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superprincesspea · 22 days

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Courted by the Dragon

Chapter 14 - Secrets and Sapphires

Aemond Targaryen is both the cause and witness to the greatest humiliation of your life. You would rather die than see him again. Yet summer at court and the precipice of civil war have other ideas.

Masterlist

~~~

Maris’ anger had not diminished in your absence, and she was certainly glad of the thunderous scolding you received from your father.

His finger pointing, his voice booming so loudly you imagine half the keep can hear it.

Stupid, careless, girl.

He was right, you had been careless. You’d lost yourself in Aemond’s company and what could be more careless than that?

Except, that wasn’t why he was angry. You'd gone missing for hours and your mothers' cheeks were still stained with tears.

“I’m sorry,” you say, and you mean it, “I won’t let it happen again.”

“You shouldn’t even let her join us in the hall tonight!” Maris pipes in when the shouting has dwindled down to a halt, her eyes narrowed and vengeful.

But her attempt at siding with your father is soon thwarted because Borros Baratheon doles out the punishments, not his daughters, and a fresh wave of anger washes over him.

“Quiet girl!” he snaps, before returning his attention back to you, his voice booming again, “you’ll get changed and you’ll do it quickly or so help me!”

You don't need to be told twice, and rush to your room, pulling a yellow gown from your armoire before thinking better of it.

Maris already thought you were trying to steal Aemond and, in her mind, yellow was the colour to do it in. So, you reach for the sapphire blue, making tonight its third outing of the summer and perhaps its final one too.

You’re still fiddling with the tiny buttons when Cassandra sneaks into your room with a pitying look.

She sits patiently on the bed, waiting for you to finish before picking up your brush and nudging you onto the stool next to your vanity.

“We can’t have you looking like this,” she says, her voice cheerful as she gently pulls the brush through all the knots which had formed in the rain.

Trying not to wince each time she hits a snag, you sit quietly, miserably , worrying the skirt of your dress and wishing your father had forced you to stay behind.

You're still shaken from the way his voice had boomed in your ears, and you’d rather curl up in a ball and cry, instead of facing an evening of polite conversation and Maris’ seemingly endless supply of anger.

“She’ll get over it,” Cassandra says, and you know she’s right but that doesn’t make it any easier. If you could skip forward to a place where Maris didn’t hate you, you would, but there was no quick fix, only time.

“And...” she begins, waiting for you to meet her eye in the mirror, “ I think we both know she never had a chance.”

Heart suddenly in your throat, you look at your hands, hoping to hide any of the thoughts which may have escaped onto your face.

But Cassandra doesn’t need any confirmation of what she already knows to be true.

“I do not believe I’ve ever seen Prince Aemond look at Maris the way he looks at you,” she says, and you stiffen, it was exactly what the Queen had said at the tourney.

“If you knew why , you would be ashamed to have me as your sister.”

You look up from your hands just in time to see Cassandra’s eyes widen with horror, the brush stopping its progress.

“Do not tell me you have given him your virtue?”

“No! ” you say quickly, surprised by her suggestion.

Though, for one brief moment, you can’t help but imagine what that would be like.

High Valyrian rolling from his tongue, long fingers wrapping around your waist instead of books. Would his kiss be gentle, hesitant even? Just a soft, momentary press of lips to test your willing.

Or would it be certain? Urgent? Would he push you up against the bookcases, hard and feverish, his lips devouring yours before finding the racing pulse at your neck, his hands moving from your waist, hitching up the skirts of your dress and-

Clearing your throat, you banish the thought away, but not quickly enough. Your cheeks are more than a little flushed when you admit, “I met him before we came to court.”

“Where ?”

“On the beach below the keep.”

She laughs, her brow knitted with confusion, “why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“Because I was alone… and I was…” you hold your tongue, could you really tell her the truth?

“I was swimming ,” you whisper, and it feels both cathartic and terrifying at the same time.

Cassandra’s fingers fall from your hair altogether and you dare not look at her in the mirror. Instead, you turn to meet her, face to face, your heart pounding harder than before, your palms slick with sickening nerves.

Yet, instead of shame you find anger, an emotion which barely ever registers on her face, and her voice is low, tense .

“Did he hurt you?” she demands in a hushed whisper which is no less powerful than your fathers bellowing.

“No ,” you gasp, knowing precisely what she is thinking as you reach to touch her arm and reassure her, “he only looked, but he has teased me about it all summer.”

She laughs then, relieved , her hands returning to your hair. “No wonder he looks at you like that .”

“Like what?”

“Like he is constantly on the brink of kissing you.”

Your cheeks flush yet again, but Cassandra’s tone hardens, scolding you. “You know you really should have told me this months ago. And Maris. How could she ever stand a chance when Prince Aemond had already fallen in love with you?”

“He loves tormenting me, nothing more.”

“If you say so,” Cassandra teases before shaking her head, “I still cannot believe you thought you could keep this a secret. Heavens, you can be so wilful sometimes.”

“But you’ll promise not to tell anyone?” you say, desperately, and by ‘anyone’, you mean Maris.

“We are sisters, your secrets are mine to keep, not to share,” she reassures, sliding the last pin into your hair and you relax, turning on the stool to hug her tightly.

It was strange, but despite all your torment, you hadn’t realised just how much you’d needed such comfort until her arms were wrapping around your shoulders and she was kissing the top of your head.

It was no secret that you and Cassandra had never been as close as you and Maris, who were like partners in crime compared to your perfect, angelic, older sister. But her embrace is so steadfast, that it seems impossible to imagine you could have any better friend or sister than her.

“You know...” she starts, as you pull away from the embrace, “we never did get to the bottom of who sent us these gowns...”

You look down at your dress, the sapphire bodice glimmering with gems, and she was right. After trying to thank Tyland Lannister, you hadn’t really wanted to think who could have bought them. Or why.

“Helaena told me that when Aemond lost his eye, they offered to replace it with gold,” she pauses for dramatic effect, “he chose a sapphire instead.”

“A sapphire?” you choke, picturing the way it might glitter beneath the patch across his eye. So beautiful, so radiant. Just like your gown.

Then you think of the times you’d wore the dress in front of him and feel as though you might be sick. From nerves, from anger, from the sheer audacity of the knowing smiles you’d seen on his face each time.

Were you really wearing something he’d picked out?

You didn’t want to believe it, but who else could afford such a thing?

Who else would choose this exact shade of sapphire blue?

Hurrying towards your armoire, you reach for the yellow gown once again but it's too late. Your father's voice is booming into your room and it's time to leave, whether you’re ready or not.

Cursing the entire situation, you trail behind your family all the way to the hall, wondering how long it would take them to notice if you decided to slip away. If you hadn’t gone missing this afternoon, you would chance it, but you’re not sure you can withstand any more of your father's anger.

Instead, you think, so what if Aemond chose your dress? It didn’t mean anything .

Except, you can’t even hold that lie in your brain for more than a moment before it falls apart. Because it did mean something. Everything he’d done meant something .

He’d met you on the beach in spring and thought of you often enough to invite you here for summer, to choose the books on your nightstand, and purchase the most beautiful gown you’d ever seen, for no other purpose than to see you standing in a room wearing the exact shade of his eye.

Yet, the same man who’d done all those things, had also stolen more than one look at your naked body, threatened all your suitors, toyed with Maris, told everyone you couldn’t dance, embarrassed you in front of his mother, and killed Ser Glover in cold blood.

He was impulsive, arrogant and completely ignorant to anyone’s feelings but his own. You still hated him, a few hours in the library couldn’t change that.

You could only pray that he would not be in the hall tonight because hating him and facing him were too very different things.

Yet there he was. Across the room. A dark line of fine black leather, his eye meeting with yours, holding all your attention before it slowly sinks to your dress.

The slightest twitch of a smile quivers at his lips, and you know, beyond any doubt, that he was the mysterious secret admirer who’d sent three gowns to the Baratheon sisters. One pink, one lilac and one sapphire blue.

You swallow hard and he begins to move, abandoning the people he was in conversation with, his usual cocky gait carrying him quickly across the room and, more importantly, directly towards you.

He’s already made it halfway before you jump into action.

Seven hells!

What was he thinking?

He was Aemond Targaryen. When he walked, people watched.

Maris watched.

He couldn’t just walk right up to you like this. He wasn’t the kind of man who walked right up to anyone- unless he was threatening them.

Breaking away from your family, you skirt around the edge of the room, and he changes direction. Another smile twitching at his lips, as though he’s enjoying the chase. But you’re not going far, just far enough so Maris cannot see past the crowds.

You wait for Aemond by a thick stone column and, when he’s close enough, you push him behind it, so you can be hidden from all the prying eyes that might be watching.

“We can find more privacy than this if you wish to have me alone, issa jorrāelagon,” he says, a devilish smirk now filling his cheeks entirely.

You sigh sharply, “that is the last thing I want!”

“Are you certain?” his gaze scrapes down, to where the tips of your fingers are still pressed against his chest, “then why are you pinning me against a wall?”

Embarrassed , you snatch your hands away, knotting them behind your back, your heart thumping as he laughs, enjoying every ounce of your torment as per usual.

Then you let out an exasperated sigh, wondering, yet again, how you’d spent so many hours with this man.

“You cannot just walk right up to me in front of the entire room,” you warn and, though a small frown creases into his brow, amusement still holds sway over his face.

“How else am I to ask you to dance?”

“You cannot!” you exclaim tartly, appalled to think that was what he was planning on doing. “You cannot even speak to me in front of them. I forbid it .”

“You forbid your prince?”

“Yes , Maris hates me enough as it is and, if you consider yourself my friend , you will do no more harm between us.”

At that, you try to leave, feeling you have already spent far too long with the most conspicuous man in the room, but his hand slides to your waist, holding you still.

“Do you consider yourself my friend?” he asks, and you cannot think of anything more dangerous than friendship with a dragon, but you’d say anything to placate him.

“We can be friends if you stay away from me.”

He snorts, “that's a strange recipe for friendship, would you not say?”

“Not if the friendship is already strange,” you retort before pulling away from his grasp and heading straight towards your family, only to be intercepted by Lord Boremund before you can even make it five paces.

“Little cousin,” he says, taking your hand, “please allow me the honour of your first dance this evening.”

You accept, glad to be away from Maris for as long as possible and surprised when Ser Robin asks for your next dance, then Lord Thorne for your third.

It seemed Aemond had not only allowed Tyland Lannister to resume the pursuit of your hand, but half of court too. Yet, like Tyland Lannister, it only made these men seem both spineless and fickle.

Were they all afraid of a dragon?

So, instead of feeling pleased to be dancing with them, you find yourself feeling increasingly annoyed, and you’re not the only one.

Throughout every turn you make around the floor, you see Aemond pacing the edges like a caged animal and three dances is all it takes before he breaks.

He strides fast, unconcerned by the movement swirling to avoid him, and you watch his every step with both heart pounding surprise and gut-wrenching exasperation, as he sweeps into Lord Thorne’s place and steals your hand without a single word to the other man.

“What are you doing?” You hiss under your breath, extremely conscious of the scene he is creating.

“It seems I cannot be your friend, ” he retorts, but you hardly hear him, you’re too busy looking around. Pleased to see that people are not pointing or staring, and the dance is continuing as though nothing is amiss.

It’s only Lord Thorne who looks out of place, his cheeks flushed with anger, his steps faltering as he tries to move around the other couples.

At this point, you think it might actually draw more attention if you stop dancing, but that doesn’t mean you have to be happy about the situation. You’re so mad at Aemond, you could stamp on his stupid foot.

“You could have at least waited for the next dance,” you scold, knowing you would have rejected his offer, if he had actually asked.

“I want all your dances, including this one,” he says, leading you into a turn and when you’re facing him again, you glare, ensuring he knows that, despite your current actions, you’re still very much annoyed.

“And you think nothing of what I want?” you say. It was not half an hour since you’d told him not to speak with you, let alone dance with you. Yet here you were, in his arms.

“Would you rather dance with them instead of me ?”

Words stick on your tongue, and you're glad for another turn, so you can think of an answer, because you can’t exactly tell him ‘no’ .

You wouldn’t rather dance with them.

Lord Boremund was your cousin, Ser Robin was far too tall, and Lord Thorne was perfectly fine and perfectly handsome, except his touch did not set your skin ablaze as Aemond’s did.

You face him again, and you must say something, so you think of propriety and all the rules which had been drummed into your head since you were old enough to walk. “As an unmarried lady, I shall not be obliged to give special treatment to anyone, even his grace.”

“Then marry me.”

What?

You’re so surprised, you can’t help but laugh, your mind spinning, your cheeks heating beyond reason. “ Be serious, ” you say, almost choking on the words as they splutter from your lips.

“I am,” he replies with a low voice, and he isn’t joking. He’s waiting, wanting, but you cannot possibly give him the answer he craves.

You cannot even speak as he draws you in, holding you far closer than any man should in a room full of people. One hand on your lower back, the other brushing the length of your arm before he curls his fingers into yours.

If there had been butterflies in the library, there are dragons now. Hatching carelessly in the pit of your stomach. Hot and dangerous, long wings reaching to the very tips of your toes until you feel flimsy in his sturdy embrace.

You open your mouth, but there are no words, and what’s left is far worse than any words could ever be. You hate the sound which pants breathlessly from your lips, soft, submissive , welcoming his advances wholeheartedly.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d say you were enjoying this. But you’re not. You don’t want him. Not as a friend, not as a husband.

Yet your eyes still graze his lips, and you find yourself wondering, for the second time in a single evening, what it would be like to be kissed by him.

"Marry me, Lady Baratheon,” he says again, and you both miss a step in the dance, almost colliding with another couple, before you regain control of your senses and wedge your free hand between your chest and his.

Gods. You cannot meet his eye.

“You do not dance well enough for me to condemn myself to marriage,” you whisper, your voice strained, before you force another laugh to break the tension.

If he’s disappointed, he doesn’t show it, his tone is still light, playful even. “Is it marriage you disapprove of, or your prince?”

You breathe out another shaky breath, but your voice is a little stronger when you say, “I do not disapprove of marriage. ” Only dragons.

Aemond’s huff of amusement is light, meant only for your ears, and you’re grateful when the dance requires you to break from his arms and weave between the other partners.

Inhaling a lung full of air, you’re certain not to let him reel you in again. Instead, you hold yourself rigid, your palm pressed against his chest to prevent any further encroachment into the battlements you’re trying desperately to defend.

“Now behave yourself or I shall be forced to return to my room, for yet another evening,” you warn, daring to meet his eye.

“Good ,” he smiles triumphantly, seeming to enjoy the way you’re struggling to hold him at bay, “I shall meet you there.”

“With the guard outside the door?” you say hotly, imagining the look on Ser Maurin’s face if Aemond tried to waltz into your room without a chaperone.

He leans in harder, forcing your arm to cave against his strength, “I shall climb in through the window.”

When you turn again, you jab his rib, not too hard but hard enough to make him wince and remind him how difficult climbing would be with such an injury, “I think not , and in any case, I shall bolt it to be certain.”

He chuckles and, though you’re not looking at him, you can picture just how smug his smile must be as he says, “you imagine a bolt across a window could stop me?”

“No ,” you glance back to meet his eye, “but I’d hope his grace would not force himself into someone’s company if they had asked him to stop .”

The music finishes before he can reply, and all the other couples break away with bows and curtsies to find someone new.

But not you and Aemond. Aemond wants all your dances, and he does not relinquish control of your hand despite your efforts. He holds it tight, possessive, and you can feel as people begin to stare.

“I shall scream if you do not let me go this instant,” you hiss under your breath, trying to remain composed.

His jaw tightens, frustration seeming to cling to every muscle in his body just as he loosens his grip, sliding his hand behind his back so his stance is as formal as it is unyielding.

When you turn to leave, you notice Maris who’s been staring at the whole scene with daggers instead of eyes.

“If you truly care about me at all,” you begin, purposely avoiding his gaze, “you will ask someone else to dance this instant or I fear Maris will never forgive me.”

Aemond snorts, “when you are here and she is in Storms End, it will not matter what she thinks.”

“It matters to me!” you say, a little too loudly, but you’re so painfully annoyed with him that you can hardly be expected to contain your temper, “not that you seem to think of anything but your own selfish desires.”

When you walk away, you feel him step to follow before he hesitates and turns on his heel to walk in the opposite direction.

Not that you dare to look back or feel any relief that he has not followed you, you’re too anxious for that.

Instead, you make it to where your sisters are standing with Belis, and Maris laughs as she says, “it seems Prince Aemond is pitying all the wallflowers with a dance this evening.”

Then you do look at him and, just as you’d asked, he’s escorting another to the floor. Lady Staunten, who’d not danced all summer and seemed more terrified than pleased to be in his company.

“Shall we take a turn of the room?” Cassandra offers with a warm smile and you’re grateful for another opportunity to leave Maris’ bad mood behind.

“Did you ask him about the dress?” she says, when you are far enough away from the others and, quite honestly, you’d forgotten about the dress altogether.

But you don’t say that, or anything, you’re too distracted, craning your neck to watch Aemond as he moves methodically across the floor, as though the dance holds no joy, only steps.

Did he really just ask you to marry him?

It was such a surprise, it felt like you could have imagined the whole thing. In fact, you wish you had imagined it. Then you wouldn’t have to think about it, and you were quite certain you could think of little else.

It wasn’t every day a man asked you such a question- o r ever. But you couldn’t be entirely sure of Aemond’s motives. Did he truly want marriage and all that it entailed, or was it just another hot-headed impulse?

Though you suppose none of that really mattered, since there were no circumstances in which you would agree to be his wife. Even if he wasn’t the most arrogant man in the world, he was still a Targaryen, and they were a strange family with even stranger proclivities.

Yet, by the time you’ve walked an entire circle of the room, he’s asking another wallflower to dance, and you feel the unmistakable claw of envy, scratching at your skin.

You turn away, wanting to forget about him but there was really no forgetting Aemond Targaryen.

There wasn’t even safety in the bosom of your family. There was Alicent, talking to your mother with a coy smile and, for one heart stopping moment, you wonder if she knows . If they both know.

Because marriage would not be a choice if your mother was involved. There would be no question about it, you’d be given to the crown without a single thought for your wishes, and that would be that .

“Ah, Lady Baratheon,” Alicent says, noticing the way you’re lingering in her periphery.

You curtsy politely, heart pounding as she waves her hand to beckon you closer.

“We were just discussing how pleasant it would be to enjoy the last days of summer with a picnic in the Kingswood. Do you ride?”

“Yes ." You even enjoyed it under usual circumstances.

"Good,” she laughs, the curls in her hair bouncing with the movement, “there is not much room in the wheelhouse for so many ladies and the fresh air will give you vigour.”

You start, thinking your mother might have something to say about the suggestion but she’s nodding along with the Queen. “You mean for me to ride all the way to the Kingswood?” you confirm, thinking it an unlikely ask for a high borne lady.

“I’m sure one of the men will keep you company,” Alicent says as though it's the most natural thing in the world. But what she means is, Aemond will keep you company .

Without thinking, you turn to look at him, annoyed that you cannot seem to retain autonomy over your own gaze, which seems intent to seek him out despite your wishes.

When you turn back to look at Alicent, her smile reminds you so much of her son that you almost tell her to hell with the Kingswood and to hell with Aemond. But you’re sure your mother would have some choice words if you humiliated her in front of the Queen.

So, you return her smile, thanking The Seven that Alicent has no idea her son just asked you to marry him. But she’s expecting it, you can see it on her face.

What had Aemond said in the library?

That she would finally think he was consenting to giving her a grandchild. Well, you aren’t consenting. As far as you were concerned, you had two older sisters and it was only proper that they should marry first.

~~~

Thank you for reading!

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earlgreydream · 1 year

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pretty thing.

a sexy christmas party at malfoy manor with a bit of smut and soft dom draco 💚

Piano music floated down the hallway, reaching your ears as you stood, dressing in one of the guest suites at Malfoy Manor. You were a part of one of the pure blood families that attended their annual Christmas party, a chance for whispers about the ministry more than a celebration of the holidays.

Black lace hugged the curves of your body, accentuating your silhouette as you stood before the mirror, applying your makeup. A glittering green dress hung over the door of the armoire, heels below it, waiting to be worn, showing you off to the wealthy heirs that your parents insisted were potential suitors.

“Aren’t you cold, love?” Draco smirked, appearing out of a hidden passage in the wall, one of many that linked the rooms of his childhood home.

“Get out of here! I’m naked!” You hissed, immediately throwing a robe over your body, hiding it from his view.

“Hardly, in fact, if you really want to get a lovers attention, you should just go out in that tonight,” he teased, prowling toward you with his graceful steps.

You pushed him away as he tried to pull open the tie of the robe, always desperate to get a glimpse of you, insisting since you were young that you were all his, as it was always meant to be.

