#iron teeth witch

[rainingriversofyou]

Witchling - Throne Of Glass ♥️ Artist: renata_watsonn

[briefbestiary]

The iron-toothed crone with a leg of bone that dwells deep in the woods, Baba Yaga is said to steal and eat young children.

[ohmyfairies]

Adding to a list of WIPs I’ll never write: Nesta comes out of the cauldron an Iron Teeth Witch

[that-book-bitch]

Is it just me or does the Blackbeak matron kinda give Mother Gothel vibes

[kasagia]

Right hand II

Pairing: Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!exBeneGesserit! reader Summary: After you miraculously escaped from his arms the other night, you tried to stay away from him as best as you could. You have to put a lot of effort into escaping from the na-baron, who is tirelessly and constantly chasing you, or into avoiding another invitation to his chambers late at night. However, on Arrakis, the situation between you changes drastically... And you're losing control over your life, and it's not because of Feyd. Warning: 18+; violence; blood; Feyd Rautha; death; fight; brutality; smut; Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ Main Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ PART I ~•♤♤♤•~ PART III ~•♤♤♤•~

You are standing in front of the window of the ship that is taking you to Arrakis. You nervously play with the edge of the shawl that covers your head. You don't have good memories of that planet. Before you escaped with Feyd, the Bene Gesserit sent several of their young apprentices to… train in the sands of Dune. Including you.

You still remember the screams of some of your companions who went crazy from a lack of water and decided to end their lives. And sometimes at night you dream that the sandworm swallows half of your group, leaving you practically on your own.

Arrakis didn't just kill your friends. It killed any belief in the Bene Gesserit in you, only confirming that you would rather die than be completely subject to them.

And now you're going back there with someone who had full control over your life again. It's funny how history likes to come full circle. And how, despite their repetition, people still fall for tricks and fall into fate's traps, acting in exactly the same way.

A cold hand on your bare shoulder snaps you out of your stupor. You act fully automatically,drawing the dagger attached to your belt and twisting the attacker's arm. You pin him to the wall, placing the blade against his pale neck. You freeze as your eyes meet Feyd's icy blue gaze.

"Good reflex. If you were anyone else, I'd kill you for this, but I'm in a particularly good mood today, so I won't punish you as I would like. What were you thinking about, my little witch, that you didn't hear me sneaking up on you? Or maybe I have finally surpassed the master?" He asks with a mocking smirk, showing off his black teeth. You snort, shaking your head at him.

"Keep dreaming." You say, taking advantage of his amusement. This time, you are not keeping your mouth shut for fear that he will deprive you of your tongue for your boldness towards him. You move away from him, which he takes with clear displeasure, and return to your place by the window.

"If I dream about you, I prefer to dream about something much more pleasant." He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you into his chest. He slides your shawl off your head with his teeth and nuzzles his nose into your hair, inhaling your scent.

You feel him sigh deeply, leaning against you a little as he relaxes into your scent and closeness. You frown, but let him hold you because you feel calmer having him close to you. Despite everything that had happened in the past two weeks, you still found his presence reassuring. It didn't make any sense to you, but apparently, over the years, you had begun to involuntarily associate him with something akin to a safe shelter. Herkonnen. A psychopathic, bloodthirsty future baron. How ironic…

However, being in his arms helped you come to the conclusion that the demons of the past should remain in the past. And you should focus on the newest one that is now wrapped around you.

You stare at your reflection in the glass, shuddering as his scent surrounds you, mixed with the blood that stains his uniform. You wonder which soldier you will have to find a replacement for this time.

"What were you thinking about?" He whispers that he doesn't loosen his grip on you even for a moment, knowing full well that the moment he does, you'll wriggle out of his arms and find another excuse to leave him.

You checked the condition of engines and fuel 8 times. He started counting after the ship's captain complained to him about your constant presence. He beheaded him without giving him the opportunity to complete his complaint against you. Feyd smiles, remembering the irritated frown on your forehead when you had to clean up his mess. Of course he followed you then. Of course, 'just to make sure that the next captain you appoint will be more competent'.

"It doesn't matter." You sigh, resting your head on his shoulder. He would enjoy your submission and willing closeness if he didn't see that, by doing so, you only wanted to distract him from the main topic. Clever little witch you were…

"It must be important if you stopped paying attention to your surroundings. You are always alert and aware of the things that happen around you. No matter what. I remember how, during one of our escapades, you were the only one who didn't fall into the trap."

"Well, that one was actually obvious." You say it with a mocking smile, remembering how you had to save him and his soldiers.

For the rest of your life, you will never forget how you had to dig Baron Feyd-Rauth Harkonnen out of the mud and save his ass from the Assassins who planned his execution. Of course, he killed any witnesses, leaving only you and him alive. After all, his uncle and brother couldn't find out about it.

He growls in your ear, tightening his grip on you as a warning, when you make him replay that day in his head.

"Don't brag now. I was… busy observing something much more interesting than muddy swamps." He grumbles, burying his face in the crook of your neck. The warm air he exhales makes you shiver.

"Which was?" You ask shakily, placing your hands over his to stop him from roaming them over your body.

"You." His answer is short and simple, as if it were the most obvious thing you should know. He doesn't hide it anymore; he doesn't keep his desire to himself. He wants you. He craves you. He shows it to you so clearly and thoroughly that you laugh at how naive you were to believe that you had only a friendly, platonic relationship. But how could you not believe that he only saw you as a means to an end when he treated everyone else around him like that? Since he treats people like things to play with and break whenever he wants? How could you have predicted that you would become his obsession, a precious jewel in his collection that he would want to protect and have just for himself? "I'm asking for the last time. What were you thinking about, little witch?" He asks, wrapping his hand around your neck and forcing you to look into his eyes.

You have no escape from him now. And you certainly won't tell him that lately you've been thinking more and more often about how to run away from him, or what would happen if you stayed with the Bene Gesserit, or how your life would have looked if you escaped from them on your own. You wonder if it wouldn't have been better to bury yourself in the sands of Arrakis all those years ago with your friends and die there. You are sure that it would be a much more dignified death.

"I... I thought about Arrakis." You decide to respond safely and carefully, so as not to reveal too much to him. You didn't want him to become suspicious of you. Not when you had to handle him carefully, lest you fulfil any of the Bene Gesserit's sick plans and visions.

"So what about this? Are you scared?"

"No. I am not. I'm never afraid. Fear is the mindkiller. Fear is the little death that brings total obliteration." You repeat the mantra automatically without thinking much about it.

You flinch as you realise that you are answering quickly with the Bene Gesserit litany of fear, which they've made you learn by heart. A great deal of anger grows within you as you realise how much they have influenced your life, even so many years after you ran away from them.

"You're quite tense. More than when I usually hold you." He points this out, starting to gently stroke your back in an attempt to relax you. You give him an angry look instead, suddenly understanding why he was irritated with you for reading him and his emotions perfectly when he was the one who was flustered and furious.

It was always easier for you than for him to hit sensitive places or to read the other one like an open book. Apparently, you're not the only one who's learned this over the years. He knew you as well as the back of his hand. He just never showed any trace of concern for your well-being.

You had your… tender moments when you allowed yourselves to be vulnerable with each other once or twice, but you both treated them more as minor lapses in maintaining your impenetrable façade of indifference and neutrality. In the end, everyone is on their own. And looking for a friend in him was a completely stupid thing—an act of true naivety and a sign of self-destruction, maybe even masochism.

"Maybe you shouldn't hold me at all, then?" You growl at him furiously, unable to control yourself. He just frowns, more surprised by your behaviour than offended by this blatant act of disrespect. He had rarely seen you so nervous or furious.

Of the two of you, you were the one who was the most calm and composed. You were always able to hide all your emotions behind a mask of indifference. He's fascinated by how you really behave when you don't have a filter on. He often throws you off your balance only to see your cheeks flush with anger; you take out your anger in a fight (just like him); or you bite your lip to avoid saying something back to his taunts.

"Or maybe you should drop your attitude and just let me do it?" He asks, his lips brushing against your earlobe. He doesn't wait for your response; he simply catches the tip of your ear between his teeth. He bites in gently, sucking and caressing your skin with his lips, as if your ear's superior helix were the sweetest delicacy he could enjoy.

"I'm not fighting or trying to escape, am I?" You respond, enduring his treatment with dignity. At the ship's window, you can see a small smile appear on his lips at your words.

He decides to pull away from you, but he is not giving you even the smallest chance to run away from him. He presses you against the cold glass, entering your personal space even more than when he had you close against his chest. You lift your chin, looking at him defiantly as he puts his hands on your hips.

"You are not. But you also don't want to be here in my arms." He replies, cupping your chin with two fingers. He leans closer, making you feel the metallic scent of blood that still lingers on him, probably from his fight with some prisoners on the ship. "And I don't like it at all." He whispers hoarsely into your ear.

"Since when do you care what others want? I don't remember you spoiling your concubines like that." You snap, causing him to laugh mockingly and shaking his head in amusement.

He leans in, making you tense up slightly. You think he's doing it to kiss you, but instead of feeling his lips on yours, you feel his cheek brush against yours, and his lips blow hot air into your ear again as he whispers softly:

"Because they weren't you, Y/N." You shiver at the sound of his dark, hoarse whisper in your ear. You can't say you don't feel the effects of his... seduction. But you promised yourself long ago that you wouldn't be any man's whore, concubine, plaything, or broodmare. And certainly not HIS. No matter how... tempting he could be.

"And what is so special about me? Hm? My body? My appearance? That I can fight well? You would get bored of me. Like you did with all your concubines."

"Did they understand me like you do? Have you ever seen them look at me as anything other than a wild, bloodless beast in the heat?" He answers your angry questions with his, dismissing your attempt to start a verbal fight with him.

His thumb traces the line of your jaw, examining you closely. Looking into his light blue eyes makes you feel uncomfortable. He shouldn't have reacted to you like that. You weren't used to anything he had been doing these past few weeks. You preferred to fight him than... when he showed you so much tenderness, appreciation, and affection.

"Have I ever looked at you differently?" You ask defiantly. He smiles, licking his plump lips. You give in to this provocation, and, without controlling it at all, you move your gaze to his lips. His dark chuckle makes you look back into his eyes.

"Yes. Yes, you did that... you don't even know how often." He hums, his fingertips moving towards your mouth. He caresses your lips with incredible tenderness and delicacy. He presses on them gently, but you squeeze them as tight as you can, preventing him from doing anything he planned.

You react faster than him. You bite his wandering fingers, take advantage of the fact that he is still trying to process what has just happened, and quickly pull away from him. He laughs, shaking his head, looking at you intently as he deliberately crosses the distance between you two. He doesn't have to say anything for you to see how clearly he's mocking you and daring you to continue to defy him.

"We're not even on Arrakis yet, and you're already delusional, my na-Baron? Or maybe the black sun of Giedi Prime made you start seeing a mirage?"

"If you are a mirage or an illusion, then I never want to be sane again, my little witch." You gasp, as he wraps his arms around you tightly, clinging to you completely. He leans in, his nose tracing a line along your temple, inhaling your scent before burying his face in your hair.

He keeps a firm grip on your shoulders. You place your hands on his, trying to loosen his tight grasp somehow, but it only makes him hold you tighter. He tilts his head slightly and brushes his nose against yours.

You shiver, feeling how close he is and how his musky smell, mixed with a hint of metallic blood, surrounds you. He presses himself against you so tightly that there's practically no space left between your bodies. You close your eyes, letting out a small, shaky breath. And just as he's about to press his lips against yours, the metal door to the room slides open with a loud bang.

You jump away from him, grunting as a young recruit enters your field of vision.

“My lord na-Baron. Lady Y/N. We will land in fifteen minutes."

"We would rather notice it ourselves." Feyd growls at him. You see him reach for the hidden dagger. You walk over to him, resting your chest against his back, and grab his hand before he places it on his dagger and throws it at the poor man.

"Thank you, Oliver." You say with a smile. The man swallows in fear at Feyd's furious glare. He bows and leaves the two of you alone.

You step away from Feyd, letting go of his hand. You frown, seeing that he's even more furious than when one of the soldiers entered. You raise your eyebrow questioningly, not understanding why he's practically huffing in anger now.

"What?" You finally ask him, not understanding the reason behind his behaviour.

"Oliver... do you call all of them by their names?" He asks, spitting out the soldier's name in disgust. You sigh, rolling your eyes as you reach for the shawl he had thrown off you and put it back on your head.

"If I know them, then yes, why?"

"You've never called me anything other than my lord and na-baron." He speaks in an almost accusatory tone. It takes a lot of strength in you not to burst out laughing when you realize he's completely serious and not joking right now. You try to come up with some excuse, wondering how to safely answer his question.

"And you always call me your little witch." You answer. Using his name somehow never felt right to you. At first, out of respect for him, maybe even fear. After all, he saved you from the clutches of the Bene Gesserit. Calling him by his name was out of the question. With time, you did it out of habit. And now… now you didn't want to call him by anything else because you knew that it would be a small step on his way to make you his.

"So this is supposed to be our thing?" He asks with a challenging, teasing smile.

"We don't have a thing." You huff, walking towards the exit. He, of course, follows you faithfully. You can feel the excitement radiating from him. He was definitely planning something big to do on Arrakis. Something he didn't tell you. You just hoped that he would be too busy with his brother and securing the spice mine to take care of you at the same time.

"Don't we?"

"You should focus on what you tell your brother. You're finally taking the reins. Rabban won't give them to you that easily. And we need to establish a final plan of action on Arrakis." You say, returning to your matter-of-fact, cool tone. He smiles, nodding.

"Don't worry about that… I'll make him kiss our shoes." You snort, shaking your head in amusement at his words. It might be true, but it's still hard for you to imagine him actually putting this plan into action. As you'll see in a few minutes, he actually intended to do that. "And the plan was decided a long time ago. I told you I wouldn't let us split up. And not because I question your leadership skills or loyalty. You are the only competent and worthy person to lead half of my army. But we, little witch, work together. Always. You don't change something that works perfectly. Get ready. We're landing soon." He leaves you with a quick kiss on your temple.

He walks away from you with a sly smirk, as if he's managed to trick you. You sigh as you watch him walk out of sight, walking with a spring in his step towards his room, probably to grab his things and get his harpies ready to leave.

You look out the ship's window at Arrakis for the last time. You close your eyes, promising yourself that since the Bene Gesserit, Feyd Rautha, Giedi Prime, or the Harkonens hadn't killed you, this damn planet wouldn't do this either. You weren't the same Y/N from 10 years ago. You were more powerful. Your bones won't sink into the sands of this damn dune... you'd even rather become the mother of that Kwisatz Haderach.

You practically jump out of bed with your heart beating fast as you wake up from another nightmare. You sigh shakily, pressing your hand to your mouth, trying to calm your breathing as best as you can as your heart pounds frantically against your chest.

The screams of your companions echo in your ears, and the images of the Fremen pumping the water out of them replay in your head. And that damned sandworm...

“Y/N, look at me.” His cool hands on your bare shoulders and his raspy, commanding tone bring you back to reality.

As soon as you look into Feyd Rautha's blue irises, you stop trembling. You snap out of this strange trance, trying your best to forget about the returning memories that haunted you more often during this week of your stay on Caladan. You suspect that this may have resulted in a rather close relationship with Lady Jessica. You breathe slowly, focusing on his pale skin that looks like snow, illuminated by the moonlight that streams through the window of one of the Caladan's inns.

“Breathe in and out.” He gives you another order. You nod, imitating the pace of his slow breathing as you slowly begin to calm down. "I will kill that witch as soon as I get my hands on her." He growls, brushing your sweaty hair away from your forehead with his hand. You see immense anger in his eyes and the seeds of a plan forming in his head as he thinks of many ways to make that Bene Gesserit pay for your nightmares.

"You can't. She's the prince's mother. Besides, it's not her fault that she recognised me from somewhere. I could have been more careful."

