his collar and disappeared into those leathers? 

“We could go for a walk?”

Your brows lifted in surprise. “A walk?”

Azriel sauntered closer to you and a tingly sensation bubbled up in your stomach. “It’s a beautiful day outside and I would hate for you to waste it in here.”

“But my father…”

“He doesn’t have to know,” Azriel replied with a small, sly grin that felt almost boyish, his shadows dancing around him. He then gestured toward the door to Rhysand’s study, where some of his shadows had already slithered beneath the gap, lying in wait.  “Your father will be in there for a while. And besides, I did promise you I’d show you around, didn’t I?”

You bit your lip in contemplation, gaze flickering between the door and Azriel. This was what you’d wanted, been hoping for, wasn’t it? A chance to see Azriel, and now here he was, offering you his time. Your heart leaped at the opportunity, already screaming yes.

But your mind wasn’t so easily swayed. What if your father needed you? Wouldn’t this be your perfect chance to prove your worth, to show him how capable you were? Then again, the way he had dismissed you earlier, slamming the door in your face, made it clear he wasn’t expecting or even wanting your help…

“Only if you’d like, of course,” Azriel added, his tone soft. He must’ve sensed your troubled thoughts. “I can always keep you company here instead.”

The flutter in your chest returned with full force. Azriel seemed to really want to spend time with you. Alone. And as much as you admired the beauty of the High Lord’s house, the promise of fresh air, open skies, and Azriel’s company was too tempting to resist.

You found yourself nodding, your heart overriding your head. “I think I’d like to go for a walk.”

**

Velaris continued to take your breath away. 

Children darted between market stalls, their faces alight with pure delight as they chased one another without fear. So incredibly and unbelievably different to the cold silence and rigid rules of propriety in Hewn City. Here, no one glanced over their shoulder with suspicion or hurried along with their head bowed.

The people of Velaris moved freely. Kindness radiated from strangers who greeted one another warmly, who paused to chat in the bustling markets or helped an elder carry their bags. Artists lined the streets, painting the city’s beauty on canvas while musicians filled the air with beautiful melodies.

Azriel led you through the city, showing you as many places he could. He took you to a small bakery first, where he swore the best chocolate croissants were made. Then, to a cafe that sold a variety of appetizing teas. You drank it all in, committing the wonders of Velaris to memory.

As you walked along a bridge, the river’s gentle current caught your eye. It was broad daylight yet, the water glimmered like liquid starlight. You paused, resting against the bridge’s railings. Azriel moved to stand beside you, tucking in his wings so they wouldn’t bump against you. 

You couldn’t help but think how unfair life could be. For a place such as Hewn City to exist at the same time as this one. Both of the same court, yet so divided. And why had you been born in the wrong one? 

Azriel picked up on the way your expression had fallen. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you said and at the way Azriel’s eyes watched you closely, you knew he was not convinced. You let out a soft sigh, relenting.  

“It’s just…I thought places like this only existed in my dreams,” you glanced down at your hands. “And now, I just can’t help but dread my attendance at the next Court of Nightmare’s ball even more…when I could be here instead, watching the stars from the City of Starlight itself..free of any worry, any burdens.”

Azriel frowned at the hidden implication of your words.

A dark tendril fluttered toward you, brushing the hair that had fallen back behind your ear. Another softly brushed against your face and wiped a stray tear away. More went to you, wrapping around your hands, seeking to give you comfort and you honestly weren’t sure if it was of their own will or Azriel’s.

Their comfort brought you back to the fateful night you first met them. You’d known of them–of the Night Court’s shadowsinger, at least–long before you actually knew them. The same way you had known Cassian was the Night Court’s leading general and Morrigan, the court overseer.

**

Things had changed after the events under the mountain. High Lord Rhysand had gathered the Court of Nightmares council, a tense meeting filled with bitter accusations thrown across the room. Keir and a few other noble lords, including your father, sat around the table, each one arguing fiercely over who did what under Amarantha’s rule.

As the heated exchange unfolded, your father’s loyalty was questioned, and the words left you unsettled. You had nearly spilled wine over one of the lords in your discomfort, hands trembling as you failed to properly grip the chalice.

But then, a dark shape emerged from the shadows, winding its way around your wrist like a silent guardian. The shadow stayed there, curling around you in such a way that was strangely comforting.

You had snuck glances at the shadowsinger then. 

Azriel stood just behind Rhysand, his face a stoic mask. His attention was elsewhere, either unaware or pretending to be, of the shadow that had strayed from him and wrapped around you.

A break was called. And then, Keir, always the one to provoke, threw an insult at your father. You had no control over your tongue, the words slipping from you without thought. It was in defense of your family but speaking out of turn was a dangerous thing for a female to do. Especially in this court. 

And though you had done it in your father’s defense, he did not return the favor. His face twisted in a mixture of disgust and disapproval, making you feel smaller than you ever had.

Keir’s face reddened with rage and as he glared at you, the shadow around your wrist tightened. Azriel’s eyes flashed, a cold, sharp stare locking onto Keir. It was the closest thing to protection anyone had offered you in this ruthless court. It left you stunned and wide-eyed. 

You had been quickly dismissed by your father then. The weight of your court’s cruelty pressed down on you, suffocating. You fled, finding an empty room, locking yourself away in a cold, lonely corner of the building.

And then the tears came. You didn’t even notice the darkness that had formed around you, so accustomed to the shadows yourself. But this wasn’t the same darkness. This one was… different. Comforting. Protective.

You could only stare at them in awe, one hand reaching upwards to touch the shadows.

But when the door creaked open, your hand fell back to your side. Fear had risen in your throat as your gaze shot to the tall figure in the doorway. You shifted backwards, your back hitting the stone wall behind you, fearing the worst. It was the shadowsinger. And he had come to punish you on behalf of your father.

But he did no such thing.

His eyes swept over the shadows surrounding you—his shadows. The mask of indifference he always wore slipped for just a moment. A faint furrow appeared between his brows, shock flashing in his eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured, sending the shadows a look that had them slithering back to him, albeit reluctantly. “If they’ve scared you. They don’t normally do this…are you alright?”

You blinked the tears from your eyes. “You’re not going to punish me?”

His brow furrowed deeper, confusion crossing his face. “Punish you? For what?”

There was a flicker of recognition in his gaze, followed by a soft exhale. He studied you for a moment, his expression unreadable. His shadows swirled around him, some curling around his ear, whispering to him. Whatever they whispered to him had his expression softening.

“If anyone needs punishment, it’s Keir. For having the nerve to talk to you like that.”

Azriel took your silence as an invitation. He lowered himself, slowly, attentive to the way your breath hitched. Finding no resistance from you, he flared his wings slightly to allow him to settle on the floor across from you. His boots brushed against your shoes, and he gave a quiet apology. Others had done much worse and yet, no one had ever apologized to you.

“I’m Azriel,” he told you with a small smile, quickly adjusting himself to the cramped space. “You’ve met my shadows. Though I control them, they don’t always listen. Sometimes, they follow their own will. I really hope they didn’t frighten you.”

You were still frozen in disbelief, but in that moment, something inside you shifted. A spark of hope—a spark you hadn’t known existed in the Court of Nightmares, didn’t know could exist.  

“They didn’t. They’re nice,” you admitted quietly, gaze following the movement of his shadows. Your eyes then met Azriel’s, surprised at the warmth you saw in them.

And then slowly, you felt your body relax. “I’m y/n…”

**

A shadow wrapped itself around your wrist, squeezing you gently, pulling you from your thoughts. You couldn’t help but wonder if it was the same one from that night.

“Sorry,” Azriel murmured sheepishly, the same way he always did when his shadows caught him off guard.  “They really like you.”

The shadow unraveled from your wrist, slowly and reluctantly. It returned to Azriel, the others that had begun to surround you doing the same.

“S’okay,” you shrugged, though a small wave of disappointment settled over you at the thought of his shadows acting on their own will and not his. “I like them too. My little friends, they keep me company during those dreaded court events. Them and Eris, though the latter isn’t exactly one I welcome…”

Azriel’s body tensed at the mention of the Autumn male.

“But it’s strange,” you continued, not sure why you were telling Azriel this. “Despite all the insults he throws my way, he’s somehow kinder than all the other males at court. Maybe Autumn males are–”

“Please, don’t ever pair Eris and the word ‘kind’ in the same sentence,” Azriel interjected, his tone filled with disbelief. “You have to be careful around him, Y/n. I don’t know why he gravitates toward you…” Your heart stuttered in your chest and Azriel's gaze hardened. “But he’s not to be trusted. If he continues to bother you…”

Was that… jealousy? The thought made your pulse quicken, but you kept your expression steady.

“He’s fine,” you said, your voice a little too casual. Azriel went still, his eyes widening slightly in surprise. You felt the heat rise in your neck, and you hastily added, “I mean—it's fine. Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Doesn’t mean you have to,” Azriel insisted. He turned to face you fully, and your stomach fluttered at the intensity in his gaze. “I can handle him for you.”  

Azriel’s presence alone was enough to make anyone think twice before crossing you. It sure kept Keir from lashing back at you all those years ago and the handsy, sickening males away from you during court events. You knew he would handle Eris without hesitation. So you should’ve said yes, and accepted his offer. 

But, as the words settled on your tongue, you hesitated. You weren’t sure you wanted him to.

However strange and uncomfortable your encounters with Eris often were, there was something intriguing about him. Something that pulled at you despite his sharp words and caustic demeanor. It was almost like a game, a dance of sorts, and you found yourself drawn to it. To him, more than you cared to admit.

A small part of you wanted to continue this twisted back-and-forth with him. He was not a welcome companion but one whose absence would, much to your denial or disbelief, go noticed. The way he challenged you, made your pulse quicken, even when you didn’t want it to. The way his eyes lingered just a little too long, and how he always seemed to know exactly how to get under your skin…

No. You didn’t want Azriel to step in. Not yet. Not while this strange curiosity about Eris still simmered beneath your skin. 

“I can handle it,” you murmured, though the words felt more like a reassurance to yourself than to him. Your gaze trailed after the fae strolling along the river’s edge. Before Azriel could protest, you turned to him with a smile, changing the conversation. “Can we walk along the shore?”

The Sidra river was even lovelier up-close. With the sun beginning to set, the sky blushed in hues of pinks and oranges and you felt as if you were walking through a dream. A dream you didn’t want to wake up from. Azriel walked quietly beside you, the tension from earlier gone.

You breathed in deeply, reveling in the sweet mixture of fresh air and Azriel’s scent. The sound of water rippling against the shore was just as soothing as the early evening breeze. Your gaze fell on a rock ahead, its smooth surface glimmering in the fading light, and you quickly bent down to pick it up. 

“It’s beautiful,” you murmured, watching as the stone sparkled like starlight cupped in your hand.

“It’s a rock,” Azriel said drily.

You couldn’t help but grin, lifting the rock to show him. “It’s not just any rock,” you corrected him. “It’s a rock from Velaris. It’ll make a perfect addition to my growing collection of–”

“Rocks,” Azriel finished for you, amusement dancing in his eyes.

He knew about your rock collection. Of course, he knew. How could he not? Azriel had been the one to enable it. It had started as a joke, a silly request from you when he had mentioned visiting Spring. You had asked for a souvenir, half expecting him to politely decline.  

"What could you possibly want from Spring?" he had asked. “A rock?”

And out of all the things you could’ve chosen, you had simply nodded your head. “Sure.”

The way he had returned from his mission, slipping a smooth rock from his leathers and placing it in your hand, had been so unexpected, so sweet. You’d gasped, unsure whether to laugh or cry. He had remembered. 

And when he mentioned going to Winter Court next, you had shyly grinned at him, asking for another “souvenir.” What had started as an innocent collection had become something far more significant to you. Azriel didn’t know but that rock from Spring was the first gift you had ever received in years–decades, almost.

You treasured those silly rocks, keeping them lined up neatly on your dresser. You even painted them with little designs—daisies on the rock from Spring, a tiny shell on the one from Summer, and snowflakes on the one from Winter.

“This may actually finish my collection,” you mused, slipping the rock into the pocket of your skirts, your smile soft.

“I thought I had brought you one already?”

“Must’ve slipped your mind,” you replied with a playful shrug of your shoulders.

Azriel’s expression shifts into one of mock seriousness. “Forgive me, my lady,” he said, bowing his head before his voice turned teasing. “What will I bring you now, then? I’ll be flying out to Dawn next week. You sure you don’t want another rock from there? Or perhaps, this time, a jar of dirt?”

You rolled your eyes, the motion automatic but immediately followed by a sharp pang in your chest as your heart seemed to freeze. A lady, especially one from your court, rolling her eyes at a male? No matter how familiar you could be with a male, a gesture such as this was dangerous and unforgiving.

But Azriel only chuckled, his gaze warm and unbothered. Relief rushed through you, leaving you momentarily breathless, though you tried to play it off with a dry tone. “Ha,” you said, your thoughts already drifting to other possibilities. “But, if you are going to Dawn…”

He tilted his head, eyebrows raising slightly as his lips curved. “Go on.”

“I wouldn’t be opposed to a feather…”

His dark brows furrowed in confusion, and you felt your heart beat louder in your chest. “A feather?” he repeated.

