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jinkicake · 1 year

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Behind Closed Doors

The demons and how they would love you in secret.

Barbatos, Lucifer, Mammon, Satan x Reader

A/N: All week I’ve been trying to write a Luci hate fic but, I can’t finish long works to save my own life soooooooo.... I wrote this instead :-) maybe one day I’ll post the luci fic... maybe not!

WC - 2.2k

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Barbatos plays his role in a secret relationship a little too well. Much to his dismay, he neglects you most nights anyway due to his job and the tasks that come with it so the only time you spend together is those that are in passing. When Barbatos comes to drop something off, he will spend a few moments holding your hand or running his fingers along your jaw. He’s really good at keeping things hush-hush and could probably do so for the rest of your lives.

“How are you, my dear?”

You’ll never understand how Barbatos finds you in the most hidden places, you could be in a closet underneath the stairs in an old hallway and he could still find you in no time. Today, however, you’re in a far corner of the library. Underneath one of the large open windows, you’re tucked behind a curtain in a comfy chair with some old book in your lap. The book is not open as you decide to play on your phone instead.

With Barbatos now here, you decide that you won’t need the mobile device or the book for entertainment.

“I’m alright, how are you?” You sigh into the demon’s touch as he cups your cheek. The butler stands tall beside you as his gloves tickle your skin.

“Don’t worry about me,” He calls you to sleep as his thumb runs over your cheekbone, gently forcing you to relax with his presence and a bit of magic. “how can I make your day better?” Barbatos would do anything to see that your wants and desires are settled.

“By resting with me,” Barbatos frowns at your wish and brushes his fingers against the underside of your jaw.

“You know that I hate to deny you of anything,” He murmurs while keeping his eyes on the tips of his gloved fingers, the demon watches intensely as he runs the digits along your throat. You tilt your head back slightly, closing your eyes and that causes the demon’s breath to hitch. “I can’t give myself to you just yet.” Barbatos leans forward to place a kiss on the corner of your lips. It’s a peck that lingers as he pauses for a few moments before pulling away and pushing the hair from your face. “Please be patient until tonight,”

At the sound of a creak against the wooden floors, the warm touch against your neck is gone and so is the demon. Barbatos is gone before you can even realize it and you sigh out into the air.

“(Y/N)! What a surprise to see you here!” Diavolo exclaims as he comes across you, his arms are held open wide with two heavy books resting in his hands. “Small world, huh?”

“Lord Diavolo, what are you doing here?” You try to keep your heartbeat under control and your face neutral like you weren’t just partaking in a secret rendezvous with his dear friend.

“Well, I had to find a few books for a dinner I’m hosting this weekend. You’re coming along with Lucifer, correct?” Oh, he must be talking about what Lucifer corned you this morning for. You can never turn down a request from the future king nor can you disappoint Lucifer so you’re often at his castle.

Plus you get to see your boyfriend and that is something you can never reject.

“That reminds me, (Y/N), have you seen Barbatos recently? I can’t seem to find him anywhere and he’s always behind me-”

Beloved Lucifer deep down enjoys a secret relationship. He loves having to sneak around with you and the tension that arises from it all. There’s nothing more that he enjoys than stealing a kiss when no one else is looking or meeting you late in your room when everyone else is asleep. He’s a private demon and likes to keep all of his affairs away from the public, you’re his mortal treasure after all and he is not going to ever share you.

“Let’s head to my room! I finally got my hands on a new limited edition-”

“Huh? I thought we were going to the casino.”

“Isn’t it time for dinner?”

Past the nonstop chatter of Levi, Mammon, and Beel, you find yourself trailing slightly behind the group. The afternoon is still young and bright as your classes have just gotten out for the day and you’re more than ready to unwind and go relax.

Perhaps you’ll jump from social media app to social media app to let your mind completely unravel.

Or maybe you’ll go for a walk and listen to the new album from-

In the midst of your thoughts, a hand grabs your wrist and yanks you into a hidden doorway. A screech leaves your lips but the noise is quickly muffled by the demon’s other hand.

“(Y/N)?” Mammon’s voice calls out to you, drowned out from the other side of the door and it is followed by a parroted call of your name from his brothers.

“Maybe they went to the kitchen.” Beel murmurs and you roll your eyes at the sound of his retreading footsteps.

“Maybe they headed to my room early!” Levi is quick to leave right after Beel and only Mammon waits a few moments behind to look things over.

“Ah, stupid human.”

The touch from before comes back stronger now as large palms rest over your shoulders. You recognize this comforting feeling anywhere and lean back into Lucifer’s chest.

“Hello, my love,” Lucifer quietly coos into your ear, squeezing you in his hold for extra emphasis. In his touch, you nearly melt. “how was your day?” “Tiring,” You huff and let your eyes flutter shut under exhaustion.

“Mhm, would you like to come with me?” At Lucifer’s question, you can’t help but peek an eye open to look back at him. The kind smile resting on his face has you nodding in agreement before you can even think about it.

Lucifer leans forward before dipping his head and lowering his face, he ghosts his lips over yours as a point to build anticipation before gently kissing you. For a moment, all that exists are his lips pressed against yours. You just can’t help but kiss back, and at the pressure you enforce, Lucifer cups your jaw. He holds you still while working his lips passionately, pecking you a few times before pulling away just to tease you.

The demon laughs at your pout, he laughs.

Lucifer turns you around in his arms before bending over to kiss you once again. He presses you up against the closet door with one of his hands resting firmly around your waist while the other braces his weight against the door.

He could spend all afternoon kissing you, loving you.

“I’m taking you to my room,” Lucifer murmurs against your lips then briefly licks at the corner of your mouth. You can’t think of any reason why you would ever deny him of this. “tonight will be for you.”

Mammon is greedy. He wants nothing more than to brag about you and show off his relationship to every single person that will listen. Considering Mammon, he would even tell people that wouldn’t listen. It’s no surprise that he grows a little antsy about your ‘secret relationship’ and a bit insecure in himself. Why don’t you want to share him with the world too? Isn’t he as special to you as you are to him?

“Belphie thinks I’m seeing you,” You randomly tell Mammon one afternoon, you’re relaxing on his bed with your upper half hanging off the mattress. The demon sitting beside you on the floor scoffs in response. “it has something to do with the fact that I’m always in your room.” You push yourself up and move to lay on your stomach, you’re now staring at Mammon with your chin resting on the tops of your hands. “Are we being too obvious?”

“Eh? Who cares,” Mammon’s half-assed response does not please you in the slightest, nor does his habit of scrolling through his phone while talking to you. “you’re the one who wants to keep this hidden.”

“With good reason!” You argue back and it’s passionate enough that Mammon glances over his shoulder back at you for a split second. The demon shakes his head in annoyance before looking back at his screen. “It’s only for a bit longer-”

“You’ve been saying that for three months,” The dejection in his voice would have been a lot clearly had you been facing him head-on. You can’t help but sigh. “why can’t we tell anyone?”

“Maybe because you’re a demon and I’m a human,” As you start to poke his cheek, Mammon swats at your hand.

“So?” He doesn’t really get you, it’s not like there are any rules saying that the two of you can’t date.

“And I just like keeping you to myself, I don’t want to share.” Mammon knows you are trying to distract him with your touch, it’s the only reason you’re acting so clingy. He tries to remain as stiff as possible when you wrap your arms around his shoulders but, Mammon can only fake irritation towards you for so long. With a sigh, he falls relaxes against you and tilts his head back to rest on the top of his bed.

“One day I’m going to tell everyone,” He pouts, eyes casted elsewhere in the room. Mammon can’t look at you right now, not with the blush on his face. “they’re all going to know.”

You have to tease him.

“Know what?” Mammon short circuits at your question, he glances at you through his slow blinks before staring back up at the ceiling.

“That we’re- That I-” He fumbles over his words, choking on them as he tries to express himself verbally in any way possible.

“That you?” You push, cooing against his jaw as you press your cheek against his own. The hold you have him in tightens and you can’t help hugging your squishy demon. “That you like me?”

“I-I would never say something so lame,” Mammon sputters and tries to hide his bright red blush beneath his white hair.

“That you love me?” At this, Mammon pauses and brings his hands up to hold your own.

“Something like that,”

Despite being a rather reserved person, Satan would not like to be hidden in the shadows. At first, he may have enjoyed the idea of a secret relationship. He likes the mystery that comes with it, almost as if it was plucked straight out of one of his favorite books. But, over time, he will begin to dislike it. The demon doesn’t care who knows about your relationship and, much like his older brother, would love to parade your beauty for the worlds to see.

“Must you keep me hidden away as if I’m some dirty secret?” Satan scowls at you despite your best efforts to push him into your bathroom. Everything was fine between the two of you until somebody knocked at your door.

“I’m sorry, it’ll be quick, I promise!” Your whispered promises don’t make the demon feel any better as he rolls his eyes and hides behind your shower curtain. Mentally, you pray that Satan did a good job at hiding himself before you open your door and greet Lucifer with a smile.

“(Y/N),” The older demon dips his head slightly and offers you a small smile.

“Lucifer, is something wrong?” You nervously grip the edge of your door and hide half of your body behind the large piece of wood. The quicker this interaction ends, the better.

“I just needed to make sure you are aware of the schedule change for tomorrow. We are meeting for the council meeting at one instead of three.”

Satan contemplates turning on the shower to drown himself so then he won’t have to hear any more of Lucifer’s voice. It’s bad enough that you’re shutting him out, he doesn’t need to be tortured by the other demon too.

“Lord Diavolo texted me about it, but, thank you for reminding me.” The fourth-born can see the sweet smile on your face and the kindness that you give to everyone, it makes him want to scoff. Why must you be polite to Lucifer? Has he taught you nothing?

“You’re welcome. That is all-” Lucifer turns to head out, literally on his heel but then he pauses at the clattering noise coming from inside your room. “Is everything alright in your bathroom?”

“Oh!” You protectively stand in front of your doorway to prevent the demon from exploring your room further. “Everything is fine, why?” Until you can push Lucifer out, you plan to feign ignorance.

“Rumor has it that Levi’s rats got out so just keep your eye out for them. Please do not harm the creatures.” Lucifer looks you over once more, eyes narrowed in suspicion before he ultimately turns away. He begins to leave after nodding goodbye to you and you think that you might just be in the clear. But, the demon stops and glances at you over his shoulder. His voice is now extremely low. “Do tell Satan ‘hello’ for me.”

Your mind is blank as you watch the demon walk away, and as you close your bedroom door and lock it, even as you pull Satan out from your bathroom and then head straight for your bed.

“He’s got a seventh sense or something,” You can’t help but part your lips in shock, Lucifer truly is something. “besides, why did you knock something over?!”

“It just slipped,” Satan shrugs but, with the charming smile on his face, you know the act was 100% intentional. “oh, don’t get upset with me, (Y/N). I’ll make it up to you.”

#Barbatos x reader #Lucifer x reader #mammon x reader #satan x reader #obey me x reader #obey me barbatos #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me satan #obey me x you #obey me x y/n #I love mammon

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throneofsapphics · 6 months

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misted realities

Rowaelin x f!Reader

Summary: Aelin pressed her lips to your forehead, running a thumb over your cheek. “We’ll be back soon, love,” she murmured - as if you might hear, and tucked the blankets tightly around you. A wicked storm was brewing outside. Not uncommon for this time of year, but it felt like a bad omen.

Warnings: angst, injuries, mentions of torture/death, mentions of blood

Word Count: ~8k

A/N: based on this request! reader is fae, has earth-based magic.

“You never have time for me anymore,” you fought to keep your voice down, and clenched your fists to hide your shaking hands.

“Gods,” Aelin sighed. “We’re all busy,” she did look exhausted, small circles forming under the Queen’s eyes. Days would go by when the three of you barely passed a few sentences between each other. At least between you and them.

“I know,” you bit down on your bottom lip, willing the tears to disappear from the corners of your eyes. “I just want to spend more time with you.”

“Don’t cry,” Rowan’s curt tone shocked you. Tears were replaced by anger, beginning to simmer deep inside of you. “You see us everyday.” He’s right, you sleep in the same bed each night. But, as soon as they come in - they’re ready for bed. When they wake, it’s lucky if you have mere minutes to speak with them before they’re gone.

Your throat bobbed as you swallowed. “Right.”

Rowan’s eyes rolled, but he strode towards you, one hand braced on your shoulder, the other cupping your cheek and tilting your head up to look at him. His eyes searched your face, thumb wiping away one of the stray tears. “We’ll talk about this later.”

You took a step back, shaking off his grip.

“It’s always later,” you spit out.

Aelin’s fingertips rubbed at her temples as she glanced at the clock. “We don’t have time for this.”

They never have time, not anymore. In the beginning, it felt like they would always make time for you - always time to go out into the forest, to go into the city, to just exist together. Maybe you were being selfish, they’re the Queen and King of Terrasen for gods sake. But, where they used to seek you out, now you always chased after them and it was getting exhausting. Months of the same thing.

“Don’t worry about it,” you let out a slow breath, but it did nothing to abate the tightness in your chest. Aelin frowned, lips pressing into a tight line. “I’m … I'm just overthinking.”

Rowan’s look said; obviously, but Aelin still seemed a bit disgruntled. She glanced at the clock again.

“We have to go,” she glanced over to Rowan. He gave her a soft smile, shot a nod your way, and looped his arm through hers before leaving the room. You stared after them, at the closed door. Never, they’d never left like that before. Not even a hug, or a i’ll see you later. Or have a good day. You clenched your fists at your side, gripping the fabric tightly.

Space, maybe some time away from here would do you good. Ella had invited you on a trip, one you declined because you thought they would have a free day this weekend. But, at this point, who even knows if they’d want to spend it with you? You couldn’t put everything else on hold in the hopes that they might decide to grace you with their attention. If you remembered correctly, the trip began tomorrow.

Slipping on your boots, you left the castle as quickly as possible - to find her and tell her to add one to the itinerary.

It would be telling, that’s for certain. Either they’d miss you or … maybe realize they were better off without you. You prayed you could handle the truth, whatever it might be.

“I’m leaving for a trip with my cousins tomorrow, I’ll spend the night at Ella’s. It’s an early start.” You stood in the door of the bedroom, fresh out of a bath, a pack slung over your shoulder. She’d been thrilled and shocked you decided to come along. Excited enough you felt some shame - shame that you hadn’t spent time amongst your family. That you’d focused so much on your relationship it surprised them you would go along.

Aelin’s eyes flicked up from her book, her legs stretched across Rowan’s lap. “Be safe.”

How long had they been out here? Not bothering to come say hello to you? Rowan gave a curt nod. It felt like a clear dismissal, and you took it.

You gave them a tight smile, one they didn’t see, and strode for the door - shoulders back and head high. After you’d passed the gates, you realized they hadn’t asked where you were going, or when you would be back.

The Oakwald was gorgeous this time of year. Brannon’s forest. It always felt … peaceful. Like a place you could come to to escape the rest of your thoughts. The trip had gone well, visiting a few old friends in a neighboring province. A week long trip, and one of the best weeks you’d had in a while.

They were in the back of your mind, not consuming your thoughts, not constantly lingering in the front. All of your focus went to your family, your friends, and on spending quality time with them. It was a thing of beauty, and something that left you feeling revived. Alive again. You’d given too much of yourself to them, and received too little in return. King or Queen aside, you deserved more than half-assed attempts and short words. Your last interaction with them had sealed it. Anything you might have had at one point, had faded away. There’s no sense in drawing out something like this. No sense in you desperately begging for any scrap of affection or attention. You had more respect for yourself than that.

You approached the next clearing, and the hair on the back of your neck stood. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Something here was off. You stopped at the edge, one hand palming the knife at your side, and scanned the surrounding treeline.

“Down,” you shouted as a figure moved, your Fae hearing picking up the slight zing of an arrow string pulled taut. They listened, and dove to the ground behind some rocks. With another thought, the ground underneath the attackers shifted, rolling up to knock whoever it was off balance. You dove to the forest floor, arrows still flew, one lodging in your thigh - the other grazing your arm, head knocking against the rocks. Pain shot through your body, sending white spots through your vision - but you gritted your teeth and rolled, righting yourself up to a crouch.

It all happened in seconds. Your right wrist, your dominant wrist, was broken - and you reached for your dagger with your left. You felt Ella’s distinct magic - a shield of wind coming to surround the three of you, and heard the sound of Edde’s bowstring pulling taught, and your own magic acting of its own accord. Sentient, almost. Maybe it was your subconscious guiding it.

The rest passed in a blur, all you knew was fifteen bodies were left by the end of it. Five with arrows through their skulls, others with blue faces - like someone had ripped the air from their lungs, the rest strangled by branches and vines. Looks like the last three had gotten their wits about them and fled. The three of you fought together before, and had spent a magic-less decade together with the Wolf-Tribe. You knew what you were doing. Still, you had gotten lucky. They caught you by surprise.

Edde was scouting the area ahead, Ella looking at your wounds anxiously. Neither of you could heal, none of your magic lent to that.

“It’s fine,” you insisted. It was - surface wounds in all honesty. The biggest risk now was infection. As soon as you got to a healer, you’d be fine. “We can turn back-”

“Going back will add an extra three hours,” Edde said as she entered, a handful of herbs in her hand. She chewed them, before packing them onto the wound on your arm, and ripping part of her shirt. “Crude, but it’ll keep infection away for now.”

“I don’t want to go back.” You winced, trying not to sound like a whining child. If you made it to the next town, someone could easily send a messenger to Orynth with the information. Plus, there were sentries posted there. But … the threat was closer to Orynth, and you did have a moral obligation to inform them of any dangers present. Ella gave you a sympathetic look. You’d given them the run down about the status of your relationship in the beginning of your trip, and they knew you well enough to pick up that you didn’t want to speak about them further.

Edde had a forced grin on her face, “I’m the oldest - and I say we’re going home.”

You appreciated her attempt at humor, and sighed. Neither of them suggested shifting and going ahead - it might have been smart but the three of you were stronger together. Leaving one of them alone with you, injured, would be a risk - having one of you alone would be another risk, and you weren’t taking any of those.

Battered, and bruised, your cousins helped you back to the castle, each of your arms propped over one of their shoulders. Edde had slung you over her shoulder for part of it, but when you sensed her strength waning you insisted on walking. The three of you had worse in the past, you could walk on an injured leg. The pounding in your head was more obnoxious anyway.

Fenrys saw you first. Thankfully. You didn’t want to see Rowan or Aelin yet.

The male told the two of them to stay in place, actually said ‘don’t fucking move,’ and you didn’t argue as he swept you in his arms, mouthing a ‘sorry’ over his shoulder. They both shrugged, sending a knowing glance to each other.

“Is there any chance you won’t tell them?” You mumbled.

“Trouble in paradise?” He teased, his voice strained. You snarled at him, and he snorted. “You know I have to.”

Even if he didn’t have to, he would. He barked an order at a passing sentry, and you kept your mouth clamped shut as he slipped between the folds of the world, your stomach churning.

The poor messenger sent to the Queen and King was shaking. Rowan stiffened. He knew this male to be level headed, calm, and stoic. But here he was - shaking like a leaf, like a soldier after his first blood drawn.

“Y/n,” he started, “is in the healers-”

Aelin shoved him to the side and sprinted out the door. Rowan didn’t wait for him to finish either and took off after her. Their footsteps sprinted down the halls, silent on the stone as they ran faster than they ever had. They cleared through the hallways with ease, hands wrapping around the corners to propel themselves forward.

“We need to stop the bleeding.” One of the healers said, in a firm no-nonsense tone, and you yelped as she began undoing the half-assed bandages, giving an appreciative nod at the herbs. Your eyes shut closed, focusing on anything but the lashing pain coming from your thigh. At least the arrow was lodged well enough that keeping the piece inside stopped any bleeding.

The door flung open. Rowan and Aelin stood there - pure panic and wrath coming from each of them. Rowan eyed both healers, with startling intensity. You fought back the words on the tip of your tongue - to tell them to leave, to get out of there.

“Leave.” Rowan ordered both of the healers instead. You opened your mouth to protest, but he fixed you with a look and you shut it again. Testing him right now - at least in front of the other females, might not be a wise idea.

His predatory attention stayed on you as he made his way across the room. Aelin, however, kept an eye on the women, watching until the door closed firmly behind them, before rushing over to your side.

Rowan managed to stay cool, but Aelin cursed under her breath as she took in your wounds. A broken wrist, a deceptively deep gash on your arm, part of an arrow stuck out of your thigh. You’d cut the rest off to make travel back a bit easier.

“I didn’t think you’d care,” you said bitterly. Rowan ignored you - giving instructions to Aelin instead. Who, surprisingly, listened without questioning - fetching whatever items he ordered.

“Tell me what happened.” He ordered, and you paused, tilting your head. He was focused on your wound, magic starting to swirl over your skin. “Now,” he didn’t look up at you.

You let out a low exhale, but told him what happened, recalling every detail you could.

“Does anything else hurt?” Aelin asked as Rowan finished up.

“No,” you said quietly. Your head did, a bit, from impact - but you didn’t want them to think you’re weak, or complaining. The other ones were more serious, but healed almost as if nothing had happened, only scars in their place. You’d be sore for a few days, but that should be all.

“Let’s get you to bed,” Aelin held out a hand for you. You reached to take it, but Rowan cut in - sweeping you up into his arms instead. You stiffened in his hold, but he only tightened, holding you close to him.

They were both silent on the walk back, not that it mattered - you drifted into sleep almost as soon as your head hit the pillow.

Aedion took in their report with a grim face, before sending out scouts to locate the survivors. Ones who managed to survive the three of you. Your cousins headed back out with them to show the way. He had instructed them to bring them in alive, if possible.

He’d let them rot in the dungeons, let them fester until Aelin and Rowan got their turn. They wouldn’t make it out of there alive, he knew that for certain.

Rowan had tossed and turned all night. Over the last week, he had no idea where you were or when you were coming back. He could’ve reached out to someone in town - one of your other family members, but he didn’t want to look like a fool. Like an idiot who didn’t bother to ask. Like what he was.

Aelin was right that they were busier than usual, and had been for the last few months. But, they had a free day this weekend - and you knew that, but still chose to leave. They’d cleared that night for you, to get back and spend time with you. When they got there - he could hear you packing, and bitter anger started simmering inside of him. He thought you were running away at the first sign of trouble.