"You covered your face with a mask for an entire week, all the time, even to sleep. What can you call that other than being careful? Besides, the baron knew that these negotiations were doomed to failure anyway. It's not like her suspicions ruined them. I would have decided to leave this damned palace even without it." He assures you, slowly lowering the two of you back onto the mattress. He wraps one arm around you, his tight embrace grounding you in the moment and helping your mind focus entirely on the present rather than the dark memories from your past.

"The Baron will be furious with you. It's all my fault. You should have killed me." You say, focusing your gaze on his daggers, which are strapped to his hip. Feyd follows your gaze and snorts. He grabs your neck, forcing you to lift your head and look into his eyes again.

"And get rid of the only competent right hand I've had in years? I'd rather suffer his punishment for this... small act of disrespect towards the Atreides. And who knows? Maybe he'll even like it? Harkonnen chooses inns over Atreides' palaces. I can always say that I saw rats running freely around my chamber and decided that such conditions are not worthy of a na-Baron and they are an insult to my person that I could not allow them to do." You roll your eyes at him, but you can't help but smirk at him.

Feyd finds himself smiling slightly at the sparkle of amusement in your eyes. He decided he preferred seeing them in your eyes rather than the emptiness and terror that didn't even let you breathe normally. He reveled in the fear of others. But yours brought him more pain than joy. Unpleasant pain.

It was starting to worry him. And maybe he would think about it more if you weren't lying so close to him now, practically in his arms. At his fingertips if he wanted to play with you. But, surprisingly, he didn't. And even if so, he wanted it only if you were as desperate for his touch as he was for yours.

"There are also rats on Giedi Prime. And you have to share a room with me because there's not enough space here for all of us. I'm sure your harpies are furious. You'd probably rather do something else with them, too, than hold me through my nightmares like some scared little child." You tease him, snapping him from his thoughts. He looks at you carefully, admiring the way the beads of sweat on your forehead glisten in the moonlight.

He feels a strange, new desire to make them be caused by him... or rather, by the activity he would subject you to. His gaze returns to your eyes and your lips, and he feels himself harden slightly as his thoughts turn to fantasies about you—something he's been doing a lot more of lately. One of his harpies mentioned something about him moaning your name...

"Maybe you actually deserve this punishment? Such sharp language…" He whispers huskily, tracing the line of your jaw with the pad of his thumb. He watches you carefully, and, as usual, he sees no fear in your eyes. Even when his fingers travel to your neck and then to the fabric of your nightgown, imagine how close he is to touching what you hide from him and everyone else behind your outfits designed to fit you into staying in the shadows and fighting. If he could, he would dress you in the most beautiful silks and jewellery so that he could feast his eyes on the only beautiful view of Giedi Prime. You see a crease form on his forehead as he becomes aware of this strange desire. He removes his hand before he goes too far to come back, and he clears his throat as he focuses his gaze on your eyes again. "What was that? That dream?"

"I... I don't want to talk about it." Feyd feels how you tense up just thinking about your nightmare. If it was anyone else, he wouldn't care. He wouldn't spare a thought or, if he was curious enough, force them to talk. But with you... he just nods and gives you space, turning to lay on his side of the bed.

"Feyd..." His heart beats faster after you use his name for the first time. He turns to your side of the bed so he can fully look at you. He hums, pretending that you're not giving him a heart attack and that he's not replaying the soft, gentle tone with which you said his name in his head. And he wants to hear it again. In many ways. A quiet whisper, a cry, a scream of pleasure as he makes you come... "I... can you..."'

He doesn't wait for you to ask him. And he could. He could make you beg for him to bring you the comfort you need or mock you for being so defenceless and scared, but how can he make you do that when you look at him with those doe eyes? How can he do anything other than pull you into his chest, place his hand on your head, and play with your hair, guiding your face into the crook of his neck as you look at him like no one has ever done before? 

He wasn't the type of man you turned to for comfort or solace, and yet here you were, lying next to him, just wanting to feel his safe embrace around you again. He smiles when he feels your breathing and pulse slow as you fall asleep against him, allowing him to be with you in your unconscious state. He could do many things to you. He could slit your throat, stab you in the heart, scalp you of all your beautiful hair, and touch and taste any part of you he wanted. Satisfy himself with you and give yourself to his concubines when he ends using you.

But all he can do, as you sleep so peacefully on his chest, is pull the covers tighter around you and place a gentle kiss on your head. He doesn't remember the last time he felt such peace or the last time he felt wanted—not because of his status or the benefits he could bring to someone, but simply because someone wanted to be close to HIM.

"After all… I guess Caladan isn't that bad, my little witch." He whispers, pressing a kiss on the top of your head.

Feyd liked to think that the moment you first said his name and clung to him after the nightmare for comfort and security (IN HIM) was the moment he fell for you. But the truth was that it was a day later, after his uncle had punished him, inflicting various wounds with a blade on him, that you returned to the Giedi Prime without the expected agreement with Atreides. And, of course, he didn't rat you out. He took the blame. After all, it was his fault. He put your well-being above anything else and ordered to leave Caladan when Lady Jessica became too attentive to you. And he would do it again. He couldn't lose his right hand.

You felt guilty and took care of him. And those few days when you played the role of his nurse were the best ones in his life.

Feyd learned to love pain. Numerous punishments made it impossible for him not to do that. But he loved your gentle touch even more, esepcially when you tried your best to heal him. And he could get a thousand cuts or even more if it was the price of feeling your tender, caring touch on his skin once again.

And lying there with a torn back, looking at your sleeping form next to his bed, ready to meet his every little wish; he promised himself that he would do it. He will feel your hands on his body again. In better, less bloody circumstances. And definitely not with worry staining your beautiful eyes. But desire. Passion. Affection. Maybe even love.

"Uncomfortable, my lord?" You mock him with a little smirk as you both lie on the sand, observing the surroundings.

"Shut up, or I'll put you over my knee." You huff, shaking your head at his words. You know it's the last thing he'll actually do at this point. You use your binoculars to zoom in on a specific sand dune, in the middle of which there should be a Fremen base.

"Someone woke up with his left foot. I thought you'd be more enthusiastic about the upcoming fight." You say, trying to spot any movement, silhouette, or anything that indicates that your informant was right, and this is the place where one of the more important sietches are.

"I am. But it's damn hot here. Besides, sand gets in where it shouldn't." You smile, barely holding back your laughter, as Feyd allows himself to grumble next to you. You squeal in shock as he spanks you. You look away from the dune and give him an offended, shocked look when he chuckles hoarsely at your reaction.

"You're lucky that it's just a desert and that you're not dressed all in black like our soldiers. If this shipment of new equipment, weapons, and uniforms does not arrive this week, I will return to Giedi Prime and slaughter these useless scientists and engineers. Besides, your harpies will probably be more than happy to help you get rid of every little grain of sand from your body."

"Jealous?" He asks as you go back to watching the dunes.

"I wouldn't willingly be around these cannibals even if you paid me." You say, ignoring the fact that he was clearly asking if you were jealous of HIM, not the fact that he has his concubines and you don't. You shiver, feeling his piercing, burning gaze on you.

You're a little annoyed that he's doing practically nothing. Apparently, he too must have felt the effects of spending many weeks in that damn desert, and he had enough. Just like all of you.

"Arrakis brings out your more feisty side… I like it." He takes the binoculars from you and looks in a completely different direction. You snort, trying to see what caught his eye. You frown as you see a sandworm scurrying in the distance. But it wasn't under the sand... "Tell squad six to kill it. Those rats must be moving around again."

"Will you waste the bomb on a sandworm?"

"Only the most important Fremen travel like this. Whoever's on the back of this is not just anyone." You nod. You turn on the communicator and share information with the group, giving them the orders. You feel Feyd's eyes focused on you all the time. You roll your eyes and shift your gaze to his as he continues to stare at you curiously.

"What?"

"You've been here before, right? You may not know the ways of the Fremen, but I can see in your eyes that this planet is no stranger to you."

"The Bene Gesserit prepared us for every circumstance." You answered him deceptively. However, this does not quench his curiosity. And you know that since you're doomed to wait here for a good hour before anything happens, you're doomed to keep him entertained.

"Did they send you to Giedi Prime too?"

"No. But I was often send to Caladan." You say, not realizing how bad a move it was. The wrinkle on his forehead and the gentle tightening of his hand on his blades prove to you what an idiot you are. But you can't keep an eye on the dunes and anticipate his mood swings at the same time. Which he's had quite a lot of since you came to Arrakis. He didn't show it to anyone else, but you could see that the heat was bothering him just as much as it was for all of you.

"Why? Breeding program? Don't tell me you were supposed to be Atreides' pet." He spit out from his mouth the names of the people who were his family's greatest nemeses, as if it were some kind of dead poison. Even though the Atreides were long dead, buried in the sands of Arrakis, he still talked about them with huge hostility.

No. I was supposed to be your pet.

"I don't know." You slide off the sand to get out of sight of your possible opponents. There's no point in observing the area now. You know that your best men and their troops are positioned around you, so you could have left them to make the first attack. For now, you had to defuse a bomb that was about to explode next to you.

"You don't talk about it often. About the Bene Gesserit." He pursues the topic further, following in your footsteps. You both are standing on a small ledge, with your backs pressed against a sandstone. You don't have much space, so you have to rest your arm on his so as not to fall down and crash into the rocks below you.

"I don't want to remember it. I have another life now. Better one." You say, fiddling with your communicator. You issue a surveillance order to the rest of your units and turn it off, waiting for them to notice something. You take the shawl off your head and wipe your sweaty forehead with it.

"I won't let them hurt you again. Or anyone else." You freeze for a moment at his words. All you can do is stare at him in shock as he reaches for your face and grabs your hair. He ties them awkwardly, making sure they don't get in your face. It's a sweet gesture... even too sweet for him. And you wonder how the hell he knows how to tie someone's hair back.

You are about to tie your shawl around your forehead again when Feyd suddenly takes it from you. He wipes the back of your neck and makes sure there isn't a single bead of sweat on your face before he ties your shawl around his wrist.

"Who said they hurt me?" You ask, swallowing. You try to hide the tremble in your voice, but you suddenly become very aware of how close you are to each other. And that you two are completely alone...

"Your eyes and actions tell me more than you can let through your mouth, little witch."

"Shut up, or I'll put you over my knee." You respond with what he told you earlier without thinking much about it.

You gasp in shock as he presses you against the sandstone behind you, guiding the two of you deeper. His dilated pupils, slightly clenched jaw, and rapid breathing confirm how fucked up you are. You've lost your damn guard. Again. And now he will use it to his advantage.

"Oh, my darling little witch… you don't know how much I want you to do this…" He growls in your ear. His nose traces a path from your hair to your neck, inhaling your scent. You shiver as his lips brush against your neck.

"What are you doing?" You moan as he sucks your neck and bites it lightly, leaving a hickey there. He moves his head away from you and looks at the trail he created. He hums lightly, planning where to leave the next one. And another one. And another. And another...

"Shhh... We have a few minutes before they stop bombarding them. Another few before the dust settles and before we enter those rats' canals... let me make sure that my right hand is properly relaxed in the meantime."

As usual, he doesn't give you time to respond. He leans down and captures your lips in a passionate kiss. His chapped lips brush against yours, gently urging you to open your mouth for him. You try to tighten them as best you can, but he somehow manages to bite your lip, which makes him immediately clear the way for his tongue.

You gasp as his hands cup your ass. His fingers dig into your flesh, and you know that if it weren't for the thick tactical suit, it would have left bruises in the shape of his fingers. He picks you up without breaking the kiss and presses you against the stone-sand wall of the small cave.

You moan as his bulge rubs against your clothed core. You dig your fingers into his shoulders, holding yourself up as he peppers your neck with hickeys, grinding against you.

On Giedi Prime, you would struggle with him, trying to break free from his grip. But here, while you've been busy planning, tracking, fighting, and increasing your spice production for the last few weeks, you haven't had any opportunity... to take care of yourself. He wasn't helping either, following you around and acting like a fucking guard dog. And from what you heard from your room next to his in the night, he wasn't denying himself anything. Damn bastard.

What you didn't know was that he was fucking his fist thinking about you all this time because, since the two of you shared a bath, none of his concubines have been able to please him. So he's just as desperate as you are.

You moan as he thrusts into you, especially hard. He also purrs against your neck at the sounds you make. You're well aware that if it didn't take you forever to put your clothes back on, he'd already have you naked beneath him, fucking you wildly and giving you orgasm after orgasm... and you almost want to let him. If only those fucking witches weren't planning on breeding you with him, you would have been riding him wild a long time ago.

At one point, he bites into your neck, making you scream uncontrollably. You blush furiously when he pulls away from your neck with your blood on his full lips and gives you a hungry, lustful look.

"Take off your pants." He orders you. He licks the blood from his lips and leans down to lick the rest from your neck, leaving a few more hickeys on it.

"We… can't… we... battle..." He suddenly stops making any movements, but instead of moving away from you, as you think he will, he grabs you tightly by the throat. He squeezes lightly and leans forward, resting his forehead against yours. He breathes deeply and heavily, nuzzling his nose against yours before opening his eyes to fix his wide pupils on yours.

"Are you defying me?" You shake your head, always being a good soldier. "Good girl. Pants down, or I'll rip them off, and you'll have to walk back to the base without them."

This is a very real threat. And even though you know he would rather kill any man who dares to look at you in this state than expose you to the… lust of the hundreds of men who were on the base, you have no desire to parade around Arrakis with your bare ass. You start to take off your pants, slowly unbuttoning them. He won't even let you take them off of you all the way. As soon as he sees your exposed pussy, he drops to his knees in front of you, holding your hips in a tight grip.

"She blocks me so much when she has a damn spring between her legs… a real desert oasis…" He mumbles, his fingers collecting your wetness. You gasp as he looks you straight in the eye, sucking your juices from his finger. You lick your lips unconsciously, your brain completely stunned by the suddenness of the situation, the lust overwhelming you, the sight of him on his knees for you, as well as the spice in the air.

You don't even protest when he licks the stripe of your pussy and tightens his grip on your hips, pressing his face against your crotch. As he begins to lick and suck on your more sensitive parts, you scratch his scalp with your nails in a vain attempt to grab something. His dark, raspy chuckle against your clit makes you even wetter, as the vibrations and fingers teasing your entrance only fuel your desire.

He eats you like he's really dying of thirst. He brings out in you sounds that you would be ashamed of if you were in a better, saner, more aware state. And you try to maintain the last of your dignity and stifle your moans by placing a hand over your mouth, but he growls in protest and removes your hands so quickly that you have no idea when it happened. He places it on his shoulder, encouraging you to dig your nails into him as he devours you like his life depends on it. Like he would die if he didn't make you cum, lick up every last bit of wetness from between your legs.

At one point, he puts your leg over his shoulder. He's even closer to you (if possible), but you're not really paying attention to what he's doing as long as his mouth and fingers are still working their magic on you. You pull him closer, chasing your sweet release, when suddenly, he pulls away.

You growl in anger, opening your eyes. He's still on his knees in front of you, his face covered in your juices, and he's staring at you hungrily as if his face wasn't buried in your pussy moments ago.

"Say my name." His demand throws you off balance for a moment. You open your mouth to argue with him, to taunt him, but instead you close it quickly, biting your lip as his finger lazily moves in and out of your needy pussy. "Scream my name and I'll let you cum."

You don't want to give in to him like that. You don't want to show any weakness. But his fingers stretch you so wonderfully, hitting your most sensitive spot. You tremble around his fingers, biting your lip until it draws blood, too proud to admit to yourself how weak you were.

You escaped from the Bene Gesserit and from your fate to the only safe place; it's darkest under the lamp. No one in their right mind would willingly hide in the house of the man to whom you were supposed to submit. But it turned out that you were following the path these witches laid out for you anyway. But damn, he made you feel like you'd never felt with any man or woman...

You growl furiously as he removes his fingers again—right when you're finally about to come. He laughs hoarsely, sucking his fingers clean of your wetness.

