#violent delights fanfic

[irrevocableloves]

violent delights masterlist

twilight rewrite! edward cullen x fem!witch!reader

summary: y/n swan has lived in forks all of her life, but when she takes her summer-long vacation to california to visit her mother, she returns to a strange new family accompanying her small town.

chapter one: the city of forks welcomes you

chapter two: golden topaz

chapter three: was it really luck?

chapter four: regret

chapter five: blood type

chapter six: an old scary story

chapter seven: port angeles

chapter eight: questions & theories

chapter nine (COMING SOON)

last updated on: 5/4/24 <3

taglist ₊˚⊹♡

[starogeorgina]

𝐕𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬

Paring: Jacaerys Velaryon x Targ oc

Warnings: Smut, violence, blood, swearing

1.16

Jacaerys flinches in pain. His fingers dig into the dark brown leather arms of the chair as the maester finishes stitching the wound in his thigh where the arrow had struck him. Jace had reluctantly accepted the smallest amount of milk from the poppy after being persuaded by your mother, who was becoming distressed seeing him in pain. Your mother and Daemon had taken kings landing without any bloodshed when the green army guarding the city dropped their weapons and retreated when they saw Syrax and Caraxes circling above the keep. But the cheering for your mother's victory was short-lived when you and Jacaerys returned injured.

When the maester moves away, a handmaiden steps forward with a bowl of clean water and a cloth to wipe the blood away. Her touch is unintentionally harsh, and when Jace clenches his fist, you decide to intervene.

“Allow me.”

You hold your hand out to take the bowl from her, but the handmaiden looks back at Maester, as if she’s waiting for him to give her permission. The sooner Maester Gerardys arrived from Dragonstone, the better. You didn’t blame the girl for being unsure; she had served the greens for so long that she probably thought you were all monsters.

“I can tend to my husband,” you say softly. “You may go; we will be fine.”

The handmaid leaves the bowl and cloth on the table, then bows before leaving. Clearing his throat, the maester says, “I will need to return soon and put a fresh bandage on the princess’s arm to cover the stitches, my prince.”

“I will redress the princess’s arm once she has bathed.”

“My prince, princess,” the maester seems unsure but goes without saying anything further. Since maester Orwyle was in chains, the current maester would only be serving in the keep for a short time before returning to the citadel.

Exhausted, you sit on the floor between Jace’s legs and start washing away the blood, old and new. Seeing fresh tears gather in your eyes, Jace gently tilts your chin up to face him. “I hate seeing you hurt.”

“I’m scared.”

“I know my love, but it’s over. Our mother is on the throne, and the greens are no longer a threat. Our children can come home.”

You press your cheek against his clothed thigh. “It’s not over, though; Aegon escaped. He will still have men willing to back him for being born with a cock. What if he finds our children before we do?”

Jace’s jaw tightens. He couldn’t deny it was a possibility. “Sunfyre is still in the dragon pit; Aegon won’t be able to go north on foot. If he’s smart, he’ll leave the red keep. Knights have been sent to search Old Town and what remains of the riverlands.”

He was right; as long as Aegon was unable to reach his dragon, he’d be stuck lurking in the sewers where he belonged. The greens were currently locked in the cells of the castle, aside from the most dangerous one. “I’ve still not received a raven back yet; I’m worried.”

“It will take a couple of days, my love, and I trust Lord Stark will let no harm come to our family.”

“I best get this off you,” your hands shake as you resume wiping blood off his leg. When Jace suddenly tenses, you stop. “Jacaerys?”

He quickly steps in front of you, snatching his sword that’s lying on the wooden table. The door to the chamber bursts open, and in the commotion, you knock the bowl containing bloody water over. Daemon comes to an abrupt halt. “There are six members of the kingsguard posted outside these quarters, and you believed our enemies could waltz by them?”

“And yet some of the very same kingsguard remained in kings landing and served the greens. Until her grace chooses knights herself, I won’t trust them.”

“How very wise, my prince,” Daemon smiles before looking both over. “You are both still filthy. Good. Come along; her grace wants us to join her immediately.”

—

Jace finds solace holding you close in the bed you’d be spending the night in. As your mother only reclaimed her rightful throne earlier that day, permanent quarters had yet to be readied, and the servants were working hard to remove any sigils of the usurper before hanging your mother's banners. Not that you cared about something so insignificant as sleeping quarters; you just wanted the day to be over.

Jace smiles at your shoulder; your robe is open at the front, giving him access to the bare skin of your stomach. He traces his finger along the glossy-looking scars left from multiple pregnancies.

“What’s funny?”

“Nothing; I’m just admiring how beautiful you are.”

A small laugh passes your lips. “You can hardly even see my scaly scars in this light.”

Over the years, Jacaerys would insist you think of the stretch marks as dragon scales whenever you complained of them. From anyone else, it may have been an insult, but Jace always said it admiringly. Neither of you had bathed since returning, as Daemon said it would be good for the people to see Rhaenyra's eldest children and heirs looking like warriors. Both of your bodies and hair were covered in soot, blood, and dirt. Jace stripped his clothes off, then collapsed onto the bed naked, while you threw a thin blue robe on.

“They are reminders of how strong you are, only adding to your beauty.”

You chuckle at his sweet words. You run your fingers through Jace’s thick hair, keeping as you start to fall into a slumber, but the pressure building makes you reposition further up the bed until you’re sitting with your back against the headrest. Jace looks at you quizzically and moves to sit beside you.

“The weight of my breasts is hurting my back.”

He glances at you sympathetically. If your baby was here, the pain would subside dramatically since you’d be able to feed him. You noticed Jace’s gaze now lingering on your swollen breast. Realizing he’s been caught, he gulps down, “This is the biggest they have ever been.”

You readjust your posture, and this time Jace does the same, so he’s right beside you. He pushes your robe open further and cups your breasts, feeling the warm, swollen flesh in his hands as he lifts them slightly.

“Gods.”

“Feel any better?”

“Yes, thank you.”

He slowly rubs circles on your sensitive nipples until they are hard, then dips his head down to take one into his mouth. Jace gives equal attention to both breasts, licking and sucking on them to give you relief. One of his hands slowly moves from your breast, down your rib cage, and stops just below your navel. Wetness was gathering between your thighs, and Jace knew this by the way you pressed your legs together.

His lips ghost over yours. “What do you want?”

“For my husband to desire me.”

“Sweet wife, all I’ve ever wanted was you, and even now, I still ache for your touch.” Jace caresses your thigh; the metal on his rings is cool against your skin. He presses his long finger through your slit, gathering arousal, then rubs it over your clit, causing you to moan. He sucks on your nipple again.

Lewd sounds fall from your mouth as Jace pushes a finger between your folds. Your back arches at his touch. Given how long it had been since you were last intimate and how reactive your body was to his touch, it doesn’t take long for your legs to begin shaking as your orgasm gets closer. Jace props at your hole with a second finger, but when you wince, he pulls it away.

“Still so tight, princess; I don’t wish to hurt you.”

“Fuck, Jace!”

Screaming his name, you climax over his fingers. “If it weren’t for the pain and wound on your thigh, I’d mount and ride you as I would a dragon.”

“I will be most definitely looking forward to the feeling of you claiming me as yours again.” Smiling, his nose brushes against yours, “but I’m not done with you yet for the night. I’m desperate to taste you.”

—

“Have the cots moved slightly further apart. My sons will only kick each other during the night if they are too close.”

The handmaiden nods. “I will have them moved, princess.”

In the early hours of the morning, you were informed your mother's old quarters would be the ones you would reside in. The color green was almost completely withdrawn from the castle walls. All bedchambers would be adorned with the sigil of House Targaryen, along with the moon-and-falcon sigil of House Arryn, to honor Queen Aemma. And a silver seahorse on sea green from House Velaryon to honor not only your husband but also your late father, Laenor Velaryon. Aemma and Rhaenys bedchambers would be beside each other, and Avery and Aethan would share a room until they were older.

“Thank you… forgive me, I never caught your name.”

“Mia Princess. Which bedchamber would you like to be in Prince Daemon’s room?”

“The room next to his brothers, but have his cot brought to my side of the bed. My babe will be sleeping in the same room as us.”

Nearly all of the servants had traveled from Dragonstone by boat to serve the queen in King's landing. The handmaidens who knew how to care for your children chose several items for their new chambers, including furniture, clothing, and bedding. You pick up one of the blankets and look for the name sewn into it.

“Good morrow, my prince.”

“Good morrow,” he nods politely. “Good morrow, wife.”

Noticing something was slightly off with Jacaerys, you turn to face the handmaiden. “Could you ask for them to move the crib into our bedchamber before building the furniture in the princess’s room?”

“Of course, right away, princess.”

“Thank you, Mia.” When she’s out of the room, you place a hand on Jace’s arm. “Something wrong, my prince?”

“You haven’t eaten this morning.”

Chuckling, you look at him surprised. “Is that all? I could not find sleep and bathed early, then got caught up in different things. I have news: a raven arrived from Clara, and the children are fine. The Stark’s are taking good care of them.”

“Thank the gods!” he sighs in relief. Jacaerys, like you, was terrified that something would happen to them; his calm demur about the situation was just a front. Stepping forward, he holds the blanket in your hand at the opposite end. “Aega?”

“It’s supposed to say Aegarax, but I’ve not had the time to finish it.” You’d embroider the name of your children’s dragons into their blankets once they are chosen. “Soon all my time will be consumed with motherly duties again, and I for one cannot wait.”

Jace runs his knuckle over your cheek; the gaze in his eyes is nothing short of adoration. “My love, I don’t believe those duties ever stopped.”

—

Growing up as the only daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen, you were spoiled with the finest gowns and jewelry. Even when you lived among vipers, you still had an exceptional wardrobe. But as one of your handmaidens finished the intricate braids in your silver hair, you felt different. The black dress was made of the softest free-flowing fabric and was slightly shorter at the front to allow your red dragon riding boots to be worn soon. On the bodice of the dress, a three-headed red dragon is sewn in. The sleeves were short enough for the stitches on your arm to be seen.

Daemon’s gaze was burning into the back of you as he patiently waited. He knew how important keeping appearances was. He was dressed in the armor that he would wear into battle.

When the braiding is finished, you excuse the handmaiden and stand. Daemon gives you an approving nod: “You look fearsome, good daughter. Queen Visenya would be proud. Not only a princess, but a Targaryen dragon-rider who fights for the rightful queen.”

Toying with the rings on your fingers, you say, “Might I ask where we are going? I don’t believe her grace mentioned us going to battle on dragon back.”

“To face our enemies. As you know, Queen Rhaenyra and Prince Jacaerys are discussing solutions on how best to deal with the crown's debt to the Iron Bank caused by the usurper, and her grace wishes for you to take the lead on another issue. Shall we go?”

Daemon has his hand on the hilt of dark sister as you follow his lead, making your way through the hallways of the keep. When the halls are nearly empty, Daemon breaks the silence. “As I said to her grace, you and Prince Jacaery are perfectly matched. You both possess your mother’s gentle nature, are quick to anger, and never forget a slight; however, if you are to rule one day, we will need to make sure you can channel your anger properly.”

“Ah yes, something you strive in, Prince Daemon.”

He chuckles, “Our queen thinks the same thing. Which is why she thinks it's best you decide what happens next.”

You stop walking when you reach the outside of the throne room. It scares you, not knowing what awaits on the other side. “I’m frightened, Daemon,” you say quietly enough that only he can hear. “What if I let my mother and Jacaerys down?”

“You are a Targaryen, Lyarra. Blood of the dragon, and one day you’ll be queen. The simple truth is that, as the daughter of the first queen of Westeros, you’ll have to understand the importance of your responsibilities.”

“I understand my responsibilities.”

—

“Why am I to decide?” You ask in your mother tongue.

High Valyrian rolls off Daemon’s tongue impeccably. “The queen still feels guilt sending you to live with these usurper cunts. She is trying to make amends.”

It hurts your heart to know your mother still blames herself for how badly the Hightowers treated you.

Although Aegon fled when your mother and Daemon took back the king's landing, the rest of the green council were arrested and held in the black cells of the keep. Not daring to overstep by sitting on the throne that belongs to your mother, you stand in front of it. Your hands become sweaty as you look down at the prisoners who were on their knees, trying to decide their fate. It wasn’t an easy decision to make, especially with the memories of how cruelly you had been treated coming flooding back. You glance at Lady Baela, the only other member of the Queen's Council who is currently present. She gives you a small nod, a silent act of support.

Clearing your throat, you speak in English again and address members of the kingsguard. “Return Maester Orwyle, Ser Tyland Lannister, Lord Jasper Wyldel, to their previous cells. They are to be sharply questioned to see if they are of any further use to us.”

“And if they aren’t?” Daemon asks with a mischievous look on his face.

“Then they can either die or go north and join the nightwatch. Take Ser Arryk to the cells on the second level. After being questioned, he will receive the same choice.”

Alicent scoffs.

“If I may ask something, princess?”

You look at the traitor's bastard Otto amused and say, “Speak freely, but nothing you say will change your fate.”

Understanding, he nods, “What is to become of Aegon’s heirs? They are—”

“Innocent,” you cut him off. “Princess Jaehaera and Prince Maelor will be treated as any other highborn child. You have my word; no harm will come to them.”

“The city belongs to Princess Rhaenyra for now.” Alicent’s voice is laced with venom. “But she will not hold it long. The rats play when the cat is gone, but my son Aemond will return with fire and blood.”

“Aemond is dead.” You study her expression, and she does not waver. The former queen doesn’t believe her son is dead. You walk down the steps until you are in front of her and crouch down. “The bruising on my neck is from his hands. He managed to sneak into Dragonstone and waited until I was alone in my bedchamber and tried to strangle me to death.”