First, you said they never had time for you, and when they did have free time - you left. It pissed him off. If he was being objective, he could see where you were coming from. He’d sworn to himself he’d make it up to you, when things calmed down. Gods, you’d moved in - at his and Aelin’s insistence - so they could spend more time together.

You were younger, and hadn’t settled yet. Maybe he was an idiot - still thinking in years and decades while you were thinking in weeks and months. Three months to him was nothing. But … you didn’t have the full grasp on immortality yet.

Regardless, you were back now - and safe. There’s no gods-damned way he’d let you leave that bed anytime soon. Not until you were completely healed and whole. He propped himself up on one arm, Aelin dozed fitfully next to you, one arm slung over your waist, her front pressing into your back, wrapping herself around you like she might shield you from the world. He brushed a few strands from your face, frowning at the small abrasion on your temple. He’d missed that, but it was mostly healed now - just a light pink scratch in its wake.

In the morning, he’d say his apologies when you woke. You needed sleep now.

“Y/n,” Aelin called, brushing her thumb against your cheek. You let out a slow breath, but didn’t open your eyes. Your heartbeat was still strong, breaths still even.

“Let her sleep it off,” Rowan advised, already pulling a shirt over his head. They’d cleared their schedule as much as possible - only one meeting they wouldn’t be able to miss. He’d already arranged for sentries to be posted at their doorway, with orders to let nobody but them, Fenrys, or Aedion through. Two hours, and they’d be right back at your side.

“Are you sure?” She asked, glancing up at the clock. It was nearly eight in the morning, and you’d knocked out around eight last night. In all honesty, if you’d woken up right then she would’ve said fuck it to the meeting. Even though the meeting had been called because of what happened yesterday. Her blood began to boil again. Aedion had assured her they were searching for the ones that had done this to you. And bringing them back - alive. But, given your cousins were on the hunt she couldn’t say what state they would be in. Fae can be especially ruthless where their family was concerned, and the three of you were close.

Aedion stood in the door, partially blocked by Rowan’s figure as she ran a hand over your hair, smoothing through some of the tangled strands. She was surprised you’d even let her help you take a bath. Maybe you were too exhausted to protest. Aelin would’ve preferred for you to yell - to scream, anything besides the quiet silence you’d returned with.

“Edde and Ella are guiding them.” She knew those names - your cousins. “I made them swear to bring them back alive.” Aelin almost laughed that he’d made the two females promise.

“Let me know as soon as they return.” Rowan instructed, and slammed the door in his face.

“That was rude,” she said absentmindedly.

“He can handle it.” Rowan countered, stopping at the edge of the bed. She glanced up at him, but his expression was unreadable. Aelin reached out and squeezed his hand. They were both keeping a thin lid on their anger.

“Yes,” he sighed, dragging her back to the present. “Her body needs rest.”

Aelin pressed her lips to your forehead, running a thumb over your cheek. “We’ll be back soon, love,” she murmured - as if you might hear, and tucked the blankets tightly around you. A thought had a fire roaring in the corner. You needed to stay warm. It was still early autumn, but a chill had set in overnight, the temperatures dipping to just above freezing. Clouds had rolled in overnight, putting an end to the sunny few weeks they had. A wicked storm was brewing outside. Not uncommon for this time of year, but it felt like a bad omen.

Rowan could tell Aelin was forcing herself not to sprint back to the room. They’d made a tentative plan - check on you, then grab a healer to come do a more thorough check. Something they should’ve done last night, but he couldn’t stomach the thought of anyone else near you in that vulnerable state. He’d barely kept his cool with Aedion in the doorway. Only knowledge of your friendship with the male and his blood oath to their Queen kept him from ripping his head off for being too close.

Aelin pushed the door open ahead of him, spotting your form still sleeping on their bed, in the exact position they’d left you in. Something was wrong. You should’ve woken by now - or at least moved. You always tossed and turned in your sleep. But … you had been rather still last night. His pace picked up, overtaking Aelin as he yanked the covers back.

“Y/n.” He called, running a hand down your arm. Cold, your skin was cold. The room is warm - a fire still burning in the corner. Panic rose inside of him - your heart was still beating, breaths still even. He shook your shoulder lightly. He called your name again - louder. Aelin did as well. No response. Nothing.

Aelin had darted for the door, he vaguely heard her shouting something at one of the guards in the hallway, the sound of other footsteps pounding down the hallway, but he couldn’t take his gaze away from you. Your lips, pale and cracked slightly.

“Wake up sweetheart,” he tried keeping his voice gentle this time. Nothing. He shook you again. “Wake up,” his chest tightened, throat constricting.

“Rowan,” Aelin’s voice vaguely registered, and he felt two hands cover his, holding them still. Aelin’s face came into his view, everything else blurred out around it. “Don’t shake her.” A pure command, rolling from his Queen. He didn’t bother masking any of the emotions in his face, he couldn’t - not now.

He called your name again instead, Aelin slowly pushed his hands away from you. They hung limply at his side. His magic had checked over you at least three times and he couldn’t find anything. Why hadn’t he gotten a healer last night? Why weren’t you waking up? He should’ve asked about the cut on your head. Or have woken you up during the night to check on you. How many hours had he spent staring at you?

He let out a low snarl as a healer stood in the doorway, turning to block her view of your body.

“She needs her help,” Aelin said - gentle but firm. Reluctantly, he tore his gaze away from the healer and took a few steps away. The woman wasted no time rushing towards you. Another healer came in behind her. And another. He tensed at all of the new people - all surrounding you. Touching you.

“Rowan.” Aelin snapped, and he met her eyes. “I don’t like it either. She needs help.”

When was the last time Aelin had been the voice of reason? Perhaps she was more in touch with her human side.

“Reign it in or leave,” one of the healers - a female with a no-nonsense tone and stature barked. He pulled his power back in, unaware he’d let it reel from him. His eyes never left you, as he stood with his back to the wall. Centuries of self-control went into keeping himself in place. One wrong move and -

“Rowan,” he heard Aelin snarl. Reluctantly, he tore his gaze away from you to look at her. Keep it together. They’re helping.

He took a few deep breaths.

“We need water and clean towels.” The healer in charge announced. One of the younger ones went to move, but she held up a hand and sent a knowing glance to Aelin. Rowan had been a live fuse next to her.

“Rowan, go get them.” She gave the order, but not pulling on the bond. She’d already had to do that once, to get him to stop trying to shake you awake. His eyes narrowed at her, but he listened. He needed something to keep himself from murdering everything within a foot of you. A basic command, to make him feel useful - to serve in the way Fae males needed.

She did wonder how she was the reasonable one in this situation. Not that she was feeling very reasonable. One threatening move from the healers … and she wouldn’t be responsible for what happened to them. The three of them were very aware of how on edge the two were. The one in charge was Fae, the other two humans - and seemed to be taking cues from her. Only focusing on reigning in Rowan kept her from losing her calm.

This kind of fear … only when she’d almost lost Rowan those years ago - when he took the arrow for her, had she felt something similar to this. That’s when she realized he was her… Gods.

No, no, no, a voice inside of her head screamed at her as she dropped to her knees, fingers digging into the carpet. Why now? When she was … The healers hadn’t turned to look at her. Nobody could see the war or anguish in her mind. Rowan returned, abruptly shoving the water and towels into one of their arms before he was at her side, arm wrapped over her shoulders.

“I know fireheart,” he murmured. He doesn’t. He doesn’t know. A hand gripped her chin, and dark green iris’s met her own. “It’ll be fine,” he said with such conviction she believed wholeheartedly. It had to be. She wouldn’t accept any other alternative.

You were in a murky fog, voices blurring over, shapes coming in and out of your vision. You spun in a circle - but it was all consuming. Was this your mind? Had it been scrambled somehow? Last you remembered, you were being tucked into bed by … you couldn’t put a finger on who. Then darkness. A sleep so heavy it pulled you under within seconds.

Turquoise eyes ringed in gold. You focused on them, trying to pull yourself out of this abyss - towards the colors you recognized so easily. Who did they belong to? You couldn’t remember. The fog covered them again. Gone. You deflated. Would they come back?

Fenrys frowned from the doorway. Rowan was pacing, the carpet looked worn where he walked back and forth. Everyone was on edge in the castle. In Orynth really. The scouting party sent word earlier that they’d arrive with the three remaining combatants tomorrow. When he told Rowan - a steely glint he recognized came over the male's eyes. He couldn’t find it in himself to feel bad for them, they’d deserve everything coming their way - and more. They knew who they were attacking. It wasn’t a secret you were Rowan and Aelins partner.

In all honesty, he’s surprised those were the only injuries the three of you sustained. Well, you were the only injured party. Eighteen against three. For humans, the odds would seem astronomical - and likely whoever it was had underestimated the fact that they were going up against well trained Fae warriors. Given how sweet and innocent you look, they probably thought you were an easy target. But, you’d seen the thick of the fighting in Orynth and survived ten years in Erilea with the Wolf-Tribe.

The healers had given you ten days. Ten days before they feared there might be some kind of irreparable brain damage.

More than anything, he wanted for you to wake - to be healthy and whole. Mainly because you were his friend. But, based on his conversation with Aelin the other night … there was more at stake. Once she told him, he realized the blood oath tugged a different kind of loyalty towards you as well.

“Fenrys,” he heard her. He was still in Wolf form by their door, standing guard. Something he did without having to be asked. He blinked three times, using the old code from years ago; ‘are you alright?’

Two blinks, ‘no.’ She pressed her back against the wall, glancing up and down the corridor, before slowly lowering herself to the ground. He hadn’t seen his Queen look this lost in years. She had something to say - something she needed to, and he patiently waited for her to speak.

“I hadn’t felt like this since Rowan took the arrow for me, and that’s when I realized …” Her head fell into her palms. He knew exactly what she meant. Fenrys shifted into human form, taking a seat beside her. “Is it even possible? Is this some sort of cruel joke? Is this my punishment?”

She was bearing her heart, throwing it out on a platter.

“It’s possible.” He answered her first question. The others, he didn’t know how to respond but … he tried. “Having a mate is never a punishment.”

“But .. Rowan.” He could hear the question; ‘is Rowan hers too?’

He leaned his head back against the wall, kicking his legs out in front of him. “Based on his … behavior. I’d be surprised if she wasn’t.”

“Isn’t this typical for Fae?”

The protectiveness, the desire to protect those they consider theirs, when they’re protective and vulnerable. But, he’s known Rowan for decades, and he’s only ever acted this way with Aelin. “It is, but he’s acting the same way he does with you.”

Tension left her body in a giant wave. “What do I do? Do you think he knows?”

Fenrys stilled. Whitethorn would know - he’d at least have a vague idea. He settled on, “he probably knows.”

Aelin looked at him, waiting for him to answer her first question. “When have you ever let anyone tell you what to do?” He teased her. She rolled her eyes, and he could’ve cheered at the normal gesture. Something besides misery and pain.

“I was asking for advice, asshole.”

Fenrys forced himself to focus back on the present. The healer looked like she was about at his limits with Rowan. She shot Fenrys a pleading glance. He really did admire her patience.

“I’ll stay with her.” He heard Aedion from behind him. Backup, that was good. Rowan turned slowly, eyeing both of them with a predator's glance. Finally, he nodded at Aedion - giving his permission. If you were awake to see this, you’d probably rip him a new one. Giving permission for anyone else to be around you. If - when, you woke, you’d be in for a whole different world of territorial nonsense.

Fenrys decided to take some initiative, and taunted Rowan. “You’re getting rusty, cooped up in here,” and shot him a shit-eating grin he knew would provoke a reaction. Sure enough, Rowan stormed out the door, jerking his chin for him to follow. Aedion shot him a sympathetic glance, and he elbowed the male harshly in the ribs. Although he told Aelin her husband probably knows, he’s not going to be the one to bring it up to him. That’s a journey they’ll have to take for themselves. For now, he’ll do his best to taunt some of the rage out of him - maybe make him more tolerable for the rest of them to be around.

One thing Fenrys knows he’s good at, the best at, is pissing his royal Highness off.

“Just come back.” A male said to you. The fog cleared slightly, and a blurry face peered down at you. A male with turquoise and gold eyes. Everything else blurred in and out, but the colors stayed. You could nearly feel the pain inside of them. “I know you’re mad at them, but they love you. They’ve been losing their minds, we all have.” You can’t remember who you’re mad at, or why.

“Edde and Ella are hunting them down. They’ll be back tomorrow.”

The names sparked something in you. A vague splinter of memory you tried to hold on to. Like water, it slipped through your fingers. You tried to speak - to scream, but your voice disappeared in the fog. The eyes withdrew from your view.

“Can she hear anything?” Aelin asked - her voice still tight.

“We don’t know.” The healer dismissed herself.

She was tired of hearing that. We don’t know. We’re not certain. We can’t tell.

Day seven. Three more days, the healers had given you three more days until they feared the damage was irreparable.

But … they didn’t know how strong you were, not like she did. You’d survived ten years in hiding - you’d survived that last battle, the ambush - three against eighteen, survived dealing with her and Rowan’s bullshit. She refused to accept this kind of ending, refused to lose her mate - even if you didn’t know it yet.

She imagined all of the concerns you might have, and all of the ways she would tell you you’re wrong. When you woke, she wondered if the bond would snap for you immediately. Probably not. She hasn’t found a good chance to approach Rowan about it - but she thinks he knows. And that he’s aware she does. Very little gets by him. She told Fenrys because she had to speak to someone, but saying it to Rowan felt too real.

Aelin wouldn’t lose you. But knowing and having loved you, no matter how shitty she was at it, was better than never knowing you at all.

She squeezed your hand. “Come back,” she pleaded, “please.”

Her thumb gently traced your cheekbone. Cold. Over her shoulder, the fire was still going strong. There’s so many blankets surrounding you, she feared you might suffocate if she added another. Neither she or Rowan had slept well in the last week. They slept in shifts, always wanting one of them to be awake in case anything changed - in case you woke. The others ran the castle, letting the two of them get away with making an occasional appearance.

They’d somehow managed to keep what happened underwraps. And they would - until they got their answers. Tomorrow, their new guests would arrive. Along with the rest of her court. She hated that she’d have to divide her attention away from you - to share her attention with anyone else.

The ever changing scent hit the door, followed by a gentle knock. She tore her attention away from you, heavy legs carrying her to the door.

Lysandra knew better than to try and come in without invitation. Even though the shifter was one of her closest friends, she still battled against her instincts to tell her to go the fuck away.

Worry was evident all over the shifter’s face as she glanced at your form, surrounded by a mountain of pillows and blankets. Aelin couldn’t stop the small snarl beginning in her throat. Too long. She was looking too long. Quickly, Lysandra drew her attention back to her, and she shot her an apologetic grimace.

“Any change?”

Aelin shook her head, tears building in the corners of her eyes. She let Lysandra take her in her arms, hold her close and tight.

“She’ll come back.” She didn’t sound too convinced. Aelin abruptly pulled back.

“Don’t say that if you don’t mean it,” she snapped, and then winced, opening her mouth again.

“You don’t need to apologize.” Lysandra said quickly.

“No. I’m being unreasonable.” Aelin ran her hands down her face, looking back at you. She could still hear your heartbeat. Strong. Lysandra’s eyes dug into her. Her friend was always too perceptive. “Don’t say it,” she pleaded without looking at her. Of course she knows.

“Is he…”

“I think so,” Aelin interrupted her before she could say the actual word. Mate. Even thinking it brought pain - launching right through her chest, ripping it in half. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Alright.” Lys’s tone said she very much believes she should talk about it. She’d tell her exactly where she could shove her beliefs if she pushed any further. “You need to go beat the shit out of someone.” Her friend said instead.

Aelin slowly turned her head over her shoulder, raising one brow, “are you volunteering?”

“I’ll find you a volunteer,” she winked at her, before heading out the door.

“Get Aedion,” she shouted after her.

Aelin flexed her hands. Maybe getting out some of the rage would be good. Fenrys and her cousin had alternated taking the brunt of her and Rowan’s pent up frustration and rage. She highly suspected they didn’t trust anyone else to take them on and survive the encounter. She looked back through the open doorway. You’d come back, she knew it.

“It’s been ten days.” You heard a voice. Ten days, you’d heard that over and over again and knew it related to you.

You had ten days to ‘come back,’ you’d figured out that’s what you needed to do.

“Tell me how,” you’d screamed into nothingness. “I want to, help me” But you were lost, wandering around in this blurry half-reality. Voices and faces came in and out, words coming in fragments, sometimes in sentences, but nothing concrete.

“We’ve done everything we can. It’s time to consider if…”

Cries and screams; you’re wrong, she’ll come back, get the fuck out. Doors slammed.

Two faces swarmed above you, clearer than before. Turquoise ringed with gold. Green. A name. They kept repeating a name over and over again.

“Please, love,” a feminine pleaded.

“We need you,” the male one added.

“Help me,” you begged, “help me. help me. help me.”

Twelve days. The healers were still working with you - keeping your muscles from atrophying, pushing nutrient dense tonics down your throat, checking your vitals, using magic to test for other things.

Brain activity, you still had that - but they couldn’t tell how much. Or how much of you would be left when you returned.

The head healer sat down next to her, catching her attention.

“What?” Aelin tried to keep her voice gentle, but had a feeling she failed miserably. To her credit, the woman didn’t look ruffled.

“The only way she’ll come back now is if she wants to. She needs a reason to return, your Majesty.”

The woman left before Aelin could ask any more questions.

“The only way she’ll come back now is if she wants to. She needs a reason to return.”

You wanted it, now you needed to find a reason. You paced, or at least you thought you did, in this mental prison.

Isn’t wanting it reason enough? There’s something to return to. Names fluttered through your mind. You’d repeated them to yourself over and over again, unwilling to let them go.

Edde. Ella. Fenrys. Aedion. Aelin. Rowan.

The last two felt the strongest. You didn’t know who they were, but knew they needed you. If you disappeared completely, it would hurt them. Would hurt all of them.

You glanced down at your arms, spotting the fresh white scar slashing one of them, and another smaller scar on your thigh. Others littered your body in various places. You’ve fought before, but not like this. Pitting your mind and will against whatever abyss this is.

If it’s an abyss … maybe you need to build a ladder to climb out. You imagined strands of turquoise, gold, and green swirling in front of you, forming a link. As you reached out, they disappeared on touch. Frustration wouldn’t help you now. You would do this. You wouldn’t accept any other option.

Fenrys leaned back against the wall in the dungeon, watching Rowan work before him. Lorcan stood to his left. He wasn’t surprised the male had shown up. He wouldn’t let Elide go anywhere alone, not since there’d just been an attack. Or in general. He wasn’t phased by anything Rowan was doing before them. Or what Aelin had done earlier.

They’d gotten their answers days ago, now it was vengeance.

“She’s their mate.” Lorcan said under his breath, so only he could hear. Not a question. Fenrys didn’t comment. Rowan was enacting the kind of wrath only a mated male could. The three males had already begged for death, several times. He didn’t feel pity, or any inclination towards mercy, but if he did he wouldn’t dare interrupt. Only a fool would.

Part of him wondered if Rowan was making up for time he didn’t get to spend with Cairn. He wasn’t stupid enough to ask the question. Besides the attack on you, they’d learned several other vital bits of information from the males. At first, they’d made the mistake of bragging. Of what they planned to do to you - speaking to each other. Others might’ve called it stupid to keep them together, but the demi-Fae guards posted could hear every one of their ‘whispers,’ and the things they’d reported made him sick and furious.

They were on day thirteen. The healers said ten. Rowan and Aelin wouldn’t give up. Others had started thinking in if’s, but they refused.

Lorcan nudged him, jerking his chin towards the door. He took one more glance at Rowan, still occupied, and followed.

“What is it?” He crossed his arms as they left earshot. Lorcan had a … look on his face. Strange, considering the bastard usually never showed any kind of emotion. Worried? He wasn’t particularly close to you, and had only met you on a few occasions.

“Do you think she’ll wake?”

“Yes.” He replied instantly. “There’s no other option.”

Lorcan let out a slow breath. “If they lose her …”

“I know.”

They might lose their Queen and King too. Everyone had thought of it, even if nobody dared to voice it.

It wasn’t improving as quickly as you’d hoped it would. But - you could feel it. It was a physical thing, living and sentient almost. You let your fingers run over one of them, colors swirled together and shined. It was warm to the touch, and slid easily over your fingertips. You wrapped your hand around it, and it held firm. You reached for the next. It held.

With the next one, you brought your hand up, your foot settling into the bottom ledge. It was working. You refocused your breaths and tilted your chin up. Endless mist covered your vision, only seeing where your hand landed next.

Trust, you needed to trust that you could pull yourself out. Trust someone would be there to catch you.

Aelin knew she was sleep-deprived, and figured the rustling from the room was a hallucination. She’d heard it several times while slipping out the door, only to rush back in and find you in the same position.

Day twenty. Twenty days of hell, of waiting. There wasn’t anything she could fix, she could only hope and trust you were doing what you could. Gods, she spoke to you as much as she could. Aelin read books, talked about everything and nothing in hopes you would hear. There was only one subject she’d refused to approach, refused to speak aloud. Would that be the key? Could that be the reason you needed? The one that the healer had mentioned. She hadn’t told Rowan about the conversation … she swallowed harshly, and pulled her husband aside. Maybe now was the time to do it.

Rowan read the look in her eyes and kicked everyone out of the room.

“The healer told me that it’s … that she needs …”

“She told me too,” Rowan interrupted her rambling. He gave her a tight smile, and pulled her into his chest. His chin rested on top of her head, and she leaned in to hear her heartbeat. “Are we going to acknowledge it?”

She leaned her head back enough to meet his eyes, and took a breath before she said the thing haunting her mind for the last twenty days. “That we have another mate?”

Rowan nodded. She could see the relief flooding over his features, and imagined the same was showing on hers. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “This doesn’t mean I love you any less.”

“I know.” She huffed out a laugh. You had two mates waiting for you, when you get back. Two who will burn the entire world down to get you back here if they had to. “We’ll get our mate back.”

Mate. You blinked as you heard the word. So soft you almost missed it. Aelin and Rowan.

You reached another hand, and could see the next ring, and the next. The world cleared around you.

Soft cloth and fur covered you, you twitched your fingers - you could feel it. It was real. It had to be.

Your eyes opened, and you shut them quickly. Too bright.

A few seconds later, you squinted and slowly let yourself adjust.

Gods, how many blankets did one person need? Your entire body was heavy and slow, but you managed to wiggle out from under the cloth mountain, making it to the edge of the bed. Had you been alone this entire time? Had you imagined Aelin and Rowan?