"You're extending my fun, little witch. You must like it as much as I do." You protest as he dips his fingers inside you again, taking you close the edge again. You grab his neck, trying to pull him towards you, but he just laughs, intensifying the work of his fingers and fending off your feeble attempts to pull his face back to your needy cunt. "You know what you have to do to cum." He reminds you with a cocky smirk, watching your trembling, panting form.

Feyd drinks in the sight of you, so needy and desperate to orgasm. And it's all because of him. Every little moan, the closing of your eyes and the tilt of your head in pleasure, the ragged breathing, the quickening of your heartbeat, the wetness between your legs, the sweet nectar of the gods dripping down your thighs—it was all because of him. His cock hardens as he imagines how you'll react as he pounds into you like an animal in heat, stretching your tight walls for him. How you'll clench around his length and dig your nails into his back to feel him as close to you as possible. Or when you swell beautifully with his heir...

He will have you there. Willingly. He will prepare you as he is now; he will fuck out of you any thought until nothing except the desire for him remains.

"Feyd..." You moan as he unconsciously speeds up the movements of his fingers, thrusting them into you at breakneck speed. He smiles, blowing air at your pussy, making you moan even louder.

"Again." He demands, licking the small trail of your juices that has formed on your thighs. He welcomes the way you wet his hand and your shawl that was wrapped around his wrist. He'll save it for later this night.

"Feyd!" You pull on his head and he obliges. He couldn't be cruel to you in this state.

You come suddenly, quickly, and intensely. Your vision is blurry and unclear, and your blood is rushing through you as you moan loudly, holding on to him with all your might.

The next thing you know, he's holding you tightly by your trembling legs as he lowers you to his lap. You straddle him, hugging him tightly as you breathe slowly, trying to get back to a state of relative using after he fucked the orgasm of your life out of you. You hide your face in his neck, too disappointed in yourself to see the proud smirk on his face. He lazily rubs your back, holding you as you regain your strenght.

"You owe me, little witch. And you know, I always collect my debt." He growls hoarsely in your ear and presses a kiss on your temple. You can smell your scent on him. You blush, embarrassed, as you can feel desire rising in you again. "No response? Not a single malicious comment? Did I make you come so hard that now you are speechless? Are you really just a little mouse in need of my attention under that strong witch façade?"

"I'm not a fucking mouse." You snap at him in anger, finally coming to your senses.

"So that's the first one. Even better for me." He stands up, slowly carrying you from his lap to the ground. He reaches for your pants and helps you put them on. He grabs your hands and pulls you closer to him. You can't stand alone. You can't fucking stand alone. He laughs as he realises it, which irritates you to the point where you can't control yourself anymore.

"Shut up." You use your voice on him before you bite your tongue to stop yourself. Silence falls between you for a moment. You swallow, realising what you've done. You open your mouth to explain yourself, but, as usual, he beats you to it.

"Hmm… interesting. So you have that fire in you…" He tangles his hand in your hair and watches you closely, fascinated by the way you used your voice on him for the first time. "As sweet as I thought. Better than any water… Use that voice on me in a way I don't like, and I will really punish you, little witch. And this time, it will only be pleasant for me. Understood?" You nod your head with clenched teeth. "Good girl. Let's go. I believe they stopped dropping bombs right when you came on my face and fingers." He brags, letting you go when he sees you can stand on your own. You roll your eyes, realising how often he'll brag about it. You draw your blade and follow him, looking forward to hunting for Fremen.

You try to ignore the sand that… got where he was a few seconds ago and where he had it himself too. Damn bastard.

You walk through the corridors of your base. You're covered in blood, but it doesn't bother you much. Maybe a little when you remember that you will have to remove clotted blood from your hair. You sigh, adjusting the scarf around your neck that you took from some fremen to hide the hickeys as you walk to the war room to give new orders to the soldiers.

The Sietch has been completely destroyed by you. You murdered most of the fremen, and those left alive were taken prisoner... or to the camp brothel. You preferred not to go into details.

As you walk through the halls, you hear rustling behind you. You take a few slow steps and turn around, with your hand on your dagger, only to see na-Baron's harpies. You tense up as you watch the three women carefully and distrustfully.

"How can I help you?" You ask them, trying to avoid showing them genuine disgust and hostility. After all, they had somehow kept Feyd away from you… for now.

"The little witch is in trouble…"

"Our master will be very angry with her…"

"Maybe he'll even let us suck her bones when he's done with her…"

They say one by one, tilting their heads as they observe you. You shiver slightly, but you quickly adopt a hostile, intimidating stance, not caring much about what they say. They may have been cannibals, but you were a trained soldier and killer. You would kill them in a heartbeat if they weren't useful to you in some way.

"What do you want, vultures?" You growl at them, expecting them to get scared and return to their master's chamber, waiting for him like faithful dogs.

"The little witch's friend is here…"

"Our master is interrogating her…"

"And he learns very interesting things about the witch."

"When he's done with her, he'll be ours again."

"We will eat her meat and feast, celebrating our victory."

And what really should scare you more is the part about them saying they're going to eat you, but all you can think about is that friend he's interrogating. Another Bene Gesserit? Impossible. You made sure that everyone who came into contact with you either believed you were dead or forgot that you existed. Except for one… No. No, that wasn't possible.

"I have the blood of hundreds of rats on me. Get out of my sight unless you want yours to adorn my armor. And believe me… I will do it with great pleasure. I bet your master would fuck me on your corpse as a reward." You snap at them, still processing what may have been happening in the interrogation room. If your suspicions were true... you didn't even want to think about it. This couldn't be happening. You're paranoid. After so many years of keeping everything a secret... you couldn't lose control that easily.

You pay them no further attention and continue walking, ignoring their hisses and mocking laughter as you change your plans and head to the interrogation room.

You had to run away. As far away from here as possible. But if you do, he will chase after you. And when he finds you, and there is no doubt that he will, he will gut you and throw your remains to his harpies.

So you couldn't escape. You had to face him and try to tame him somehow. But how the hell are you going to explain to him that you ran away from the Bene Gesserit with him because you didn't want to be his concubine? Maybe a few years ago he would have understood it, but now that he has found this strange obsession with you, how could you get out of this situation? He'll cut you up before you even try to say anything.

You pass soldiers standing at the door of the interrogation room. They nod at you, letting you in as you hesitantly walk over to see for yourself if the situation is actually as dire as you think.

You feel the cold metal door on your back as it closes behind you with a bang. You freeze in place, swallowing nervously, as you see the Fremen Reverend Mother handcuffed to a chair. What scares you much more than the fact that it is really a Bene Gesserit is that it's Lady Jessica. Your former trainer in that sick sisterhood.

Feyd is standing right in front of her. His hands are gripped tightly around his daggers, and his gaze is focused on the woman in front of him. He strokes the blade of his dagger with his thumb as he is lost in his thoughts. He behaved as if he were completely oblivious to you, but you know him better than to even think for a while that he didn't notice your entrance. But he doesn't say anything as he continues to stare at her intently.

"She can tell you that herself. Right, Y/N?" Lady Jessica looks at you, raising an eyebrow defiantly. Even captured, she looks proud, as if she were the one who had power over what was happening in the room. "I should thank you. If it weren't for you, Paul would never have taken over the Kwisatz Haderach's way. No matter how hard I tried..."

"Feyd…" You ignore her and walk over to Harkonnen. You place a hand on his shoulder, but he just flinches at your touch, moving away from you. His eyes were fixed on the floor; he wasn't giving you even a single glance.

"I'm not surprised. If they sent me to breed with such a monster, I would also run away... not necessarily into his arms, but I really admire your skillful mind. To come up with such intrigue. No one would ever imagine that a little scared girl would run straight into the lion's mouth to take shelter there. I remember how you cried down my skirt when you found out what your mission was. I never would have imagined that my apprentice would go so far."

"Silence!" You shout at her, using the voice, and surprisingly, you succeed. You don't have time to try to understand what just happened—that you used your voice against a much stronger woman than you, the Reverend Mother. You walk up to Feyd and cup his cheek with your hand, forcing him to look at you.

His gaze is blank. He's wearing his mask, blocking out any emotions that might get through and reveal what he's thinking. He takes your hand and moves it away from his face, pushing you away from him like a bug.

"Would you like to see a monster, concubine of the Atreides? I'll be more than happy to show you one…" Before either of you can react, Feyd swings, creating a long gash across her chest. The woman gasps in shock, placing her hand on her wound, from which blood is now flowing down on the floor.

Before you can take a breath to talk some sense into him, he plunges the blade into her chest. You tremble as you hear the sound of cracked bones under the movement of his dagger and the witch's screams.

You don't do anything. You just stand there, watching as Feyd takes out his anger on her, disembowelling her. The metallic smell of blood hits your nostrils, but even that doesn't cause you to react. All you can do is stand and watch. And wait for your turn.

You feel sick as Lady Jassica's screams remind you of your friends who died on Arrakis. You deny what's happening in front of you as your thoughts return to that fateful day.

You weren't sent to Arrakis to try to survive. No, the plan created by Bene Gesserit was much worse. You were sent there to kill each other. This sick test was intended to eliminate weak individuals, leaving only one Bene Gesserit alive, the one who was the strongest among the young generation of women trained by these mad witches.

You were sent on one ship, thrown into the desert with weapons and one bottle of water, as an act of mercy. There were fifty of you. You killed half of them. Or at least that's what the Reverend Mothers told you after the Sisterhood took you back from there..

You were the only one left alive.

From that day on, you promised yourself that you would never let them control your life or make you go through these tests again. You didn't want to take part in their sick games ever again. You preferred to die rather than become their tool again, a monster that blindly follows their orders.

You never wanted to feel powerless or furiously frustrated again.

And now, standing there and staring blankly as Feyd killed the woman who was your mentor in front of you, you felt as if you were once again that helpless girl who is forced to do as she is told and who has no power over anything that is happening around her.

You flinch as blood reaches your shoes. You look up to see Na-Baron turning towards you. Blood was dripping down his armour as he cleaned his blades on her clothes, which were already soaked in blood.

For a moment, you delude yourself, thinking that it's not what you think. That he didn't actually discover the truth about your past in the Bene Gesserit by accident. That everything will be all right, just how it used to.

But by the look in his icy-blue eyes, you know he knows. He gives you the same angry, bloodthirsty glare that he gives his victims moments before they die. But there's something else there. Pain. Betrayal. Without knowing why, you feel a flood of guilt wash over you, outweighing your fear. But you didn't owe him anything. No loyalty or sincere devotion.

You gasp as he pushes you against the wall and presses the knife to your neck, breathing heavily. You feel it gently pierce your skin, causing blood to leak from the wound and run down your neck. He doesn't move away. He doesn't bend down to lick it off your skin. He presses further and harder, looking straight into your eyes. And you don't know if he's just testing you or if he really wants to kill you.

Suddenly, fucking him wasn't the worst solution to the situation you found yourself in...

Part IIITaglist: (I hope that everyone is here...) @thegabbyh @himesuedi @wo-ming-bai @beebeechaos @mamawiggers1980 @moonsoulk @avidreader73 @heartarianagran @dreamlandcreations @ancientbeing10 @lovereadingfanfic @jeansjoie @workof-a-rr-t @aixicl @ladyredstar1991 @evangelineimagine @hobobobo-fett56 @happyant3 @marsflys @aaaaaamond @kamcrazy123 @k1swass @yum-yahgurt @tyns13 @oh-you-mean-me @menari @tyns13

[thesecondhandwoman]

I luvvv ur writing so bad. It’s so tea and well put together. And the way you portray Ambessa is just 🤌🏾. I just had to follow.

But anyway!

If it’s not too much, can you write Ambessa with a Witch or Vampire…or both!🤷🏾‍♀️ idk I’ll leave that up to you, and I’ll leave the plot up to you aswell cuz I can’t think of anything rn >.<

-🧛🏽‍♀️

BLOODSUCKER

Ambessa x f!reader

Synopsis: You, a vampire who had lurked in the shadows of Noxus, had been Ambessa’s little pet ever since she bounded you through a blood pact. And it was a struggle not to feed from her when you were starved.

Request: Anon 🤍

Ambessa leaned back in her ornate leather chair, the faint smirk on her lips illuminated by the flickering firelight of her private chambers. The room was a blend of luxurious Noxian austerity and subtle decadence, dark wood, deep red fabrics, and faint traces of iron lingering in the air. Across from her, you knelt, trembling, on the rug beneath her feet.

The blood pact burned in your veins like molten steel, your fangs aching in your gums as you tried, and failed, to steady your breath.

“Struggling already?” Ambessa drawled, her tone casual but laced with amusement. She cradled a glass of red wine in one hand, swirling it lazily. The rich liquid reflected the firelight, mirroring the color that consumed your thoughts. Blood. You needed it. Craved it. And she knew it.

“Damn you,” you hissed through clenched teeth, your voice a rasp of desperation. You could feel your hands clenching into the soft rug, claws threatening to tear through the fabric. The hunger was unbearable, searing through every fiber of your body.

Ambessa chuckled, her deep, velvety laugh sending a shiver down your spine. She leaned forward slightly, resting her elbow on the armrest and her chin on her knuckles, watching you with that maddening smirk that both enraged and enraptured you.

“You’ll need to be more specific, darling. Damn me for binding you with the pact, or damn me for withholding what you so desperately need?” Her voice was silken, but her words cut with precision.

Your glowing eyes snapped up to meet hers, a feral hiss escaping your lips as your instincts clawed at the last shreds of your self-control. You wanted to lunge at her, to sink your fangs into her neck, to quench the unbearable thirst that wracked your body. But the pact’s invisible chains tightened around your will, keeping you rooted in place.

“Ambessa,” you croaked, your voice raw and pleading as if you hadn’t just cussed at her. “Please.”

Ambessa raised an eyebrow, tilting her head ever so slightly. “Please what?” she asked, her tone almost mockingly gentle. “Be precise. You know I enjoy it when you beg properly.”

Your jaw tightened as your pride warred with your hunger. This was her game. She loved seeing you like this, vulnerable, teetering on the edge of losing yourself, bound to her will by the blood pact that had enslaved you to her whims. And yet, in the moments where her fingers brushed against your skin, or when her eyes lingered on you with something softer than amusement, there was a twisted undercurrent of something intimate.

You hated it. You needed it.

“Please, let me feed,” you rasped, your voice trembling with desperation.

Ambessa’s smirk widened, and she set her wineglass down with deliberate slowness. Her towering frame rose from the chair, the firelight casting her in an almost otherworldly glow as she stepped toward you. The air shifted, thick with her presence, and you found yourself pressing your hands into the rug to steady yourself as your instincts screamed at you to lunge.

She crouched before you, her golden eyes gleaming with predatory delight. One hand reached out, cupping your jaw firmly. Her thumb pressed against your chin, forcing your mouth open slightly, and you could feel the cool, iron tang of her skin brushing against your lips.

“My poor, starving little one,” she murmured, her voice low and intoxicating. “Look at you, trembling like an animal in chains.”

You shuddered at her touch, a whimper escaping your throat as your fangs ached with the need to pierce her skin. Your glowing eyes locked onto hers, and for a moment, you thought you saw something flicker in her gaze, curiosity, perhaps, or even admiration.

But then her smirk returned, sharper than ever. “I should make you wait longer,” she mused, her thumb brushing your lower lip. “You’re so enchanting when you’re desperate.”

“Ambessa—”

Before you could finish, she leaned in, her lips brushing the shell of your ear as she whispered, “Show me how badly you need me.”

Just her being this close, a more likely opportunity to be able to latch on and feed, had made you snap in a matter of seconds.

Your fangs extended fully as you lunged, but Ambessa was ready, she knew you’d react like that. Her hand on your jaw tightened, forcing your head back as she pushed you down onto the rug. The weight of her strength pinned you effortlessly, and a dark chuckle rumbled in her throat as she hovered over you.