You shrugged again, trying to look casual about it. “A feather from a swan from Dawn. They’re native to the court and mate for life, you know. Some see them as a symbol for love and fidelity. I’d like a feather so that I can add it to my Aphrodite altar.”

“I see.” Azriel’s gaze had turned thoughtful, clearly processing the information. There was a brief pause, and you held your breath, suddenly aware of how ridiculous your request might sound…

 “Y/n, are you… practicing witchcraft?”

You react almost too quickly, it’s suspicious. 

“No,” you said, shaking your head with a small laugh. Even though you had sought out the help of a witch not too long ago, something you’d probably take to the grave with you, given the failed results. Or the fact that this feather would be an offering given with intent to Aphrodite for luck and blessings in love…

”Well, not exactly, I just–it’s a…”

“I don’t think I want to know,” Azriel mused with a chuckle, saving you from whatever disaster of an excuse you could come up with. The sound of his laughter was like a release, the tension in your shoulders easing. “If it’s a Swan’s feather you want, then I’ll make sure I bring one to you.”

There was something in his tone, the certainty in which he said the words, that had warmth pooling in your stomach. It was the kind of warmth that spread quickly, making your whole body feel lighter and creeping up into your chest. 

You turned to look at him. “Really?”

“Really.”

Your feet faltered as the rush of emotions made you dizzy. You barely noticed the uneven ground beneath you, and before you could regain your balance, you felt yourself tipping forward. Azriel’s hand shot out, gripping your arm and pulling you steady against him.

Your breath hitched at the feeling of his touch, gaze falling to where his hand rested on your arm. Slowly, your gaze trailed upwards. Azriel’s gaze was soft, his eyes searching yours in that way that made your heart race. 

“Thank you,” you breathed.

“Of course.”

You were both so close now, you could feel the heat of his breath. The world seemed to narrow to just the two of you. The sound of the river faded, replaced by the pounding of your heart. His free hand brushed against yours, a touch that sent a spark skittering across your skin.

And then, it happened.

A sharp, sudden tightening in your chest.

It wasn’t the pleasant flutter you’d grown accustomed to in Azriel’s presence. No, this was something else entirely. A pull, intense and demanding, like an unseen thread yanking you backward. You gasped, flinching out of Azriel’s grip, who immediately let you go when he felt your resistance.

Your hand flew to your chest. Azriel’s brows furrowed in concern and his shadows stirred anxiously, circling you as if they could shield you from whatever had caused your distress. “Are you alright?”

“I… I don’t know,” you murmured, your fingers pressing against the spot where the ache had settled, desperate to soothe the inexplicable burning. “But I think I’m fine now. ”

You weren’t sure if you were reassuring him or yourself. But you pushed the feeling aside, turning back to Azriel with an uncertain smile.

He took a hesitant step closer, hand hovering over your shoulder. “Are you sure? I can take you to a healer–”

“No,” you immediately shook your head, eyes widening. Calling for a healer meant risking your father finding out you had not heeded to his order of staying put, of you not causing trouble. You’d rather suffer the consequences of whatever sickness had suddenly struck you than be left to deal with your father’s reproach.

“I’m okay. Could we–could we head back now?”

**

Azriel's pov

Worry continued to brew in Azriel’s mind as he watched you settle onto an armchair, hand still rubbing at your chest. His shadows twitched restlessly, curling tighter around him. You had always been easy to read but he found himself struggling to decipher the distant look in your eyes. You hadn’t even looked his way once since he winnowed you both back to the townhouse.

He parted his lips, ready to urge you to see a healer, despite your earlier protest. But a shadow curled itself around his ear and he made himself busy with the book in his hand instead.

The door to Rhysand’s study opened. Azriel’s shadows whispered to him as they noted the way you had stiffened the moment your father stepped out and forced a smile onto your face. He was always unsettled by your father’s indifference to you, his grip on the book he held tightening.

"Let’s go home."

Lord Damus’s voice was detached as he dumped the books in his arm into yours. Azriel noticed immediately that it was a smaller load than what you had arrived with, but that did little to ease him as you winced under the weight.

He moved instinctively to help you, but the harsh stare Rhysand shot at him from across the room made him pause. Azriel blinked, momentarily stunned by the anger that flashed in Rhysand’s eyes.

"Thank you for your time, Lord Damus. I wish you both a safe trip back," Rhysand said, his voice smooth and composed, contrasting the look he had sent Azriel.

Lord Damus bowed in respect and you did the same. Albeit, with a struggle, given all the weight in your arms. Some of Azriel’s shadows darted toward you, hiding within the shadows of the sitting room. They settled underneath the books you carried, helping you silently. And at the way your arms eased, so did Azriel’s.

It was short lived because as soon as you and your father disappeared, Rhysand turned back to him.

“My office. Now.”

Rhysand’s tone left no room for questioning or contemplating. Azriel’s shadows hissed at the sharpness but the shadowsinger yielded to his High Lord’s command. As he entered the office, the faint traces of Feyre and Nyx’s scent lingered in the air, but neither was there now. 

“Did something happen?” Azriel asked, senses on high alert.

Rhysand leaned against the front of his desk, his gaze locking onto Azriel. "I didn’t think I’d have to ask this twice, but... are you out of your mind?"

Azriel’s shadows swirled around him, speaking in tongues. He let out a sound, a mix of disbelief, defensiveness, and the all-too-familiar hint of rage that had been waiting just beneath the surface. Not again.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered.

Rhysand’s humorless chuckle cut through the air. “Oh, trust me, I wish I was.”

Azriel’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. 

“I can’t believe you would be so careless as to sneak her out of here when…”

“Her father has no clue,” Azriel shot back, trying to defend the choice, though even he knew it wasn’t enough.

“I bet your scent still lingers on her,” Rhysand snapped. “Do you know how dangerous that could be? For an unwed lady of her status to be caught alone with another male, to smell like another male? It could ruin her. I don’t know what you’re intentions are with her but Y/n is in love with you—”

“I know.” Azriel cut in sharply.

Rhysand’s expression darkened further, his voice hardening into ice. “So you do know. What’s your game here, Az? Because all I can think and worry about is how it will end for her.”

Before Azriel could respond, Rhysand’s voice rang out again, cutting through the growing tension like a blade.

“You will stay away from her.”

The words hit Azriel like a slap, his body going rigid as the words seemed to echo in his mind.  Because this was not his brother talking to him. It was his High Lord. His shadows were seething, reflecting the storm brewing inside. How had it come to this…again? The same damn warning, as though Azriel couldn’t be trusted to make his own decisions. 

First, it was Mor. Then, it was Elain. And now you.

Unbelievable. His lips twisted into a humorless, bitter smile then. “Should I just ask you for a roster of females I’m allowed to be with? It would save us both a lot of time and trouble.”

“I said it before and I’ll say it again.” Rhysand breathed in sharply, barely able to restrain his vexation. “And I pray to the Mother I won’t have to say it for a third time...”

Azriel’s shadows froze mid-whisper. The room grew quiet and unnervingly still. His wings twitched, as if they too, braced themselves. Because he already knew what was coming. 

But knowing didn’t make it any easier.

“If you need to fuck someone, go to a pleasure hall. Heck, I’ll offer to pay for it this time.”

And the words stung just as sharply as they had the first time.

“Just stay away from y/n.”

[series masterlist]

A/n: I had fun writing this <3 and I hope you can understand a bit more of why reader is madly in love with Az. I mean, who isn't? lol But does he like her back or simply like the idea of someone being in love with him for a change…😈

series tag list: @kaitttttttt , @nebarious , @daughterofthemoons-stuff , @justyouraveragekleemain , @tothestarsandwhateverend ,

@ratgirl2020 , @myromanempiree , @vanserrasimp , @itsswritten, @acourtofbatboydreams

@imjustagirl713, @paleidiot, @scarsandallaz, @marina468

@utterlyhopeful-fics, @bia-wayne-west

if you asked to be put on the tag-list and don't see your username, please remind me!

General tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444 @lilah-asteria @the-sweet-psycho

@daycourtofficial, @milswrites, @stormhearty, @pit-and-the-pen, @mybestfriendmademe

@loving-and-dreaming @azriels-human @mrsjna, @adventure-awaits15, @lorosette

@alwayshave-faith

[novaursa]

Dragonbane

- Summary: You go to Rook's Rest instead of Rhaenys and the rest is history.

- Paring: male!cousin/Rhaenyra Targaryen

- Note: The reader is a son of Daemon Targaryen and bonded with Vermithor.

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (for graphic descriptions of blood, gore and death)

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @literaturedog

The hall of the Painted Table is quiet, the air heavy with the weight of war and grief. You stand at its center. The carved map of Westeros gleams beneath your hands as you trace a finger over the land your house means to reclaim. Beside you, your wife, Rhaenyra, paces. Her hand twists the golden rings on her fingers, her face a storm of anger and worry.

“Send anyone else,” she says, her voice firm but tinged with desperation. “Anyone but you. My mother lost her life to childbirth, my father lost his life to his weakness, and now… you would have me lose my husband to a battle that isn’t even yours to fight.”

You meet her eyes, the violet flames within them threatening to consume you. “It is my battle,” you reply evenly. “It is ours. Every step they take against us, every insult, every drop of blood spilled — it is all ours to answer. Vermithor is the only dragon alive who can match Vhagar. This isn’t about bravery, Rhaenyra. It’s about strategy.”

She stops pacing, standing just a step away from you now. Her fingers curl into fists at her sides. “Strategy? Strategy would see you dead! Do you think Aemond will give you a clean fight? Do you think Sunfyre will hesitate to tear Vermithor apart, or that Vhagar’s rage can be controlled?”

You step closer, your hands reaching for hers. She doesn’t resist when you take them, though she stiffens beneath your touch. “Rhaenyra, my love,” you murmur, softening your voice. “Do you think I don’t understand your fear? Do you think I am eager for this? But Rhaenys cannot go. Meleys is fierce but no match for Vhagar and Sunfyre together. If we send her, we lose not only a dragon but the Queen Who Never Was. And what then? Our strength relies on the alliances we keep. If I do not go, who will?”

Her lips tremble, but she is too proud to let tears fall. “You would ask me to wait here, knowing you might not return?”

“I would,” you say, your own voice beginning to crack. “And I would ask you to trust me. Vermithor is not so easily defeated. Nor am I.”

A scoff interrupts the moment, and you turn to see Daemon standing by the edge of the Painted Table, his arms crossed. His smirk is sharp and cutting, though his eyes are shadowed by something deeper. “You’ve got fire in you, boy,” he says, nodding in approval. “But fire can burn too bright. Listen to your wife. There’s wisdom in what she says.”

You glare at him. “And would you go in my place, father? Or shall we send our cousins to fight their battles for them?”

Daemon’s smirk fades, replaced by a flash of anger. “Watch your tongue. I’ve fought my wars. This isn’t about me.”

“No,” you reply, stepping away from Rhaenyra. “It isn’t. It’s about what we stand to lose if no one dares to take the risk.”

Rhaenyra’s voice rises, cutting through the tension. “This is not a risk worth taking! You are my husband, the father of our children, the heir to your father’s legacy. I will not be left alone to face the Hightowers without you.”

You look at her, your resolve beginning to waver under her fierce gaze. “And what if I were to refuse? What if I stood by while another died in my place? What kind of man would you have me be, Rhaenyra?”

She doesn’t answer, her chest rising and falling with the force of her emotions. Finally, she shakes her head. “I would have you alive. That is all I ask.”

You step closer to her again, cupping her cheek in your hand. “I will come back to you,” you whisper. “I swear it.”

She closes her eyes, leaning into your touch for a brief moment before pulling away. “If you don’t,” she says, her voice breaking, “I will burn the world for you.”

The room falls silent, the only sound the crackling of the torches. Daemon’s gaze shifts between the two of you, but he says nothing.

Finally, you step back, your decision made. “Prepare Vermithor,” you say, your voice steady. “We leave at first light.”

Rhaenyra doesn’t try to stop you again. She turns and leaves the hall without another word, the weight of her silence heavier than any argument could have been. You watch her go, feeling the ache of what you might lose settle deep in your chest.

Daemon approaches, clapping a hand on your shoulder. “You’ve got guts,” he says quietly. “And gods willing, they won’t be spilled on the battlefield. Fly fast, strike hard, and don’t let them see your fear.”

You nod, your jaw tightening. “Fear has no place on dragonback.”

As you walk toward the doors, toward Vermithor and the battle to come, you feel the weight of your family’s legacy on your shoulders. The fear you won’t show burns in your veins, but so does the fire of the dragon you ride.

The wind roars around you as you soar high above the skies of Rook’s Rest. The faint shimmer of dawn outlines the horizon, casting a pale light over the smoke-streaked battlefield below. Screams and the clang of steel rise from the earth, but your focus is not on the chaos beneath. It is on the two monstrous shapes in the distance, silhouetted against the blood-red sky: Vhagar and Sunfyre.

Vermithor growls beneath you, a deep, guttural sound that vibrates through your saddle and bones. You tighten your grip on the reins, your other hand holding firm to your sword. “Steady,” you murmur. “They will come to us soon enough.”

And they do.

Sunfyre is the first to dive, his golden scales gleaming like molten fire in the light. His roar splits the sky, the sound sharp and youthful compared to Vermithor’s guttural response. You see Aegon, clad in his golden armor, urging his dragon forward, his lance raised high.