Maybe a stranger had found you and brought you back. But … the room was familiar. Maybe this was another dream, a new reality your mind trapped you in.

You let your feet hit the soft carpeted floor, pressing yourself up to stand. You felt surprisingly steady and took a few tentative steps.

It was sunny outside. Gods, you needed to feel the sun on your skin - even if it’s fake, even if this isn’t real.

Your hand gripped the doorknob, slowly opening the door to the balcony. A chilly wind hit you and you wrapped your arms tightly around yourself, ignoring the cold biting at your toes and skin as you took a step out. Based on the sun, it’s about mid morning - at least in this dream world. You wandered towards the railing, letting your hands travel over the wood - worn with time but still strong.

Orynth, you recognized the city. Maybe this could be real. But if it was real … wouldn’t Aelin or Rowan be here? Or had they just shoved you in here out of obligation. Maybe the word mate was a figment of your imagination as well. Your mind telling you what you want to hear. Footsteps filled your ears and you whirled around, bracing your hands on the railing behind you.

Rowan stilled. He could’ve sworn he heard a door open. But … lately his mind had been playing tricks on him. Him and Aelin both. He pressed a kiss to the top of Aelin’s head. Now that they’d actually said it out loud, it felt like there was a lot more to lose.

Twenty days. There wasn’t any change - but at least there wasn’t any deterioration. He wouldn’t give up hope on you, he couldn’t. Gods, he couldn’t lose you. Fuck.

He took a step back, running a hand over his face. They’d been out of the room for maybe ten minutes, but he still felt like he needed to have eyes on you at all times, lest he miss something. Even if it’s just a twitch of your fingers. Rowan would give anything for that - for any kind of movement. Your eyes had twitched behind your eyelids at some points, and he knew you were dreaming or seeing something. It gave him hope.

“Let’s go back in,” he murmured, and Aelin led the way back towards the door. She cracked it open and froze, breaths coming heavier, before she shoved it back open, turning to him with pure alarm on her face. He pushed past her.

Gone. The bed was empty. Impossible. Nobody could get in here - they’d been right there. Right outside.

The balcony door was cracked open. Aelin spotted it a second before him, and he’d never seen her move faster. He was right on her heels. Pure terror and dread filled him. Has someone taken you? They could cover a lot of ground in ten minutes. Why the hell had he left you alone?

He barely stopped himself from crashing into Aelin.

You were there. Hands braced against the wood railing, eyes wide in confusion. Awake and standing. Your brows furrowed as you saw them, shoulders tightening.

“Not real,” you murmured to yourself. His heart dropped to his stomach. You looked vaguely like a cornered kitten. They would have to be very careful, considering how close you are to the ledge. Subtly, he let a shield of wind surround them, one that would push you back if you somehow fell past over the edge.

“It’s real,” Aelin whispered, taking a few steps towards you. He fought the urge to rush over there and grab you, to tug you away from danger. You panicked and confused. He should’ve been there when you woke, to see your pretty eyes open again. To tell you how much you mean to him. How he’s thought about you every second. How he never should’ve let you leave on those terms.

You didn’t move towards them, but didn’t try and make more space, and Aelin took that as a good thing. She slowly walked towards you, and he followed a few steps behind.

Aelin stopped a few feet away, and held out her hand.

Ten seconds passed.

Your gaze switched between her hand, Aelin’s face, his. He held his breath.

Ten more seconds.

You took her hand with a cautious smile and tentative hope on your features.

“It’s real,” he repeated Aelin’s words from earlier. He watched your fingers squeeze, and you took another step forwards, closer. Aelin’s other hand came up, brushing against your cheek. Rowan watched as you melted into her touch, eyes closing as you let out a little sigh.

His knees hit the floor, tears openly streaming down his face.

#rowaelin x reader #poly!rowaelin x reader #rowaelin x y/n #poly!rowaelin x y/n #rowan whitethorn x y/n #rowan whitethorn x reader #aelin galathynius x y/n #aelin galathynius x reader #throne of glass fic #throne of glass x reader

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 9 months

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Comet Donati [Chapter 4: Temporary Fix]

Series Summary: Sex, drugs, boy bands. You are a kinda-therapist recruited (via nepotism) to help Comet Donati through a recent crisis. Things are casual with Aegon, very not-casual with Aemond. Loosely inspired by One Direction.

Chapter Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+), drugs, alcohol, smoking, crepes, mental health struggles, the Cookie Monster pajama pants are removed...😏

Selected Chapter Quote: “I will push you off the Eiffel Tower.”

Word count: 6.7k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

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“Our father never cared about us,” Aegon says at the rooftop bar in Kansas City, a full year before you meet Aemond, a full year before you know him as anything other than a face to be printed on t-shirts and keychains like profiles stamped into coins at a mint, things to be acquired, traded, hoarded, lost. Aegon is swirling the ice cubes in his Salty Dog with a green plastic stirrer shaped like a pirate’s sword. He’s glowing from his sunburn, but he glows from within too; you have the sudden and distinct impression that he’s made of weightless luminance, slice a vein and he’d bleed daylight. A year later, you’ll find yourself thinking that if you cut Aemond, storms and rogue waves would come pouring out.

“I’m so sorry,” you offer, knowing it will not help. But it can’t hurt either, unlike those platitudes that well-meaning but ignorant people like to besiege him with: Of course your parents love you. I’m sure they did their best. You’ll understand how hard it is when you’re a dad someday.

“I figured it out pretty early on. How much he preferred Rhaenyra. How I was the antithesis of everything he could have wanted in a son.” Aegon shrugs; it can’t be changed, it’s like trying to stop the rain. He sips his Salty Dog. Ice clinks; he licks his lips. “It took Aemond a little longer. Helaena was always with Grandpa and Daeron was mother’s favorite, but I remember Aemond trailing after our father like a duckling, asking him about history and books and whatever else, just desperate with this need to be noticed, to be loved. If my father was leafing through a biography at the kitchen table, Aemond would spend hours on Google trying to come up with a fact he hadn’t read yet. If my father mentioned a movie, Aemond would watch it over and over again until he had the lines memorized. I remember one Christmas, Aemond wanted the Helm’s Deep Lego set because my father liked the Lord of the Rings. Then he kept asking Dad to help him put it together. ‘We’ll do it this weekend.’ ‘We’ll do it after I get off this conference call.’ ‘We’ll do it tomorrow.’ ‘We’ll do it for your birthday.’ Never happened. Well summer rolled around and I guess Aemond figured he might as well just do it himself. So he stayed up all night putting that fucking Lego castle together and left it on the kitchen table where my father couldn’t miss it. So the old man comes downstairs the next morning for breakfast and we’re all sitting there with our waffles and orange juice, and Aemond is trying not to act too proud but he is, he’s literally shaking with impatience for Dad’s praise, even a crumb, even just a few words, the maple syrup bottle was trembling in his hands. And my father strolls into the kitchen, glances at this meticulously constructed replica of Helm’s Deep—I mean it’s like a sculpture in a museum, it’s goddamn perfect—and he gives this little snort of a laugh. He says: ‘Wow, look at that.’ And then he sits down at the table, opens his biography of King George V, and never mentions it again.”

This moment is real but it isn’t. Sitting outside in the warm, windswept Missouri midnight with a popstar you’ll never see again (an incorrect assumption) and stories you have no right to hear (so you believe).

Aegon takes another sip of his Salty Dog. “Not me,” he says with a puckish, sad half-smile. “I was never going to beg for someone to want me. I go wherever, I’m with whoever. No strings. No anchors. Nothing stays the same except the band, and that’s what bought me my freedom to begin with, so I don’t mind it so much. Me father is disgusted by me. But this is who I am. And I’d rather force him to watch me torch his legacy than break my back trying to earn love that was given away long before I was born.”

“Do you think that’s a part of why you have no interest in settling down?” you say. “I mean, commitment is a two-way street. And if you commit to someone, you have to trust that they’ll commit to you back. That they love you now, sure, but also that they’ll keep loving you. Maybe that’s something that’s difficult for you to accept. That someone could love you for more than an hour, a night, a day.”

He taps his Salty Dog against the tabletop, considering you, perhaps even marveling: wind in his blond hair, blood in his cheeks. At last he asks, teasing: “What are you, some kind of therapist?”

“Well, actually…in a year from now…” You feel uneasy assigning such significance to yourself—it feels inevitably pretentious, over-confident, unearned—but you can’t help returning his smile. “I sort of will be.”

~~~~~~~~~~

You’re laying in your bed with the French doors that lead out onto the balcony wide open. The breeze—sunny and warm and smelling of the bakery next to the hotel, croissants and baguettes and half a million different sorts of pastries—breathes in through the semi-transparent linen curtains, a great inhale, a sighing exhale. You can hear footsteps and laughing on the sidewalk outside. The tourists are a cross-section of humanity, with languages from across the globe: a sprinkling of Portuguese here, Arabic there, Mandarin and Hindi and Russian. When the wind flutters the curtains aside, you can see the Eiffel Tower across the Seine. You should be out exploring Paris, but you’re not. You can’t seem to get out of bed. It’s been almost one week since the fight in Reykjavik. You don’t speak to Aemond and he doesn’t speak to you, and everyone knows this but they don’t know why. Not the whole story, anyway. They caught snippets through the sliding glass door, but they didn’t hear what Aemond said to you.

You’re just a groupie. You’re just a slut.

And now Aegon’s words come back to you too: Whoever you are when you’re in high school…that’s sort of who you are forever, you know?

You pinch your eyes shut and roll onto your side away from the open balcony doors. Earlier you had gotten up, showered, deliberated leaving your room…and then immediately put back on your pajamas and crawled into bed. You have no idea where Aemond is now. He mopes around, he avoids you, he disappears on his 1960 Gold Star for hours, he takes notes in white ink, he takes calls on his iPhone.

There is the sound of a key—not a card, but a real, brass key, old and worthy of preservation just like the hotel—jangling in the lock of your door. Aegon steps inside. He’s FaceTiming someone in extremely poor Spanish.

“Adiós mi amor! Sí, te extraño. Claro que sí. Te extraño mucho. Vale, adiós. Hablamos pronto.” He hangs up and slips his iPhone into the pocket of his neon yellow cargo shorts. He’s wearing matching Crocs and a black Comet Donati band tank top. He pushes his aviator sunglasses up into his hair. “Hey.”

“Hey. Who were you talking to?”

“Camila Cabello. But she can wait.” He kicks off his Crocs and walks over to the bed, looking down at you quizzically. He tosses the brass key back and forth between his hands; Criston keeps the second copy of each one, so Aegon must have borrowed it from him. More likely, he thieved it. “You okay, Stargirl? You look stressed.”

“I am stressed.”

He grins, an eyebrow raised, sunburn on his shoulders. “Anything I can do to help with that?”

And you remember what he said to you back in Kansas City last June, a lifetime ago: I don’t think my worth is determined by who or how I fuck. I don’t think yours is either.

Aegon would never call you a slut. And even if he said it, he wouldn’t mean it in the way Aemond did. It wouldn’t be an insult, a belittlement, a curse. You watch him as he stands in the golden afternoon light, caring for you, wanting you in a way that is pure but not innocent. Do you want him too? Sure; Aegon’s beautiful, and you already know you have chemistry, and more than either of those things he is safe. But he’s not the one who keeps you up at night. He’s not the reason you thought, fleetingly and poisonously as you swallowed your birth control pill this morning: What a goddamn waste.

“Actually,” you say, peering up at him, your lips curling into a drowsy smile. “There might be.”

“Yeah?” He’s a little surprised but very enthused.

“Yeah.”

He whips his sunglasses out of his hair and sets them on the nightstand next to your souvenirs: the Colosseum pencil sharpener, the alabaster Apollo, the fighting bull refrigerator magnet, Portuguese soap and Austrian chocolate, the moose snow globe, the silica mud mask, the stuffed comet, the Eiffel Tower keychain you bought yesterday here in Paris, and if that’s cliché then so be it. The mattress shifts when Aegon climbs over to you, pushing up your oversized Jonas Brothers t-shirt. He touches his lips to the softness of your belly, bites lightly and playfully, gazing up at you through his shaggy hair as he works his way down to the waistline of your Cookie Monster pajama pants. And suddenly, you’re back in Kansas City a year ago, feeling the comforting, harmless heat of him in the downstairs bathroom of a rooftop bar, drenched in glowing florescence like moonlight, your back to a red wall and his mouth all over you, first above and then below, coaxing the darkness out of your veins like a shot of penicillin cures sepsis. He’s antivenom, he’s white magic, he’s a spell.

“You sure?” Aegon asks now, pausing as his fingers unravel the blue drawstring on your pajama pants like the bow of a Christmas present.

You reach down to knot a hand in his hair, wanting to be closer to him, and he smiles, knowing what you’re going to say before you say it. “I am so fucking sure.”

A resistless tug and your pajama pants have vanished. Aegon positions himself between your thighs and buries his face in the thin strip of fabric that still separates you, black lace you didn’t buy while thinking of him. Aegon inhales deep and slow. “Oh God,” he moans. “You smell just as incredible as I remember.”

His thumbs slip beneath the lace and whisk it away: the coolness of sudden air, the warmth of his tongue. You gasp, drowning in the best kind of sea, waves that cover splintering piers and razor-sharp barnacles, currents that erase memory. It’s exactly like it was before. It will always be this way with him, you know, you feel in your blood that carries all the same elements as his: iron, carbon, oxygen, nitrogen that builds DNA, hydrogen that ignites and burns. And just like that red-walled night in Kansas City, you are amazed by how quickly the ecstasy blooms in you, wispy and yet unbearably powerful, clearing thoughts and uncoiling muscles.

“Good girl,” Aegon murmurs with your wetness dripping from his lips, watching your face as he slides two fingers into you; his own eyes—murky blue puddles that hold few secrets—are entranced, rapturous. “Now come in my mouth, baby. I want to taste all of you again. I want to drown in it. Come in my mouth, can you do that for me?”

You can, and almost immediately: he plunges his fingers into you as he strokes you with his tongue and the rush is bliss yet superficial somehow, sunbeams on wave crests, without the kind of miles-deep tragedy, pining, promises that poets like to write about. Aegon notices the towel you’d draped over the desk chair after your shower and reaches for it to wipe his face with, but you stop him, drawing him to you by his tank top; and you drag your tongue up his chin and over his lips, tasting yourself on him, licking him clean. Then you take his fingers into your mouth and suck them until he looks like he’s going to pass out, like he’s going to forget how to breathe.

“Fuck,” he whimpers, and he kisses you just like he did a year ago, with an intense sort of need and his hand against your face, his flesh and blood hot and pressed to yours, palm lines on your cheekbone. He wants you in a way that is unburdened by pasts or futures; and who is anyone to condemn that? Perhaps that is the most painless form love can take.

And as the high dissipates, fog burned away at noon only to creep back in the next morning, Aemond returns to you: his words, his wrath, his flawed yet flawless face. You feel unexpectedly, overwhelmingly low. But this is not the time or place for tears; Aegon is still here.

Now I have to get him off too. Now I have to repay him. That’s fair, right?

“Just do it.” You fling one arm across your face as you look towards the balcony, breathing in Paris and daylight, spreading your thighs wider for him, anticipating the faint pressure-pain that will blossom into pleasure as his body melds with yours. “It’s fine. Go ahead. Just fuck me.”

But when your eyes drift back to him, Aegon still has his clothes on. He sits upright and traces the line of your jaw with his fingertips, studying you with uncommon quietness. “No,” he says softly. “No, I don’t think so. You look sad.”

You nod, unable to trust yourself to speak without your voice breaking.

Aegon sighs and flops down beside you on the bed, pulling you against him, whispering as his fingers twist in your hair: “Come here. Shh, shh. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t help.”

“You helped, Aegon.” Just not quite enough.

He kisses your forehead, and then your cheek, and then he looks at you expectantly. “Are you finally going to tell me what he said? That night in Reykjavik? I heard you screaming something about Missouri, but I don’t think that’s what fucked you up so bad.”

You hesitate as you lie together in the sunlit stillness threaded with distant footsteps and passing cars, Aegon twirling strands of your hair, fondness and familiarity and longing that he is politely trying to ignore. Beneath his neon yellow shorts, he is rock hard.

“Now I’m really curious,” Aegon says, smiling has he kisses your forehead again, entangled with you like tendrils of grapevines, morning glory, ivy. “Aemond’s fucked up too. He’s been lying on his bedroom floor and listening to The Script. He hasn’t done that since he and Shelby split.”

Shelby, you think desolately, flinching. “You warned me about Aemond. You told me he was full of demons.”

“Yup. I’m glad I can’t read minds. It’s gotta be like Poltergeist in there.”

But everyone has a few skeletons in their closet, don’t they? Bones that won’t stop rattling. Teeth that gnash and crave. “He called me a slut.”

Aegon pulls back, brow furrowed. He looks at you, trying to decipher which nerve Aemond hit. It is not a word that Aegon considers to be derogatory.

“But it wasn’t really what he said, it was how he said it, like…like…like because of what I’d done with you a year ago, I didn’t matter anymore. Nothing about me mattered. That he could never respect someone like me. That I had deceived him into thinking I was someone worth wanting.”

Abruptly, Aegon leaves the bed. He grabs his sunglasses off the nightstand and pads across the hardwood floor in his bare feet, steps into his Crocs, slides his sunglasses over his eyes, fluffs his blond hair that hangs in chaotic waves.

“Aegon…?”

“Come with me,” he says, nodding towards the door. He pulls a piece of cotton candy flavored Bubble Yum out of his cargo shorts and tosses it into his mouth. “Right now. Put some clothes on and let’s go.”

“Go where?”

Aegon does not elaborate. He only repeats while chomping noisily on his gum: “Let’s go.”

You rush to the bathroom and are ready in five minutes: flip flops, tousled hair, a flowing turquoise sundress you bought yesterday while shopping at Hermès with Baela and Rhaena. “Okay, seriously, where are we going?”

“Out,” Aegon says simply. You follow him through the doorway and down the corridor; like a bloodhound after evidence, Aegon tracks laughter that drifts through the hallway to Daeron’s room. The youngest Targaryen brother is playing Uno with Jace and Baela; Daeron has just made Jace draw four.

Aegon smacks Daeron’s shoulder and demands: “Where is he?”

Daeron is startled. “Huh? What? Who?”

“Aemond. Where is he?”

“I don’t know.”

Aegon smacks Daeron again. “Where is he?!”

“I don’t know!” Daeron wails.

Mercifully, Baela intervenes. “Luke and Rhaena said they were going to the Eiffel Tower. Maybe Aemond went too…?”

“Cool,” Aegon replies. And when he sails out of the room, it’s not just you that goes with him; Baela, Jace, and Daeron file after Aegon as well, chattering conspiratorially. Aegon doesn’t wait for the elevator. He races down the grand staircase to the lobby: white marble floors and Oriental rugs, velvet armchairs and chandeliers, butlers scuttling and women hauling poodles around on taut leashes. Aegon strides past all of it without any interest. You follow him into the street outside and then across it, dodging taxis and limousines. Aegon believes crosswalks are optional. Next he locates the closest bridge over the Siene and traverses it.

“Are they gonna fight?” Jace asks Daeron excitedly. “You think they’re really gonna fight?!”

You plead as you hurry across the bridge, riverboats and swans gliding by below: “Aegon, I don’t want you to say anything to him.”

“I’m not going to say anything.”

“I don’t want you to shout anything either.”

Aegon peeks back at you, smirking wickedly. You know him too well. His pace picks up as he exits the bridge; next comes the vast stretch of gardens that surround the Eiffel Tower, strewn with picnicking tourists, fountains, ferns, lilies, roses, shrubs and trees and waddling ducks.

Jace gasps, euphoric: “Oh my God, they’re gonna fight!”

“Do you really see that ending well?!” Baela hisses back. “Aegon has to be on stage tonight! That’s not going to happen if Aemond snaps him in half like a KitKat!”

“Aegon, you can’t fight him,” you say, petrified. Aemond would win. Easily. Everyone knows that.

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

“Aegon, please!”

“What the hell happened?!” Baela puffs as she jogs up beside you, clutching your arm, bewildered and alarmed. You shake your head. Too long a story, not one you wish to share, not one you entirely feel you have a right to disclose. You’ve only told Aegon, and how is that going to turn out? You don’t want people to hate Aemond. You don’t want to alienate him from the band any further. That might seem contradictory given his recent disregard for your own wellbeing, but it’s—however regrettably—true.

“This is going to be so fucking epic,” Jace says. “Wait, do I have time to get popcorn? I think I should grab some popcorn. Wait, wait, there’s a crepe stand right over there, just give me five minutes. Aegon? Aegon?! Man, please, just postpone the beatdown for five minutes!”

“I hope you can sing Aegon’s parts too,” Daeron tells Jace. “I don’t have them memorized.”

“Cregan can do it.”

“Cregan is going to flay you alive if he sees you encouraging this.”

“He can’t sing all our parts,” Jace replies sensibly.

Aegon battles his way to the front of the long line of people waiting to purchase tickets to go up into the Eiffel Tower. They grimace and jeer at him, hurling swears in a myriad of languages. When he reaches the ticket counter, an aghast employee begins to implore Aegon—“S'il vous plait, Monsieur, vous devez attendre votre tour!”—until she gets a better look at him. Her mouth pops open; her sky blue eyes go impossibly wide. “Oh mon Dieu…”

“You know who I am, right?” Aegon says impatiently. “Yeah, you recognize me. Okay. I need to get up there right now. Me and my friends. What can I do to make that happen? I have lots of credit cards. I can also sign your arm or tits or whatever. What do you want?”

The employee settles for a selfie with Aegon, Jace, and Daeron. Daeron smiles dazzlingly and poses with two thumbs up. Jace gives Aegon bunny ears. Then the five of you receive your tickets. This time, Aegon is willing to wait for the elevator; it’s over 600 steps to the second floor alone, and you’re all already winded from the walk here. Aegon gets off at the first level, does a lap around the tower—tall glass barriers and metal cages around the balcony, a café and a gift shop—and then reboards the elevator to ascend to the next floor. The second level is more open. There is a railing around the edge of the walkway of course, but it only comes up to your waist. Next to one of the tower viewers is who Aegon is searching for: Luke, Rhaena, Cregan, Criston…and Aemond. He’s wearing dark jeans, a black Calvin Klein t-shirt, vintage Adidas sneakers like the ones Freddie Mercury had at Live Aid, sunglasses to shield his damaged eye from photographers, and a fanny pack. He’s biting into a Golden Delicious, round and shiny; juice glistens on his lips. None of them have spotted you yet.

You hear Luke ask Aemond: “Bruh, this is really embarrassing. You’re worth like $100 million. Why are you eating apples and pecans out of a fanny pack?”

“Do you have any idea how difficult it is to find vegan food in Paris?”

Criston spies Aegon just as he’s closing in. He reads the fury on his face, his outstretched hand. “Don’t—!”

Aegon thrusts his palms against Aemond’s chest, hard, hard enough to force him back a couple of steps towards the railing. “Apologize,” he orders.

Aemond looks at you—for a moment, only a moment—and then back at Aegon. “For what?”

“You know what you did. Apologize.”

Everyone has gathered around. Criston’s dark eyes dart between Aemond and Aegon. He has a grip on Aegon’s shoulder, but he hasn’t dragged him away yet. He doesn’t know what this is about, and though he would never admit it…he’s intrigued. Cregan hovers close by; he lights a cigarette, taking advantage of Criston’s momentary preoccupation. Baela and Rhaena are gossiping in hushed voices. From behind his black sunglasses, Aemond stares at his brother, the wheels in his mind spinning. He doesn’t hit him, though he easily could. He doesn’t seem to have the spirit for it.

“Whoo!” Jace shouts, pumping his fist in the air. “Fight, fight, fight!”

Daeron mutters to Luke: “Are we taking bets?”

“Um, no?!”

“Right now,” Aegon tells Aemond, and shoves him again. “I mean it. I will push you off the Eiffel Tower.”

“Whoa, illegal!” Jace hoots. Cregan hooks a hand into the collar of Jace’s polo and yanks him back. “Hey, referee abuse over here—!”

“I will break your fucking arm,” Cregan growls.

“Okay,” Jace says. “Got it. No problem. I’m done now.”

“Apologize,” Aegon commands again, as if you’re the only people here: him, you, Aemond.

You are mortified. “Aegon, please don’t—”

“I’m sorry,” Aemond says. He’s looking at you again, and this time he doesn’t turn away. You wish you could see his eyes: windows to the soul, however clouded they might be. It’s the first time he’s spoken to you since Reykjavik. The gravity of it—his voice, his steady gaze, the gut-punch realization of how much you still want him—knocks all the words out of your skull. You sweep them up like a child collecting spilled coins in cupped hands.

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine.” Aemond’s tone is benign, calm, like he’s already rehearsed this and has just been waiting for the opportune moment. “I shouldn’t have said that. I was speaking out of anger. It was impulsive of me, it was indecorous.”

What the fuck? Indecorous…? Who uses words like that in casual conversation? Incurably pretentious Aemond Targaryen, that’s who. “Thanks, I guess. You must spend a lot of time with your thesaurus.”

“Well, I write lyrics, so.”

“Yeah.” You wait for Aemond to add the most important part: that he was wrong about what he said, that it wasn’t true. But he doesn’t go there. He only apologizes for speaking it into existence, for vibrating the air with its treacherous molecules. “Okay,” you tell Aegon. “I think you got what you wanted. Can we go now?”

“Sure.” Aegon slaps Aemond across the back and gives him one final glare, swift but cutting.

“What’s a thesaurus?” Daeron whispers to Luke, who shrugs.

“Some kind of dinosaur…?”

“That’s alright, boys!” Jace says, clapping his hands. “Walk it off! Take a breather! Plenty of time for Round 2 later!” Cregan bends one arm behind his back. “Ow—!”

“No smoking,” Criston snaps, ripping the cigarette out of Cregan’s mouth and stomping it into ash.