“Not so fast,” she murmured, her golden eyes alight with amusement. “I’m in control here, remember? You are supposed to be patient and wait for permission.”

You squirmed beneath her, your glowing eyes wild and your breaths ragged as drool dripped from your parted lips. Your body ached with need, every fiber of your being screaming for release. And yet, she kept you there, her grip firm but not cruel, her gaze drinking in your desperation like a fine vintage.

“You’re beautiful like this,” she said softly, almost to herself. “Raw. Unrestrained. Mine.”

The word sent a shiver down your spine, and your struggles faltered for just a moment. Her gaze softened ever so slightly, her thumb brushing against your cheek as she studied you.

“Very well,” she said finally, her voice a low purr. “I’ll allow it. But you’ll remember who holds the leash, hm, little one?”

With that, she tilted her head to the side, exposing the smooth curve of her neck. The sight of her pulse, steady and strong beneath her skin, sent a fresh wave of hunger crashing over you.

“Go on,” she murmured, her hand still cradling your jaw as her eyes locked onto yours. “Take what you need.”

You didn’t hesitate. Your fangs sank into her flesh, the rush of hot, rich blood flooding your senses and drowning out every thought except for the intoxicating taste of her. A low growl of satisfaction escaped your throat as you clung to her, your hands fisting in the fabric of her shirt as you fed.

Ambessa’s hand slid to the back of your neck, her fingers tangling in your hair as she let out a soft sigh. “Good girl,” she murmured, her voice tinged with both amusement and something far more tender.

Ambessa’s pulse beat steadily beneath your lips, her blood like fire on your tongue. The moment stretched between you, a taut string vibrating with tension, and yet you couldn’t pull away, not even if you wanted to. Her taste was intoxicating, far richer than anything you’d ever experienced before. It wasn’t just sustenance; it was power, dominance, and desire all at once, flooding your senses and drowning the ache in your veins.

As you fed, her fingers tightened in your hair, not harshly, but with enough force to remind you of your place. “Careful now,” she murmured, her voice a low purr. “Don’t lose yourself completely, little one.”

The words grounded you, pulling you back from the edge of feral desperation. Slowly, you eased the pressure of your bite, your fangs retracting as you drew back just enough to look up at her. Blood painted your lips, your chin, and you swiped your tongue across them instinctively, savoring every last drop.

Ambessa tilted her head, her golden eyes studying you with a mix of satisfaction and curiosity. “Better?” she asked, her tone soft but edged with that familiar teasing lilt.

You nodded, your breath still coming in short gasps as you tried to steady yourself. The hunger had dulled to a manageable thrum, leaving behind a strange sense of calm and an undeniable heat that curled low in your belly.

“Yes,” you whispered, your voice hoarse but steady. “Thank you.”

Ambessa chuckled, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Gratitude suits you,” she said, her lips curving into a faint smirk. “Though you’d do well to remember who grants you this privilege.”

Your cheeks flushed with a mix of shame and lingering desire. Her words stung, but they also thrilled you in a way you couldn’t fully explain. The bond between you, the blood pact that chained you to her, was more than just an agreement. It was a dynamic, a push-and-pull of power and submission that neither of you could ignore.

“You enjoy this too much,” you muttered, the edge in your voice tempered by the lingering effects of her blood.

Her laughter was warm and deep, like the crackle of the fire behind her. “Oh, I do,” she admitted without hesitation. “But you enjoy it as well, even if you won’t admit it.”

Your silence spoke volumes, and Ambessa’s smirk only deepened. She leaned back slightly, releasing her hold on you but remaining close enough that her presence still dominated the space.

“You’re learning, though,” she said, her tone softer now, almost approving. “The hunger won’t control you forever. In time, you’ll master it. With my guidance, of course.”

Your gaze flicked up to meet hers, the firelight casting shadows across her sharp features. “And if I don’t want your guidance?” you challenged, though the words lacked the bite you’d intended.

Ambessa arched a brow, amusement flickering in her eyes. “Then you’ll starve,” she replied simply, her voice calm and certain. “But we both know that’s not what you want.”

The truth of her words settled over you like a weight, and you hated how right she was. You needed her, her blood, her strength, her control. And deep down, in a place you refused to acknowledge, you craved the way she looked at you, the way she touched you, as if you were something precious and fragile yet entirely hers to claim.

Ambessa leaned in closer, her breath warm against your cheek as she whispered, “You’ll come to accept it, little one. In time, you’ll see that this bond, this pact, isn’t a curse. It’s a gift.”

Her lips brushed against the corner of your mouth, a fleeting, possessive touch that left you trembling all over again. Then she rose to her full height, her commanding presence filling the room as she extended a hand to you.

“Come,” she said, her tone shifting back to that of the leader she was. “You’ve had your fill. Now it’s time to focus on serving me properly.”

You hesitated for only a moment before taking her hand, her grip firm and unyielding as she pulled you to your feet. The taste of her blood lingered on your tongue, a reminder of the power she wielded over you, and the power she had gifted you, however reluctantly.

As she led you toward the door, you couldn’t help but glance at her, the firelight catching in her golden eyes. There was something about her that drew you in, despite everything. She was your captor, your master, and yet, you couldn’t deny the magnetic pull that kept you at her side.

“Ambessa,” you said softly, the word slipping from your lips before you could stop it.

She paused, glancing back at you with a raised brow. “Yes?”

You hesitated, the words caught in your throat. Then, finally, you managed, “Why me? There are many more vampires you can use for your amusement.”

Her smirk returned, softer this time, almost fond. “Because, my darling,” she said, her voice low and deliberate, “you’re mine. And I always take what’s mine.”

And with that, she turned away, leaving you to follow in her wake, the weight of her words settling over you like a brand. You were hers—bound by blood, by the pact, by something far deeper than you cared to admit. And as much as you wanted to fight it, you couldn’t deny the truth.

You were hers. Completely.

[mistywaves98]

REQUESTING A PART TWO FOR SIREN SCARA? U GOT ME ADDICTED I LOVE HIM HES SO PERFECT <3333

Maybe he can turn into a human on land? I wouldnt mind hiding him from some hunters just for him to find us in our room/boat later <3

I've so many asks begging for more siren! Scara lmao, but I can't blame any of you, he is perfect 🙏🏻🙏🏻

✧･ﾟ:* ->Siren! Scaramouche x Fem! Reader

✧･ﾟ:* ->¡Warnings!: NSFW, Pet name is used twice ('little captain'), Brief fingering, Sub! Reader, Dom! Character!

That old hag of a sea witch was pretty sketchy, but at least he can traverse land freely now, is what Scaramouche thought to himself as he cautiously practiced walking for the first time on the shoreline. So this is how humans move about everyday? Scaramouche figured that being able to zip around beneath the waves was much more efficient, but he would have to get used to these legs for a while if he was hoping to meet you again.

Despite having a human lower half, that didn't change the fact he still retained most of his sirenic features. And of course that was bound to be a nuisance. And a nuisance it was as Scaramouche found himself being persued by a group of hunters who only saw him as a walking money bag. He barely managed to get away, ducking into a dark alley way as they ran straight past.

Coincidentally, the building also happened to be the same seaside inn he saw you staying at. Scaramouche glanced up and saw the an open window illuminated by the glow of a lantern that no doubt lead to your room.

The last thing you were expecting as you curled up on your bed, reading a book peacefully, was to see someone climbing through your window with a grin on his face which showcased rows of sharp teeth. It didn't take long for his identity to click in your mind though as your eyes widened, slowly placing down your book as you sat up, "Scaramouche...?"

His smiled seemed to widen at your recognition as he wasted no time in crawling onto your bed, hastily pinning you down with his body. He leaned down, licking the shell of your ear sensually as he whispered,"Yes, my little captain. It's me, surprised? I knew you'd be. I went through quite a bit of trouble to get you, so I don't suppose you'll let me reward myself a bit now, do you?" Scaramouche's eager hands fiddled with the hem of your pants, already hooking his fingers around the waistband to pull them down.

You blushed at his forwardness, still in slight shock that the siren who was supposed to be sea-bound was now pinning you to your bed and begging for your pussy. But you weren't complaining but the urge to tease him for his eagerness was too strong,"Oh— Not even a hello..? You know, it's pretty rude to just climb through one's windows without notice," Scaramouche chuckled at that, bringing up a hand to grab your face, nails digging into the soft skin as he spoke in a tone that contrasted his deathly grip,"Trying to tease me now, are you? It's all fun and games till I'm the one teasing you with the thought of cumming. Is that what you want? For me to edge you till you cry?"

Your answer didn't really matter to him, all his mind was focused on was getting to put his dick in your pussy. Before you could get another word out, he used his nails to slice away your pants and underwear, leaving them in shreds as your folds glistened in all their glory. His pupils narrowed at the sight, red splashing his cheeks as he looked up to meet your embarrassed face,"So you wanted to 'take it slow' while you're practically dripping for my cock. Ironic, isn't it?"

Scaramouche dragged his index along your slit, gathering your slick before bringing it up for you to see. The way he was taunting you about your own arousal made you bite your lip as you shifted uncomfortably, hands fisting the sheets. The siren revelled in your movement, it was like holding the little fish he would catch and eat for dinner, so wriggly and desperate.

Without warning, he pushed two fingers inside you, knuckle deep before pumping them in and out at a steady pace. You inhaled sharply, face heating up,"Scara—!" "Mm.. Yes, my little captain, say my name like that.." His fingers worked their way inside of you, occasionally doing scissor motions to try and loosen you up in preparation for taking his cock. When he decided that he'd done enough prep, he removed his fingers from your gaping hole, watching it clench around nothing as you attempted to protest.

A hand covered your mouth to silence you before you suddenly feel a stinging burn in your lower half as he penetrates you, bottoming out immediately. He groaned as your walls clenched around him, he'd never felt anything like it before. And he wants more, he wants to feel your walls convulse around him forever. Scaramouche holds your hip with one hand, the other moving from your mouth to push down on your chest as he thrusts into you, albeit a bit sloppy at first but eventually picking up a pace, going deep and hard.

Your breath struggles to stay even as you grab his shoulders to stabilize yourself. Each roll of his hips against yours sends you to heaven and back, the room filling with the sounds of your moans and skin on skin. Your orgasm is inevitable, and you let him know through gasps and cries for more,"Ahn...! C-cumming—! Nngh..—!" Scaramouche's grip on your hips tightened as he heard that, fins twitching with anticipation as he muttered huskily,"Do it. I wanna watch you come undone on my cock.."

He didn't need to repeat himself as you felt the knot in your stomach snap, cunt clenching around him one last time before coating the base of his length with a creamy white ring. The look of utter bliss on your face as you came made him come too, pace faltering as he buried his load inside of you. When his thrusts finally came to a stop, he let himself collapse on top of you, nuzzling the crook of your neck as he engulfed you with his arms.

Scaramouche didn't bother to pull out, preferring to just lay there with you as you both panted heavily, basking in the aftermath of your actions. Your body twitched, thighs trembling as you take a few minutes to process what just happened. His seed is still hot inside you, making your lower half feel warm,"That..that was amazing.." You managed to whisper, a low hum coming from him in response.

You felt a combination of his tongue licking and teeth nibbling a fold of skin on your neck, his face flushing as he tasted the salty tinge of your sweat,"Mhm...It's worth taking the risk to see you. I'll be doing that more often from now on.."

"So expect a lot of surprise visits from me. Maybe I'll even bother saying 'hi' this time.."

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Hi I hope it’s ok if i request this you really don’t have to do it. But a Xaden riorson fluff and angst where the reader gets really hurt but they are trying to help people so she hides it from Xaden and when he finds out he’s really mad at her but he’s really just scared of losing her and hates seeing her hurt with a happy ending. I hope this is ok and there is no pressure to do this I completely understand if you don’t want to.

warning: blood, injuries, death

Dangerous

Falling in love had been off the table for Xaden. Falling in love with a rebel witch, a coven leader hadn’t been on his bingo cards either . But there was something that had pulled him towards you. For months he pined over you, not letting his feelings take the best of him. Until he cracked and that one careless night after a stressful raid had changed his life forever.

“Your heart is beating fast”, you had muttered, kissing his shoulder as you laid wrapped around him still, only Xaden’s leather jacket he had pulled over you both keeping the chilly night away. He sighed deeply, “I’m tariffed”, he admitted, eyes falling onto you. “Of me or this?”, you gestured between you both. “Of losing you now that I found you”, he muttered into the night. You had leaned in kissing all of his thoughts away. But Xaden knew that his fears matched yours too.

Now he felt like he lived two lives. The most important one was left in his old family home. It was tough being so far away but he constantly reassured himself that you were in good hands out there. But his arms grew lonely at night, thoughts swirling like shadows all around him. So he craved the nights he got to fly out to you. It was feeling like no other. Just like tonight as he quickly jumped off Sgaeyl. Just something felt different tonight.

“What is it?”, Garrick asked from behind him. Xaden simply lifted his hand, “Don’t you feel…”, but he didn’t get to finish his sentence as cries echoed from the main hall. The two males shared a quick look before rushing towards the sound. Just the view when they pushed through the door had made them both halt. There were bodies everywhere, littering the mats as healers rushed all around them.

Xaden’s stomach turned as he looked each of the bodies over, praying to not see your face among them. “Brennan”, he sighed as the male with a huge gash on his forehead came into view. “Xaden”, the male acknowledged him with a tight nod. “What happened?”, Xaden grunted, eyes still scanning the room. “She’s not here”, Brennan's voice washed over the storm within him. “she hasn’t…”, the mender coughed into his palm, “She hasn’t returned”. And here it was that deathly ringing in his head. “Was this an attack?”, Garrick asked, clasping a hand onto Xaden’s shoulder. “They came for witches. Killed half of the…”, but Xaden had turned, marching out of the hall. The iron stench in the air made him nauseous.

Stumbling into the courtyard Xaden was heartbeats away from mounting Sgaeyl when his eyes caught a glimpse of the wyvern not far away from the field that stretched across. His legs moved before he could think it all through. That didn’t have to be you but his rational mind was long gone. Stumbling through the long grass he was finally met with the oily black scales. And those familiar black eyes of your wyvern. “Hey, girl”, Xaden breathed, touching her neck before rounding the side of her. “Y/n”, he called out, heart hammering against his chest. He had lost too many of his friends like this. In fields. Right by their dragons. “Y/n”, he called out again. And then Azure turned her wing up, and there you stood. Hand braced against your wyvern. Dead eyes looking up at Xaden. “Love”, he stepped forward, hands reaching out to clasp your upper arm so he could steady you.

“I’m fine”, you grunted through gritted teeth, shaking his hand off. “You’re not and we both know that”, Xaden argued back. You took a shaky step forward before your legs bucked, hissing when Xaden wrapped his arms around your middle to steady you. His skin grew even more ashy when his fingers met the pudgy, warm material on your side. “Let me…”, he started, fear clouding his senses once more. “No”, you pushed against him.

“Yn”, Xaden said in warning, if he had to carry you out of this field he would. “Eight. Eight girls they murdered, Xaden”, you crocked out, sharp teeth glistening in the moonlight. “Bled into buckets for…”, a choked sob escaped you as you hit his chest. Over and over. But he stood there like a wall. Meeting punch after punch. Because he’s been there too. “I couldn’t save them”, you howled, head pressed into your lover’s chest as you pulled at his leathers.

“You did what you could. Your people need you now”, Xaden said, letting his fingers brush through your hair. “I should have died not them”, you shook your head but Xaden gripped your chin then, “Don’t you speak like that”, he grunted, “Don’t you ever say anything like that”. Your puffy eyes finally looked up at him. “I had been so close to setting that whole place on fire when I couldn’t find you”, Xaden admitted, “so don’t say shit like that because I might just”. You sank against him, finally letting your body sag, knowing that he was here. “I got you”, muttered against your ear, “Let me take care of you now, and then we will find the ones responsible”, he promised.