“You’re terrible, Malfoy. You’re not supposed to be up here, anyways. If anyone caught you in my suite, we’d both be skinned,” you reminded, keeping your voice to a whisper in case any nosey parent or household staff lurked in the halls.

“All the more exciting.”

Before you could protest further, he had pushed you onto the vanity, standing between your knees and catching you in a fiery kiss. He tasted like peppermint and bourbon, his lips soft and his tongue heavy. Delicate hands gripped the silk robe, dragging it up, exposing as much of you as he could in the desperate, messy, make out session.

“Really, you shouldn’t be here,” you breathed when he finally broke away for air, his lips ghosting against your jawline.

“I shouldn’t be here, and you shouldn’t be wearing such scandalous lace beneath your dress. You’re going to go to that party like you always do, and flirt with the heirs to appease your parents. And I’m going to get jealous, and before the night is up, we’ll have disappeared to commit even worse sins than we are now.”

Draco was right. No matter how much you pretended to feign interest in others, the two of you couldn’t keep your hands off of each other in private. You’d accepted long ago that you did belong to Draco, wrapped around his fingers. He didn’t notice anyone but you, you were everything, so much more than a young heiress he wasn’t meant to corrupt.

“Save a dance for me tonight,” Draco murmured, pressing a tender kiss to your lips before disappearing back into the walls, going to make the appearances expected of him.

You could still taste him as you collected yourself, fixing your hair and putting on your dress for the party.

“You look stunning, dear,” Narcissa greeted you as you went down to the ballroom, finally ready to join their Christmas party.

“Thank you,” you kissed her cheek politely, refraining from asking if she’d seen her son, not wanting to give away anything about your hidden affair.

As per tradition, you were meant to be kept pure, until Draco came along and ruined you in secret.

A sparkling glass was put in your hand by one of the men vying for your affection, introducing himself, telling you about his important position in the ministry. You tried to be polite, knowing eyes were on you, the eligible bachelorette that would secure good favor with the dark lord, whoever you chose.

“Being out in the world has been much kinder to you than hogwarts,” Pansy admired your dress, the compliment as sincere as it could be from her.

“I miss it, though. I’d rather be learning divination and gossiping in the common room than be passed around like a prize to be won,” you rolled your eyes, your mind floating to memories of you and Draco in his prefect room.

“You’re so ungrateful, everyone wishes they were you. All the boys are obsessed with you, and the pure blood families love you.”

You ignored her last comment, your eyes locking with Draco’s silver gaze across the room. He smiled behind a glass of champagne, paying no attention to the girls hanging off of his every word.

“You always wanted what you couldn’t have,” Pansy mused.

“May we dance, my darling?” Draco offered his hand, saving you from the company of several barons of countries you hadn’t heard of.

“Of course, Malfoy,” you nodded, letting him sweep you off your feet, into the dance as someone played the nutcracker on the piano.

You let your head rest against his chest, guided by his graceful movements into a waltz.

“Sick of them yet, princess? I must admit, I’m ready to sneak off with you, to somewhere more private,” he spoke softly, his lips just above the shell of your ear, words whispered into your hair.

“I don’t want to be here any more than you, but I’ve gotten so much attention, I can’t slip away unnoticed yet,” you sighed softly as he gave your hip a squeeze.

“Act as if you’ve caught a cold, make a scene, I don’t care. I cannot share you any longer,” his command was whispered in your ear, sending a shudder down your spine and heat burning between your hips.

As Draco parted from you, you ached for his touch, watching him disappear amongst the party guests. Others had already begun flocking to you, hoping to earn a dance.

“Sorry, I’m actually feeling a bit unwell,” you apologized as you all but ran away from the boy who had sought your attention.

You repeated your apology to your parents, and several other dignitaries you passed, all wondering where you were running off to so early. After their condolences and well-wishes, you tore up the stairs to your suite, locking the door with as many spells as you could summon.

“It took you long enough,” Draco quipped, pinning you against the door from behind, his hands bringing yours above your head, trapping them to the wood.

“You know how they are,” you whined, tilting your head, hoping to catch a kiss from the sensual prince who was prying your legs open with his knee.

“Hush, love,” Draco kissed you slowly, his free hand riding beneath your dress, feeling you beneath the lace.

His fingers rubbed over the lace thong you wore, pulling a whimper from your lips as you began to throb with need.

“Desperate?” Draco teased, feeling your muscles tense for him.

“Please,” your plea was pitiful, your mind already melted from his brief touches.

“Be my good girl and wait patiently,” he scolded with a smirk, delighting in your need.

You were soaking despite the loss of his fingers as he unfastened your dress, helping you out of it and onto the end of the bed. Your elbows and feet hit the sheets, backing up until your head rested delicately on the pillows.

“Look at you, all wrapped up like a present for me,” he praised, tracing the silk and lace that twisted around your body.

“All for you,” you murmured, parting your legs so he could settle between your knees.

His arms wrapped around your thighs as he lowered to kiss your belly, slowly moving downward until his teeth pulled at your waistband.

Draco smirked at the little gasp you elicited when he lightly bit the soft skin between your hips, humming as your fingers threaded into his hair.

He pried the lace off of you, kissing every inch of your bare skin as he did so, distracting you until he could return to his place between your thighs. Silver eyes glinted up at you as he knelt to taste your sex, dripping with sweetness for him.

Your back arched as his tongue pulled more moans from you, Draco knowing exactly how to make you melt.

“Good girl, let me hear you,” he soothed, palming your chest and kissing the inside of your thigh before he went back to eating you out like a starved man.

“Draco, fuck, I need you inside me,” your words were broken and rushed, desperate as your heels dug into his back, trying to pull him closer.

“Pretty thing,” Draco praised, smearing a kiss over your lips, smirking as you leaned up to follow when he pulled away.

You whimpered as he fell back against the headboard, pushing you up on shaky knees before him.

“I can’t—”

“Relax, love,” Draco pulled you to sit on his lap, straddling either side of his knees as you melted against his chest.

A strong arm circled around your waist as he carefully sank into you, nearly coming on the spot at your sinful moan.

“Feel what you do to me? You’ve got me so hard, and you’re taking it so well,” he murmured, snapping his hips up slowly, each thrust filling you to the brim.

Your hands weakly grasped at his biceps for support, your head resting on his shoulder as he pulled you down onto him. His chest heaved under your back, and he kissed on your neck as he fucked you, leaving a mark that was sure to last for days.

You were dizzy with pleasure, reaching over your shoulder and pulling his hair as your legs began to shake. You were surprised you had lasted this long — but now your nerves felt as if they were on fire every time Draco kissed your cervix.

“There you go love,” Draco hummed, drawing quick circles on your clit with his thumb until you were trembling from the intensity of your orgasm.

His own release dropped down your thighs, creating wet and filthy sounds as he thrusted lazily as you two came down. Draco gently cradled your exhausted form, murmuring a spell to clean you up before sinking back into the soft sheets with you snuggled on his chest.

“Merry Christmas,” he whispered into your hair, kissing you before your eyes closed for the night.

#grey’s holiday fics #holiday fics #Draco #Draco x reader #Draco malfoy #draco imagine #draco malfoy imagine #Draco fluff #Draco smut #draco x reader fluff #draco x reader smut

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shipmistress9 · 8 months

Text

In Control

Fandom: Fourth Wing -- The Empyrean

Ship: Xaden/Violet

Rating: E

Main Tags: D/s dynamics, bondage, trust

Synopsis:

“Don’t lie to me, Violence,” he murmurs as he tugs a strand of hair back into my loose braid. “This only works if you’re completely honest about how you feel, with me but also with yourself.” Once, Xaden didn't want Violet to take a look into his armoire, and she joked that she already knew all of his clothes. Little did she know about what he really keeps hidden there. Further down their relationship, Xaden eventually shows her his collection of sex toys and bondage gear, and Violet is more than just a little intrigued. But... she brave enough to give up control?

This started as a silly joke in a chat group with dear friends, the perfect BDMS arsenal hidden in a wardrobe. Then it became a plot bunny that wouldn't leave me alone. Now, it's roughly 8.5k words of smut. I'm absolutely not sorry! 😁

Also, this takes place in a Universe Alteration where Xaden didn’t hold back after the first time he and Violet kissed. They get closer, become lovers, and he lets Violet in on his secrets, about Aretia, Brennan, the Venin and Wyvern, the rebellion. So for this story, they’ve been a couple for months already, with no secrets left between them.

@drsoaresrex You wanted me to tag you in this. ☺️

. o O o .

Violet

It started slowly. Simple.

I always liked it when things between Xaden and me turned rougher. Hell, it’s been like that from the very first moment, and going slow and soft is rarely our style, especially in bed. We’re both too needy, too hungry for each other to hold back.

I also like him taking the lead, at least when it comes to sex. Maybe it’s because with him I know I don’t have to always watch my back. With him, I’m safe. And wherever he leads us, it’ll be good.

And who doesn’t like it when their partner focuses their entire attention on only them, on pleasing them several times per night?

No, I never thought much of all this, and other things I liked just… neatly fit into our relationship as well. Like how him pinning my hands above my head when we make out turns me on more, or how my heartbeat quickens when he uses his shadows to keep me from fidgeting too much.

But while I didn’t pay those things any mind, Xaden did. Was actually slowly testing out how far he could go before it became uncomfortable for me.

And now, we’re here, in his spacious room, and he’s about to show me the contents of his armoire—the one I thought merely held his clothes until today.

“Are you nervous?” Xaden throws me an amused glance as I shift my weight—for the fourth time in half as many minutes.

I blink and try to reign in my racing heart. “N-no? Why would I be?”

He pointedly looks at where I’m ringing my hands, which I drop immediately. Then he steps in front of me, his fingers gently prying my lower lip from between my teeth. “Don’t lie to me, Violence,” he murmurs as he tugs a strand of hair back into my loose braid. “This only works if you’re completely honest about how you feel, with me but also with yourself.”

Right…

I take a deep breath and nod. Because I want this to work, for this first trial run, at least. “Okay. Yeah, I’m nervous. I’ve never…” I helplessly gesture at his armoire.

“…used a sex toy?” he asks, his scarred eyebrow raised.

(More beneath the cu or on AO3)

“Let someone else use one on me,” I correct him, lightly swatting his arm. “Let alone more than one…”

Xaden hums, a smirk playing around his lips. He’s in a good mood today. “It’s not so much different from sex without toys,” he says as he beckons me closer and opens the door. “Amazing for everyone involved, if you know how to handle your tools.”

Heat spreads across my cheek and pools in my belly as I step next to him. My body remembers all too well how well he handles his tools, after all.

However, when I take in his collection, my mouth goes dry. “Oh my…” I breathe, eyes going wide. It’s not that he didn’t tell me he had a good amount of toys, but… I wasn’t prepared for this.

Neatly sorted into row above row lie more dildos I thought any one person might need, and a lot more toys where I only partially can guess what they’re even used for. I see whips and plugs, clamps, and paddles on one side, then gags, blindfolds, leather cuffs, and a lot of rope on the other. On the ground, there’s a box with more toys, and only at the very top of the huge armoire are three small areas with Xaden’s neatly folded clothes.

His warm weight at my back is a welcome support as my knees grow a little weak, my breathing quickening. “So this is what you didn’t want me to discover the first time you took me to your room back then,” I murmur, grateful for his arms winding around my waist and his lips brushing against my temple. A grounding bit of normalcy.

“Didn’t want to overwhelm you,” he admits, then adds after a pause, “So… what do you think?”

I think this is the first time I ever heard any vulnerability in his voice, I think to myself, but I’m careful not to let him hear those thoughts.

“It’s… intimidating?” I admit. No hiding my feelings, it’s what I promised him. “You used all of these, I guess? I don’t even know what half of these are used for.” I shake my head.

“I did, yes. I can explain them all to you, or answer any question you want to ask. And we don’t need to use any of these either if you don’t want to. I’m just… informing you about your options.”

Smiling to myself, I turn in his arms. “But you want to, don’t you?”

There’s a strange look in his eyes, the same vulnerability I heard in his voice. “I’d like that, yes. But…” He shakes his head. “Violet, this is not something I’d ever force or even just push on you. Whether we end up going through this entire armoire and even expand it or never even use a single toy, I’ll be happy either way. This is not about what I want.”

Because all he wants is for me to be happy. He’s made that clear a thousand times since I learned about the secrets he’d kept from me.

I sigh. “I want to try, I think.”

“You think?” He raises an eyebrow, lips tilting into a smile at the familiar exchange.

“I know I want to try. But…” I bite my lip and avert my eyes. “Maybe not everything at once?”

At that, he laughs.

. o O o .

“Okay, so, which ones would you want to use first?” I ask a little while later. I got a short but good explanation for most of the toys. It got a bit overwhelming in-between… but mostly, I’m just horny now. Imagining all things he could do…

Xaden eyes me with a measuring look, then turns toward his armoire. “Generally, I’d prefer not to tell you. Let it be a surprise, you know?”

I huff a laugh. Of course…

“But as long as we’re testing whether this works, I’ll gladly tell you beforehand. So, for tonight… How about these?”

He picks a few items and places them in front of me onto the bed. There’s a couple of dildos in varying sizes, a bottle of oil, some pieces from the box at the bottom, sex toys specifically made for Riders as they’re powered by our lesser magic, and a thin black scarf.

“That looks… tame?” I say, inwardly relieved he didn’t pick any of the whips and paddles.

Xaden smirks. “If you say so.” he sits down across from me. “My goal as a… as a Dom is to please you. That’ll be my focus, to make you feel good. Over and over and over.”

I shudder at the implication, heat pooling between my thighs.

“And while some people find pleasure in pain and ‘punishments’, and I’m more than happy to deliver those if it’s what you desire, I would not go there right away. If you like those things, we’ll get there eventually, but with how you react to pain differently already, that’d be a slow journey.”

I nod, touched by his consideration. “And what’s this for?” I point at the scarf.

“It’s a blindfold.” Xaden picks up the silken fabric and lets it run through his fingers. The sight makes my throat go dry and I need to swallow. I can’t wait to feel those skilled hands on my body tonight. “Not being able to see will stir your attention to what you feel.” He leans in and, as if he’d read my mind, caresses my cheek, my neck, down to my collarbone. “And I want you to feel everything tonight.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

If he continues like this, he won’t get the chance to use any of his toys as I’ll be riding him to the heavens and back in two minutes at the latest.

Chuckling, he pulls his hand back, and I begin to suspect that he probably did hear my thoughts.

“I did, which is good. It means I can better gauge how you’re doing.”

I send him the mental image of a stuck-out tongue.

“And that I’ll be doing, too.”

There’s no way to win this, is there?

Turning my attention back to the toys in front of me, I notice something’s missing. “No restraining?” I ask, confused. That’s what made him open up to me about all this in the first place, after all, how turned on I get when he keeps me pinned.

“Oh, you won’t be moving anywhere,” he purrs, his shadows sliding up my legs and pulling my thighs apart. My breath hitches, and I wouldn’t be surprised if there was a damp spot on the blanket now from my soaked underwear. “But unless you specifically want to use the leather cuffs or ropes, I don’t need anything but my signet.”

Swallowing hard, I follow the retreating shadows with my eyes. “But I thought they aren’t as reliable,” I ask, recalling previous incidents where his restraints faltered when he lost himself to pleasure. Not that I mind, I love seeing him lose control with me. “Isn’t that why you have those things?”

Xaden becomes eerily quiet in an instant, his expression more serious than I have seen it in a bedroom in a long time. “Violet, this will be different from our usual nights. Usually, when we sleep together, we’re both tumbling down that road, together. We’re dragging each other further down, but if need be, either of us could stop at any moment and pull the other out of it, too.

“This is something else. This is… if we do this, then you’re giving up any and all control, trusting me to take care of you. You won’t tumble, you’ll potentially be in free fall, relying solely on me to catch you. My shadows will be restraints enough because I won’t lose control. I mustn’t. If I were to lose control tonight, then I failed you. I won’t let that happen.”

I can only stare at him, openmouthed. Slowly, I begin to realise what this is. It’s not just spicier sex. No, the sex is actually only the icing, the more important part being the ties we build, our relationship. Being able to let go, to trust completely, and to be worthy of this trust in return.

Slowly, I reach for his hand and card my fingers through his, then raise our joined hands to brush my lips against his. ”I trust you, Xaden,” I murmur as I try to send what I feel for him through our bond. All my love for him, that warm fuzziness only he makes me feel, the iron clad knowledge that he’ll always have my back. “You won’t let me fall.”

For the fraction of a second, Xaden’s eyes widen. Then, before I can react, he breached the distance between us and is kissing me. His free hand slides to the back of my neck, and I hum against his lips, my eyes fluttering shut at the exquisiteness of his mouth against my own. I’ll never get enough of this, of his lips, so soft and yet unyielding, his tongue claiming every inch of me, his low groans rumbling deep in his chest. It’s perfect.

But it’s also different, I notice. It’s not that he’s withholding anything, but I still feel the control he spoke of, how he dominates our kiss instead of the usual back and forth.

I can’t say I don’t like it.

“I love you, Violence,” he murmurs against my lips as we part, his forehead pressed against mine. “Gods, I love you more than you’ll ever know.”

Smiling, I raise my hand to caress his face. “I love you, too.” Maybe I’ll never know about all the demons of his past that still haunt him, but I don’t need to. It’s enough to know who he is, deep inside.

Xaden turns his head to brush a featherlike kiss against my fingertips, then pulls back, his eyes soft with emotions. “So, if you don’t have any other questions…?” I shake my head, my heartbeat quickening in anticipation. “Right. Then you only need to pick a safe word and we can get started.”

We’ve talked about safe words before, for various situations, to set boundaries. But I know this should be something else, something we’ll only use in this situation. So I’ve thought about it before and already came up with an idea I know Xaden will love.

“How about Squadleader?” I ask, grinning mischievously.

Xaden snorts a short laugh. “Yeah, right. If you think of him tonight then I definitely did something wrong.” He shakes his head, but I can see the humour glinting in his eyes. A part of him, the part that hates my former best friend, delights in my choice. “But it works. And remember: While I might check in on how you’re doing, I won’t stop. Not until I think you had enough or you use this safe word. Understood?”

I nod, but he shakes his head. “Say it. Use your words.”

I take a shaky breath. “Understood.”

“Very good.” He stands and places the toys onto the bedside table, and I can practically see the shift in him. “Now, come here. Stand and hold very still.”

I do as I’m told, curious to see how this will go. So far, our shared nights have always been wild, uncontrollable. Explosive, as he once described it. This calm and controlled version of him has always been the Wingleader and not my… whatever we are at this point. Mates?

When he touches me, though, all my worries evaporate. He cradles my face in his palms then lets them glide down to the back of my neck, like he’s done a hundred times by now, and kisses me. And even though the kiss is more controlled than usual, it’s no less heated. His tongue swipes through my mouth, claiming, demanding, and whatever resistance I might have felt melts away within seconds.

“That’s it, Vi. Relax for me.”

A shudder runs down my spine and my eyes flutter closed as he moves his fingers into my hair and expertly detangles my tightly fixed braid.

“I… I thought my hair is too distracting for you?” I ask, a little breathless already. With him all around me like this, I can’t help but deeply inhale his minty scent, and I have to fight not to ignore his first order and lean in toward his neck, to kiss and lick and suck and—

“Mmh,” Xaden hums, tearing me from my thoughts. “Usually, it is. Which is why I had to do this first. If I can stay in control with your hair down, then I can do this.” He runs his finger across my scalp and through my hair, down my neck, along my jaw and brushing against my ears. His touch makes me shiver, goosebumps running across my arms, and I mewl, feeling weirdly exposed yet safe beneath his touch.

He’s definitely in control. And I love it.

“Turn around.”

It’s an order and I follow. But it’s different from when he gives orders outside this room, warmer, deeper.

With great care, he unlaces my corset and puts it aside, then steps in front of me again. In his hand, he holds the black scarf. “Is this okay for you?”

I blink, surprised that he asks, but then nod.

“Use your words! Are you comfortable with me blindfolding you?”

A new shudder runs down my spine and my head spins. “Yes, I am.”

“Good.” He wraps the silken band around my head, once, twice. He makes sure to cover my eyes thoroughly, but only them, tying the ends into a tight knot above my ear.

As he works, a thought crosses my mind, and I can’t help but ask. “Why the scarf, though? Couldn’t you use your shadows for this, too?”

He huffs a quick laugh. “I could. But…” He leans closer, his mouth brushing against my ear. “I like the look of this better. It’s hot.”

Then he takes my hands and tugs me forward. “Come here. Onto the bed. Lie down on your back.”

With his guidance, I find the right position. It’s odd, I thought this would be awkward, weird, even funny, maybe. But it’s not. I’ve never felt so vulnerable and exposed, even with my clothes still on, yet at the same time so at ease. I know I’m safe with him.