Her eyes gloss over with tears.

“Prince Jacaerys put an end to the assassination attempt.” You stand up straight again and smooth out the creases in your dress while taking a couple of steps backwards. “The usurper's loyal hound, Ser Criston Cole was killed by dragonfire on the battlefield.”

She holds your gaze and grits her teeth. “Which dragon?”

“Vermax.”

“Bastards are monstrous by nature.”

“Another word about my husband, and I shall have your tongue cut from your mouth. The last time we saw each other, you mocked the deaths of Prince Lucerys and Prince Gaemon. You should be grateful I haven’t had your head placed on a fucking spike.”

Otto gives his daughter a stern look, telling her to be quiet.

“Death is an easy escape, Alicent. You can live the rest of your life knowing that your own ambition is the reason your children are dead. Send her to the silent sisters.”

When she’s escorted out of the throne room by Ser Erryk, you return your attention to the men remaining. “Otto Hightower, I sentence you to death for the crime of treason.”

Prince Daemon stands beside you, and you step to the side silently, giving him permission to go ahead and carry out the sentencing. The former hand of the king would always be a threat to your family. Daemon goes down the steps and, in one swing, slices Otto’s head off with dark sister. You hold back a shriek when blood begins to spread across the marble floor.

Your eyes narrow in on the last person kneeling. “Take Larys Strong to the black cells; keep him in chains until his sentence is carried out tomorrow in the dragon pit.”

—

“You did good,” Daemon praises as you leave the throne room. “Those green cun—”

He was cut off by the handmaiden you spoke with earlier, rushing over to you, her cheeks flushed red. “Princess,” she gasps. “My prince, my lady. Forgive the interruption, but the queen has asked for you to go to the council room immediately.”

You could sense the urgency from Mia without her outright saying how serious the situation was, “Thank you.”

You hold your dress at the front so you can run without tripping, and the three of you rush to the small council pivy. Soon as you enter the room, your eyes are glued to Jace, who is gripping onto the edge of the table, tears rolling down his cheeks. He looks enraged.

“My Prince,” you go to him, and his grip on the table is hard; his knuckles turn white while he grabs ahold of something tightly in the other. “Mother, your grace, what's going on?”

Your mother's chest and neck are blotchy from stress; she holds onto her necklace tightly for comfort. There are tears in her eyes as well. The queen struggles to control her emotions as she tries to speak.

“A raven arrived for me,” Jace’s voice cracks. “It was a massage from Aegon; it says ‘a daughter for a daughter, bastard’. He still thinks I took Aemma from him, and now he’s going to take Reni from me.”

You feel as if you’re going to be physically sick. “What?”

“This is Reni’s,” Jace says, opening up his hand, and you shudder at seeing your daughter's doll. “We need to go North immediately.”

When Jace goes to storm out of the room, you catch his arm, preventing him from leaving. “Jacaerys, wait!”

“We cannot wait; he’s going after our little girl.”

You take the doll from his trembling hand. “Rhaenys sobbed when she realized her favorite toy was left behind.” With her name sewn into the doll's dress, anyone could have easily guessed who it belonged to. “Her doll was in our bedchamber.”

“Which means…”

“Aegon is in Dragonstone.”

[gracexthoughts]

Of Violent Delights

series masterlist

playlist | read on ao3 | intro

part 1; “Two households, both alike in dignity…From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.” -William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17

part 2; “I fear too early, for my mind misgives; Some consequence, yet hanging in the stars, Shall bitterly begin” -William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet

18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 |

[dragonologist-writings]

Title: Violent Delight Fandom: Baldur’s Gate 3 Rating: M Status: One-Shot Characters: Naia (F!Tav), Araj Oblodra Ships:Naia/Araj Additional Notes: Belligerent Sexual Tension, Blood, Background Naia/Shadowheart, Flirting but in an Evil Scientist way Word Count: 2.7k Summary: Araj makes a proposition. Against her better judgment, Naia accepts.

read below or here on ao3

It’s unnerving, how easily Naia can move through Moonrise Towers. Convenient, yes, of course- but unnerving, all the same.

She clutches her bag closely to her side, putting her utmost effort into appearing cool and confident as she sweeps out of Balthazar’s rooms, still half-expecting to be caught and questioned at any moment. The guards watch the gray-skinned tiefling as she goes, but it is with little interest; she has been verified as a True Soul. In their eyes, she belongs here.

The belief, she admits, is not even a particularly misguided one. Balthazar did send her here, did put her on the lead to understanding more of his research, and it would be a lie to claim that his teachings on the deeper levels of necromancy were received without a small, begrudging amount of admiration. That admiration gnaws at Naia’s stomach with an echo of guilt…but it does make it easier for her to play the part of a willing student in Ketheric’s loyal army.

Naia descends the long staircase and makes it halfway through the entrance hall without incident, and the tension within her begins to ease. It was wise to come here alone, she knows this. Ketheric’s guards may not prove so amenable to a large group attempting to navigate the fortress’s upper levels, but she is quick and capable enough on her own. And this way, she does not have to worry about her companions’ eyes upon her as she studiously unravels the undeniably impressive magic woven by Moonrise’s necromancer.

Yet she is also anxious to be done with this place and return to her friends waiting just outside the gates. Mostly, she is anxious to return to Shadowheart, who has sequestered herself within the locked rooms of Shar’s Gauntlet so as to better focus on her trials. This solitude is just one of many worrying tendencies Shadowheart has indulged in as of late, and Naia can only hope-

“You there.”

Naia winces at the voice, but it is too late to duck and run. With no small amount of reluctance, she turns to greet the drow woman sauntering across the hall with a self-satisfied smirk on her lips.

A look of such smugness upon the face of Araj Oblodra cannot be a good sign. Unfortunately, Naia dares not risk ignoring her outright; the drow is the only one in Moonrise who seems to realize Naia’s true loyalties. As of yet, she has not cared enough to announce this to anyone else, but recent events have left things tense between them, and her good grace is surely wearing thin.

Those same events have also thinned Naia’s patience, and despite her resolve to remain diplomatic, her voice is curt as Araj draws near. “If you’re here to ask me about Astarion again, the answer is still no.”

The woman’s red eyes flash with petulant anger, but her pointed smirk remains in place. “How adorably stubborn of you. But regarding my intentions, you are wrong- a feeling which I’m certain you are quite familiar with.”

Naia has no interest in granting this woman the benefit of doubt. “As I told you before,” she hisses, stepping closer so as to shield their conversation from passing soldiers, “he is not inclined to speak with you, let alone do anything else with you. A feeling which I’m certain you are quite familiar with.”

Araj tilts her head, that look finally slipping from her face. “Such a clever little tongue,” she says, a hint of dark amusement still lurking under her tone. “A pity it’s wasted on a creature with no spine.”

“If you’re not here to say anything useful-”

“I speak the truth,” Araj snaps, cutting through Naia’s words. “I’m not here for him. I’m here for you.”

The resulting look on Naia’s face must betray her emotions, for Araj releases a sharply delighted laugh. “Not for that, my darling. Some may find your demon’s nature enticing, but I am a lady of more acquired taste. What I require from you is for a purely scientific purpose, I assure you.”

Naia crosses her arms, her tail swishing angrily against the stone floor behind her. “You still haven’t told me what you actually want.”

“Is it not obvious, for a specimen such as yourself?” Araj asks, cloyingly sweet yet still somehow dripping condescension. “I am a sanguine alchemist. I want your blood.”

Naia stiffens, arms tightening around herself. “No.”

Her quick response earns a scoff from Araj. “You remain too easily offended. This is as much for your benefit as mine. Allow me to draw a sampling of your blood, and I shall distill a portion of it into a potion, which you may have and use however you see fit. A trade more than fair, considering I shall be doing all the work. All you have to do is bleed.”

The answer should, once again, be a quick and decisive no. Yet against her better judgment, Naia asks, “What will the potion do?”

Araj’s entire demeanor seems to brighten, her eyes sparkling at Naia’s reluctant interest. “I don’t know. Each one I make is unique, attuned to the blood of its source. And you…you are more unique than most, True Soul. Are you not curious as to what may come of it?” She licks at her lips; her gaze sharpens into something hungry. “I am.”

If only an honest denial could be made. But Naia is curious by nature, and her attentions are often most caught with subjects that others consider best left alone. The pages upon pages of necromancy research stowed away in her bag right now are testament enough to that fact.

Araj waits through Naia’s internal arguments, but finally rolls her eyes and gives an impatient toss of her hair. “Don’t give me that sour face, darling. It will only take but a moment of your time.”

“Fine,” Naia relents. These potions may be useful; if she observes carefully, she may even be able to reverse-engineer Araj’s formula and process. It is, overall, a pragmatic decision.

Araj lifts her chin in triumph, and Naia is quick to add, “But take one drop more than necessary and I shall rot the flesh from your bones.”

The answering laughter from Araj is almost fond. She turns on her heel and waves for Naia to follow as she sets off to her makeshift laboratory. Naia obliges, and she is relieved to see that the space is empty; if she’s going to do this, she’d rather do it without the Moonrise guards hanging over her head.

Once in the lab, Araj’s bearing shifts, if only slightly. She makes her way to a corner of the room and begins clearing her books and scrolls, her movements sharp and focused. Soon enough, she has assembled a collection of glass vials and alchemical ingredients, some of which even Naia cannot name. Each action she takes in this process is precise and intentional; her fingers are deft as she arranges the glass-encased chemicals, her eyes vibrant as she assembles the space exactly to her liking with gleeful anticipation.

Loathe as Naia is to admit it- and oh, she is loathe to admit it- there is something about the woman that makes her just as intriguing as she is infuriating. Such devotion to her craft can only be admired, and few others can claim to have reached her level of passion for this type of science. While her methods are hardly standard…well, Naia is once more reminded of the research in her bag, and the spells inscribed in her own grimoire. She is hardly one to judge.

Hells, Naia’s begrudging interest is perhaps a signal of danger all on its own. Gods know that her own tastes have always had a tendency towards the ill-advised.

Araj finally steps back from the table, apparently satisfied with its arrangement. She pulls a chair forward and looks to Naia, blood-red eyes gleaming. She must be proud of those eyes, seeing as how she decorates the skin around them with identical red shimmer, emphasizing the striking color. Araj’s smirk sharpens as she catches Naia’s watching gaze, and she waves a hand over the chair in exaggerated welcome.

“Please, darling- make yourself comfortable.”

That won’t be happening, so Naia settles for dropping herself stiffly in the offered seat. Araj circles her finger through the air in a get on with it motion, and with a deep breath through gritted teeth, Naia rolls up the sleeve of her robe and presents her bared arm.

This is the part she is looking forward to the least- but when Araj’s hands make contact, it’s not as bad as she was expecting. In fact, there’s something oddly comforting in the detached professionalism of the drow’s touch, in the precise press of her fingers as she searches for a vein. Her fingers are cold, and as she trails them down Naia’s arm, she leaves goosebumps in her wake.

Araj is silent as she locates her desired point of study, even as she picks up the scalpel and vial. It’s only when she presses the sharp blade into Naia’s skin that she releases a small sigh of contentment.

Naia herself barely reacts to the cut; this pinprick is nothing compared to other injuries she’s received these last few weeks. Her muscles barely quiver at all as she watches Araj stare at the trickling blood, bright red against pale ashen skin.

“I wasn’t sure you’d have any to give at all,” Araj murmurs as the blood slowly collects into the vial, which she keeps in place with a summoned Mage Hand. “You look half a corpse already.”

“With your proficiency for astounding scientific observations, you might have noticed I am a necromancer.”

“That’s hardly an excuse, darling. I know Balthazar considers himself a genius, but you needn’t go following his example. You’ll decay into a boring old husk and lose the pleasure of this.” The scalpel presses just a little harder, and Naia releases a sharp hiss of a gasp- more in irritation than anything else, she insists to herself.

“Isn’t it a beautiful thing?” Araj continues blithely, her voice sinking into that awful, sensual rhythm of hers. “The bite of the pain…the slow drip of the blood…the fragility of the connection as your lifeblood spills for the sake of another’s pleasure…have you truly never been tempted by the idea?”

“Hard as it may be for you to believe,” Naia bites out, “vampirism has never appealed to me.”

Araj’s dreamy expression shifts into a pout. “No…of course not. That’s not quite your type, is it? But what about that Sharran that used to cling to you? Does she not spill blood for her goddess? Is her devotion so different from my desire?” As she speaks, she studies Naia’s reaction, a single eyebrow raised as a taunting lilt enters her tone. “Where is she now, by the way?”

The mention of Shadowheart does more to affect Naia than Araj’s little blade ever could…but she’ll be damned if she lets Araj see that. “Nowhere that is any of your business.”

Araj sighs, a taunting, pitying sound. “Nor yours, I should think. Those Sharrans always did guard their shrine so jealously. Is that why you’re here alone? Has she gone and locked herself away from you, to better offer herself up to something grander?”

“Do you remember when I threatened to rot the flesh from your bones?” Magic flares in time with Naia's anger, and the air around them grows colder. But Araj hardly seems intimidated; in fact, she chuckles.

“How could I forget?” Her lips curl upwards in amusement at Naia’s answering silence. “Let the Sharrans have their hiding hole, I say. Their dark lady will never deliver on her promises, no matter how much they bleed on her behalf. That is where the gods and I differ. I could show you something truly worth your pain.”