[qwimblenorrisstan]

Home, At Last | Azriel & WitchDaughter!Reader

Summary: Unbeknownst to Azriel, an encounter he had with a witch nearly three centuries ago will come back to haunt him when his shadows begin speaking of you, his “daughter”, a witch in danger of being thrown out of her coven.

Word Count: ~ 3.5k

Warnings: Mentions of rape, stillborn baby, pregnancy, abuse, branding, witches, sharp stuff, birth, death, major trauma and angst, injuries, ends kinda good tho (PLATONIC RELATIONSHIP W/ AZ AND READER)

A/N: Ok I feel like I’m scamming y’all bc reader is actually Az’s granddaughter but they have more of a father-daughter relationship in the ends…this is like super sad in the beginning but there’s comfort in the end and a bit of fluff, hope you enjoy <3

Requests are open!

From the moment his shadows had begun whispering and speaking of rumors, Azriel hadn’t been surprised.

Of course, he was surrounded by rumors, he was the infamous shadowsinger, the Spymaster of Night Court who’d been alive for centuries and lived through several wars, a male who’d murdered thousands in his lifetime. But these rumors seemed a bit more real than the others, more realistic, or at least his shadows thought so.

‘She is small, with hazel eyes like ours’

They whispered to him, conjuring up images in his mind, images of a young teenage female, one of gleaming iron, with hazel eyes and midnight black hair.

He didn’t understand how or why he would have a child.

With any lover he took, he always ensured that the protection was flawless, whether it be condoms, birth control pills, or pulling out on time, he was careful with all of it. He knew he wasn’t ready for a child, and he didn’t want to have one anytime soon, let alone with a female he wasn’t mated with.

But there was one instance. One completely out of his control, an experience he would never forget.

It had been in the midst of the first Great War, he’d been sent on a mission, a secretive one to gather information, by Rhysand’s father, the High Lord at the time. It had all gone perfectly, he’d gotten in, and out, but he’d made a small pitstop on a little side of a high mountaintop to gather water, as he had been feeling a bit nauseous due to the lack of it for many hours.

The female had moved so quickly he hadn’t even been able to notice her until he was on the ground, and saw her iron teeth and nails come down over their normal counterparts a second too late before they were against his Jugular, the witch smiling wickedly above him as she crooned into his ear.

“Quite the catch. I haven’t seen a male like you in centuries,”

She had purred into his ear, her sharp nails tracing over where the Illyrian tattoos were visible on the lower half of his neck, and some of his shoulders. Overcome with nausea and fatigue from nonstop missions, not to mention the deadly witch that could easily slaughter him, he could do nothing but remain silent and blank as he could while the witch had her way with him. That was a key belief of their kind, that men were only good for breeding and food, nothing more.

He’d tried to forget about it, tried his very hardest, but now it seemed it was coming back to bite him. It was odd that his shadows hadn’t picked anything up sooner. That event had been nearly 300 years ago, and if that witch had somehow sired his child, survived the birth with the wings, and raised it…

He was getting ahead of himself. Maybe it was just a mishap with a normal lover, not the sadistic witch who’d raped him so long ago.

And if it was….he’d find her.

*********************************************************

Normal occurrences in the witch camps had always been chaotic, but you were bound to notice more when you were actively looking out for it.

Daily sparring, sharpening of iron teeth or nails, fights, meals, and hunting times. It had all been so painfully normal to you before you’d gotten pregnant. It had been a human man, one you’d met while scoping out a new area for the Matron. He’d been drunk, and you, like any other witch of your coven, had taken advantage of that fact.

He’d at least provided a decent meal afterward.

Carrying a witchling was a blessing from your gods, you knew it, and you were forever thankful for it. But that didn’t mean it was easy. You were usually stuck in the designated area for impregnated witches that were about to pop, which was fine. There was just one thing you were nervous about, one thing that might go wrong.

You had only heard the story once, how you’d been born with wings and your mother had been left ripped open and dead because of it, her birthing canal unable to adjust. The same wings that had been promptly ripped off for being improper. Death had probably been the best fate for the female that had once called you her daughter, giving birth to an improper or “wrong” child was worse, and you would be branded like cattle, and thrown to the side.

That could easily happen to you.

The chances were low, usually the only genes that carried so strongly through witch blood were the integral witch parts, what made you worthy and befitting of the coven. The chances of the child having wings were low, almost zero, but not zero.

You couldn’t help but wonder if that was what your mother had been thinking, or her mother before her. The gene of wings had been in your bloodline almost three women back. They’d probably thought the same. That there wasn’t a chance, not one bit of one. Even though there had been, and she’d paid dearly for it

Every day dragged closer to the day, and as the others in the coven noticed the behavior, the swollen ankles, the lack of strength, shortness of breath, odd cravings, fatigue, or the morning sickness, the stricter the designated midwives became you staying inside of your bed.

The nerves grew, for multiple different reasons.

“This is a blessing,”

They’d tell you.

“You’re birthing the next generation of a strong coven,”

They said.

It was easy to listen to them, but not so easy to believe in what they’d said. Other females gave you tips, being oddly kind for your species and their volatile behavior. The midwives prepared you, giving you a blunt explanation of what would happen, as they did with all the other females about to give birth.

Finally, the day came.

At first, you thought you’d just pissed yourself when your water broke, but after a second of actual contemplation, you’d nearly panicked. The contractions started soon after, horrible awful things making your body cramp and lurch in ways you hadn’t even known possible beforehand. Your groans and moans joined those of the other woman also giving birth at the time. This was her first time, too. You’d briefly talked to her before.

“When are you due?”

“A month before the solstice.”

“….”

“Three weeks before the solstice.”

“Is this your first?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Me too.”

The female seemed as kind as a witch could be, with piercing blue eyes and chocolate brown hair. Your screams intertwined together, beds separated only by thin curtains in the large birthing tent with rows upon rows of beds and supplies.

It felt like you were being ripped apart from the inside out, some sort of feral creatures trying to claw their way out. Your nails dug into the bed, ripping and shredding the thick furs in a way most mothers didn’t. It felt like it was taking too long. You faintly heard crying, that of a baby, the other female’s child.

You pushed for what felt like hours, nurses hissing to push harder, faster, to be strong like a witch should and suffer through it. Like the other new mother beside your bed had done.

However, with a final push, the baby had emerged. You looked down at it, eyes stained with tears and sweat. There were no wings on the small, red thing, not even a hint of it.

And not a hint of crying, either.

*********************************************************

“And..how long will you be gone?”

Rhysand asked him, with a raised brow and smooth tone, barely showing his curiosity. He never saw his shadowsinger this bothered. Azriel had been pacing nearly all morning and seemed distracted during training.

“Give me a day.”

The male responded, swallowing as he tried to stop his pacing, to stop seeming concerned. The stoic look remained on his face, despite his obvious worries through his body language.

“Very well…”

The High Lord replied, swirling the wine in his cup around before taking a small sip of it, gazing into the pool of dark red liquid, as if trying to find an answer to his questions in it.

“What are you up to, brother?”

He then asked, giving Azriel a curious but assessing look. Azriel only shook his head, heart beating faster than it should’ve as he left the office area, walking out of the townhouse, looking at the sparkling river that overlooked the Sidra, and took out the maps he’d acquired from one of the oldest sections in the House of Wind’s library.

He’d marked out a path in chalk, he would start where he’d first encountered that witch nearly three centuries ago, and he would go South from there, following evidence of migration patterns his shadows had managed to dig up.

It had been hours of endless flying, no sign of life on the mountain other than old, maybe a year ago, dirt disturbed, which could’ve easily been whatever wildlife could brave the heights of the mountain. He’d followed the pattern from there, his wings aching, the shadows whispering which way to go, but unable to aid him in his conquest. He was forced to stop for the night when a large storm blew in, thunder cracking down from the skies.

And so, setting up a fire in a small cave he’d found, Truth-Teller in his hand, he went to sleep for the night.

*********************************************************

It had happened too quickly, you’d barely had time to understand why, but when you realized your child wasn’t crying, and the fact that he was too small and pale, you knew what had happened. A stillborn.

They brought out the brand before you could even try to get away, the nurses hissing and grumbling at your every struggle and begging and pleading as they took the red-hot iron, sinking it into your flesh, searing so deep that not even your witch blood could heal it enough to avoid the mark it left. The big, black, ugly symbol on the left of your stomach, read “Infertile”.

They’d dragged you through the camp as you’d screamed and sobbed, public humiliation at its finest, and carried you far from the camp, far enough that you wouldn’t be able to sniff them out or trace them back, dropping you on the forest floor.

“Waste of our time,”

You heard one of them grumble as they departed, leaving you alone and in the cold forest. You were still bleeding slightly, your teenage body struggling to recuperate from being split open. It got better as time went on, when you managed to struggle to your feet, knees about to give out, and began stumbling through the forest. Your head was fuzzy, not clear, and unable to focus properly as you registered warmth from a certain direction.

Warmth.

The word clanged through you like a bell despite the lightning and rain overhead, you began sniffing out the fire, picking up the faint scent of a male nearby. It didn’t matter. You could deal with the male later, but if you didn’t get warm now, you didn’t know if you could make it through the night.

A small cave came into sight, and stumbling into it, you found the warmth you so desperately desired, a small campfire lit.

However, before you could get closer to it, you registered being slammed to the ground, cold steel against your neck, and a pair of dark, hazel eyes looking into your own.

*********************************************************

A witch.

And not just any witch, his daughter, his teenage daughter, bloodied and bruised, being pinned down beneath him. He had her wrists tied up in barely a second, he’d seen firsthand what those iron nails witches possessed could do to those who weren’t cautious.

The iron scent of her blood was obvious as well, and based on its location, she was either injured in a very bad place or menstruating, and he didn’t want to think of the only real possible answer. Another aspect of her scent was the smell of blooming life, the same one Feyre had possessed while pregnant with Nyx. A scent he couldn’t ignore.

“Who are you?”

He asked, Truth-Teller being placed back on his side as he carefully picked the female up, placing her down near the campfire to give her shivering and soaking wet form some warmth.

“I just — she wasn’t crying and they —“

You sobbed, as if not hearing his question, burying your head into your arms. It didn’t take Azriel long to piece together what had happened, and he knew that you needed medical attention.

“Hold still,”

He muttered, stamping out the fire and gathering the few things he’d brought, before gently lifting you into his arms, and in a swirl of shadows and magic, you were somewhere completely new. He watched you carefully as he hurried to Madja’s tent. Your eyes were closed as you sobbed, and if he was assuming what had happened correctly, you had reason to.

The old female, always reliable with their medical issues, was in her tent, mixing up some concoction, her eyes widened as she laid eyes on you but then went right back to normal, into medic mode, where she couldn’t panic and risk making a mistake or scaring anyone.

“Lay her down.”

Her voice rang out, and Azriel obediently obeyed, laying you on the table and watching, his anxiety evident in the way he paced back and forth, swallowing. Madja began examining you, taking the restraints on your hands and your clothes off, and when he spotted the brand, the dark mark burnt into your skin that looked all too fresh, his temper flared beyond control and he growled. Madja gave him a look.

“If you can’t control yourself, then leave.”

Her sharp tone rang out, and he huffed, but knowing that his anger wouldn’t solve anything, he walked out of the tent, sparing your barely conscious form one last glance as you groaned, clearly in discomfort.

…

“You have a what?”

Cassian’s confused and shocked tone rang out from behind Rhys and Azriel. Az sighed. The bastard must’ve snuck in when they weren’t looking. Rhys looked a bit worried, and Azriel felt more anxious than he’d been in centuries.

“A daughter, she’s a…witch.”

Cassian choked on his spit at that, watching Azriel’s frantic pacing. Rhys put his hand on the shadowsinger’s shoulder, stopping his constant movement in an attempt to soothe him.

“It’ll be fine, Azriel. We’ll work this out.”

“She could die, Rhys. I think she’d just given birth when I found her, it went wrong somehow, and those other witches marked her. They fucking marked her.”

Azriel snapped, eyes filled with such anguish, anger, and grief already that neither of them knew what to say, except to remain silent and think about the situation they were in and how to make it better.

Cassian carefully approached Azriel, with a look and demeanor he’d seen before. It was like he saw him as a wounded animal, like a soldier after the battle, scarred and mentally torn apart.

“All we can do is wait and see, Az.”

His voice, a bit softer than usual, though still gruff, spoke. His eyes held sympathy and understanding, as did Rhys’, but also caution and concern. A witch was dangerous. They knew that just as well as anyone.

*********************************************************

The first thing you registered was that you were in a lot of pain, with stitches being put in your body, and needles being poked every which way. You groaned and shifted, only for old, worn hands to put you right back into place, and a vague voice telling you to “stop moving.” before you felt another needle on the inside of your wrist, and you fell back into sleep again.

The next time you woke, you felt more numb this time, opening your eyes to be met with the sight of a room, ornate, the floor a rich red carpet with patterns on it, the ceiling wooden and going upwards to a point. There was some bland wooden furniture in the room, one mirror, and a large window that light bled through despite the light curtains on it.

A male was sitting beside you. Two of them. Three. They were talking amongst themselves. You hadn’t opened your eyes yet, content to listen.

“— but they gave her up, didn’t they?”

“Technically, yes. I think it’s well within our rights to keep her here if they moved her out of the camp.”

“So she’s ours?”

“She is no one’s.”

The dark voice that cut through the conversation finally made you open your eyes. You recognized that, and his scent…it was familiar, somehow. As soon as you opened your eyes and began to shift, they were all at attention, watching closely.

One in particular stood out to you, the dark male, shrouded by shadows, hazel eyes that resembled your own. All three had wings, leathery bat-like things, one of the males was more brusque and muscular, offering a little grin, the other looking more proper like a pretty Court boy, with his violet eye. All of them had dark hair.

You stared until the shadowy one spoke.

“What’s your name?”

He asked lowly, voice smooth and soothing. His scarred hands twitched up as if wanting to hold you or touch you, or anything he could to fix you.

“Y/N.”

You answered, swallowing as you tried to sit up, wincing as you felt the clothes that had been put on you, similar to a hospital gown, rub against the stitches in your body, and the branding on your stomach. The minute a hint of discomfort entered your expression, the scarred hands of the male were there, gently helping ease you up as you sat against the headboard of the bed, probably looking like death. The minute you were sat up, his hands went away, as if he realized what he had done.

“Sorry.”

He muttered, hands retreating into his lap from the chair. The other male, the violet-eyed one, then cleared his throat and spoke.

“I’m Rhysand,”

He said with a small polite smile, clearly faked, as you could smell how unsure he was, even a bit anxious, as it was in his scent. The brusque-looking one then spoke up with a wolf’s grin, one that wasn’t faked at all.

“Cassian,”

He said before you turned to face the last one. He swallowed, looking a bit anxious.

“Azriel. I’m..your father, or related to you somehow.”

Your brow scrunched in confusion, eyes glancing back at his wings. He might have been your father, but not likely, given how long the trait of wings had been in your bloodline. From what you knew, it had started with your grandmother, then passed to your mother, then you. You sighed, looking uncomfortable but speaking.

“How many years ago was it?” How many years has it been since you fucked a witch?

He swallowed, now looking more uncomfortable, and Cassian snorted, clearly just thinking his eldest brother had gone off and had some fun with a witch, while Rhys shot the male a glare.

“Three centuries.”

He got out quietly, the tiniest of blushes on his cheeks. Your mind was spinning, but you managed to get one coherent thought out.

“You’re my grandfather.”

You said in a dry, clearly uncomfortable tone. Cassian couldn’t stop his laughter at that, even when Rhys elbowed him hard.

“He’s got a grandkid! I don’t believe it —“

He wheezed until Rhys shot Azriel and you an apologetic look, grumbling something to Azriel as he dragged him out of the room, shutting the door behind him. The shadowsinger seemed relieved to be alone with you.

“I’m sorry about what happened, with..everything, I should’ve been there-“

“Don’t. You probably didn’t even know I existed.”