“Now, arms over your head. Legs slightly spread. Yeah, just like that. Are you comfortable?”

I nod, then remember his earlier command. “Yes.”

“Good girl.” The little praise and his pat on my thigh do funny things to me, my breath hitching audibly, and I nearly miss the smile in his voice. I jump a little as his hand cradles my cheek, but then instantly lean into his touch. His skin against mine, it feels so good.

“I will restrain you now,” he informs me. The sober words should feel cold, clinical, but they have the opposite effect on me, my heart beating faster and heat pooling in my stomach. I know I can only feel the shadows because he wants it that way as they curl around my wrists and ankles. A moment later, the sensation is gone, but when I try to move, I can’t.

I yelp as, suddenly, the mattress beneath me drops away.

“It’s alright,” Xaden’s calm voice assures me. “I just lifted you off the bed so I can better remove your clothes.”

I frown but don’t say anything. Why didn’t he strip me when I was standing? Or let me do it, for that matter. However, a few heartbeats later, I get my answer.

Slowly, so excruciating slowly, my tunic glides across my skin. I can only guess that he’s using his shadows again to slide it off me, because his hands and mouth are otherwise engaged. I suck in a shaky breath as he explores every inch of exposed skin, thoroughly, kissing, nipping, licking me, every little contact sending little darts of pleasure into my core. He was right, not being able to see—and this entire setting, really—makes everything more intense.

“Xaden!” I moan when he reaches the lower edge of my ribs. This pace is killing me.

But Xaden only chuckles. “Patience, Violence. We have aaaaall night.” I groan when he finds a particularly sensitive spot, and he lingers there even longer, drawing slow circles with his thumbs on my skin.

He skips over my still bound breasts and moves on to my collarbones and then my arms, all the way up to my wrists and then back down again, to my shoulders, my neck. By the time he dips his tongue into my mouth, I’m a whimpering mess.

“Xaden, please,” I mewl between his slow kisses. “I… I need…”

Xaden shakes his head, his smile tangible against my lips. “All you need to do, Violet, is to relax. Whether you come or not, when you come, it’s not your concern tonight.”

My moan gets swallowed by his kiss. It’s not as heated or wild as our usual kisses, but no less intense. Xaden is fully in control, of himself but also of me. I want to kiss him back, but I can’t even lift my head to deepen the kiss or twist it for a better angle. I only get what he deigns to give, when he deigns to give it—and it’s hot.

He continues with my trousers, going just as slowly as before. His broad hands and soft lips glide down on the outside of my legs, then up again on the inside. It’s unbearably sweet, the way pleasure trickles through my body at his every action. Not enough to fuel anything but never giving me a break, either.

I’m almost content with him teasing me like this for a while when he finally reaches the apex of my thighs. Surely, he’s as impatient as I am by now. After all, I know him well enough. But instead of touching—let alone kissing—me the way I want, the way I need… Xaden merely blows a kiss onto my damp slip and moves higher again.

“F-fuck! Xaden, please!” I beg. I’m able to squirm beneath his touch now, so he must have loosened his restraints on my body a bit. But not enough for me to rub my thighs together or to arch up into his touch. “I can’t…”

“Of course, you can take it,” he murmurs, his breath tickling. He’s making his way around my belly button at this point, placing open-mouthed kisses against my hypersensitive skin. It’s driving me insane. “All you need to do is to give in.”

I whimper. I hear his words, but even though they seem to make sense, I don’t know what to do. How can I relax or give in when he’s constantly teasing me, flooding my body with sensations? Right now, he’s kissing his way along the seam of my silken black slip and I can’t cope.

“Xaden!” I mewl, pleading, but I already know he won’t comply. He said it himself, he won’t stop. Not unless I use my safe word. But as quickly as that thought crossed my mind, I’m already discarding it again. Because I don’t want him to stop, I realise. It makes bearing his delicious torture easier.

I manage to calm down a bit, to simply take his teasing, let it wash through me, and find relief in a different way; moaning freely, vocalising what I feel.

A shudder runs through Xaden’s broad frame above me, and he sighs. “That’s it, Violence. Just give in. Give yourself over to me.”

I want to. So I do it. Somehow, I’m sliding deeper into my own body, leaving the world outside for him to take care of.

. o O o .

Xaden

I feel the shift in Violet’s mind as clearly as I can see it. The way her whirling thoughts grow calmer, her body relaxes. She’s ready for more.

Without ever breaking contact with her skin, I move up, using my hands this time to loosen her wrappings and remove them, seeking the more intimate contact of skin against skin. Violet merely sighs as her breasts are freed, and I palm them immediately. They’re bigger than her wrappings and corset would suggest, still note huge but on her smaller frame, they look perfect.

“You’re doing so well,” I murmur as I gently knead her, my thumbs drawing circles around her nipples, getting closer and tighter with every round. Violet arches up into my touch and moans a little louder, but that’s all. No more pleading for more, to go faster. She’s not quite where I want her, but she’s on a good way. “Let me take care of you.”

She mewls and there’s a flicker of thought through our bond. Not words, but a sense of compliance, and I smile.

Gods, she’s so beautiful, in every way. Perfect. I take a moment to admire her, how she lies in front of me, completely open and unguarded.

When I see her there, lying on my bed in that submissive position and completely open for me to take her, a strange sense of calmness spreads in my stomach.

I expected this to be difficult. Usually, just being near her makes me hard, and every little touch or smile or unconscious movement prompts the urge to tear her clothes off and fuck her until neither of us can think straight anymore.

But instead, my heartbeat and breathing level out, my mind stops its constant whirling and settles on the here and now. On the woman that gave me her trust. On the woman I love.

I gasp at the sudden rush I feel. That’s always been it. Her trust in me, even against her mother or Aetos. It’s what destroyed my already crumbling resistance to the feelings I had for her. And now, she let’s me have her like this, granting me this ultimate trust.

I won’t fail her.

I lean over her to taste her breasts. It’s something I rarely do, rarely get the chance for. Usually, we’re fucking like animals before we even shed all of our clothes, and it’s not that I don’t enjoy that. Fuck, sex with her is… it’s more than anything else I ever experienced. Deeper, meaningful, more intense. The joining of our hearts and souls along with our bodies.

But having her like this for once, without any hurry, my driving need contained in that neat little box somewhere deep inside me… It’s amazing. I hope she let’s me do this again every now and then. And it’s more intense than when I did this with other partners before, too. With none of them, my feelings were even remotely close to what I feel for her. She’s everything.

I let my tongue swirl around her nipple and suck on it, lightly, while my hand works on her other breast, rolling and plucking at the rosy bud. I could do this forever, just indulging in worshipping her body, tasting her, feeling her warmth, surrounded by that intoxicating floral scent of hers. But the litany of moans and cries that drop off her lips, growing in urgency the longer I play, tells me she’s had enough.

“I’ll remove your slip now,” I inform her, but she barely reacts. It’s easy, my shadows moving her legs until the soaked piece of black lace and silk is on the floor, and I can comfortably settle between her thighs. Fuck, she’s so wet, glistening with her arousal. My throat goes dry with the urge to taste, to drink her down like a delicate wine. But not yet.

I kneel on the bed, her legs draped over my thighs, and let my hands glide across her skin. Her moans grow shorter, louder, her breathing quickening as I draw circles with my thumbs, growing closer to her centre with every round. I’ve reached her outer lips, moving them back and forth, when she starts squirming again, and I pause. “Don’t fight it,” I murmur. “Just let it happen. You don’t have to do anything, Violet. I’ve got you.”

She whimpers, and her legs, her entire body really, start to tremble with how tense she grows. I wait, rubbing her outer thighs in comfort. Eventually, she goes pliant again, and I sigh. “Very good. You’re such a good girl for me, letting me take care of you.”

I continue my earlier motion, massaging her outer lips until she’s positively dripping. Dragging my fingers through her wetness and listening to her high-pitched yelp, I bring some of her arousal to my mouth, moaning around my fingers at her taste. Fuck! She truly is the most delicious treat, addictive, so satisfying. I could drown in her and not complain for a second.

Just a little longer, I tell myself, suppressing the urge to simply devour her to my heart’s desire.

My fingers move further, teasing at her entrance and inching closer to her clit. But aside from her legs twitching on occasion, she doesn’t react, doesn’t buck her hips into my touch, doesn’t stiffen. Even when I start to draw circles around that sensitive little bud, her body stays pliant, her only reaction the raise in volume of her cries. She’s ready.

Exhaling deeply, I get off the bed and move her to the edge of the mattress. Then I sink down onto my knees in front of her, like she deserves, and lift her legs above my shoulder. Let the game start for real.

Without any more hesitation, I lean in and drag my tongue across her sex, all the way from her entrance up to her clit. Her taste is like an explosion in my mind, nearly breaking me, and her moan, the deepest and most urgent one yet, could easily kill me with its sweetness. Fuck, this is so good.

I take my time devouring her. I’m not going slowly or only tease her. No, we’re past that point. But I know what I’m doing, know her well enough to find the line I want to lead her on. So I push my tongue into her, exploring her insides and stimulating all those sensitive nerves around her entrance, and I play with her clit, suckling, biting, nibbling, writing my love letters into her heated flesh.

But I’m careful not to push her too far.

I don’t want her to come, not yet. I want to keep her on that edge of madness, want the pleasure to mount in her until her body can barely contain it anymore, to fill her with it.

So I keep going. My hands are on her ass or wrapped around her waist, holding her in place for me, my mind focused solely on her. On her pleasure, her body, the sense of mindless desire I get through our bond. Drinking in her juices and her delicious cries and moans, I groan as my cock pushes against my leathers. I’m not a machine, after all, and Violet is just too sexy not to react to, especially like this. But I shove my own desire aside. This is only about her.

Her body grows taut again, but I know it’s not her doing. It’s her body, her nerves burning with need as she trembles all over, and her moans shift to an endless row of short desperate sobs.

Outside, lightning cracks in front of my window.

Finally!

I allow myself a grin against her skin as more and more lighting strikes follow. Violet got so good at controlling her signet, lately. Making her lose control is… well, it’s fucking hot, that’s what it is.

But it also means I reached my goal.

“You’re doing amazing, love,” I growl. “Time to reward you.”

I bring my hand to her entrance, and my fingers glide inside her with no resistance. Fuck, she’s so slick, pulsing hot. She tightens at the intrusion, her walls clenched hard around my fingers. As if she’s sucking me in deeper. I can’t fucking wait to get inside her.

Later.

Smiling to myself, I crook my finger, bringing them just where I want them to be. Violet screams at the first brush against that spot, but I don’t give her time to process. I pull my fingers out directly and shove them back in, again and again, fucking her on my fingers, hard. Pushing against that spot inside her over and over as I harshly suck on her clit. No holding back anymore.

“Come for me,” I command into her mind. And she does.

Her scream echoes through the night, and the entire room rattles with the power she unleashes, her body spasming with her release. I wrap my free arm around her waist to hold her in place as I push her through it, feverishly giving her everything I can. More licking and sucking, drinking her down, and more fingerfucking with her walls clenching so tight it’s almost painful.

The night sky is all but constantly illuminated with her lightning, but I don’t pay it any mind anymore, my entire focus on Violet only. On how her body convulses with pleasure, how her scent permeates the entire room, her wanton screams and cries like music.

They grow quieter as her orgasm ends, but no less intriguing, urgent wailing as her body tries to come down from its height but can’t. Like so often when I go down on her, I don’t stop after her first orgasm, knowing how easily I can push her right into a second one. And today is no different.

It takes only seconds before her body gives in to the inevitable and she comes again on my tongue. It’s sweeter this time, a little softer after the explosive first round, but no less beautiful. This time, I only push her through it with my fingers, her inner walls fluttering around me, and I lift my head to watch her fall apart.

Fuck, she’s so beautiful. Almost radiating with the afterglow as her body sinks into the sheets like a puddle of pure bliss, a soft smile tilting her lips.

I keep my fingers moving inside her, but slower, not aiming to push her yet, and move to sit beside her. “Violet? Are you okay?”

Her breath hitches as if I startled her, and she giggles, like she’s not fully here with me. “Xa-xaden? Yeah, I… I’m good.” She giggles again. “That was… fuck… fucking amazing.”

My lips tilt into a half smirk. “That’s good to hear. But we’re far from done, Violence. This was merely the warm-up.”

Her breath hitches again, her body angling itself to where my weight depressed the mattress. “You didn’t think I’d leave it at two, did you?” I breathe into her ear.

A shudder runs along her body, a soft mewl slipping off her lips. “Xaden, I… I don’t kn—”

“But I know,” I interrupt her firmly. Staying in this old role with her is easier than I thought. Because I know she won’t have any qualms about using her safe word if it really gets too much for her. This is the woman who casually threw daggers at my head only a few months ago, for fuck’s sake. “You can take more, a lot more.” I palm her breast with my free hand, teasingly, and she whimpers, her hips rocking into my hand. “See? And you don’t even have to do anything, just let me take care of you.”

She whimpers again, but still leans into my touch as I caress her cheek, and her body becomes pliant again.

“Yeah, that’s it, Violet. Just let go.”

I lean down to brush my lips against her mouth, and my tongue dips between her instantly parted lips. A soft moan vibrates in her chest as she can probably taste herself on me, so sweet and sultry. There’s nothing I wouldn’t give her, wouldn’t do for her.

“I love you so much.”

There’s a flicker along our bond, but no words from her. Merely the sense of an echo of mine.

Smiling, I let my shadows reach for the toys. It’s time for round three.

. o O o .

Violet

Not being able to see is… an experience.

I’ve rarely been scared of the dark, and now with Xaden controlling the shadows, they’ve almost become something like a friend to me. So I thought, being blindfolded wouldn’t make such a difference, not when I can feel what happens anyway.

But this is nothing like I expected it to be. Feeling what he does means in no way understanding it, too. Like when there are suddenly two mouths suckling on my breasts. If the situation was different, I might have thought more about it. I’m sure he wouldn’t invite someone else without asking me, so that can’t be it. His shadows, maybe? But are they really this nimble?

A cry tears itself from my chest and all thoughts fly out of my head as the sucking grows stronger, harsher, something like tongues flicking against my nipples, over and over. Not being distracted by seeing makes the sensation so much more intense, and with how sensitive my body already is after Xaden’s earlier build-up, the only things left in my mind are More! Yes! Xaden! Fuck!

I hear him chuckle, briefly wondering whether I sent those thoughts through our bond, but ultimately, I don’t care. Not when pleasure coils deep in my guts, my mind growing hazy again. It’s a lovely feeling, not having to think. All I have to do is feel, and it’s more liberating than anything before.

Just like before, I start drifting, floating in an ocean of pleasure. I can’t control the ups and downs, only go with them, trusting in that he won’t let me drown.

My orgasm hits me out of nowhere, like a wave pulling me under, with no lead-up—or at least I didn’t notice any. I think I’m screaming as pleasure like fire burns through my veins and explodes in my mind, wiping it blank. I can’t feel my body clenching or shaking, don’t know what happens. There’s only this ocean, only me floating and waiting for the next wave, only bliss.

I want it to never end.

. o O o .

Xaden

I watch in awe as Violet comes, her back arching off the bed with her orgasm’s intensity. She didn’t feel it coming, just like I planned. I keep fucking her with the dildo in my hand until she comes down, then leave it to my shadow to keep moving the toy, slowing but never stopping.

My eyes catch on the suction toys fixed to her breasts, once again marvelling at their ingenuity. They work similar to our pens, containing shards of polomiellian gems to amplify minor magics, and it baffled me the first time I heard about these, but ultimately, it makes sense. Sex toys that, fuelled by a Rider’s lesser magic, can execute specific functions should be a very niche product given how small the target group is. But then, Riders have never been an inhibited lot, sex in all flavours is pretty common, and more often than not the motto seems to be The Kinkier The Better. And given that they also make the top of the social and economical structure, it’s no wonder craftspeople cater to their needs.

Either way, I’m not complying. These toys certainly fulfil their purpose. Violet was so focused on the intense stimulation on her tits that she barely noticed the toy moving in her pussy.

I lick some of her juices off my drenched hand—so delicious!—then wipe away the rest on a towel before carefully removing the toys from her breasts. Violet whimpers at their loss and I chuckle. Such a needy little thing, she is.

I let the automatism run out, then put them aside to replace them with my own mouth and hands on her skin. She’s so warm, so soft. I let my lips glide over her, tasting her sweat and listening to her sweet little noises. Comforting her after her climax and leading her to her next.

Still worshipping her every curve and hollow, I let my hand glide down her body and between her thighs. Fuck, she’s so wet. Of course she is, it shouldn’t surprise me. And yet, it does, throwing me off a little every time again. Just knowing that this is the reaction she had on what I do, what I give her. What she lets me give to her. It’s heady.

My fingers find her swollen clit and draw gentle circles around it, my head resting on her chest. Breathing her in and listening to how her heartbeat quickens with the next build-up.

For this round, I use a different dildo than before, a slightly curved one to better hit her g-spot, and a vibrating bead that’s clamped to her clit to get her off. I want her to feel it coming this time, want her waiting for it. Want to hear those breathy little sounds right before she shatters.

It’s as beautiful as ever, the way she shakes and arches, her noises, that wave of satisfaction, both mine and hers through our bond. I could watch her come undone in my bed forever and never tire of it. Lightning cracks, and I smile.

Next, I add a smaller dildo, slowly working it into her ass after preparing her thoroughly. Her moans turn higher, shorter with the fullness, her scream as she falls apart beautifully desperate. I can practically see how her muscles clench around the two toys moving inside her, and the sight is nearly enough to make me spill into my underwear.

I let my shadows move the toys for me and kiss her, fucking her mouth with my tongue. Stealing her breath and swallowing her muffled screams.

I switch out the toys against other, bigger ones, trying and testing what gets her and what not, combining different sensations, stimulations, keeping count on how many times she comes.

There is one combination in particular, one I memorise for future nights, that makes Violet go positively feral. One of the suction toys from before is fixed to her clit, its little ‘tongue’ moving quickly along with the gradually growing suction. In addition, I’m using another dildo, a magically fueled one this time, it’s bulbous head vibrating inside her.

I hoped this would be a good round. But when Violet comes—so quickly that it takes me by surprise for a change—her scream is louder, harsher than all others before, and she writhes so fiercely that I actually have to put effort into keeping her restrained. Outside, the night is bright as day with her lightning, thunder rolling like an avalanche across the keep. We’ll probably have some explaining to do tomorrow.

The power of her orgasm takes me by surprise, too, and before I know it, it rolls over into another one, just as devastating. It leaves her sobbing, her chest heaving, and I take a longer break than usual to comfort her after this, shifting her so I can curl around her, whispering sweet nothings into her ear until she calms down again.

It takes many hours, but eventually, it comes to an end. I can feel it in our bond just like I can see it in the way she sinks into the bed, hear it in the slight strain beneath her moans. She probably has another two or three orgasms in her if I were to push for it, but they wouldn’t be as pleasurable as I want them to be. She’s had enough.

For the first time this night, I remove all toys from her body, my hands only soothingly rubbing along her sides.

“We’re done, Violet. You did amazing.” She doesn’t react, but I didn’t expect her to. “I’m going to remove the blindfold now, then I’ll clean you up.”

After placing the black scarf back onto the bedside table with the other toys, I get one of the heat-preserving buckets full of water from the bathing room and, using the softest sponge I can get my hands on, wash the sweat and the sex off her skin. I start at her feet, slowly working my way up. I’m in no hurry, enjoying the aftercare even more than I expected. It’s just so peaceful, so intimate. Only when I reach the top of her legs, I move a bit quicker, more efficiently as I clean her up between her thighs. She’s so over-sensitive, no need to linger there longer than necessary.

By the time I reach her breasts, her eyes are open and she watches me through tired but clear eyes.

“Hey there,” I murmur, and I can’t help myself, I have to reach for her, to caress her cheek and brush aside a sweaty strand of her gorgeous hair. “How are you feeling?”

I’m rewarded with the softest of smiles. “Tired? But good tired. That was… wow!” Her eyes flutter shut, and she sighs.

I lean in and brush a kiss against her forehead. “Then you should sleep. We can talk tomorrow.”

Violet frowns and fights to open her eyes again. “But… but what about you?”

“I’m good.” I chuckle. I’m more than good. “I’ll just finish cleaning you up and head to the bathing room myself, then I’ll be with you again.”

Something flickers in her eyes, understanding probably, but she doesn’t have the strength to protest anymore. “Okay,” she breathes. She’s asleep oly a few heartbeats later.

Smiling to myself, I do just what I told her, taking care of myself to the memories of her coming undone in the bathing room, and quickly return to my room, cuddling against her back. In her sleep, she sighs and burrows deeper into my embrace.