~~~~~~~~~~

Hours later, after soundcheck, eating dinner in the gardens under the lengthening shadow of the Eiffel Tower, dark stripes that swallow up daylight like bathwater sucked down a drain. Everyone has a crepe that’s rolled up in wax paper, as Europeans serve it…everyone except Aemond, of course. He’s sitting by himself under a 200-year-old sycamore tree and gnawing morosely on a plain baguette that’s as long as his own forearm. His iPhone rings; he checks who it is and then silences the call. Luke goes over to sit with him, dripping whipped cream from his banana and Nutella crepe all over his white shorts speckled with sailboats. You keep trying not to look at Aemond. Each time you see him is like poking a bruise; it’s nothing but pain, but you can’t seem to stop.

“Oh wow!” Baela cries, beaming as she scrolls through her phone. “The Paris Opera Ballet is performing Romeo and Juliette this season!”

“Neat!” Rhaena says. “Like right now?”

“Yeah. We could catch a show before we leave next week.” She turns to Jace. “Baby?” And when he ignores her, she rubs his shoulder, her voice honeyed. “Jace?”

He groans. “Really? Ballet?”

Baela frowns. “I think it would be fun.”

“I think you can go without me.” Jace points to Aemond, grinning. “Take him, he likes archaic things. Hell, he is one now.” New lines appear in Aemond’s brow, but he gives no other indication that he’s heard this.

“You can’t spare one afternoon for me?” Baela says; and her words have turned from honey to battery acid. “Are you fucking serious? Do you know what I’ve given up for you?”

Jace sighs heavily. “I knew you were going to make this into a thing.”

“Me?! You’re the person who’s being unfair here, I’m asking for one afternoon—!”

“There’s literally no reason why you can’t go with someone who won’t feel like they’re being tortured for three hours.”

“Torture? That’s what my life’s work is to you? Torture?!”

“Well now I definitely don’t want to go anywhere with you if you’re going to act like this—”

“Act like what, like I want my boyfriend to occasionally show even a vague interest in something I care about—?!”

As they go back and forth, everyone else stares down at their dinner, actively dissociating.

Baela asks you: “You want to weigh in on this?” It’s not really a question.

You take a cagy bite of your baked apple crepe. “Um, honestly, I don’t really have much experience with couples counseling.”

“Great. Now’s your chance to acquire some.”

“Uh…” You eat some more of your crepe, slurp your citron pressé, a sort of do-it-yourself lemonade. Baela waits. Jace smirks at you, attentive but not for the right reasons. “Well. I guess what I can say is that it’s important for both people to have their interests valued and their needs met. So for every activity that Jace chooses, there should be roughly the same amount of time spent on something that Baela wants to do.”

“Yeah but I have a lot less free time,” Jace says. “Since…you know…I happen to be in a world-famous boy band in the midst of their third global tour.”

Baela pitches back: “Exactly, which has completely taken over my life, so I think if I could get just one fucking afternoon where you show me some minuscule amount of appreciation then that might be kind of nice, you know?”

“Jace,” you say gently. You can see on the periphery of your vision that Aemond is watching you, once again hidden behind sunglasses that you know he wishes he didn’t feel the need to wear. “It sounds like this is really important to Baela.”

He sighs again. “Baela, Baela, ballerina,” Jace muses, somewhat affectionately but without respect. “Okay. We’ll see. We might have time tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Baela agrees; but already she looks defeated. And she is not a woman who defeat comes naturally to. She’s been worn down by weeks, months, years of the same rote disappointment. She glances at a street vendor who’s selling falafel. “Hey,” she says to Rhaena. “Go get us some wraps.”

“Me?” Rhaena peers nervously at the falafel cart. “What if he only speaks French? Or some other language I don’t know?”

“Then point to the sign, you’ll figure it out,” Baela replies testily.

“I’ll go too, Rhaena,” you offer. “And you can order but I’ll stand there with you and help if any charades need to be done. Will that make it easier?”

“Sure,” Rhaena says. “Okay. Deal.”

And when you return ten minutes later, along with all the other food you have one order of plain falafel: no yogurt sauce, no wrap. You bring it to Aemond, who is stunned. “What’s this?”

“It’s vegan. Falafel is vegan. So here, your dinner just got a little more exciting.”

“Well…thanks.” He takes it with tentative hands.

“That’s so thoughtful of you!” Luke says cheerfully. “Do they have falafel in Kansas?”

“Missouri,” you correct. “And not really. But I ate a lot of it when I was at UChicago.”

This captures Aemond’s interest. “You went to UChicago?”

“Yes, Aemond. Shockingly, liking sex does not make women stupid.”

His iPhone rings: Mr. Brightside. Less than ideal timing. He rejects the call.

“Who was that?” Criston yells over.

“No one,” Aemond responds irritably.

“Your mom?”

“No, Criston.”

“How’s she doing?”

“She wasn’t the one calling, Criston!”

“Okay but I’m just asking, how is she doing like in general…?”

Back at the hotel, Comet Donati is getting ready for their first show in Paris: drinks in glasses, white lines on tables, hair and makeup, cigarettes and pills. You soak in your massive jacuzzi tub and stare up at the ceiling wondering: What am I doing here? What the hell am I still doing here?

But the thought of actually boarding a plane back to Kansas City is terrifying. Never seeing Aegon again? Never seeing Aemond again? Never seeing any of them except on YouTube or Spotify? You don’t want to leave their orbit. You don’t want to zoom off to the other end of the solar system just yet.

You wrap a towel around yourself and mosey out into the bedroom to get dressed. He’s there inspecting the souvenirs on your nightstand, chuckling and pushing them around with his knuckles, wearing a sequined blazer and skin full of ink: not Aegon, not Aemond, not Cregan, but Jace. You squeal, startled, and clutch your towel tighter around yourself. Unfortunately, it’s a very small towel. A very very small towel.

“These are neat,” Jace says. “So I collect tattoos and you collect souvenirs. We have so much in common.”

“We have exceptionally little in common. What do you want?”

He smiles, but never quite kindly. “What do you want?”

“I want you to take Baela to the ballet,” you say. “And I want you to get out of my room now.”

He turns all the way around to face you. He flings your moose snow globe from Stockholm into the air and then catches it, again, again. “Do you really?”

“Yes, Jace.”

And for a minute, or two, or what feels like forever, he doesn’t move. He just stands there staring at you, not moving any closer but not leaving either. Not listening to you. Not hearing you because he doesn’t want to. And you think, your heart hammering in your chest: At what point should I scream for Aegon or Criston? Will they hear me? Will they help me?

“Alright,” Jace says at last. He sets your moose snow globe back down on the nightstand, roughly, with a loud clunk. Then he walks across your room; but before he disappears through the doorway, he throws you a brass room key. Instinctively, you move to catch it, almost dropping your towel in the process. You snatch it back into place just in time. Jace is amused. Perhaps he planned it that way. “Aegon left that lying around,” Jace says, meaning the key. “Maybe you should be more discriminating when choosing who you give it to.”

“I didn’t give it to him. He took it from Criston.”

“Sure he did.” And finally, Jace leaves, as unwelcome as a funnel cloud or a hailstorm.

Aemond spends the concert in the shadows: pacing, taking his notes, ruminating over his many grudges. You spend it in the front row with Baela and Rhaena, wearing the neon yellow gown you found in Reykjavik. You try not to scan the arena for glimpses of Aemond. You fail miserably. Comet opens their concert with an interesting choice, an upbeat cover of Third Eye Blind’s How’s It Going To Be. When you ask Rhaena about it, she says it was Luke’s idea, which in your experience means it was almost certainly Aemond’s, or at least one that he enthusiastically endorsed. Daeron begins, peppy and animated, strutting across the stage:

“I’m only pretty sure that I can’t take anymore

Before you take a swing

I wonder, what are we fighting for?”

Aegon is next, characteristically a little sloppy, a little shaky, yet getting colossal cheers:

“When I say out loud

I want to get out of this

I wonder is there anything

I’m going to miss?”

Cregan’s voice is deep, sensuous, inviting yet with an edge like a blade:

“I wonder how it’s going to be

When you don’t know me?

How’s it going to be

When you’re sure I’m not there?”

Jace is technically the best singer, rich and smooth and nearly always pitch-perfect:

“How’s it going to be

When there’s no one there to talk to?

Between you and me

‘Cause I don’t care…”

And Luke leads the harmony as guitar notes pluck out of the monstrous speakers:

“How’s it going to be?

How’s it going to be?”

Aside from the cover, the setlist is the same as it’s always been since you joined the tour in Rome…but you’re experiencing it in a new way. You are needled by jealously every time you wonder what woman, moment, day, night inspired one of Aemond’s songs; you are nauseous with envy for everyone who’s ever been able to touch him. When they perform A Girl Named After A Car—which had previously always struck you as fun, light, unserious, perhaps satirical—you are consumed by a specific conspiracy theory. After fighting it for half of the song, you Google two words with your iPhone: Shelby car. Sure enough, there’s a vintage Mustang model called a Shelby. It’s gorgeous. It’s perfect for Aemond.

“Great,” you mutter to yourself.

“You okay?” Rhaena asks.

“Yeah,” you reply, slamming your phone back into your purse. “I’m awesome. I’ve literally never been better.”

“You don’t look awesome,” Baela says, smiling. “That’s okay. I’m not so awesome either at the moment.” She takes your hands and starts spinning you around the floor. “We can be hot bitter bitches together.”

It’s tradition for everyone to hang out after the concert, but you’re in no hurry to get to Jace’s suite; you certainly don’t want to be one of the first people to arrive. You don’t want to be alone with him. You walk very slowly, taking a detour to touch up your hair and makeup. As you are wandering a quiet section of the hallway, you observe that Aemond’s door has been left ever so slightly ajar. You peer inside to find it empty…but his notebook is on his nightstand.

No way, you tell yourself. No no no. Huge violation of privacy and respect.

“Oh yeah?” you object, barely audible. “And what would you call what he said to me?”

You go to the notebook and flip it open. Matte black pages slip beneath your fingertips.

“Just the first page,” you swear to yourself. “That’s all. Then I’m leaving.”

There’s a song written there; or, rather, partially written. He’s only worked out a verse and the chorus so far. Your eyes skim over it with lightning-flash quickness, cognizant that you cannot allow yourself to be caught. At the top of the page is one word in pale gleaming ink like pearls, opal, moonstone: Magic.

(Ver1) You walk into the room and I think:

How am I going to get you out of me?

Are you an infection, a lethal connection,

Or are you a fire to burn me clean?

“Nice,” you breathe, with hushed awe you wish you didn’t have.

(Chorus) Are you a witch or are you a spell,

Is loving you gonna be heaven or hell?

Black cats and white salt, ladders and doorframes

I think of magic every time you look my way

There are drunken, giggling voices and the sound of doors opening and closing in the hallway. You scurry out of Aemond’s suite and proceed to Jace’s before anyone thinks to come searching for you.

The room is thick with label executives and hangers-on, smoke and music; Watch by Maisie Peters is playing. She’s a friend of the band. You’re reasonably sure Aegon has hooked up with her, or at least aspires to. Speaking of Aegon, he is currently flitting around with Cregan. He stops briefly to say hi to you, a chilled emerald bottle of Kronenbourg 1664 in one hand, white powder on the other. He’s there and then he’s gone again. He might as well have been slingshotted to the other end of the galaxy. Criston is standing by the open balcony doors and talking to Daeron. Jace is at the bar laughing loudly—obnoxiously, hyena-like—with some mid-twenties guys you don’t recognize. Baela is glaring at him from one of the couches, seated next to Rhaena and Luke. But when she sees you, the rage vanishes from her face. She waves you over rather frantically.

“Look, I know this probably isn’t going to help your situation, but I just wanted to let you know that I am really, really hoping you’ll be willing to stay with us a little longer—”

“Yes! Totally!” Luke seconds, nodding.

“—And it’s not like we’re going to forget about you or prefer her over you or anything—”

“No, definitely not,” Luke says.

“What are you talking about?” you ask them. “Prefer who?”

Rhaena grabs your hand and squeezes it. You follow her eyeline across the room to the opposite couch, a mirage through warm smoke and icy dread. And you think: I should have known. I shouldn’t be surprised. Of course it would be here—in this city of Instagram models and Hallmark-card romance—that she would reappear like the moon growing large again after fading to a sliver, everything back in its rightful place, nature restored to harmony.

Sitting beside Aemond—on his good side, his unscarred side—is Shelby.

#aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #aemond x you #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x y/n #Aegon Targaryen #aegon targaryen ii #aegon ii #Aegon Targaryen II x reader #Aegon II Targaryen #aegon targaryen x reader

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ashdreams2023 · 2 months

Note

Hiii. I hope you’re doing well. I am starting to like the Harry Potter movies because this is the first time I’ve watched it (I’m 3 movies in so far). And of course, it just so happened that I fell for Draco Malfoy.

I was wondering if you could make a Draco Malfoy x Reader smut. I can’t really think of a plot but as long as it’s smut 🤭

Of course of course we can do that sweetie

Draco Malfoy x reader (I made the reader female since I didn’t know what to go with 😅)

TW: NSFW. Draco is 18 here, this takes place at his last year at hogwarts

Alone

It was one of those weekends where everyone would go home to visit their families or go spend the night with their friends in the other dorms.

You didn’t feel like going out tonight, plus you didn’t want to get glared at by the lions if you visit your girlfriends in the tower.

So you stayed inside.

A knock was heard on your door, you knew who it was but you wanted to see how long he will stand there and wait for you to actually respond.

After two straight minutes of him just standing outside you felt pity on him and spoke up "Come in already, you know I’m inside"

The door opens and comes in your boyfriend, he changed out of his uniform and wore some of his more comfortable slacks.

"Seeing that you’re a prefect now i thought you’ll be more excited to see me in the girls dorm, or are you too much of a gentleman?" You teased closing your book shut.

"Professor snape is out for some business outside the castle." He stated sitting down on your bed and resting his hand casually on your leg.

"Oh I see…does that mean you’re the one responsible now for me?" You got closer, placing your hand onto of his.

"Yes, and right now you should be…" he stared down at your lips "asleep"

You smirked licking your lips "You’re gonna put me to bed? I’m not tired thought"

"We need to fix that then" He grabbed your chin with his other hand and kissed you greedily.

You moaned against his lips and kissed him back, his hand moved up your nightshirt sending shivers down your core.

Your hands up to his head and pulled on his hair, Draco groaned digging into the flesh of your thigh.

"Still not tired" you chuckled pulling away from his kiss.

"We’re just starting" he pushed you on your back and climbed on top, he pushed your nightshirt up till it was off of you and took your nipple in the mouth.

"Shit your mouth is warm" You moaned arching your back.

His hand lowered down and slid one finger into your core.

He hummed feeling content with the way your body was reacting to his touch, his time of learning how to get to your right spots had paid off, with your help of course.

He pumped his finger and out moaning your name as you arch your back even more with a mouth wide open and panting.

"More Draco more" You whined, he entered a second finger, staring intensely at how wet you’ve become down there.

Draco lowered his head and sucked on your clit making you scream his name like a chant "be as loud as you can, no one but us is here"

Your body was sweating and it was getting on your nerves how he was still dressed and you’re the one naked and wet alone.

You tugged on his top, begging for it to be taken off, to feel him skin to skin. Draco got the memo but that didn’t mean he would follow blindly.

"Use your words darling"

"Please you’re being unfair"

"Unfair about what?" He smirked pushing your hair out of your face and kissing your lips passionately.

"Asshole" You mumbled when he pulled away.

He chuckled then took off his top and unbuckled his pants.

Draco stroked himself a few times before pushing your legs apart then slide right inside of your soft silk folds.

You moaned desperately and held his chest close to yours, Draco thrusted into you with his hands pulling on your hair from the back, he grunted loudly with each thrust.

"You’re so beautiful, Merlin you’re perfect"

The pleasure was spreading through your body like lighting, touching each inch of your body, claiming it and reminding you who you belong too.

Your legs warped around his waist tightly, Draco looked down at your body with lusted hooded eyes and bit his lip, watching your breasts bounce with each thrust.

"Draco I’m gonna!"

"Come, do it, look at me while you do it"

Draco’s pupils grew wider, your body shook with the orgasm riding your body from your core to your curling toes.

Draco let your body finish then pulled out just before his own spill, he pumped himself few times, using the beautiful sight of you being unfolded to get himself off.

Your sensitive body was covered with a soft blanket, Draco laid beside and held your hand into his, his long lashes fluttered softly at you before he kissed you knuckles gently.

"Your mother would have a heart attack if she knew her son didn’t wait till the engagement night" you said sarcastically.

"I thought you would be tired now" he snuggled closer to you.

"My body is, I didn’t say anything about my mouth" You grinned.

"I’ll keep that in mind next time" he mumbled pressing his lips to your neck.

#draco malfoy x you #draco x y/n #draco malfoy x reader #draco x you #draco imagine #draco smut #draco x reader #draco lucius malfoy #draco malfoy #draco fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter requests

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raven-awed · 1 year

Text

Defense Lessons

Professor Aesop Sharp x fem reader

Summary: Sharp offers Defense Against the Dark Art lessons to J. Pippin’s new employee.

A/n: Couldn’t resist writing for this sexy professor. I’m hoping to write a part 2! Thank you @minichrismd for the help!

*Not my picture

Professor Sharp opened the door to his office and shuffled in. With a flick of his wand the candles and lanterns illuminated.

His office was immaculate, as usual, a potion master's paradise. His shelves were stocked full of every ingredient imaginable, from Ashwinder eggs to Wormwood essence. There wasn’t a single conceivable potion he wouldn’t be able to brew with this stock.

He sighed, glancing down at the full bag he lugged into Hogwarts with him and dropped it carelessly onto the floor. Slowly, he moved to the attached closet, glaring at the door before pulling it open. A frown formed on his face as looked at the crammed shelves and the materials spilling over onto the ground.

Sharp was completely aware that he didn’t have the space for any more ingredients, but he couldn��t resist stopping at J. Pippin’s when he saw that y/n was tending the counter.

That’s how this whole mess started in the first place.

Roughly a month ago he had gone in to purchase Dugbog Tongues, as he no longer felt up to venturing into the Forbidden Forest to hunt down his own. Afterall, he wasn’t a spry wizard anymore, unable to maneuver through the thick woods or climb like he used to, especially with his limp.

When the door chimes had rang over his head, he wasn’t greeted by the familiar face of Mr. Pippins, but the warm smile of a lovely stranger. The gruff professor nodded politely as she welcomed him in and introduced herself as Mr. Pippin’s new assistant.

Her good mood must have been infectious because he soon found himself making small talk with her. She had easily impressed him with her potion’s knowledge and her eagerness to learn and improve. Perhaps if his students were more like her, he’d have more hope for the future.