You cut him off, your tired voice still firm. You let your iron nails slide out if only to check that they were still there and undamaged. They were shiny and sharp as ever, untouched. They slid back up as if never there, and you yawned, going to lay back down in the bed. He helped you lay down, scarred hands lingering and taking your hand into his own as he looked into your eyes, multiple emotions mingling inside.

You sighed, giving a tiny tug to his hand.

“C’mere.”

You said, and he easily obliged, tossing his shoes to the floor, but leaving his shirt and pants on as he crawled into the bed beside you, cradling your body gently against his. His hands made sure to avoid the brand on you, the fresh stitches, but they brushed over the large scars on your back from where your wings had been ripped off when you were born.

“You had wings?”

He asked, a pain clear in his voice as your head lay against his chest.

“Had.”

You replied, the exhaustion clear in your tone. Anger flared up in him, for those witches for laying a finger on you, taking your wings and branding you, for them treating you so horribly.

“I’ll never let them touch you again, I promise.”

He said, an inky black marking forming on his back, and on yours, that of a star forming with swirls all around and in it, right between the scars on your back. You gave a little hum of acknowledgment, head moving up to bury itself in his neck, deeply inhaling his scent.

It smelt like home, at last.

[acourtofquestions]

And I am now sobbing

She knew she had a heart for it was breaking vibes

This passage (how is it so beautiful and utterly destroying all in one) I had to pause cause I am a wreck😅

SPOILER PAGE 218

The sunlight gilded the balcony as Asterin whispered, so softly that only Manon could hear, "Bring my body back to the cabin."

Something in Manon's chest broke-broke so violently that she wondered if it was possible for no one to have heard it.

Manon lifted her sword. All it would take was one word from Asterin, and she could save her own hide. Spill Manon's secrets, her betrayals, and she'd walk free. Yet her Second uttered no other word.

And Manon understood in that moment that there were forces greater than obedience, and discipline, and brutality. Understood that she had not been born soulless; she had not been born without a heart.

For there were both, begging her not to swing that blade. Manon looked to the Thirteen, standing around Asterin in a half circle. One by one, they lifted two fingers to their brows. A murmur went through the crowd. The gesture not to honor a High Witch.

But a Witch-Queen.

There had not been a Queen of Witches in five hundred years, either among the Crochans or the Ironteeth. Not one.

Forgiveness shone in the faces of her Thirteen. Forgiveness and understanding and loyalty that was not blind obedience, but forged in pain and battle, in shared victory and defeat Forged in hope for a better life a better world.

At last, Manon found Asterin's gaze, tears now rolling down her Second's face. Not from fear or pain, but in farewell. A hundred years and yet Manon wished she'd had more time.

For a heartbeat, she thought of that sky-blue mare in the aerie, the wyvern that would wait and wait for a rider who would never return.

Thought of a green rocky land spreading to the western sea.

EOS CHAPTER 17 SPOILERS!!

“Manon Blackbeak watched the black skies above Morath bleed to rotted gray on the last morning of Asterin’s life.”

… Got one sentence into Chapter 17 last night & proceeded to schedule reading & crying time the next day😅😂 putting my old “parent planning mom-ish” skills to use🤣 … here we go *ugh I don’t want to read Asterin’s death… but I have a very bad feeling about this* wish me luck😅😅

[rainingriversofyou]

“Like a roaring star, he thundered down the long shoot, and Manon moved with him, meeting each gallop of his powerful body, each step in time with the beat of the wyverns locked in the belly of the mountain. Abraxos flapped his wings open, pounding them once, twice, gathering speed, fearless, unrelenting, ready…

Fast as lightning arcing across the sky, he plummeted toward the Gap floor…

Down into hell, into eternity, into that world where, for a moment, she could have sworn that something tightened in her chest. She did not shut her eyes, not as the moon-illuminated stones of the Gap became closer, clearer. She did not need to. Like the sails of a mighty ship, Abraxos’s wings unfurled, snapping tight. He tilted them upward, pulling against the death trying to drag them down. And it was those wings, covered in glimmering patches of Spidersilk, that stayed strong and sturdy, sending them soaring clean up the side of the Omega and into the starry sky beyond.”

—Heir Of Fire

“First Flight” Artist: @madschofield

[cardansriddle]

Deception - Tom Riddle x Fem!Reader

Summary:

It wasn’t a calculated move, not at first. But now that the pieces had been set on the board, she realized the only way to survive was to play. She would have to play his game—dangerous, consuming, and risky as it was. She knew there was no other way of getting out of his clutches. Whatever his decision, she would be his prisoner for as long as he pleased.

But perhaps...she could manipulate him.

Warnings: manipulation, reader is Tom's prisoner. not proofread as always.

A/N: I loved writing this so much, I'm already thinking maybe I should continue this.

༻♛༺

The dim light of the chamber flickered as the iron door groaned shut behind her, casting her into a suffocating silence. The cold seeped into her bones as she stood, hands bound by enchanted chains that glimmered faintly in the shadows. Her captors dropped their hold on her arms and she heard the echo of their footsteps as they left the room.

And then she was alone with him.

She slowly rose her eyes from the ground and met his piercing gaze with defiance. Tom Riddle sat at the head of a grand, dark table, his fingers steepled, eyes glittering like a predator sizing up its prey. The flickering torchlight cast shadows across his face, accentuating the sharp planes and hollows that made him both devilishly beautiful and utterly menacing. His dark hair, sleek and perfectly in place, framed a face that seemed carved from marble—pale, flawless, and unnervingly symmetrical.

"Do you know why you're here?" His voice was calm, dangerously so, each syllable wrapping around her like a devil's snare.

Her lips curled in disgust. "If you're looking for someone to cower and beg, you’ve picked the wrong witch."

A flicker of amusement crossed his face, sharp and fleeting. "Brave." he murmured, rising from his chair with an almost lazy grace. He wore black robes tailored to perfection, the fabric smooth and unyielding, fitting his tall, lean frame as if it were a second skin. "But bravery without power is a liability."

He moved towards her, each step deliberate, calculated. She fought the urge to step back as he stopped just inches away, his presence overwhelming. There was an aura about him that made the air feel heavier, the room colder. 

"I’ll make this simple," he continued, his voice lowering to a dangerous whisper. "Hufflepuff's Cup. Where is it?"

She swallowed a knot in her throat before she answered. "You will not get anything from me, Riddle." She spat.

"Hm." He hummed, his smile chilling and devoid of warmth. "Do you truly believe that?" Before she could respond, he lifted a hand, and the chains tightened around her wrists, forcing her to her knees. Pain shot through her, but she refused to cry out, glaring up at him instead.

She felt utterly vulnerable on the ground beneath him, forced to look up to him. He seemed to be enjoying himself as he let his gaze rove over her like this, on her knees, at his mercy. His eyes glimmered at the sight and there was something almost serpentine about them, as if they could see straight through to the darkest corners of a person’s soul.

"You think you can defy me," he said, crouching down to her level. His face was unnervingly close now, his breath ghosting over her skin. "But defiance only entertains me for so long."

She clenched her teeth, willing herself not to flinch as his fingers brushed her chin, tilting her face upward. "Why do you resist?" he asked almost curiously. "You know lack of cooperation will only lead to pain. You also know...I get what I want. I always win."

"You don’t win anything," she snapped, her voice trembling despite her efforts. "You take. You destroy. You leave nothing behind but fear and ruin." She knew the reply she gave was pathetic, yet she was at death's door and there was only so much wit she could muster. "I know you’ll never be satisfied. Not with Hufflepuff's Cup, not with power, not with anything."

Something flickered in his expression—surprise, perhaps, or something darker. He dropped his hand. "Perhaps Crucio will loosen your tongue about the Cup's whereabouts then."

A shot of fear travelled through her body, but she knew the slightest display of it would only encourage him more. So she tilted her chin upward defiantly, her heartbeat thunderous in her ears. “You think pain will break me?” she replied, her voice lower now, steadier. “You don’t understand, do you? That’s the difference between us. I can endure. You’re the one who can’t.” Her chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, knowing that her words would send her straight to her doom. "And no matter how many people you bend to your will, how much power you amass, you’ll never escape it,” she continued. "You’ll always be that boy trying to prove you’re more than the emptiness inside.”

His calm composure shattered and she swallowed in fear as she watched anger overtake him, eyes flashing deep crimson. "You presume to know me?” he said, his voice a venomous whisper. His hand circled her throat, forcing her to meet his piercing gaze. “You presume to know what drives me, what fuels me?”

Her eyes bore into his, unwavering despite the storm brewing in his gaze. “Your anger will be your downfall."

A low, bitter laugh escaped his lips. “Anger?” he echoed, tilting his head, his expression hardening into something sharp and cruel. “You think anger is what fuels me? That’s such a simplistic view of me, darling.”

“It’s the anger that you bury beneath your arrogance. The rage at the world that dared to dismiss you. The fury at the people who never saw you for what you thought you deserved to be.”

Something in his expression shifted—a flicker of something raw, dangerous, and entirely unguarded. He leaned closer, his breath ghosting over her skin as he spoke, his tone soft but laced with venom. “Careful, little witch. You’re wandering into dangerous territory.”

“And what are you going to do about it?” she challenged, her heart pounding as he stepped even closer, the heat of his body now pressing into hers. “Kill me? Torture me? That won’t change the truth, will it?”

“You’re either very brave,” he murmured, his voice like silk wrapped around steel, “or very foolish to speak to me this way.”

“I’m neither,” she countered, her voice soft but firm. “I just see you for what you are.” Her heart thundered in her chest, but she refused to let him see her falter. “A man who thinks power will fill the emptiness inside him,” she said, her words striking with quiet precision. “But it won’t. It never will.”

His eyes narrowed as he studied her, his grip tightening on her throat as though grounding himself. 

He leaned in, so close now that she could feel the heat radiating from him, his lips barely a breath away from hers. “I should break you,” he murmured, his voice dark and low. “I should destroy you for your insolence.”

“Then why haven’t you?” she whispered with a trembling voice.

His grip faltered for the briefest moment, and in that hesitation, she saw the war raging within him. “Because,” he said finally, his voice thick with something she couldn’t quite name, “you’re not as insignificant as you should be. And that infuriates me.”

Her heart skipped a beat, her breath catching as his words hung heavy in the air. The hand gripping her throat softened slightly, his thumb brushing against her jaw in a touch that sent a shiver down her spine.

“And what infuriates me even more,” he said lowly, his voice barely above a whisper, “is that I can’t decide whether I want to break you… or keep you.”

For a moment, his expression was unreadable, his eyes locked on hers with an intensity that made her knees feel weak. Then, without warning, he closed the distance, his lips ghosting over hers but not quite touching, as if testing his resolve.

The tension was suffocating, electric, and for a fleeting second, she wasn’t sure if she’d just won the battle—or if she’d lost something far greater.

She wasn't stupid. She knew either of those paths would be her downfall. He was the enemy, and she despised everything he stood for. Whether he decided to torture her until her body gave out, or keep her for himself as his personal pet, she knew she would suffer. There was no other solution when it came to Tom Riddle.

Starting this game between them, it was not something she intended to use to get out of the situation alive. It wasn’t a calculated move, not at first. But now that the pieces had been set on the board, she realized the only way to survive was to play. She would have to play his game—dangerous, consuming, and risky as it was. She knew there was no other way of getting out of his clutches. Whatever his decision, she would be his prisoner for as long as he pleased.

But perhaps...she could manipulate him.

Her mind raced as his piercing eyes held hers. She could feel the weight of his presence, suffocating yet alluring, and for a moment, her stomach churned with disgust—not at him, but at herself for even considering the possibility that lingered at the edges of her mind.

She had seen the way he looked at her—not with indifference, not with contempt, but with something else. Something dangerous. Something she could use.

If he wanted to keep her, she would play the game long enough to let him lower his guard, just enough. And then, when he believed that he had bent her to his will, that she would stay by his side, that would be the moment she would escape.

She carefully schooled her features into something unreadable. He had an uncanny ability to sense weakness, to sniff out the faintest whiff of fear or rebellion. She couldn’t afford that. Not now.

Tom tilted his head, studying her as though she were a particularly fascinating puzzle he had yet to solve. His fingers grazed her jaw, almost gentle now, as if testing her reaction. “You’re thinking something,” he deduced, “Something clever, no doubt. Shall I guess what it is?”

Her pulse quickened, but she forced herself to smile faintly, a calculated tilt of her lips that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You’re welcome to try."

His eyes narrowed slightly, but the corner of his mouth curved upward, amused. “You’re playing a game you can’t possibly win,” he said, his voice like a warning. “But I admit, I’m curious to see how far you’ll go before you break.” He knew this had become a game now. “You intrigue me,” he admitted. “That could be your greatest weapon… or your greatest weakness.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat, her mind screaming at her to look away, to retreat, but she didn’t. Instead, she leaned in slightly, letting her lips brush over his lightly as she spoke. "And you want me," she stated. "That could be your weakness."

His dark eyes flashed with anger—or was it desire, or perhaps both, she could not tell. But she didn’t give him the chance to respond. Her hands moved to his collar, and she kissed him— hard and unyielding.

He didn’t pull away.

For a split second, the world seemed to stop, the only sound the sharp intake of breath as his control snapped. His hands gripped her waist with bruising force, dragging her closer as he kissed her back with an intensity that stole the air from her lungs. It was rough and chaotic.

She could feel the fire in his touch, the hunger that he barely kept restrained, and she knew she’d struck a nerve. Good. She would use that. She would make him crave her, make him lose himself in the illusion she was about to create.

She would make him want her—not just physically, but completely, utterly. She would weave herself into the dark corners of his mind, make him believe she wanted him too. She would let him think she was falling under his spell, that his power over her was absolute.

Her lips parted against his as she kissed him again, softer this time, her hands sliding up to tangle in his hair. She felt his sharp inhale, the way his body tensed under her touch, and she knew she was winning this round. He was too used to control, to fear and submission. She would give him none of that. Instead, she would give him passion laced with poison.

As his hands roamed over her, pulling her impossibly closer, her mind remained cold, calculating. She would make him trust her, make him believe she was his. And when he least expected it, when his guard was down and his obsession consumed him, she would slip away.

For now, though, she kissed him back as though she truly wanted him, as though the heat between them burned away any semblance of resistance.

She let him believe this was real.

༻♛༺

(lmk if you want part 2 for this!)

[dee-writes-anime]

Chapter 2: A Caged Beast

FEATURING Ryomen Sukuna x Witch!Reader

SUMMARY The King of Curses sits upon a throne carved from fear and death, his gaze sharp enough to unravel the soul. In the labyrinthine halls of his estate, survival is not granted—it is earned, one calculated step at a time.

CONTENT WARNINGS Includes detailed descriptions of death and mutilation, particularly during Sukuna's execution of the villagers, heavy focus on the oppressive atmosphere of the estate and the power dynamics between characters, vivid imagery of bloodshed and carnage in the aftermath of Sukuna's actions, includes themes of survival, control, and intimidation within a menacing setting.

PLAYLIST

SERIES MASTERLIST

The estate loomed like a shadow carved from stone, its presence oppressive even before it came into view. The path to it was not one meant for the living; it was narrow and twisted, lined with jagged rocks that jutted like broken teeth. The trees here grew too close together, their gnarled branches entwined as though conspiring to keep intruders out—or to trap them within. The air hung heavy, damp and cold, carrying the faint scent of iron and decay. 

And then the forest fell away, abruptly and without warning, as though the earth itself had recoiled from what lay ahead. The estate rose from the ground like an ancient wound, its black stone walls gleaming faintly under the pale light of the moon. It wasn’t a place built by hands; it was a place wrenched from the very bones of the earth. Its architecture was jagged and imposing, with towers that clawed at the sky and windows that stared like hollow eyes. 