“Come on, you craven bastard!” you shout, leaning low over Vermithor’s neck. The Bronze Fury beneath you answers with a sudden surge of speed, his wings cutting through the air like knives. You feel the force of the wind nearly pull you from the saddle, but you hold firm, the adrenaline coursing through your veins.

The collision is violent. Sunfyre dives toward Vermithor, claws outstretched, but your dragon is older, wiser, and stronger. He twists at the last moment, slamming his massive tail into Sunfyre’s side. Aegon jerks in his saddle, clutching at his reins as Sunfyre shrieks in pain. Blood sprays through the air, bright and vivid, as Vermithor’s claws rake across Sunfyre’s golden scales.

"Is this the mighty king of Westeros?" you bellow, your voice carried by the wind. "Hiding behind a boy's dragon?"

Aegon’s response is drowned out by Sunfyre’s pained roars. Vermithor doesn’t relent. With a furious snarl, he lunges forward, sinking his teeth into Sunfyre’s neck. The golden dragon thrashes wildly, his tail lashing out and striking Vermithor’s side, but it’s not enough.

"Break him!" you command, gripping the reins tightly. Vermithor obeys with a brutal snap of his jaws. The sound of bone cracking echoes through the skies as Sunfyre’s neck is wrenched unnaturally to the side. Blood pours from the wound, a torrent of crimson that stains the golden dragon’s once-majestic scales. Sunfyre’s struggles weaken, his roars fading into gurgles, and then he falls, his body tumbling through the air like a broken doll.

Aegon screams, clutching desperately to his saddle as his dragon plummets. You don’t watch him hit the ground. Your attention is already shifting to the second threat.

Vhagar.

The ancient beast’s shadow falls over you like a stormcloud. Her roar is deafening, a sound that shakes the very heavens. Aemond sits astride her, his sapphire eye gleaming with malice as he points his blade at you.

“Did you think this would be easy?” Aemond calls, his voice cold and sharp. “You’ll find no victory here, cousin.”

“Come and claim it, then!” you shout back, spurring Vermithor forward. The two dragons close the distance in seconds, the clash of their bodies like thunder. Vermithor’s claws rake against Vhagar’s armored hide, tearing at the thick scales, while Vhagar snaps at Vermithor’s wings, her fangs narrowly missing the fragile membranes.

Aemond leans low, slashing out with his blade as you duck beneath the swing. “You’ll die screaming, like the traitor you are!” he snarls.

“You first!” you reply, swinging your own sword. The clang of steel on steel is lost in the chaos as the dragons spiral through the sky, locked in a deadly dance. Vhagar is larger, her sheer size giving her an advantage, but Vermithor is ferocious and unyielding, his age and experience matching her ferocity.

The sky becomes a blur of wings, claws, and blood. Vhagar’s tail slams into Vermithor’s side, sending you lurching in your saddle. You clutch at the reins, your heart pounding as you struggle to regain control. Vermithor roars in defiance, his jaws snapping at Vhagar’s throat. He manages to latch on, his teeth sinking into the tender flesh beneath her scales. Blood sprays, hot and sticky, coating you and your saddle.

Aemond yanks at Vhagar’s reins, pulling her away with a furious roar. “Kill him! Burn him to ash!” he commands. Vhagar rears back, her chest swelling as she prepares to unleash her flames.

“Dracarys!” you shout, and Vermithor answers. The two torrents of fire collide, the heat so intense it scorches the air around you. The force of the blast throws both dragons apart, their wings flailing as they struggle to stay aloft. You cling to the saddle, your vision blurred by smoke and ash.

And then it happens.

The two dragons charge at each other once more, their momentum unstoppable. They collide with such force that you feel the impact in your bones. Claws tear into flesh, teeth rip through scales, and blood rains from the sky in a crimson torrent. The screams of the dragons are deafening, a symphony of pain and fury.

You and Aemond are both thrown from your saddles as the dragons lock together, their massive bodies spiraling toward the ground. You hit the earth hard, the impact driving the air from your lungs. Pain radiates through your body, but you force yourself to your feet, your sword still clutched in your hand.

In the distance, Vermithor and Vhagar crash into the battlefield, their bodies a tangle of wings and limbs. Dust and debris rise around them, obscuring the scene. You stagger forward, determined to finish what you started.

Aemond emerges from the haze, his face twisted with rage. His sword gleams in the faint light, its edge coated in blood. “This ends here,” he growls, stalking toward you.

You raise your own blade, your grip steady despite the pain coursing through your body. “It does,” you reply, meeting his gaze. “But not the way you think.”

The two of you charge at each other, the clash of steel echoing through the battlefield as the dragons continue their brutal struggle behind you.

The clash of steel rings in your ears as you swing your blade at Aemond, his movements as sharp and calculated as your own. You’re both bloodied, sweat and grime mingling with the smears of red that coat your faces. The battlefield beneath your feet is slick with the lifeblood of men and dragons alike, a fitting stage for this deadly dance.

“You think you can kill me?” Aemond snarls, parrying your strike and stepping in close. His sapphire eye gleams with manic hatred. “I am a warrior, not a lord who hides behind his wife’s skirts. You are nothing but her puppet!”

The words sting, but they don’t shake your focus. “Better a puppet than a madman blinded by ambition,” you retort, sidestepping his thrust and slashing at his shoulder. Your blade connects, tearing through the leather and biting into flesh. Aemond grunts, staggering back, but his fury doesn’t waver.

Behind you, the guttural roars of Vermithor and Vhagar shake the earth. You spare a glance over your shoulder and see the two massive dragons locked in a death grip, their claws raking through each other’s flesh. Blood pours from gaping wounds in Vhagar’s side, painting her ancient scales a deeper shade of red. Vermithor, battered and bleeding, snaps his jaws around her throat, shaking her like a rabid beast. She thrashes, her wings beating wildly, but Vermithor doesn’t relent.

Aemond seizes the opportunity, lunging at you with a scream of rage. His blade slices through the air, catching your side. The pain is immediate, sharp and burning, and you cry out as blood seeps through your tunic. The wound slows you, but not enough to stop your counterattack. You raise your sword and swing upward, aiming for his head. He ducks, but your blade grazes his cheek, splitting the skin and sending a spray of blood across the ground.

“You’ll pay for that!” he roars, his voice unhinged. He charges again, driving you back with a flurry of brutal strikes. Each clash of your swords sends jolts of pain through your body, your wounded side weakening your defense. Aemond’s strength is relentless, and for a moment, it feels as though he might overpower you.

But you are not done yet.

With a desperate surge of energy, you twist your body, dodging his next strike and slamming the hilt of your sword into his ribs. He gasps, staggering, and you use the moment to close the gap. Raising your blade, you aim for his face.

He tries to block, but you’re faster. Your sword pierces his healthy eye, the blade sinking deep into the socket. His scream is inhuman, a sound of pure agony that echoes across the battlefield. Blood gushes from the wound, thick and dark, pouring down his face as he drops his sword and clutches at his ruined eye.

“You wanted to see the world burn,” you hiss through gritted teeth, twisting the blade. “Now you’ll see nothing at all.”

With a final thrust, you drive the sword deeper, the blade slicing into his brain. His body convulses violently, and then he falls to his knees, blood pouring from his eye and mouth. You wrench your blade free, and he collapses face-first into the dirt, his once-proud figure reduced to a lifeless husk.

The sound of Vhagar’s dying roar pulls your attention. You turn just in time to see Vermithor deliver the killing blow. His massive jaws clamp around her belly, tearing through scales and flesh to rip out her liver and entrails. The viscera spill onto the ground in a steaming, grotesque heap, the stench of blood and bile overwhelming. Vhagar’s massive body trembles, her wings twitching as she lets out a final, shuddering breath. Her eyes glaze over, and she slumps to the ground, defeated.

Vermithor stands over her, his bronze hide drenched in blood, his chest heaving with exertion. He lets out a victorious roar, a sound that shakes the heavens, before collapsing onto his haunches, his body trembling from his wounds.

You stagger forward, your own body screaming in protest. Blood drips from your side, your vision swimming as you take in the scene around you. The battlefield is chaos, but the tide has turned. The Hightower forces are in full retreat, their banners disappearing into the distance. Among them, you catch sight of Criston Cole, his armor smeared with blood as he flees with his men. The sight fills you with grim satisfaction.

But the victory feels hollow. The cost has been too high. It always is.

Your gaze shifts back to Vermithor, who watches you with weary, golden eyes. You place a trembling hand on his side, feeling the heat of his body and the steady rise and fall of his breath. “Rest, old friend,” you murmur, your voice hoarse. “You’ve earned it.”

Your thoughts drift to Rhaenyra, her face sharp and vivid in your mind’s eye. You promised her you would return, and you intend to keep that promise. Even now, as your body screams for rest and your wounds threaten to pull you under, you force yourself to move. Each step is agony, but you keep going, driven by the thought of her waiting for you.

You will return to her. You must.

And when you do, the war will not be over, but you will face it together.

[dsireland86]

Requesting Noah x reader where the reader experiences post partum depression after giving birth to their newborn baby girl.

Post partum depression is no joke and something so many women, including myself, have had to deal with. I wish it on no new mom. But, when you have a good partner who supports you entirely, it makes all the difference🥰

PostPartum

Tag list: @philomenie @supersquirrel1996 @foliosgirl @angelmarie89 @fadingintothegrey @thisbicc @lma1986 @dominuslunae @shayzillaaaa @mrsnoahsebastian @flowery-mess @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @stardustsirenmelody @romanreigns-supreme @anything-more-than-human @into-the-grey @rumoured-whispers @myownthoughts12 @sister-sebastian @nyxthedestroyerofworlds-deactiv @missduffsblog @bngurngheart  @somebodyllelse @xxkittenkissesxx @fadingangelwisp @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard

I held her in my arms like she was the most valuable thing in the world. To me she was. She was my daughter. She was the best part of me and her mother put together, a treasure created out of pure love.

I looked over at my wife, watching as she delivered the remaining proof of her pregnancy, feeling nothing but pride and respect for her. What I had just witnessed in the last thirteen hours was nothing short of an absolute miracle.

I had no idea how difficult it was for a woman to give birth until now. The strength and resilience I saw in her made me see her and all women in a whole new light. It was an indescribable yet incredible feeling.

She looked up at me, smiling her beautiful yet exhausted smile. She looked completely different now; she was a mother. I grinned back, offering her our daughter and gently laid her on her chest when she said yes.

"Noah, she has your nose and your eyes," my wife gushed, kissing our little girl's rosy forehead.

"She really does, doesn't she?" I marveled, unable to hide my grin. I kissed my wife's forehead, praising her over and over for what she went through for us. I had what I'd always wanted. I had my family.

Days after we came home were a struggle. The nights were sleepless, the days exhausting. The constant feeding and changing diapers was a lot of work I wasn't prepared for. But neither was my wife.

She started crying more than usual. At first, it was simple little tears, but then there were days where those tears lingered all day and sometimes into the night, too. They would lead into spurts of her doubting her ability to be a mother and caring for our baby the way she needed to be cared for.

That's when she would say things like, "Our daughter does better when I'm not around. Maybe it's for the best", or "I just want to disappear. All of this is too much."

I knew she was exhausted, not mentally prepared for any of this, so I did my best to help take the burden off her shoulders, hoping it would help. Sometimes it did, but most of the time I think it only made things worse.

A few weeks went by, and things began to mellow out some; with our daughter at least. We got into a routine and a schedule of sleep, making the nights more bearable.

But my wife would still have her spouts of irritability, sometimes waking up and starting things for no reason. It was usually over little things like dishes or clothes, but then it started to become bigger. She accused me of not being home enough and not helping out enough which would always end with her falling apart and crying again. It broke me.

I didn't know what to do, except hold her and tell her everything was going to be okay, even though I wasn't so sure.

I would watch her during feedings and how she seemed distant from our baby, looking away, never making that mother to baby eye contact I read about in the "What to Expect When Your Wife is Expanding" book Jolly bought me for my first "father's day". She was physically there, but not mentally.

Days after our daughter turned a month old, I came home to find her sitting on the couch in the living room, staring into nothing. She had the most distant spaced out look on her face, her eyes completely void of anything.

"Baby, are you alright?" I gently shook her. She finally snapped out of whatever daze she was in, shaking her head.

"Noah," smiling weakly at me.

"Baby, I'm really worried about you. You're not looking or acting like yourself," I finally admitted to her.

"I feel okay," she said weakly.

"When was the last time you ate?" I brushed some loose hair out of her eyes, running my hand down her cheek.

She thought for a moment then shrugged.

"Come on, I sighed, taking her hand and pulling her towards the kitchen. That's when the baby monitor went off, signaling our little girl was awake.

"Why don't you go get her, and I'll make us something to eat." My wife shook her head.

"No, you get her. She wants her daddy."

Letting go of my hand she made her way into the kitchen, leaving me in a bit of shock. I thought this was the worst of it, but I didn't know how much worse it could get.

Sex was out of the question. Not just for the first six weeks of course, but even past that. She closed herself off to me, not wanting me to touch her or be around her. It got to the point that she was sleeping on the couch and whenever I came into the room she would leave. I didn't understand any of it.