He huffed again, looking at his recent purchases on the floor. Now everytime he found himself in Hogsmeade, he made some sort of excuse to see her. He dragged a hand over his face, he was too old to be acting like such a fool. He shouldn’t be getting so worked up over a pretty face anymore, even if she was pleasant to talk to.

Grabbing the new supplies from the floor, he unceremoniously shoved them in the closet and slammed the door shut. He’d deal with that some other time.

In fact, a certain red headed Gryffindor came to mind, he’ll be overjoyed the next time he sneaks in here to steal ingredients. Sharp could just let him know everything in the closet up for grabs, but it was more fun to make him work for it. That Weasley boy would rob him blind if Sharp isn’t careful.

The week progressed as usual, lessons, potion brewing, sending students with minor burns or cuts to the hospital wing. One student had managed to singe his eyebrows off, it was probably the most memorable event of the week.

By the weekend, Professor Sharp was ready for a break, he went to the Three Broomsticks by himself and had a few drinks. He didn’t see y/n on his way over when he passed the potion shop, just Mr. Pippin assisting a couple of customers.

He sighed as he finished his last drink of brandy, setting the empty glass on the bar and rising to his feet.

The autumn air was brisk and the sun was beginning to set as he started walking back to the castle. On the bright side, he saved a few galleons by not spending anything at J Pippin’s, that man already has enough of his salary.

As he slowly headed back to the castle, Sharp froze when he spotted y/n walking towards him, or to be more precise towards Hogsmeade.

A wide friendly smile made its way on her face as she waved at him. “Good evening, Professor Sharp!”

He nodded, “Evening.”

She looked a little less composed than normal, her hair a slightly out of place with leaves sticking out, she was wearing pants instead of her typical uniform she wore at the shop, and there was mud caked onto her boots.

“Did I miss you at the shop?” She asked, her voice was light and sweet. “I was just out collecting some ingredients in the forest.” She held up her sack.

He shook his head, “I’m already set for the week with ingredients.” And probably for the rest of the year, he thought to himself.

They continued to walk towards each other, meeting halfway. Sharp narrowed his eyes and immediately pulled a handkerchief from his coat pocket, “You’re bleeding.”

“Oh?” Y/n blinked in surprise while the older man began to clean the blood from her temple.

“What happened out there?” He asked firmly, on the outside he appeared as calm and collected as ever, but he’d be lying if he said that his pulse didn’t start racing at the sight of y/n hurt.

“Poachers,” she answered quietly. “Didn’t know I was so close to their camp before they attacked.”

Sharp frowned, lifting the handkerchief to get a better look at the wound. The cut was long and gushing blood, there also appeared to be some dirt mixed in.

“I’m alright, really I am,” she tried to reassure him, placing her hand on his.

“We should go to the hospital wing, have the nurse check it,” he suggested.

“It’s just a scratch-“

“There are all sorts of things out there in those woods, could get infected if you’re not careful,” he explained. “Come on.”

“But I should really take these back-“

“Your health is more important,” Sharp pointed out. “Parry will understand.”

Sharp escorted y/n to the castle and up to the hospital wing. He lingered while she was examined, sitting quietly with his brow furrowed, while he mulled things over.

It wouldn’t be reasonable for him to ask her not to go back, especially with her line of work. Perhaps he could suggest that next time he could accompany her, however, as a retired auror he knew that dangerous witches and wizards were everywhere, not just lurking in the Forbidden Forest.

From what he had seen y/n had proven to be a capable witch, skilled at potions and quite knowledgeable about other subjects, maybe with more support she could learn to properly defend herself. She most likely knew the basics, but he could show her a few more advanced spells, help her be prepared for next time.

Sharp cleared his throat, his dark eyes locking onto hers as the nurse finished treating the wound. “Starting next week, I’d like to offer you lessons.”

Y/n lifted her brow and tilted her head, “Potion lessons?”

“Defense against the dark arts lessons,” he stated, rising to his feet. “With some practice, I’ll have you ready to take on any dark witch or wizard.”

He acquired a practice dummy from Professor Hecat and brought it up to his classroom. He flicked his wand and all the tables and potion stations moved to the side clearing the space in the center of the classroom.

They met once a week for lessons, Sharp taught y/n advanced spells that were not part of the basic curriculum as well as strategies he had used back when he was auror. Sometimes two seemingly unrelated spells could be a powerful combination if used in the right order at the right moment.

Sharp’s main goal was to get y/n more accustomed to using these spells, make it so it was second nature for her to defend and attack if posed with a threat. The only way for that to happen was practice, lots and lots of practice.

Her nerves and discomfort were apparent from the beginning. Her hand would tremble slightly each time she attempted to produce a combat spell.

“Defensive magic wasn’t exactly my favorite while in school,” she explained one day as Sharp pushed the practice dummy in front of her. “Was always too much pressure, too much risk, I didn’t want to accidentally hurt anyone.”

Sharp sighed, “Unfortunately the world doesn’t share that mindset, cause out there,” he gestured to the window, “There are plenty of witches and wizards who couldn’t care less who they hurt, and if you’re not prepared, you’ll wind up injured again or worse because of one of them.”

Y/n nodded, taking his words in, she hadn’t shared with him how shaken up she had been after the attack. In all honesty, she was quite scared that something like that would indeed happen again.

“Let’s retry that spell,” he directed. “And no holding back this time. It’s important to have conviction when casting, remember that.”

Y/n practices the spell a few more times, getting better with each turn. She wondered if Sharp is this patient with his actual students; she had graduated from Hogwarts before he took on the role of Potions Master.

“You’re improving,” Sharp pointed out as they finished for the evening. “I’ll see you next week.”

“Good night Professor Sharp,” y/n smiled, heading towards the door.

He frowned for a brief moment. “Y/n?” He called.

“Yes,” she answered, spinning around on her heels to face him.

“You know, it’s unnecessary for you to call me ‘professor’,” he said, his hands clasped behind his back. “You aren’t my student.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right,” y/n pursed her lips for a moment. “Mr. Sharp…?” She addressed him, but unsure as the words left her mouth.

“Aesop would suffice.” His eyes remained as cool as ever, but in truth the matter had been bothering him for quite sometime now. Her referring to him as Professor Sharp presented a hierarchy when there shouldn’t be one, or at least he didn’t want her to think there was one.

“Oh, alright,” she responded, a little wide eyed, heart fluttering more than it should. “Good night Aesop.”

A barely noticeable half smile formed on his lips as he prepared his classroom for the following morning, it even remained as he retired for the night.

In the weeks that followed, Sharp observed y/n’s growth, she had become more confident and casted spells with ease. But besting a dummy in the safety of a classroom was nothing like a real duel.

“Today we will be doing something different,” he explained while shucking off his coat and laying it on the back of his desk chair.

Y/n tilted her head, face heating up as Aesop also removed his tie and vest. “What did you have in mind exactly?”

“Dueling,” he answered with a smirk.

Her face fell, “Me duel you?”

His smirk grew, “I’ll go easy on you, but this is the best way to see how you’d fare in an actual fight.” Aesop drew his wand, “Ready?”

Y/n raised her wand but she hesitated to cast a spell, Sharp, however, didn’t.

“Expelliarmus,” he shouted.

“Protego,” she responded just in the nick of time, deflecting the curse.

Flashes of lights lit up the classroom as the duel evolved into a dance as they circled each other. There wasn’t a single pause or lull between spells.

“Depulso!” Y/n blinked in surprise when the spell actually landed, sending Aesop flying back. Immediately she rushed over.

“Aesop!” She knelt beside him, her hands cupping his face as he groaned slightly. “Are you hurt?”

Her touch was so light and gentle as she cradled his head. It had been quite a long time since anyone touched him like this.

Looking up at her so close to him, his face began heating up. Sharp cleared his throat, “I’m fine.”

“Looks like you can hold your own in a fight,” he commented, rising to his feet and dusting himself off. He frowned for a moment as his own words sunk in. “I suppose that means you don’t need anymore lessons,” he explained solemnly.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” she agreed, with a hint of disappointment in her voice.

They both stood at the doorway, realizing that they wouldn't be seeing each other anytime soon.

Sharp could try to go back to the shop, but he knew after spending so much time in his classroom that she had noticed his well stocked shelves. He racked his brain for another excuse to spend time with her but he was drawing a blank.

He sighed, glancing at y/n, she had probably had other things to do tonight, “Well, good night-“

“We should get drinks!” Y/n chirped, interrupting him. Her face revealing her excitement over the prospect. “To celebrate and as a thank you!”

“As a thank you?” He asked, raising a brow.

“Yes! For teaching me how to properly defend myself! Nothing big,” she rattled on. “Just drinks and maybe dinner. Does next week work for you at the Three Broomsticks?”

Aesop smiled, “See you next week.”

#aesop sharp #aesop sharp x reader #professor sharp #professor sharp x reader #female reader #reader insert #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fanfic

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hrtbreakanniversary · 8 months

Text

Back to Me | Satoru Gojo

I could make you mad, I could make you scream I could make you cry, I could make you leave I could make you hate me for everything But I can't make you come back to me

pairing: prince!satoru gojo x maid!reader

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), modern royal au, mentions of sexual activities, suggestive, they are college aged (gojo is about 23 and y/n is nearing 21), no use of japanese honorifics

word count: 1k

Annoyed was an understatement for what Y/N Y/L/N felt at the moment.

At the break of dawn, Prince Satoru Gojo begins his routine of an early morning run before going to the gym.

He's tried to do a public gym once but someone took a picture of him from an odd angle that made it look like the woman that was helping with his weights so that it didn't fall on his chest was sitting on his face. Social media went into a frenzy for the prince's exhibitionism. His publicists having a field day and his parents having a hard time believing him too because of his reputation that constantly bought him a spot on gossip websites.

Because of so, he's been instructed to stay home by his parents until everything dies down and also to just contain him. They have no idea what they did to create what they call an "embarrassment to the throne." and his need to cause destruction to his title.

Workers around the castle struggled to keep up with the male's new schedule. His very unpredictable new schedule.

One of these being Ms. Y/L/N herself who was up much earlier to direct the staff of what to do. Having basically raised the boy since he was born, she knew just about everything about him. How Satoru liked his breakfast. How he liked his clothes smelling. How he liked his bath.

Since it was the summer before her junior year of college, Y/N decided to come back home from the summer and visit to spend time with her Mother. Always forgetting that her mom's second home was the castle and that is just about where she spent all on her time.

Each summer consisted of her working at the castle to help her mother out. Well since it was legal to at the age of 16. All the summers and weekends before that when Y/N wasn’t preoccupied with school or homework, she too find would have considered this place her second home as well because how often she was here but the perception of that was ruined when she turned the grand age of 15 and heard who she once considered her safe person, her best friend, whispering things to Suguru Geto, another prince from the neighboring city that tore her heart into two.

Some would say it’s petty to hold such a grudge for so long. But she didn’t care especially with how bothersome he was being at the moment.

“Ow… Ow…” Satoru swatched at the other maid’s hand, “Are you trying to exfoliate my skin off? Shit hurts.”

In fear, the young maid moved away. Dropping the sponge into the tub, bowing with apologies spilling from her mouth.

Muttering underneath his breath, he looked at Y/N who stood in the corner of the room with her arms crossed.

“Aren’t you suppose to be doing this?”

“I’m teaching her.”

“Well, she’s rubbing me raw.”

“Sad.”

“Shouldn’t you be showing her how? What kind of teacher are you?”

“It’s 2023, Gojo. Don’t you know how to take your own showers?”

“It's Satoru to you. And don’t you know procedure?”

“I don’t know. Seems like I’m hearing this is the first time we've done something like this and that you specifically requested it.”

He should’ve known better. I mean your mother was the head steward. Of course, she’ll go into detail about specific things. Especially about how he suddenly required assistance in the bath. Complaining that he was struggling to scrub his body because he pulled something earlier this morning. Y/N too rose an eyebrow as Satoru didn’t usually take baths, he just took showers because it took less time and he was able to leave the castle quicker when he did so.

“Just hurry up and get over here.”

Y/N resisted the urge to roll her eyes. While picking up the wet sponge from the tub, she also resisted the urge to let her eyes wander down to his sculpted body, features of his abs and biceps prominent because the water that dripped down. Harshly pressing the sponge against his back, she began to roughly rub up and down his back.

Satoru warned, "Y/L/N."

Turning her head to the younger maid, Y/N glanced towards the door. Granting permission for the younger maid to excuse herself from the room before Y/N began to scrub again. Not as rough but definitely not gentle.

"I'm just doing my job, it's all."

Y/N ran the sponge up and down his back once before moving to his arms. Running the soap up and down the muscles xf his biceps that still appeared even though his body was relaxed. The motion reminding her of the last time she had her hands on him like this.

That's when she began to apply more pressure again, resulting in Satoru turning his head to look at her from over his shoulder. Her hands falling into the water behind him.

"What are you doing?"

"Perv."

"How am I a perv? I'm just trying to get washed up after my long workout." A smirk played it's way onto his lips which pissed her off more.

"Oh please! Who does this anymore?"

"Some people do!" Satoru actually got this idea from a tv show he watched on Netflix the other night. Although the show was set in the 1800's and the clothes that they were wearing were much older than what they're wearing.

"Yeah, babies do! You're a grown man."

"I can't move my arms." He pouted. "I need help getting to certain areas."

"Is this the only way you can get a woman to touch you, is that why? Oh my, are the rumors in fact untrue? Is the crown prince being a playboy a facade? Is he actually just a virgin?" Y/N switched positions so she was kneeling on the side of the tub and was now facing him. She placed her hand swiftly onto his chest, resting where his heart is," Tell me, is your heart beating fast just from the opposite sex touching you like this?"

“You, of all people, should know I’m not a virgin.” Satoru's blue eyes falling from hers down to her lips.

Y/N quickly yanked back her hand. The memories from 2 summer ago flowing in. Grabbing a handful of soapy water, she tossed it into Satoru's face before standing up abruptly.

"Whatever, do this yourself."

Y/N splashed him again with the dirty tub water, her back towards him as she walked to the door.

"I'll tell your mom!"

"Oh yeah? What is she going to do? Fire me?!"

a/n: might make this into a series hehe

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blueraineshadows · 11 months

Note

Ok I’m running out of new ideas 😒 so can I request a jealous Sebastian please? Maybe F!MC has introduced some of her other friends to the RoR (Garreth, Imelda, Natty, Poppy), but it made Seb feel special knowing that he was the only one and now he’s a bit sulky about it and MC can see it and she actually loves how jealous he is, but then one day, they finally get together (smut ensues) in one of her vivariums and she makes a comment like “this is just for you 😉”

Please and thank you 💜🐍

Thank you for the Ask 💜

We all love a bit of Jealous Seb 💚

....

Students were all making the most of the sunny day and were outside enjoying the warmth of the afternoon. MC was sat with some of her friends, discussing some ideas of what to do at the weekend. A few suggestions had been passed around, although Sebastian was secretly hoping to be able to spend some of his time alone with MC. He was finding that more difficult now that she had formed close bonds with some of the others.

"A little party might be fun," Natty suggested. "Maybe we could all sneak into one dorm."

Garreth grinned. "I'm up for that."

"I'm not stepping foot in anyone's common room but my own," Imelda said. "If we do it, then it will have to be in Slytherin's."

"I'll get you all in, I'm good at sneaking in to places,' Sebastian smirked.

MC leaned her shoulder against him and they shared a look, secrets shared in their eyes. Sebastian's stomach did a little flip. He loved sharing stuff with MC that nobody else needed to know.

"That does all sound fun, however, why do we need to sneak around when MC has the perfect place for such a thing," Poppy said. She turned a bright smile towards MC and lowered her voice. "We could have a little gathering in the Room of Requirement. Deek wouldn't mind, would he?"

"That's a brilliant idea, Poppy!" Garreth said. He sat up straighter. "We could have snacks, maybe even make it a sleep over. I might even be able to sneak some Fire Whiskey if anyone is up for that."

MC looked at all her friends, they had all turned to look excitedly at her, and she laughed. "Sure, that sounds great!"

But then her eyes swung to Sebastian beside her, and her smile slipped. He looked stunned and a bit pissed off. While the others were all chatting happily, making plans for the party, MC gave Sebastian an enquiring look. She leant closer to him to ask, quietly, "Everything alright?"

He looked at her, she could have sworn he looked...hurt.

"I'm fine," he shrugged. "A party sounds great, although I didn't realise that your secret hideaway was now available to anyone and everyone."

"Not just anyone," she said, shaking her head. "Just my closest friends."

"I see," he said, his mouth grim. He looked away from her, across the grounds towards the castle. Then he stood and brushed some grass from his robe. "I need to run an errand, I will catch up with you later."

MC watched him stride off across the grass, her heart sinking a little.

She felt a hand on her arm. Poppy gave her a little smile. "I get the feeling someone doesn't like to share when it comes to you, MC."

MC felt her heart flutter, but she kept her face as calm as possible. "Why would you think that?"

"Isn't it obvious?" She gave MC's arm a squeeze. "Sebastian is crazy about you, anyone can see that."

MC blushed and began to fiddle with the hem of her robe. Could Poppy be right? MC gazed across the grounds in the direction Sebastian had disappeared. She hoped so, because she was crazy about him too.

...

MC had asked Sebastian to meet her outside the Room of Requirement. He had arrived looking a bit sulky, but had cheered when she had slipped her hand into his. "Come on," she said with a smile.

"What's going on?" He asked.

"I've got a surprise for you."

His eyes lit up and she led him in, across the main room and towards his favourite vivarium. Gulls called as they walked across the sand, their feet sinking into the softness. The crash of waves greeted them as MC led Sebastian towards a picnic spot.

"This is new," he said. His gaze took in the fire pit and a tartan blanket spread out on the ground, beside it was a wicker picnic hamper. He gave her a quizzical look. "What's all this?"

"You seemed upset that I had told our friends about the Room of Requirement," she said. "I didn't realise it meant so much to you."

He blushed and rubbed his nose. "The room itself doesn't mean that much to me," he said. "And anyway, it's your room. It's not up to me."

"But, if it was up to you? Would you have kept it for just us two?"

His eyes met hers, a little wary. "It did feel rather special to have a secret like that with you, a place all our own."

"Well, that's why I thought I would do this," she said. She indicated the picnic blanket. "I know this vivarium is your favourite and for the rest of the day, we have it all to ourselves. The others can't come into the Room without me, so...I'm all yours."

He stared, and then his hand gently squeezed hers, his lips lifting into a smile that just might steal all of her breath.

They ate the lunch she had packed, swapping stories of their childhood, Sebastian telling her of family days at the beach near Feldcroft when he was small. It felt good to sit under the sun and laugh with him like this.

Then, he was tugging off his shoes and socks, rolling up his trousers and coaxing her into the sea for a paddle. She blushed as she tucked the hem of her skirt into her waistband, his eyes on her bare legs. But, soon they were running in the shallow surf, splashing and giggling.

Sebastian caught hold of her, lifting her clean off her feet and swinging her around. She squealed, clutching at his shoulders, now only covered by the cotton of his shirt. He paused, holding her against him, MC could feel the thud of his heart. Their faces were so close.

"I can't remember the last time my heart felt this full and light at the same time, if ever," he said.

MC put her hands on his face, feeling flushed and giddy being held so tight in his arms. "Me too."

Sebastian set her down on her feet, but he didn't let her go. Their eyes never left each other's, and then he pressed soft lips against hers, hesitant, enquiring. MC responded, kissing him back eagerly, and then her hands were in his hair, his own caressing her back.

When their mouths parted, they were both breathing a little faster. The waves rolled about their ankles, the sun a soft glow beginning to head for the horizon.

"Even though our friends know about this place, please know, that time spent here with you is more precious than anything else. I don't want to lose that either, and I love that you feel that way too," MC said, softly.

"Well, in that case,' he said, smirking. He bent and swept her off her feet, bridal style. She giggled and held on to him. "I'm going to make the most of every minute here alone with you, starting by testing out the comfort of that blanket more thoroughly."

He placed MC down, laying her back against the blanket and claiming the space beside her. Her heart thumped wildly as he kissed her, stealing her breath and making her blood sing. When his lips moved along her jaw and down under her ear, she sighed, tilting her head to allow him better access.

His hand smoothed her waist, and then her breath caught as he slid his palm down the length of her bare thigh. Her skirt was still tucked up to her waist and he looked down, watching as his hand smoothed back up her now blazing skin. He bit his lower lip, hesitating before sliding his hand under the skirt to cup her hip. "You are so soft," he whispered.

MC swallowed, her heart in her mouth at the feel of his hand there, against her skin. She trailed finger tips from his jaw, down his throat and caressed the skin over his collar bone where his shirt was open. He met her eyes. Flame met flame, anticipation made her quiver. "You can touch me," she whispered. "Any time you want. I'm yours, if you'll have me. I think I always have been."

He pressed his mouth to hers with open, hot kisses and he breathed into her mouth. "And I am yours."

Goosebumps spread over MC's skin as the sea breeze floated over her bare limbs, but Sebastian's hands and mouth were keeping her warm. Naked, and pressed against him, an inner fire flooded through her, she was hungry for the taste of him.

She moaned softly at the feel of his mouth on her breasts, his tongue tasting the salt on her skin. She relished the feel of her palms exploring the flesh of his back, his chest, and all the time, the hardness of his arousal against her leg sent shivers of expectation to her core.

Despite the burning need in his eyes, he was gentle, slow, as he slid fingers into her soft heat. She could hear the wet slick of her arousal, her cheeks flushing as he teased and delighted. Her fingers reached to seek out his silken hardness, desperate to return the pleasure he gave.

When he finally slid into her, her back arched against the full, thick burn of him, her fingers biting into his skin. His name fell from her lips, and he soothed her with kisses, and whispers of his love as he began to move, rolling his hips.

Deep inside her, a flame was growing from a flicker to an inferno. Her breaths were gasping as she felt herself climbing higher, and higher. He angled himself and she felt the tip of him slide against that ache, stroking it with each thrust and her hips lifted to meet him. "Sebastian," she gasped, surprised at the intense pressure. "Oh..."

"It's alright," he said. He kissed her forehead, her nose. "Go with it...mmph...feel it, for me."

He thrust harder, faster, and her toes curled, her head fell back and she closed her eyes. Fuck, he felt so good. And then, the wave of her pleasure hit, and she felt the clench, the rolling burn of release, a cry escaping her throat.

He pushed through her orgasm, rocking his hips before plunging deep, hard, again, again, and then he groaned. She felt the pulsing throb of his release and clenched around him, drawing another low moan from his lips.