Cold fingers curl over Naia’s arm, and Naia wants both to pull away from the touch and lean in closer. It’s a foolish notion, and more than that it is petty…but Naia must admit, not all of the anger she carries today is pointed towards Araj. Something in her chest does ache at the way Shadowheart has closed herself off in the walls and shadows of that temple.

So when she should withdraw and snap once more at Araj to back off, Naia instead locks her dark eyes on the drow’s face and allows herself to lean the smallest bit forward. “And just what does that mean, blood-witch?”

“Are you interested in finding out, necromancer?”

“…I might be.”

Araj hums, and she shifts ever closer to Naia. Her tongue darts out to lick at her lips, and her fingernails dig just a little deeper into Naia’s arm. Where once she’d been standing above the tiefling as she drew her blood, she’s now practically in her lap, and her leg slides slowly against the skirt of Naia’s robes.

“Isn’t that adorable…” Araj breathes. “All your bluster, and you wish to be the one at my mercy? Are you imagining my teeth at your neck, your blood on my lips?”

Naia wasn’t. But Gods, she is now.

She swears Araj must be able to read her mind, because her eyes gleam even more viciously. Those eyes roam over Naia’s body, taking her in with an air of greed. Silver hair has fallen from where it was tucked behind her ear, and Naia is struck with the inane urge to brush it from her face- yet she also finds herself frozen in place, unable to move even as Araj presses herself closer. Naia’s stomach twists in a heated combination of anxiety and anticipation.

And then Araj pulls away, twisting a stopper onto the vial which Naia had all but forgotten about. “Done.”

A shaky breath escapes Naia’s lips; blood trickles down her arm from the cut left unattended. Araj stows away the small glass vial and returns to Naia’s side in a flash; her thumb traces over the cut, and with a small surge of unexpected healing magic the skin stitches itself back together. The blood remains, and Araj’s touch is not quite gentle as she smears it with her thumb and runs her hand down Naia’s arm, leaving red fingerprints down to Naia’s wrist.

“You were a perfect specimen, darling. What a shame it is, then, that I prefer to be the one bitten,” Araj muses as she lifts Naia’s wrist to her mouth. Her lips press a kiss against Naia’s thudding pulse; her teeth graze and tease at the skin, but nothing more, and then she’s pulling away again with a violently victorious edge to her voice as she whispers, “Were I so inclined, I’m certain you would be delicious.”

She then turns back to her assembly of vials, and her professional demeanor settles into place even as Naia is left half-frozen in the chair. The tiefling swallows and shakes her head, and finally regains enough composure to ask, “What about…”

“Your potion?” Araj responds innocently, throwing a smirk over her shoulder. “It will take some time to prepare. You may return for it tomorrow.”

It’s a clear dismissal, one that leaves Naia’s head reeling, as if she’s just lost a round of lanceboard she hadn’t even realized she was playing. But she rises to her feet, ordering her legs not to shake as she does so, forcing herself back to the state of passive distaste she’d held before Araj sunk her scalpel in.

“Tomorrow, then, if you insist on dragging your feet. I would have thought someone who thinks so highly of themselves would be capable of a quicker delivery, but I suppose even that is too much to expect in a place like this.”

It’s a weak barb, but it’s enough to let Naia leave with some small semblance of pride still intact, and to let herself pretend she does not feel Araj’s smug, crimson gaze on her as she goes.

[marsneedstherapy]

it is time

[blorboazula]

I'm awful at writing action/fight scenes (for all my love of writing the aftermath), which means that part 2 of the "Wanda kidnaps Billy, cue coven to the rescue" fic won't have an actual magical fight. also, I think it's a lot funnier if Agatha, in all her witchy glory, just tackles Wanda and punches her until one of the covenmates decides to stop the blood show (because they all want to slap her too).

[so-much-history-in-these-streets]

Mini Book Covers damagecontrol masterpost @imdamagecontrol AO3 damagecontrol These Violent Delights Cover Credit: damagecontrol

((If you notice any mistakes, please let me know!)) Feel free to use them for your own projects!

[originalmkh]

I laughed, I swooned, I wept, I mourned. Book cover by yours truly. Enjoy xoxo

Not Fun Fact: This is a picture of the iceberg that sunk the titanic. haha. suffer. 

[heatherleighann]

These Violent Delights has destroyed me. I may never be okay again honestly 😭

[crispydonuts]

Just discovered tvd, ove, and flf fanfiction today and they’re very fun

[sprnklersplashes]

these violent delights (2/?) (ao3)

Someone is calling his name, the sound just about audible over the late-night ruckus in the Six. Jesper looks up immediately, expecting to see Wylan coming back in. His grin falters when he doesn’t make an appearance and grows steadily smaller when he hears the alarm in whoever’s voice it is. His shuffling hands slow down, uneasiness replacing the giddiness the cards had given him. Then, Annika skids to a halt at his table, her eyes wide, her chest heaving, and dread settles like a stone in Jesper’s stomach.

“It’s Wylan,” she gasps, leaning heavily against the table. “He’s hurt.”

Jesper shoots from the seat, the cards falling like dust from the table.

He throws himself through the front doors and out onto the street, turning wildly in circles as he searches for Wylan. He’s vaguely aware of Kaz’s presence, but for once the infamous Bastard is just another face. The streets are full to the brim; Barrel rats looking for a good con, tourists looking for good fun, kids looking for a good opportunity. Boys, girls, tall, short, young old, they all blur into one thing around him. One large, terrible thing surrounds them, flooding the streets. Terrible because none of them is Wylan, and because they’re stopping him from getting to him. Annika’s words play over and over again, in time to the beat of his heart.

Wylan’s hurt. 

Despite his religious scepticism, he says a small prayer every time he looks around. That was a misunderstanding. That it was just a boy who looks like Wylan. That it’s a different Wylan. It’s awful, and he’ll do his penance ten times over, but right now he just needs, he needs Wylan to be okay.

“Jesper.” Someone-Kaz- tugs sharply on his coat, yanking Jesper around so that he faces the front of the Silver Six. There, as the crowd begins to part, Kaz points with his cane, and Jesper’s heart freezes. “I found him.”

He’s sunk to his knees beside one of the outdoor tables. His head is bent over and his hands are buried in his hair. It only takes one look to see the tightness in his body, and as they get closer they see how badly he’s trembling. It might be cold out, but this shaking is beyond that. It’s more like he’s fighting to hold on to something, and whatever he’s fighting is far stronger than him.

Jesper is already beyond scared by the sight. But then Wylan crumples and gives a weak cry as his shoulder strikes the ground, and he can’t breathe.

Saints, please let this be a dream.

“Wylan!”

A cough wracks his body as Jesper and Kaz kneel next to him, and blood trickles from his lips to the pavement. His skin is almost translucent, his hair starkly dark against it. The blood covers his lips now, oozing like oil from an engine. His body twitches, his face contorted in pain. He almost looks unrecognisable. He almost doesn’t look human. 

“Wylan?” he says again. He touches his cheek, wincing at how cold the skin is beneath his hand. “Wylan, can you hear me?” He pushes his hair away from his scrunched-up eyes. But then Wylan bucks, his breathing frantic and jagged, and he pulls his hand away. He does something, a groan or a grunt or some attempt at speech, and blood leaks from his nose and runs down his pale face.

“What’s happening to him?” he asks. Kaz’s gaze is as dark and stormy as ever; thunderclouds rolling behind his pupils. Wylan thrashes again and a helpless cry is wrenched from him. His head hits the cobblestones with an audible, horrible thunk.

“He’s going to hurt himself,” is all Kaz says.

Jesper slides his hands under Wylan’s shoulders and lifts him. This he can do. His touch is careful as though he’s cradling lit grenades. Gently, he rests Wylan’s head on his lap. It doesn’t stop the seizing, but at least his head isn’t hitting the ground any more. 

At some point, Nina and Matthias came running out after them, and both of them kneel on either side of Wylan. Jesper looks at Nina, not trusting himself to speak. Find out what’s wrong, and fix this, he asks her silently. Nina just looks back at him, tears glinting in her eyes, and Jesper’s shoulders shake. 

She’s not the same as she used to be, and whatever this is, it’s beyond her.

He wishes he could tell her it’s okay, but all he can think about is Wylan convulsing in his lap.

“Jesper.” Kaz’s voice is sharp, pulling him back to the moment. His dark eyes are trained on something above them, his jaw tight. Jesper has only seen this expression a handful of times before; in the depths of the Ice Court, on Vallegulk, when Van Eck took Inej. It ignites something in him, and he follows Kaz’s gaze above. 

At first, he sees nothing, just the outlines of rooftops. But then the lights grow brighter, and it’s there, silhouetted against the night sky. A hooded figure stands atop the roof of the Silver Six. He can’t see them that well, just that their hands are moving in controlled jerks, and they’re staring down directly at Wylan.

“Jesper,” Kaz says again, but he doesn’t need to. The gun is in his hand and pointing up at the roof before he even realises it. His shooting arm is the only part of him that isn’t shaking and locks his aim at the figure above. If they notice, they don’t do anything, but Jesper suspects they don’t. Wylan cries out again, like an animal caught in a trap and he clicks the off the safety.

“We need them alive,” Kaz says. Jesper hears it, and it must click with him because when he sends off the bullet, he feels it fly a little lower than its initial trajectory. It’ll lodge in their hip, rather than their chest. He’s not particularly happy about it, but at least some part of him is thinking past this moment.

The figure on the roof falls soundlessly, and the next second, Wylan goes slack. The tension that had held wrought through his slight frame flees and he sinks into Jesper’s lap, taking heavy gulps of air. Carefully, Jesper runs his fingers across his face, brushing away a smudge on his cheekbone.

“Jes?” His voice is broken, strained, barely a whisper. Wylan is beside him, but he sounds like he’s coming from miles away.

“I’m here,” he whispers, afraid to hurt him again. He takes Wylan’s hand in his and squeezes it to warm it up. “I’m here, darling, everything’s going to be okay.”

Before he realises, he’s cupping Wylan’s cold cheek with his hand. He waits for the signal to pull away, that his touch is hurting him, but it doesn’t come. Instead, Wylan leans into his touch, and for a heart-stopping moment, Jesper thinks it’s over. 

“Jes,” he says again. Droplets of blood trickle down to his chin. He takes a deep, uneven, desperate breath.

Then his eyes close, and he doesn’t say anything. 

It’s Kaz who moves first. Of course, it’s Kaz. Jesper is busy not feeling anything and is still trying to process Wylan’s limp body laying against his legs. Jesper, for all the bravado he puts up, feels like his limbs are disconnecting and floating away from his body, but Kaz is the one pulling them together again. Or, pushing them aggressively until they pop back into place.

“We need to get him back to the Slat,” is his first command. “Keeping him out in the open is an invitation for trouble.” His dark eyes snap up. “Matthias, stay with Wylan and Jesper. If you can, find a Healer. Nina, you’re with me. If Jesper made the shot right, they’ll still be alive.”

If Jesper made the shot right. He looks down at Wylan again and brushes his hair away from his face. Their best (and maybe only) chance to find out what happened rests on whether he made the shot.

He bites his tongue and swallows the bile in his throat. 

Nina brushes his shoulder before she goes, a whispered “It’s okay” in his ear. It’s both sweet and wrong because no part of this is okay. Those words have rarely felt as hollow as they do now. 

Matthias appears in front of him, his eyes firm and his sleeves rolled up. He presses two fingers to Wylan’s neck, then his wrist. He exhales softly as he does, the worry not leaving his face. But his shoulders drop, and he gives a single, steady nod.

“His pulse is okay,” he says. “And he’s still breathing.” The Fjerdan grabs Jesper’s shoulder then, and his grip is so tight it sends a jolt through Jesper’s body. If Kaz pushed him back together, then Matthis pulls him firmly back to the present. “Jesper,” Matthias says. “Kaz was right. We need to get him back to the Slat. I’ll follow behind and try to grab a Healer. All right?”

“Right,” he hears himself say. He gathers Wylan into his arms and stands up. His head rests against Jesper’s shoulder, and he’s reminded of a few nights ago when Wylan fell asleep in his study and Jesper had carried him to bed. He’d woken up halfway there, but a soft murmur from Jesper and his head on his shoulder and fall back to sleep.

That was when Jesper started thinking Wylan needed a night off.

If he’d known-

“Matthias,” he says. “Try to be subtle. If word gets to the wrong person that Kaz Brekker’s demolition man got hurt-”

“I understand,” he says. He looks at Wylan, his blue eyes torn. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Thank you,” Jesper chokes out. He turns, keeping Wylan pressed against his chest, and holds him as tightly as he can all the way back to the Slat.

There’s a visible change when Jesper kicks the door open, his arms still firmly wrapped around Wylan. Those Dregs who haven’t gone out tonight spring into action the instant they see him; one closes the door behind him, several ask him what happened. One even has the foresight to run up ahead of him and use Jesper’s key to open their room. Another lights the lamps, bathing the room in a dull orange hue. 

He carries him to the bed and lays him out, making sure to brace the back of his head. The sound of his skull hitting the pavement still ricochets through Jesper’s head. Wylan doesn’t react as Jesper sets him down; not even when he tucks a blanket around his cold body. He just lies there, and if it weren’t for his faint breaths, he’d be forgiven for thinking he was-

No, he thinks. No.

Matthias rushes in before he can go any further. Jesper has never been happier to see him, especially when he sees the girl standing at his side, whose brown eyes are trained on Wylan and whose hands are already poised to work.  

“Healer?” he asks. Matthias looks half-apologetic, and the girl clears her throat.

“Heartrender,” she corrects. “But I can heal.”

