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damn-stark · 6 months

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Chapter 26 Love in the Dark

Chapter 26 of Moonlight

A/N- Someone give her a hug!

Warning- Swearing, ANGST, talks of death, violence, blood and SPOILERS for future events of HOTD!!!!

Pairing- Cregan Stark x Velaryon!fem-reader, Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!fem-reader

Episode- After 1x09, events based off of Fire and Blood

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

————

You shouldn’t do it, but you have to. You can still see her engulfed by flames, you can hear her screams and cries that only appear in your nightmares. They didn’t go away when Aegon died.

But now though, you also see flashes of Jacaerys dying in your arms, you see Lucerys dying even if you never witnessed his death, you see Joffrey and Viserys. You see all of them flashing violently in your head. You see them all dying. They’re all dead, you’re alone because the people didn’t want your mother as Queen.

You’ll show them. Why shouldn’t you? Plus it’s the only way it’ll all go quiet, it’s the only way they’ll learn.

“<Astraea,” you sneer and clutch onto her horns tighter while you grow angrier. “Dracarys!>”

Without needing to repeat yourself, without hesitation, flames rain down in the heart of the city just past where the soldiers are fighting outside the castle gates. Bright and raging flames give light to the city as if it were a midnight sun. Screams fill the air, you can hear them from the top of your dragon. You can see people trying to run away from the incoming storm of fire, but you don’t care. You feel no remorse, and soon thereafter every sound but the sound of flames drowns out, finally, the silence that tormented your head goes silent.

Baela sees what you do from a distance, she’s horrified, but she does nothing to stop you. She can’t do anything but hear the chaos that ensues.

You don’t stop either, with tears of sorrow and anguish rushing down your cheeks you keep persisting and only avoid the places where your army would be fighting. The houses and the shops you’d pass on your way to the dragon pit or fly over back in the day all burn to rubble and ash. The people hiding and running all get crushed and burnt. The dragon pit was once filled with beautiful dragons but was then destroyed by people, and now it turns to more debris as Astraea bathes it in fire.

The city you’d admire from inside the castle, the city of stars that once gleamed like stars in your childhood, now glimmers with wild flames. And lastly, before you can burn away the entire damn city, you spot a building with Aegon’s banner over its wall so you bathe it in fire and finally bring yourself to a stop, leaving only parts of the city untouched.

But now to help the army take down the Green Army.

Nevertheless, as Astraea begins to make her way to the city gates, bells ring signifying the Green’s surrender and bringing the end to this battle on land and at sea. Now it’s time for you to ascend the throne.

Thus you nudge Astraea and she circles back to the Red Keep. Once you approach the courtyard outside the throne room, Astraea descends and lets you land on the ground before she ascends back to the sky. You wait for Baela, for soldiers to return to the Red Keep, for those people spared from your flames to be brought in, but first, you approach Aegon's banner on the outer wall and yank it off to signal his end.

“Take down every single Green banner you see,” you command the soldier guarding you. “Replace it with the black and red one with the four-legged dragon. I will use that one too from now on.”

“Right away, Your Grace!” He says and bows his head before he orders men to help.

“Y/N!”

You look at the doors and see your grandfather storming out.

“What did you do?” He demands to know with disbelief and slight frustration.

Your guards see him storming over though and block his way to you. He then looks at you to stop them but you keep him behind the wall of men.

“I spread fear,” you respond coldly. “The Green army surrendered because of what they saw. Now hopefully no one will dare challenge my reign.” You offer him a faint smile before you head inside to wait there.

Vanessa quickly finds you once you’re inside and embraces you quickly before she waves servants over carrying beautiful gowns.

“No,” you let her know. “They’re beautiful, and pieces I’ll wear, but when I ascend I’ll do so in my armor so they know I fought.”

Vanessa flashes you a smirk and nods. “Great then, let me just clean your face.”

Before she can do it though, Prince Namor finally makes his way to you. “Your Grace,” he greets and bows.

You approach him and offer him a smile. “Thank you,” you share softly. “Without you and your people, this wouldn’t have happened. Thank you for helping me take my mother's throne back.”

Prince Namor mirrors your smile. “You welcome, and great job out there. You were truly a force to be reckoned with, I am glad I chose to accept this alliance.”

Your smile threatens to widen, but before you do you grab his hands first and cup them with yours. “Don’t betray me.”

Prince Namor looks at you with disbelief and shakes his head. “Never,” he assures you before he leans in and presses a gentle kiss on your cheek. “We’re in this together.”

You sigh softly and nod. “Yes. We are.” You step back from him and catch Baela entering the corridor.

You had known she was okay, she had destroyed those Scorpions with Silverwing with ease, but seeing her unharmed across from you only makes your eyes fill with happy tears. You had feared losing more, so now that you see her you can’t help but stride over to her.

She seems upset by what you did, but she had lost a lot too during this war so she matches your pace and meets you halfway to embrace each other.

“It’s over,” you mewl.

Baela clutches onto you and nods. “Yes, it’s finally over.” She cries softly.

All the deaths, all the pain, and all the tragedy will have meaning.

“Now it’s time for you to sit on your throne,” Baela says as she pulls back and faces you. “We can talk later—”

“No,” you cut her off. “I did what I did. The battle ended because of it, and now everyone living here, and those across kingdoms will know not to betray me or any of my descendants again.”

Baela draws in a deep breath and looks like she wants to argue, you welcome it, but she just exhales and keeps quiet.

You then proceed to wait in the shadows for more people to fill the throne room. And once you hear the hall fill with enough commotion, you finally depart to the hall.

But first, Velaryon and Dornish guards march ahead and break the crowd apart to create a path for you. They hit the tip of their swords against the floor to create a booming beat to silence everyone and let them know you’re finally coming.

Before you walk into the throne room you're hesitant though, you fiddle with your armor, you fix your cloak, and sheath your sword, but pull it out again not knowing if you want to intimidate them or assure them. You hang your head low as you can’t help but think of who you lost to get here. You almost make your ascension seem like a burden you didn’t want, but then through the beating thumps, you hear Astraea share a loud and beautiful song that sends chills down your spine and fills you with pride.

The sadness leaves your body and you begin to stride with confidence, when you reach the doors you raise your chin and show off a small smirk. The crowd gathered inside begins to murmur and gasp as they see you, but they quickly fall silent as the guards that created a path raise their metal swords, letting you see a clear path to the Iron throne that awaits you.

You promised you’d get your mother on that throne, and you did help, but she didn’t rule long, you failed at keeping her safe and securing her reign. But now as you stride down the hall with each sword falling down one by one behind you, you swear to your brothers and your mother that you will reign long. You will build a better kingdom for them. You will keep your promise to your mother and keep these kingdoms united.