As the sun disappeared below the sea, they lay wrapped in each other's warmth, his cloak draped over them. Their mouths and hands touching, soothing, memorising skin.

"I never want to go back," he said. "Can we stay here, forever?"

She giggled and pressed fingers to his lips. "We will have to go back sometime, we will be missed."

"If you thought I was jealous before, then you are so not ready for the foreseeable," he grinned. "I'm not prepared to share you at all now, not after this."

She smiled and linked their fingers, clasping him tightly. "You and me against the rest of the world," she laughed.

He looked at her, his face serious now, but his eyes were warm, soft just for her. "Absolutely."

#hogwarts legacy fanfic #mc x sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow fanfiction #sebastian sallow smut

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amhrosina · 1 year

Text

Birthday Celebrations (Frank Castle x Reader) Headcanons

MASTERLIST // JOIN MY TAGLIST

A/N: Happy (belated) Birthday to @wanda2themax, who requested birthday headcanons with Frank!

(Warnings: references to smutty behavior (my fav kind from frank), frank being a total simp for reader and loving every minute of it)

Frank’s been around the block a time or two, so when it’s his sweetheart’s birthday, he’s already been preparing for at least a month prior.

He’ll wake you up with sweet, soft kisses down your spine, whispering how much he loves you inbetween kisses.

A soft “Happy Birthday, sweetheart” while nuzzling against your ear (esp. if your love language is touch)

Even if you insist you don’t want any fuss over your birthday, he does it anyways because you deserve to have people fussing over you.

If you’re a breakfast person, he’ll tell you to stay put in bed while he prepares your favorite breakfast foods. If you’re just a ‘coffee in the morning’ type of person, he’ll make sure it’s made perfectly and brought to you in bed.

He’d definitely go down on you as soon as you’re awake and call it present number one.

The way this man would do anything and everything to make you feel special (which isn’t unlike every other day of the year, just a little extra on your birthday).

When you finally make it out of the bedroom, he’ll have a giant bouquet of your favorite flowers waiting for you on the counter, plus a handwritten card because he knows you like “that sentimental shit”. (He secretly adores the sentimental stuff too.)

He gives you a present (one of many) and you almost cry when you realize it’s a gold chain/necklace with a little ‘F’ pendant. As a subtle joke, there would be a tiny skull pendant on the chain too. You love it and him and get carried away on the kitchen table for fifteen minutes.

If you’re a museum/art lover, he’ll take you to any and all of the ones open nearby. Even if he can’t find it in himself to understand the art world, he’ll happily allow you to drag him from painting to painting for as long as you’d like.

Maybe a cute lunch date in Central Park if you’re into that sort of thing. Obviously if you even think about paying for anything, Frank scolds you for it.

“Let me take care of everything today, baby. Don’t you worry your pretty little head about a thing.”

If you’re a book lover, maybe he’ll walk with you around the city, stepping in and out of bookstores until neither of you can see straight.

He’ll lose his mind when he sees the outfit you’re wearing out to dinner because you’re so pretty and you’re all his and he can’t believe it.

He’ll gift you something that has to do with your hobbies (so like a crocheter might get some really nice/expensive yarn, a book collector might get a first edition they’ve been searching for, a writer might get a beautiful hand-crafted notebook). He’s a thoughtful man and it shines through in the gifts that he gives you.

“I know you’ve been really wanting this for a while now, so I got it for you. Don’t look at me like that! I’ll spend my money however I like, and I like to spend it on you.”

After dinner, he’ll take you to the pier where you met him, and he’ll buy you a little birthday cupcake. He has a candle and lighter ready to go (this man comes prepared), and he’ll whistle the ‘Happy Birthday’ song as he gets the candle ready.

The way I’m willing to BET that this man would still have stuff planned.

Like imagine if he paid some street performers (like violinists/guitarists/etc.) to play your favorite songs while you danced with him in a private little area on the pier.

When you make it home, he has yet another present for you, and it involves a weekend trip out of the city with him because he wants to extend your birthday for as long as possible.

He’s extra generous in bed that night, offering himself to you fully.

“However you want me, baby. Just say the word.”

When you finally drift off after possibly the best birthday of your life, Frank presses dozens of kisses to your shoulders, neck, back, and face, each one a reminder that he loves you and would do anything to make you smile.

Tag List:

@xleiaorgana @mukbee @dilfs5678 @kokoterainonago666 @blackwidownat2814 @callsign-mama @minervadashwood @emiemiemiii @h4rrys @messymissy @mylifeispainandiloveit @mossexe @fightmilk @spikedhe4rt @fictional-hooman @merleisapartygod @babyslyth @legocity2 @quackson03 @certifiedhunter @deliciousfestsalad @dumb-fawkin-bitch @americaarse @thatgirljayy @hiyabyeyababy @theesexystallion @scoliobean @myguiltypleasures21 @dnxgma @evyiione @gpenguin666 @desert-fern @day-dreaming-goddess @rayray787 @ginnysculture @alexxavicry @hallecarey1 @km-ffluv @chiaraxtargaryen @trulylavandedarling @D0wnbad @lilyevans1 @imagineadream @22carolina08 @definitelynotsugar @casualchaoticdevil @peachy-flxwr @nashja @xshewayout @blep--bloop @kpopgirlbtssvt

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flauberries · 1 year

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home | sebastian sallow x f!player character

He’d very much like to savor the feeling of her body so close, in this room that he can only describe as home. It is, as they say, where the heart is. And this heart in his arms has stood by his side since the very beginning.

Of all the common rooms throughout the castle, the loungers in Slytherin’s must surely be among the most uncomfortable seatings. Remarkably, when one spends his time upon the emerald-green chaise whilst babbling with a classmate about the injustices of weekend assignments and scrolls – or perhaps whilst thumbing through a book plucked fresh from the deepest bowels of the restricted section – Sebastian Sallow finds the arrangement plenty plush and aptly accommodating to his needs for rest and respite. When lost in his mind and the thoughts confined within, which yearn to burst from his tongue during the frequent nights wherein sleep does not come to him, the lounger beneath him is a bed of nails; sharp, and twisting into the nerves of his spine.

In spite of the heaviness behind his eyes, his body positively throbs with an unspent energy that would have been welcomed greatly during this morning’s potion class. Sebastian counts the crackling of oak splinters in the fireplace. His face grows hotter with each passing moment spent before the blaze. A cacophony of girlish laughter reverberates from the dormitories up the stairs. A door opens moments thereafter, and a set of uneven footsteps echo from the tunnel-like walls, against the grating of the bridge. They do not belong to Imelda Reyes – she doesn’t wear those buckled heel shoes. It could be Nerida Roberts, Sebastian decides, or even Violet McDowell. Certainly not a first year. Whoever it is does not carry herself with such grace.

Oh, he had forgotten about Grace Pinch-Smedley.

“Sebastian?”

He turns quickly. While it goes against no rules nor prohibitions to invite members of the other houses into the common room (albeit a taboo to be sure), the sight of Daphne takes him by the upmost surprise. Her hair has, at some point during the night, fallen from its patented bun at the base of her neck; he never knew her mane was so long, so abundant. Parted down the center now – wild and creased from bondage – her blonde hair radiates in the fireplace’s glow and takes on a copper twinge. The red hue of her cheeks bleeds beneath the worn powder pressed upon her skin. Her white uniform blouse has been unbuttoned twice from the top and remains barely tucked into the belt of her pleated skirt – no necktie nor quilted vest to be seen. The buckles of her shoes are undone because she hastened to slip them on in making her escape from Imelda’s bed.

“Well, well,” Sebastian starts as he beckons her to join him. She takes the cushion without hesitation; she reeks heavily of wine, but not unpleasantly so.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?”

She beams brightly and reaches to pull him beside her. A pocket of dried burgundy pools in the cracks of her lower lip. He could very well wipe it away with the flesh of his thumb. As if she can feel his stare, Daphne brings the back of her hand to her mouth.

“Imelda and the girls invited me to spend the evening with them,” she explains.

She is trying far too hard to sound straight.

“To . . .” she trails off in some sphere of contemplation, “alleviate our compatriotic stress, you know.”

“I see. And does this ‘alleviation of compatriotic stress,’ as you put it, involve some forbidden indulgences?”

Only then does she shy away.

“I’m sorry,” she sighs. “I must look horrible, don’t I?”

“Not at all,” Sebastian insists. “You simply look like a young woman who has earned the right to some fun and frivolity.”

Satisfied with his answer, and a hum tickling her teeth, Daphne slackens against the backing of the lounger. There is a stain upon her bosom, and it matches the color of her lips. Her right knee bounces up and down, her heel abandoning its shoe underfoot; her skirt jostles and rides up her bloomer-clad thigh, inching closer and closer to the place where her legs meet. She must not realize what she is doing, and heavens, her garters are slipping. Beneath the odor of wine, there is an inkling of jasmine. She observes the fire and puffs her cheeks to stifle a belch. He knows he ought not marvel at her, and yet he finds that he cannot help himself. Never, Sebastian realizes, has he seen her in such a state. So pedestrian. So shambled.

So perfectly imperfect.

“I’ve not been sleeping,” she confesses suddenly, and her knee stills. There is a silence now, in the absence of her ruffling.

“I’ve counted sheep and paced my dormitory for hours. Tried to think myself into exhaustion, held my breath, gorged myself . . . At this point, the only thing I’ve yet to try is a sleeping draught. Professor Sharp cautioned me, but what have I left to lose?”

Sebastian frowns.

“That’s why I came here tonight,” Daphne continues. “Imelda assured me that a bottle of wine would do the trick. Lull me right to sleep, she said.”

“But you’re wide awake,” Sebastian counters.

“Absolutely wired.”

A string of deep voices sound from the central stairwell. Sebastian reaches to pull her skirt back over her knee; she doesn’t protest, though she jolts when his pinkie grazes the hot flesh of her knee (truly, however, she cannot feel his touch through her stockings). A group of older boys, who come about as seemingly unaware of the pair (or they simply care little to bother acknowledging them), descend and make their way to the dormitories.

“For what it’s worth,” he says once the boys are no longer within earshot, “I’ve not been sleeping either.”

“I’m sorry, Sebastian.” And she means it – else, she wouldn’t say otherwise. “I can’t imagine what you’re going through.”

“Don’t say that.”

It comes a bit terser than he intends. He takes a moment to collect himself as Daphne flinches; his belly falls, and suddenly, there are two fingers against his temples. Phantom limbs, but pressing all the same.

“You’ve likewise suffered demons,” Sebastian clarifies. “You needn’t make light of your situation. It isn’t good for the spirit.”

She nods.

Daphne has, for as long as he has known her, always been this sort of individual – the kind to toss her troubles beyond and below, as if nothing. Always the sort to drop anything, and quite possibly everything, if only to appease another. Why else would she delay her first sojourn beneath the clock tower for dueling practice (how restive he felt as he waited for her), if not to retrieve the tempestuous Zenobia Noke’s blasted gobstone collection? It had taken Imelda a fortnight to hide them all. What of the bells in the tower above the music classrooms? Or that damned over-sized tentacula leaf for Puffskein Dunskein? Yes, it was quite a clever nickname, thank you very much. There was the matter of that mermaid artifact for Nerida; the Slytherin girl was rather eager to present the necklace to her peers, and although not so keen on confessing her ineptitude for swimming, she spoke of Daphne’s altruistic propensity with the upmost regard. Never mind that the necklace would have looked much better draped around her neck, Sebastian thought, when Nerida dangled it before him. He shan’t forget the way the aquamarine pendant sparkled beneath the light.

He shan’t forget the time she dove into the lake to retrieve that wretched astrolabe for Grace, either. Daphne returned to the castle a soaking, shivering mess. And she hadn’t the decency to ask for a damned thing in return.

“Sebastian?” she calls, tearing her gaze from the fireplace and staring him down; intent, keen, and fully serious. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to show you. Or, somewhere, I should specify.”

There is a lump in his throat that he does not feel until he swallows.

“It’s getting late,” he says, atypically cautious and certainly unlike himself. “Wouldn’t want to get caught by a prefect in your current condition, would you?”

“In my current condition?” Daphne asks. “What about you? Are you sure you’re feeling alright? You sound a bit like Ominis, and it doesn’t suit you.”

The brunet boy gawks at her. Sounding like Ominis? Sebastian Sallow? Never.

“Besides . . .”

She pushes herself from the lounger, sways, and buckles forth into the tea table. Sebastian jumps to his feet as his arms move to brace her – one beneath the crook of her farthest, and the other falling upon the bent elbow that hovers above a ruined game of chess. The ceramic pieces knock against each other. Her blouse is soft and unpilled, and the flesh beneath blisters.

“There’s no time like the present.”

He must imagine the flash of green upon her eyes. A trick of the light, and nothing more. Daphne straightens herself and steps around the table.

“Give me your hand, will you?”

Wordless, Sebastian takes her waiting fingers, and his palm finds purchase with hers. The faintest of callouses mar the thickest parts of her hand (she wears her leather gloves for trysts of wand mastery); whatever balm she uses preserves her skin well, he thinks, for she is smooth like a fanciful of bed linens and lovely silk dresses. Their bearing is not quite enough until she traps his fingers with his own and tugs him forward. The stack of demitasses atop the table rattles.

Properly disillusioned, she leads him from the spiraling staircase of the Slytherin common room to the landing just below the highest peak of the astronomy tower, their hands only departing from the other when Sebastian hastened to flip his wand towards a poorly placed pile of books to distract a wayward prefect who was absolutely certain that he had caught a glimpse of blonde hair below the trickling of moonlight from the tower windows. Their excursion must have been sobering enough, if not for the practical drowning in the girls’ bathroom when Daphne insisted that she was simply too parched to carry on. Sebastian didn’t mind holding her hair back as she cupped her hands beneath the running faucets and lifted the spilled water to her stained lips. Her pomade smelled of bergamot and black tea. And, as always, jasmine.

Now, in the astronomy tower, Daphne ushers Sebastian to turn around to face the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, who proudly dons his robin’s egg ensemble and wields his ivory baton towards the trolls he means to teach ballet.

“This is what you wanted to show me?” Sebastian asks. “It’s quite silly, I suppose, but impossible to miss on your way to astronomy. It’s hardly much of a secret.”

“No, I didn’t drag you here to show you a tapestry,” Daphne huffs. “Just stay there for a moment, and don’t turn around.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

And so, arms crossed and admittedly feeling a bit indignant, he stares at the tapestry. He memorizes the pattern because there is not much else for him to do. First, the troll in the back left attempts what Sebastian imagines is a plie, and then the plie-esque troll’s neighbor throws his weight forwards and his arms above his head. Not quite graceful, though not quite gauche, either. The third troll, the closest to Barnabas, scratches his chest before bringing his club down atop the man. Barnabas rises, unphased and hardly discouraged; only a moment later, however, and the fourth troll likewise crushes him with a bone that must have come from a dragon’s femur. In the background, just beyond the tree line and the mountain ridge, is Hogwarts.

Barnabas stands, conducting away, and the first troll plies again.

Stone grinds behind Sebastian. He isn’t surprised in the least bit to learn that Daphne has discovered the Room. It’s nothing more than a hovel for bits and pieces, and the ordinary rubbish of a well-spent domesticated life. He had fooled himself once in believing he might happen upon a cure for Anne inside. No matter of wailing, browbeating, nor cursing could persuade the ceaseless Room to grant him the answer that he so tirelessly chased; or, rather, the solution to the utterly inconceivable problem that has rendered his sister a shell. There were no tomes filled with lost tonic recipes to dispel a curse derivative of the darkest arts, and certainly he found no vials filled to save him the trouble of reading – as if anything came so easily in life. At least there is comfort in knowing where to find a spare chair.

Sebastian turns. Daphne smiles at him, absolutely giddy and still under the influence of whatever cursed wine Imelda procured for the girls. Stolen from the kitchens, no doubt. He doesn’t mind looking after the Hufflepuff girl in this state, not really. Next time, he promises himself, he’ll join in her silly indulgence.

He could make a quip about the Room. However, when Daphne takes his hand for the hundredth time tonight and leads him to the door, he knows he won’t. He can’t bear to see that smile falter. Can’t bear to be the reason why.

“You and Ominis have your Undercroft,” she tells him, her fingers dancing just above the bronze door handle. “But this . . . This belongs to me.”

And it is nothing of a hovel at all, Sebastian realizes, as she pilots him into the moonlit aura of the great room. The floor is a brilliantly ornate marble – the walls a deep walnut and lacquered in gothic, emerald papering and filled with bookshelves and cabinets. The ceiling above is a glass dome and just beyond that is a reflection of the night sky – a perpetual full moon and its stars. White drapes cascade along the marble arches above their heads. He won’t ask her where those strange, illuminated doorways lead to; a coastal castle, or a swamp perhaps – they are but questions for another time.

“Well?” Daphne prompts. She falls upon a lounger tucked into a corner next to the entrance. Beneath the lounger is a botanical rug and above that, a tea table cluttered with a skull, a wayward tonic, and a set of quills.

“What do you think?”

“I think this reeks of favoritism,” Sebastian admits. “I had written this place off a while ago.”

He joins her now and finally, he has found somewhere to rest in earnest. The cushioning is soft and plush – well loved, unquestionably cared for, and tender.

“You’re probably right about that,” she acquiesces. “Professor Weasley thought the Room would be a fine place to catch up on my schoolwork. I suppose she didn’t approve of my extracurriculars.”

“I’m not surprised that this was her doing. She speaks fondly of you. Not to mention, we have her to thank for our foray into Hogsmeade at the start of the year.”

“Yes, and if not for her, you’d have been stuck in detention with Madam Scribner that day instead.”

It is Sebastian’s turn to grin.

“Despite the mess with those trolls and Rookwood, it was a grand trip,” he says. “Aside from Ominis or Anne, I can’t imagine that I’d take a lout’s bludgeoning for anyone else. If it were Leander with me, I’d probably take up arms with the trolls.”

He pauses.

“I think this room is wonderful, Daphne. Not becoming for a Hufflepuff, per se, and yet it fits you all the same.”

She cups her own cheeks to hide her blush. It could be that their journey has worn him into a proper weariness, or it may be that the lounger is commanding it of him, but Sebastian knows that if he only closes his eyes right now, he might doze off – next to his confidant and charge, who gazes upon him in such a way that inspires his want to pull her close and let her sleep in his arms.

He won’t do either.

“Will you stay here with me?” Daphne asks. “I know you’ve your own bed, and it’s selfish of me to say. I just don’t want you to go.”

She tugs on his arm, her bottom lip pouting just so. There isn’t much wine left in the crack of it.

“Now, now,” Sebastian begins, “who said I was leaving?”

“Stay with me. Please.”

Against his better judgment – and all semblance of self-control, for however much of it is left – he leans forward and brushes his lips against the crown of her head. He doesn’t catch the way her eyes flutter shut, nor the soft peak of her smile. Her fingers curl into her palm, perhaps to keep herself from tethering them against the lapels of his sleeping robe.

“I’ll stay here forever, if that’s what you want,” he mumbles against her hair. “I’ll always be here for you. Always.”

As you have been for me, in the brief time I’ve known you.

Sebastian decides that he could very well stay here forever. In this degree that can only be peace, pressed against the nook of the lounger with a lovely girl molded against his chest at last and her hair tickling the hair of his nose. Anne used to pester him ceaselessly about his snoring. If the universe is a fair maiden after all, then Daphne won’t mind. The truth is one that he knows all too well – he’ll just have to make sure she falls asleep first.

Amidst his thoughts, the Room begins the quake. Sebastian sits upright, his grip around Daphne growing tighter.

“What’s happening?” Sebastian asks, hiding his panic all too well. “Should we leave?”

“No,” Daphne insists, wide-eyed and alert. “The Room . . . It’s changing.”

The thunder comes from up the stairs, just past the windowed stretch of a reading nook.

“What do you mean, it’s ‘changing’?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” she confesses. “Shall we go find out? I’m almost certain it’s nothing dangerous.”

Though Sebastian insists he ought to take the lead, Daphne marches ahead and ascends to the balcony; helpless to do nothing more, Sebastian clammers after whilst gripping his wand terribly close. In an alcove nestled between the peaks of the twin stairs is a hallway and within that passage appears a doorway bearing the same adornments, engravings, and talismans as the entry.

“Unless you were thinking about inflicting pain on either of us,” Daphne says, arms crossed, “you ought to put your wand away.”

“Why does it matter what I was thinking?” Sebastian questions.

“I can manipulate the Room and shape it into the very design I wish, just by anticipating it hard enough. I made a loo appear once when I nearly . . . Well, I won’t finish that, but just take my word for it.”

Sebastian slips his wand away.

“You should do the honors,” she tells him. “Go ahead. Open the door.”

And so, he does. Beyond the creaking door is an oaken floor laden with a threadbare rug decorated with embroidered flowers. There is a fireplace against the furthest wall, and its orange hue casts the only light upon the furniture in the new room – a dresser with bronze knobs, a pair of mismatched nightstands (one yew and the other painted green), a porcelain wash sink with a ceramic carafe, and lastly, a wrought-iron bed topped with thick pillows and a diamond-crossed quilt. The glass of the windows is frosted around the panes, and he can see the quidditch pitch in the distance where it stands out brilliantly against the beating snow. A clever illusion to cure the springtime blues; it hasn’t snowed in nearly three weeks. He has always loved winter.

Daphne looms over his shoulder, a strange grin upon her face; as for Sebastian, he feels utter mortification. Implications be damned – she must think him to be a wretched fiend of the highest perversions.

“I wasn’t expecting this, Sebastian.” He can feel her jaw pop against his shoulder. “Dare I ask why you’ve summoned a bedroom in myRoom?”

If ever there was a moment more opportune to be choked by his own tongue, now would be the time.

“I was just thinking about how tired I was,” he confesses. “How easily I could have fallen asleep on the lounger out there. I promise, I . . .”

He rubs his neck and prays that she cannot see the blush of his cheeks in the firelight, or the ring of perspiration at his hairline.

“It’s not that I don’t find you attractive –” slow down, “but I really am exhausted.”

He can feel Daphne her firm hands against his shoulder blades just as she pushes herself backwards. She is fidgeting with the beds of her fingernails, and she refuses to look at him.

“Well, go on then,” she says. “The Room knows what you need.”