I’m asleep before I can take a full breath of her delicious scent.

. o O o .

I wake up when Violet does, her typical morning twitching and little noises giving her away. With my nose buried in her hair, I take a moment to bask in holding her. I really am the fucking luckiest man alive.

Violet chuckles, the vibrations against my front doing funny things to me. “Hey.”

“Hey,” I reply, and my arm that casually lay around her waist tightens in reflex. But this is not the time. “How are you feeling?”

Violet hums. She turns on her back and stretches, and I pull my arms away to give her space. “I feel like my bones are made of jelly,” she giggles. “But I’m good. Great, even. Last night was… well, that was truly something else.”

I prop myself up on my elbow. “So, you liked it?”

Something flares in her eyes, something that makes my cock twitch in response. Fuck, what is it about her that makes it impossible to control myself when she’s around?

“I’m not sure ‘like’ is the right word. It’s too tame. It was… was... mind-blowing. Literally. I mean—” she laughs, a little bewildered— “I hardly remember most of the night. Only the ocean of pleasure, me drifting without control, and… and that, despite that, I was never afraid.” She gives me a soft smile that makes something inside my chest melt. “Oh, and I lost count pretty quickly. What’s the score?”

Chuckling, I shake my head. Leave it to Violet to be that one of her first questions. “What do you think?”

She shrugs. “Given how weak my muscles are, I’d say… somewhere around seven? Definitely more than the four I remember somewhat clearly.”

I can’t help myself and grin. Leaning down and nuzzling against her neck, I purr, “You came twelve times last night.”

Violet sucks in a surprised breath, then huffs it out again in one short laugh. “Guess that explains a lot. Twelve times…?” She shakes her head. “Fuck, that’s going to be hard to beat.”

I can’t help myself, I fall onto my back, laughing freely. I swear, this woman will one day be the death of me. But I love how untroubled I can feel around her, as if our biggest problem in this world is merely breaking our own sex marathon record.

“I take it you’re not opposed to doing it again, then?” I ask once I caught my breath again. It’s not that I expect her to be against it, but I still need to hear her say it, for my own peace of mind.

A blush spreads across her pale cheeks and she averts her face, brushing a random strand of hair out of her face. “Yeah, I’d… like to do this again. And maybe you can show me what some of those other toys are used for, too? But… maybe not every time?”

At her words, unbidden images flood my mind, of all the ways I could bring her pleasure, could make her scream, could make her body fall apart beneath my hands. But it’s those last words that make me turn toward her and brush a kiss against her soft lips. “I couldn’t have put it into better words,” I whisper against her mouth. Gods, all the things I’d like to show her, to try with her. But also… “Wouldn’t want to miss out on our wild nights.”

Violet chuckles, then pulls me into a deeper kiss, and I let her. I let her angle my head, let her place my hands on her waist, let her pull me closer until I’m on top of her, my weight barely held up on one arm. I’d let her do anything to me.

“Maybe I’ll take you up on that, one day.” she hums into my mind, and a shiver runs down my spine. Fuck, do I love this woman.

As our kiss grows deeper, more heated, I let my hand glide over her body, along her neck, squeezing at her breasts, and down her side to her hip. When I reach her thigh, Violet parts her legs to let me settle between them, and I lift it up and around my waist, grinding into her.

“Xaden,” she mewls as my cock glides along her slick folds. “Need you. Now.” She reaches between us and grabs at my cock, guiding me to her entrance. A flicker of “slow down” crosses my mind, but it’s gone in an instant again when she uses her legs around my waist to pull me in, and I sink into her velvety heat.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” I growl, my head dropping against her, my mind empty except for fuck yes more!

Violet whimpers, pained, but when I want to pull out, she shakes her head. “Just a little sore,” she gasps. “Go on. Slowly.”

Sighing, I do exactly that. Rolling my hips in the most unhurried of circles, I work my way into her, inch by inch, while my lips find hers again. I want to taste her moans, want to feel the vibrations of her groans as I push deeper and deeper until I bottom out inside her.

Violet sighs, and I swear I could come from that sound alone, so content, so soft. It nearly breaks me.

Keeping the slow pace, partially to regain at least some of my sanity, I pull out and push in again, my mouth never leaving hers. Her hands glide along my back, our tongues moving together in some unknown dance, sensual and so alluring. A part of me wants to stay in this moment forever, but my body demands otherwise.

Only gradually, we pick up speed, her heels against my ass spurring me on. Eventually though, holding the kiss isn’t possible anymore, but while I regret losing that contact, watching Violet writhe beneath me is just as good.

“Fuck, yes!” she moans after I adjust her legs around my waist and thrust into her at a better angle.

The bed is sturdy but still creaks with the force of our movements, the headboard slamming against the stone wall with every thrust. But I don’t care. All that matters is her, this, how tights she becomes around me, her needy moans, the way she clutches at my back and moves her hips to take me even deeper.

It's an uncontrolled frenzy, and I love every second of it.

I groan, my balls growing tight. “Violet!” I’m so close, won’t be able to hold back much longer. My movements become harsher, needy, and with my last strings of control, I focus on grinding myself against her clit, on giving her that tiny extra bit she needs to—

“Xa-xaden!”

Her cry tears through me like a lightning bolt, her clenching walls shredding my last bits of control. With a roar that might or might not be her name, I fuck into her with no restraints, losing myself in the rush of pleasure, in her, in how she quakes, spending myself into her lovely heat in a moment of pure madness.

I slump down next to her, both of us gasping for breath. And as we lie there, trying to regain control of our bodies, I realise something.

Staying in control has become an integral part of my life, of my self. Be it as a Wingleader, as a shadow wielder, as the one responsible for a hundred and seven innocent lives, or as being the dominant with most of my sex partners; being in control has always been vital.

Except for Violet. With her, I’ve never been in control. Right from that first moment on that turret, she’d challenged me, had kept me on my toes, made me question myself. Only with her, I don’t mind tumbling freely. Only with her, I don’t mind losing control.

With a serene calmness in my heart, I crane my neck and brush a kiss onto her hair. “I love you.”

And with a knowing look in her eyes, she smiles back at me. “I love you, too.”

. o O o .

AN: Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing. ☺️

And if you have the time, I'd love to get comments. What are your thoughts, what was your fav part? I need to knooooow. 😆

#ShadowStorm #Riorgail #Xadence #Xiolet #xadenviolet #xaden riorson #violet sorrengail #fanfiction #not for children #fourth wing #the empyrean #rebecca yarros

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waltwhitmansbeard · 1 year

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my fair lady: drabble #13

happy valentine's day to my perc'ahlia sluts. this one takes place after the epilogue (which i definitely would read first bc spoilers) and contains references to sexual activity. as always, inspired by @romeoandjulietyouwish!

Vex collapses down onto Percy's bare torso, breathless and sweating, the sheets bunched up around her waist. She grins into his skin, enjoying the ache in her legs and her nail marks in his shoulders. Without the physical exertion, she's starting to cool down quickly, her fine hairs prickling in the chilly air of Percy's large chambers. His fingers brush tantalizingly down the curve of her spine, and she stretches long like a cat.

"That was fun," she chirps, letting her eyes slide closed.

"You're always fun," he replies, and Vex smirks at him, satisfied by the assessment.

The moon is getting high now, and Vex knows that if she is to get enough sleep to sustain her through the next day's duties, she must start soon. She pushes herself up and off of Percy, searching the floor for her various garments. "I should get back. I have quite the day tomorrow."

Again, Percy brings a knuckle up to trace down her back, and for just a moment, her eyes drift closed. "Do you have to?"

She tosses a teasing smile back at him, one that belies the fluttering of her traitorous heart. "You are not distracting me from sleep any longer, Lord Percival."

She stands, but he quickly snatches up her hand to prevent her from walking away. "What if..." Suddenly he is shy, his face reddening in the cool moonlight.

"What if what?"

"What if you stayed?"

Vex frowned. "We've played this game before, darling. I stay, and I don't do much sleeping."

"No, I mean..." He shrugs. "What if you stayed? Here? Instead of going back to that empty house every night."

Vex's mouth falls open and she sits back onto the bed. "Are you...asking me to move in with you?"

He shrugs again. "If you want. I have more than enough room for you."

And he does. As a councilmember he has been granted generous chambers within the castle, larger and better appointed than any place that Vex has ever lived. She looks around, imagines her bow resting against the armoire and her uniform thrown atop the sofa and her boots drying by the fire. She imagines sitting at the cluttered writing desk, scribbling out orders for the week and spying on his important council work. She imagines waking up in this bed, morning after morning, the smell of him in her hair and the ghost of his lips on her neck.

She thinks of the little house in Zephrah, the one she and her brother barely scraped enough money together to rent. She thinks of its crooked counters and its cracked hearth and its leaking windows, and of the nights she spent on the floor in front of the fire, her brother in the armchair behind her, brushing out the day's tangles from her hair as he listened to her grouse about the latest royal guard drama. Those nights, she didn't know that that house would be the last time that she and her brother would share a roof.

Because now he has his own house, his own little cottage that he shares with his beloved wife, who, Vex must begrudgingly admit, is the very thing her brother needs to keep himself from disappearing into the shadows. They will build a family in that house, the house that he does not share with Vex. The truth of the matter is, Vex does not want to go back to their little home in Zephrah, because without her brother's cloak hanging next to the door and his humming from the kitchen, it is no longer a home at all.

"Alright," she whispers, pulling his hand up to her lips to kiss the knuckles. "Yes. I will stay."

Oh, what a thing it is, the smile that curls at the edges of his mouth. He tugs her down back onto him, and she lets him, pulling her lines long against his and tucking her head onto his shoulder. She has spent so many years trying to build a home for herself, wherever she and her brother have gone, and here, in this bed, with these lips in her hair, she thinks that perhaps a home is not a thing you build, but instead a thing that creeps up on you, a tide upon the shore.

#critical role #critical role fic #cr fic #perc'ahlia #perc'ahlia au #perc'ahlia fic #vox machina #vox machina fic #tlovm #tlovm fic #vox machina au #my fic #my fair lady

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kinshenewa · 3 months

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Cadence hummed softly to herself as she walked out of the bathroom in only a purple towel, her eyes glazed as she turned to her left and opened a drawer on the armoire that sat next to her closet door.

Eclipse lay on her bed, sprawled like that 80's album cover where his right arm braced himself up and his left leg was up and creating an upside-down V. He watched as she dropped her towel, four long scars down her back, a reminder of their battle years ago.

"You know…" He drawled, and she yelped loudly, crouching into a ball as she quickly covered herself with her towel, and looked over her shoulder as she stood straight and glared at him. "I don't appreciate that little 'stunt' you did last week." He finished, looking at her unamused.

She readjusted the towel to wrap tightly around herself, and she turned to him as she growled, "Get the FUCK out of my room before I MAKE you!" Her teeth were bared in a snarl as she glared furiously at him.

He chuckled, getting up and strutting closer as he said smugly, "We both know you won't do that."

Her eyes narrowed, and she opened her mouth to respond, but he cut her off. "I've seen many of the photos that can be found on the web. You never wear provocative clothing. You never wear a bikini. You never allow a situation to occur where someone can take a picture of you in a compromising position." Eclipse said, smirking, "In fact, there are no pictures that show the skin over your heart." His claws brushed right over her heart, and she growled as she slapped his hand away.

"The fuck does that have to do with anything?" She snapped, narrowing her eyes at him.

He chuckled, getting on his knees so he didn't have to slump because of his height. "I've seen videos of you fighting, going after bounties. You would rather suffer minor bodily harm than risk your skin being exposed. You avoid, at all costs, pain first and exposure second. You don't wear spaghetti straps. You don't wear crop tops. You know what that tells me?" He said, his lower pair of hands resting on her hips and pulling her closer as he smirked.

"You'd rather get hurt a little than reveal your biggest shame… Your body." He purred, and she stiffened, narrowing her eyes. "You are ashamed of your looks. You try to cover up. Your confidence is all fake. All bluster. I know you won't try to remove me from your room. You could risk your towel slipping slightly. You would hate for me to see what you don't want me to see."

"So? That don't matter. Get the fuck out." She growled.

Eclipse chuckled, bringing close his upper right hand. He tapped his pointer finger and thumb together, an arc of orange electricity jumping between the digits.

"Oh, but it DOES matter. Nothing is known about you before your career. Nothing can be found except what you yourself have posted. People only see what you want them to see. Almost no one knows you, the REAL you." He purred, pulling her close with a smug smirk, and she leaned away slightly as she looked at him with suspicion. "So many layers. You intrigue me, human. At first, I had only thought of keeping you far away from my brothers. But now…" He said, his upper right hand ghosting over her side, fingers curling into her towel just under her left armpit, "You've got my attention. You hold secrets, and I plan on finding them."

She growled, baring her teeth.

Small motes of electricity ran along Eclipse's rays, and his smirk only got more smug and arrogant as he said, "Oh, and… That little stunt you pulled. You call that a kiss? I'll show you a kiss." He leaned forward, his upper hands gently grabbing her face as his lower pair of arms grabbed her hips and pulled her close.

His lips pressed against hers, electricity arcing over his arms and rays as the hair on her arms rose in goosebumps. Her eyes were wide as she was stunned, and his tongue gently ventured further and explored her mouth, electricity coursing through the organ and affecting her. Sharp teeth, for sure, quite a strong jaw, and impeccable oral health,

He pulled away after a moment, smirking as he saw her red face and stunned expression.

"That was a REAL kiss." He whispered smugly, getting up and leaving, closing the door behind him and locking it.

It was only when he got to his room did he stop and question his actions. Wait, did he just kiss her? And like it?

His orange eyes flickered, frills standing on end as electricity crackled through them. Oh man, she tasted so sweet and savory, like a good steak.

He chuckled, tongue tracing over his sharp teeth as he thought over the interaction.

Why did he kiss her? Why did he like it? Does he… not hate her anymore?

Eclipse shook his head, sighing as he lay down in his bed.

So many questions and not enough answers.

But those answers, he will get eventually.

He always does.

#kinshenewas-writing #CJAU

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vidalinav · 2 years

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I’m obsessed with dressing as much as undressing, so here’s a small scene of Cassian helping Nesta into a corset. In honor of the Nesta’s Boobs Movement.

Cassian sighs, running his hands down the length of her bodice, all tied and tight. “If I pull you any tighter you’re not going to be able to breathe.”

“I’m not suppose to be able to breathe,” Nesta huffs. She sucks in a breath and Cassian raises a brow at her through the mirror as she adjusts the bodice on her form. “It’s a corset.”

Cassian grumbles under his breath, “looks more like a torture device.”

Her cheeks are a pretty shade of pink and he really does worry that she won’t be able to breathe, but Cassian pulls on the strings like she asks. Tighter when she complains that he isn’t trying hard enough.

“I promise sweetheart, if this were any other situation I would be doing exactly what you want, as hard as you want it, but I’m concerned you might faint walking in this thing... if you can walk in this thing at all!”

Nesta merely rolls her eyes, he can see her through the mirror.

If this was any other situation he might be positively ecstatic to be in this position. Her hands are sweetly on her armoire and she’s reflected back at him with that look of irritation. His favorite look, may he add. She’s bunched over and he can imagine exactly how hard he’d take her. Hard enough to rattle the mirror, while he fucks her from behind.

Cassian’s told her exactly how beautiful she is, how mouth watering her body looks, she doesn’t even need the corset, but Nesta kisses him lightly and tells him to pull.

Her hair is sloppily pinned in a low bun to keep it away from the ties, and it curls around her neck. More than once he’s kissed there, run his fingers past until he could see the blush blooming at her breasts so sweetly pushed up in her top.

That’s the only good part of this inane fashion device, in his opinion. That her breasts are tucked so impossibly high, he could kiss each one. Cassian almost regrets not leaving bites there from their romp this afternoon. Nesta’s always whining that he better not leave marks where anyone can see, but it’s not his fault she wants to wear dresses that showcase her perfect breasts so beautifully.

“Is this dress really worth it?” He asks.

#one of those snippets I'll probably reblog with another scene #but I do bits and pieces at a time #vidalinav writes snippets #nesta archeron #cassian #nessian #nesta archeron's bo0bs #those are characters now

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bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher · 3 years

Note

Dialog prompt? Sure!!!! "About f**king time you brought him home!!!!"

“Is that the bard?” a dark-haired man with broad shoulders asks, pointing to Jaskier, who nods back. “The one you’re always on about?”

Geralt grumbles something unintelligible and the red-headed man laughs. Fucking Witcher hearing.

“Hello. You must be Eskel,” Jaskier holds out his hand. Eskel pulls him into a bone-crushing hug and squeezes the breath out of him. “Oopmh!”

“Welcome to Kaer Morhen, little bard! Geralt, are you telling me you made this darling, petite little thing walk the Killer?”

“Not so little as Geralt makes him sound, eh?” Vesemir teases, measuring up Jaskier’s figure from a distance. “Built like a Cat. He probably made quick work of it.”

Geralt rolls his eyes at his family’s antics and leads Roach off towards the stables. Eskel, Lambert, and Vesemir herd Jaskier toward the keep. Lambert calls back over his shoulder, “We’ll warm up your guest and show him to your room, Geralt! Don’t worry about a thing!”

Geralt shakes his head. At least he can’t get into any real trouble with three Witcher chaperones to keep an eye on him.

---

Geralt is halfway through Roach’s usual grooming routine when he remembers, suddenly and rather violently, exactly what his bedroom looks like right now. He takes off for the stairs like a shot, his heartbeat ringing in his ears.

But based on the exclamations he can hear from the hall ahead, it’s already too late. Jaskier has seen.

Jaskier knows.

Geralt whips his body around the corner and into his room, eyes wide and panicked as they land on Jaskier who is... who is... smiling? He’s grinning from ear to ear, blue eyes watery and red-rimmed from nearly spilled tears. “I’m sorry!”

“For what?” the bard practically whispers. “Besides not telling me about... well, I could be assuming things. This could just be friendly support. Comeraderie.”

“I don’t think crying yourself to sleep singing Her Sweet Kiss counts as friendly support,” Lambert jeers. Geralt silences his jesting with a glare as powerful as a good right hook. The younger wolf hushes, eyes roaming the cobblestone floor.

“You... like my singing?”

“Yeah,” Geralt mutters. His walls are evidence enough, why must Jaskier make him say it, as well? There are posters dating back to Jaskier’s time at Oxenfurt over Geralt’s small bookshelf. Scattered above his washbasin and near his armoire are various concert advertisements, part announcements, and even a few Wanted posters.

Jaskier’s face is plastered across Geralt’s bedchamber walls.

“Wow...”

“I know, it’s-”

“Eskel, Lambert,” the bard interrupts, snapping his fingers. The two other wolves give him odd looks and he shoots them The Glare. “Get lost, would you kindly?”

They do.

Finally, when they’re alone, Jaskier sits on the edge of the mattress and pats the space next to him. Geralt sits heavily, cradling his face in his hands. “Oh Jaskier, I’m so sorry.”

“For what?”

“You must be... I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I didn’t mean to admit my feelings ever, much less like this.”

“Why didn’t you want to?”

“Because I- you can’t possibly- but the countess?”

“Long gone,” Jaskier chuckles. “Anyway, I’ve been following you around damn near fifteen years now. Of course I want you, Geralt. I love you.”

“So this isn’t... weird? Or creepy?”

“No,” Jaskier grins, glancing around, “But we will have to take them down before we have sex. Too much of a good thing, and all that.”

“And it would be awkward, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, very.”

#perm's prompts #permanently-exhausted-witcher #geraskier #geraskier fluff #the kaer morons #geralt is a hardcore fangirl #getting together #love confession #wintering at kaer morhen #vesemir #eskel #lambert #jaskier #geralt #geraskier nonsense #bouncey's endless getting together fics

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flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash · 3 years

Text

Irresistible Danger - Part 54

Synopsis: After being caught outside the compound on your own, Negan decides to punish you in the best way possible ;)

Words: 3,305

Warnings: nsfw, smut, swearing

ID Masterlist can be found HERE

Masterlist of all my fics can be found HERE

Allies and Foes

You woke up the next morning to an empty bed, the cooled sheets and pillow telling you that Negan had been gone for a while. A quick glance at the clock showed it was almost 9am, and you lazily stretched underneath the red satin, enjoying the ability to sleep in.

You vaguely remembered Negan waking you up with a kiss to the neck earlier, when it was still mostly dark in the room. He had murmured something about a meeting with his Saviors, and you had responded by turning over and grumbling for him to let you go back to sleep. The last thing you remembered was his low chuckle, and then you were out again.

Reluctantly rolling out of the ridiculously luxuriant bed (seriously, where did he find such a soft mattress during the apocalypse?!), you started getting dressed. Unfortunately, you only had the outfit from yesterday, which wasn’t the cleanest after being out in the woods, but it would have to do until you returned to your own room.