The wars had left their mark here too. While the estate stood as an unshaken monolith, the scars of conflict lingered in its edges. The gates were wide open, though they looked as though they had been wrenched apart rather than designed to welcome. Their iron bars were twisted and blackened, warped by some unimaginable force—perhaps a battle fought long ago, when those foolish enough to defy Sukuna brought fire and fury to his doorstep. The ground beneath the gates was scorched, as if fire had swept through here and left the earth scarred, unable to heal. 

Beyond the gates, the courtyard stretched vast and empty, its cracked ground littered with ash and faint traces of what might have once been bones, ground to dust by time and tread. It was hard to tell where the battles had ended and where time itself had simply worn the place down. The wars had not only bled the land dry; they had carved themselves into every stone and shadow here. And yet, the estate endured—unyielding, unbroken. A testament to Sukuna’s power. 

The air here was thick, almost viscous, pressing against the skin like a warning. It carried no breeze, no sound save for the faint hum of something unseen, something alive. It wasn’t silence—not truly. It was the absence of life, a void that swallowed sound and left only the pulse of the estate itself, thrumming faintly beneath the surface like a heartbeat. It was as if the estate itself had been forged in the same crucible as the wars—a place that thrived on conflict, not peace. 

The walls of the fortress were smooth and seamless, their dark stone interrupted only by red banners that hung limply in the still air. Their fabric was tattered, fraying at the edges, but the sigil upon them was unmistakable: the mark of Ryomen Sukuna. A jagged, curling symbol that seemed to writhe when looked at too long, its meaning as ancient and unknowable as the man who bore it. 

The entrance to the estate was grand in its simplicity, a single arched doorway flanked by carved statues that stood twice the height of a man. They were grotesque figures, twisted and monstrous, their faces contorted into expressions of agony or rage. Their stone hands gripped weapons dulled by time, yet they seemed to watch with an intensity that made the air feel colder. Perhaps they had been placed there to guard against the very wars that had once ravaged this land—or perhaps they had simply borne witness to them. 

Inside, the estate was no less imposing. The corridors stretched endlessly, their walls lined with torches that burned with a strange, unnatural flame—pale and cold, their light casting shadows that seemed to move of their own accord. The floors were polished stone, dark and reflective, and the faint echo of footsteps seemed to linger longer than it should, as though the space itself remembered every movement within it. 

The air was heavy with the scent of something faintly metallic, mingled with the bitter tang of incense that burned from tall braziers placed sporadically along the hall. The smoke curled upward, clinging to the vaulted ceilings like restless spirits, their shapes shifting and twisting in the flickering light. 

Every corner of the estate whispered of power. It wasn’t just the architecture or the opulence, though those were undeniable. It was the way the walls seemed to hum with energy, the way the very air seemed alive with something unseen but undeniable. This was not a place untouched by time or conflict—it bore the weight of both, layered into its very foundations. It wasn’t simply a home. It was a monument to survival, a fortress forged by war and steeped in death. 

This was not a place that housed a king. This was a place that devoured one. 

The corridor leading to the throne room was unlike the rest of the estate. Where the halls before had been wide and echoing, this one narrowed, the walls pressing closer together as if funneling everything toward a single point. The torches lining the way burned brighter here, their pale flames casting sharper, deeper shadows that danced with the flickering light. Each step forward felt heavier, as though the very air were growing denser, pressing down with a palpable weight that made it harder to breathe. 

The door at the end of the hall was massive, towering high enough that it seemed to scrape the vaulted ceiling. It was carved from dark wood, its surface etched with intricate patterns that twisted and coiled into shapes that defied logic—symbols that seemed to move if looked at for too long. In the center of the door was a sigil, larger and more ornate than any I had seen elsewhere in the estate. It pulsed faintly, as though alive, the light within it shifting between deep crimson and molten gold. 

The guards stationed on either side of the door were statuesque, their faces obscured by black iron masks. Their armor was angular, sharp enough at the edges to cut, and their weapons glinted faintly in the torchlight. They didn’t move as we approached, their stillness unnerving, but the energy emanating from them was unmistakable—a warning, a promise of violence should the boundary be crossed without permission. 

Elder Kazu faltered, his steps slowing as we neared the door. I could see his resolve unraveling in the set of his shoulders, the tremor in his hands as they gripped his staff tighter. But he didn’t dare stop. Not now. 

The doors creaked open with a sound like grinding stone, the sigil at their center glowing brighter as they parted. The light spilled inward, revealing the throne room in all its terrible grandeur. 

The space was cavernous, its sheer size making it feel more like a cathedral than a room. Tall, narrow windows lined the walls, their stained-glass depicting scenes of violence and chaos. The light that filtered through them was muted and blood-tinged, casting streaks of red across the black stone floor. Thick pillars rose to the ceiling, their surfaces carved with grotesque reliefs that seemed to writhe and shift when caught in the corner of the eye. 

At the center of it all, raised on a dais of blackened stone, was Sukuna’s throne. It wasn’t crafted with beauty in mind; it was a thing of raw, brutal power. The base was a jagged mass of dark rock, its edges sharp and uneven, as though ripped straight from the earth. The seat itself was polished smooth, its surface gleaming faintly like obsidian, and behind it rose a tall, curved back adorned with spines that arched outward like the ribs of some great beast. 

The throne room wasn’t silent—not truly. There was a hum here, low and constant, vibrating in the very air. It wasn’t the hum of life; it was something darker, more primal. It was the resonance of cursed energy, so thick it felt almost tangible, curling against the skin like the touch of an unseen hand. Every breath carried the faint metallic tang of blood, a taste that lingered long after it was drawn in. 

Sukuna sat at the throne’s center, his posture deceptively relaxed, as though the very act of ruling required no effort at all. His robe of black and crimson pooled around him, its edges trimmed with gold thread that caught the faint light. His head tilted slightly as his gaze swept over us, his four eyes narrowing with something that was neither approval nor disdain but something in between—a cold, calculating curiosity. 

The air grew heavier as his attention landed on me, the weight of his gaze pressing down with the force of a thousand hands. He didn’t speak, not yet, but his silence was as sharp as a blade, cutting through the nervous shuffling of the villagers behind me. They bowed low, their foreheads nearly touching the ground, as though proximity to him required submission. 

I stayed standing. 

“Is this what you bring me?” Sukuna’s voice cut through the air, sharp and low, dripping with disdain. He didn’t bother hiding the edge of mockery in his tone, his words rolling out slowly, as if he were savoring each one. His four eyes fixed on me—two half-lidded, bored, and the other two razor-sharp and assessing. His grin, faint at first, curled into something more menacing, exposing teeth that gleamed just a little too brightly in the muted, blood-tinged light. “This... is the great danger that plagues your pathetic little village?” 

Behind me, Elder Kazu’s knees hit the ground with a dull thud, his forehead scraping against the stone floor as he groveled. “My lord,” he rasped, his voice trembling, “she is a witch—a blight upon our village! She curses the land, poisons the air, and brings death to our children. The sickness, the famine—it is her doing! We beg for your judgment!” 

Sukuna didn’t look at him. His eyes stayed on me, unblinking, dissecting. Slowly, he leaned forward, his lower hands gripping the jagged arms of his throne while the upper pair rested lightly on his knees. “A blight,” he murmured, his voice dropping into a near-purr. “You don’t look like a blight.” 

I kept my chin high, refusing to let his presence swallow me whole. “And you don’t look like a king.” 

The room stilled, the air thickening under the weight of my words. Behind me, I could hear Kazu’s sharp intake of breath, the shuffle of the villagers as they recoiled from what they thought might be my death sentence. Even the guards by the door shifted, their hands gripping their weapons more tightly. 

Sukuna chuckled. It was a low, sharp sound, empty of warmth. He leaned back in his throne, the motion casual yet impossibly commanding. “You’ve got a mouth on you,” he said, his grin widening. “That’ll make things more interesting—for however long you last.” 

I didn’t waver. “If you think that’s a compliment, you’ll have to try harder.” 

His lower right hand twitched against the armrest, his grin fading into something more predatory. “Do you know what you’re doing, little witch?” he asked, his tone softening—not with kindness, but with the kind of cold curiosity one might reserve for an insect about to be crushed. “Do you have any idea where you stand? Who you’re speaking to?” 

“I know what you are,” I replied evenly. “A monster who’s built his throne on the backs of cowards and corpses. A king only because no one dares to stop you.” 

The tension in the room crackled like static, and I felt the weight of his power grow heavier, pressing against my chest like an iron hand. The villagers behind me let out faint whimpers, their fear spilling into the stillness. 

Sukuna stood, his movements deliberate and slow, all four arms shifting with a grace that was almost unsettling. He descended the steps of his throne, the sheer size of him casting a long, looming shadow across the room. When he stopped in front of me, the distance between us was barely a breath. His eyes bore into mine, the lower pair gleaming faintly in the dim light. 

“And yet,” he said, his voice a low growl, “here you are. Tied up, dragged to me like an offering. And still, you run your mouth.” His grin returned, sharp and humorless. “Is it bravery, or are you simply that stupid?” 

“Call it what you like,” I said, forcing the words out past the pressure on my chest. “But I’ve seen what fear does to people. It makes them small. And I’m not small.” 

His grin faltered—not in anger, but in something colder, more calculating. He tilted his head slightly, the movement slow and deliberate, like a predator deciding when to strike. His lower left hand moved suddenly, gripping the rope around my wrists. His fingers brushed against my skin, deceptively light, as though testing the strength of the bindings. 

“You’re bold,” he said, almost to himself. His tone carried no admiration, only observation. “But boldness without power is nothing but noise.” 

“Then it’s a good thing I have both,” I shot back, ignoring the sharp sting of the rope tightening under his grip. 

His laughter returned, sharp and biting, echoing off the stone walls. “You think so?” he asked, his voice laced with mockery. “Then tell me, little witch, how long do you think that power will last? A day? A week? Will it keep you breathing when I grow bored?” 

I swallowed, the weight of his words digging deeper into the air between us. “That depends,” I said, my voice steady. “How long do you think you can keep me entertained?” 

The grin that spread across his face was almost inhuman, his sharp teeth glinting as his upper arms crossed over his chest. “Interesting,” he murmured, the word a quiet threat. He turned away from me, his lower right-hand gesturing toward the trembling villagers. “But you’re not the only one who needs to be taught a lesson.” 

Sukuna’s grin sharpened, the flicker of amusement in his expression fading as he turned his gaze from me to the quivering mass of villagers behind. The air grew heavy, suffocating, and I felt the shift before anything happened. It was like the world itself paused, holding its breath in anticipation of something inevitable. 

“You bring this mess to me,” he said, his voice a low growl that reverberated through the chamber. “You waste my time with your whining, your begging.” His lower right hand twitched, and the hum of power in the room spiked, crackling in the air like static electricity. “Let me remind you what it means to stand before me.” 

The shift was immediate. It wasn’t like a storm gathering—it was the storm itself, unleashed in an instant. The air seemed to implode, drawing in a soundless gasp before erupting outward with a force that made the stone walls tremble. 

The first scream was choked off before it could reach its peak. The elder nearest me—Kazu—was the first to fall. His body jerked violently, his hands clawing at his chest as though trying to hold himself together. Blood sprayed from his mouth in a thick, wet arc, splattering the stone floor in a dark, steaming pool. His knees buckled, and he collapsed face-first into the growing puddle, his eyes wide and glassy, staring into nothingness. 

The others didn’t fare any better. 

One man clutched at his throat, his fingers digging into his skin as if he could stop the blood from pouring out of the deep gash that appeared as if from nowhere. He let out a strangled, gurgling sound before his legs gave out, and he hit the ground with a dull, lifeless thud. 

A woman shrieked, stumbling backward as her arm twisted unnaturally, the bones inside snapping with a sickening crack. Her scream was cut short as her chest caved inward, the sound of her ribs shattering echoing through the room. She crumpled like a broken doll, her head lolling at an angle that no living body could sustain. 

The last villager tried to run, his legs pumping in a desperate, futile attempt to escape. But he didn’t make it more than three steps before his body jerked to a halt, suspended in midair by an unseen force. Blood burst from his eyes and ears in thin, crimson streams, trailing down his face as his body convulsed violently. With a sharp, wet snap, his neck twisted too far to the side, and he dropped like a stone, his body hitting the floor with a grotesque squelch. 

The room was painted in red. Blood pooled across the black stone, steaming faintly in the cold air, its metallic tang thick enough to choke on. It streaked the walls, sprayed in arcs that told the story of each gruesome end, dripping down to join the growing rivers at my feet. The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the faint hiss of cursed energy dissipating into the air. 

Sukuna turned back to me, his four eyes gleaming with cold satisfaction, his grin unbothered by the carnage around us. A single crimson droplet clung to the edge of his jaw, stark against his pale skin. He wiped it away with a lazy motion of his lower left hand, smearing it against the black and crimson folds of his robe without a second thought. 

“You see,” he said, his voice cutting through the stillness, “this is the difference between me and the rest of you. They beg. They grovel. They die.” He gestured to the broken bodies at his feet, his tone as casual as if he were discussing the weather. “You should be grateful. I haven’t decided to do the same to you—yet.” 

The room smelled of blood and death, the heat of the carnage still lingering in the air. My chest tightened against the oppressive weight of what I’d just witnessed, but I didn’t flinch. I refused to give him the satisfaction. 

“You’re not what I expected,” Sukuna said finally, his voice softening into something almost thoughtful. The grin that returned to his face was as sharp and cruel as ever. “Come, little witch. You’ll live—for now.” 

He turned and strode toward the corridor beyond the throne room, his steps slow and unhurried. Blood trailed in his wake, soaking into the black stone, as though the estate itself were feeding on the chaos he left behind. 

I hesitated only for a moment before following, my feet carrying me over the warm, sticky remains of what had once been my captors. My wrists ached against the bindings, but I felt none of the sharp pangs of guilt or pity that should have accompanied the sight of their mangled bodies. They had chosen this fate the moment they turned on me. 

The King of Curses was no savior. And now, neither was I. 

The corridor beyond the throne room was long and dimly lit, the pale torches casting flickering shadows that seemed to stretch and twist as I walked. The oppressive hum of power that had filled the air moments ago lingered, like an echo that refused to fade. Sukuna’s footsteps were silent despite his size, the only sound the faint rustle of his robes as they trailed across the stone floor. My own steps felt unnervingly loud in comparison, the echo of my bare feet against the cold floor following me like a second shadow. 

It was then that I saw them. 

They appeared as if from the darkness itself, stepping out from a side corridor so fluidly that I almost didn’t register their presence until they were fully in view. Uraume. The name struck something faintly familiar in the back of my mind, whispered in fragmented rumors I had heard over the years—a shadow that followed Sukuna, his most loyal servant, and something far more dangerous than they seemed. 

They were tall, though not as imposing as Sukuna, with an elegance that bordered on the unnatural. Their features were sharp and precise, the kind of symmetry that drew the eye and demanded attention. High cheekbones framed a face that was pale and smooth, almost porcelain-like, but their eyes—cold and calculating—were what held me. They were a pale, frosted hue, like ice over deep water, and carried a faint gleam of something unreadable, something dangerous. 

Their hair was long and white, pulled back into a single braid that fell neatly down their back, contrasting sharply with the dark, muted tones of their clothing. Their attire was simple yet immaculate—a layered robe of deep gray and black, trimmed with faint threads of silver that caught the dim light as they moved. It was the kind of clothing that spoke of authority and precision, tailored perfectly to someone who needed neither extravagance nor ornamentation to command respect. 

Their hands were folded neatly in front of them as they stepped closer, their movements smooth and deliberate, like water flowing over stone. There was no hesitation, no wasted effort—everything about them was calculated, controlled. Their presence wasn’t loud, like Sukuna’s. It was quieter, colder, and somehow just as oppressive. 

“My lord,” Uraume said, their voice soft yet firm, with an edge that suggested authority without overstepping. It carried a faint echo, as though the stone halls themselves reverberated with their words. “I see you’ve brought… company.” 