Sebastian gazes around the bedroom again. There are a few paintings along the walls: an aged woman cradling a niffler, which bats about at the golden pendant draped about her neck; a landscape of a village, which can only be Feldcroft, turned golden with the kiss of autumn; and, to his chagrin, a shrunken version of the tapestry of Barnabas, although this one has taken the medium of a framed canvas. Sebastian detects the smell of tobacco and balsam from the fireplace, and the fragrance of vanilla and patchouli from the steadfast candle above the mantle.

He swears it is what his mother and his father smelled of – an unmerciful reminder of what has been stolen from the brevity of the life he has. He hardly remembers their faces. He won’t confess it.

As he approaches the bed, he notices a set of two teacups atop the closest nightstand. Steam rises from the cups, and a bowl of sugar with a silver spoon has been set down between them. Chamomile, he realizes, when he lifts the first cup to his face. He wasn’t meant to drink both.

Holding the second saucer out to the girl standing in the doorway, he speaks: “Will you join me?”

“In the bed?” she asks.

He nods.

“It wouldn’t be proper, Sebastian.”

“I’m not asking you to lie with me because I wish to spoil your virtue. I’m asking you to share the bed with me because I do not wish to sleep alone. You’ve asked me to stay tonight – this is where you’ll find me.”

Without another word, she steps forward to take the chamomile; too bashful to say yes, and too galvanized to say no. Sebastian has the bowl of sugar ready before she has the chance to ask for it. He knows how she takes it; two teaspoons and a rigorous stir. She drinks the sweetened hot tea, and the sentiment lingers in her brain. Her shoulders fall as she hurries to finish it. Satisfied, she sets the emptied saucer back down, and Sebastian’s is soon to follow.

“I feel overdressed,” Daphne admits. “Would you mind if I made myself a bit more comfortable?”

Her shoes have already been tossed across the floor.

“Not at all.”

She slips out of her pleated skirt and slips her loosened blouse from her arms. Her garments lay precisely where they fall. She unfastens her garters next and rolls her stockings down. With a few frustrated tugs, the metal clasps along the front of her corset come undone. She stands now only in her bloomers and her chemise.

“I haven’t a gown,” she says.

“Then sleep as you are,” Sebastian insists.

He drapes his sleeping robe over the foot of the iron bedframe. A few bruises in various stages of healing mar the bare skin of her arms and her legs – some of them a deep purple, one yellow, and others brown. Along her clavicle is the worst one; it looks to be the size of an outstretched hand, and it is the darkest of them all. Sebastian’s palm lingers above it.

“What happened here?” he asks.

She watches his hand.

“An Ashwinder,” she says.

“Did it hurt?”

What a stupid thing to ask.

“Yes.”

“Did you kill him?”

There’s that flash of green again.

“I did.”

His arm falls back to his side. Of course, the Ashwinder was dead. Otherwise, she’d not be here to speak of him. Sebastian ought to feel anger towards the one who inflicted such injury upon her, and yet he takes solace in knowing her capabilities. He knows better than to fear for her – one more trouble to keep him up at night.

He knows better, because he taught her how to be brave.

“It looks worse than it feels,” she insists, wincing, as she traces the outline of the nasty bruise. “It’s tender.”

Just when he believes she is sobering again, her knees buckle.

“Here, sit down,” Sebastian tells her as he pulls her towards the bed; he yanks back the quilt for her to slip beneath.

“I’m just a bit dizzy is all,” Daphne claims whilst settling against the pillow. “I think it’s the wine.”

“All the more reason for you to rest.”

He tries not to acknowledge the sudden warmth pooling in his belly as he slides in next to her and casts the blanket atop their bodies – hers considerably less clad. He has no right, he thinks, to see her in such a way. Satisfied on his back, Sebastian turns his head to look to the window just past Daphne. The conditions of the blizzard have shrouded the quidditch pitch now. In the next room, the windows portray an unclouded, starry night sky. The bedroom may as well exist in its own realm.

Daphne shifts beside him. Her head falls upon his chest, and her left arm drapes over his torso. Unprompted, but absolutely sure that it is the right move, Sebastian lifts the leg closest to her. She threads both of hers around the appendage and pulls him close. His tongue sticks to the roof of his dry mouth – his ears ring and crackle when he tries to swallow the nothingness at the back of his throat. The heat is almost unbearable now; perhaps he ought to clamber through the window and burrow himself in the snow just outside and hibernate away forever.

He'd much rather tuck his arm beneath her head and rest his hand on her bare shoulder. His other hand, he decides, feels better threaded with the one across his stomach. She squeezes his fingers and sighs.

“Thank you,” she mumbles against the linen of his nightshirt. “You smell nice.”

“Do I?”

“Mm-hmm. Like the forest.”

She closes her eyes now, willing herself to drift off. Sebastian will not follow – not until she has first, just as he promised to no one other than himself. Truly, though, he doesn’t mind the wait. He’d very much like to savor the feeling of her body so close, in this room that he can only describe as home. It is, as they say, where the heart is. And this heart in his arms stood by his side from the very beginning, even when he feared that he had surely lost her for good. Just as he lost his sister (the grave of his uncle can attest to that) and now Ominis is becoming nothing more than a scent on the breeze and an occasional salutation.

Perhaps he can chalk it up to the dramatism of youth and the perpetual exaggeration of a boy’s emotions, or perhaps it is the sincerity of his spirit – Sebastian is not sure which it is – but he can say with absolute certainty that a life without Daphne is simply no longer one that he has any interest in. As friends, as lovers, it matters not; so long as she is a part of him for the remainder of his days. And this bedroom will only feel like home so long as she shares it too.

She shudders. Her breathing grows heavy and her lips part. Her grasp of his hand slackens. She is asleep at last. Sebastian closes his eyes now, with something of a smile frozen upon his face.

If only such a moment could last forever.

part one of four

#sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x you #sebastian sallow x player character #slytherin x hufflepuff #sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy #ominis gaunt #harry potter

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coulsons-fullmetal-cellist · 7 months

Text

Dieter, Dieter, Pumpkin Eater

Words: 1, 115

Summary: you and Dieter go pumpkin picking for the first time

Warnings: Dieter being adorable, saucy suggestions, lots of baby goats

Check out masterlist here

Today was a good day for pumpkin picking. You and Dieter were heading somewhere about an hour away that you found would be perfect for your first pumpkin picking.

Growing up in Australia, you never celebrated Halloween and only witnessed the fall traditions through the films you watched. Now living in America, you didn’t feel out of place putting up Halloween decorations and making all things pumpkin related. You hadn’t crossed pumpkin picking off your bucket list yet, feeling it might be awkward to venture out on your own.

Dieter was happy to get out of the city and spend time with you. He heard the word pumpkin farm and wore a plaid shirt and his overalls which you thought was adorable. Of course, he fell asleep on the drive there, wrapped up in his teddy bear coat. But you were used to it by now and you had a new Dead Meats podcast you wanted to listen to. He magically knew when to wake up as you slowed down to park outside the pumpkin patch, he must have sensed your excitement.

You were early enough that you seemed to be one of the few visitors there. After paying through admission, you purchased yourself a hot chocolate and you both wandered around the farm, Dieter stealing your marshmallow on the way.

“So, are you going to actually pick a pumpkin?”

“I’m not sure. There’s a pumpkin tent with lots of already picked pumpkins, so that could be fun.”

“What if we find a giant pumpkin?”

“Oh, I don’t know. It might be too big for my car unless I leave you behind. And I don’t want to leave you here overnight with the scarecrows and you might turn into a ghost…”

“No!” he wrapped himself around you, thankful you finished your hot chocolate “Don’t make them turn me into a ghost!”

“Don’t worry, I won’t. Even though you’d be a very cute ghost.”

“There’s such a thing as a cute ghost?”

You nodded, “Casper. And you’d be such a cute pudgy ghost!”

You started to tickle his tummy, but he playfully avoided you and led you towards the jumping castle he spotted. He gestured you inside as his joyful grin was an invitation to you to join him. Both of you bouncing around alone in the caste, the bouncing started off playful but then became more amorous. Before long, he was lying on top of you, passionately kissing you until the sensible part of your brain kicked in. He got a firm no, which he knew was serious, but he still pouted.

“Dieter, we can’t. We’re out in public and you make enough noise to attract attention.”

“Can I rent one of these for the weekend?”

“If you want to. But you have to clean it.”

“Done” he sealed the deal with a kiss and rolled off you, “I’m gonna need a minute.”

It was obvious he did, so you left the jumping castle, straightening yourself out. He grabbed your hand when he came out to join you, and you ambled off towards the pumpkin tent. Your eyes almost popped out at the number of pumpkins on display. So many sizes and colours left you with so many choices.

“You can get more than one you know” Dieter reassured you.

“You don’t mind? We’ll be eating nothing but pumpkin for a while.”

He shrugged, “If it tastes good, I’ll eat it.”

So, you settled on a few: a baby bear and a cotton candy because they had cute names, a mini Jack O’Lantern, a beautiful fairytale and a classic Cinderella.

“You shall go to the ball after all, Dieter!”

“Aw, I’ve always wanted to twirl around in a pretty dress!”

“The glass shoes wouldn’t be that comfortable though.”

“Hey, if I get to kiss the handsome prince, it’s worth it” and he kissed you, making you assume you were playing the role of the prince.

You almost skipped pulling along your little cart until Dieter stopped you, tugging at your sleeve. He was staring at the petting zoo, the bleating of baby goats behind their sign.

“Do you want to go?” he was nodding eagerly and trotted over to the gate.

He was handed a bag of feed and he knelt down with his hands out awkwardly. It was like the scene in Something There where the Beast was trying to feed the birds. One little goat waddled over and started eating from his hands. His smile was as big as the Beast’s was. Then all the other little goats came over for food and once Dieter’s hands were empty, they started to lick him all over with their cute little tongues. He tried to give each of them as much love as his two hands could handle. Eventually they started climbing onto his lap and wherever they could get a purchase.

“Look, look, they’re climbing me! They’re climbing me!”

The animal handler came over to see the joyous commotion, “Is he with you?”

“Yes, he’s mine” you mused.

Dieter’s giggles were infectious, “Let me be your mountain!” and he laid himself down so all the little goats could attack him with love. “Ah, I’m taking you all home with me!”

You had to intervene at this point so made your way into the goat pen, facing your boyfriend who was hugging the smallest goat.

“Dieter, we can’t take them all home. They’d make a mess, and then they’d all try to escape because we don’t have that great a gate.”

He knew all of this was true but still moped, “Can we come back next year?”

“Of course we can” he smiled at this, “Do you want a picture with them?”

After about a million pictures with every baby goat, and then more than one with his favourites who he named himself, you finally unloaded your pumpkins into your car. Dieter enveloped you in a hug, his teddy bear coat now perfumed with that baby goat smell.

“You had fun today?” you felt his nodding, “You smell like goat.”

“I smell like little furballs of love is what I smell like!”

You didn’t want to sour his mood by pointing out that his little furballs of love probably trotted around in their own droppings, so you left him to sleep away the trip back with a happy smile on his face.

A few days later and several homemade pumpkin purée making sessions later, you came home to find a note from Dieter waiting for you.

“Put this on and meet me outside” it read. You found your silk robe underneath the note, so you looked outside.

He had gone and rented a jumping castle.

Lovingly tagging @boliv-jenta @simpingcowboy @ellenmunn @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @brilliantopposite187 @chaithetics @myloveistoolittle @cevans-is-classic @glshmbl

#pedro pascal #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #dieter x honey cakes #love of horror fanfic #love of horror #dieter x reader #dieter bravo #the bubble netflix #the bubble

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imzadi-caskett-huddy · 18 days

Text

Hell Hath No Fury (14/?)

I appreciate everyone who continues to read and share their comments with me!

I want to give a big thank you shout out to do-it-for-the-fandom for giving me her opinion on certain parts of this chapter! Considering what I did with this chapter, she was the first (and really only) person I thought to ask for an opinion on the particular predicament that happened.

Also, there is an M rated section…it will be in bold font, just like the last time. I’m going to try not to get too smutty because this story isn't a smut story; the sex is about romance and showing the feelings and growing intimacy between Castle and Beckett.

This chapter will take place about 3 weeks or so after the last chapter. It’s the cabin trip with Kate’s dad, so it’s the last week of June. I hope you all like what I’ve got in store for this one!

As before, I still don’t own Castle!

xxxxx

Much to Castle’s chagrin, Kate had not spent as much time as he would have liked out in the Hamptons during the month of June, instead insisting on spending her time split between her apartment in the city and his house in the Hamptons. She was still a fully present girlfriend, and they talked every night, but where Castle was already completely comfortable sharing his space with her full time, to Kate it felt too much like living together, and she was not ready for that yet. Had they both been in the city, they wouldn’t have spent every night with each other yet, which was one point she kept reminding him of, and as much as he hated to admit it, he knew she was right.

Kate also enjoyed the multiple trips giving her a chance to take her bike out more than she’d been able to in recent years, usually driving out on Thursday evenings to spend long weekends with him and his family, and driving back on Monday afternoons. She reasoned that gave him plenty of time to spend with Alexis, and also allowed the teenager to gradually get comfortable with Kate spending more time there as well.

Kate had started teaching Alexis the basics of riding a motorcycle, and the two women were forming a nice friendship that had nothing to do with Castle, which Kate was becoming incredibly grateful for. She adored Alexis, and wanted to make sure the girl knew that her feelings for her had nothing whatsoever to do with her dad; they stood on their own, and if things didn’t work out between the two adults, Alexis would still have Kate as a friend.

Castle had been steadily improving throughout his physical therapy as well, using the ability to be more sexually adventurous with Kate as an incentive to push himself harder than he probably would have otherwise. He enjoyed showing her how much he had improved each week, even though it was only over a short time. For her part, Kate had absolutely no problem rewarding him sexually for his improvements and was completely fine with him using her as an incentive to push harder and recover quicker.

This week, Kate arrived at the Hamptons on Thursday afternoon, and the plan was to leave mid-morning on Friday to drive up to her dad’s cabin on her bike. They would have the day to themselves since her dad told her he wasn’t coming up until Saturday. Castle was nervous about spending time with her…well, more accurately with her dad…at the cabin as her boyfriend, and though she’d given him an out, he’d refused to take it, so she’d suggested they go up a day early so he could settle in a little before her dad showed up. She hadn’t told her dad she was officially dating Castle, but she also knew her dad could have possibly put the pieces together from their conversations over the past month.

“You’re sure you’re okay coming to the cabin with me?” Kate asked him as they headed downstairs with the large duffel bag they had decided to share as a space saver since they were taking her bike.

He gave her a smile. “I’m sure. I can’t avoid your dad forever, right?”

She rolled her eyes. “No. But you don’t have to do this right now if you’re not ready either.”

“I’m ready. I’m okay. I’m only nervous because he is important to you, so I want to make a good impression.”

“You already made a good impression by saving my life. He already likes you. So don’t be nervous, ok?” she promised him.

He chuckled slightly. “Maybe. But I’m still the guy who’s sleeping with his daughter. Trust me; the nerves are warranted.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly at his comment. “If that topic makes it into any of your conversations with my dad, I’m going to kill you,” she informed him. “So just steer clear of that particular train of thought, and I think you’ll be fine.”

“Don’t tell your dad we’re sleeping together. Got it,” he smiled. “Though I’m pretty sure he’s going to figure it out when he notices we’re sharing a room…”

“Just because he knows doesn’t mean I’m telling him what I’m doing behind closed doors,” she told him. “Let me put it this way. Would you want to have it spelled out for you if it were Alexis

and her boyfriend, or would you prefer to just not know specifics?”

He pouted then. “First of all, it’s not going to happen with Alexis…ever. So I never have to worry about it.”

She just laughed at that. “Yeah, you just keep telling yourself that. Alexis is a responsible young woman...more so than I was at her age, but trust me. It will eventually happen if it hasn’t already. She’s been with Ashley for how long now?” she pointed out.

Castle frowned even more. “That’s not funny, Kate.”

“I wasn’t trying to be funny. I was being realistic,” she kissed his lips softly and patted his cheek lightly before calling out a goodbye to Martha and Alexis, who were in the kitchen. “I’ll be on my bike when you’re ready,” she smiled, heading out with the duffle bag so that he could say his goodbyes.

xxxxx

It was mid-afternoon by the time they got to the cabin. Kate had stopped every hour or so to give Castle a break since he wasn’t used to sitting on the back of a bike for that long of a road trip. Once at the cabin, he did take a little longer walking around to stretch his legs after he got off the bike.

“You ok?” she asked him softly, concern evident in her voice. He’d assured her that he was up to this, but she was wondering if maybe he wasn’t.

“I’m good. I just can’t feel my butt,” he told her with a smile.

She laughed softly. “Yeah, travel feels a little different on a bike, huh?”

“Yeah. Not bad different, though. My butt will be fine in a few minutes,” he assured her.

She got off the bike then and grabbed the duffle bag as she moved toward him. “Good. Because riding my bike is kinda a turn-on for me,” she murmured lowly in his ear as she passed by him on the way toward the cabin’s entrance.

His eyes widened slightly, and he was quick to follow her. “Oh yeah?”

She grinned slightly. “You didn’t figure that out the last time you rode with me?”

He remembered the really hot makeout session they’d been having on her bike after the last time he rode with her, at least until his mother had killed the moment. “I didn’t realize that was an every-ride thing.”

Opening the door to the cabin, she looked over at him, her eyes dancing playfully. “It is with the right riding partner,” she commented simply.

“Good to know,” he nodded, following her inside. He had never expected that riding her motorcycle would put her in the mood, but it was definitely information he would store for future reference.

She led him through the open-plan living room/dining room/kitchen area to a door on the other side. “This is my bedroom,” she opened the door and placed their duffle bag on a cedar chest against the wall inside the door. “The bathroom is right here. It’s shared with the guest room on the other side. Dad’s room is upstairs with his office,” she told him with a smile, moving closer to him and gently pushing the leather jacket he’d worn for the bike trip off his shoulders. Catching the jacket before it could hit the floor, she gave him a slow kiss. “Now get comfortable. I’m going to hang our jackets in the closet by the front door, and I expect you to be naked in my bed when I get back,” she said lowly.

He watched her go with a smile before slipping his shoes off in the bedroom and deciding to follow her. He never was good at following directions. Moving behind her as she hung up their jackets, his hands tugged her hips backwards so that her body pressed into his and his lips moved to the spot behind her ear that made her sigh.

“Mmm…babe, I told you to wait for me in bed…” she murmured, allowing herself to be pulled back against him once the closet door was closed.

“You can’t kiss me like that and just walk away from me, Kate…” he murmured, his lips teasing her ear.

She turned in his arms, facing him with a grin. “Why not?” she asked, her fingers curling slightly in his shirt to pull him closer to her.

“Because it’s not nice,” he told her, pulling her hips closer against his as his lips moved back to her neck.

“No?” she asked innocently, her eyes closing as a soft moan escaped when his teeth found her pulse point. “Whatever made you think I was nice?” she smirked playfully, her hand sliding between them to grope him through the front of his pants.

“Kate…” he growled, hips jerking toward her touch.

She smiled slowly, eyes dancing with mischief. “You should have listened to me, Castle. I told you to get naked and wait for me in bed. You did neither.” Her hand slid into the front of his pants

and stroked him slowly, earning a low groan.

“So?” he managed to get out.

“So now it’s going to take longer to get what you want,” she murmured. “Because now we both have to make it back to my bedroom…and neither one of us are naked…so it’s going to take twice as long…” she added, pausing between phrases to kiss along his jaw, her fingers already working to get his belt and pants unfastened.

“I have a better idea,” he walked her backward toward the kitchen that was just to the left of the front door and much closer than her bedroom.

She gave a soft grunt when her back hit the kitchen counter that served as a breakfast bar and kind of wall to mark the edge of the kitchen area from the living room area. “I am not having sex with you in the kitchen…” she told him with a laugh.

“Why not? It’s closer than your room. And no one else is here…” he murmured, his hand moving underneath her shirt, tugging it over her head and tossing it behind him in the direction of the door. His mouth began moving along her collarbone.

“Because…” she bit her lip, trying to keep control of the situation. “Because my dad will be here tomorrow…and we have to eat here…” she tried to reason, but when his teeth grazed her skin, followed by his tongue, and his arm moved around her waist, her control disappeared and she gave a slight hop to help him lift her onto the counter since he still wasn’t supposed to be lifting anything close to her body weight yet.

~It’s going to start to get steamy here!~

~Stop now if you don’t want to read sexy times~

He smirked smugly against her skin as he shifted to move between her legs, his fingers sliding slowly over her soft skin. One hand unhooked her bra at her back and then slowly pulled it off her, tossing it behind him in the same direction as her shirt. His mouth moved to her breasts, nipping and sucking. One arm remained around her back, gently coaxing her to arch her back toward him as he kept her close and leaned over her slightly.

“Castle…” His name slipped from her lips in soft whimpers and moans, her hands reaching for his shirt to tug it over his head. Instead of throwing it like he had done with hers, she simply dropped it to the floor, wrapping her legs around his waist to draw him in closer as her fingers moved along the muscles of his back and shoulders.

He allowed her to pull his mouth back to hers in a deep kiss as his hands worked on the button of her jeans, smiling against her lips. She lifted her hips enough to let him pull her

jeans over them and down her long legs, tugging her shoes off in the process as well. He let his eyes meet hers as she leaned back slightly, bracing herself with her hands on the edge of the countertop behind her. His hands slowly moved from her knees up her thighs as he leaned forward to trail slow kisses from her chest down her stomach, teasing her navel with his tongue and teeth before meeting her eyes again as his fingers hooked in her panties and tugged them down her legs, tossing them in a random direction off to the side.

A soft moan escaped her lips as he kissed her hip, his tongue tracing along the outline of her tattoo located there. Her fingers threaded through his hair as his mouth trailed slow kisses up her body, worshipping her with his lips. When his eyes full of love and lust met hers, she pulled him into a deep kiss, her tongue dancing with his.

“You’re so beautiful, Kate…” he murmured in her ear when he pulled away, not willing to give her control yet. His thumbs stroked slow circles along her inner thighs, moving upward at a painstaking pace but never quite touching where she wanted him to be as he watched her react to his touch.

“Rick…” she nearly whined, trying to shift her hips toward his fingers. He was just as adept at driving her crazy sexually as he was in other aspects of their relationship, and she squeezed his waist with her legs to try to get him moving instead of staring at her like she was some piece of art. “Staring is creepy…” she breathed.