The intrusive thought hit that maybe you could leave a few items of clothing here, so that you had more morning-after options for next time. You quickly dashed the thought, not wanting to get ahead of yourself. Sure, you had now spent the past three nights in a row with Negan, and two of those nights had been in his bed, but that didn’t seem like long enough to start moving in items. Just the thought of Negan doing something so domestic as allowing you to start taking over his armoire and bathroom drawers made you chuckle at the ridiculousness of it.

Though, doing so would mean more events like last night could easily occur, since you wouldn’t have to keep running back to your room for more clothes or other belongings. Your mind flashed to the shower, and what the two of you had done in it the previous evening. How you had gone to your knees and proceeded to blow both his cock and his mind. He had been particularly vocal, his sharp grunts and loud moans echoing off the tiles as he ran shaky fingers through your hair and made you feel like the most seductive woman on the planet.

Still smiling at the memory, you finished zipping up the boots, grabbed Ricardo, and headed out of the bedroom and across his office to the door. Creaking it open a few inches, you peeked down the hall. Seeing that it was clear, you quietly exited the room, shut the door behind you, and speed-walked down the halls and to the stairwell needed to get back to your room. Letting out a little puff of relief when you made it to your own floor, you slowed down the pace a bit, no longer needing to scurry like a roach caught in the kitchen when the lights turned on. Honestly, the fact that you had yet to run into a Savior or wife while making the morning-after trek to and from Negan’s room was really damn lucky and-

“Hey!”

The sound of a voice just as your hand was reaching out for the door knob to your room caused you to jump about a foot in the air. Whirling around, you saw none other than Maria at the opposite end of the hall, waving her hand in greeting as she came towards you.

Crap. Couldn’t the universe have at least let you put on clean underwear first?

Much as you didn’t want to interact with someone at the moment, you couldn’t help but recall the last time Maria had tried to speak with you, in this very hall. It had been after Negan confronted you about the pregnancy test, and you had completely ignored her and rushed past without a word. At the time you had been too emotional to care, but now you knew that she was owed an apology, not to mention the fact that you hadn’t really chatted or hung out with her since the night out at the picnic table. Doing the mental math, you realized that late night conversation had to have been a little over two weeks ago. Yea, you had been a shit friend to Maria lately, and it was totally deserved karma to have her pop up when you weren’t really prepared for social interaction. Well, you would just have to get over it. She didn’t deserve to keep being pushed aside, and you wouldn’t do so to her again.

Pasting on a grin, you opened the door and gestured for her to come inside. She preceded you into the room and settled on the rickety little bed. You tried to nonchalantly lean Ricardo against the wall, in hopes she wouldn’t ask why you were walking around with a weapon so early in the morning. Thankfully, she seemed too busy scanning the meager surroundings to notice. It had been a while since she was in your space, and you tried to take in the tiny room from her perspective, wondering if she found it lacking. You weren’t sure what the wives’ rooms looked like, since apparently Negan wasn’t keen on them having visitors up there, but if it was anything like the fancy clothes they wore then it was sure to be much nicer than your own room.

Just thinking about them made a lump of discomfort form in your stomach. It wasn’t as if you had forgotten about the fact that the man you were developing feelings for had a harem of women he called his wives, but it had been a lot easier to push them to the back of your mind when one wasn’t sitting in front of you.

Not wanting to waste time with small talk, especially when you both were smart enough to know it was a shallow distraction, you dove right in.

“I want to apologize for the other day, when I ignored you. That was shitty of me, and I’m sorry.”

She gave a tiny smile, and you immediately knew that she wasn’t mad. Of course she wasn’t. This was Maria, and she was one of the most forgiving and patient people you had known since the apocalypse began. The fact that she was still willing to even deal with your fickle ass, especially after your last couple of interactions, was proof enough of that.

“It’s alright,” she replied. “You looked pretty frazzled anyways. Everything okay?”

“I don’t know about everything, but things are alright,” you mumbled, almost hoping she wouldn’t hear the words.

You started picking at a stray thread on the grey cotton sheets, unable to help but compare them to the luxury of Negan’s satiny red ones. Ugh, why didn’t you just stay in his bed all morning, instead. You could’ve enjoyed physical comfort and social isolation there.

Able to feel the weight of Maria’s gaze, you lifted your head to look at her. As expected, she was watching you closely, the slightest ghost of a smile tipping one corner of her mouth. “What?” you asked, not rudely, but perhaps a bit impatiently. She looked like she knew a secret that you didn’t, and you wanted her to just spit it out already.

“You spent the night with him,” she stated in a gentle tone, and when you jerked in surprise and opened your mouth to say....well, you had no clue what you were going to say, but thankfully she cut you off. “Which means,” she continued with a raised palm, a silent gesture for you to not get defensive just yet, “that considering how negatively you viewed his multiple wives situation, you must also know he stopped sleeping with them.”

Mouth still hanging open, you stared her down for a few seconds before snapping it shut. Making a “go on” gesture with your hand, you waited for her to continue with wherever it was she wanted this conversation to lead.

She then told you how she had suspected for a while now that the reason why Negan stopped coming to see the wives was due to his interactions with you. Her theory had been confirmed after your late night chat out at the picnic table when you admitted to being in his bedroom, somewhere none of the wives had been allowed to enter.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you whispered, clutching the bedsheet so tightly your fingers were about to go numb.

“Honestly? Because you weren’t ready to hear the truth, and I knew you’d have completely shut down at the very thought of it. You still wanted to see him as a monster, so I figured I’d just wait and see how things played out. See if he’d keep allowing you to get close to him, or if one of you would get spooked and run, so to speak.”

You mulled this over. Was she right? If she had told you a couple weeks ago that he had suddenly stopped sleeping with all of the wives, would you have believed it? Doubtful. And even if you had, never in a million years would you have listened to her theory that his drastic change in behavior was because of the few interactions he’d had with you up until that point.

Much as you hated to admit, Maria had been right to keep quiet about it. Though you did wonder how she thought you had found out. Did she assume Negan had told you? Or maybe she was aware of how Amber had been using Trixie, and had come to the correct conclusion on her own. Maria was intelligent, so there was a good chance she knew more about the goings on around here than people gave her credit for. You wanted to ask how much she knew, but also didn’t want to risk outing Trixie, since she had told you that information in strict confidence.

Instead, you asked, “So now that you think I am ready to hear the truth, is there anything else I should know? Are the others coming up with a plan of how to quietly dispose of me, so that Negan will pay attention to them again?”

You said it jokingly, but were honestly curious to know how they felt about these recent changes. Amber obviously wasn’t your biggest fan, but what about the others? Did they see you as a threat to the luxuries they enjoyed here? Honestly, if the roles were switched, and they were the ones threatening whatever you had going on with Negan, you’d be tempted to sharpen mini-Ricardo shanks and take them out one by one. Your subconscious whole-heartedly agreed, giving a battle cry and stabbing at the air, as if taking out imaginary opponents, while your brain sighed and rolled its eyes.

“Well actually, we did recently have a group conversation about you.”

She said this calmly, but it still made your eyes go wide as you exclaimed, “You what?”

“It was a few days ago. Amber had been throwing a real tantrum after she tried to take Negan a dinner tray, and found him already in his office eating with you.”

Oh yea, you remembered that event, vividly. It had been about a week ago, before his last supply run. It was the evening he had confessed to you about his dead wife, and then Amber interrupted by knocking on the door with a tray. It had been apparent she wasn’t happy to see you there, nor to be sent away by Negan, so you weren’t surprised to hear she hadn’t handled it well afterwards.

Nodding for her to go on, Maria continued. “We let her vent about it for a couple days, since I think we were all hoping she’d eventually let it go the way she does most things that get under her skin. But she was like a dog with a bone this time, and kept running her mouth to all of us about how you were stealing Negan from us, and that if we continued to just sit back and let this happen, we were putting our status here in jeopardy.”

Sweat broke out on the back of your neck at the possibilities of where this story could be going. Just the thought of the wives sitting around talking about you as a potential threat or enemy made your stomach flop, but you stayed quiet and let Maria finish.

“She was really trying to get the rest of us riled up, and then one evening she started telling us all that we better be prepared to start scrubbing toilets for points, since we were willing to just let him toss us to the curb. That was when Sherry finally stepped in and put her foot down.”

“Wait, Sherry?!” you blurted, absolutely shook at this turn of events.

Maria nodded. “Yep. She told Amber that all she was doing was starting unnecessary drama, and that Negan had never given any indication that we would lose our privileges or have to start working for points just because he isn’t fucking us every night. Amber tried to argue at first, but Sherry held her ground. Told her that she’d gladly go get Negan, so Amber could tell him her concerns face-to-face, rather than continuing to make assumptions behind his back. That shut her up real quick, and she stormed into her bedroom and stayed there the rest of the night. I haven’t heard her say anything else about it since. She’s still sulking around a bit, but at least she’s been quiet.”

Your brain was struggling to take all this in, especially the part where Sherry had not only stood up for you, but done so against another wife. Crap, now you really felt like an asshole for being jealous and internally snarky towards her that day in the kitchen, when she took you to the medic after you cut your finger.

“Do you actually think she’ll let it go now?” You had a feeling that you already knew the answer, but couldn’t help asking.

Maria sighed. “I can’t say for sure, but Amber doesn’t seem like the kind of person who is okay with not being doted on. I don’t think she has any particularly strong feelings towards Negan, but she enjoys the status of being a wife. It can be a bit of a power trip, to catch the attention of a man like him, even if for shallow reasons.”

“Yea, don’t I know it,” you mumbled under your breath.

Maria raised an eyebrow, having obviously heard. “I don’t think I’d classify his attention towards you as shallow.”

Giving a huffed laugh and shrug, you tried to play it off. “Yea, well, is anything about Negan easy enough to classify?”

“Probably not,” she said with a shrug. “But that’s part of what makes him so intriguing, right?”

“If by intriguing you mean confounding as hell, then sure.”

Despite your annoyed tone, you were genuinely smiling at this point. Part of you wondered if this should feel more weird than it did, talking to a woman who was Negan’s “wife”, and had most likely slept with him, about whatever it was he had going on with you.

As if reading your thoughts, Maria’s face became more serious. “I hope this doesn’t make you feel like you can’t still talk to me, or see me as a friend.”

If you were being totally honest with yourself, the whole situation didn’t make you feel 100% comfortable, but you were pretty sure that was because of the possessive part of you that wanted him all to yourself. But was that a realistic emotion to even have, with a man like him? Could you be okay with him continuing to publicly have “wives”, even if he wasn’t sleeping with them? And what if he later decided to go back to them? It’s not as if he knew that you were aware he wasn’t sleeping with them at the moment.

Mentally shoving those questions into the padlocked box with the other unanswered questions, you honestly replied, “I’m not totally sure how I feel about all of this yet, but I definitely still see you as a friend, so no worries on that front.”

“I’m glad,” Maria said with a nod. “And in case I didn’t make it obvious, no part of me will be upset if Negan decides he doesn’t want to give us the same privileges anymore. Well, so long as you promise to give me a spot in the kitchen, so I’m not stuck scrubbing toilets beside Amber.”

“Deal,” you said with a laugh, glad that the air had been cleared between the two of you, and that she wasn’t harboring ill feelings towards you for taking Negan’s attention away from her and the other wives. Part of you even wondered if she had spent much alone time with him, since she hadn’t been his wife for very long when he stopped sleeping with them, but some things were just better left unknown. Besides, it’s not like he slept cuddled against any of them all night afterwards, or let them in his bed...or his shower.

Your subconscious was feeling awfully smug at that thought, nose in the air as it strutted around with a superiority complex. Meanwhile, your brain was pointing at the padlocked box of questions in annoyance, a motion which the subconscious purposely ignored.

You chatted with Maria for a bit longer, the conversation much lighter and more frivolous than before. It felt good to just hang out and discuss random topics, the way you had when the two of you were surviving for weeks out in the woods together. You might’ve each taken very different paths when it came to Sanctuary life, but it was a relief to know that the connection you had formed prior to coming here surpassed those differences. You also appreciated that she didn’t push for more information about you and Negan, and didn't even mention his name again.

When she left a little while later, a glance at your watch showed that dinner prep was in about two hours. Grateful for the chunk of alone time, you finally changed into fresh clothes and propped yourself up in bed with the copy of Harry Potter. You smiled when removing the little piece of paper you had torn from your notebook as a bookmark. While this one was blank, there was a second little piece of paper that was bookmarking a place closer to the beginning of the book. This piece of paper you had marked in pencil with the letter N, and it held the spot where Negan had stopped reading yesterday morning. You had stuck it in there after he left your room, the book having been face down on your side table where he placed it when you woke up and distracted him. Hoping that he’d return to reading it, especially if you kept his place, you couldn’t help but mark his spot.

Just the thought of his possible reactions to some of the plot twists had you smiling, at the same time as a devious thought crept into your head. If you made sure to get him hooked on the first book, he’d definitely have to find copies of the other ones in the series to share with you, right? There’s no way someone can read the first book and not need to also read the rest.

Both subconscious and brain nodded in agreement at this theory before cuddling up on either side of you, so that they could also see the opened book. Diving back into the story with a contented sigh, you immersed yourself in the magical world, not planning a return to reality and all the awaiting unanswered questions until it was time to head downstairs for dinner prep.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

#negan #negan fanfics #negan fanfiction #negan x reader #negan x you #twd #the walking dead #ash writes #irresistible danger #the walking dead negan #twd negan #slow burn #fanfiction #fanfic #negan's thirst squad

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lostinfic · 3 years

Note

So sorry, my fault I haven't checked the original prompt post with your comments! Doctor x Rose, 13 and 30 if you want to, please :)

Rosebush & nightgown

Nine x Rose; Medieval/Fantasy~ish AU; Rated: light M

I’m taking prompts!

The Harvest moon cast an orange glow over the Duke’s castle and its bountiful surroundings. John of Gallifrey, the captain of the guards, walked the length of the north wall. His chain mail chinked with every step, loud in the quiet night. Quiet that was soon disturbed by snapping branches and mumbled profanity.

Drawing his sword, John approached the rosebushes where the noise was coming from.

A cloaked figure was fighting the thorny branches. Their hood fell off, revealing the blond hair of a maiden.

John relaxed. He sheathed his sword, but kept his hand on the pommel, as he watched the woman struggle to get off the bush. With the sound of ripping fabric, she rolled off and landed on her arse.

“Ouch! Son of a lich.”

John snorted, and Rose noticed him for the first time.

“I thought I told you to stay away,” he said.

“I thought I told you, Captain, the villagers need my help,” she retorted.

He’d seen her a few times, stealing medicinal plants from the gardens, but never caught her until about a month ago. Still, he’d let her off with a warning. A warning she hadn’t taken heed of, obviously. Anger rose in him; he’d tried to help, but now he’d have to arrest her.

“Don’t you know how to grow your own plants? Some herbalist, you are.”

She didn’t answer, which made him suspicious, she always talked back.

“Unless… you’re not stealing from the Mage’s garden, are you? Oh, you stupid maid.”

“The way I see it, everyone’s sick because the Duke is making them work so hard and taking all their food. It’s only fair we take something back from him.”

John wished he could argue with that logic. In fact, he wished he could do more for the villagers. Since the former Duke’s death, his greedy son had taken over. John and his men used to help tenants with construction work and harvest (in fact he’d helped Rose’s mother, widow Tyler), nowadays, he spent most of his time guarding one landlord’s wealth.

Clouds parted, and in the full moonlight, he saw for the first time how badly hurt she was. Her cloak was torn, her face scratched and her fists clenched in pain.

“Rose…”

“Can I go now?”

He looked around. She couldn’t climb back over the wall in this state, and he couldn’t sneak her out with this bright moonlight without his men noticing.

“Come with me,” he ordered, striding ahead.

Rose hesitated, uncertain about his intentions. He hadn’t gripped her arm or threatened her with a weapon, so she decided to trust him.

As captain, John had his own, private lodgings, a thatch-roof hut beside the guards’ casern. He opened the door for Rose. It was spartan but cozy, a table, an armoire and a bed. Various weapons and armor pieces hung on the walls. Above the fireplace, a tapestry represented not a battle but a folk tale.

John removed his studded leather armor and chain mail. He stoked the fire. As the light grew, so did his awareness of Rose’s injuries. Her back had taken the brunt of it. Carefully, he helped her remove her cloak. She clenched her jaw and breathed through her nose, holding back moans of pain. The white linen dress underneath was spotted with blood.

“Are you running about, robbing the Duke in your nightgown?” he asked, incredulous.

“I couldn’t well put my dress on without waking up my mother.” She twisted her head to try to see her back. “How bad is it?”

“As bad as it feels, I should think.”

She grabbed a poster of the bed for support. “I need you to boil some water and fetch me some mistberry leaves, they prevent infection.”

She was about to tell him where to find mistberries, but, to her surprise, he had fresh leaves in his armoire. John set a pot of water above the fire and put the healing leaves in as well as some rags.

Rose sat on the edge of the bed, and he settled behind her to remove the thorns still embedded in her flesh.

“Didn’t you know about the Mage’s defensive rosebushes?” he asked.

“I did.” She winced. “I usually climb the east wall, but— ow!”

“Sorry.”

“But for the first time in his life, the guard there wasn’t asleep on the job.”

“Ah. Yes. That would be because of me… I had a feeling you’d be back on the full moon.”

“It’s the best moment to pick herbs. I should’ve come back another day, but the full moon makes one a little reckless.”

He removed the last thorn, and Rose's shoulders relaxed. The next step was cleaning the wounds. He took the pot off the fire and set it down on the stone floor to cool. After a moment, he returned to Rose with a rag.

“I need you to…” He cleared his throat and tugged lightly on her sleeve.

He needed access to her injuries without the dirty fabric in the way.

Rose blushed and loosened the ribbon around the collar, pulling it wide enough to slide over her arms and down to her waist, careful to keep her chest covered.

John averted his eyes, but it was hard to ignore what was happening.

With a gentleness that surprised her, John cleaned the blood off her skin and patted the cuts. Rivulets slid down her back and dampened her nightgown.

They remained silent, only night sounds filled the room: the crackling fire, a hooting owl and chirping crickets.

He brushed her hair aside, and she felt his breath on the nape of her neck. A shiver ran down her spine.

“Sorry,” he whispered.

He changed rag and started from the top of her back again. With each brush of his fingertips, her heart beat faster. He was the captain of the Duke’s army, she shouldn’t let her guards down around him, yet she felt so pliant in his hands.

“There, all done.”

Rose tried to hide her relief. “Thank you, Captain. I should go now.”

“I have dew jelly,” he said.

He brought a small pot for the armoire, and Rose swallowed thickly as she realized he would touch her again, but she couldn’t refuse. The dew jelly was wonderfully cool and soothing, it had a light anesthetic effect that made her skin tingle.

“How do you know about dew jelly?” she asked to distract herself from the sensations coursing through her skin.

“My mother was a healer, too. She taught me a few things. It comes in handy on the battlefield.”

John dabbed a drop of jelly over each cut, going slowly so the task wouldn’t end too soon. Something about taking care of her, fed his soul in a way he hadn’t realized he missed. He mended her wounds, and she soothed him in return.

When he finished, Rose looked at him over her shoulder. For the first time since entering the hut, their eyes met, and they saw each other in the fire light. It was hard to think about anything but how beautiful and brave she was. She’d said the full moon made people reckless, and he was about to prove her right. He leaned over, just slow enough to give Rose a chance to stop him, and he kissed her shoulder.

Rose gasped at the reverence in his action, the lowered eyelashes, the light, lingering press of his lips.

“Keep going,” she said with a teasing smile.

He brushed her hair aside and kissed her neck. She tilted her head with a sigh, and he trailed kisses up to her jaw. Emboldened by her acceptance, he placed a finger under her chin and guided her mouth to his. His whole being thrummed with an energy that could only be blamed on astral bodies. Her lips parted for him, giving as good as she got. It was intoxicating. He needed more, but he was still at her back and mindful of her injuries.

When they broke the kiss, Rose’s eyes were hooded and dark, her lips swollen red. She stood up and let her nightgown fall off her body. John’s jaw dropped.

“Like I said, the full moon makes one a little reckless.”

“What else will you blame on the moon?” he asked.

She pushed lightly on his shoulder and he fell on his back on the bed. Rose straddled him and guided his strong, yet gentle, hand between her thighs.

“This,” she whispered.

—

When John woke up the next morning, Rose was gone and the Mage was furious about the ransacking of his garden. He smiled knowing his little thief would be back next month.