So if they’re all watching you now, all they need to know is that you’ll make them proud and that you can’t wait to see them all again.

Thus as you take that first step that leads to the throne you smile softly, Astraea appears through the hole she made earlier and startles the crowd, but it sends a message that you shouldn't be questioned.

“The Green tyranny is finally over!” You exclaim and turn to face the crowd. “The usurper is dead!” You add and pull out Blackfyre to point at Aegon's head with the tip.

And to your surprise the crowd of people cheer loudly, making you grow smug. “And none it would be possible without my allies, the Velaryon’s and Driftmark. Those who I bled with on the battle of Tumbleton, and,” you sigh and smirk. “Most importantly I would like to thank Dorne, without them I wouldn’t be standing here.”

Those who didn’t know about Dorne’s alliance gasped in shock and murmured amongst each other.

“Dorne joined our fight after I asked for help. They gave their lives for this throne, for us, and for a Queen they never knew. I will always be in their debt, and I will always be grateful for your alliance…and thank you for giving me hope once again.” You glance at Prince Namor and you offer each other soft smiles before you move on.

“The Seven Kingdoms is at last united. And together now we will move…towards peace, we have bled long enough and we have seen death too much. Yet even so, I won’t rest until every lord and lady who sided with the greens is mounted on a spike or turned to ash!” you exclaim, making all the soldiers cheer with excitement.

You then turn and walk to the throne, when you reach it you stop to face the crowd again. This time a high Septon approaches you with Aegon the Conqueror's crown made of dark metal and adorned with a red ruby at the center. You slowly sit down on the cold Iron Throne and stab Blackfyre on the ground between your legs.

As the Septon approaches he bows his head and then gently places the crown on your head. “My Queen,” he says as he bows again before he walks away.

Once he’s out of the way you look over at your grandfather and he’s the first to kneel, you glance at Baela and she follows, and then you drift your gaze to Prince Namor standing just below the throne and he offers you a bow, letting the rest of the Dornish soldiers to do the same. Lastly, you look at Alicent who you made stand at the front, and with tears in her eyes, she slowly kneels, making you smirk.

The crowd follows to kneel, but you don’t care about the others, so you look ahead and let out a small breath.

“All Hail Queen y/n of House Targaryen!” Your grandfather shouts. “First of her name! Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the realm!”

“Long live the Queen!” Baela cries.

“Long live the Queen!” Prince Namor follows.

Astraea walks in as much as she can and cries out in your support, filling the hall with her song and making the crowd inside begin to clap and chant the same thing.

“Long live the Queen!”

You did it. You hope your mother can see.

——

*2 MONTHS LATER*

Meetings and hearings are never-ending, ever since you became Queen people have talked your ear off. The halls have begun to once again become lively, but not with a sense of peace that roamed the halls when you were young, no, Lords who’ve come to swear fealty to their new Queen fill the halls. The Riverland army has finally arrived at King's landing, all of whom come from fighting battles and searching for more, but instead, they find Aegon the Second’s rotting head on a spike over the castle gates so the throne room wouldn’t smell.

There are seizures of traitors within King’s Landing, like Lord Larys who was arrested and in chains in the dungeons for treason and awaiting their sentence.

There are arguments from your council who refuse to listen to you. Even with Prince Namor at your side, even with a crown on your head and a dragon at your side when you’re on the throne the mighty council refuses to listen to you. And you know it’s because you’re a woman. The only ones who’ve been in your defense are the Riverland Lords and Ladies who you have fought alongside, Alyn Velaryon, and that’s it. Baela has agreed with you in some cases but she argues against your choices a lot now.

“It’s not wise,” Baela argues against a debate over a certain Westerlands Lady. “The war is over, there’s no need to put her to the sword.”

You sigh and shake your head. “She ruled in her late husband's stead,” you argue with fury. “She helped Lord Tyland hide the crown's treasury, she is a traitor by all accounts. It does not matter if she agrees to bend the knee. She is still a traitor to the realm, and traitors must meet their ends so the people can know what happens.”

“And didn’t you show them already what happens?” Your grandfather retorts. “By laying waste to half of King’s Landing? Is that not enough?”

You narrow your gaze on him and lean forward, creating tension in the room. “No,” you quip. “Especially not if she’s asking for conditions to return the coin that belongs to this crown and the people that remain here.”

“The Queen is right,” Lord Blackwood backs you up. “She had the chance to turn her army against the Greens when her husband died, but she chose to remain loyal to Aegon. She chose her fate now we must deliver it.”

Your grandfather is about to interject, but then the door opens and a guard comes to whisper in your ear. “Lord Stark and his army are approaching the city walls.”

You nod in comprehension, letting the man pull back and walk away. “Our meeting will conclude for now,” you cut in. “Lord Stark approaches, let's welcome the Warden of the North.” You push yourself up and walk out, followed by Prince Namor and your Queensguard.

When you arrive in the throne room you put the crown on your head, hold Blackfyre in one hand, and feel your heart begin to race the fastest you’ve felt it beat in months. It’s such an odd feeling after only feeling some empty husk, but you put on a nonchalant face in your wait.

However, from the perspective of others you don’t look nonchalant at all, there’s an anger in your eyes that has been present since you sat on the throne with a crown on your head for the first time. There’s a coldness in your eyes that’s like the winter's bitter air when your eyes fall on someone.

The Realms Golden Girl no longer reflects in your eyes, now in the two months since you’ve been Queen, you’ve been unforgiving. Loveless. So much so that whispers say that you're ‘The Realm’s Heartless Queen’.

For so long people of this realm have tried to prevent a second Maegor, but in their refusal to have your mother as Queen, it seems that she was no Maegor with teets, instead, it was you.

You would’ve been angered and saddened by such names before, but now you relish in their fear and adapt to such names. Thus when the doors open and you finally meet the Grey eyes of Cregan Stark, you don’t smile, you stay nonchalant and sit up straighter.

“Lord Cregan of House Stark,” the guard announces before he directs his introduction to you. “You stand in the presence of Queen Y/N of House Targaryen. First of her Name, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the realm! And her betrothed, and future Prince Consort, Prince Namor of House Martell.”

You lift your chin, and Cregan’s eyes widen slightly as he finally sees with his own eyes what people have whispered in his ear, you as Queen. He swallows back thickly as he walks to you and sees the Conqueror's crown on your head, and the Conqueror's sword in your hand. When he reaches the line of guards protecting the path to you, he exhales as he falls under your gaze before he kneels.