I eventually had to stay home from the studio and recording with the guys, having everyone bring everything to my house because I was too scared to leave her and the baby alone. Something was off with my wife, and I couldn't figure it out. I was taking it personally, thinking that the end of us had come and what was meant to be the happiest time in our lives was now becoming the hardest and most hurtful. I was done. I couldn't go through with it anymore.

One night, after our little one fell asleep after her feeding, my wife laid her in her bassinet then turned to leave the room.

"Don't leave. Please. Just stay with me for a minute," I asked, trying not to sound too desperate.

She turned and looked at me with tears in her eyes.

All the color was gone from her beautiful face, her complexion dull. Her hair, normally shiny and in her wavy ponytail, was unkept, piled high on the top of her head in a messy bun. Her sleep clothes were the same ones she'd worn for almost a week.

This was nothing but a shell of my wife and it killed me seeing her this way.

"Come sit with me, baby, please," patting the bed next to me. At first she hesitated, but then, surprisingly, she came and partially sat on the bed.

I tucked her hair behind her ear, smiling at her when she looked at me so sadly. I leaned in to kiss her, slowly so as to not startle her, and felt relieved when she kissed me back. Her hands found the back of my neck, twisting the longer pieces of hair at the nape of it. Her touch sent shivers down my spine. I was longing for her in ways I didn't even realize.

"I miss you," I confessed, placing my forehead to hers and holding her head between my hands.

"I know," she sniffed and I wiped away the tears that slid down her cheeks with the pads of my thumbs.

"I miss you, too, Noah."

"Then talk to me," I whispered, "tell me what you're feeling. Even if you can't make sense out of it. Just tell me anyway. I'll listen."

And she did.

I ran a hot bubble bath and for the first time in months I held my wife's beautiful naked body against mine, listening as she told me everything she had been going through.

I washed her hair, scrubbed her back, and helped her shave her legs, and in return, she gave me the best sex I'd had in a while.

Watching her face as she came on my cock buried up inside her made me cum, the feeling taking us both to a higher place we hadn't been in a while. It was euphoric.

Once out of the bath and fully dressed, she checked on our little angel still fast asleep, and for the first time since we brought her home, I watched the brightest, sweetest smile grace my wife's face as she looked down on her. It made my heart swell with joy.

We discovered that night, after some slight research that what she was experiencing was called postpartum depression.

It's something most new mother's get, some more extreme than others. We weren't throwing all our eggs into the basket of self diagnosis, but she promised to call her doctor the next morning and schedule an appointment.

Seven months old. Time flies when you're having fun. I watched my wife as she attempted to feed our angel sweet potatoes for the first time. Surprisingly, she liked them. A quarter of the jar later and we had a happy, sleepy little baby.

I cleaned her up and handed her to mama as she willingly and lovingly took her and cradled her just the way she liked it. With some warm milk, a soft blanket, and mama's arms, our little girl was out like a light.

My wife looked up at me, smiling brightly. She was herself again and there was no better feeling than to see her return. With a mild medication and a little therapy, postpartum depression slowly made its way out of our lives, restoring to me the woman I loved.

She apologized, over and over, time and time again, but I always reminded her there was nothing to apologize for. None of it was ever her fault.

"Thank you for sticking it out with me, Noah. Thank you for not running away."

I took her hand and kissed it, rubbing her growing belly carrying baby Davis number two. Now that we knew what to mostly expect, this little gem would be easier to handle.

"For better or for worse, Princess. You've got me and them, forever."

[sofiadragon]

I do like Jewish Snape or Jewish ancestry Snape when I see it in fanfiction. I've seen several takes on it and I think it adds a lot of nuance. There should be more diversity in mainstream fiction so let's inject it where it makes sense, and for better or worse JKR did write him with those traits. (I even read one that strayed a little too far into bashing for my taste where Mr. Evans tells Severus flat out he'll never have permission to date his daughters because his father is a Jew, and that was the first big crack in their friendship - which made them both a little racist which I suppose evens the scales a bit.)

Prince is a very western name, but in the fannon spaces that got me into those ideas, it was his mother's ancestry that gave him his coloration and his hair in particular was that thick Asian or Romani texture.

Also, for what it is worth, my great-grandfather was born with the given name Slavi and a surname that is essentially (but not exactly for privacy reason) RomaniDude. When he moved out of the way of the advancing WWI armies in a hurry, he became Steve Rodgers (again changing the surname slightly to one that's functionally the same.) He kept his initials but now sounded like he wasn't a foreigner... aside from sounding exactly like Boris Badenoff from the Rockey and Bullwinkle cartoon when he spoke. That sort of thing is less likely for upper class people, of course, though he was a chemist with more money than most who were running for the hills with only the clothes on their backs at the time. I have been told anecdotally during my dabbling in genealogy that Prince is a common way to anglicize certain names for Russian immigrants.

However, all this is from a US American viewpoint, so the name change conventions for people who didn't use this alphabet in their home country were probably different in England. I checked out the other post later the same day I queued the above post, and it's rock solid theory craft. Love that even Severus' first name fits.

Harry Potter, a first year with bad eyesight and an old lens prescription, who, so far, has only seen Snape from far in the Great Hall, and from close in the dark dungeon, sees him outside in the sunlight for the first time, and realizes that his hair, and eyes, are in fact brown (because — let’s be honest — Snape is a pasty-white British man). This is a shit-post, by the way.

That being said, I am going to keep drawing him with black hair and black eyes.

[kurishiri]

01 ┊ The final promise, a mother's death

꒰ ִ ֺ ⊹ @ notice ⊹ ֺ ִ ꒱ this translation may not be 100% accurate or contain creative liberties due to characterization or narrative flow purposes. if you enjoy, please consider reblogging, but don’t repost these or claim these as your own!

— jude⌛'s past records, record #1.

— cw: domestic child abuse (physical), death of a family member, mentions of alcoholism and family neglect.

The amount of happiness a person is given in their lifetime is decided, and it is split equally for everyone.

Such was written in a book somewhere.

Just as there was no abundance of good things, neither was there an abundance of bad. Everything was made to be equal.

——If that was the case, then just what did this bloody wretched life of mine ever amount to?

Since I was born, I had never gotten a taste of that feeling called ‘happiness.’

My father was an immigrant from Ireland, who worked at the seaport.

The place was filled with violent people, making both public order and the working environment in poor condition, but not working would be the same as death.

And what was tragic about the job was the fact that you could be laid off at any point.

Jude’s father: Blast it all! I went outta my way to show up n’ they went and kicked me out!

Jude’s older brother: Was a fool’s errand from the start!

In the cramped house, the scent of liquor and tobacco pervaded the room,

and perhaps because of continuous exposure to that, my younger sister and I had weak lungs, and were often prone to asthma attacks.

Jude’s younger sister: *cough* *cough*...

Jude: Quit it already.

Jude’s father: ...Hah?

Jude: If ya continue smokin’ that stuff, ain’t no way we’re gettin’ any better.

J: If you’re gonna smoke go n’ do it outsi——gh!

All of a sudden, he hit my cheeks, and the moment I collapsed on the floor, he grabbed my hair.

Jude’s father: I dare ya to try sayin’ that again.

Jude: Hah, did ya drink so much booze your ears gone bad? I’ll say it however much I gotta.

J: I’m sayin’ ya don’t even got a penny in your pocket and yet ya go off smokin’ that stuff——guah!

This time, he hit my other cheek without holding back.

Jude’s father: Jude. How old are ya?

Jude: ...Five.

Jude’s father: Which is the age ya can go n’ work a job. And yet here ya are not doin’ that ‘cause you’re coughin’ a lung up.

Jude’s father: Who do ya think ya are, complainin’ when you’re a useless piece o’ trash, huh!?

Grasping at my hair, he tried to drag me around, when——

Jude’s mother: Stop this at once...!

Jude: Mum...

Jude’s mother: I’ll give him a talk and make him listen. Okay?

Mother took some money, and the two left the house for a drink.

(That cash... went and sold off clothes again, innit.)

She was a woman who could use perfect Queen’s English, and she was originally a well-to-do lady, or so I heard.

But, she pulled the short end of the stick, getting together with a good-for-nothing.

She sold the little jewels and clothes she had brought until she had nothing left to her name, and her health deteriorated.

—— Time skip (I think) ——

Jude’s mother: Jude, come here a bit.

Mother took me out to the garden, and there she took a stick and started writing something on the ground.

Jude: Mum, what’s this?

Jude’s mother: These are letters. They represent the words we speak... let’s see... it’s much like a ‘sign,’ so to speak.

Jude’s mother: See, this is how you write your name. J, U, D, E.

I copied Mother’s letters, writing them on the ground.

Jude: Wow, I could really get behind this. Hey, how do ya write Jazza——

Just then, Mother pulled me into an embrace.

Jude: Mum...?

Jude’s mother: In the times to come, even when your body is weak, and your money scarce, as long as you have wisdom, you can live on with that.

Jude’s mother: Jude, you are intelligent. I am sure knowledge will be your guardian.

Jude: Hey, mum, if ya hug me so tight it’s gonna hurt.

Jude’s mother: Hehe, you’re a big brother, aren’t you? You can handle this much at least.

Not too long after, Mother’s body grew weak, and she passed away.

The only thing left behind was the cold bed which she no longer occupied.

(She probably knew things would turn out this way.)

Running my hand along the cold surface of the bed, I recalled the final conversation we shared.

—— Flashback ——

Jude’s mother: Jude... I’m sorry.

Jude: What’re ya apologizin’ for? There’s a mountain of people other than ya who gotta apologize.

Father and my older brother drowned in alcohol, and even on death’s door, they didn’t bother even showing their faces.

Jude’s mother: ...I’m sorry, I’m sorry...

Jude: ...N’ like I said, don’t apologize.

Jude’s mother: ...Please...take care of your sister...Jude.

—— End flashback ——

That became the final conversation.

And, after that, my life stumbled even more down to the pits of hell.

to be continued…

first next →

masterlist🌙 ┊ ko-fi ☕️ ┊ comms 🤍

[xxotothedeathx]

Introducing...

Royal Life - ROYAL!CHRIS STURNIOLO X ROYAL!READER

PART 1

warnings: smut, enemies to lovers, size kink, arranged marriage, unprotected p in v (wrap before you tap), daddy issues, angst, petnames (babh, princess, slut, my girl, ect), use of y/n, homophobia (NOT FROM READER), cussing, oral (f recieving), no aftercare, taken virginity, degrading, NOT PROOF READ,

details: ROYAL!READER will be using SHE/HER!! in which y/ns father has arranged her to marry chris, the prince of the rival kingdom. little does he know his daughter has met him before.

a/n: hi guys! hope you enjoy this one, i absolutely LOVED writing it. i am a BIG chris girl, so i love writing for him! lmk what other scenarios i should write!!

"Mom, you can't let him do this!"

You shout, turning to your mom with an angered look.

"Honey, its no lady like to yell."

Is her only response. You stare at her dumbfounded.

"Your mother has no say in this"

Your father snarls, stepping in between you and your mother.

"The king of Halker has two other sons, why does it have to be Chris!?"

"Because, Matt is married."

"What about Nick?"

"He has been exiled from the kingdom. He is no longer a prince."

Your face drops at your fathers words. Flashback of the kind soul running through your head. Times you two hid from the war together, or snuck to the river seperating your kingdoms to talk to each other. What could such a sweet man do to be exiled?

"Why...?"

Your voice breaks unwillingly as you speak.

"He was caught having intercourse...with a man. Disgusting. If he were not exiled, I would've forbid you from seeing him anyway."

Anger bubbles in your throat at your fathers word, tears swell in your eyes. You lower your gaze to the ground, your head following.

"You must despise love."

You mumble, but your father catches on.

"What do you speak of? Love is the most beautiful thing in the world."

"Then why must you tear it from other people!?"

You snap your head back up as you speak, gritting your teeth and yelling.

"What are you talking about!?"

Your father screams, his fists tightening into a ball.

"Your forcing me to marry a man I do not wish to! And you find someone disgusting for loving the same gender? How is it disgusting, it is just love!"

Your father slaps you hard, causing you to gasp as your hand flies to your quickly reddening cheek.

Tears finally fall from your eyes and onto your face, like a waterfall breaking past a beaver dam at last.

"You will not speak to me like that! You will marry Chris Sturniolo tomorrow, end of the discussion. I do not understand why you are upset. You've never even met the man!"

Your father sighs, turning and walking towards your mother. You can only stare at him in disbelief as memories flood your mind.

~beginning of flashback~

You let out a sob as you fall onto the dirty forest floor. Snapping your head back to see if you lost him.

You hadnt.

He was standing over you, a rock in hand.

"Please... Chris..."

You plead, but he just scoffed.

"You fucking slut."

He snarled, throwing the rock at your face. You lifted your arm up, protecting your face. The rock hit your arm hard, bruising and gashing it open.

He stared and watched you bleed before walking away and leaving you there.

Your father never knew about this because one of your maids had cleaned you up, and you paid her to keep her mouth shut.

~end of flashback~

You wipe your eyes before speaking.

"I hate you!"

The words leave your mouth in a scream, and before your father turns to hit you again, you run to your room.