#Thank you this was so fun to write!#ficandchips #Nine x Rose #September prompts #lostinfic writes stuff

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nbcgoodgirlsdaily · 3 years

Photo

top 15 good girls moments | #2. beth and rio’s first kiss

[caption: 10 gifs from good girls 2x09, of beth and rio in her bedroom.

in the first gif, beth is standing ner the door. she takes off her boots and dumps them on the floor next to her, where she’s also dumped her bag and coat. in the second gif, the camera cuts to rio, who’s leaning against beth’s armoire, in the opposite side of the room. he looks down at beth’s feet and smiles, making beth look too.

in the third gif, the camera focuses on beth’s feet, showing her mismatched socks. the camera then cuts to beth’s face as she looks back up at rio and smiles, sheepish. in the fourth gif, rio keeps looking at her and beth walks forward.

in the fifth gif, beth walks to the center of the room and stops. rio pushes off the armoire and starts walking towards her. in the sixth gif, rio walks until he’s standing right in front of beth, their chests brushing.

in the seventh gif, rio brushes beth’s hair off her face with his pinky finger. in the eighth gif, they both lean towards the other until they are almost kissing.

in the ninth gif, beth tilts her head to the side and finally kisses him. it’s a short kiss. their foreheads remain touching even after they’re no longer kissing. in the tenth gif, they kiss again.]

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earlgreydream · 3 years

Text

villain.

| draco malfoy x reader / theo nott x reader | smut | angst |

anon requested. smutty draco x y/n where they’ve been dating for months or years and draco cheated on her

cw: infidelity, sadism, branding, non-consensual voyeurism (revenge)

a/n: this request was a lot, it was long, and it made me FEEL THINGS

The alcohol burned going down.

The bass echoed in your feet as music blared from speakers, sweaty bodies moving and grinding against one another, just mere feet away. You were disgusted by the scene before you.

Where was your lover?

“Y/N!” A drunk friend called your name.

An empty smile crossed your face. You tipped the glass back, swallowing the rest of its contents. You needed it.

“Have you seen him?” You called over the music, practically shouting in your friend’s ear.

“Seen whooo?” They giggled, fingers clutching the glittering material of your dress. It felt like nothing on your body, you felt naked.

“Draco!” You spat, shoving them off when they shook their head no.

Annoyance was all too familiar, wrapping around you like a well-known friend. Fuck.

You slithered through the party, your eyes darting everywhere, searching for a head of white-blonde hair. Your efforts proved futile.

“Are you looking for Draco?” Blaise’s dark hand caught yours, grabbing your attention.

“Yes!” Finally, some help.

“I saw him go off to his room,” he pointed to the hallway off of the common room.

Blaise’s eyes were full of terrible pity, and you felt your heart sink to the bottom of your stomach.

No.

“Can I get you a drink?” He tried to stop you.

“No, get off of me.”

You pushed your way through dancing bodies and wandering hands of drunk boys. Your heels clicked on the black marble floors of the common room, drowned out by the music.

Your mind was far disconnected from your body, and you felt like something small amongst a crowd that suffocated you. Adrenaline kicked in, and you freed yourself from the teenagers, escaping hungry grasps.

Every step you took filled you with dread. It decayed your insides, poisoning your heart and your mind and weighing your feet down. Your ears were ringing, and you could barely hear the deafening music, or your friends calling for you to rejoin them on a couch nearby. Your lungs couldn’t properly draw in oxygen, and the edges of your mind began to prickle with delirium.

You were running on adrenaline.

You practically tripped over your own feet as you tore down the hall, halting as your fingers came into contact with a wooden door. Your fist closed around an iron handle, but doubt made you hesitate.

You had an instant where you considered turning around, going back to the party and forgetting about all of this. Ignoring the whispers of gossip, and silencing the rumors, pretending like this never happened. You could leave this doorway, leave and stay blissfully unaware before it was too late.

No.

Leaders don’t doubt themselves.

You’d made it this far, there was no sense to let your bravery falter now. You gripped the handle, twisting and throwing the door open. The action happened in an instant, and all at once, you couldn’t take it back.

Reality came crashing down on you.

Every fear you had suddenly became tangible. It was very real, unfolding in front of you, and you were powerless to stop it. Every ounce of doubt vanished from your mind, replaced with horrible certainty.

Your body froze. Ice shot down your spine, and spread through your skin in gripping tendrils. The adrenaline halted suddenly, and your heart stopped racing. Your mind snapped back to consciousness. Sharp, unforgiving sanity burst through you in one horrible, violent instant.

Draco Malfoy, your boyfriend of four years, was buried deep inside the cunt of Pansy Parkinson, your roommate and best friend.

Sick, deranged laughter rose in your throat and escaped from your lips.

The party still echoed under your feet, reminding you there were so many people close by. You wondered if they knew. You decided it didn’t matter, the only people who you would’ve believed it from were in front of you, fornicating in infidelity.

“Y/N!” Your name left Pansy in a scream.

At least she seemed ashamed, hurrying to pull the sheets— your sheets— to cover her breasts. Draco didn’t even have the decency to end his rough thrusts from behind, even as one of her hands went out to swat him away.

Cold, silver eyes glared back at you.

“Are you going to leave, or do you care to stay and watch?” Draco’s tone was impatient, dismissive.

His words tasted metallic, like blood and poison.

“Do you feel guilty?”

Draco mistook your tone for amusement. You didn’t cry, and you didn’t move. You didn’t even breathe. From his point of view, you just watched the situation unfold in eerie calmness.

Most girls would have screamed. Most girls would have sobbed and begged for validation, or run away at the very least.

You were not most girls. Draco knew you were something far worse.

You were dangerous and severe.

Your eyes glittered with something dark and terrible. It sent a shudder through him, and powerful doubt ripped all of the air from his lungs.

Do you feel guilty?

“No. I grew bored with you, I don’t regret this, Pansy’s a good fuck.” Draco’s voice masked his insecurity, but you saw directly through the cracking shell, staring directly at the truth.

Your gaze locked with Pansy’s. Her fear twisted in your own stomach, igniting your nerves like electricity. Draco’s movements faltered.

A terrible stillness settled over the room. For a moment, none of you moved, the ice inside of you spreading over everything.

In slytherin, you do what is necessary.

The voice echoed in the back of your mind, grounding you in your crumbling reality.

Do what is necessary.

A malicious idea crossed your mind with a depraved smile.

“I can be redeemed of boredom,” you said simply.

Your tone unnerved Draco. The stillness and certainty was suffocating. Every lingering doubt was annihilated, along with your trust and love for Draco and Pansy.

You didn’t expect the grief to feel so relieving.

The light caught the sparkles of your dress, glittering as the thin fabric moved on your body as you walked out the door. It slammed shut behind you, sealing the room shut with its sin inside.

“What have we done?” Pansy asked Draco.

Weak girls doubted themselves.

You were many things, but never weak. Your feet carried you back to the party. It was still in full, excited swing, as if horrible sins weren’t being committed, as if trust wasn’t being desecrated.

The depraved smile remained on your face.

You were freed from doubt, they were freed from lies. It was always easier to know who your enemies were, even when they were your lovers and your friends.

The cruelty glittering in your eyes, and the sick smile on your face confirmed to everyone that you knew. Blaise wouldn’t meet your gaze. He knew, and he’d led you to them.

“How long, Zabini?”

“A couple of months.” He shifted uneasily.

Your laughter struck fear in his heart. You were quickly coming to terms with your lover’s infidelity, and it ignited something inside of you.

Wrath tasted sweet on your lips, and you breathed it into your lungs like oxygen.

Blaise expected you to be hysterical, but this was far more calculated, far more dangerous.

There was one person left who was loyal to you, and he was leaning against a marble pillar, a glass of fire whiskey at his lips.

“Theo,” you approached the brunette, greeted with a smile and a sultry gaze.

“I need you.”

“Anything,” he answered with absolute sincerity.

“Draco is unfaithful, and I want to get revenge.”

Theo’s fingers slipped in yours, and he brought your hand to his lips. His dark gaze glittered with deviance, catching you as you tumbled.

“You’ve come to the right person.”

Draco was sickened. You attended classes with him, and took your usual seat beside him to eat in the great hall. As far as he could tell, nothing had changed. Blaise, and the few others who knew about his side habit, were uneasy with your reaction. All except for Theo.

Ever since you’d began dating Draco four years ago, he’d been terribly jealous of Theo. Whenever the brunette was around, Draco was openly affectionate with you, growing possessive and territorial. He didn’t imagine it would ever be used against him, but you could turn anything into a weapon.

You weren’t one to be underestimated.

The boys talked about an upcoming quidditch match, the Slytherin team being led by Malfoy. Theo calmly discussed strategy with him, as if he hadn’t sided with you in the betrayal. Draco was too trusting of the brunette.

Your hand slid up Draco’s back, your fingers threading in the hair at the base of his neck. He forced himself not to flinch, keeping his voice even. A hand dropped to your thigh, and you sipped the drink in front of you. Your nails were sharp on Draco’s neck, a veiled threat that made his skin crawl.

“I want to show you just how interesting I can be,” you whispered in his ear.

His silver gaze moved to you, watching as you stood and swung your legs over the bench. You cradled his hand in your face, giving him a cold smile before pressing a bitter kiss to his mouth.

You left the great hall, descending into Draco’s prefect dorm. Eyes trailed after you as you moved through the common room with grace. Pansy watched you disappear into his bedroom, pain spreading through her chest.

You changed into black lace and silk, leaning on the armoire as he entered. The heavy door shut behind him, and his hands went to his tie, tearing it from his body. His silver gaze admired your body, and he began to wonder why he’d chosen Pansy over you, realizing his mistake.

“What is this?” Draco dared to ask.

“Boredom can be cured, Malfoy. You may be willing to toss me aside, but you know that I’m a better match for you. I’m the pureblood your parents pray ends up in your bed.” You pointed out, and he swallowed, unable to argue.

“Let me seduce you,” your hands smoothed over the clean white shirt that adorned his fair chest.

He watched you touch him, your fingers undoing buttons and pushing the fabric off of his shoulders. He slipped out of the rest of his clothes, pulling on the tie of your robe.

You let him skim his filthy hand down your body, malice simmering inside of you. Your silk joined his clothes on the floor, and you led him to the bed, pushing him down on his back. You straddled his waist, settling down on his lap and lightly running your nails up his chest.

You tasted poison on your tongue, and a vicious heat spread through your limbs.

Your hands slid up his arms, trapping his wrists at the headboard. Draco didn’t struggle as silk ties wrapped around his wrists, and you secured his hands to the wrought iron bars. Your sweet smile turned insidious, and icy fear paralyzed Draco.

“Y/N-”

“Shut your fucking mouth!” You snapped, sliding off of his body like a viper. Your feet were on either side of his hips as you stood over the terrified blonde, and you considered kicking him in the ribs. He opened his mouth, but it fell shut with your dangerous look.

You stepped off of the bed, and Draco thought you were going to leave him naked, tied to the bed. It didn’t matter, Pansy would be around in a few hours to free him.

Draco’s fear heightened when you opened the door without dressing, his stomach dropping when another person entered the dorm.

“Theo?” he croaked.

His body jolted as the door slammed shut, the lock clicking in place and securing your privacy. Your venomous laughter rattled Draco’s spine, and you walked to the edge of the bed, standing before him.

“Y/N, you need to let me go. Theo, untie me!” The panic in his voice fueled the fire of your wrath, and you smirked at how pathetic he looked.

“I don’t need to do anything! I owe you nothing, you weak little bitch. Beg me.”

He stared at you in disbelief, and Theo watched you. The room was buzzing with intense ferocity, your rage pouring off of you in waves and drowning everything in its path.

You were going to get revenge, and it was going to be sweet.

Draco’s will was strong, but it was no match for yours. Theo slid his tie off of his neck, but Draco was too focused on you to notice. You were entirely focused on emasculating Draco, determined to make him feel as pathetic and weak as you saw him.

“Please untie me. I’ll do anything, I’ll break it off with Pansy, I’ll do whatever you want, but just untie me, please.” The desperation was clear in his voice, fear edging in his tone.

“No,” you answered coldly, and he jerked his wrists, the silk digging into his flawless skin. A frightened sigh escaped him, and he turned to Theo desperately. Theo tossed his own clothing aside, and Draco shook his head.

“No, no, Y/N, not with Theo!” Draco protested.

You turned away from the blonde and pulled Theo against you, his tongue invading your mouth in a rough, forceful kiss. Draco yanked on the bonds, jealous fury burning through him as he watched Theo’s hands explore your body, grabbing and touching you in places that only he did.

“You are going to lay there, helpless, weak, and pathetic. You are going to watch your best friend fuck me, and you’re going to stay tied up and powerless.”

A noise rose in Draco’s throat, and your hands gripped the sheets at the end of the mattress, bending over and facing Draco. The remaining lace was ripped from your body, and you shot Draco a sadistic smile.

“You’re going to pay for this.”

“Open your mouth again, and I’ll force it shut.”

You stood up as Theo slammed you from behind, gripping the posts of the bed. Your fingers gripped the etched iron, and memories of having your wrists restrained on experimental nights came flooding back.

Exhilarated screams left your lips, Theo filling in you in perfect ways, in ways Draco never could.

“He’s so much better than you. You’ve been holding me back, Draco!”

Silver eyes were wet, delighting your cruelty. Your sharp laughter burned his ears, and his skin was raw from struggling. He watched the scene in front of him, knowing exactly how you felt, but Draco was weak enough to drown in it.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry-” he choked out as he watched Theo circle your clit in expert, practiced touches. Draco shook his head, watching his best friend, his teammate, and his partner come deep inside of you. He watched it drip down your thighs, your ecstatic, pornographic screams pounding in his head, echoing off of the walls as your own orgasm shattered through you. Theo shared your vengeful pleasure as he watched Draco fall apart.

Your limbs were trembling as you stood up all the way, leaning back into Theo. You stared at Draco, furthering his shame and misery, twisting like a sickness in your chest. The poison of revenge was addicting, pumping through your veins like blood and filling your heart.

“Y/N, I’m sorry, I’m so-”

You lunged at the boy, your fingers closing around his throat, kneeling on top of him like he was your prey.

“Draco, I will never forgive you!” you hissed venomously.

Theo was gone, leaving the two of you alone, leaving no witness to whatever crime of passion you were about to commit. The thirst for blood was thick on your tongue, the hunger for revenge making you violent.

Draco screamed as your wand burned letters into his skin in thick, black ink. You drew back, admiring your initials that were now branded onto the inside of his hip, left by your hatred. His chest heaved as he watched you in horror, making your lips curve into a sadistic smile.

“I own you.”

You left him restrained, knowing someone would find him eventually as the door closed behind you. Your heart was racing, all of your nerves buzzing from the adrenaline.

Leaders don’t doubt themselves. Do what is necessary.

Pansy walked past, and you grabbed her black hair, yanking her back against the wall, pinning her to the cold stone with your own body.

“If you ever touch what is mine again, I’ll rip every pretty hair from your head, and I will have you begging for death!” You seethed, yanking hard on her locks, tearing a terrorized whimper from her.

“Got it?”

“Yes!”

You threw her down and spun on your heel, leaving her shaking. Her scream echoed through the common room when she found Draco, and a sinful smirk adorned your face.

You found you had a taste for wrath, and a talent for violence.

#earl grey draco #draco #draco malfoy #draco angst #draco smut #draco x reader #draco x reader smut #draco x reader angst #draco malfoy smut #draco malfoy angst #draco malfoy x reader smut #draco malfoy x reader angst #draco malfoy x reader #theo nott x reader #theo nott x reader smut #theo nott x reader angst #golden era #hogwarts #female reader

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writtenonreceipts · 3 years

Note

5. “You haven’t even touched your food. What’s going on?” For rowaelin, Aelin finding out she’s pregnant. It can be an au, or in their actual world. Thanks so much!

/AN: Thanks so much for the prompt, anon! This got away from me! I’m sorry? But not really, I had fun with it, even though I don’t feel like it’s my best. I’d never really thought I would write canon/post canon but here we are...enjoy my dears

It hadn’t even occurred to Aelin that anything could go wrong with the day. It was after all ten years since the war had ended. Ten years since there was even the smallest promise of peace in her home. Ten years.

It was supposed to be glorious.

Kneeling over the toilet Aelin emptied the contents of her stomach, again, and did her best to even out her breathing. If there was anything less glorious to be doing--this certainly was it.

Her Fae enhanced ears caught the sound of footsteps coming toward her. Lorcan. Quick and efficient. Grabbing a hand towel, Aelin wiped her mouth and stood. She made sure her dress was fit properly and left the bathroom. The last person she wanted seeing her so weak and vulnerable was Lord Lorcan Lochan.

Granted she could just use his full title on him and call it even.

“Aelin?” Lorcan called from the front door of her chambers.

“Come in,” she replied. She used her magic to take away the cent of vomit, but she didn’t know if it actually did anything because Lorcan’s nose twitched as he entered. “What?’

“Darrow said that it’s time,” Lorcan said. He eyed her with a frown. His dark eyes were intent and unyielding. Even after all this time she still wasn’t quite used to his silent calculations, the information he seemed to glean from a room with ease and efficiency. Aelin was suddenly grateful he had become so smitten with Elide that he’d changed his life completely. Even if he was an ass.

“As if we haven’t rehearsed this enough,” Aelin muttered. Her stomach rolled again. Damn nerves. She was a queen and had been doing quite well at it thank-you very much. There was no reason for her to feel so ill and anxious at the thought of the festivities tomorrow.

“Are you all right?” Lorcan asked. His frown deepened as he looked her over. “You don’t look well. Have you eaten today?”

“You sound like Rowan,” Aelin grumbled. She went to her armoire and found the ring Rowan had given her one year after their secret nuptials. The familiar weight on her finger, settled her somewhat. “I’m not hungry either, let's get this over with.”

She didn’t add the fact that just the thought of eating made her want to crawl back into bed. And she would be able to do just that in forty-eight hours.

The elaborate ceremony was slated to take place tomorrow evening, the exact day when the war finally ended. Apparently Aelin needed to practice walking down a straight line to the balcony that overlooked the castle courtyard. After she addressed her people she would then unveil a sculpture. She’d asked Rowan to commission the sculpture so she had no idea what it would be of, but she had to trust the buzzard to take well to the task.

When Darrow finally relented that they’d done enough preparation for the following day, Aelin excused herself to her private quarters. Lorcan following after.

“Don’t you have a wife and baby to go and se?” Aelin called over her shoulder.

“Yes, but their not as high-maintenance as you, so I think it’s alright if I’m a little late,” Lorcan replied.

When Aelin shot a glare over her shoulder at him she caught a brief smile on his lips.

She had a response perched on her lips but something else snared her attention. It was a familiar scent of pine and snow and home. Her mate.

Before explaining anything to Lorcan she sprinted the rest of the way to her rooms, flinging the doors open.

Standing in the center of her room was the one person she had been desperate to lay eyes on these past few weeks. Her husband had been travelling, preparing the outlying villages for the celebration, and bringing the commissioned statue back to Terrasan.

“Fireheart,” he said, a broad grin spreading across his face.

Aelin didn’t wait before throwing herself at him, burrowing her face in his shoulder.

Chuckling Rowan wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer to him.

“I missed you,” she whispered. She looked up at him and giggled when he started peppering her face with kisses.

“And I you, my heart,” he said before finally pressing a long kiss to her lips. He pulled away so he could rest his forehead against her, his beautiful eyes staring right into her soul.

Aelin could have stood their for hours, days, millennia. Just this brief exchange could make up for her nausea from this morning and her anxiety about the coming day.

“I asked for our meal to be delivered here,” Rowan told her, “Elide and Lorcan will take care of the festivities for tonight.”

Aelin raised an eyebrow. “Lord Lorcan Lochan agreed to that.”

“It took bribery,” Rowan admitted.

Aelin threw her head back and laughed before leaning up on her toes to kiss her mate. She slanted her mouth eagerly over his, grateful to have him back with her. Despite the promises they’d made to each other years ago about never being apart, things had come up in their kingdom, in their world.

Rowan ran his hands down Aelin’s sides, nipping at her bottom lip.

By the time their food had arrived from the kitchen, they were free of several layers of clothing and warm with lust.

Sun was barely setting behind the mountains, casting pink and gold rays across the sky. It was this time of day that Aelin loved most. The simple beauty of the sky was enough to remind her how far they’d come.

Rowan sat across from her telling a story about the mess he and Fenrys had gotten into while trekking across the mountains just days before. Even in their other forms, they’d somehow managed to not only start an avalanche of late spring snow, but get holed up in a snow cave.

Aelin smiled as she pushed food across her plate. Her appetite hadn’t come back all day and she was swimming with nausea again, not matter how much of her own magic she tried to apply to herself. She needed to send a message to Yrene for a remedy.

“Fireheart?” Rowan asked. “You haven’t even touched your food, what’s going on?”