“I Lord Cregan Stark, Lord of Winterfell, and Warden of the North, promise to be faithful to you, my Queen. I pledge fealty to you and shall defend you against all enemies in good faith and without deceit. I swear this by the Old Gods and the New,” he declares and lifts his eyes to meet your gaze.

You swallow back nervously and quietly exhale with sudden relief. It’s so unexpected, but the moment you meet his grey eyes you can’t help but feel comfort. You feel…safe for the first time in a long time.

Yet you don’t express it, your demeanor doesn’t change, and your voice expresses the same coldness people think so bitter. “Lord Stark, welcome to King’s Landing, and thank you for your loyalty.”

Said man pushes himself up and raises his head high and with pride. “There’s no need to thank me, the North remembers,” he proclaims. “We made a promise to fight for Queen Rhaenyra, against the usurper and his people. That is what we came here to do.”

You clench your jaw and grip onto your sword's handle.

“You came too late, my Lord,” Baela tells him as she stands behind the line of Queensguard. “For the war is done, and the usurper is dead.”

“All no thanks to you,” you quip at Cregan. “We waited, Jacaerys waited, my mother waited, so while you played in your snow, the sun,” you refer to Dorne. “Came out of the shadows and danced. We, with the help of Driftmark, burned away the enemies and sunk their ships. The Riverland army helped destroy the traitors that nested in Tumbleton and stopped Prince Daeron’s army from marching here, so tell me Lord Stark, what good is your word truly?” You sneer and pierce your glare deeper within him.

Cregan’s eyebrows slowly furrow, and his disbelief grows as he hears you speak, as he sees the coldness in your eyes that don’t flicker that glimmer he always saw in your eyes before.

“With winter in our midst we had harvest to store,” Cregan argues. “Unfortunately our winters are more unforgiving in the North than they are in the South. I had to help my people, Your Grace. So for that, I won’t apologize. Besides,” he adds as he begins to match that bitterness behind your tone. “It seems to me that the rats still play in the corners, and snakes still live comfortably in their stone castles.”

You hum, and Prince Namor breaks his silence in your defense. “They won’t live long, these are all matters that are being discussed currently within our council.”

Cregan hums and smugly rebuttals. “Is it really a council if you let your Queen's traitors live? Others started this war, but I intend to finish it for my promise to Prince Jacaerys, late Queen Rhaenyra, and for you,” he says and catches you off guard. “My Queen.”

Your breath catches softly, so it’s a good thing you sit so far from the others standing below you, or else they would’ve heard how flustered you got after hearing him say that.

“Very well,” you interject and stand up. “You may prove your worth later than in our council meeting. As of now,” you sigh and clasp your hands together. “You must be tired of your journey. Rest, bath, eat, enjoy the sights in the city, and let it sink in what happens to traitors.” You smirk and step down the steps, making the guards depart to leave you a path towards Cregan.

Once you’re before him though, when you look in his grey eyes all you can see is Jacaerys and how much Cregan failed him, you see her again and the way he failed her too.

Blaming him isn’t justifiable but you can’t help it, you’re still so angry and all you can do is blame him.

“Welcome to King’s Landing,” you greet coldly and walk away with your group of people trailing behind you. Making it impossible for him to follow like he would before.

You tried to keep it that way. You thought of every possible way he could try and reach you and avoided it, you make sure to keep yourself busy so if he asks for a private audience they’ll tell him that you can’t. You even try pushing him away from your mind, but no matter what you’re doing or where you are all you can think about is Cregan, how angry you are, and how happy you are to see him again.

You want to hug him, push him, and yell at him. You want him…to see Daenerys. Your child with his deep grey eyes. But you can’t see him without thinking of your mother.

Why couldn’t he be there?

Why do you still see her dying? Why can’t those stupid nightmares, and memory flashes go away?

You want to burn every kingdom to ash for it. Maybe that’ll help?

No. It can’t help. You can’t think that way anymore because then what kingdoms would protect everyone from the threat in the North? And you made her a promise. You can’t fail that one too.

——

*LATER*

There’s so much senseless arguing. All these men just go back and forth about the same thing, who’s cock is the biggest.

One wants to avoid more bloodshed and have peace, the other wants to kill everything. Neither one agrees, yet what most men do agree with is your brother Aegon being your heir.

It can’t be Aerion or the twins because they’re Aemond’s kids, they don’t want the war to repeat, so it’s best if Aerion stays as heir to Driftmark so he can change his name to Velaryon instead. And the girls will just get passed.

You’d be upset, but you made a promise to Dorne, they want their heir so you’re going to give it to them. Yet your council wants Aegon as heir now as if you’re going to die tomorrow. It’s so frustrating in more ways than one.

“I said we can talk about it later,” you cut in sharply. “We’ve drifted from our priority and that is what to do with Johanna Lannister,” you remind them. “She became lady after her husband died, she still hung up Aegon's banner after his death, for that she should meet her fate.”

“And send her children on a revenge rampage?” Your grandfather argues. “She has accepted our terms—”

“On a condition that the crown grants Ser Tyland a pardon,” Lady Alysanne Blackwood, the aunt of Bloody Ben, blurts.

“And she’ll send her daughters to the castle to be the Queen's companions.” Your grandfather cuts in, making you clench your fists.

“And why should I have the daughters of traitors as my companions?” You argue. “So they can stab me in the back or slit my throat while I sleep? Worse, so they can harm my children?”

“And killing their mother will bring resolve?”

You nod. “It shall. They’ll know the consequences of betraying the named heir and rightful ruler.”

“The Queen is right,” Cregan pitches in on your defense. "Why should traitors get to rule after betraying their Queen and their kingdom? We need to strike them all down and teach them a lesson.”

“Let the quarrel die with them,” Baela argues back with more force. “You speak of taking Storm's End, Oldtown, and Casterly Rock, but the men who held those seats were slain in battle, everyone. Small boys and suckling babes sit in their places now, no threat to us. We granted them honorable terms, and they are willing to bend the knee."

“Small boys become large men in time," Cregan counters, "And a babe sucks down his mother's hate with his mother's milk. Finish these foes now, or those of us not in our graves in twenty years will rue our folly when those babes strap on their father's swords and come seeking vengeance."

For the first time since you entered the hall, you finally look at him. You couldn’t do that before, not even when you walked in and saw him stand up out of respect. You could feel his stare but you avoided eye contact. But now? You meet his grey eyes, feel your heart skip a beat, and the corner of your lips tug a pleased smile.

He doesn’t mirror your gesture though, he’s in public, and he has a reputation to hold, so he just holds your gaze before he looks back at your grandfather to shoot daggers at him.

"King Aegon said the same and died for it,” your grandfather tries to prove a point. “Had he heeded our counsel and offered peace and pardon to his foes, he might be sitting with us here today."