“Sorry,” he smirked slightly. He couldn’t help but stare; she was a goddess. He had wanted her for so long, he still couldn’t believe he had her sometimes. Before she could say anything else, he nudged her thighs apart a little more and leaned over her, pressing a hot kiss to her center. He smirked against her again as she moaned and her hips raised slightly. His hand moved to hold them down gently, not wanting to risk her working herself off the edge of the counter.

Her head fell back slightly and she bit her lip, one hand curling in his hair as he used his tongue both inside her and around her core to slowly build her up the way he’d quickly learned made her crazy. She’d known Castle was a generous man, so It hadn’t been a complete surprise that he was also a generous lover, taking his time to appreciate her, and never rushing her pleasure for his own. He touched her in ways no other man had ever come close to, always seemingly knowing exactly what her body wanted and needed from him without needing much guidance from her at all.

He absolutely loved worshipping her body, appreciating her, giving to her this way. He’d happily spend hours between her thighs like this; he loved building her up and watching her fall apart under him. He was completely addicted to the way she sounded when his name fell from her lips in moans and breathless whimpers, the way her fingers flexed and

tugged in his hair, the way she completely gave herself over to him with nothing held back anymore.

When he felt her getting close, he let two fingers replace his tongue inside her as his mouth sucked on her bundle of nerves, causing her to cry out and her fingers tug his hair a little more. He was an expert in Kate Beckett. He knew exactly where the spot she needed him to reach was located, and hit it easily with his fingers until he both felt her body fall apart under him and heard her falling apart with his name on her lips. He worked her through her orgasm, one arm moving behind her back to help her support herself, before shoving his pants and boxers down with his other hand. His mouth trailed soft kisses over her skin, his fingers gently caressing her as he waited for her to come back down from her high.

He knew she was back when she tugged on his hair to bring his mouth to hers in a hot kiss. His fingers tangled in her hair as he groaned into her kiss when he felt her hand wrapping around his length and stroking him slowly. After a few moments, he couldn’t take anymore and gently stopped her, taking her hand and lacing their fingers. He met her eyes, his free hand on her hip as she shifted slightly, his eyes never leaving hers as he slid into her slowly, low moans from each of them mixing together.

He remained still for a few moments, their foreheads resting against each other, her ankles locking around his waist to hold him in place. His arm snaked around her back to hold her close to him, and her hands framed his face as she kissed him slowly, deeply, when he began moving inside her, their mouths swallowing each other's moans. “Kate…” he breathed her name as his lips ghosted over her neck and the column of her throat. Every single time he made love with her, it took his breath away, she took his breath away. “I love you…” he met her eyes again.

His words made her smile and she tugged him closer, tightening her legs around him as she kissed him again. “I love you, Rick…” she breathed against his lips with a smile, her nails raking slowly down his back as she felt her body slowly building back up to another orgasm. She held him tightly against her, her lips caressing his neck and jaw.

The sound of her breathy moans in his ear and the feel of her heels in the small of his back pulling him in closer, deeper was making his control start to slip. He leaned forward over her, leaning her back just slightly as his thrusts started coming faster and harder, and her moans of encouragement grew in volume. He growled and bit her shoulder when her nails dug into his back, breaking the skin slightly. The rest of his control snapped when her hands grabbed his ass and pulled him in tightly as she squeezed around him, her nails digging into his flesh. His hard, deep thrusts drove them both up over the edge, her cries and release coming only seconds after his as they clung tightly to each other.

Kate braced herself with one arm against the counter, her other arm still holding him to her tightly. Her forehead rested against his as they caught their breath, Castle still leaning forward over her slightly on the counter as she trailed soft kisses along his jaw.

��Katie?” came the soft, familiar voice of Jim Beckett, frozen in the doorway.

Shit! Shit! Shit! Kate’s eyes met Castle’s in a panic. Her father had an unobstructed view of Castle’s completely naked backside with his pants around his ankles, her nail marks on his back and ass, bent forward slightly over her on the counter. She was very naked, though thankfully hidden by Castle’s body. He was literally still inside of her; they hadn’t even finished catching their breath yet. And her father was right there. How long had he been standing there? This could not be happening.

She peeked over Castle’s shoulder slightly. “Dad?!”

“Hello, Katie,” Jim tried his best to hide his smile. He’d strongly suspected his daughter was with the writer, although she’d never come right out with the information during their last couple of lunches together. What an interesting way to have his theory confirmed.

“You weren’t supposed to be here until tomorrow!” The surprise was evident in her voice.

“I wanted to stock up on groceries before you got here because you also weren’t supposed to be here until tomorrow.” Jim kept his eyes trained on his daughter’s face, an almost amused expression in his eyes. “I see you managed to get Castle to come,” he added with an arched eyebrow, the innuendo and double meaning in his tone evident. It was obvious Kate got her sense of humor from her father.

Kate winced slightly at her father’s words. Her eyes traveled to Castle, who looked like he wished the floor would just open up and swallow him whole. “Can you…maybe…give us a few minutes?” she asked, forcing a small smile.

“Of course, Katie. I’ll be right outside when you two are…dressed…” he agreed, his eyes shifting to her shirt on the floor near where he was standing before stepping back outside.

Kate released a slow breath, her forehead dropping to Castle’s shoulder when she heard the door close. “Shit.”

xxxxx

So…how much of their…activities…exactly, did Jim see?

Don’t kill me for having to stop there! I needed to break this chapter up, it was already getting too long, and this felt like a natural stopping point!

I really want to thank do-it-for-the-fandom again for helping me make a few decisions in this chapter! And she gets the credit for the idea of exactly when Jim happened to come in…her idea was better than mine, so I ran with it!

I am really looking forward to your comments on this chapter! And I apologize if I scarred anyone too badly!

#castle #caskett #kate beckett #richard castle #castle fanfiction

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nikswonderland · 1 year

Text

3.9.23

the clovers are alive and blooming! soo today i went to a bakery and got some pastries & hot chocolate, and i’m about to spend too much money on clothes because i haven’t gone shopping for myself in soo long. speaking of clothes why is good quality clothes so expensive geez?? like i understand but also i don’t… idk it’s just crazy how high prices are. also this weekend i was supposed to visit a castle a few hours away from where i live, but the trip got canceled because of an unexpected storm. see being born in march is cool, but it is alwaysss raining during or near my birthday. expecting brighter days ahead to make up for this lol.

🎧: glue song - beabadoobee

#lifestyle #diary #mine #thoughts #photography

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twstbookclub · 14 days

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In a different view

this is a continuation of Faded Away, but in a different POV, Sebek's side of the story. If you have not read Faded Away, please do so now by clicking HERE.

Summary: Sebek was always by their side. Watching as they went about life as the supposed future heir of the Draconia family, betrothed to Malleus. While he was used to watching, he could not help but wish acting was part of his role as well. Pronouns: Gender Neutral POV: 2nd Admin/Writer: Kai⚔️ Tags: Sebek Zigvolt, Angst, Romance, Angst without a happy ending, Hurt, Hurt no comfort, a continuation Word count: 3,408

A/N: Please please PLEASE read the previous Malleus fic first if you wish to get the full context. While it is not needed, it does add a bit more to this story and why everything turned out the way it did, and why Sebek's POV is so important!

Thank you and enjoy!

He had mixed business with personal feelings. As a retainer for Malleus, he had to stay out of the way, but he couldn’t. You were so gorgeous to him, but he could never admit that. At least, not openly. He had always heard about you and your wonderful personality from Malleus, even his master being subtly mesmerized by your memory. He’d never seen this side of his idol before, which only made him curious about who you were, and he would find out.

You were happy to be around the castle during the springtime, especially in Malleus’ rose garden. The flowers and warm sun mixed with the cool air were some of the best parts of the season. You heard grass crunch from just a few meters away, and it caused you to turn around. You were met with a pair of sage green eyes.

The boy stood there in surprise, frozen in place with his hands to his sides. “It’s not what you think. I wasn’t following you—”

“Sebek, right?” You asked, smiling and looking confident in your answer. You hadn’t met all of Malleus’ main guards, but you were familiar with their names. “I hope I’m right. I was told Silver was named as such due to his hair, but you’re the half-human, half-fae Sebek Zigvolt.”

Sebek stood in place. He couldn’t look away from you. Your smile was as bright as the sky, and the flowers couldn’t compare to how you looked natural in this setting. “You’re correct. I–I apologize for not introducing myself sooner.”

You shook your head and laughed reassuringly. “There’s no need. I haven’t been outside as much as I want to. I’ve been spending most of my time in Malleus’ study or in my own home,” you said, approaching him and bowing slightly.

“It’s nice to meet you. I’m Malleus’ fiance,” you said warmly, your radiance never faltering. That glow around you made him more curious. He needed another moment with you, even for 5 minutes, to find out more.

Whenever he could, he’d talk to you and learn more about you. In the beginning, his conversations with you meant nothing. Although, the more you talked, the longer he would see you. The longer he saw you, the more he understood why his master was so hellbent on keeping you by his side.

Sebek gave it some thought—it made no sense to him. He would wake up and long for a way to look at you, talk to you, or just be in your presence. He wanted to be acknowledged by you, but one question would deter his mind into a questionable state.

One day, you were standing with Sebek in the kitchen. Your hands worked on a dish to present to Malleus as a belated birthday celebration. You knew that Malleus didn’t like big cakes, but you never knew the reason. You were decorating a cupcake instead, and you decided to make a homemade pint of ice cream.

You remembered Malleus talking about how the cooling sensation felt nice against his fire-breathing mouth. It was common for you to bring him ice cream every weekend when you two were children. You decided on mint, not only because it was cooling but because its greenish-teal color reminded you of your fiance.

Sebek was there to watch and help you in your task. He watched how you handled everything with care and precision. His eyes drank in the way you squeezed the piping bag with gentle hands; the way your own eyes lit up when you finished icing the cupcake; the way you placed the glass bowl down with your pinky cushioning its descent.

“I think Prince Malleus will enjoy this a lot,” he commented in a soft tone, which was unusual. Before you responded, the door to the kitchen opened.

“Enjoy what a lot?” Said the voice, and your gaze darted to Malleus who approached the counter with curiosity. “Oh—”

Sebek would look at you and instantly see you brighten at the sight of Malleus. “Malleus! Ugh, you couldn’t have stayed away from the kitchen until later?” You whined, giving a playful pout. “Now, why would I have to be restricted from visiting my own kitchen?” Malleus responded, then stopped when he saw the cupcake. “Hm? Who’s that for?”

You sighed and presented the small plate to him. The cupcake was chocolate with white and green icing, then black sprinkles. You had a cheeky smile on your face and tilted your head. “If you would have waited like I wished, I could’ve brought both gifts to your study. Belated happy birthday.”

“Both gifts?” He asked, taking the dish from your hands. He knew you wanted to celebrate his birthday that you had missed, but he didn’t think it would be so simple.

You looked at Sebek and smiled. The expression snapped the boy out of his trance, watching how you and Malleus interacted. Sebek simply nodded and took out a pint-sized container. After that, he would move back and stand guard. You and Malleus were peaceful, making the moment playful by spreading ice cream and icing on each other’s faces.

His eyes took in every detail of your expressions, laugh, and playful attitude. He could never make you feel that way. How could he ever compare his love to the love you feel for Malleus?

How could he want his master’s praise when he became infatuated with you?

Sebek had no reason to deny his feelings. He disliked humans for their weakness, but you were a fae who endured becoming a mere pawn in a game of a predestined life. You never complained, not when he knew that you loved Malleus so much. Your love for him only grew more prominent every day.

It was wrong. This was his future king’s lifelong partner.

That’s why it was so surprising to watch it all crumble before him. He tried to call you from down the hall. Seeing you aimlessly amble without your usual radiance was concerning for him. You acted fine when he greeted you moments ago, but you looked pale and dull—like you had witnessed something horrifying.

He slowly followed you out of the castle to ensure you were alright. He froze, eyes slightly widening when you suddenly collapsed in the snowy forest.

You were crying. Why? What could make someone as strong as you cry? Your shrill, gut-wrenching screams made the birds in the trees fly away from fright. What happened? You always noticed his presence, but you couldn’t even look at him this time.

Your body hunched over as your bare fingers dug into the snow-covered ground. Malleus told him how much the first snow meant to you, even advising him and Silver about not bothering you when the dust would begin to fall.

What could he even do this time? He wanted to help, but he couldn’t disobey his master. He felt weak, like a human.

Screw this.

Before he realized it, Sebek brought you back up as gently as possible. He was still bewildered, not knowing what was okay to do now. He never had to comfort someone before, and he was usually abrasive with others, but he couldn’t be that way with you. Your eyes landed on him, then your hands clung to his clothes. He understood that you just needed a shoulder to cry on. He didn’t know what else to do, so he carried you to a safe place to relieve your sorrows.

When you calmed down, Sebek sat at a distance from you and waited. Waited as quietly as he could. Once you had a steady breathing pattern, he finally spoke.

“Why were you acting that way?”

You could only look up at Sebek with gloomy eyes, taking a deep breath to explain how Maleficia called off the engagement; how Malleus protested against the queen about having to marry another. You explained to him how you accepted it without a complaint and with a smile.

“He always rejected me, anyway. Maybe his new fiance will change him.”

Sebek was met with doubt. He was dumbfounded at what he was told. Speechless, even. He felt guilty, but he left you alone to rest in his bed for the night and even left you a change of clothing after your bath.

You could only appreciate his kindness and bid him a good night. “May the Seven be with you, Sebek.”

After a few days, Sebek stood before the doors to Malleus’ study, contemplating whether to talk about what he had been told. He thought about it, vividly remembering your tear-stained face. He felt guilty once again. He secretly enjoyed having you cry in his bed and talk to him about the situation these past few days. He wanted you in his arms again. He wanted you to need him for comfort.

“What am I even doing?” He asked himself. He had every reason to. Since he became a retainer for Malleus, he never doubted or went against his master. It amazed him just how much a person can change because of another, someone loved and cared for.

Sigh.

Enough stalling. He had to talk to Malleus. Sebek opened the door, yet he instantly stopped at the sight of Malleus, Maleficia, and the rulers of another kingdom gathered together.

There was another woman. Why did this woman feel familiar, yet so foreign?

His master was on one knee and holding the hand of that woman. The green eyes of the master he adored met Sebek’s own. All he could do was stare at her, whose hand was held by Malleus as if he were proposing. That wasn’t what caught Sebek’s attention, though.

She was standing and smiling like you. Her eyes sparkled like yours. Her beauty was mesmerizing, but she wasn’t you in the slightest.

Was disbelief even the right word?

Just days ago, he learned about Maleficia forcing Malleus into a different marriage, leaving you to fend for yourself despite being his fiance since childhood. Now, there he was, already starting to forget about you.

“Sebek,” Malleus spoke, curious as to why his retainer suddenly arrived. “Is something the matter?”

Sebek jumped at hearing his name be called, snapping him out of his trance. He looked at his master and instead put on a focused look, bowing his head. “No, Prince Malleus. I simply wanted to speak to you, but I shall wait.”

“No need. Whatever you have to say to me,” Malleus paused, looking at the family before him with a smile, “you can say it in front of them as well. They’ll be part of this lineage soon.”

Sebek’s eyes widened. He accepted the change? “I cannot. I apologize. Excuse me,” he said, leaving before hearing anything else.

It took months before Sebek could speak to Malleus, but the engagement was known, and the wedding was less than 24 hours away from now.

Sebek stood outside in the courtyard, just behind Malleus, as he watched his master lean back against a stone pillar. Malleus would look up at the stars in the night. The pillar was the last place he spent time with you, and the last time he would ever see you.

Sebek took a breath and stayed at ease, noticing how Malleus looked content and calm. How could he even look like that? Sebek would take his expressions as one of a man in love. Assuming that his master was in love with his new fiance, that is.

“Master Malleus,” Sebek blurted out, getting restless from the silence.

“How are they?” Malleus asked, still staring up at the night sky. Malleus stayed calm, but that contentedness didn’t last long. He grew slightly somber, still guilty from the events of months prior to the present day.

The half-fae was surprised, but he didn’t show it much. Instead, Sebek looked at the ground, fully letting go of his demeanor as royal guard, and spoke to Malleus as his friend.

“Not good. I can’t even fathom the events that have transpired. I learned what it means to be someone’s support due to the circumstances.”

“I see…” Malleus whispers, then he looks at Sebek. “It’s hurting you to see them this way, right? Believe me, I did not choose this.”

“I know. I am fully aware. I was told vague details, but it wasn’t hard to put the pieces together. Did you fight for them?” Sebek asked, looking at Malleus after.

“I did. They decided to accept the change, even after I pleaded.”

“That didn’t mean you should’ve given up.”

Malleus began to chuckle, and then it turned into a laugh. Sebek was surprised once again, confused about why the hell he was laughing.

“Give up?” Malleus started, still laughing but only speaking again after being able to calm down. “I never wanted that. You don’t know what I wanted.”

Sebek grew irritated but he kept his composure, needing a damn answer. “Then, what did you want?”

Malleus leaned against the stone pillar and took a deep breath, not wanting to erupt into an outburst. "I wanted everything. They were my everything for so long. I never asked for things in life, but they were the only person I had always wanted to stay with."

"You can still say something. The wedding is tomorrow. Why won't you say something!? Are you so fond of your future wife that you want to push them away as if they didn't exist—!"

"What do you know!? I am haunted by my future wife. She acts just like them!” Malleus yelled, sounding frustrated.

“She has the same mannerisms, and moves just as elegantly as they did... But my bride is not them. I can't have them. To protect you all, I have to let go of them."

"Screw protecting us!” Sebek yelled back, getting closer to Malleus, his mind going into overdrive. “We are here to protect you, not the other way around!"

"No! I will not put this kingdom through war.” Malleus was stern and cold, different than he had ever been before. “Why are you trying to push them to me? You're only hurting your own heart, Sebek."

Sebek was shocked. This Malleus was not the one the boy had idolized for years. This love was turning the people he cared for most into strangers. "What do you mean?"

"Look at me and tell me you are not in love with my past lover. That is why you wish to fix this. If they are not happy, you are not happy either. I know that exact feeling,” Malleus stated, oddly confident about his words.

He did know that exact feeling. Sebek could see it, too. The eyes showed a lot of emotion and, as Sebek kept eye contact with his master, he could see the sorrow and regret behind the darkness of those once bright green eyes.

Sebek had to choose his words carefully. He could see how one more push could send Malleus’ over the edge. "Even if that is the case, they love you, Malleus. Not me, but you. My love for them will never compare to the love they have harbored for years with you. Do you not feel the same?"

Malleus stayed quiet. He needed to think. He had to reject everything. "I cannot love someone that is no longer mine. That is the truth,” he said, then they both heard footsteps against the concrete path.

They turned around and saw you there. Malleus was surprised at the sight of your figure coming closer. “You—”

“I wish to no longer see any conflict in regards to this situation,” you said softly, then you looked at Sebek.

“Thank you for trying to fight for me. I do not think it is necessary to do so now. It is pointless. Your words and breath are wasted in a situation that cannot be changed.”

“But—”

“Prince Malleus,” you whisper, cutting Sebek off to look at the draconic fae beside you. “Do remember that your bride is moving into the castle a few days after the wedding.”

Malleus went silent at the mention of his fiance. His heart was hurting in a bothersome way. Why couldn’t he love you? He hated this, but he had a kingdom to take care of.

“As for myself,” you started, still staring at Malleus, “I am fine. No need to worry about me. We have done everything together since we were small children. I have loved you with every fiber of my being without fail. If you love me the same, you will marry your bride tomorrow and—”

Sebek’s eyes widened in the middle of the silence. Do his eyes deceive him?

Malleus was kissing the person Sebek loved so much. Malleus is getting married tomorrow, but he was kissing you in the same spot that changed everything that day. Your own eyes were shocked but soon closed to enjoy the sensation, your body as still as a statue.

Malleus held your waist close to him to keep you there. His lips were firmly pressed against yours, and he wouldn’t let go for a while. Sebek couldn’t look away from the scene in front of him. He had been able to endure everything.

Not being loved by you. Not being able to make you smile or laugh. The pain was creeping up on him, witnessing the love you and Malleus had for one another despite the situation left him shattered. He felt bad for you. He could see that this was the only time this would happen. So, out of respect, he looked away.

Not only out of respect but to spare himself the pain of watching any longer.

Once Malleus pulled away, you opened your eyes and blurted out the next words that came to your mind, “I will not go to your wedding. I will spare myself that pain. I won’t lose you if I don’t witness you leave. As long as I believe you chose to leave and haven’t left my grasp, then I will be fine.”

Malleus let out a chuckle and let you go. “Good. Then, as long as you don’t see me giving myself away, I’m still truly yours.”

You nodded in agreement and bowed your head, then looked at Sebek. “Then, this is goodbye. No—that’s too bitter,” you said playfully, looking at Malleus again and taking his hand one last time.

“It is simply ‘see you later’,” Sebek responded, looking at the two of you with a small smile. “Good luck.”

You nodded again and let go of Malleus’ hand before walking away. Your smile dropped once they could no longer see your face.

After a couple of years, Malleus’ coronation was successful, and Sebek was looking around for his master around the ballroom floor. After a few minutes of searching, he only found Malleus on the balcony, but he was with you. You came to the coronation.

Sebek watched as you and Malleus stared into each other’s eyes, the obvious longing for one another still present. He noticed how you looked so different. Your eyes that sparkled were dull before, but they sparkled like stars once you set your eyes on the new king.

You were angelic and carefree to Sebek. He liked all sides of you, but this one only hurt him.

“You were a wonderful experience.”

Sebek heard Malleus speak, but then he quickly had to hide when someone called for Malleus. He watched as they dragged their king away and left you alone.

“You were… everything.”

You said that, thinking you were alone. Sebek only realized that the time you spent away from Malleus did nothing. He could tell that Malleus was the same way. He slowly stepped out and looked at you, concern prominent on his face.

“Sebek…” You said quietly, your eyes dulling once again.

Sebek had fallen in love with the person he couldn’t have. He knew it was taboo, especially since they were the person that his master loved so much, but it’s not like he’d ever reveal it. His body took over for a moment and when he came back to his senses, he had his arm wrapped around you in a hug.

To Sebek, the person in front of him was like a candle. Bright, full of many chances and changes, but even those have a limit. Now, this lovely candle had burned out and would never have the ability to light up again.

#sebek zigvolt #twst sebek #sebek x reader #twisted wonderland #twst #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #twst wonderland #writing #romance #disney #angst #twst angst #angst with a sad ending #sebek angst

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