She looked up and shrugged. “You’re far too entertaining for your own good King.”

Rowan’s eyes narrowed. “You’re hiding something from me.”

Scoffing, Aelin cut a piece of venison just to appease him. She brought it to her lips and gave him a pointed stare, but before she could take a bite the scent of the cooked meat and spices ausulted her nose and she was up and running to the restroom before she knew what had happened.

She emptied the scant amount of food in her belly and sank back onto her knees only to find herself leaning against Rowan’s chest. One of his hand was curled in her hair to keep it pulled back while the other rested on her stomach, keeping her close to him.

His warm breath brushed against her ear. “Are you alright?”

Aelin nodded and let herself melt into her mate. “I haven’t been feeling well all day,” she admitted.

Rowan raised a hand to her forehead, her cheeks, feeling for a fever. He grunted.

“I’m fine,” Aelin insisted. She made to pull away from him but he kept her close.

“You’ve been flaring your magic lately,” he said.

“Because I’m exhausted. Planning this celebration has take too much out of me,” she said. She hated to sound the way she did, but between the vomiting and the fears about tomorrow she really didn’t feel too guilty about it. “Besides it’s probably just my--”

Aelin froze.

Her cycle.

How long had it been? Since settling into her Fae form the bleedings hadn’t come as often but they were brutal. She couldn’t remember exactly how long it had been. Three months? She couldn’t be pregnant. After all this time of trying and hoping. After losing the last pregnancy.

Aelin twisted in Rowan’s arms. He looked utterly confused as to what was going on. Couldn’t he see? Couldn’t he tell? Of course...she had been using her magic so often to keep her going throughout the day that perhaps it was masking the scent.

Tentatively, Aelin dropped the shield she’d been putting up over herself. As soon as she did, Rowan’s gaze sharpened.

“Aelin,” he whispered.

Her gaze dropped to her stomach, nothing looked different. But the more she thought about it, the more her mind flooded with emotion and she settled one hand over her belly.

Rowan dipped his nose in the crook of her neck, breathing deeply, his teeth nipping her skin gently. Aelin shivered at the contact and forced herself to look at her mate once more. She twisted enough so she could draw his chin up and look into his eyes as they knelt together.

Emotion laced Rowan’s eyes and told her all that she needed to know.

She let out a weak laugh as tears slipped down her cheeks. Rowan was quick to catch them with his lips before pressing a soft, tender kiss to each corner of her mouth.

“I’m pregnant,” Aelin said, needing to hear the words out loud.

“You’re pregnant,” Rowan confirmed.

Throwing her arms around her mate, Aelin didn’t hold back her sobs. This was beyond anything she could have ever imagined for herself. After the hell her life had been, right up until she’d met Rowan. Her grip tightened around him. He had been her saving grace. Always and forever.

She pulled back enough to look into his eyes and wipe away his own tears.

“To whatever end,” she said.

“To whatever end.”

The statue that was unveiled the next day was simple. And yet it was no less glorious. Commissioned from a woman in a small country Aelin had visited many times now. The statue was of two women, their faces blank so as to allow the viewer to see themselves there. One of the women was carved to be wearing a fine dress that flowed behind her. The other held two swords.

Two princesses, two queens, one war won.

The country of Eyllwe, Aelin decided, had a way of bringing her home.

As always thanks for reading!

tags: @tottenhamboys20 @morganofthewildfire @aelinchocolatelover @more-espresso-less-depresso-xx

#aelin and rowan #rowan whitethorn #rowaelin #rowaelin fanfic #throne of glass #answered #prompts #throne of glass fanfiction #kingdom of ash #post-canon #aelin galathynius

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mymothershumility · 3 years

Text

neverflownwithme asked: “Princes bleed just like other men.”

past transmissions || { always accepting }

{ Part 1 } & { Part 2 } & { Part 3 } & { Part 4 } & { Part 5 }

{ Part 6 } & { Part 7 } & { Part 8 } & { Part 9 } & { Part 10 }

{ @neverflownwithme }

Though the room about them is small in size, it is packed to near bursting with all manner of items. Leather bound tomes are piled upon shelves, scrolls arranged atop desks, and trunks stacked along the stone walls. For then, such items pale in comparison to the painting that had drawn her eye when the room had been flooded with light.

Eyes drift over the portrait, gaze flickering across the seven figures painted upon the canvas. She knows them all save for one. The youngest of the seven is little more than an infant with her dark mahogany curls and shining amethyst eyes. She is swaddled in deep grey and white silks and cradled in the crook of her mother’s arm.

Saera.

Laira recalls the name as if it is an extension of herself... as if it is a part of her. As she ponders the state of her dreams of late --looks upon the physical manifestation of them-- she cannot help but think such a thing might be true. Her visions have been too detailed --have felt far too real-- for there to be another explanation.

And, now, there is all of this.

“There has never been a recorded recount of the Targaryens and the Starks marrying,” Hal says, eyes still trained on the painting.

His voice surprises Laira, has her own gaze turning to look at him. He has been quiet since their discovery, focus devoted to the portrait before them. Still, there is no disbelief or confusion in his voice. As Laira looks to him, he seems almost relieved by what they have stumbled across hidden within the walls of her solar.

“None before the two of us,” Laira offers, pausing as she considers her next question. She is hesitant to voice it aloud.

‘Ask him if he knows,’ something whispers to her. ‘Tell him what you have seen while you have slumbered.’

It is not the taunting voice from King’s Landing that speaks to her. Instead, it is the comforting one that had soothed her when she had first woken upon Dragonstone. Again, fear seems to slither its way down the column of her spine. Is she losing herself to grief and anger once again?

Has the damage already been done?

Is she going mad?

Has she already slipped into the abyss?

“It is Visenya Targaryen,” Laira begins, her voice hesitant, “and Tor...”

“I know,” he interrupts, eyes still trained upon the portrait. “I know who they are.”

His words shock her, make her body go rigid as she reaches for him. Her hand sets itself upon his arm, fingers practically trembling as she holds on to him. “How?” Laira asks, fearing what he may say to her. Has she told him of her dreams in some past conversation? Has she confided in him and forgotten it?

When he reaches and sets his hand over the top of her own, thumb ghosting across the bumps of her knuckles, some of her fears abandon her. She feels as though his coming answer is not so dire... that, perhaps, her fears are unwarranted. All the same, he seems hesitant himself to speak after her inquiry… if only for a moment.

“I’ve had dreams about them,” Hal finally admits, the words low. His brow has pinched together in thought again, a look of practical relief fluttering across his face the longer he gazes upon the portrait before them. “All of them,” he goes on, giving a nod towards the portrait.

Laira cannot keep herself from clinging to him all the tighter, relief bleeding through the press of her fingers and the gaze that she casts across to him. “I have seen them as well,” she admits aloud. There is something freeing about the admission, something that lifts the weight that has been settled over her shoulders since she had awakened screaming not so long ago. “I have been dreaming of them since arriving here.”

“So have I,” Hal returns. He lets his gaze linger a moment or two longer on the portrait before he turns to look at her. “I thought, perhaps, all the trials and the losses we have faced might have been to blame for it. Some sort of wishful thinking on my part.”

He pauses in his explanation once more, a sigh working its way from him. When he does, Laira speaks before he can continue on. “I do not believe that our dreams are so simple in their origins,” she admits. Not now. Not after the bloodstained stones within her solar. Not after the portrait that seems more mirror than painting to her. “Do you?” she asks him.

“No more than you do.”

They keep their positions just on the outskirts of the room, neither wishing to breach the threshold and pass through the open doorway before them. Too much uncertainty lingers ahead of them. Far too many questions are brewing. Though Laira wishes to find some sort of answer to all that has been occurring in the capital and there among Dragonstone’s ancient walls, there is also a part of her that worries what she may discover.

“It’s late,” Hal murmurs over to her, arm moving so that he can set it across the plain of her back. His hand finds a home at her waist, fingers dipping into the fabric of her robe. “We can investigate matters further when morning comes. You need to rest,” he reminds. His statement is punctuated by a brief kiss to her temple and the press of his cheek to the crown of her head. “We will find the answers to our questions.”

She cannot deny his observation, does not even think to try. Her body is sore in all the ways that she anticipated it would be from their lovemaking mere hours before. And, though her nightmare has faded away to nothing more than a passing discomfort, her head now aches and throbs because of it. Rest would be wonderful, yet Laira is uncertain how much she will be granted now.

The Queen allows her husband to draw her away from the room and back towards the main living area of their apartments. She allows her magic to slip, watching over the line of her own shoulder as the sconces upon the walls flicker before extinguishing all together.

Returned to their bed, there is little rest to be found despite the exhaustion that clings just at the back of her mind. Buried beneath the sheets and the heavy duvet atop their bed, back pressed to Hal’s chest, Laira attempts to let the calming hammer of her husband’s heartbeat and the grumbling roar of thunder sooth her back to slumber. Disquiet awaits her each time her eyes slipped closed. She sees the portrait in the back of the hidden room within her solar at times. But, mostly, she sees Shiera Seastar, gasping and dying among a pool of blood in ruined silver and pearl silks.

If Hal sleeps, she cannot be certain. Too many times she feels his breathing change, feels his muscles bunch as if in anticipation of some sort of strike. He keeps still despite all of that, holding her to him as they both attempt to rest. It is a hopeless attempt, in the end; however, Laira welcomes the comfort he gives to her all the same.

When dawn begins to break, casting a hazy gray light through the windows of their apartments, Laira slips out of Hal’s hold to go in search of clothing to change into. She has fresh dresses and gowns available to her, all of them hanging pristinely within her armoire. She sees very little use in donning them, though. With all that she is planning to do that day, it seems senseless to ruin a dress or a gown among the dust of the hidden room. She pulls out a pair of soft riding leathers and one of Hal’s worn tunics, slipping on both in relative quiet. Taking up her abandoned pair of silvered hair pins, she sweeps her hair up into a tangled nest of curls atop her head before securing the hair in place.

Feet bare, but dressed otherwise, she steps back into her solar. The doors are left ajar as she enters, the sconces upon the wall bursting to life with flame. Those within the hidden room do the same, yellow light reflecting off the dark stone within it and casting dancing shadows across the space.

Everything is as it was those few short hours before. Leathered journals, tomes, and heavy trunks are stacked in every available space. There is another Myrish carpet set along the floor, one that stretches from wall to wall in all directions.

Pausing for only a moment at the threshold Laira steps into the small room, breath momentarily hitching in her chest. She anticipates something. What, she cannot say. A vision, perhaps. Or some other oddity. When none manifest, her breath leaves her in a relieved sounding sigh.

Stale air still lingers in the space, clinging to the walls and carpet beneath her feet. Everything seems to loom about her as she stands just inside the doorway. It’s near overwhelming, the stacks of tomes, scrolls, and sealed trunks. The portrait at the end of the space, lit by the dim rays of dawn breaking through the windows of her solar, is all the more striking.

Turning, she reaches and begins sorting through the stacks of leather bound journals and scrolls that are piled upon a desk near the doorway. She does not know how else to begin, does not know if there is even a correct place to start. Among the stacks, one journal above all the others draws her attention. She recognizes the Lyseni craftsmanship, the deep amethyst leather impeccable. Moreover, the three headed dragon of House Targaryen is emblazoned in silver along the front cover.

Flipping through the pages, she finds them filled in their entirety in a foreign --yet strangely familiar-- hand. The pages are filled with various journal entries, recounts from as far back as 193 AC. Laira begins reading from the first entry, eyes traveling across the page and the carefully penned words that are written upon it.

The first several entries are short, snippets of encounters and happenings. Some of the entries contain notes, reminders for the recorder. Others contain desires or wishes. Some, even, list grievances and fears. It is not until a quarter way through the journal that the entries seem to shift. They become longer, more detailed. It is easy for Laira to pinpoint the cause of the change. By then, she has seated herself in the middle of the room, legs drawn up so she is sitting cross-legged upon the Myrish carpet. The journal is resting in her lap, fingers ghosting along the silvered edges of the bound parchment as she devours the words.

She does not start when two familiar presences join her. The first comes to rest against her side, black fur brushing against her legs and the exposed skin of her arms. Moone whines for attention, going quiet only when she is granted the sweep of Laira’s hand over the top of her head. The second presence comes but a moment later. Hal slips up behind her, bending until he is sliding into place behind her with a tired sounding sigh. She recognizes the exhaustion all too well… feels it herself bearing down upon her shoulders.

Still, she slides back to sit between his legs at the press of his hand to the crook of her elbow, her own legs uncrossing to help push herself back. She folds them underneath one of his own when she settles, toes momentarily curling against the carpet.

“You did not sleep,” Hal speaks, leaning over her shoulder to see what she is reading.

“Neither did you,” Laira returns, mouth quirking when she feels him press a kiss down onto the bare line of her shoulder. “I hope that it was no fault of mine.”

“You know better.”

“Perhaps,” Laira concedes. Another smile lifts the corners of her mouth when a porcelain cup is passed over her shoulder to her. The porcelain is warm under her fingers when she takes it from Hal. The contents swirling within it smell heavily of orange and ginger. “Thank you.”

His initial answer comes in the form of a quiet grunt, arms moving until they are wrapped around her. The flats of his palms rest against the plain of her stomach, fingers intertwining until they are steepled together over her. “Mira gave me a rather scandalized look when I granted her entry.”

“I pray you were clothed,” Laira murmurs. When she sips from her cup, she releases a quick sigh of approval. Her tea is sweetened perfectly with honey. There is a hint of lemon lingering in the background of the brew as well. Her husband’s doing, she knows. Laira holds the cup back to Hal in offer, keeping hold of it until she feels one of his hands rise to take it from her hand.

“Partially,” he admits, drinking from the cup himself. His sip is more careful than his wife’s, not wishing to scald his tongue or the roof of his mouth. “My tunics have begun disappearing once again.”

“A curious mystery.”

Laira welcomes the ease of the conversation, welcomes the way that they are able to converse in such a manner despite what they have stumbled upon just hours before and what surrounds them even now. There is some sort of unspoken vow there between them, Laira thinks. A vow that they will find the answers that they so desperately hope to, yet will not allow anything to sway what they already are to one another. They cannot allow a desire for answers to ruin what is already there between them.

And, they shall not.

“What have you found?” Hal finally asks her, taking another drink from the cup before passing it back to Laira. “A maester’s recount of something?”

“A personal journal,” Laira answers, fingers plucking the cup back from him. She takes her own sip and then sets it aside on the carpet beside them. “It belonged to Shiera Seastar.” As for all of the other items within the room, Laira cannot say. “Aegon IV’s final mistress, Lady Serenei of Lys, has been mentioned among the pages I have read a number of times. Queen Naerys and the Dragonknight have been as well.” She goes quiet. Then, she admits, “I dreamt of her last night. Shiera, that is. She was in my nightmare.”

There is little known about the Star of the Sea. That, Laira already knows too well. Yet, Laira can recall the various dates that surrounded Aegon IV’s last Great Bastard. Those recorded, thus far, within the journal intersect perfectly with the life that Shiera Seastar would have lived. What baffles her most, though, is the mystery surrounding the latter portions of her life.

Why was there such secrecy? Why was there so little known of her?

As she ponders such a thing, additional questions spring to mind. Why was Visenya Targaryen surrounded in mystery? Why was Rhaena of Pentos?

“This entry,” she begins, fingers lightly tapping the edges of the pages, “is of particular interest.”

“What does it say?” Hal asks. Some of the script he can read over his wife’s shoulder.

Laira lifts the journal from her lap, holding it closer to her so that she may read from it while allowing Hal the opportunity to follow along with her if he wishes. “The Wolves have journeyed to the capital at Daeron’s request. More have come in tow than originally anticipated. I encountered the Heir of Winterfell earlier in the day out among the gardens. Having listened to my good-sister speak of him, I had expected him to be older than he was and not of my own age…”

The Queen’s private gardens are her favorite. Here, she can sit and read without being bothered by the stares and the whispers of others. The Queen and the King are always kind to her -- have always been kind to her. The King calls her little sister and dotes upon her in a way that her father never had in the few short years that she had known him. And, the Queen is as near a mother to her as she can desire.

All the same, the King and Queen’s pleasantries cannot undo the gossip and the sneers that members of their court give to her when she walks among them. Even at the age of five-and-ten, she has garnered a reputation for herself. It is a reputation fanned into flame by slander and misunderstanding, yet it is a reputation all the same.

It is such a reason that she prefers the solitude of the gardens to the chattering halls of court.

Silver skirts bunched beneath her knees, Shiera bends forward to snip pieces of lavender from the bush in front of her. The trimmings join the others in her basket. She has found all manner of things in her trek among Queen Myriah’s gardens that day. There are pieces of lemon thyme, lavender, and mint in her basket. There are also pieces of tansy, basil, wormwood, and pennyroyal among half a dozen other plants and herbs. And, Shiera has use for all of them.

Some, she will use in medicines and tonics. Others, for cures that some ladies of the court dare not speak of aloud.

Humming softly, she is leaning to snip pieces of rosemary from a nearby plant when a shadow falls over her. She feels the presence clawing faintly at the back of her mind before the voice comes.

Both are uninvited. Both are unwelcome.

“Shiera.”

The young girl scowls, focus devoted to the rosemary plant that she now cuts. She drops the sprigs into her basket alongside all the others, refusing to acknowledge the presence that still hovers just behind her. She hates Bloodraven and everything that he brings forth with him in his wake.

How someone as kind as Lady Melissa Blackwood could birth a son such as Bloodraven truly baffled her.

“Don’t be cold,” Bloodraven says.

There is a hint of a growl to his words. Shiera hears it as well as the birds chirping in the trees all about her. The growl sends a shiver up her spine… or, perhaps that is Bloodraven’s tampering once again. She feels the clawing at the back of her mind once more, a desperate attempt by something dark and incredibly dangerous to gain access to her in some forsaken manner.

Shiera refuses to yield, has long since proven to be a host that Bloodraven cannot gain access to. The daughter of Serenei of Lys would never be one to be so easily controlled. Her defiance only serves in fanning Bloodraven’s temper. Such a feat seems to be a more common one as of late. There is a great deal of pride in that for Shiera.

Let him know that he has met his match in her. Let him know a girl five years his junior already holds more power than he does.

When the shadow above her moves, and Shiera sees a hand stretching out for her, she whirls and slaps the hand away from her. Her gardening shears are dropped, another blade snatched up from the amethyst belt at her waist and thrust in Bloodraven’s direction. The dagger in her hand had once belonged to her mother, had been an heirloom of Serenei’s Lyseni family for generations. Forged from Valyrian steel, Shiera grasps the handle of it tightly in her palm, the blade gleaming smoke gray in the early afternoon sun.

Bloodraven stares at her, having stopped in his advance. He stares. And then, all at once, he begins to laugh. The sound makes Shiera’s skin crawl.

“What are you going to do, Shiera?” Bloodraven taunts. “Kill me? Our dear brother will have your head for such a thing.”

He moves again and, when he does, Shiera slashes with merciless intent. The blade drives home, slashing deep across the other’s untainted cheek. There is nothing that has ever sounded so sweet as the surprised yell that Bloodraven gives in answer to her strike.

Her victory --no matter how small-- is short lived. In the next moment, Bloodraven’s hand is connecting with her own cheek. The force of the slap sends her stumbling to the ground, body upsetting the contents of her basket in her fall as her dagger jolts out of her grasp and scitters across the brick pathway winding through the garden. She attempts to scream when Bloodraven’s weight falls atop her, finds that the sound is muffled, though, by the press of his palm over her mouth and nose. She can’t breathe. She thrashes and shrieks behind his hand, screams louder and louder when she feels his free hand attempting to yank the bottom of her skirts up.

Just as quickly as Bloodraven’s attack starts, it stops.

Shiera feels the other’s weight leave her, hand torn away from her mouth and nose. She gasps for breath, half screaming in the process. Over the sound of her panicked gasps, she hears the sound of flesh connecting against flesh. The sound of snapping bone comes and then Bloodraven is howling and cursing. Shiera looks about her at the sound, searching for her dagger. She spots it only a second later, shining just across the garden pathway. She nearly trips twice over the length of her silver skirts as she bolts to retrieve it.

“You bitch!”

Shiera hears it screamed at her, turns just as she is snatching up her dagger to see Bloodraven making another bolt for her. His cheek is still bleeding from the strike she dealt him. But now, there is additional injury. His nose looks crooked. There is blood pouring openly from it. Broken, Shiera realizes. She cannot temper the fluttering satisfaction that rises within her at the sight. She anticipates another slap from the man, braces herself as she clutches her dagger tighter in her hand. Another body is stepping between her and Bloodraven in the next moment, an unmoving shield between her and her demented half-brother.

“Northern dog!” Bloodraven yells.