You scoff and rebuttal. “Aegon died because he was a usurper and a traitorous cunt. No matter what he did we would’ve killed him. No one liked him, they only liked the idea of having someone with a cock and balls on the fucking throne. But what good did that do?” You spat. “Why do you insist on peace and pacts?” You then question, catching your grandfather off guard. “The moment the lords turned their banners against my mother they asked for death, why shouldn’t we grant them the pleasure of dying?”

“But then what can we expect from the Sea Snake,” Cregan cuts in. "Small wonder you are called the Sea Snake. You may slither this way and that way but, oh, your fangs are venomous. Aegon was an oathbreaker, a kinslayer, and a usurper, yet still a king. The Lords and Ladies that followed are oathbreakers and traitors, as are you. The moment Aegon asked, you turned your cloak against the Blacks for your personal gain, it’s no wonder you think the others should go without consequence. Perhaps you shall answer for it as well."

Baela snaps her gaze to you, and you meet her gaze and don’t reassure her, instead you exhale and wait, as if debating whether to let Cregan fill these Lord's heads with inspiration and folly to get what you want. But he is also your grandfather and he did help you ascend the throne, he lived in the best way he could, so you can’t blame him too.

“No,” you defend him. “Lord Corlys did what he could to survive after my mother's death. I understand because I did that too.”

Baela sighs with relief, and your grandfather's shoulders untense.

“Yet I can't continue to rule and not have the traitors pay for their crimes, for that Lord Stark is right.” You finally try to find some resolve to this pointless arguing, while still filling your own thirst for revenge. “As of now, I want Johanna Lannister brought to me…” you sigh. “Lady Elenda Baratheon shall bring her newborn son and we will make him the ward of Lord Tully as I had discussed with him before. He can return to Storm's End when he’s of age to take his father's seat and only then. I’ll give them two weeks time, if they don’t send back a Raven I’ll take that as their answer and meet them with Astraea, and an army.” You declare and look back at your maester.

The old man nods and walks off right away to write and send your offers, letting you then think about what you had to command. You would have hated to be separated from your newborn children, you killed to defend your twins, but you can’t harbor any sympathy for a House that betrayed your mother. No matter what happened they still must pay.

“What of Lord Lynol Hightower?” Lord Blackwood asks.

“He has part of the crown's gold as well,” you say. “And he is willing to return it and bend the knee. He can come and I will decide what to do with him there,” you clarify and sit back.

The room doesn’t argue, you’re glad they don’t, but there’s still another matter to discuss. That being your little brother Aegon. “Now back to your chosen heir,” your grandfather brings up again.

You sigh deeply and rub your eyes.

“That matter is settled,” Baela argues for you. “Her first child with Prince Namor shall be her heir.”

Cregan’s gaze falls on you the moment after that’s said; he had known since the moment he heard of Dorne allying with the crown that you’d have to marry someone not of your choosing, but it didn’t sound. It still doesn’t feel real.

“But—”

“No,” you cut off the other Lord. “My first child with Prince Namor will be the heir. He will bear the Targaryen name as we agreed upon with Dorne. Do you want to speak of breaking oaths?”

The room stays quiet as breaking that oath means war, so the matter finally gets resolved. Thankfully.

“Now,” you add with exhaustion. “Take Lord Larys Strong and the others to the yard for their execution. Unless any of you want to defend their disloyalty then I recommend you let it be or I will use Blackfyre on you too. They’ve lived long enough.”

With that said you stand up and walk away with one other thing on your mind. Your mother. She’s on your mind again and the conversation of Aegon had brought her back like nasty vomit. You want to forget it and swallow it back to feel at ease again, but you feel it in your throat.

Perhaps the execution of the traitors will help ease your discomfort and help you forget.

But then there he is, the other problem occupying your mind, Cregan Stark.

The moment you walk out to the courtyard his grey eyes never leave your face, he watches you carefully even as the maester prays for the doomed. He reads you through the rain that pours over the yard like no one else and sees the grief you still hold, the agony you feel, and the anger that mixes with it. He sees it all without even having to speak to you, without being so close. Even with so much distance keeping you apart, he sees right through you.

When the maester finally finishes his prayer, Cregan walks over to you, making you stiffen and glance nervously at Baela. She doesn’t know about your affair, about how hard your heart is beating, so she just glances at the prisoners to speechlessly encourage you.

Maybe you should grab Prince Namor's hand? He’d think it’s weird, but it would help get Cregan away.

But you’re a Queen now, you have to act normal, behave. So instead you unsheath Blackfyre and walk over to the traitorous men.

“My Queen,” Cregan interjects as he steps before you and blocks your path, “it should be me who should swing the sword for you. You shouldn’t have to carry out such a sentence.”

You face him through the rain that practically bathes you since you refused a cover, and argue. “No, I will do it. I have swung the sword more than once, and it is you who said the person who passes the sentence must also wield the sword. Yes?”

Cregan blinks in disbelief and his lips pull to a slight smirk before he steps aside to let you pass. When you reach the damned men, you point to a man they call Ser Perkin. “You first,” you sneer.

The guards drag him out to the middle of the platform and yank him to his knees.

“Now,” you add hesitantly. “Any last words?”

The man looks up at you to meet your burning glare, and then glances at the lord beside you with a piercing icy glare and drops his head to mutter. “I wish to take the black.”

Seven hells.

You groan and lower your sword because unfortunately when they ask to take the black, it’s something that must be done. Especially with the lord of the North here who holds the Night's watch in high regard.

“To his feet then,” you seethe through gritted teeth.

The guards yank him up and as soon as they do the other prisoners shout to be granted the same punishment—or mercy since they get to live. All except two. Ser Gyles Belgrave, and Lord Larys Strong.

“Any last words? Or do you wish to take black as well?” You ask the knight.

The knight looks up at you and shakes his head. “No. Lord Stark was right, a knight of the Kingsguard should not outlive his king."

You scoff with amusement and place yourself at his side to lift Blackfyre before you swing down and cut his head clean off. Now the only one that’s left is Lord Larys Strong.

“I told you,” you snap at him as you stride to him. “Snakes don’t bear well in the Winter.” You sheath your sword and smirk. “Do you wish to take the black Lord Larys?”

Said man looks at you confused as to why you put your sword away, but he still answers. “No, your grace I'll be going to a warmer hell if it please you...but I do have one last request. When I am dead, hack off my clubfoot with that great sword of yours. I have dragged it with me all through life, let me be free of it in death at least."

You sigh and think about it before you look at Cregan and give him a signaling nod.