“She’s a friend of Nina’s,” Matthias explains. “A sort of friend. It’s- I couldn’t find anyone-”

“It’s okay,” Jesper cuts off. Matthias nods at that. He looks over at the Heartrender, his own heart beating so loudly he can hardly hear himself ask, “Can you fix him?”

The girl rolls up her sleeves. “I can try.”

She sits on the edge of the bed and holds her hands over Wylan. Jesper hovers back, Matthias standing solidly at his shoulder. The other boy’s hands are clasped in front of his face in a way that vaguely looks like a prayer. Jesper almost envies him. He had never properly prayed before and instead relied on luck until it ran out. Now he watches this girl he barely knows move her hand over Wylan’s prone body and he realises he’s pinning all of his hopes on her.

He wouldn’t call it a prayer exactly, but he swears his allegiance to the first god or saint that saves him.

The girl holds her hand over Wylan’s heart, her fingers moving slowly before travelling up his chest. Unlike Nina and the slow, carefully controlled way she used to move, this girl almost forces her hand up Wylan’s body, her arm so stiff it looks like it could crack. He wants to believe it doesn’t mean anything, what would he know about the best way to be a Grisha?

Wylan moves, finally, when her hand hovers over his head. His face tightens and a pained gasp breaks the silence in the room. It’s nowhere near the agonised screaming they’d heard from him earlier, the one that floods Jesper’s head now. 

“Careful,” he hears himself say. The Heartrender turns to look at him, her eyebrow raised. The expression is irritated at best and offended at worst, and Jesper clears his throat. “When I-When I touched his head earlier, it hurt him.” He pulls at his waistcoat. “Just… be careful.”

“How is he?” Matthias asks. “Can you heal him?”

“It’s hard to say,” she replies. “I’m not a trained Healer and even if I was… head injuries are tricky. Especially ones this severe.”

Jesper’s heart drops.

“How severe is it?” he asks. The Heartrender looks at him again, her hand still hovering over his head. Wylan groans again, this time with a little more force behind it, and shifts against the mattress. “I don’t know. I’ve fixed some of the surface-level damage, but…” She shakes her head. “There’s not much else I can do.”

“Will he wake?” Matthias asks. The stiffens, and the look on her face strikes Jesper’s heart. He knows that look. He’s spent the better part of his life trying to forget that look, that mix of pity and sorrow and not-knowing-what-to-say.

He turns, his shaking hands pressed to his mouth. Behind him, Matthias speaks to the Heartrender, their voices low and hushed. Or maybe that’s just the ringing in his ears. He forces himself to breathe out, to flex his fingers, to run his hands over his revolvers. None of it helps, his veins still spark like lit fuses around his body. The cracked plaster feels like it’s clawing at him, scratching down his skin. He needs to get out of here, to run up and down the streets and fire his guns until he runs out of bullets. Some deep, buried part of him wants to use whoever the fuck did this as target practice. The thought brings something, not relief but something close. Maybe it would help, but he’s not doing it. Kaz kept that person alive for a reason and he’s not leaving this room until Wylan’s awake.

A hand grazes his shoulder, and after he flinches he sees Matthias walking the Heartrender girl outside. He mumbles a “thank you” to the girl before she leaves. Colm Fahey raised a liar and a thief, but a polite one.  

With nowhere else to go, he pulls the chair beside the bed and sits down. 

It doesn’t feel right; seeing Wylan so still. Everyone thinks he’s the bouncy one out of the two of them, but they don’t see Wylan the way he does. At his workshop, he’ll wriggle his nose when he’s concentrating, or his shoulders when he’s on the verge of a breakthrough. At Merchant Council meetings, he’ll tug on his hair when he’s growing overwhelmed, or tap his nails together when he’s thinking. And when they’re in bed together, drifting slowly into sleep, he’ll trace patterns on Jesper’s arms, tattoos that exist only in his mind.

How can all of that be gone now, and how can he be so still?

Blood still stains his face, scarlet against paper-white skin. Slowly, Jesper stands and fetches the towel from the hook on the door, then runs it under the faucet in the corner. He doesn’t take his eyes off Wylan, walking backwards when he needs to. When he sits back down, he dabs the towel carefully against the bloodstains. 

The last time Jesper cleaned something off Wylan, it was flour from a baking attempt gone wrong. Wylan had wriggled in his grasp, his eyes glittering, his laughter filling the kitchen like the sweetest music Jesper had ever heard. Now, he doesn’t even flinch.

He throws the stained towel over the bedpost.

“There you go, darling,” he whispers. “That’s better isn’t it?” He breathes out slowly. Purple bags. have appeared under Wylan’s eyes, or maybe they were always there. It’s been such a heavy week for him, long hours at the Council and late nights in his office. There were so many demands to meet in such little time. His side of the bed had been so cold, with him waking at the crack of dawn to work and not getting in until late. 

All Jesper had wanted was for him to blow off some steam. To go someplace where he was just Wylan, and leave the burden of the Van Eck name in his office. 

Wylan was reluctant, but Jesper had insisted. Of course, he did, because he’s like a freaking dog with a bone sometimes and maybe he wanted a night out too and now… now they’re here. Wylan is cold and unmoving in the bed they planned to share tonight.

“Wylan, I’m so sorry,” he whispers. He reaches over and slides his fingers between his. The heat from his hand bleeds into Wylan’s, and he hopes he feels it. “We should’ve just stayed in tonight like you wanted. And I promise as soon as you’re better, I’m spending my life making it up to you.” He kisses the back of Wylan’s hand. He hadn’t realised he was crying until the tears wet Wylan’s skin. “Get all those fantasies ready, merchling, because nothing is off-limits.”

The door creaks open then. He doesn’t turn around but the rhythmic thumping behind him means he doesn’t need to. A flash of black appears in his peripheral vision, hands folded over a crow’s head cane.

Neither speaks for a few seconds. Out of the corner of his eye, Jesper sees his gloved fingers curl.

“It was a Heartrender,” he finally says. “Using parem.”

“Parem?” Jesper echoes. He does look up at Kaz, just for a second, to make sure he heard him right. He nods once, slowly, and Jesper sinks into his chair. “Saints. Do we know anything else?”

“Not yet,” he replies. “After you shot her, she wasn’t in a very talkative mood. Nina’s taking care of her. ” He turns toward Jesper. “Lodged it right in her hip. Good shot.”

“Thanks,” he mutters, though he forgets what he’s thanking for. His mind is too focused on the words Heartrender and parem, and all the implications that has. Who sent her? Why did they send her? Where did they get parem from?

“How is he?” Kaz asks. He steps forward and lowers himself onto the bed. Something flashes across his face, and for once Jesper can’t be bothered to try to work it out. The question is hard enough; he can’t answer and try to fathom Kaz’s carefully guarded emotions.

“Matthias found a Heartrender. She said it was a head injury.” His chest tightens and his voice falls to a croak as he continues. “A bad one.” He holds Wylan tighter, pushing away the grief looming over him. He won’t mourn Wylan while he’s still breathing. 

Kaz says nothing. His hand tightens on the head of his cane, and his hair falls in front of his unreadable eyes.

“It’s getting late,” he says. “Get some rest. I can take over for a while.”

“No.” Kaz blinks in surprise. Jesper honestly hadn’t expected it to sound so forceful, but he means it. He’s not leaving Wylan’s side. He’s not even taking his eyes off him.

He took his eyes off Ma. He spent all night with her hand on his cheek and his face in the mattress. When he woke up, it was too late. 

He’s not making that mistake again and Kaz will have to knock him out himself if he has to.

He doesn’t though. Instead, he gives a simple “All right” and pulls the spare chair up beside him. Up close, Jesper catches the dark blue blanket folded in Kaz’s lap. He waits for him to cover Wylan with it, but it stays folded beneath his hands.

They sit in silence. Jesper’s breathing slows to match Kaz’s, and with it, the events of the past hour fall over him like dust over a shelf. A Heartrender. Using parem. Wylan’s head injury. The expression on the girl’s face when she looked at him.

The grief resurfaces, swirling like dark cloud over the prairie. He remembers how helpless those storm clouds made him feel as a kid. He feels that now, magnified tenfold. This time they’re pressing down on him, and no-one will pet his hair and tell him that it will pass.

“He’s not dying,” Kaz says suddenly. Jesper looks at him, wild hope flickering inside him. If there was ever a person who could fix the unfixable, it would be Kaz. He’s dragged himself back from death once or twice, surely he could for someone else.

Kaz leans forward, just a little, and Jesper holds his breath. He waits for Kaz to pull something out of his sleeve, or for Wylan to sit up and say it was all part of Kaz’s master plan. Neither happen. Kaz only bows his head and trains his eyes on Wylan’s sleeping form.

“He isn’t mean to die like this,” he says roughly. Jesper swallows. Even on a good day, Wylan dying is the last thing he’d want to think about. Not when the unspoken truth of their relationship is that Wylan might go before Jesper does. But Kaz is right. Whatever way Wylan is meant to die, it’s not here in this broken bed in the Slat, just turned twenty-three. 

“No,” Jesper replies. “He’s not.” He squeezes Wylan’s hand. “There’s not even a bomb around.”

It’s a horrible joke, but they laugh. anyway 

The night goes on. Wylan doesn’t move at all, bar the slow rise and fall of his chest. Nina puts her head around the door and asks about him. She puts a plate of bread and cheese in front of them and squeezes Jesper’s shoulder. 

Kaz gets up and catches her just as she reaches the door. He hears Kaz’s hushed voice as he speaks to her, inaudible over the late-night rumblings of the Barrel. Presumably, it’s about the Heartrender they have in custody; Jesper is sure he hears the words ‘parem’ and ‘Heartrender’ used somewhere. He should probably ask Nina what’s going on. He’s also a Crow and he should be on the same page as everyone else. 

The thought crosses his mind, but he doesn’t act on it. Kaz will catch him up if he needs to. He just focuses on holding Wylan’s hand, and dimly questions why the room is getting darker. 

Morning brightness pokes at his eyelids, dragging him out of his sleep. He’s reminded of being back on the farm; his Ma used to pull the curtains open to wake him up, pestering him as he groaned and asked for five more minutes. The memory lingers for a few seconds, lulling him into the sweet lie that he’s back home, and that nothing has gone wrong yet.

Unfortunately, he’s not back home. He’s not greeted by endless blue skies when he opens his eyes. Instead, he sees Wylan, just as he was before, now bathed in a weak Ketterdam sunlight and Kaz rolling his cane between his hands. The blanket he had last night is nowhere to be seen, and Jesper realises blearily that it was draped over his shoulders.

“There’s been no change,” he says roughly. The crow on his cane spins. “His pulse and his breathing are still fine.”

“How long’s it been?” Jesper asks.

“About six hours.” Jesper bites his tongue, his shoulders shaking beneath the wool. Six hours he spent not with Wylan. Anything could have happened in that time. He shoves the blanket off and balls it between his fists. He wants to drop it to the floor and kick it under the bed, the feel of it makes his skin crawl. But he doesn’t. Instead, he just keeps pressing it, as if the pressure he pours will turn it into a diamond. 

“You shouldn’t have let me sleep,” is all he says. Kaz doesn’t respond. Jesper shifts to the edge of his seat and waits for him to press on it. Or maybe he will. Maybe he’ll start a stupid fight just so the blaze in his chest can go somewhere-

Then Wylan gasps.

He frowns, delicate features scrunching like he’s waking from a long sleep. Quiet murmurs drift through the air, reminiscent of late weekend mornings spent in their bed. His slender pianist’s fingers curl and uncurl on the sheets, bitten nails scratching the coarse fabric.

“Wylan?” Slowly, Jesper rises from the chair and perches on the edge of the bed. His palm is cold as he lays it atop Wylan’s blanket. His breath comes in short, anxious puffs, his heartbeat echoing in his empty chest. “Wylan, it’s okay, I’m here.”

“Mm?” comes Wylan’s reply. His weight shifts, another sight familiar from their bed. He breathes out heavily, his long-lashed eyes fluttering. Jesper’s heart does a similar motion, and before he knows what he’s doing his hand comes up to cup Wylan’s face. Wylan leans into his touch, his cheek not nearly as cold as it was last night, and Jesper could collapse there and then.

He sighs, his nose scrunches, and Jesper holds so tightly to his patience. It could be seconds or hours, Jesper doesn’t know, but he waits and whispers and finally, Wylan’s eyes flutter open, and relief sweeps through Jesper like a spring wind over the fields. 

“Hi.” The words squeeze out from his tight throat. The tears flow down his cheeks, but he’ll wipe them away later. He just wants to hold Wylan’s face and never let him go. “Welcome back, darling.”

Wylan frowns, his brown eyes still glazed, unfocused. Jesper nods encouragingly, his thumb rubbing circles beneath his eye. It’s okay, he wants to say. I’m here, everything’s going to be okay. 

Before he can, Wylan jerks out of his grasp. He scrambles across the mattress and leaves Jesper’s cold hands hovering in the air. Jesper swallows down his panic as Wylan presses himself into the wall, his eyes widening and darting around the room.

“Where am I?” he stammers. Jesper notices the rapid rise and fall of Wylan’s chest then and shares an uneasy look with Kaz. The Heartrender’s words come back to him, “severe” and “tricky” breaking through his relief.

“You’re in the Slat, Wylan,” Jesper tells him. Wylan shakes his head, his hair falling in front of his face. 

“The-the Slat?” he asks. His voice trembles and Jesper eases himself closer to him, his hand slightly raised. He’s found Wylan in dysregulated states before and brought him back, but something about this feels off.

“In the Barrel,” he says, his voice like an autumn breeze. 

“The Barrel?” His voice is so high it scratches Jesper’s ear, and panic seeped deep into the two words. He shakes his head again, wilder this time, and he’s going to hurt himself if he keeps going. 