Bloodraven never advances beyond the man standing before her. When he tries to bull through him, the man --a Northman, Shiera gathers-- takes hold of Bloodraven’s doublet and throws him back onto the brick pathway. The Northman’s arm extends back while Bloodraven attempts to collect himself upon the ground, urging her to remain hidden behind him. Shiera makes no move to depart from the safety of her spot. She does not move to relinquish the hold upon her dagger, either.

Stumbling back onto his feet, Bloodraven growls low in his throat, glaring over to where Shiera still hides behind the safety of her rescuer. He spits blood at the two of them, wiping his bloodied nose upon the now ruined sleeve of his doublet. A finger is jabbed in Shiera’s before he skulks away, a threat growled out as he retreats.

“I will have you.”

The words send fear cascading down the column of her spine. She takes half a step closer to her rescuer, her free hand touching at his shoulder to steady herself. She’s surprised when she feels his own hand set itself against her arm. She flinches --unwillingly-- with the contact, but does not shrug away from it.

Neither she nor her rescuer make an attempt to move, not until Bloodraven is retreating down the garden pathway in a near whirlwind of black and crimson silks. Each and every step that he takes is framed with a loud curse. It isn’t until he is out of sight that Shiera finds herself willing to move. She steps away from the remaining man, hurrying back across the pathway to where her herbs now lay scattered among the grass. Half of them are bruised and flattened. She will be able to find some purpose for them, she knows, but it will not be what she originally anticipated using them for.

With a sigh, Shiera bends and sets her knees back into the soft grass, skirts bunched up around her again. Her basket is righted before she begins collecting all that has been scattered in Bloodraven’s strike. She keeps her dagger in hand, working slowly. When a presence settles down beside her in the grass --the Northman, she realizes a moment after--, Shiera pauses in her gathering to watch him out of the corner of her eye. He has short-cropped dark brown hair and eyes that are a near match. As she watched him, she thinks his eyes are actually a shade darker than his hair.

“Are you all right?”

Shiera nearly laughs at such a question. This is not the first time that Bloodraven has acted in such a way. She knows that it shall not be the last as well. This is the first time, though, that he has come as close as he did in succeeding in his attack. He is becoming bolder each time.

“Would you like me to find a maester for you?” the Northman asks, a bundle of herbs placed back into the young woman’s basket. “Or one of the Queen’s guards?”

Shiera immediately shakes her head, gathering another fistful of herbs. “They do not need to know,” she tells him. And, then, “You should not have done that. He will be angry now…”

“Princes bleed just like other men,” the Northman tells her. “I should have done worse for what he was attempting to do, Princess.”

She smiles at his response, less from his reasoning and more from what he calls her. “I am not a princess.” To many there at court, she was barely even a lady. The Westerosi courts had little favor for bastard born daughters and sons… even those of royal and noble birth. “And Bloodraven is no prince.”

The thought occurs to her, just a moment later, that the Northman assumed such about Lady Melissa’s son… that he’d defended her in such a physical manner against a man he thought to be a royal.

“He’s not even a man.”

That makes Shiera smile. There have never been truer words spoken. “No, he is not.”

At times, Shiera thinks he is something entirely inhuman. She had thought so since the very moment she met him.

With her herbs back in her basket, Shiera gathers her shears and begins to stand. She’s surprised when her basket is taken up ahead of her. She is even more surprised at the hand that the Northman offers down to her in aid. There’s a moment of hesitation before Shiera reaches to take hold of it and climbs back to her feet. Shiera expects him to relinquish her basket back to her and be on his way. Instead, he keeps his hold on it and offers his free arm to her.

Shiera watches him for a time before slipping her dagger in her hand back into the belt at her waist. Then, she reaches to slip her arm through the other’s own.

“Do Northmen make a habit of defending ladies from unwanted advances and then acting as their escorts?” she asks him, walking with him as he leads her back to the garden pathway. He turns them back towards the Red Keep as they begin walking side-by-side. “Or is it merely a personal code for some?”

“My father would be angered if he discovered I had left a lady to journey anywhere on her own after such a harrowing encounter.”

Shiera makes a sound of understanding. Then, she asks, “And, what would he say to not formally introducing yourself to the lady you aided?”

He laughs at her question. “He would likely be angered all the same,” he admits. “My name is Donnor.”

“Donnor,” Shiera repeats. “Thank you for coming to my aid,” she tells him. Most of the men visiting court would not have… would have been turned away by the reputation that followed her about the court.

“You owe me no thanks for that.”

“That does not mean it is not owed to you.”

It’s Donnor’s turn to hum in understanding. He follows it with a question of his own. “Would my lady grant me her own name?”

“Shiera,” she tells him. When she turns to look at him, she finds him already watching her. “My name is Shiera.”

{ @truetargaryen & @fullrangeofemotions & @xcoatlicuex & @thequeenmaker & @ialwayswasthebest & @viperparamour & @hisvipereyes & @nolongerhispawn & @adornishviper & @shewhoisironborn & @anunfailingkindness & @therosesofhighgarden & @aladyofwinterfell & @fairytalesandstars & @iveneverbeenagoodgirl & @zaldrizo & @arisiarrxb & @alionessroars }

#neverflownwithme #;transmissions #v; fire cannot kill a dragon #;drabble #otp; you are the light in the dark #tw: assault

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wallgirl · 3 years

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The Little Nereid Part 15

(Beta version)

Record of Ragnarok fanfiction

Poseidon x OC

Word count: 3,100

Dynamene, youngest of the 50 Nereids, has lived most of her adolescence as a servant alongside her sisters at Poseidon’s palace. But with her coming-of-age birthday and other developments, what she initially thought was just admiration of her master blossoms into something stronger and more passionate… and painful. Loving someone like Poseidon is not easy period, let alone as your first love. But Dynamene is young and naïve, and all she wants is a chance to be at the sea god’s side.

Categories and warnings: Romance, angst, unrequited love, coming-of-age, earn-your-happy-ending, slow-burn (ish); no sexual content. There will be some graphic violence in the future.

Updated regularly; will have about 20 parts total.

Violence at the final paragraph in this chapter.

---

The flames coiled around every fiber of her being. She was completely consumed in the blue blaze as each lick seared into her. It was as if her skin was absorbing them, and she felt them roaring through her veins, engulfing her in agony. She screamed, but her voice was completely drowned out by the sound of the fire. One moment was torture; two moments became hell.

Then, as quickly as it had immersed her, the fire dissipated, withering to down to tiny blue embers. Dynamene staggered to her feet in the now-empty cauldron. The pain was not only gone, but it was as if she had never suffered it in the first place. Her skin felt abuzz with new energy.

The witch beamed at her. "Come on out, dear. Take a look at your new self." She pulled a dusty full-length mirror out from behind one armoire.

Dynamene carefully stepped out and stood before the glass. Someone that she'd known only in her dreams stared back at her.

She was still herself, but in the best way; she had no other words to describe it. Her skin was radiant and free of any tiny flaw, though her speckling of freckles remained. The long locks of dark hair that flowed down past her shoulders were busy rearranging themselves back into smooth braids; not a split-end or loose hair to be found. Her curved eyelashes feathered out like the fine hairs of a paintbrush. And the contours of her body had changed as well - her waist slightly tucked in, and the burgeoning curves above and below more defined.

"This is... I'm beautiful," she whispered in awe. She wiped away the dust to get a better look at herself. Only in her fantasies had she ever looked this way... So familiar, and yet so perfect.

"Aren't you? So gorgeous, but still yourself. Subtle, intricate magic. Of course, before you get carried away..." The witch held up a finger. "This effect does not last forever. You have 24 hours before it begins to fade; after that, it will be completely gone within minutes."

Dynamene frowned in disappointment, gently tugging at one of her braids. "I see..."

"You'll have to work quickly, then. Use all of your resources." The witch chuckled at a sudden thought. "A little womanly charm will work well to your advantage. Oh, to see the look on his face..."

Dynamene finally pulled her gaze away from the mirror. "Womanly charm?"

"Flatter him, kiss him, seduce him, anything goes. Surely your sisters taught you about the weakness of men?" The witch jeered. "Whatever you do, make sure you do it within the time limit. I don't offer refunds if you can't manage the success on your own."

Although the thought of batting her eyelashes at Poseidon made her cringe, Dynamene pursed her lips with a steadfast gaze. Whatever it takes, right? "I understand. With your spell, I won't fail. I... I'll think of something." Could I really seduce him, though? That's...

"Good, good." The witch opened a closet and threw a rumpled chiton at her. "Now, here's something to cover yourself up. Those flames are merciless against fabric."

Dynamene gasped as she realized that she was completely bare, quickly clutching the offered chiton to her front. At least the bracelet remained on her wrist, if nothing else.

"You're good to go now. And once the wedding date is set, do remember to drop me a line. I love networking." The witch said something unintelligible, and the mirror before Dynamene had its glass replaced with a swirling portal. "Chop, chop."

Dynamene clumsily tied the straps of the chiton and straightened herself out. Before she went through the portal, she looked back at the witch with her gleaming white eyes and hag-like grin. "Thank you for all you've done. I won't forget it."

"I know, dearest," the witch cooed, watching intently as Dynamene disappeared through. "I know."

---

The portal had sent her several feet before the surface of the water in a familiar backdrop. The colorful corals and schools of fish were a welcome sight, indeed, after her adventure. She was just off the beach of Poseidon's palace.

Grinning with newfound anticipation, she broke through the surface and let the sun shine on her face. Things will go my way now.

Too impatient to swim, she hoisted herself up on the water's edge and ran across the gently sloping waves. The palace gleamed brilliant white in the late afternoon sunlight, a magnificent sight she'd never thought she'd so long to see. Fish began to gather under the surface of her steps, keeping pace with her sprint. They realized who she was, and she heard their voices echo up from under the water. The Nereid has been found; Dynamene has returned!

She felt a familiar presence surfacing fast ahead in response to the voice of the sea creatures, and she sprinted faster. That presence could only belong to...

Then he was before her, outfit dripping with seawater, his blond hair almost white in the light. "Dynamene?" His ever-so-stoic face was finally made mobile with surprise.

"Poseidon!" Dynamene cried, her steps splashing in the shallow waves. "Poseidon!"

He stared at her in disbelief, barely lifting his arms in time to catch her as she threw herself against him. He was so strong, the force didn't budge him an inch, but he leaned back a bit so it didn't feel like she was colliding with a statue.

"I'm so glad to see you again," she cried, burying her face against his chest. "I... I'm so glad to see you! It's really you!" I didn't know if I would get to be this close to you again.

His hands gripped her against him for a moment, as if he'd momentarily lost the battle against his emotions, before he moved her back to look at her face. "Do you know the mayhem you've caused?"

Her heart sank as she took in the rage in his eyes. He was upset enough that there was a certain tension about his lips, almost pursed together. "I'm sorry, my lord. I have no excuse. I let my emotions get the better of me, and..." She hung her head guiltily. "I know I've caused all of you pain and worry. It won't happen again."

"Worry?" He scoffed. "Don't think so highly of yourself." But his grip on her shoulders fell away, and one of his arms moved to wrap around her shoulders. "You feel colder than usual. Are you hurt?"

"I feel cold?" Dynamene blushed. "No, I'm fine, really!" She remembered the witch's advice, and braced herself. "I... I was fine the moment I saw you again." She resisted the strong urge to cover her face with her trembling hands.

He unexpectedly took her waist in his firm hands and lifted her up. Dynamene gasped in surprise. "Poseidon?"

Poseidon stared up at her with a scrutinizing gaze. He looked her over from head to toe, searching for anything out of place. "Do not ever do something like that again. Are we clear?"

Dynamene was surprised her heartbeat wasn't roaring in her ears. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out; not even a squeak. Can he tell that something's changed?

"I'm glad we have an understanding." He set her down, keeping an arm about her shoulders. "There's no reason to keep standing out here. Come along; we should return to the palace."

Dynamene bit her lower lip in joy as they stepped onto the beach together. Her sisters, who had begun to clamor around in confusion, broke into screams when they saw her.

"Dynamene! Dynamene!" They rushed around the two of them as the foam swept about their feet.

"Take her to her room and tend to her," Poseidon said shortly, almost pushing her into the arms of her sisters. "I must go. Word must be sent to Nereus and Doris immediately."

Dynamene turned back desperately to look at him as he swept away. "My lord-!"

"We will speak later, Dynamene," he said with a tone of finality. Dynamene bit her lower lip in confusion before allowing her siblings to rush her away into the palace.

Once he was out of earshot, the scolding began. "How could you do such a thing, Dynamene?!" One familiar voice accused.

Dynamene jumped. "Actaea?"

Actaea pushed to the forefront of the throng, her face lined with indignation. "Running off like that! How could you?! Ianeira was beside herself with despair!"

"I'm sorry, I really am!" Dynamene pleaded. "I just-" She froze momentarily. I can't tell them about where I went or what I did. I'll have to pretend that I was just fuming around the ocean somewhere. "I needed space to clear my head and consider what she'd said."

"Ah, yes. You were eavesdropping and overheard her discussion with Mother, I understand." Actaea shook her head in disbelief as she pulled Dynamene into her room away from the others and closed the door. "Which, as I was told, is not the first time you've done such a thing. Silly girl. Why?"

"I was letting my feelings get ahead of me." The words slipped out easier than Dynamene would've guessed. "But I took my time to stew, and I feel a lot better. Ianeira was right about what she said."

"Said... About what?" Actaea prodded her on, crossing her arms impatiently.

"What she said about pursuing Poseidon. That it's a horrible idea. And I came to the realization that she was right." The bare lie came off her tongue like hot butter. "I don't want to end up like Adamas. And who wants to put up with Poseidon's icy demeanor for eternity?"

Actaea sighed, her tense shoulders relaxing just a titch. "Well... If anyone was going to get through to you, I suppose Ianeira would. The position of eldest has always suited her." Actaea pushed back a lock of Dynamene's hair with a curious look. "How did you keep your hair so smooth this whole time?"

Dynamene smiled coolly. "I found a comb in a shipwreck." Maybe I can get used to these lies.

Actaea shook her head again, this time in amazement. "Taking care of your hair, too? And I could've sworn you were shorter before. Has our youngest sister become a true woman overnight?" She teased Dynamene playfully.

Dynamene exhaled with silent relief. "At long last," she replied, shrugging casually.

---

The rest of her sisters at the palace took turns throughout the day alternatively yelling at and fussing over her. Actaea was the only one who had returned from home to join the search here. The rest of the sisters, along with their parents, given the situation, would be coming to Poseidon's palace as soon as they received word that Dynamene was there. Upon learning this, she couldn't help but squirm. It was one thing to deceive her sisters, but her parents would be an entirely different matter. Once the message had reached them, they would surely be on their way at once. Given the timeframe, she would only have until morning to get Poseidon to make a decision.

She preened nervously in front of her mirror. She was beautiful now, yes, but would it be enough? Maybe he'll finally see me as a woman, instead of his childish servant, she prayed. Poseidon hadn't come to speak with her since they'd reunited on the shore. Dynamene was growing impatient. Perhaps she should look for him herself.

A knock sounded on her door, and she jumped up in a haste to open it. Her sisters usually didn't knock; only Poseidon did.

"I hear you've had quite the day," he said stoically as soon as she opened the door.

"Yes, to say the least," she smiled tentatively. "I suppose I'll have even more lectures to hear once the rest of my family comes."

"Come with me." He began to walk back down the hall. "You're going to join me for dinner."

She gasped before she could stop herself. Had the magic had such an effect on him already?! Regathering her wits, she rushed after him. "Dinner? That's... unexpected."

He looked down at her. "Do you find fault with it? I thought it might give us some privacy to speak in confidence."

This really is a dream come true! Dynamene didn't even bother trying to hold back her bright grin. "Oh, of course not, my lord. I'm happy with whatever you decide."

Poseidon blinked for a moment, then faced forward once more. "As expected."

She rose one eyebrow. As enigmatic as ever, but what do I care? A meal with just us two is the opportunity I need. She closed her eyes for a moment. I hope I don't mess this up. With the spell on my side, hopefully everything will work out.

---

In Poseidon's sitting room, the small table was made up for two people. Dynamene took her seat across from him, wiping her sweaty palms on her peplos as subtly as she could.

The moonlight that entered from the open balcony across the way highlighted the angles and curves of Poseidon's muscular body, and she suppressed a sigh of longing. It was easy to see how the rest of the pantheon held him in such high regard, despite their fear. Her eyes trailed up his bare chest to his face. Such cold eyes underneath those long eyelashes... I want them to thaw for me. I'm so close. Who else but her could get so close to him this way? This side of Poseidon was one only she knew.

"Let's get the trivial matters out of the way first. Your parents are of no concern," he began bluntly. "I hold superiority over them. You will not leave this palace without my permission, so their feelings hold no weight."

Dynamene stared in shock. She hadn't expected him to lead off with something so... Then again, it was in character for him. "I see." It was strange to hear her parents, so respected by the rest of the gods, labelled as insignificant.

"My opinion is the only one that matters." He rested his cheek on one hand, examining her face. "But things have gone unsaid for long enough, and it's causing more trouble than I care for." His gaze sharpened. "Tell me, then, Dynamene. What is that you feel?"

Dynamene stiffened, her eyes wide like the moon. "What I feel?! Um..."

"I know why you fled your parents' palace. I know why they brought you there to begin with." His gaze slid to the side in annoyance. "It was a futile gesture. Clearly they failed to stop whatever it was that they found so reproachable."

Her hands began to shake again where they were folded in her lap. "Poseidon..." She felt detached from herself, as if she was watching from some place far away. "I want..." Don't forget the witch's words.

Dynamene mashed her lips for one brief moment before telling him what he expected to hear. "I want to be your consort."

It was as if time had stopped. His gaze snapped back to her. Was it just her imagination, or had his eyes grown wider? Perhaps he hadn't expected to hear this after all.

Strengthened by the hint of vulnerability, she pressed her point once more. "I want to be your consort, Poseidon. I... I want to stay by your side always. I don't care what my family wants. They only desire to drive us apart, anyway. I can't bear the thought of that. Please..."

His free hand on the table curled into a fist. His voice remained cool as he answered. "You wish to be my consort? Do you understand what you're asking?"

Dynamene felt her body growing weak under his stare. "Yes, I do. I... I have fallen in love with you." Her voice cracked as her lips trembled. "I love you. I don't want to be away from you ever again. I love you so much."

The air around them hung heavy with her raw confession, yet her body felt strangely lightened. I finally said what I needed to. At long last, I was able to tell him. I can't believe it. Her cheeks shimmered with hopeful tears. "Please consider it, my lord-"

The table cracked in half under Poseidon's fist, and she gasped in shock. The stone pieces fell to the ground with a loud boom. She looked up at his face, and for the first time since she'd met him, she truly felt terror.

His face was stone, his eyes devoid of all feeling except for rage. He stood slowly, his muscles rippling with the threat of his anger. "You sit there, you miserable bottom feeder, and tell me those words with such feigned sincerity. What a well-done act."

Dynamene's lips moved fast, but no sound came out.

"You enter my estate, clinging to my arm, reeking of foul magic. And now you sit, comfortable as can be, wearing her face, and telling me these lies. What a skilled seductress," sarcasm dripped from his words. Malice emanated from his body, and she clamored out of her chair.

"I... My lord, I don't know what you're talking about..." She squeaked.

He stalked towards her, and she rushed away to the other corner of the room, cowering. I don't understand! What did I do?!

"You have no pulse, you waste of false flesh," he hissed, grabbing her wrist roughly.

Tears fell hot and fast down her face as she pleaded with him, shaking. "I don't understand, I don't-"

Then it hit her. The deal she had made with the witch...

Something the size of a fist.

She took my heart.

The trident in its wall rack began to glow an angry blue, and Poseidon held out his hand. The trident was pulled by some unseen force into his grip, and he held it level with her chest with no hesitation.

"I'll ask once, then you can plead with the gatekeepers of Helheim," he said softly. There was no warmth from him, no recognition; only lethal intent. "Where is Dynamene?"

The silence ringing in her ears in place of her heartbeat made Dynamene's final moments all the more terrifying. "I am Dynamene! Poseidon, please-"

"Enough lies," he hissed. It was at that moment that Dynamene truly understood the terror Poseidon brought wherever he went. The hatred in his eyes... Was this what Adamas had seen in his final moments? Was this disbelief the same, the disbelief that he would hurt her after feigning care for so long?

She stared at him in anguish. I loved you.

The trident plunged into her chest.

---

Author’s Notes: Violence will continue a bit into the next chapter; I will give a warning then too so you know when to skip ahead.

Hush, hush, darling,

Hush, hush,

Don't tell me cause it hurts.

#record of ragnarok #poseidon #shuumatsu no valkyrie #poseidon x oc #fanfiction

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