He doesn’t need to be told twice, he knows your plan, so he approaches the man with his great and ancient sword, Ice.

“Your request will be granted before death, I have another method for your sentence, Lord Strong,” you let him know and smirk as a loud screech rips through the sky before Astraea descends from the clouds.

The crowd that surrounds the yard steps back out of fear as your dragon gets closer, leaving only Baela, and those who didn’t fear the dragon in their same spot. Cregan also knew Astraea, a lot better than most as he would ride her with you, he’d caress her snout when you lived in the North, so he stays by Lord Larys and swings his mighty sword down to take the club foot off.

Since it was a fake he didn’t scream or complain, he just looked at the dragon in fear as she landed right by your side.

“You don’t deserve the mercy of a quick death,” you tell Lord Larys while Cregan makes his way back to your side. “I’ll see you in hell Lord Strong. Dracarys.”

Astraea draws in a deep breath before she opens her mighty jaw and blasts out fire and bathes the man in her flames.

Yet perhaps your sentence was a mistake because the moment the fire begins to melt away the flesh from his bones he begins to scream out to the stormy sky, and you remember her.

You see her in the flames clear as day, as if you are back there again. As if she was here. You hear the screams that she lets out in your nightmares. You try to forget, remind yourself that it’s all over, that he’s gone and she is too. But as you watch Astraea eat Lord Larys, the memory flashes in your head again and you can’t help but begin to cry while you clench your fist so hard that your palms begin to bleed.

You even step forward as if trying to stop what’s going on. “Mother,” you whisper, but then a hand grabs your shoulder, causing you to jump so badly that you step back and grab the person by your side. When you look over at who grabbed you, you see Prince Namor. His brown eyes look at you with worry and once again you realize it’s all over.

Yet you still glance over and hope she’s there, but all you see is a circle of ash.

“Are you okay?” You recognize Cregan ask. And when you look at your side you see that it’s him you’re holding onto.

“I,” you mutter and clear your throat. “Yes.” You let him go and storm away. You walk and walk with tears in your eyes asking why it can’t all go away. Why does it still plague you so? Why did she have to die?

You find the roofs where you would hide away with Aemond, and keep torturing your mind with the same questions and the same memories over and over again without stop.

There comes a point where you can hardly breathe, where you can’t hear a thing besides your mind. And you can’t bring yourself to calm down, no matter how small you try to curl yourself into a ball, it keeps dragging on for hours.

There comes a point where you can breathe normally again, but the nightmares and flashes still torment you. It doesn’t stop until to your surprise Prince Namor finds you. He sits beside you and doesn’t speak, he sits in silence with you.

He doesn’t speak until the clouds clear from the sky and the stars shine above. “I lost my mother too when I was six. She…drowned in front of me and I couldn’t save her.”

You lift your head and look at him with pity.

“I know, I was just a child,” he adds what you were thinking. “But I still blamed myself. I still hated myself. And it would only get worse when I would have nightmares when I would see her in flashes at the smallest thing that reminded me of her or that moment…” he trails off and exhales deeply as he looks up at the stars.

“I know,” he continues softly. “It’s not the same, but when I saw you in the yard when I heard you call out for her, I knew what that longing and agony felt like. I never forget, even now that I’ve moved on.”

You sniffle and look at Prince Namor. “How did you move on?” You ask quietly. “No matter what I try and continue to see her. I have nightmares, I hear her in my mind. I want it to stop.”

Prince Namor looks down and meets your gaze. “You will never forget. The pain will go away, the nightmares will be forgotten, but you will never forget. But…” he sighs and offers you a kind smile. “What helped me move on was having a funeral for her. I…couldn’t bring myself to go to my mother's, so after a while, I had one myself.”

What remains of her is here, put away somewhere. They made sure to bring it along when you returned to King’s Landing. So you should at least thank them for that.

“Burn her pyre,” he adds. “And let her join the stars.”

Your lips tremble and you drop your head. “I..don’t want her to go yet,” your voice breaks.

“You have to let her go,” he says softly. “It will be okay. I swear. I’ll be there, your cousin will be there. It will all be okay.”

——

*A COUPLE DAYS LATER*

“Aerion, leave that rock alone,” you try to scold your child. “Don’t put it in your mouth.”

Aerion has grown quite an attitude so he throws the rock down and looks at you with a pout.

Vanessa laughs and you try not to, but you can’t help but smile. Albeit he then throws himself back and you only barely manage to catch him.

“Oh, throwing tantrums now are we?” You ask the boy. “Hm. Why don’t you behave, Jaehaera is laughing at you.”

You glance over at the little girl and she covers her mouth as she continues to giggle.

You pull Aerion back up to his feet with one hand since you have Daenys on your lap, and watch your son begin to walk to your brother Aegon as he plays with his toys. Aerion then crouches and picks up a toy only to offer it to your brother. You smile and ignore the approaching footsteps until Vanessa clears her throat and tabs your hand.

You glance at her and see her looking to the side before she quickly stands up. You follow her line of gaze and see Cregan.

Seven hells! Fuck.

You’ve been avoiding him well for the past couple of days. Fuck!

“Your Grace,” he greets as he approaches your Queensguard blocking you from him.

Damn.

You stand up with your child in your arms and offer him a very small smile. “Lord Stark. It’s nice to see you. It’s okay, Ser Rodrick,” you tell your Knight. “You may stand aside.”

Said man nods and does as you say along with the others, leaving Cregan an open path. Yet he keeps his distance and bows his head.

“It’s an honor to finally be able to speak with you. It seems no matter how much I try I never can find you alone.” He says.

You scoff softly. “Well, my duties keep me busy now. I no longer am a ward.” You feign a laugh and give him this one time. This one chance.

You’re going to marry someone else after all. You need this.

“Dyana, take Aegon and Jaehaera back inside. Vanessa can stay here with me as I speak to Lord Stark.” You command, and watch the girl do just that before you glance at your Queensguard. And with only a simple look they walk away leaving you alone with Cregan.

“My old friend,” Cregan greets a lot more comfortably.

You scoff. “You’re older than me. Lord Stark.”

You’re angry at him but you don't show it here in front of the kids, instead, you smile and lift your baby. “Cregan, meet one of my twins, Daenys.” You introduce her.

Cregan looks at your child and tries to grab her hand but she turns away and hugs you instead.

“She’s just shy,” you let him know. “And a little grouchy.”

Daenys holds you tighter, making you giggle before you pull her back and hand her to Vanessa so you can walk over and bring Aerion over.

Cregan follows you and crouches down when you have your son at your side.

“This is my firstborn,” you say and caress Aerion’s head. “Aerion. Now my boy, why don’t you say hello.”