“Yes,” he says again. He reaches for Wylan’s hand, only to grasp at thin air. He looks up and sees Wylan’s hand curled against his chest. Then he looks again and sees the feral look in his boyfriend’s eye. Behind him, Kaz stiffens, and a lump forms in Jesper’s throat. “Last night. Remember we went out, we went to the Barrel-”

“No!” he cries.

Wyaln falls from the bed, landing in an ungraceful heap on the floor. He pulls himself hastily to his feet, runs a hand through his hair, and steps back, the bed acting as a barrier between them and him. Jesper tries not to scream. He’s never seen Wylan like this, not even at the Ice Court. Hell, not even his father struck such fear in him. One trembling hand is raised, half curled into a fist, and his panic-stricken eyes dart from Jesper to Kaz. He looks ready to either start a fight or hurl himself through the far window. Jesper feels he should be ready to grab him, whichever he does.

Kaz steps out from behind Jesper, exuding a coolness that he wishes he felt. His cane touches the floor once, twice, and Jesper waits for the miracle. 

“Wylan-”

“How do you know my name?”

Jesper freezes. Kaz freezes. They turn and look at each other. Their movements are slow like old doors on rusted hinges. As one, they look back at Wylan, his quick gasps filling the air, his whole body shaking. Jesper reaches out to him, but Kaz’s cane blocks his path. 

“Who the hell are you?” Wylan asks. “And where have you taken me?”

The storm clouds return and when they open, Jesper lets them drown him. 

[irrevocableloves]

violent delights

twilight rewrite! edward cullen x fem!witch!reader

chapter eight: questions & theories

previous chapter ౨ৎ masterlist ౨ৎ chapter nine

summary: after edward had mysteriously rescues her, she finally gets some answers.

warnings: violence, harassment

words: 4.6k (unedited)

All that could be heard was the shudder of my quickened breaths, not even a word coming from Edward’s mouth or even the drunken men who just stared in what was perhaps confusion? Maybe fear? Just moments ago, I could read them almost instantly. Hunger was what I felt from them. The absolute need for control. It sickened me.

I wasn’t sure what Edward had done, but the boys backed up and Edward made his way back into the car. I hurried and put my seatbelt on before he revved the engine and pulled forward. I couldn’t help but gasp as the men fell over as they backed away. Then he backed up swiftly, making the sharpest turn around that swished my insides. Even then, I still felt the safest I’ve ever been.

He raced down past the building and pulled onto the street, not even stopping at the sign or even waiting for someone to let him in. Honks blared past him, but not one flinch. As he raced down the street, I took the time to study him. His jaw was clenched, his hands gripped the wheel, his expression was full of fury; it looked as if he wasn’t even breathing at all.

“Are you okay?” I asked, my voice squeaked. I winced hearing my voice coming out so frail. 

“No.” He was fuming.

I was surprised when he’d made a complete stop at the side of the road. I didn’t realize I’d been looking at him the whole time when he finally stopped to look towards me, not even reaching my eye.

“Y/N?” he asked as softly as he could, although I could still hear the strains of anger.

“Yeah?”

“Are you all right?” His eyes met mine for a split second.

“I–I think so…” I don’t think I was. I was too shocked by it all.

“Do you think you can distract me?” he just about pleaded.

From just looking at him, I didn’t need to question his need for a diversion. But, what was there to say? The days without him had left me in a heap of depression and utter sense of boredom at school. I racked my brain of anything that seemed amusing, scratching out my search for vampires and the constant dreams I had of him that left me a sweating mess on my sheets.

“Tyler Crowley–he–um kept telling everyone he was taking me to prom? I think? I don’t really remember, I kinda tuned it out…” I admitted. I should’ve been more angry about it, but the absence of Edward had hit me a lot harder.

“I heard about that.” He seemed to be controlling his breaths.

“Really? Was I the last one to hear about this?” I tried to lighten the mood, it seemed to work when I was rewarded a slight chuckle. “If he thinks taking me to prom is making up for almost killing me, then I’ll just run him over with my car and make it even.”

I saw his mouth twitch a bit with my remark, almost forcing itself not to crack a smile. I decided to speak up again. “What’s wrong?”

“My temper. Sometimes it gets out of control.” He was whispering, ashamed of what he couldn’t control. “It’s taking everything in me not to turn around and hunt those animals. The vile, repulsive things they were thinking…” 

I know. I didn’t dare speak that aloud. I felt like I was losing my mind. Could he too hear their thoughts or were they as clear as day?

“It wouldn’t help to turn around and do it… or even run them over… At least that’s what I’m trying to  convince myself.”

A part of me wished that he would… hunt them down. The part of me that was completely exposed. The one that was forced to hear their thoughts. Unless I’d imagined it… but it wouldn’t have been too far off from reality.

“Jessica and Angela,” I broke the brief silence, realizing that it had been at least 20 minutes since I’d last contacted them. “I was supposed to meet them, they’re probably worried...”

Without another word, he started the engine. Yet again, racing through the streets in a blur. He parallel parked in a spot with ease, right in front of La Bella Italia. My eyebrows furrowed. From the time I’d told him about meeting the girls to our arrival at the restaurant, I never mentioned the location once.

In my swift time of thought, he’d already been opening my door.

 “What’re you doing?” I asked him.

“I’m taking you to dinner,” he said as if it was so plainly obvious. 

I fumbled with my seatbelt as my mind raced about as fast as Edward’s driving. Finally, I stepped out.

Just as we were entering, Jessica and Angela walked out, the both of them sighing with relief. Right as they were about to speak, they noticed the brooding, tall man beside me and their worried looks had faded, instead replaced with a red tint in their cheeks.

“Sorry I kept Y/N from dinner. We ran into each other and got talking.” Edward was the one to speak first. I was grateful. I couldn’t even bear to tell them what happened, at least not yet, I didn’t want to worry them. 

“We understand, yeah!” Jessica was completely flustered along with Angela.

“Would it be all right if I joined you?” he asked. He had a way with people, one that left them absolutely breathless. The girls were left in stutters.

“Um! Y-yeah sure!” Jessica breathed. Edward smirked.

“Um, actually, Y/N, we already ate while we were waiting — sorry," Angela confessed. 

“That’s okay! I’m not really that hungry anyways.” I shrugged. With all the nerves with Edward here, I wasn’t sure if I would even be able to stomach anything.

“I really think you should eat something,” Edward said in a low voice, leaning down to speak into my ear. I looked up at him, trying to cover up the fact that I was in complete awe. I simply nodded back at him as if I was in a trance.

“Sure, yeah.” I tried to say as composed as possible. 

He looked back to the two girls, then spoke, “Do you mind if I drive Y/N home tonight? That way the two of you aren’t left waiting.”

Jessica and Angela looked to me for an answer. I gave them a nod with a smile. This was exactly what I needed. A night to finally ask all of my unanswered questions from my brooding savior.

“Yeah! Not a problem! See you tomorrow, Y/N/N,” Jessica chirped.

“Bye Y/N,” Angela leaned in for a hug. “And Edward, thanks for staying and taking her home.” She smiled at him. He responded back with a tight, but genuine smile.

Once they left, Edward guided me towards the entrance,holding the door open for me. My heart skipped a beat. I walked through the door, immediately being greeted by a host. Actually, only Edward was greeted by the host. Just from the look in her eyes, I knew she was instantly enamored by his presence, a feeling that was all too familiar with practically anyone that laid their eyes on him. 

As she spoke, she never broke eye contact with him, not once looking towards me. I hated that it bothered me. The way she smiled at him, giggling at him once he spoke — it made me feel small.

“A table for two?” Her eye contact was still left unbroken, but when I looked towards Edward, his eyes were only on me. My breath trembled.

When she led us to a larger table, one that was meant for four, Edward spoke up, “Perhaps something more private?” He asked the host with a quick glance towards her before slyly pulling out a tip for her. Then his eyes were back on me. 

“Sure,” she said alluringly, still trying to catch Edward’s undivided attention. She led us over to the quieter area of the restaurant, with a ring of small booths lined up. “How’s this?” 

“Perfect.” He flashed a smile at her, one that had absolutely left her awed.

”Um-” she stuttered, “your server will be right out.” She walked away, still making glances back towards Edward.

“Wow.” That was all that I could possibly utter after that interaction.

“What?”

“You really shouldn’t do that to people.” I finally found my voice. “It’s hardly fair.”

“Do what?”

”Dazzle them like that.” I couldn’t possibly think of a word more fitting. “She’s probably hyperventilating in the kitchen right now.”

His eyebrows furrowed, which surprised me. Did he really not notice this effect he has on people?

“I dazzle people?” His head tilted to one side, his eyes full of curiosity.

“Oh, come on.” I giggled. “Do you really think everyone gets their way so easily?”

He ignored my question completely. “Do I dazzle you?”

I froze for a moment before asking, “What do you think?”

“Now that’s the real question…” He mumbled. He looked frustrated.

Thankfully, before I could even form a response, our server arrived, her eyes gleaming. Once again, another woman dazzled by just the mere presence of Edward Cullen.

“Hi. My name’s Amber and I’ll be your server tonight. What can I get you to drink?” She only looked at Edward and I noticed that his eyes, again, were on me.

“A Coke.” I said rather bland to the server.

“Two Cokes,” he said.

“I’ll be right back with that.” She shot him another smile, one that was completely unnecessary as his eyes still remained on me.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Fine?” I’d completely forgotten about the reason why he was here with me in the first place. I hated that. The way that every thought bolted out of my mind when it came to him, it was quite frustrating.

“You’re not a little shaken up? Dizzy, sick, cold…?”

I couldn’t help but chuckle. “No, I’ve always been pretty good at repressing unpleasant things.” And he was far from that.

He nodded. “Well, I’ll feel better once you have something in your system.”

Just after that, the server came back with our drinks and a basket of breadsticks. To make him feel better, I grabbed one to nibble on.

“Are you ready to order?” she asked Edward, her back facing me.

“Y/N?” he asked. She looked back at me uninterested. I tried my hardest to swallow my tongue.

I glanced at the menu, picking the first thing that my eyes fell to. “I’ll have the Fettuccine Alfredo.”

“And you?” She turned back to him with a smile.

“Nothing for me.” I knew it.

The server gave him a coy smile. “Just let me know if you change your mind.”

He pushed my drink towards me, nodding at it for me to drink. The waiter left disappointed.

Once the glass was in front of me, I sipped on it, forgetting how dehydrated I actually was. In under a minute, the soda was gone and embarrassingly enough, I was still thirsty.

I saw him push the other coke towards me. I gave him a smile, deciding to take small sips from it.

“Cold?” He asked. 

I felt a shiver down my spine and this time it wasn’t from Edward, but from the Coke that I’d chugged and the one that I was currently sipping on. 

Before I could even nod, he shrugged off his gray coat, one that looked a little too nice for a teenage boy. Underneath, he wore a casual dark blue button down with the two buttons loose to reveal a dark gray undershirt.

Once he handed me his coat, I was broken from my trance. I slid my arm into his coat, oddly, it was cold, almost as if I’d left it in my car that was drowning in snow from the night before. But in just seconds, the coat had warmed to my touch. Once it was on, I pushed back the sleeves as they were far too long on me…

“You sure you're alright? Normally a person would’ve gone into shock.” He pushed the breadsticks in front of me and I gladly served myself another.

Why was that? I couldn’t really make out a sane answer as to why my reaction didn’t amount to one of a normal person. There was truly only one answer. Him.

“I feel safe with you,” I confessed. 

His head went down, his eyes to the floor with a furrowed brow.

“I’m not… good for you.” He shook his head, his eyes still facing the ground.

“Your eyes are black again.” I saw his expression change, he looked back up at me, his eyebrows furrowed yet again, but this time in a state of confusion rather than disappointment. “I noticed your moods change according to your eye color, it’s quite interesting actually. One of my new theories.”

“So there’s more theories?” He had a faint smile and I could sense that he was a bit intrigued.

“Well I’m not gonna force it out of you. Just makes me feel a bit more sane.” He nodded at my response, his smile peeking a bit more in the corners of his mouth. 

“And what are these new theories?”

When the waitress came over, we both realized how close we were sitting and immediately straightened out. She set the dish in front of me and then turned to Edward.

“Did you change your mind? Isn’t there anything I can get you?” she asked him. 

“No, thank you.” Then gestured towards me. 

I looked around at the table, realizing I’d already finished the second coke. “Maybe just some water.” I gave her a tight smile.

She nodded, only smiling at Edward, then took the empty glasses off the table and walked off.

“So, those theories?” He moved closer to me.

“I’ll tell you later in the car. Only if I can ask you a few questions.”

“Done,” he said immediately, I was a bit surprised.

“Why are you here?” I started.

“To have dinner with you,” he said as if it were obvious.

“No, I mean Port Angeles. It’s an hour drive – you knew I was here.”

“Next.”

“C’mon, I gotta have at least some answers if you won’t tell me the big one.”

“Next,” he repeated.

I tried hard to not look as frustrated as I actually was. I shouldn’t have. I should feel grateful and not poke my head in where it didn’t belong. But I couldn’t help the pull I felt towards him, the need to know him. Instead, I pulled my focus towards the steaming food in front of me, twisting the noodles on my fork and sticking them in my mouth. It was actually delicious.

The waitress came back with two waters without another word.

“Okay.” I took a sip of my water before speaking up again. “So… let’s say, hypothetically, someone could know what people are thinking. Read minds, you know?” I wasn’t even sure if this question was regarding me or him, but I was intrigued either way.

“Hypothetically?” He asked, amused.