You rush into your room, falling into your personal maids arms, sobbing.

She comforts you, helps you change into your nighttime robes, and tucks you into bed.

You lay there, thinking about how pathetic this is. A 20 year old princess getting tucked in by her maid.

You sigh as the maid walks out, and you slowly fall asleep.

———

You wake up to someone poking your cheek, assuming it was the maid you swat their hand away.

"Leave me alone.."

You groan, rolling around.

"Get up."

Your eyes shoot open as you hear the familar voice, and you quicky sit up, wrapping the blanket around you to cover yourself. You look at him. Chris.

"Why are you here?"

You speak, tensing up.

"We're getting married today, what do you mean?"

He scoffs, sitting down on the bed edge next to you. On instinct, you scoot away slightly, squezzing the blanket to cover more.

He notices and rolls his eyes.

"Are you still shaken up by that time in the forest? That was 2 years ago."

He mocks you, but you don't respond and just stare at him. Eventually, he sighs and stands up.

"Your father said to dress in a white gown and meet us downstairs. The preacher is here and waiting."

He walks out, and you can feel tears. You really dont wanna get married.

~time skip~

You step into Chris's. Well, now yours and his. It's quite large, bigger than yours at your home.

You look around, sitting on the edge of bed. Your night gown in hand.

Your personal maid is dropping all your stuff by tomorrow. You look at chris, who is looking through his wardrobe.

"Chris, I uh, I need to change."

"Then change. We're married, it doesn't matter."

You nod, standing up and placing your night gown on the bed as you quickly take off your dress.

As you're laying your dress on the bed, you reach for your night gown. But before you can grab it, you feel two hands on your waist.

You quickly stand up straight, tensing skightly. You feel a head nuzzle into the crook of your neck, and Chris's hair tickles as it falls against you.

"You smell good..."

He mumbles against your neck. You feel a small, open mouthed, kiss on your neck. The sensation makes you gasp softly.

"Mm, my girl is so pretty."

He speaks as if you've been together for years, and you feel his hips grinding into yours, his buldge rubbing against your most intimate area.

You squeeze your lips together, trying to surpress your moans. When he bites your neck, your head falls back against his shoulder as a quiet whimper falls from your mouth

"Lay down for me, baby..."

He speaks, lifting his head and taking his hands off your waist. You do as he says, climbing into bed and laying on your back. Your movements cause the gown and dress to fall off the bed.

He follows shortly after you, hovering above your body. He stares into your eyes, almost as if he's trying to read your mind.

Then, he starts moving down, kissing your chest. At the feeling of his lips on your skin, you let out a breath that you didn't realize you were holding.

His hand sneaks under you, unclasping your bra. He gently kisses each breast, licking your nipples before kissing a trail down your body.

You gasps as he kisses the most intimate place on you through your panties. This causes him to smirk.

"Aw, princess, never done this before, hm?"

You shake your head, staring down at him as he drags your panties down with his teeth.

He crawls back up to your pussy, licking it once. You throw your head back and whimper and the new feeling.

He smirks at this, massaging your clit with his thumb while his tongue teases your folds.

You let out a loud yelp as you feel his tongue enter into your folds, swirlling around the inside of your pussy.

He curls his tongue up, hitting a certain spot that sends a sensatiom you've never felt throughout your body. Your head throws itself back as your hips involuntarily buck up into Chris's face.

His thumb presses down on your clit as his tongue swirls around. You can feel yourself becoming close.

"Chris, I...I think im gonna-"

You cut yourself off with a load moan, almost a scream as you feel yourself release all over Chris's face.

He pulls away, licking up any mess before wiping his face off with his shirt.

He quickly discards his own clothes, leaving you staring at his hardened cock. It's much bigger than you thought.

"Big, right?"

You look back up to Chris, who is staring at you.

Without leaving his gaze, you prop yourself up on your elbows and nod slowly. He slowly lays down on top of you, supporting himself with his own elbows.

"You can take it anyway, cant you?"

His cock brushes against your pussy, cause your elbows to give in and a moan to eacape your lips.

Now, laying flat on your back, you wrap your arms around Chris's neck and pull him into a kiss.

He kisses you back aggressively while simultaneously lining himself up with your entrance.

He pulls away momentarily,

"Ready?"

You nod eagerly.

"Use your words, princess."

"Yes."

And with that, you can feel him entering you. You let out a yelp from the initial pain. He kisses you again, slowly pushing in.

When he finally bottoms out, he lays still for a minute, still kissing you. He pulls away, looking at you.

"Tell me when it doesn't hurt anymore."

You squeeze your eyes shut, adjusting to his size.

"...it doesn't hurt anymore.."

As soon as the words leave your mouth, Chris is thrusting in and out of you. You throw your head back, loud whines and moans leaving your mouth.

Chris groans, but it sounds almost like a whimper. He leans down, attacking your neck with kisses and bites.

You feel him speed up, and words leave your mouth before you even think.

"Fuck, Chris...your so big.."

You can feel his cock twitch inside you, and his thrusts speed up.

"Hell yeah I am, and your gonna take it like the slut you are."

You thought you would be hurt by his words, but for some reason it made your back arch into him and your nails dig into his skin.

Chris obviously noticed.

"You like that? Like it when I call you a slut while my big cock slams into you? Hmm?"

His words mixed with the sensation of his cock hitting the perfect spot, made your eyes roll back as you let out a loud whine.

"Fuck, Y/N Im gonna cum. Cum with me, okay?"

You nod eagerly at his words, already feeling yourself on the edge.

His thrusts become sloppy and fast, which causes your nails to dig even further into his skin.

"Come one, princess. Be a good slut and cum all over this big cock."

His words send you over the edge, and you feel yourself release all over him.

Soon after, you feel strings of warmth shoot into your pussy. He thrusts a couple times after he's done before pulling out.

He sits on his knees, looking down at you. You open your eyes to see cold, emotionless ones staring right back at you.

"Still the same slut you've always been."

He scoffs before getting up and walking towards the bathroom.

You sigh. You knew it was too good to be true.

You wrap yourself up in the blankets, closing your eyes.

A single tear rolls down your face as you wonder if he meant anything he said. You eventually fall asleep before he comes back.

is this good? do yall like it? cant wait to write pt.2!!

[janeyseymour]

Never in a Million Years, Unless... part 4, final

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3.

Summary: melissa schemmenti said she’d never do a lot of things. until you come along.

WC: ~3.05k

The idea of planning a wedding with Melissa is easy enough. While she’s the one who had proposed marriage, she’s done this before- you haven’t. So, while her hand is in the mix when it comes to decisions, it’s mostly what you want. She’ll put her two sense in when she deems it necessary, but for the most part, it’s you. 

You won’t lie, you’re exhausted over all of the wedding planning on top of teaching. Pulling off a wedding is long and hard. Nights usually end in you falling asleep with various papers scattered over you, a mix of papers to look through for the wedding and IEP papers for your students. You’re exhausted throughout the weekdays, and weekends that were once spent lazing around and soaking up any energy you could for the upcoming week are replaced with going to different venues, different fittings, various tastings…

But that day comes and goes. Mr. Johnson walks Melissa down the aisle, your own father walks you down. Jacob ends up officiating the wedding, being something of a son to your now wife. Barbara stands at the redhead’s side, while you have Janine standing by yours. You’re officially Mrs. Schemmenti. The plaque by your doors change from ‘Ms. Schemmenti’ and ‘Ms. Y/N’ to ‘Mrs. Schemmenti’s outside of both of your classrooms. The rings that you wear stay on your fingers and sparkle brightly. 

Not much changes in all actuality. Before the two of you officially decided to tie the knot, you were essentially married anyway. The two of you still live the lives that you did as girlfriends.

About a year goes by as married women before your mother begins asking you again when you’ll have a child on Christmas Eve.

“Mom,” you sigh out softly from your place beside Melissa. Her hand lays gently on your thigh.

“I’ll I’m saying is-”

“I don’t know that we want kids, Mom,” you tell your mother very flatly. “We both have a lot going on with the kids at school as it is.”

That first statement doesn’t necessarily tell the whole truth. You would like to have children of your own. But you know that your wife doesn’t- that topic was one that you spoke about in detail when you were getting serious. 

“Those aren’t kids that I get to spoil though,” your mother argues back.

You have to bite your tongue from lashing out on the holiday, but your wife just chuckles from beside you, squeezing your leg gently. “We’ll see,” is all she says before dotting a few warm kisses to the side of your head.

You turn to look at her with furrowed brows, and she just gives you a smile that tells you that you’ll speak about it later.

Of course, you both get swept up in holiday traditions, and the topic of potentially having children of your own doesn’t come up again that day. You’re both exhausted by the festivities, and you’re asleep almost as soon as your head hits the pillow.

But come Christmas Day, you’re settling on your couch in the living room again with a stack of presents for each other.

“Merry Christmas, my love,” Melissa tells you softly as she hands you the last present that she has for you.

Your eyes sparkle with love for the redhead that you’re lucky enough to call your wife. “Hun, you already got me enough.”

“Just open this one,” she prompts. “I think you’ll like it.”

With a lifted brow, you begin to carefully unwrap the present, and when you open the box, there’s a few things in it.

a stuffed bear and a… a onesie?

“Mel, what?” you turn to look at the woman sitting next to you. “What is this?”

You know she isn’t pregnant. There’s physically no possible way for either of you to be pregnant at this moment.

“I’m ready.”

Your eyes immediately begin to well with tears. “Mel, I-” You wipe at your eyes frantically as you continue to look at the items in the box. You pull them out carefully to get a better look at them. They’re- they’re absolutely precious.

“Mel, you told me-”

“I told you a lot of things,” your wife says softly as she reaches up to brush away the remaining tears from your cheeks. “I told you I would never date a coworker, I told you I would never get married again, I told you I wouldn’t ever take the plastic off my couches or lamp. Didn’t I do all those things anyway?”

“Y-yeah,” you choke out.

“You’re the miracle in my life, babe,” Melissa tells you with conviction. She leans in to kiss you gently. “So, what if I changed my mind on this one thing too?”

Your arms around your wife tightly, tears clouding your eyes again as you truly realize that she’s serious about having a baby with you if you’re ready. “Really?”

“Really,” the redhead mumbles into your hair. “I know you want at least one, and I- I’m ready to take that on, as long as it’s with you.”

And so, once the holiday season is over, you begin to pour over your options in terms of how you want to go about attempting to have a child. It does sadden you slightly that the two of you can’t make a baby on your own- that this child will not have the DNA that your wife does entirely- but one of her brothers is more than willing to help you with this affair.

The only person aside from your brother in-law to know is Barbara Howard. Melissa and you confide in her quietly during a professional development day when you both seem more stressed than usual.

“Melissa, dear,” the kindergarten teacher knocks on her doorframe softly. She had really only come down to see if the three of you were going to lunch like you usually do on these days, but what she had walked into was not what she was expecting to see. Where your wife would usually be scrolling on her phone, glasses on the tip of her nose, because she was caught up with her work, Barbara sees the redhead with her head in her hands, fingers entangled in the curls. Where you would be humming quietly as you plan for the next coming days, you’re near tears.

“Girls?” your grade level partner comes into the room and shuts the door behind her. “Is now not a good time?”

That gets your wife to look up, although you continue to stare down at the papers in front of you.

“Melissa, what’s going on?” Barbara treads lightly.

“Stressed to hell and back,” your wife grumbles. “Trying to-” She glances to you. “Trying to have a baby is… good lord.”

Brown eyes widen, and perfectly sculpted brows creep up the kindergarten teacher’s face. “What?”

“We haven’t told anyone,” you whisper. “But I- we’re trying to get pregnant, and it’s… it’s just been a lot.”

Barbara nods sympathetically and pulls you into a warm hug. “I understand that. I’m sorry it’s been so hard.”

“Three treatments,” you sniffle out. “We have one more shot, and then we won’t have the money to try again for… for a long time.”

“Oh honey,” the kindergarten teacher whispers as she rubs circles on your back. “Sweetheart.”

“I- I don’t know what we’re doing wrong,” you mumble into her shoulder.

Melissa groans again. “I told you, you ain’t doin’ anything wrong. I don’t know how many fuckin’ times I have to tell you that.”

“Melissa,” Barb tries to cut in. 

“It just- it takes time. And maybe now isn’t our time,” your wife continues.

You whip around and look at her, tears and remnants of mascara streaming down her face. “Is our time going to come then? What if it doesn’t? We’ve been through this three times, we’re- we’re running out of time!”

Green eyes meet yours, and you can tell that she’s ready to fight fire with fire, but at your heartbroken look, she softens. “Honey.”

“I can’t keep doing this!” you cry. “I- I can’t! Do you know the toll that it’s taking on me, physically and mentally? I-” you lose yourself to tears, hugging yourself and not even bothering to wipe at your eyes anymore. There’s no use.

Melissa sighs and she makes her way over to you, wrapping you up in her own arms. “Mi amore.”

“I- I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I’m so sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” your wife tells you softly as she kisses your temple. “I’m the one who should be sorry… I shouldn’t have started swearing.”

You chuckle through your thick tears. “Maybe not.”

“I’ll be sure to pray over the two of you,” Barb promises. “I’ll leave you be for now.”

“We’re still going to lunch, right?” You look up. “I- I think we could all use some time out of this damned building.”