Aerion blinks and reaches down to grab a rock instead.

“How sweet,“ you mumble.

Aerion pulls his hand away from you to pick up the rock so you stand up and walk back to Vanessa to lastly take Daenerys.

“And this,” you say with pride. “This is Daenerys.” You turn and face Cregan as he now stands by you.

He doesn’t seem to notice her eyes at first, but he still offers her a gentle smile and a soft greeting. “Hello, little one. You look like your mother.”

Daenerys smiles at him and then reaches over to try and grab his Direwolf pin.

Cregan grins and pulls it off so she can touch it.

“Just be careful,” you warn him.

“I know,” Cregan assures you as he lets Daenerys feel the cold pin. When she tries to snatch it away he pulls back gently, making her look at him and meet his eyes.

And it's at that moment that he finally notices the difference; the other two had blue eyes like Aemond, but Daenerys’s eyes aren't blue, nor were they like yours, or those of your Velaryon family, Daenerys bore grey eyes like him.

Yet it's the familiarity of her eyes that makes his smile fade and causes your heart to skip a beat.

He stays quiet for a moment and just watches her, he thinks for a moment before he pulls his pin away and looks at you with a perplexed gaze. You smile and give him the answer to the question he doesn’t ask out loud. Cregan gasps softly and points at Daenys with his eyes, but you grab his arm to make him look at you.

And when he meets your gaze you shake your head. His eyebrows furrow, but you just sigh and caress Daenerys head. “So odd isn’t it?” You ask. “One twin with blue eyes. And the other with grey eyes.”

Cregan scoffs. “Truly I've never seen it before.” He says back and puts his pin away to look back at Daenerys with a smile. “May I?” He asks.

You nod. “Of course.” You hand him Daenerys, and she happily lets him hold her so she can continue to fiddle with the pin.

“I’ll have them make you one,” he tells the girl with excitement. “But in a pendant so you don’t poke yourself. Would you like that?”

He didn’t doubt you, or question you, he didn’t shun Daenerys, he seemed to be in awe of her right away.

Then again you once dreamed of having children together.

“She’s quite a happy baby,” you mention. “She smiles a lot. So it’s safe to say that she did not get that from her father.”

Cregan looks at you and stares at you for a moment before he chuckles. “Well, it’s good she got it from you then.”

You smile and watch him interact with Daenerys and you can’t help but think that this could’ve been your life with him. A good life with your children in Winterfell…

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Cregan says and makes you snap your eyes at him. “Why? Is your betrothed jealous?”

You scoff and take Daenerys from him. Daenerys then grabs your face before she pulls your hair and laughs.

“Aw well, aren't you a sweetheart?” You ask rhetorically and hand her to Vanessa before you look at Cregan. “Walk with me?”

“I can’t refuse a Queen now can I?” He says and follows you at your side as you begin to walk through the garden.

You smile and shake your head. “No, you cannot. It’s madness, isn’t it? Me being Queen.” You scoff softly and glance at the ground. “I never thought it would be a possibility.”

“Nor I, if I have to admit,” he says and glances at you. “Being Queen suits you though. You make a good Queen, a beautiful one at that.”

You shake your head. “You can’t say that to me,” you scold him softly.

“You aren't married yet, so I actually can. I actually can challenge your betrothed to a duel and I can take you back to Winterfell.”

You look at him and shoot him a pointed glare. “I’m a queen. I have my duties here. I can't just go back to Winterfell and be your Lady. Not after what happened, it can’t all be for nothing.”

“You killed Aegon, it won’t be for nothing, you’re allowed to live your life however you want now,” he argues. “You’re allowed to be happy, to give your children happy lives. And…Daenerys.”

“Daenerys is a Targaryen,” you correct him. “She will always be a Targaryen.”

Cregan stays quiet for a moment before he mutters. “She can still have a life in Winterfell.”

You shrug. “Perhaps, but not in the way you dream of. What you want can’t come true anymore,” you share the harsh truth and finally let out what has been trapped in your throat. “I can’t be your wife or your lady, I can’t be with you. You sealed that fate when you didn’t come. You were supposed to be there. My mother…”

“You know I tried to make it here to help,” he says and tries to comfort you by grabbing your shoulder, but you pull away. “But I have my people to help, I couldn’t abandon them.”

“You didn’t have to!” You argue. “You could've left someone there in your stead, and you could have helped her. You could have prevented her death, now…” you mewl as you’re on the verge of tears. “Every name day that passes, every year I get older I will see him killing her right in front of me,” you pause and begin to cry. “I will remember her body turning to ash, her turning to nothing, her dreams and her hopes burning away. I will remember that my brother won’t know her kindness, my own children will never know how sweet she was. I’ll never see her again. None of them.” You sniffle and stop to wipe away your tears.

Cregan stops walking and faces you with pity. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “Trust me there will never be a day where I don’t regret it. But do you really think your mother would’ve wanted you to marry someone you didn’t love? Have a life you hated?”

You scoff. “It doesn’t matter,” you grimace. “She’s dead. She’s gone! And the girl you loved died that day with her. So yes Lord Stark I will marry a man I don't love, I will live a life I will always hate. I have to.” You face him and sob. “I’m sorry we could never have a chance at a happy life. I’m sorry there are oceans keeping us apart now. I really did want some life with you, but the gods are cruel and we have to live our lives apart now.”

Cregan swallows thickly and rather than getting upset he closes the gap left between you and wraps you in an embrace.

You hesitate but you return the embrace, you dig your head in his chest one last time and let yourself have this one last time before never again.

A/N- A couple more chapters until it’s over!

Tagged- @namelesslosers @stargaryenx @chainsawsangel @lauftivy @winxschester @cloudroomblog @llarue @padsdarlg @sofietargaryen @gracielikegrapes @dreaming-of-the-reality @itzelpeyton @patdsinner33 @mrsdominickstark @elaena-aerrin @todoroki-slut @snh96 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @nifujiswhore @sweethoneyblossom1 @kaetastic

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demoneyecandy · 11 months

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When the Rain Washes You Clean, You'll Know - Pt 1

I’m joining the hallowed fanfic tradition of using song lyrics for titles. Cross-posted to my AO3

Work: When the Rain Washes You Clean, You'll Know WC: 4.3k Relationship: Satan x Reader, Satan x MC AFAB reader, she/her pronouns and some gendered terms for reader Warning: Explicit, Minor Hurt/Comfort

Description: M/C is having some family issues. Who could understand better than Satan? And if he can take advantage of the opportunity to be with the person he's been pining for, and ruin his brother's day? Even better.