“Mhm.” I nodded. “So, how does it work? How is it that someone could find another person at the right time and just know that they’re in trouble?”

“Well, hypothetically, it shouldn’t take that someone any mind reading at all to know just how much trouble you get into in a town with absolutely no trouble.” He chuckled.

I only just looked at him, waiting for him to tell me the truth or not. Just from my look, he seemed frustrated, as if he was battling a war in his mind of whether or not he should tell me the truth.

“You can trust me, you know?” Without a second thought I reached my hands towards his, but he pulled them away. My face was tinted red. I was glad his eyes were still to the floor.

“I was wrong about you.” He admitted. “You're much more observant than I gave you credit for.”

“Thought you were always right.”

“I used to be.” He finally looked at me. “But, you proved me wrong.”

He spoke up again before I could respond. “I was wrong about something else, too.”

“You’re not a magnet for accidents. No… that’s not a broad enough classification. You are a magnet for trouble. If there is anything dangerous within a ten-mile radius, it will inevitably find you.”

“And you think that’s you?” I guessed. 

Just from his expression, I knew I was right. His face turned cold, in another effort to shut me out completely. 

“Unequivocally,” he said.

My hands stretched across the table again as they had a mind of its own. Even as he pulled away, my hands persisted, shadowing over the back of his hand, feeling his skin with my fingertips. It was cold, like stone. Familiar. Like in my dream. Once the cold started to dissipate from my fingertips, I slowly inched my hand back…

I wasn’t the only one who noticed it. Edward looked down at where my fingertips once laid, a bewildered look on his face. To break his focus, I cleared my throat, muttering, “Thank you,” I started. He looked up at me, trying hard to not glance back down at his hand. I continued “For saving me… again…”

“Let’s hope there isn’t a third.” He said, his usual condescending self resurfacing. He placed both of his hands under the table, pulling himself back into our conversation.

“I followed you to Port Angeles,” he admitted. “I feel protective over you.” His expression seemed like he didn’t know why himself, but he continued on, “I've never tried to keep a specific person alive before, and it's much more troublesome than I would have believed. But that's probably just because it's you. Ordinary people seem to make it through the day without so many catastrophes.”

It should’ve bothered me, but it didn’t. Instead, I felt content over the fact that this connection wasn’t imaginary. He felt it to the point where he felt the need to protect me. Nothing about this was normal, but I seemed to not be fazed by it at all. So, why should I fight it? The only thing I was determined to fight was the smile that threatened to curve on my lips. 

“Did you ever think that maybe my number was up the first time, with the van, and that you've been interfering with fate?" I speculated, distracting myself.

“That wasn't the first time," he murmured. “Your number was up the first time I met you." 

My breath hitched. But somehow, the memory didn’t bother me anymore, not when I felt the safety I felt with him right now. Not when he’d gone beyond faith and saved me twice.

"You remember?" he asked.

"Yes." I was as calm as ever. 

“And yet here you sit." There was a trace of disbelief in his voice; he raised one eyebrow.

"Yes, here I sit… because of you." I paused. “Because somehow you always manage to find me?”

He studied me, his expression guarded. His eyes flashed down to my plate, then returned to mine.

“You eat, I'll talk," he bargained. 

I looked down at my now, lukewarm food, realizing how long it’s been since I’d taken a bite. I filled up my fork and ate in return for his explanation.

“It's harder than it should be — keeping track of you. Usually I can find someone very easily, once I've heard their mind before…" He glanced at me with anxiety, and I noticed I had tensed up. I forced myself to swallow, then piled up my fork again for another bite.

“I kept loose tabs on Jessica, knowing only you could find trouble in Port Angeles. At first I didn’t notice when you roamed off on your own – her thoughts were quite scrambled. Then, when I realized you’d left them, I went looking for you at the bookstore I saw in her head. I could tell you hadn’t gone in yet – you’d gone south. I searched through the thoughts of people on the street just to see if anyone saw you. I was strangely anxious…”  He trailed off, lost in thought, his gaze distant.

“I drove in circles, still… listening. The sun was setting, and I was considering following you on foot. But then—" He paused, teeth clenched in sudden fury, making an effort to regain composure.

“Then what?" I whispered. He continued to stare towards the floor. 

“I heard what they were thinking," he growled, his upper lip curling slightly back over his teeth. So could I, even if it was just for a moment. “I saw your face in their minds." He was struggling to compose his anger as his entire face twitched up.

His hands were now in his face to contain his fury. “It was very… hard — you can't imagine how hard it was for me to simply take you away, and leave them… alive." I was holding in a gasp. But, still… somehow… I wasn’t afraid of him. 

“I could have let you go with Jessica and Angela, but I was afraid if you left me alone, I would go looking for them," he admitted in a whisper. I sat quietly, dazed, my thoughts incoherent. My hands were folded in my lap, and I was leaning weakly against the back of the seat. He still had his face in his hand, and he was as still as if he'd been carved from the stone his skin resembled. 

Finally he looked up, his eyes seeking mine, full of his own questions. 

“Are you ready to go home?" he asked. The waitress had come over almost immediately after Edward muttered the words.

I nodded, satisfied that I’d be the one spending an hour long drive with him, one that would further my answers to my long-awaited questions.

“How are we doing?" she asked Edward. 

“We're ready for the check, thank you." He was a lot more reserved than earlier. His charming smirk had been replaced with a brooding expression, still reflecting the strain of our conversation. The waitress seemed to notice the change and looked a bit disoriented from it.

“S-sure," she stuttered. “Here you go." Before she even pulled out the check, a bill was already in his hand. He slipped it into the folder and handed it right back to her. 

“No change." He gave her a tight smile, then stood up. Meanwhile, I scrambled awkwardly up to my feet. 

She smiled invitingly at him again. “You have a nice evening." He didn't look away from me as he thanked her. I didn’t even bother to smile. Walking out, he was close beside me, but still careful not to touch me.

He opened the passenger door, holding it for me as I stepped in, shutting it softly behind me. I should’ve been used to this. But as I watched him circle around the car, so effortless and graceful, I couldn’t help but think of how I was so utterly astonished by him.

Once inside the car, he started the engine and turned the heater on high. I was grateful, because even in the warmth of his coat, the temporary chill of the car had left me in shivers and a cold breath. I didn’t even notice Edward weaving through traffic, as I usually did, but we were now on the freeway. That’s when he finally slowed down to a normal pace, for now…

“Now, about those theories…" he said, his usual smirk and smugness creeping its way back.

“I still have more questions,” I revealed. “Just one.”

He only nodded, staring me down, not even paying attention to the road.

“What am I thinking right now?”

He sighed. “Now that. That’s the most frustrating thing of all.”

My eyebrows furrowed as I waited for an answer.

“I can read every mind… apart from yours.”

My breath hitched. “Is there something wrong with me?”

“I hear voices in my mind and you think there’s something wrong with you?” So, I’m a double freak. I should’ve told him that I heard them too, even if it was only for a few moments… But if he could have secrets, so could I.

“How does it work?”

“Mostly, it’s like being in a huge hall filled with everyone speaking at once. It's just a hum — a buzzing of voices in the background. It’s not until I focus on one voice and that’s when their thoughts are clear.” He paused for a moment. “Most of the time I tune it all out — it can be very distracting. And then it's easier to seem normal.” It seemed agonizing.

“Why do you think you can’t hear me?”  I asked 

curiously.

“The only guess I have is that maybe your mind doesn't work the same way the rest of theirs do. Like your thoughts are on the AM frequency and I'm only getting FM." He grinned at 

me, suddenly amused.

“So you’re telling me that my mind doesn’t work right?” I chuckled, but really, his words unsettled me. It hit a nerve, tapping into a fear I’d always dreaded might be true. 

“Don’t worry, it’s just a theory… which brings us back to yours.”

I froze. Suddenly, saying it out loud made me feel foolish. Despite all my research and seemingly reliable conversations – I still felt like I was losing my mind.

He noticed my silence. “I won’t laugh,” he said, scrunching his grin into a line. 

I took a deep breath before I started. “So, I ran into an old friend – Jacob Black, an old family friend of mine… His dad is one of the Quileute elders.” I noticed his expression change, his jaw clenching.

“At La Push, he told me a few old legends – I think he was trying to scare me. But, he told me one…” I was distracted by the Forks welcome sign as Edward slowed down – I should’ve known that the hour-long car ride would be cut short from Edward’s driving habits. 

Right as I was about to continue onto my theory, my attention shifted to the flashing police lights and sirens as we were nearing the police station. Then, my dad’s cruiser parked right in front.

“My dad’s still here… Can you pull in?” I asked.

“That’s my father’s car in the end. What’s he doing here?”

Once he pulled in, we both exited the car, meeting Carisle as he walked down the steps of the police station.

“Carlisle. What happened?”

“Waylon Forge was found in a boat out near his place. I just examined the body.” 

Flashes of images consumed me. The boat. Red. So much red. In a blur, the flash of crimson red was surrounded by pale bodies devouring the deceased Waylon Forge.

“Y/N?” A voice interrupted the images, a shake and then a cold hand on my face is what I felt before I opened my eyes.

I squinted from the flashes of the red and blue police lights. With each blink, my vision cleared and in front of me was Edward – wearing an expression I’d never quite seen from him before: fear. 

And I felt it too, more than ever.

His once cold hand warmed on my face, almost tingling. But this time, he didn’t move it. 

“Y/N?” Carlisle interrupted over Edward’s shoulder. “Are you feeling faint?”

“No.” I cleared my throat. Edward had finally let go, but that warmth of his touch lingered severely. “I’m fine, thank you. Just… just shock… H-he died?” I stuttered. “How?”

I knew exactly how. The images from just seconds ago flickered. My heart pounded and my breath picked up from just the memory of it. The blood. Waymond’s blood. His lifeless body being torn apart by those three figures… Vampires.

Carlisle sighed. “Animal attack.”

next chapter

a/n: i'm so sorry i haven't updated in forever ..........

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[starogeorgina]

𝐕𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬

Paring: Jacaerys Velaryon x Targ oc

Warnings: Swearing, smut, incest

1.18

Notes: Massive thank you to everyone who's supported this story!💕

You start to grow nervous waiting on the carriage arriving from Winterfell. After waking up earlier than normal, you skipped breaking fast and went straight to the courtyard to wait on your children, your heart beating rapidly with excitement at the thought of seeing them so soon. The maester was supposed to change the bandage on your hand first thing, but this was too important; you didn’t want to miss such an important moment.

“I hope nothing has happened. It is a long journey.”

Jace tightens his grip around your waist. “Daemon is out flying on Caraxes, to make sure nothing happens. If something was wrong, we would know by now.”

Turning your head back, you look up at him and say, “I know you’re right, but I can’t stop worrying.”

“All your fears will settle once you see them.” Jace smiles and presses a kiss on your cheek. “I don’t know who will be more excited to see us—our children or Clara. She will need a few moons to recover—Lyarra!”

The gates to the courtyard open, and a carriage with a banner of House Stark comes into view. Hand in hand, you and Jacaerys run down the steps to greet them.

“My babies!” You smile so much that it starts to hurt your cheek. Bliss was the only word to describe how you felt. “Oh, my love's are finally home.”

The carriage stops just before the steps, and as soon as the door is open, Avery and Aethan burst out, and Jacaerys picks them both up. You kiss the backs of their heads.

“Mother! Kepa!”

Before Aemma can even step foot on the ground, you pull her into a hug and say, "My girl, my sweet girl.” You hold out your other hand for Rhaenys to take. “It’s okay, my darling.”

Looking behind her, Rhaenys reaches her hand out to touch something and says, "Come on, pup.” She jumps out and comes towards you, as does a direwolf pup. She cuddles into your side, “mummy.”

Jace places your sons back down to go to the carriage to receive your babe from Clara.

Tears sting your eyes when your son’s hold onto your skirts. The noose you felt around your neck had loosened since Aegon’s demise, but you never felt completely free of it until now. All you needed was for your five children to be at home, and your world should feel whole again.

“Where is Prince Daemon?” Jace asks; his eyes are trained on the handmaiden’s empty arms. “Where is our son?”

For a split second, you fear the worst until you see an unfamiliar young handmaiden appear from the opposite side of the carriage with your babe sleeping in her arms. “The lady of Winterfell kindly allowed one of her handmaidens, Lady Mormont, to assist me in bringing the children back.”

Tears of relief swell in your husband's eyes. He takes Daemon from her and holds him close, kissing the crown of his head. You would have the chance to hold your babe soon enough, but for now, you were content seeing him in his father's arms.

Quietly, you ask, “I’m presuming she is trustworthy.”

“I would not allow her near them if I didn’t believe so.”

You catch Jacaerys eye, and the two of you share a look and smile.

—

Lightly rocking your babe you watch as his brown eyes start to close over. His belly was full from feeding, so he would be settled for a couple of hours. His dark hair was starting to curl, closely resembling his father’s. He was truly beautiful.

“Ow!”

“Boys, be more gentle with your toys,” you say softly.

You feel the warmth from the fireplace against your back as you sit cross-legged on the floor, facing the rest of your children. Avery and Aethan were playing with their toys, wooden horses, and dragons. Rhaenys was curled up beside her pup, which, according to Clara, Lord Stark gave her as a gift since the pup followed your daughter everywhere. Aemma tried to fight sleep but has fallen asleep on your bed.

The excitement of being reunited with you and Jace, seeing their new rooms, and trying to comprehend their grandmother now being the queen was exhausting for your children.

“It is rude to stare, my love.”

“I’m only admiring,” Jace chuckles.