“If that’s what you want,” your counterpart tells you. “But I also won’t say nothin’ if you two decide to just go home at lunch… not like Ava’s here to notice anyway, and I know the two of you are all caught up on your work.”

Your wife’s eyes twinkle with just a bit of mischief. “We might sneak out then, if that’s alright with you.”

“I’ll swear Janine to secrecy and take her out to lunch as a bribe,” Barbara chuckles as she turns on her heel.

“Thank you,” you call softly as you wipe your nose with a tissue.

“Of course,” your grade partner replies. Then she turns back to face you. “And hey, I’ll be praying for you.”

When the rest of the crew sees you and Melissa leaving the school with all of your bags come lunch time, well… Barbara Howard is there to shoot them daggers and dare them to challenge her authority in not saying anything.

By the time your fourth and final appointment comes around, you and your wife had made peace with the fact that it just may not be in the cards for you to have a child of your own this way. You’ve discussed other options- adoption, foster care. No matter what, the two of you have decided that whatever happens is okay. There’s no more stress around it.

You leave the appointment not feeling any different than you had before you had gone in. Time will just have to tell.

The time comes for you to take that damned test again, and you really aren’t expecting anything to come from it.

“Whatever happens, happens,” you sigh as take the test from your wife’s hand. She kisses you softly and nods before you disappear behind the door.

You do your business, set it on the counter, start your timer, and then walk out of the room. You can’t just sit there for the next five minutes dwelling on it.

“I love you,” Melissa whispers as she takes you into her arms gently.

“I love you too,” you mumble as you sit down on the bed.

The next few minutes feel like hours as you mindlessly scroll through social media. But then your phone starts to buzz, signifying the time is up, and your fate is in the bathroom.

You take a deep, fortifying breath to steady yourself. Melissa just squeezes your shoulder gently before the two of you make your way out of your bedroom and into the bathroom.

“Are you ready?” the redhead asks you softly.

You shrug. “I have to be, right?”

“Whatever it says, we’re going to be okay,” Melissa promises you. “No matter what.”

Neither of you makes a move towards the test.

“Can you look at it?” you ask as you hug yourself tightly. “I- I’m nervous.”

“Yeah,” your wife sighs softly. “I can look.”

You turn your back to the test, facing the mirror, although you keep your eyes down. You don’t want to see the look of disappointment on her face when she sees that it reads negative again like you had the other three times.

Because you’re facing away from your wife, you don’t see the wide eyes or the grin that appear on her face almost as soon as she reads that one simple word: positive. She sets the test back down on the counter and looks to you. 

Her arms snake their way around your waist and gently pry your hands away from your body.

“Stop hogging our baby,” she teases you softly.

It takes a few seconds for her words to sink in, but when they do, your jaw drops. You freeze in her arms.

“What did you just say?”

“I said to stop hogging our baby,” your wife repeats. “Let me in on the cuddles.”

“You- we’re- it worked?” you stammer out as you turn to face the redhead.

She nods with an ear splitting grin on her face. “It worked, mi amore. It worked.”

“We’re going to be parents?” you ask her, tears of joy rapidly falling down your face.

She nods again. “We’re going to be parents.”

You and Melissa both understand that you’re quite early into the pregnancy, and there is a risk this early on, so you don’t announce anything quite yet. And it’s difficult to do so. Your excitement is hard to contain, and your wife’s is even more so.

Morning sickness hits you hard. It hits you hard, and it hits you out of nowhere- which only makes it more difficult to keep this big secret of yours between you and your wife.

You’ve taken to eating lunch in your classroom more often, under the guise of having things to work on and prepare for. In reality, the many different aromas that swirl through the break room are enough to make you want to vomit the second you step into the room- much less sit there for thirty minutes. 

Those who aren’t aware that you were going through fertility treatments are none the wiser, accepting that you’ve got more on your plate than usual this year. But Melissa knows. And she has an inkling that Barbara is aware of it too.

That suspicion is confirmed when your grade level partner comes into your classroom one morning with you bent over the trashcan and your wife holding your hair back for you.

“Oh honey,” the kindergarten teacher mumbles as she makes her way into the classroom and shuts the door behind her. “I’m assuming that last round worked?”

You close your eyes as yet another wave of nausea ripples its way through your body, but you force yourself to nod. “Please tell me all of this nausea is worth it.”

“I was sick as hell with Taylor,” Barbara sighs. “It’s worth it.” She then proceeds to pull a bag of something out of her purse and hands it to your wife. “These might help. My niece had terrible morning sickness with her son, and these lollipops did wonders for her.”

“Thank you,” Melissa smiles softly. She reaches the hand that isn’t holding your hair up and gently squeezes her best friend’s wrist.

“How far along?”

“Eight,” your wife relays. “It’s been like this for the last two weeks.”

“Well, hopefully those work,” Barb shrugs. She turns on her foot to leave the two of you be, but she stops herself in her tracks. “Congratulations, you two. You’re going to make wonderful mothers to a very lucky baby.” You hear her press a kiss to Melissa’s cheek before you feel one being planted on the top of your head.

As soon as you’re finished emptying the contents of your stomach, your wife hands you the small container of mouthwash that you now keep in your purse. You take it with a grateful smile before spitting it out into the trash can. Melissa closes it up quickly and takes it out of the room before she reenters and hands you a lollipop.

“Mel, I don’t want a lollipop,” you chuckle softly.

She insists you take it. “Barb said it’s supposed to help with the morning sickness.”

You’ve never open a sucker so quickly.

Those things work like a miracle, and you keep them on hand for the rest of your pregnancy. 

When it comes time to tell the Abbott clan, you’re thirteen weeks and you’re able to conceal the newly appearing bump under slightly baggy sweaters and shirts. The group is thrilled with this news, clearly excited to shower the newest addition to the Abbott family with lots of love.

After telling them, they’re all a bit more mindful of what they bring into the staff room for lunch- a considerate gesture. They’re constantly bringing in little gifts for your unborn baby. It was clear to you before how much your work family cared for you, but this only proves to you how lucky you are to have these ridiculous, goofy, wonderful, special people in your life.

And after what feels like forever, you’re holding a stunningly beautiful little girl in your arms.

“Margaret Jane,” you whisper to the little bundle of blankets. “Our little Maggie.”

“The little girl that we wished and prayed for,” your wife mumbles as she strokes your daughter’s cheek with the tip of her finger. Her eyes don’t leave the baby, but you feel a soft kiss being pressed to your head as she whispers, “I’m so proud of you.”

You look up at her tiredly, but the warm smile on your face hasn’t left since you were handed your girl for the first time a few hours ago. You lean up just slightly, as much as your aching body will allow. Your wife leans down the rest of the way to kiss you softly.

“You know,” Melissa sighs quietly. “If you had told a recently divorced me that this is what my life would turn out to be… having a perfect wife and a beautiful little girl I get to call my daughter, I would’ve told you that you were bat shit crazy- never in a million years would that happen.”

“I know,” you laugh tiredly.

“Miracles really do happen,” your wife says softly as her fingers brush over the small tufts of red hair atop your daughter’s head. 

TAGS: @schemmentis @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @marvels--slut @sweetcheeksschemmenti @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @a-queen-and-her-throne @notinmyvocab @melanielaufeyson @dvrkhcld @cosmichymns @sasheemo @m1lflov3rrr @ricejucie @temilyrights @emilynissangtr @squinnchy @dopenightmaretyphoon @emeraldoceansstuff @shinyfaerielights  @blkmxrvel @marvelwomenrule @sarahjohannson @casualfoxwitch @babytakeittothehead

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Unwanted 5

Warnings: non/dubcon, bullying, insults, body insecurity, perversion, and other dark elements. Not all kinks or triggers are tagged. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Summary: You’re used to being unwanted, but a strange man might just convince you that’s a good thing.

Note: this is a sequel to Unsolicited/Unexpected, but with a different reader. This is Lloyd’s sequel. Peaches is flourishing somewhere else.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You run away from the uber and nearly crash into the front door. You scramble to get the keys in the lock as you refuse to look back at the car idling at the curb. You shake as you twist so hard your wrist throbs. You swing inside and just as quickly turn the lock. 

You heave and turn your back to the door. You can't believe what just happened. What he did with you right there in the back seat. Your eyes tinge with hot tears and your nose tingles. 

“What’s it this time?” Derrick scoffs as he appears in a pair of loose grey sweats and oversized hoodie. You can’t tell that he’s been sleeping all day. “You’re such a cry baby.” 

“Nothing,” you turn and drop your bag on the side table. “It’s cold, that’s it.” 

“Sure,” he peels open the bag of chips in his hands. 

You shrug. He doesn’t care. He just likes an easy target. 

You unzip your coat and hang it. You leave your boots on the mat and swipe up your bag. You tramp past him and up to your room. 

You shut the door and throw your bag on the end of your bed. You’re restless. Unsettled by that strange man. Why is he bothering you? Of all people. How did he tack onto you. You’re nothing. You’re insignificant. Maybe that’s why. Just like Derrick, he knows you’re weak. 

Your phone vibrates in your back pocket. You flinch. It’s probably your mom ready to bitch you out about the dishes or dinner. You slip the cell free and check it. Private number. 

You answer, it could be your manager. 

“Hello?” You quaver into the speaker. 

“Mmm, there’s that caked-up cutie,” the gravely purr makes you shudder. “I was just thinking of you. Again.” 

“No,” you exclaim and hang up. You throw your phone and pace around. Why? Oh, maybe it’s all your own fault. 

You’re used to being unnoticed. Being the forgotten one. And for so long, you just wanted to be seen. You dreamed of some guy way out of your league picking you out of the crowd and telling you you’re special. But not like this. No, never this. That man is a creep. 

But who are you to be picky? 

No! No. Don’t do that. You’d rather be alone. The way he talks about you, the way he looks at you, even you can see that he’s no good. He’s just a pervert and you’ve seen enough Tiktoks to know better. 

Your phone vibrates again. You ignore it. That’s your only option. 

You leave your room and your cell. You go down and start on dinner. At least your mom won’t have anything to rant about, but you’re sure she’ll think of something. 

You glaze the chicken breast and put it in the oven. You start on the potatoes, seasoning them and adding lemon wedges to the pan. You slide those on the middle rack and rinse asparagus. The front door opens and closes as you focus on the simple tasks over the complicated thoughts nipping at your ears. 

“Smells good,” your father chimes as he enters, then clears his throat, “oh, your mother isn’t home?” 

“Not yet,” you look at the time. You know she had her office holiday party but it is getting late. 

“Hm, well, put some aside for her,” he says. “Is it almost done? I’m starving.” 

“Yeah, twenty minutes,” you answer. 

He doesn’t say anything else before he leaves. You hear him upstairs as he gets changed then comes back down to flip on the television. Your brother’s surround speakers blare through the other wall as he games on his PC. 

The front door opens again. Your mother’s shrill voice carries through with a gust. 

“Oh, that’s so wonderful,” she preens. “How sweet of you.” 

You put the asparagus in the pan and pause. Who is she talking to? You turn with the spatula in hand and near the doorway. You peer down the hall and see a broad set of shoulders. Wait, you know the back of that head. 

“I mean, much more considerate than my own daughter. She’s never mentioned you,” she touches his chest as you see the smirk on her face. You grimace. 

“I think I spoiled the surprise,” Lloyd says. “We were just talking earlier and she told me to come for dinner.” 

“She did? Well, isn’t that spontaneous. So unlike her,” your mom muses wryly. “Just like having a secret boyfriend. Older too.” 

“What’s going on?” Your dad’s growl wafts through and you shrunk back behind the doorframe and listen with dread. 

How are they not freaking out? This weirdo forty-year-old is just waltzing right into your house. This isn’t happening. 

“Hello, sir,” Lloyd says before he gives his name, “I’m here to see your daughter.” 

“That would explain the flowers.” 

“Scotch for you and wine for the missus, of course,” Lloyd explains. 

“Hm, that’s... top shelf,” you dad comments. Of course, he would care more about the fancy bottle than his own daughter. “Mitch,” he introduces himself. 

Your mom hollers your name, “you have companyyyyyy.” 

You cringe into yourself. How did he do it? How has he escalated everything so quickly? And why? Because you hung up on him? Because you closed your eyes when he-- 

Ew! 

She calls you again. You put your head back and gather what little courage you have. You turn and step into the hallway. 

“I’m just cooking dinner,” you say. 

“Get over here,” your dad demands. You know better than to disobey. 

“So when were you going to tell us?” Your mother prompts. 

“Tell you what?” You look at Lloyd sheepishly as he spins to face you and grins. 

“About us, sweetie,” he holds out a bouquet of pink roses, “oh, shoot, did I get the wrong day? I’m always forgetting these things, you know? I’m an executive and I have a pretty full calendar--” 

“Executive?” Your father echoes. 

Your mother hums, impressed. 

“We didn’t...” you try to summon a lie but you’re speechless. “Ummmm.” 

“I don’t know why you felt you had to hide us,” your mom challenges. 

“I didn’t? What?” 

“Well, it is about time, isn’t it, Enid?” Your dad intones. 

You gape at Lloyd as he shoves the flowers towards you, “these will need some water, sweetie.” 