All of this had started when Satan had found her sulking in the library, looking out the window at the rain with a pillow clutched to her chest. She’d made the mistake of not answering with more than a shrug when he’d asked what was wrong – she couldn’t help it, his eyes were just so earnest and he seemed so concerned, lying felt wrong but she wasn’t in the mood to talk about it. Not quite sure why she drew the line at lying to a literal demon, but there it was. She’d thought maybe she’d averted one of the brothers’ standard over the top reactions when Satan left the library, only for him to return shortly with her rain jacket, boots, purse, and his own cartoon cat-covered umbrella. She recognized it as the one she had given him for his last birthday and her heart did skip a little, realizing that he actually used it.

“Satan, this really isn’t necessary” the human had tried to reassure him when he knelt down at her feet to trade her slippers for rain boots.

“Well, I say that it is” he replied in a flat tone, leaving no room for argument.

M/C sighed, resigning herself to whatever he had planned for their day. Grabbing her DDD, she sent off a text to Lucifer letting him know that Satan was taking her out. The last time she had let Satan whisk her away for an impromptu day trip he’d also pocketed her phone to ‘live in the moment’, but when she came back home to the other brothers forming a search party (complete with a full-on dossier including her last known whereabouts), she realized from his smug little grin that he was just messing with Lucifer. He’d had his ‘M/C Privileges’ revoked for two weeks, causing a meltdown of epic proportions.

After he’d guided her arms through the raincoat she rose to her feet and took her purse from the demon. He sent a sly grin her way, flipping the hood over her head playfully. Making an annoyed noise, she flipped it back to see Satan’s elbow out and ready for her to loop her own arm through. With that, she let her demon lead her out through the House of Lamentation and into a stormy Devildom afternoon.

Thirty minutes later they were drying off in a cat café that M/C was 80% certain had been founded for the sole purpose of getting in the fourth-born’s good graces. It totally worked. She cupped her hot chocolate between her sweater-covered hands and took joy in the presence of a little tortoiseshell cat curled up on her lap. The human knew better than to think Satan was going to let what he saw earlier go, but he knew better than to force her… yet. He seemed happy enough with that approach, holding his mug of tea in one hand and using the other to lavish affection on a lucky gray kitten that had hopped up onto the table. She laughed internally at the sight, knowing she was going to have to make sure that cat didn’t get smuggled home in her purse. They each basked in the experience of each other’s company, mostly in silence, until the café closed a few hours later.

It was on their walk home (after M/C caught Satan trying to smuggle no less than three kittens in his jacket) that the demon made his move.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

She sighed. “Not really, but I don’t think you’re going to drop it”.

He turned to her and beamed, “Nope, not at all”.

“Fine. You know I don’t really have the best relationship with my Dad. He forgot my birthday again and still hasn’t said anything”.

Satan stopped in his tracks. “Wasn’t your birthday two weeks ago? Wait- again?”

“Yep, third time in a row” she kept walking, wanting to get out of the rain (and away from this conversation) sooner than later. Satan caught up with no difficulty.

“I thought my father was a dick, but that’s just plain rude”.

“Don’t you just prefer to call Lucifer your brother?”

“He’s my brother or my father depending on which is funnier at the time” he smirked.

She couldn’t help but burst out laughing. “Fair enough”.

They walked in silence for another few minutes, side by side, their hands occasionally touching.

“So” Satan began, “want me to have a chat with him?”

She laid a hand on his shoulder and spun him to face her. The human looked up into his cat-like eyes, somehow summoning some sense of authority into her voice despite the full foot he had on her height-wise. “Satan, I cannot be more clear. You do not have my permission to torture my Dad. He’s a shit dad, but not bad enough to warrant intervention by demons, especially you”.

Satan glanced down at you proudly. “That just sounds like you’re acknowledging that I’m the best at what I do”.

She gave him an unimpressed look, not letting him derail her train of thought with his stupid, cute face. He pouted, folding his arms and making a noise. “Fine, but only because you’re cute when you’re serious”.

At his teasing M/C’s face turned bright red and she sped off towards their home, as though putting space between them physically would do anything to prevent him from realizing how flustered she was. She heard his laugh behind her and her heart beat even faster at the sound. She was so busy trying to somehow fast-walk away from her own feelings that she didn’t notice the crack in the pavement up ahead. The same crack that she successfully avoided daily on their walks to and from school, every weekday for who knows how long, but that she wasn’t able to successfully avoid this time. One second M/C was scooting through the rain and away from the demon that occupied her daydreams, the next she was face-first on the ground and that demon was by her side, checking her over for any injuries.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his face suddenly serious.

She couldn’t do anything but laugh at her own mistake, surprising Satan. His confusion morphed into a fond smile as he realized she really was okay, and he joined in. The human shrieked and laughed even harder as she felt herself be lifted up into his arms, grabbing onto his shoulders.

“Hold this?” Satan handed her the cat umbrella and shifted to get a more solid grip on his human. He quickly worked up to a jog to get them both home quickly, the rain seemingly not affecting his speed or agility at all.

Despite a brief stop in the front hall to ditch their rain gear the two of them somehow made it up to her room without being stopped by any of the other brothers. M/C was thankful, not sure she would’ve survived the embarrassment. Satan bumped the door shut with his hip and placed her on the ground. Before she could thank him for the day out and send him on his way so she could lick her wounds (literal and metaphorical) in private, he started digging in her closet for her towels.

“Go warm up in the shower, I’ll be back soon with a first aid kit to make sure nothing gets infected. Rainwater can be full of bacteria and pollution”. Once again, no room for argument. She took the towel he’d pulled out for her from his arms and headed into her bathroom, locking the door behind her.

M/C took what some may call a gratuitously long shower, but she’d had a long day - let her enjoy herself. The showers in the House of Lamentation were second only to the showers in the Demon Lord’s Castle – the water pressure and temperature was unreal. She didn’t know how she was going to adjust back to living in shitty apartments in the Human Realm, but that was a problem for future M/C. Hopefully very far in the future. Fully refreshed, she had almost forgotten that Satan hadn’t left for the night. If she wasn’t so used to strange demons coming into her room at all hours she might have been more startled to see Satan sitting on her bed with a first aid kit, waiting for her. What did startle her however was the fact that she could see Satan’s hair was unkempt and damp, and that he didn’t appear to be wearing more than a white towel wrapped around his hips. She dropped her dirty clothes into the laundry hamper, except for her bra which she hung to dry and planned to wash separately. It was one of her nice ones, she wasn’t going to let their washing machine eat up the lace.