He had entered the room silently moments ago, but you had felt Jacaerys watching closely, taking everything in. He sits beside his sons on the floor, and Aethan hands him a toy and says, “Thank you.” Jace inspects the miniature dragon in his hands and asks, “What is this one called?”

“Arrax. It looks like Uncle Luke’s dragon.”

Jace’s eyes are full of tears; he ruffles the boy's hair. “That it does, son, that it does.”

It was hard coming to terms with all the deaths and betrayals your family has suffered, but you prayed time would help. The wounds of losing two brothers would never completely heal, but hopefully it would hurt to speak about them one day.

Five moons later

“I’ve written to Lord Stark, like we spoke of. He and his son Rickon will be our guests of honor in Dragonstone.”

Jace tilts his head, waiting for you to continue. He was sitting across the table from you while breaking fast with your children. “Dragonstone?”

“We are the prince and princess of Dragonstone; what better place to host them than our own castle? I spoke to her grace, and she wants to throw a grand feast to thank Lord Stark and his army for their support.”

He swallows down the food in his mouth while nodding in agreement. “Perhaps once things have settled and the realm has healed, we should return. It’s only a short distance on dragonback; we could still do our duties and spend time with our mother, Daemon, and brother while learning how to rule in our own name.”

“I think it’s a brilliant idea.” You smiled. Jace had a point. As much as you loved watching your mother become queen, you had started to miss the island you called home.

“Mummy.”

Feeling Avery tug on your nightgown, you help him sit on your lap. Unlike his other siblings, who all settled into their new routines and lived in the keep, your sweet boy had only clung to you and spent most nights crying until he was in bed beside you and Jacaerys. Avery reaches his small hand out and takes a piece of fruit from your plate, then rests his head against your chest.

Jace leans over and strokes his silver hair. “What do you think, my boy? Should we return to Dragonstone soon?”

Seeing the way your son’s face lightens up at the mention of returning home was all the confirmation you needed to know it was the right thing to do.

—

The library was empty aside from yourself and Jacaerys, although he hadn’t noticed you yet. After spending the morning in the training yard while Daemon continues to teach you, Rhaena, and Baela basic swordsmanship, you went looking for Jacaerys. There was no queen council being held until later in the day; your older children were attending their lessons, and your babe asleep with a stomach full of milk.

Jace jumps when you sneak up behind him, placing your hands on his waist. “You are a sneaky thing,” he laughs. “How did training with Daemon go?”

“Fine,” you say, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck. “It’s been a while since I had you alone, dear husband.”

“Lyarra,” his breath stutters when he feels your hand rubbing over his clothed cock. “You will be the death of me. Please, don’t tease.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

Jace turns his head around, grips your face, and presses his lips against your own. “Gods, no.”

Grinning, you untie his breeches, then fall to your knees, freeing his cock as you did.

You take Jace’s hardness into your mouth; your tongue swirls over the tip of his penis, then you start to bob your head back and forth as you suck and lick him. Tears roll down your cheeks when you gag, feeling his cock start to jolt in your mouth. It had been a while since you were intimate, and the last time Jace was focused on your pleasure, and it doesn’t take him long to come undone. He moans loudly while spilling his seed into your mouth.

You wipe away the saliva from your mouth and stand back up, just as Jacaerys fixes his breeches. He pulls you into his embrace and kisses the side of your neck. He whispers, “My love, I need to confess something to you.”

“What?”

“I’ve fantasized about taking you in many different ways in Dragonstone. The council room, the gardens, the great hall…” Jace holds you closer to him. “And when we return, I intend to do just that.”

The thought of Jace bending you over the table in the great hall causes heat to pool between your legs. Giggling, you shake your head and say, “Well, your fantasy will be a reality soon enough.”

“Come, let us go back to our chambers. I’ll have a bath drawn for us.”

Two years later

“Is it true Alicent has died?"

Clara nods and explains further while braiding your hair. “The winter fever took her, princess. The maester had her confined to a secluded room in OldTown when she started showing signs. They say that in her final days, she began asking to see her sons and daughter again.”

You had no love for Alicent; she was the bitch who made your mother's life as awful as she did yours. But you also had no room for hatred or ill-will in your heart. Now that Alicent was at peace, perhaps she was reunited with her family. You twirled the rings on your fingers; the reminder of outliving a child was painful. Aemma has already declared that if she is to have a son, he will be named Rhaegar.

“That’s…sad. How did you hear about this so soon?”

Her cheeks reddened slightly. “My friend—who currently serves as a handmaiden in OldTown mentioned it in her last letter to me.”

Her friend was the same handmaiden who traveled back with her from Winterfell, a pretty Northern girl with copper hair. You were more than certain the ladies were closer than most friends, but to avoid rumors spreading, they stopped visiting one another as frequently. “Princess Aemma will be in need of her own lady-in-waiting soon,” you point out. “Perhaps Lady Mormont would want the position as she is familiar with my children.”

Clara smiles and nods her head. “I shall say to her. That’s the braiding-finished princess.”

“Thank you—” You’re cut off when you hear fast-paced footsteps entering your room. The door to your chambers is opened, and Rhaenys runs excitedly. Her hair was styled identically to the way you wore it most days. “Reni, what have I told you about running in the halls?”

The walls outside your chambers were decorated with dragon statues. As a girl, you bumped into the solid objects many times and knew how painful it could be.

“Sorry, mother,” she says as she steps in front of you and twirls. “Do you like it?”

The dress Rhaenys was wearing was the first one she had designed for herself. The gown was olive green with pale orange ribbons and embroidery on it. The smile on Jacaerys face when he saw the dress with colors identical to his own dragon was priceless; he almost became teary-eyed.

“You look beautiful, my girl.”

When Clara finishes the last touches to your outfit, you hold your hand out for your daughter to take.

It was Avery and Aethan’s name day, and a small celebration was being held in the great hall. A ship with Daemon, your siblings, and Lord Corlys arrived the night before. Princess Jaehaera and Prince Maelor would be present as well; both children inherited their gentle nature from their mother.

Her grace, the queen, had flown to Dragonstone Syrax a few days prior. The longest you had gone without seeing her was a week. Even living apart you had remained extremely close.

Four years later

Hearing your agonizing screams of pain, Jacaerys barges into your shared martial chambers. The maester and midwives kept assuring him that nothing was wrong and he should remain waiting outside, but he could take it no longer. You are thankful this labor was quicker than the last; your water had only broken the night prior, and now that the sun is rising again, you are only a few pushes away from the pain being over.

“Jacaerys!”

He comes to your side and takes hold of your hand. “I’m here, I’m here!”

“It fucking hurts!” You sob, “It hurts so much.”

“The pain will be over soon,” he says, planting a kiss on your sweaty forehead. “And you’ll have the babe in your arms.”

“One more push,” the midwife orders.

Screaming, you use all your remaining strength to bring another child into the world. Holding out your arms, desperate to hold your newborn for the first time. The seconds it takes for the midwife to wrap the babe in a blanket feel like it's never ending.

“A strong boy, kicking like a goat.”

Tears roll down Jace’s cheeks as he watches the babe finally be placed in your arms. “I’m proud of you, Lyarra.”

“My sweet boy,” you say, taking in the newborn's appearance. He has typical Targaryen features aside from his dark hair, like his fathers. “He’s so tiny and perfect.”

—

After your handmaidens help you change into a fresh gown and the bedding is changed, Jacaerys assists you over to the chairs by the fireplace in your chambers. You take his arm before sitting down.

“I don’t believe I’ve seen her grace this delighted in a long time,” Clara, who had followed closely behind, “As are the children, they are keen to meet the newest prince to grace us in Dragonstone.”

Since the day the maester confirmed your pregnancy, your mother and Daemon have been overjoyed with excitement. Rhaena was expecting her first child within the next moon, so it only added to the joy of knowing you got to bond over experiencing being with child at the same time.

Jacaerys opens the door for your mother to enter the room, and he and Daemon go to inform your children and siblings that it’s a boy before bringing them through to be introduced to him. “Lyarra, my sweet,” your mother says, walking over to you with tears in her eyes. “The gods have been kind and granted you another beautiful babe, have you thought of a name yet?”

“No, not yet,” you say, lifting your gaze from the babe to meet hers. “Can you stay longer than a few days this time?”

She brushes fallen hair out of your eyes and says, “I will stay however long you want me, my love. If I’m needed at court, I can go on Syrax, then come back.”

You rest your head on her shoulder when she sits beside you and says, “Thank you.”

“You are my daughter; I’ll always be here for you.”

—

Hearing footsteps, Jacacerys looks up from the book in his hands, smiling when he sees you walking towards him. The room is almost in complete darkness, aside from a few candles and the moonlight.

“It’s late; you should be resting.”

“As should you, my prince.”

Jace puts the book down and offers you his hand to help guide you down onto the chair beside him. He kisses the back of your scarred hand. “I swear by the faith of the seven, you are the most beautiful human I’ve ever seen.”

“Stop,” you blush. “It’s a sin to lie, husband.”

“I speak only the truth,” he says. “How are you feeling?”

The day had been overwhelming, to say the least. It was hard to believe your son was almost a day old and was still yet to be named. “I’m exhausted, but I reckon the babe will wake up for a feed soon.” You cuddle into Jace’s side and say, “I’ve thought of a good name, one of great honor.”

“What is it?”

“Jacaerys.”

Jace plants a kiss on the crown of your head and says, “I love you, now and forever.”

𝘎𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘢𝘨𝘦, 𝘘𝘶𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘙𝘩𝘢𝘦𝘯𝘺𝘳𝘢 𝘛𝘢𝘳𝘨𝘢𝘳𝘺𝘦𝘯, 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦, 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘈𝘯𝘥𝘢𝘭𝘴, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘙𝘩𝘰𝘺𝘯𝘢𝘳, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘍𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘔𝘦𝘯, 𝘓𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘒𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘥𝘰𝘮𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘗𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘰𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘮, 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘴 𝘳𝘶𝘭𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘥𝘰𝘮𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳𝘴 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘳𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘦.

𝘙𝘩𝘢𝘦𝘯𝘺𝘳𝘢’𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘪�� 𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘦, 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘳𝘶𝘭𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘒𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘑𝘢𝘤𝘢𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘴 𝘛𝘢𝘳𝘨𝘢𝘳𝘺𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘘𝘶𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘓𝘺𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘢 𝘛𝘢𝘳𝘨𝘢𝘳𝘺𝘦𝘯.

[gracexthoughts]

of violent delights chap 16

too sweet

7  june 1996

Euphemia’s POV 

We made it back to the hospital wing last night in the nick of time and the discovery that Sirius had escaped sent Snape into a conniption. I won’t deny it was slightly amusing; while Snape tends to be nicer to me than Harry, he’s still a prick. Pomfrey let Harry, Hermione, Ron and I leave the hospital wing at noon this afternoon, although most of the students are at Hogsmeade for the last trip before the train leaves tomorrow. 

Exhausted, I’ve chosen to rest instead of going to Hogsmeade. We may have gone to bed around eleven last night, but I added about 3 extra hours to my life so I feel like I stayed up most of the night but first, Harry and I decide to pay a visit to Lupin. His office door is open and as we enter, I notice most of his things have already been packed. “Hello Mia, Harry,” Lupin says before he turns to see us, “I saw you coming,” he smiles and motions to the Maruader’s Map open on his desk. He has more scrapes across his face and he looks terribly pale. “I’ve looked worse.” 

“You’ve been sacked?” Harry asks, looking around. 

“No, I’ve resigned. Professor Snape let slip the nature of my condition and I feel its best to get ahead. At this point, the outcome is inevitable.” Lupin sighs, taking books from the shelf behind his desk and into a case. 

“That’s not fair! You didn’t hurt anyone! Maybe Dumbledore-” 

“Dumbldore has already risked enough on my behalf,” Lupin interrupts me, raising a hand to stop me. “By this time tomorrow, owls will start arriving with angry letters from parents. Like I said, it is inevitable. It’s alright, let’s just say I’m used to it.” 

“Doesn’t make it fair,” I sigh. “You’ll come live with us, won’t you? Now that Sirius can’t, we have the room.” 

“I will visit, I promise, but I won’t stay. I have my own place in London and you don’t need a guardian anymore, Mia.” Lupin moves around the desk and leans against it to face us. “I’m quite proud of the two of you and how much you learned this year. Tell me about your Patronuses.” 

Harry and I tell him what happened, both times, and what forms our charms took. “Our father, his animagus form was a stag wasn’t it?” Harry asks at the end of his story. 

“Yes, that’s why we called him Prongs,” Lupin says, smiling faintly at the memory. He stands suddenly, as if just remembering something important, and moves back around his desk and hands harry back his Invisibility Cloak. “I brought this back from the Shack this morning. And, since I am no longer your teacher, I feel no guilt about giving this back to you as well,” he says motioning to the map. “I dare say that James would be very disappointed if his children never found any of the secret passages in the castle.” We all chuckle at that. 

“None of it made any difference,” Harry says sadly, looking down at the cloak in his hands, “Pettigrew got away and Sirius-” 

“Is alive. That makes all the difference in the world,” Lupin implores, looking very deeply into Harry’s eyes as he places a hand on his shoulder. “You did a very noble thing, stopping us from killing Peter. Your parents would have most certainly done the same, and Sirius may not be absolved but he is free. And the two of you are certain of his innocence. That, for now, is enough… Now, I must say goodbye. Send me an owl once you are settled in your apartment, okay?” Lupin asks, handing me a small piece of parchment with an address scribbled on it. 

“I will,” I nod, smiling up at my godfather and he nods, picking up his suitcase and his walking stick but before he does, he turns to the map still on his desk and, with a flick of his wand, mutters “Mischief Managed,” with a nostalgic smile and leaves the office and the classroom, leaving Harry and I in his office in silence, just the two of us once again. 