You reach for them and look between your parents. You plead silently for help. Aren’t they supposed to protect you? Shouldn’t they be concerned that there’s an old man bringing you gifts? 

“Oh, dear,” your mom says, “do put them in crystal. They are so pretty.” 

“Just like her mother,” Lloyd adds. 

“Eh,” your father grunts playfully, “you could at least pour me a drink before you start flirting with my wife.” 

[quitesins]

Prince!Shouto x Writer/Artist!Reader

Masterlist

Sfw, Female!Reader, Fantasy Au, random thought that I just wanted out of my head, mind the typos! Dialogue under the cut!

You’re a writer/artist, gaining quick popularity across the kingdom due to the satirical works you put out, particularly the ones where you satirise The King.

Your pieces are doing numbers. Sung in pubs, tacked to every board in town, even shoved into the arms of royal guards who can’t do anything but stand at their post and take it.

And you’re beaming, practically swimming in money and praise. You let a bit of it get to your head, suddenly dismissive of any consequences that come with mocking the royal family. Especially with your foreign pen name, feeling safe signing the end of each work while cozied up in your little house hidden away in the forest… that is until you get a knock on the door and… it’s The Prince.

[Or Shouto, crown prince, can barely hold in his laugh every time his father calls a meeting to discuss the crudely drawn pictures of him being pasted around the city. And god the first time he heard one of your poems? Being read aloud in the formal voice of one of the guards? It wasn’t just Shouto who had to excuse himself from the table, but his mother too, trailing behind him with a soft smile on her face.

He makes sure the guards keep any of the flyers that make their way into the castle, citing it as “evidence,” crucial to the investigations. Really he just takes them to his room, gleefully pinning them up. Even taking comfort in them on particularly cruel training nights.

He’s never been malicious, but when it comes to his father, he can be quite testy. Petulant for good reason. Your drawings of his father, the harsh scribbles accompanied by wretched songs, somehow he feels seen. Like the awful hate in his heart is warm and somewhere appreciated.

Shouto also thinks the way you draw his father as just a massive rectangle with two deeply furrowed brows is really funny.]

“You know…” Shouto speaks, unintentionally solemn. You prepare to be scolded on instinct. “You’ve drawn my hair on the wrong side.”

In his hand he raises the crumpled remains of one of your works. Even with the paper having seen better days, it’s undeniably yours— with it’s infamous juts of ink, harsh lines and messy splashes of colour thrown across the page. In your handwriting, there’s a vulgar poem captioning the drawing. Implying the prince to be a bastard, with a women killing smile and a surprisingly impish attitude.

Your signature printed in bright red ink probably doesn’t help your case either.

“The scar is accurate howe—”

“Give me that.” You snatch the flyer from him, crumpling it into your hand and tightening around it.

Shouto doesn’t protest, seemingly entertained by your sudden shyness. The words of [Pen Name] have been always been so crass, he had never expected you to hold such embarrassment. He doesn’t want you to, but he finds it amusing all the same.

“Look.” You don’t like his smile, it’s too soft, earnest. “If you’re here to execute me just do it!” There’s a wobble in your voice when you speak. Not from genuine fear of death, instead you sound like a sulking child. “I can’t imagine the king would send his son for any other reason..”

“Shouto,” He prompts. “I’d like it if you called me Shouto.” In the blink of an eye, in front of you is another flyer. “See.” He points to the picture of him, his name written in massive letters underneath.

“How many do you have,” You groan, snatching the paper from him again. His little disappointed pout feels like a win, it must have been his last. “Then why are you here?”

Shouto stares as if he doesn’t quite know himself. His eyes glaze over you, your cluttered room and to where you fists have finally softened in their grip. Then, like a spark alights behind his eyes, he smiles, responding with blunt determination.

“To be your friend.”

I wishhh I had the brain power to write full fics coz this au is so fun to think about… maybe if the fantasising gets too big to stay in my head I’ll write drabbles of random nonchronological scenarios, or not!

[beef-brisket]

Lucifer gulped and pulled at his collar: Uh... y-you don't think you'd want to come over-?

Charlie: Dad. Now.

Lucifer: Yes. Yes, right... Adam... well, you see. A few months ago, we met for our annual meeting, and it was going great! Wonderful! Amazing-!

Charlie: Dad.

Lucifer: Oops. Sorry, hun. I-I didn't mean to keep Adam. I just... didn't want him taking Avery away- I lost him once, I failed you, I couldn't fail her... I couldn't let her go.

Lucifer felt himself tear up, knowing that his daughter was gone, he didn't even get to say goodbye. To her or Adam.

Charlie: D-Daughter? She's... how?

Lucifer: A few months ago, I saw Adam at a bar we went to. H-He was fucking around! Blending in! I... I wanted to fuck with him- so I spent some time with him, got him drunk- but I had such a good time, Charlie... even though he knew it was me, he was... kind and funny. I really enjoyed my time with him... it almost felt like there was no bad blood between us. Then he said he wanted to go home with me. So, that's where we went. And I'm sure you can guess the rest...

Charlie was silent for a moment: I thought Adam was a man- how? How did you-?

Lucifer: I may be the Devil, but I used to be an angel. And angels cause the human male body to... do some weird things. I knew there could have been a chance- but I thought it could be funny! He was such as asshole to your mother! And who knows what he was like eith Eve-! She had over nine hundred kids, Charlie! I-I thought it would be funny...

Charlie sighed: It's not funny, dad. He's a man. He's not meant to have children. That's not what he was made for.

Lucifer: I know... I know. I didn't think anything came of it! I never saw him, not until our last meeting. I could barely tell anything had changed- his robe is so... robey. B-But he... he just- looked so uncomfortable and looked in pain at times. When he went to leave- he curled over! He nearly collapsed, Charlie! Then he told me... we went to Sloth- and... she's beautiful, Charlie. She looks like him. Like his twin. She's just... gorgeous. Like you. I could see you in her. In her eyes.

Lucifer covered his mouth, feeling tears come to his eyes. He knew he wasn't the best father. He didn't know what to do if she kept crying or wouldn't eat or sleep, but he loved her so much.

Charlie: Oh, dad... I'm so sorry.

Lucifer: I-It's okay, Charlie. She's holy... I don't know how, but she is. She can go to Heaven. And... and that's where she belongs. To be safe. To be loved. She deserves blue skies and clean are... not... this. You deserve it too, Char. So much. I hate that you had to live through exterminations. I hate that you had to deal with my horrible relationship with your mother. I-I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry I didn't do right by you! I failed you- and now I'm failing her!

Charlie: Dad- breathe. You didn't fail me. You've been so wonderful to me. And I know you love me, I can feel it.

Charlie looked at Vaggie, who was looking concerned. She definitely wasn't happy about learning that Adam was in Hell.

She wiped her eye as she heard Lucifer cry.

Charlie: Dad- dad, I'm coming over. Just me, okay?

Lucifer: ...p-please Charlie. Please come over, I-I need you.

Charlie quickly started packing some things into a bag.

Charlie: I'm coming, dad. I'll even pick up those little pastries you like, okay?

Lucifer: Okay Charlie- thank you.

Charlie: You're welcome. Okay, I'll see you soon. I love you, dad. So much.

Lucifer: I-I love you, Charlie. And I'm so sorry for everything.

Charlie: Don't be sorry, dad. We've moved on from those years- you've more than made it up to me.

Lucifer broke down after Charlie hung up. He missed his Avery so much. He missed both of his daughters. He even missed Adam.

He hates being alone again. Somehow, he always ended up alone. He tries so hard, with everyone, but they always leave.

Is this how Adam felt in Eden?

That made Lucifer feel even worse. He ruined his best friend. The loneliness changed him for the worse, and Lucifer could feel it changing him, too.

What about an au where Adam goes to Hell for night trips, wher ehe just parties and fucks. He has a disguise (it's just a slightly different looking helmet).

Lucifer joins his daughter and her friends at a bar, where he sees "Adam". He instantly knows it's him, but he's curious as to what he's doing.

So Lucifer spends hours flitting with him and buying him drinks to get him drunk. But Lucifer actually finds himself having a great time.

Long story short- they fuck, Adam doesn't let Lucifer know he's Adam. He goes back to Heaven and after a few months, he finds out he's pregnant.

Which is fucking weird cause he's definitely a dude, and he's very dead. But Lucifer's the Devil 🤷.

He basically has to play it off as him getting fat. It's working until the next meeting with Lucifer happens during his ninth month, and he's goes into labor right in front of Lucifer.

Lucifer: Why didn't you tell me your were fucking pregnant!?

Adam: Because you didn't know it was me!!

Lucifer: Yes I did! You have the same face!

Adam: ..... Oh..

[captain039]

PART 3 Heal your hurt

Viktor x reader

Warnings: Hurt/comfort, angst, health issues, mental health issues, light swearing, chubby reader, intimacy, smut, friends to lovers, reader has chronic pain, idiots in love

Previous part <-

After Viktor's leg massage a few nights ago you haven’t been able to get him off your mind. You heat up at every thought of him, cheeks going red no doubt. His hands felt so nice against your aching legs, practised hands moving with grace. Your mind wanders to more inappropriate images, these same hands slipping under a waistband skill full finger-

“You’re going to over fill the sink” you jolt and turn of the taps quickly the bubbles high and the water almost overflowing. Get a grip! You curse yourself silently lift the plug slightly to drain some water before you begin to wash the dishes with a little bit of aggression.

“You are distracted, lately” Viktor comments from his spot in the small kitchen.

“I’m fine” you cover up quickly.

“You’re not in any pain today, are you?” He asks and you can hear the furrow of his brow.

“No” you shake your head, today was a good day, so far, only the persistent dull ache you always had in your hips and back. It was a downpour outside, a thunderstorm rolling over, Viktor didn’t want to ruin any notes rushing to the lab in the rain, so he stayed home.

“What distracts you then?” He asks and you wonder when he became this worried and interested in your wellbeing. You think about the last few years, quiet and reserved, as he always had been, he respected your space, and you respected his, you weren’t really friends, not like you were in childhood, just acquaintances, living separate lives in the same home. You sagged a bit, you and Viktor were close as children, he’d always have some new invention or toy to show you and tell you about and you’d listen eagerly with wonder. Then your teens hit, and that seemed to go downhill from there, you were struggling with the growing pains and being in the under city there was no real access to medical care, your mother knew a healer, but she just said that children change and grow and that is what you were doing. When your father got promoted and you moved to the upper city when it was all well and less divided, you had access to a little bit of medical help but still nothing. You forced yourself to work despite the agonising nights of not being able to move after them, you made the medical officers look at you again properly and they finally found something not right. You never saw Viktor again, till three years ago. A re-kindled flam you suppose. You thought he wouldn’t recognise you; you look very different from when you were a kid, but he knew, just like you knew it was him.

You’d finish the dishes lost in thought and Viktor hadn’t pressed the question.

“We need more food” you comment glancing outside to the down pour.

“The markets will be shut in this weather, you’ll catch a cold too” Viktor answers and you sigh knowing he’s right so you go to your room, pick up a book and sit in your reading chair by your bedroom window. The day passes slowly you fell asleep during your reading a gentle hand on your shoulder shaking you awake. You groan a bit at the awkward angle of your neck and sit up seeing Viktor a little too close. Your book is on the side of the table and you have a blanket over you.

“The rain has stopped” he says and you nod rubbing your neck a bit as he shuffled back.

“I would’ve let you sleep longer, but your neck looked uncomfortable” he comments and he’s right your neck hurts now. It’s still grey outside but there’s life outside on the streets, no doubt the markets have opened back up.

“I’ll grab my coat and head to the markets” you say stretching and yawning.

“I will join you” Viktor says surprising you.

“It’s a lot of walking, Viktor” you say and he waves you off.

Viktor walks beside you as you go from stall to stall grabbing produce as you need. Some people recognise Viktor and greet him which he greets back quietly too. It’s a little funny watching him tense up with embarrassment at the recognition he receives.

“Are you ok?” You ask as he slows down but you realise he’s looking in a shop, an inventors shop.

“Did you wanna have a look?” You tilt your head and you see his cheeks redden slightly before he nods. You smile a bit and follow him inside. The shop owner has a collection of contraptions from toys to everyday gadgets to some strange things you’ve never even seen. His eyes are slightly wide before they narrow on each thing he inspects, you find it cute the way he calculates how it works studying it before putting it back and moving onto the next item.

“Welcome in” the shop owner grins at you.

“Hi” you turn and greet while Viktor is too busy studying another gadget.

“I’ll be damned” The shop owner laughs softly.

“The great inventor, Viktor” you looked to Viktor seeing him tense and place the gadget he was holding down to turn to the shop keeper.

“It’s honour to have you in my shop” he smiles.

“You have many interesting inventions” Viktor says scanning over them again.

“Not as interesting as yours I imagine but they keep busy” the shop keeper grins.

“They’re still interesting” Viktor comments his eyes falling on you. You tilt your head at him as he study’s you for a moment before looking back to the shop keeper.

“It was nice to see your inventions” Viktor says and you figure he’s ready to go.

“Have a good day” you smile at the shop keeper and head out.

“Do you want to head home?” You ask.

“You still need to get bread, yes?” He asks.

“I don’t wanna push you” you mutter softly.