Their eyes flicked toward me, sharp and assessing, and I felt the weight of their gaze almost as keenly as Sukuna’s. Unlike him, though, there was no mockery in their expression, no grin tugging at their lips. There was only cold, quiet scrutiny, like they were dissecting every inch of me in their mind and filing the information away for later use. 

“She’ll be staying,” Sukuna said simply, not sparing them a glance as he continued walking. His tone was casual, as if declaring someone’s fate was no more significant than commenting on the weather. 

Uraume tilted their head slightly, their gaze lingering on me for a moment longer before they turned and fell into step beside him. “As you wish,” they said, their voice devoid of any trace of surprise or disapproval. It was a statement, not an argument, delivered with the kind of deference that came from years of servitude tempered by unwavering loyalty. 

Their hands remained folded as they walked, their steps matching Sukuna’s with practiced precision. There was something unnerving about the way they moved, as if they were an extension of Sukuna himself—silent, deadly, and ever-watchful. 

“You’ll want to prepare a room for her,” Sukuna added, his lower left hand waving dismissively toward Uraume. “Something… adequate.” 

“As always,” Uraume replied smoothly, their tone betraying nothing. They glanced at me again, their frosted eyes narrowing faintly. “Will she require supervision, my lord?” 

Sukuna chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent a chill down my spine. “She’s bold, not foolish,” he said, his grin returning. “She won’t try anything—yet.” 

Uraume didn’t respond immediately, their gaze shifting back to the corridor ahead. “I will see to it,” they said finally, their voice as measured as ever. 

Though they spoke to Sukuna, I could feel their attention on me, subtle but unyielding. It wasn’t suspicion, exactly. It was more like the watchfulness of someone who had seen too much to be caught off guard, someone who calculated every risk and every outcome before it could unfold. 

They were unlike Sukuna in many ways—colder, quieter, less openly cruel—but their presence was no less commanding. If Sukuna was the storm, Uraume was the ice that followed, slow and creeping, freezing everything in its path until there was nothing left but silence. 

Sukuna slowed his steps, glancing over his shoulder at me, the faintest flicker of amusement still tugging at the edges of his grin. “I’ve seen enough for now,” he said, his voice low and dismissive. “Follow Uraume. They’ll see that you don’t get lost or... cause trouble.” 

It wasn’t a suggestion. The weight of his words pressed down like the snap of a chain, the finality of his tone leaving no room for argument. Without another glance, he strode ahead, his broad shoulders and flowing robes disappearing into the darkness of the corridor. 

Uraume stepped forward smoothly, their movements precise and quiet, the faint rustle of their robe the only sound as they gestured for me to follow. “This way,” they said simply, their voice cool and controlled, neither welcoming nor hostile. 

I hesitated for only a moment before stepping into place behind them. The air was heavy with the faint metallic tang of blood and the lingering hum of Sukuna’s power. My bare feet moved silently over the cool stone floor, though every step felt loud in comparison to Uraume’s, their movements so fluid and practiced they seemed to glide through the dimly lit corridor. 

The estate was a labyrinth. The corridor stretched endlessly ahead, its high, arched ceiling supported by columns of dark stone etched with faint carvings. The designs were intricate but worn, their meaning long since lost to time, though they seemed to shift faintly in the flickering light of the pale torches mounted along the walls. The flames burned unnaturally steady, their pale, ghostly light casting shadows that stretched and twisted like living things. 

“Your defiance,” they said suddenly, their voice breaking the silence without warning, “is not something we often see in this place.” 

I blinked, surprised by the observation. Their tone wasn’t accusing or mocking—it was observational, almost neutral. “I’m not here to bow,” I replied carefully. “That much should be clear.” 

They glanced at me over their shoulder, their pale, frost-colored eyes narrowing slightly. “It’s clear,” they said, their tone as cool as ever. “But clarity is not always an advantage here. Sukuna values strength, yes—but he values control far more. You would do well to remember that.” 

There was no malice in their words, but there was a warning, a quiet, measured truth that lingered in the air between us. I didn’t reply immediately, letting their words settle as we turned another corner. The halls seemed endless, each one blending into the next with their dark stone walls and flickering torchlight. 

“And you?” I asked finally, my voice breaking the stillness. “Do you value control?” 

Uraume didn’t answer right away, their head tilting slightly as though considering the question. “I value survival,” they said at last. “Control is simply a means to that end.” 

We turned a corner, the corridor opening into a vast hall that stretched upward into darkness. Massive banners hung from the high ceiling, their red and black fabric tattered at the edges but still bearing Sukuna’s jagged sigil in stark, unmistakable contrast. The walls here were lined with alcoves, each holding a stone statue of a figure twisted and grotesque, their faces contorted in agony or rage. Some clutched weapons, their stone blades dulled by time, while others seemed to reach outward, their hands frozen mid-plea or accusation. 

“This is the Hall of Conquest,” Uraume said as we passed, their voice steady but carrying the faintest note of reverence. “A monument to the victories Sukuna has claimed—and the warnings he leaves for those who think to challenge him.” 

The statues seemed to watch as we passed, their empty eyes hollow and accusatory. The air in the hall was colder, each breath forming faint clouds that lingered before dissipating. I kept my gaze forward, though the weight of their stares pressed against my back like a silent accusation. 

“Do you enjoy serving him?” I asked suddenly, the question slipping out before I could stop it. 

Uraume stopped, turning their head slightly to glance at me. Their pale eyes narrowed faintly, though their expression remained unreadable. “Enjoyment is irrelevant,” they said. “I serve because it is necessary.” 

Their response was calculated, guarded, but there was no hesitation in their words. It was as they had said, it wasn’t loyalty for the sake of devotion—it was loyalty for the sake of survival. 

We continued walking, the corridor narrowing again, the ceiling dropping lower as the walls grew closer. Here, the torches burned brighter, their light illuminating faint carvings etched into the stone. The patterns were intricate and chaotic, twisting and coiling like vines, though closer inspection revealed shapes hidden within—faces, claws, teeth, all blending into the design as if they were part of the stone itself. 

“This place is alive,” I said quietly, more to myself than to Uraume. 

“It is,” they replied, their tone matter-of-fact. “And it remembers. Every victory, every failure, every death—it’s all here, etched into the walls, the floors, the air. Sukuna ensures that nothing is forgotten.” 

We stopped in front of a heavy wooden door, its surface dark and worn but polished to a faint sheen. It was unmarked save for a single carving at its center—a jagged, curling sigil similar to the one that adorned Sukuna’s banners, though smaller and less ornate. Uraume pushed it open with a single, fluid motion, stepping aside to let me enter first. 

The room was modest but far from unpleasant. A low bed rested against the far wall, its dark wood frame sturdy and adorned with thick blankets of muted crimson and black. A small table stood beside it, a single candle flickering atop its surface, casting faint shadows across the stone walls. The air was cool, carrying the faint scent of incense, though its source was nowhere to be seen. 

“It’s sufficient,” Uraume said, stepping inside behind me. Their tone was as measured as ever, but their pale eyes lingered on me for a moment longer than necessary, sharp and assessing. “You’ll rest here until you’re summoned.” 

I turned to face them fully. “You seem certain I’ll last long enough to be summoned again.” 

They tilted their head slightly, their expression still calm but unreadable. “That remains to be seen,” they said. “But should you prove capable, it would not be... unwelcome.” 

There was a faint weight to their words, a subtle shift in tone that made me pause. It wasn’t a promise or even an offer, but it carried a seed of something that might grow into respect if nurtured. 

“Do you always speak so carefully?” I asked, folding my arms. 

Uraume didn’t answer immediately. Instead, they stepped back toward the door, their hands folding neatly in front of them once more. “Careful words keep one alive in this place,” they said finally. “You’d do well to learn that.” 

With that, they turned and stepped out into the corridor. “The door locks from the inside,” they said over their shoulder, their tone carrying the faintest edge of warning. “Use it.” 

The door closed with a soft thud, leaving me alone in the flickering light of the room. The shadows cast by the single candle stretched and twisted across the walls, like echoes of the estate’s living memory. I sank onto the edge of the bed, the faint hum of the estate still pressing against my senses. Uraume’s words lingered in the air, their quiet warning and subtle weight weaving into the silence. 

Respect wasn’t given here, but perhaps it could be earned.

dividers by @strangergraphics

AUTHORS NOTE back at it again with another chapter of this series! I've been having fun finally getting this out of my head and into a doc. Fun fact though, I am not a writing god. Meaning I am not writing 10,000 plus words in two days, but rather, these posts are scheduled for certain days of the week! I only wish I was that fast at editing. T-T

TAGLIST @slutlight2ndver @surielstea @duhhitzstarr @arcanefeelings @numbuh666 @tejan-sunny

[theemporium]

hiii!! would u be able to write something for remus where ur in a secret relationship and he’s your brothers best friend? maybe sirius or james sister? ty!!

here ya go, love🖤

.

The problem with being related to James Potter was that he was incredibly protective. 

He had good intentions and you knew he truly meant well, that he just cared for you and saw it as his duty as an older brother to look out for you. But Merlin, that boy would push his limits sometimes. 

That was why you decided to keep your shift in relationship a secret from him at first. You didn’t need James moseying into something that wasn’t his business so early on in the relationship. 

But weeks passed and the thrill of sneaking around was still at a high—and yeah, there was just something really fucking hot knowing you were fucking one of your brother’s best friends and he had no clue. 

Ironically enough, you didn’t like Remus Lupin very much the first time you met him.

His quiet nature came of as rude, he never really made an effort with you and anyone beyond your brother and his other friends didn’t seem worth a second glance to young Remus Lupin. 

Not that James ever agreed with you. He was very insistent that the young werewolf was a brilliant man that you just hadn’t given a chance. 

You could only laugh if James saw you now. 

“Are you sure no one saw you?” you murmured against his lips as you tugged your boyfriend into your bedroom, a spell muttered under your breath to lock the door behind him. The small perks of James inviting his friends to stay with him over the course of summer. 

“Positive, love,” Remus reassured you before he ducked his head down to the crook of your neck, letting out a small groan. “I’ve missed you.”

“You saw me less than two hours ago,” you mused playfully, fingers tangled in his hair. 

“Yeah, but I couldn’t do this,” he grumbled as he pressed kisses along the column of your throat, teeth dragging across sensitive skin. 

“Remember not to leave—“ 

“I know, baby. I’ll be careful.” 

But Remus Lupin was, in fact, not careful. He wasn’t careful in the slightest and you blame your lack of less-than-murderous thoughts in the morning for the fact you didn’t notice anything either before you headed downstairs the next day. 

“What is that?” 

You didn’t bother looking up from plate, blinking away the sleepiness in your eyes. “Hm?” 

“What’s that on your neck?” James repeated, his tone a little snappier and his words a little heavier. 

Your whole body froze for a moment as you resisted the urge to cover your neck with your hands. “What’s what, Jamie?” 

“No, don’t Jamie me,” James’ chair scraped across the wooden floor before he was beside you, tilting your head to the side. “This is a hickey! You have a hickey!” 

You pulled your head from his grasp and glared at him. “Stop making a big deal out of nothing.” 

“My baby sister has a hickey!” James cried out, hand on his chest like he was moments away from passing out. 

“Who’s the lucky wizard?” Sirius asked from his spot at the table, smirk on his lips. “Or witch. We would never judge.” 

“You’re too young to have a hickey!” James interrupted. 

“That,” you said as you pointed to your brother. “Is exactly why I’m telling neither of you anything.” 

Sirius pouted. “I thought we were closer than that, baby Potter.” 

“You have a big mouth, Black,” you stated simply with a shrug. 

Sirius grinned. “So does the bloke who gave you that ringer on your neck.” 

“BLEH!” James gagged as you rolled your eyes. 

“C’mon, tell us!” Sirius prodded. 

James turned to you, eyes narrowed. “Yeah,” he said in his ‘big brother’ voice. “Tell us. Right now. I need to know who’s head I’m ripping off their body.” 

“Stop being so dramatic!” You sighed and shook your head. “Like I said, I’m telling neither of you two anything.” 

“Just us?” Sirius questioned before nodding to Remus who had been fairly quiet during the ordeal. “So you’d tell Moony and not us?” 

Your eyes met his from across the table and you could’ve sworn something smug glimmered in his eyes. You could’ve sworn you could see semblances of a smirk tugging on his lips as he lifted his cup for a sip. 

“I know how to keep a secret, Pads,” Remus answered casually. “Japan would know by dinner time if she told you.” 

“I’m waiting on a name,” James said with a huff. 

“Keep waiting then,” you said with a shrug. “I’m not telling you anything. I’m a big girl, I can have a boyfriend.” 

“BOYFRIEND?!” James spluttered. 

“Sit down, Prongs, before you hurt yourself,” Remus muttered. 

Sirius narrowed his eyes. “Was he here last night?”

There was a pause. 

“Is he still here?”

Before you could even open your mouth to respond, both boys were bolting towards the staircase, already racing towards your bedroom that you knew very well they’d find empty because the culprit they were looking for was currently grinning at you. 

“You said you’d be careful,” you grumbled to your boyfriend who could only let out a small chuckle. 

“Can’t help myself, baby, you’re irresistible.” 

Your eyes narrowed. “Sweet talk me all you like, Lupin, but you’re on thin ice.” 

His eyes glimmered with a dark promise. “You gonna punish me, sweetheart?” 

“Maybe I will. Guess you gotta sneak back into my room tonight to find out.” 

“I’ll be there.” 

You snorted. “Yeah, good luck getting past James and Sirius tonight.”

.

[shadowhandss60]

The King: She’s my assassin, stay away from her.

Dorian: …Smash.

***

Aelin: She’s a ruthless witch with iron teeth and nails…she has literally eaten people.

Dorian:

Aelin:

Dorian: Smash.

[writing-heiress]

Rewritten Requests: Malleus Draconia

Requested by @nuitthegoddess (THE Malleus simp)

LORE

Malleus, born the son of Princess Maleanor and (unofficial) Prince Consort Raverne, is the Crown Prince of Briar Valley and its only heir. He was, unfortunately born centuries too late because of his mother's untimely demise, his father's disappearance, and his adoptive father Lilia's traveling first.

Once Malleus was finally born thanks to the love of Lilia, it was clear from day one that Malleus had imprinted on Lilia, recognizing him as his father. But the Senate, hating how the situation played out, still banned Lilia from the borders of the capital in an attempt to limit their connection.

However, that ultimately failed for them as Malleus would have a hard time with just about everyone in the Briar Castle, including his own grandmother due to the natural dragon hostility newborn dragons have towards those they don't recognize as family. Understanding that if this would continue then the entire castle would be in green flames before Malleus could even talk, Maleficia overturned the ban the Senate placed on Lilia and officially appointed him as Malleus' guardian, which finally calm things down.

A few years down the road, Lilia introduced Malleus to Silver when the former was still a child. Malleus quickly considered Silver as his little brother (mainly because Lilia said he would raise him like his own son, like he's had with Malleus).

But that being said, Malleus felt like he had no one to truly call a friend. Many of the noble kids were too scared to anger or upset him plus he grew up pretty isolated partly because his grandmother was worried for his safety and because Malleus' weather magic and intense emotions have been the cause of some of the destruction done throughout the country.

REDESIGN NOTES

make him more like a dragon

draconic scales on his body

dragon-like teeth

naturally sharp claws/nails (lowkey like Elphaba)

hates the Senate, but can't do shit about them yet

Lilia introduced him to boba and now he's in love with them

can grow/create flowers based on strong (positive) emotions mainly love

enjoys hanging out with the dorm heads and fellow juniors

is considered an honorary Ramshackle dorm member

as a dark fae, he is very much weak to iron, holy magic, and holy artifacts

Tagging - @adrianasunderworld @the-trinket-witch @the-weirdos-mind @liviavanrouge @yumeko2sevilla @yukii0nna @liviavanrouge @queen-of-twisted @abyssthing198 @tragedytells-tales @ice-cweam-sod4 @zexal-club @achy-boo @fair-night-starry-tears @mangacupcake @starry-night-rose @boopshoops