✦

Mattheo’s POV

I step into the already raging party, instantly hit with loud music and flashing lights, the air is thick with warmth and smoke as a majority of the student body celebrates the end of the school year. I push through the crowd until I see Theo, Enzo, Elladora and Astoria and make my way towards them. 

“Hey mate, finally decided to stop moping and join the party?” Theo chuckles, lightly smacking my shoulder. 

“Shut up,” I grumble and take the liquor bottle that he’s holding and take a swig. 

“Why were you moping, Mattheo?” Astoria asks from the arm of the chair to my left. 

“He got stood up by the princess last night,” Enzo says sitting down next to her, his comment making Theo chuckle. Enzo and Theo had been the unfortunate two that were still in the common room when I finally came back last night and I told them everything which I am now severely regretting. 

“You planned a date with her?” Elladora cries, disgust on her face. 

“No!” I growl, reaching around Astoria to smack the top of Enzo’s head. “We were supposed to have rounds. She bailed and I am not moping.” 

Ella watches me for a moment before stepping closer and leaning up to whisper in my ear, “When she breaks your heart don’t come crying to me.” And with that, she shoves past me and further into the party. 

“For the record, I think the two of you would be great together, Matt,” Astoria says, squeezing my hand for a moment. 

“Yeah, The Girl Who Lived and the Heir of the Dark Lord. Common sense pairing really; what could go wrong?” Enzo mutters behind his drink, earning another smack but from Astoria this time. 

“Why should that matter? The war is over and your father’s gone, isn’t he?” 

“I need a drink. Feel free to stop discussing my life,” I grumble and turn away from my friends, their laughter following me. I push through the crowd towards the back wall of the room where the drink table is and at it, I see a familiar figure making a drink. 

“Well, well, well, look who I found,” I say lowly in her ear, startling her and she turns to face me. 

“Hey! You scared the shit outta me!” Mia says, her face lighting up with a large smile. 

“Hey Princess,” I say with a small smile. She’s wearing lightly distressed jeans and a tight and cropped green shirt which makes her auburn hair look more vibrant; all this to say she looks fucking hot. “You look great,” I say, resisting the urge to tell her how good she looks in green and how lovely she’d look wrapped up in the dark green sheets of my dorm bed. 

“Thanks,” she says, her cheeks flushing as she tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. “Hey listen, I’m so sorry about last night,” Mia says earnestly, “The whole thing was so much more complicated and insane than I ever could have guessed and I couldn’t get away. I’m sorry.” Her green eyes are wide and honest and all the bitterness that has sat in my chest the last 24 hours melts away. 

“‘S’arlight, Mia. No big deal,” I say with a shrug, hoping I’m hiding the disappointment I felt last night. 

“I’m even more sorry that my brother interrupted us yesterday,” she says, picking up the drink she had been making and taking a sip. 

“We do seem to get interrupted a lot, don’t we?” I chuckle, pouring myself a cup of Firewhiskey. I tell myself that us getting interrupted is for the best but still everytime I’m left wondering what would have happened if we were left alone for another minute or twenty. “So, what happened last night that was such a mess?” 

“Ugh, Godric,” she sighs with a chuckle. “It’s a very long story but it involved a secret tunnel, a werewolf, a rat, a dog and several dementors.” 

“Bloody hell, what did you get yourself into this time?” I chuckle, eyes wide and Mia laughs. 

“A mess for sure,” she laughs. “But it ended up being for the best, I think.” 

“You didn’t have anything to do with the runaway hippogriff and Sirius Black escaping, did you princess?” I ask, stepping closer, and very intrigued at hearing her story. 

“That’s preposterous!” She exclaims, sarcastically scandalized. 

“Salazar, it’s a party, Potter, not school. Who actually speaks like that?” I tease. 

“Huh, and here I was starting to think you liked the way I talk,” she fires back without a moment’s hesitation, her eyes flicking to my lips only for a moment. 

“Hey, Mia, there you are. You said you’d be right back and I got worried. Everything okay here?” One of the Weasley twins asks, his eyes boring into me as I step back from Mia and he wraps an arm around her. Mia’s shoulders tense slightly as irritation flickers in her eyes for a split second. 

“Peachy,” I deadpan, returning his gaze as I take a long sip of my drink. Interrupted, again. 

“Hey, Freddie, Matt and I were just talking. Do you need a drink?” Mia says and I suppress a smile at Mia using my nickname so casually in front of Fred because it seems to cause him to bristle. Fred raises an eyebrow and looks back to me, his arm still around Mia’s shoulders casually, the sight twisting my gut into a knot.

“Oh yeah? Sure, I’ll take a drink,” he says, not taking his eyes off me as he grabs an alcoholic Butterbeer bottle but it seems like he’s had quite a few already. 

“Yeah, Freddie. No need for a guard dog,” I sneer, leaning back against the table, my gaze not leaving Fred’s, jealousy raging in my stomach and chest. Fred stiffens, his jaw ticking, as Mia moves out from under her arm. 

“Okay, unnecessary,” she snaps at me before looking back to Weasley. “Can the two of you cool it with whatever macho-testosterone-filled-pissing contest you’ve had going all year? Unless you’d rather go to the bathroom and measure them just to finally settle it all?” Mia snarks. “Mattheo and I are friends now, I told you that earlier, so there’s no need to be protective,” she says to Fred before turning to me, ”and there’s no need to be defensive.” She looks between the two of us, daring one of us to defy her. 

“Mia, how can you be friendly with him? His father-”

“I am very aware, Fred, and if I, of all people, can move past it then certainly you can as well!” Mia fires back, interrupting Fred. 

“I don’t need you to defend me, princess,” I bite out, my gut twisting more and more every time Mia looks at him. Mia turns to me, hurt hiding behind her eyes and I immediately regret saying it. 

“Hey, don’t talk to her like that!” Fred snaps, reaching out to push me back but I swing on instrict, my fist connecting with his face, and force him to stumble back. 

“Stop!” Mia cries, stepping between us as a crowd forms a circle around us. Mia pulls Fred’s hand away from his face, nothing bleeding but he’ll take a shiner home tomorrow. Fred pushes Mia behind him, her much smaller frame easy for him to push back as he comes to get in my face, using the inch of height he has on me to his advantage. 

“You leave her alone. She has enough trouble in her life without you adding more,” he says lowly to me, trying to be threatening but, to me, the pranksters of Hogwarts are just clowns. 

“Back up, Weasley, or I’ll send you home to your mummy in a box,” But I don’t get a chance to make good on my threat as Mia wrenches Fred back by his arm and starts shouting at him how she’s not a helpless damsel in distress and she doesn’t need him to protect her from anyone but I stop listening and stalk through the crowd and out of the party. 

At the back of the room, there's a slightly hidden staircase that leads up to the boat house and the lake. I take the stairs two at a time, no longer in the mood for parties or people, and take a deep breath as the warm night air hits my face and enters my lungs. She’s too good for you. She’s better off without you in her life, the voice in my head reminds me, souring my mood further as I reach for a cigarette. I try to spark my lighter but it refuses to light, out of fuel, and angrily I chuck it into the water of the Black Lake, sending ripples across the otherwise still waters as I sit on the edge of the ancient dock. 

I sigh, looking down at the unlit cigarette in my hand and try to snap the fingers of my free hand, desperately hoping to produce a flame long enough to spark. After a few tries, I manage it; a small but steady flame at my fingertips, the warmth dancing along my skin but not burning, and I inhale the smoke into my lungs and let the flame extinguish. The waning moon shines brightly on the surface of the lake and the hum of insects and birds and creatures fills my ears, slowly draining the angry blaze in my chest to smoldering embers. 

I don’t know how long I sit here, smoking and staring at the water and thinking about Mia; the physical manifestation of all I want in the world and everything I can’t have. Of course the first girl I want more than one night with is her. She’s too good, too sweet, too gentle for the likes of me. Men like me don’t get the girl, they don’t get happy endings, they don’t get what they want and I hate myself for allowing my heart to convince my brain that I could have all that. I take a final drag of my cigarette and flick the roach into the water, sending more ripples across the surface as it floats away with my hope. 

“That’s littering, you know?” A voice pulls me from the dark depths of my own mind and I turn my head to see Mia standing by the stairs. 

“Gonna give me detention? Get a head start on next year?” I ask dryly, turning back to look out at the water. I hear Mia’s footsteps across the wooden dock until she appears in my peripheral and sits next to me at the edge of the dock. 

“I’m really sorry about Fred. He’s drunk and he’s being stupid and protective and a jerk. He shouldn’t have brought up your dad, you don’t deserve that, I’m sorry,’’ she says, her voice soft and gentle. 

“‘S fine,” I grumble, resisting the urge to look at her. 

“No it’s not. He was totally out of line, that’s not okay,” she implores. When I don’t respond, she reaches out, placing her hand on my knee and setting me on fire, but I can’t give in to it, I can’t, so I pull away and stand up.

“I’m used to it. It’s whatever. Have a good summer, Potter,” I force myself to say, sparing one glance at her beautiful face clouded in hurt, before I tear my eyes away and start back towards the party. 

“So that’s it?” Her voice rings out, stopping me in my tracks against my will. “The year is over and you’re just going to go back to hating me? Pretend that nothing happened this year? That something didn’t change between us? That there’s nothing here? You’re just gonna run away because you’re scared?” Hurt clouds her voice, changing it from the clear, sweet, tempting sound I’m so used to and I turn around to face her. She’s standing now, her back to the water and her hair blowing out behind her in the gentle breeze, her eyes dark in the low light but confusion shines in them. Even with her face in shadows and her features contorted by pain, she’s still the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen. 

“I’m not scared,” I manage to say, my fists clenched at my side. 

“Then why are you acting like this? C’mon Mattheo, we’ve been towing this line for months and you’re going to just walk away? Try and make me think it's all been in my head?” She asks, moving to close some of the distance between us. 

“Mia,” I breathe out, her magnetic field threatening to pull me in the closer she gets to me.

“No. Say it. Tell me it's all in my head,” she implores, looking up at me pleadingly, like I am her last life line. 

“Stop.” 

“I'll stop if you can look me in the eyes and tell me its all in my head...You can’t say it, can you?” She asks, now a mere breath away from me, her perfume invading my senses and it takes all of my crumpling willpower to not reach out and touch her. “You’re many things, Mattheo Riddle, but you are not a liar. Not to me. You can’t say it because you know it's not true. You’ve felt it too.” 

“I’m not a good man, Mia,” I say, my voice rough. “I’m not a good person and I’m not going to pretend I am because running around pretending you are a good person is worse than just accepting you aren't one. I’m not good for you; everything I touch I break and I don’t want to break you.” 

“I think you are a good person. I’ve seen it, I know it. You’re just afraid to show anyone because you think it makes you weak but it doesn’t!” 

“I’m not afraid of anything,” I snap. 

“Fine, then prove it!” She says so loudly it echoes over the water for a moment. We stand there for a moment completely still, our eyes locked and our breath uneven. I want nothing more than to close the distance between us but I don’t because she’s right. I am scared. I’m scared because there is no way this works out well. I’m not a good man and I’m not a good partner and she deserves the world and I could never give it to her. “Why are you so bloody stubborn?” She breathes out, shaking her head slightly before she takes a step forward and, cupping my face in her hands, presses her lips to mine and my world explodes. 

All my willpower crumples under her touch and I give in; my hands find the bare skin of her waist, pulling her body closer to mine, as our lips move in tandem. All I’m aware of is her; her lips, the way she smells and tastes, and the feel of her body pressed against mine. The world could implode around us and I wouldn’t notice, all my senses are consumed with her. Her hands are in my hair, tangling with my curls and I pull her impossibly closer as my hands clutch her to me desperately; one still on the bare skin of her waist and the other on her cheek, wrapped up in strands of her hair that is as soft as I’ve always thought it looked. I kiss her like the world is ending, like a starved man who hasn’t eaten in years, like kissing her could absolve me of all the darkness in my soul and make me anew. 

She pulls away slightly after a moment, both of us breathless, and I’m in awe of her like this: her lips swollen, hair tousled and pupils dilated. “Matt,” she says breathlessly and I lean back in, capturing her lips once more. I step her backwards until her back is pressed against the wall of the boathouse, eliciting a small gasp from Mia’s mouth as her bare skin collides with the cool glass. I smirk against her lips, pressing further into her body as I deepen the kiss, taking advantage of her gasp. My body takes over, no longer thinking through my actions or their consequences, and I just feel. All that exists to me in this moment is us and for once I’m not the son of the Dark Lord and she’s not The Girl Who Lived. We are just Mattheo and Euphemia, Matt and Mia, and right now that is more than enough.

a/n; ahhhh!!!

yes this is named after too sweet by hozier bc its sooooo mattheo riddle coded and fit really well and I was listening to it while i wrote this. also this gif makes me literally feral so enjoy ;)

one more chapter to go in PoA year and then we get to move on to GoF so yay!

taglist; @purplegardenwhispers @somethingswiftandstyles @weasleyreidstyles @mayamonroem @girlbooklover555 @stxrszurzolo @abaker74

[the-overanalyst]

Tropes I Live For

Rivalries

By extension: Rivals to Lovers

Symbolic Superpowers

Dysfunctional Families

Heists

Mastermind Heroes

Special Schools

Living Weapons / Human Experiments

Gruff Older Man to Father Figure

Forbidden Romance

Prince(ss) x Pauper

Found Family

Badass With A Heart of Gold

Ancient Advanced Civilizations

Himbos

[marsneedstherapy]

why would the secert shanghai characters work so well in like a university au...