“Let us get bread then” he brushes you off again. You figure he would do that, you did it back to him, he’s had this condition since he was a child, probably born with it, he knows how to handle it. You’re worried nonetheless the whole way to the bread maker and back to your apartment, Viktor slows in his walk and you match his pace as you walk home. Once home Viktor sits down which you’re thankful for as you unpack the food. It’s dinner time already so you make a simple soup and serve it with the fresh bread you bought on the table.

“Thank you for joining me” you say softly as you both eat.

“You are welcome” Viktor says. You notice how his braced leg is stretched out beside him and you feel guilty. An idea pops in your head, you’re hardly any good with your hands as he is, and- no stupid idea, he doesn’t like people touching him why would you get a free pass? You glare at your reflection in the soup.

“The soup has made you angry?” Viktor asks a light tease in his voice but also concern. Your eyes snap to his face relaxing and you shake your head.

“No just a thought” you say trying to keep a poker face.

“What is it?” He presses gently.

“Just a stupid thought” you grit your teeth a bit before relaxing your face.

“Hardly stupid if it makes you feel like this” he adds.

“I was just gonna offer what you did to me to help with your leg, a massage or something” you blurt and suddenly you’re bright red and frozen.

“Forget it, forget I said anything, stupid-“ you’re up in a rush grabbing your bowl and putting in on the sink disregarding what you had left. A hand rests on your wrists where your hand is fisted against the counter and you tense looking to Viktor who is looking at you.

“I appreciate the offer” he says softly and you clench your jaw and look away from him. He sighs softly his hand moving from your wrist to the side of your face his finger tips gently pressing to your cheek to make you look at him again.

“Would you feel better if you did?” He asks and you frown. This wasn’t about you, it was about him helping him.

“This isn’t about me and my feelings-“ he lifts a hand to stop you.

“Would it?” He presses an intensity in his eyes you’ve never seen before. His finger tips draw down to your jaw as he drops his hand again.

“Well yes it would but-“ he shushes you again and you stare slightly baffled.

“Come” you stare confused at where he just was before you follow him. You’ve rarely been into his room, it’s so…him. Simple but practical with notes and things scattered on his desks, his bed is neat and hardly used. He sits down on the edge of his bed and beckons you to do the same so you do, when you became so obedient you have no idea. He rests his cane on the nearby bedside table before he leans down and begins to unbuckle his brace.

“Viktor-“ you say but the look he send you shuts you up instantly, you feel like you hardly know this Viktor, the one that has told you to shut up three times in a row. He rests it by his cane and rolls his pant leg up. He sits by you, his eyes looking to his leg, his foot inwards slightly, you see a few scars on his skin, maybe from operations.

“This makes you uncomfortable, I don’t, it was a silly idea” you whisper embarrassed.

“It doesn’t” he says and you shake your head you know, by looking at him you know the walls being put up. You sigh and lean into him resting your head on his shoulder so he doesn’t do anything. He must accept your words are true because his pants slide back down covering his leg and you both sit there for a moment. Your hands rest in your lap, fiddling with your fingers a bit as you sit in silence.

“Stop” Viktor mutters and takes your hand moves it to his lap instead, his fingers go to your palm before moving up and intertwining with yours holding your hand still. You stare at your hands tangled together, heart beating loudly in your chest.

“It’s late” you begin.

“You need sleep” You stand his hand slipping from yours as you leave the room.

[jujus-bizarre-blog]

Some of my favourite Crooked Kingdom quotes :)

So I finished Crooked Kingdom and this post is gonna be a lot less articulate than my last one about the series because...

Who the actual fuck let the last 100 pages of that novel happen???

They were so entertaining but aside from that they had some of the most beautiful sentiments and prose. So I am going to share my favourites from each character's POV in Part Six: Action & Echo :3

Nina: Page 455

"But she hadn't been made for shame."

"Nina had grieved for her loss of power, for the connection she'd felt to the living world. She'd resented this shadow gift. It had seemed like a sham, a punishment. But just as surely as life connected everything, so did death. It was that endless, fast-running river. She'd dipped her fingers into its current, held the eddy of its power in her hand. She was the Queen of Mourning, and in its depths, she would never drown."

It's such a beautiful sentiment and moment to watch her fully come to love herself again and her new power. I love Nina as a deeply relatable character and this was just so perfect to see her come back to loving and finding herself.

Inej: Page 460

"But what about the rest of us? What about the nobodies and the nothings, the invisible girls? We learn to hold our heads as if we wear crowns. We learn to wring magic from the ordinary. That was how you survived when you weren't chosen, when there was no royal blood in your veins. When the world owed you nothing, you demanded something of it anyway."

This gave me chills. Everything about this is utterly gut wrenching and feels incredibly relatable. I reread that line probably 4 times before moving on.

Jesper: Page 471

"It's not a gift. It's a curse. But when it came down to it, Jesper's life had been full of blessings. His father. His mother. Inej. Nina. Matthias leading them across the muddy canal. Kaz--even Kaz, with all his cruelties and failings, had given him a home and a family in the Dregs when Ketterdam might have swallowed him whole. And Wylan. Wylan who had understood before Jesper ever had that the power inside him might be a blessing too."

Jesper realizing that for all the shit luck he has at tables he has been lucky enough to have amazing people in his life. It's just very sweet.

Matthias: Page 483

"Unnatural, said the old, determined voice. Beautiful, said the voice that had spoken the night he'd helped Jesper and Kuwei escape Black Veil. It was newer, less certain, but louder than ever before."

I love this part because it shows just how much Matthias has changed through the two books. It's beautiful and sweet and heartwarming.

Wylan: Page 427

"Wylan summoned every bit of bravado he'd learned from Nina, will he'd learned from Matthias, the focus he'd studied in Kaz, the courage he'd learned from Inej, and the wild, reckless hope he's learned from Jesper, the belief that no matter the odds, somehow they would win."

Okay... I cheated with Wylan's it's from his chapter just before Action & Echo... BUT, I think this sentiment is much more telling than anything in his Part Six chapter. I love this quote because it shows just how much his found family taught him. They're messy, they're brutal, and they're awful, but they are everything to each other. They teach each other, they help, they care, they tease, and that's way more than Wylan ever had at home.

Kaz: Page 480 & 529

"'I also had her stop at the Menagerie.'

She smiled then, her eyes red, her cheeks scattered with some kind of dust. it was a smile he thought he might die to earn again."

"'That's the laugh,' he murmured."

The second quote isn't from his chapter, it's from Inej's final one, but it conveys the same thing as the first quote. It shows what Kaz could have been, that somewhere in there he wants to show Inej can take his armour off, that he is willing to do it for her and I think it's just really gratifying to see.

That all being said chapter 42 was so evil. It had me going from sobbing of joy to sobbing of sorrow and back to joy in the span of 3 paragraphs istg. What the actual fuck Leigh Bardugo???

[thequeenofthedisneyverse]

I got a writing prompt for ya'll! Robo-nanny

You were assigned to basically be the mother/father/guardian of androids. You'd be there as soon as they were "born" so to speak (turned on), and you were paid to do what any robo-parent would do, parent them.

You made sure they learned how to dance, laugh, sing (however bad it may be), and just do normal human things. You basically taught them how to love...you unknowingly gave them souls.

You would do this for five years until they were basically human enough to be out in the world. Doing whatever purpose they were given.

As a human being, this part always made your heartache.

That android, however, they looked and whatever personality they had, was like your child. And despite what others say or think, five years is a long time to develop a relationship with something.

With some androids...you would never see them again due to the job or family they were adopted into.

It hurt...it always hurt to see them always be so confused as to why they had to leave. Some (with the intelligence of slightly older humans) would be confused but understanding, some (with the intelligence of much younger humans) would cry and cling to you like a lifeline.

Some would be hurt and avoid you until they had to leave. It hurts to see your own child avoid you like the plague until release day.

Release day is a "special day" because you finally get to say goodbye to the androids and let them go into the world. You supposed it was like actual parents saying goodbye to their children as they go off to college.

But with actual parents, they at least have a chance to call or speak to their children again...that chance for you was scarce.

This all ended when you discovered what one android would be used for out in the field. When you read the file, it almost made you sick. This android...Finn...he- he was too young to be used for such a cruel thing. Too innocent, too kind...and just...basically a fucking teenager!

You had thought that he would be adopted into a nice home. Androids that look like children usually are made to have the resemblance of a child that passed, and the parents just couldn't let go.

You thought that was fins case...oh how you were so wrong. You can't...you can't let him go. You WON'T! So, you went against your job...and took him. And the rest too, why not?

There were some obstacles in the way. The final one was right in front of you holding his stomach and sputtering up blood. He, and a few others, were sent to retrieve the robots you stole by any means necessary.

"All this...for fucking robots?" he says as he coughs up blood and his body trembles.

You held a gun pointed directly at his head. The laser dot right in the center of it.

"No...all of this for my kids"

[tarnishedxknight]

It felt so good to hold Leah again, to have her near. It did wonders to calm him down, even as the Mist was running rampant through his body. It broke his heart, the way Leah begged the princess not to hurt him. As frightened as he may have been of Ashelia's potential desire for revenge at that point, Noah was taken down a peg or two to realize that his expression of his own fear may have in turn upset Leah as well.

Ashelia shook her head. "I'll not cause him any harm. That is not how healing spells work. I am not certain how it will feel to him, but others have described it as a slight burning sensation. Nothing excruciatingly painful, and it will not cause actual harm." Seeing how nervous Leah was, Ashe put her hand on her shoulder. "I will not lie to you and say that I would not wish for justice for my father, but I am also not willing to have that justice at the expense of those I care about. Basch loves his brother, and I-"

"Oh, what nonsense is this?" Noah said with irritation.

"Choose to disbelieve it, I care not... but it is true. He does love you. And I would never want to hurt him by causing harm to you." Ashe looked back at Leah. "I also would not take a father away from his child. Doing so would make me no better than he was when he took mine from me," she said, nodding in Noah's direction. Having said her piece, Ashelia began to cure Noah.

Drawing out the Mist from Noah was easier said than done, even for an experienced magic user like Ashelia. There was... a great deal of it present. So much so that Ashe honestly wondered how it had not killed him sooner. She wondered, though, if perhaps her healing of Basch years ago had somehow also affected Noah too. Twins sometimes had such bonds as strong as that. It would explain a lot, she thought.

Noah hated having to let Ashelia touch him, but he focused instead on Leah's close presence and the feel of her hand in his. With his gaze following what Ashe was doing, Noah noticed the glowing tracks of Mist flowing just under the surface of his skin in his arms and chest begin to move towards her hands. It was as if he was watching something sentient be attracted to a food source or called by some other authority. Like glowing worms, the tracks moved to her hands and the light from their accumulation was one with which he was all too familiar.

But as Ashelia accumulated the Mist, she also dissipated it, the glowing orange particles like embers from a fire dancing out into the air and disappearing.

Noah had never seen anything like that before, and he temporarily forgot his fear as he watched it happen.

When it was over, Ashe felt a bit tired, but she smiled and nodded to Leah, glad at least that she was able to do something good for her and her baby, even if she did not care for Noah. Excusing herself and eager to visit Basch to help ground herself, Ashelia now hoped that Noah would do something good with the second chance he'd been given. On her way out, she mentioned to the staff that Noah ought to be completely and permanently cured now, and thus was likely safe to release.

"I feel lighter, both in body and spirit," Noah admitted once Ashelia was gone. His mind was clearer and he didn't feel that rage he seemed to always carry around with him. "Calmer," he added. He lifted his hands and arms, seeing that all the glowing tracks of Mist were gone. Even his breathing felt easier.

When Leah commented on his eyes, he realized that removing the Mist must have returned them to their natural state. He nodded, though he wasn't all that happy about looking more like Basch than ever now. "We were both born with blue eyes, yes. Blue like the sea, our grandfather used to say, but our mother thought they more resembled the sky." He thought for a moment, realizing that he didn't just feel healthier, he was healthier. "My amber eyes, that glow you are used to... that was always the nethicite, the Mist from it, not me."

Slowly, he leaned to touch his forehead to Leah's. "Thank you... for pushing me to do this..." he whispered. A moment later he was pulling back, though, as the same two staff members from before tentatively entered to assess Noah's mental state. Finding him much changed and considerably calmer, they did some minor tests, listening to his heart and lungs and doing a few quick cognitive exercises with him, and then discharged him. He was free to go.

Breakdown reply @tarnishedxknight

The call had made all the colour drain from Leah's face. Hearing that the man she loved was in trouble, that his condition was deteriorating frightened her beyond anything else. She had told her managers once she was off the phone that she had a family emergency and left, not sticking around to answer any questions. She didn't know how much time she had after all, and so she wasn't about to waste it not being by his side.

She had been met by one of the medical team when she arrived, briefing her on what had happened and an update of what his condition was now. They had told her that he was still showing signs of aggression and that she should be careful, though she didn't listen. Noah was her partner, he had always been calm with her and so, she wasn't scared of him.

"Noah.."

Walking into the room, she had to take a moment to catch her breath when she saw him. He was still him, though the glowing orange tracks on his skin worried her. Still, she wasn't scared. "Noah it's me... it's alright."

[templetv]

the way I crave a parent who, not only loves me, but likes me, and notices me is so so embarrassing