“I was wondering when you’d be out. Did you have a nice shower?” M/C didn’t trust her voice to respond, so she just nodded when he turned to face her. He patted the bed next to him and smiled expectantly. She made her way over and sat down, clutching her towel closer to her chest. He gestured to her arm, and she swapped the hand gripping her towel so she could give him the arm closer to him to examine. Painstakingly, Satan examined both of her arms to disinfect and bandage the scrapes from her fall. He moved to the floor between her legs, kneeling before her. She tried to close her legs, but he put his hands between her knees to prevent them from shutting.

“Can I make sure there’s no injuries on your legs?” he asked in a calm tone and made eye contact with the human, almost like he was trying to calm an animal that seemed ready to bolt. She paused for a moment – she knew he would stop if she told him to. But… should she ask him to stop? To give her some space, leaving out the part about how him being between her legs gave her unholy thoughts? Satan was arguably the most trustworthy demon she knew. Not to mention her not-so-little crush on him. Honestly, that was what gave her pause. What if she made it weird? What if he just saw her as a friend? Well, she was already in the Devildom. If she died of embarrassment she wouldn’t have to go far. So, she took a deep breath, and as she exhaled she spread her legs to give Satan room to work. He thanked her under his breath and went to work, focusing on the scrapes on her knees. When he cleaned the knee that took the brunt of the fall she inhaled sharply at the sting of the disinfectant, only for one of his hands to find hers for comfort. The human looked down and saw the care in the way he touched her. It was almost funny for the personification of wrath to be so concerned with inflicting the slightest bit of pain on her and it only softened her heart further.

When Satan looked up, he saw the blush on his human’s cheeks and the affection in her eyes and decided to take a chance. He smiled and got up to throw away the trash and place the first aid kit in the bathroom for her to have supplies to change her own bandages later if necessary. He came back to the bed and sat beside her, taking both of her hands in his.

“I need you to know why I’m so upset on your behalf”. He spoke tenderly. It brought him no shortage of amusement that he could see his human’s eyes tracing a stray water droplet as it trailed down his neck, over his collarbone, down his chest and past his towel. Her eyes lingered on the pronounced V of his hips and he could swear he saw her lick her lips subconsciously, as though she wanted to lick his skin dry. As he began to speak, her eyes jumped up to meet his entrancing green eyes.

“You are so wonderful. You’re kind, smart, and thoughtful. I’m always laughing when I’m with you. I can’t imagine being in your life and taking you for granted. I don’t want you to think that you’re not absolutely everything. You’re our everything here. You’re my everything”. She felt her mouth gape, not having any clue where this was coming from. Did she crack her head open when she fell? Was this a coma dream? She was pretty sure those were a thing, but she wasn’t a doctor. Before she could spiral any further, she felt his hand come up and gently cup her jaw.

“M/C, will you let me worship you tonight?”

Before she could spend too much time thinking about the right way to respond to something so romantic, she heard an almost too enthusiastic “Fuck yes” leave her mouth. And before she could panic about that, she felt his lips on hers. Gently at first, to test the waters. He moved his lips against hers reverently, like she was a sacred place and he was a pilgrim at the end of a long journey. Her hands came to lay around his shoulders and Satan’s free hand laid on her thigh, gripping it lightly. The more time went on the more they began to melt into each other. At the first breathy moan that left M/C between kisses, it was like a switch went off in Satan. He redoubled his efforts, pressing against her with more insistency and his hand moving from its grip on her thigh to her waist, gripping even tighter through the layer of her towel. Their gasps filled the air alongside the sound of their lips meeting.

“So fucking hot” he moaned, tightening his grip to the point it almost hurt.

“Please, Satan. I need more” she begged. Not wasting any time, he twisted them around until her back hit the bed and he straddled her waist. Her kiss-bitten lips and lust-filled eyes sent chills up his spine. Every naughty fantasy he’d ever had of the two of them came to the forefront of his mind and he tried his best to sift through them all, trying to choose the best one to show her the depths of his passion. Before he could decide, he felt the towel at his waist begin to slip. He shifted his weight to his knees to catch it, but he felt a human-sized hand grab at his wrist.

“Please?” her voice was softer than it had been, showing some hesitancy, like she wasn’t sure how far she could push this.

“Anything for you, sweetheart. My heart and my body are yours”. M/C could practically feel her own face heat up at the term of endearment. It felt like she was in a romance novel the way he expressed his devotion so whole-heartedly. Her hand stayed on his wrist as the other came up to untuck the towel from his waist.

“Holy fuck Satan, how were you hiding this in your pants?”, she almost sounded indignant. The demon burst out laughing, glad he wouldn’t have to second guess if she liked the way he looked underneath his clothes. He threw the towel into the laundry hamper near the bed, eager to get it out of the way now that he’d been given the go-ahead. He wasn’t scarily long – it seemed proportional to his height, but he was much thicker than any of the humans she’d been with. She almost wanted to ask if this was normal for demons or if he was particularly well-endowed, but she didn’t want to risk him thinking she was asking because she wanted another demon, so she decided to save that question for her and Asmo’s next self-care night. Preferably after he’d had enough demonus that he was unlikely to remember.

Breaking free from her thoughts, she took him in her hand. Half exploring and half trying to stroke him to full hardness, she tried to get a feel for how he liked to be touched. The breathy moan she earned through a hard grip and slow strokes hinted she was at least going in the right direction.

Through his growing haze Satan asked, “Can I see you too?”

M/C nodded, using the hand that had been wrapped around his wrist to untuck her own towel and toss it carelessly to the floor, pulling him back to her to kiss him hard. Wanting to see her but making use of the patience honed through the millennia of his existence, he let her take control of the kiss and instead tried to focus on the feel of her tongue in his mouth and her hand on his cock. If he had ever been in the Celestial Realm as his own being, he would imagine that this was what it felt like. To be enveloped in the love of his human as they tried to learn each other’s bodies, the sound of the storm still audible against the window panes. He was often envious of his brothers, but not this time. They’d experience this particular heaven over his dead body. Satan felt his possessive streak flaring up and he knew he would do whatever it took to keep his human in his arms until the end of his days. He was brought out of his head once again once the human shifted their focus to teasing the head of his cock. Unable to hold back the moans, he pulled back from the kiss only to shift to leaving marks down his lover’s neck. Sharp nips and sucks drew breathy moans from her, and satisfied sighs when he gently soothed the sting with his tongue.

He spent extra time on her collarbones, obsessed with how easily the red marks bloomed for him just on the edge of where they’d be visible in her usual attire. In his head he could see them at breakfast the next morning. M/C would be wearing her usual weekend attire. Of course, she’d cover her neck with makeup or maybe a scarf, but maybe she’d assume her collarbones would be covered by her shirt? What if she were to move just-so and the hem of her neckline shifted, showing off the marks he so carefully left for her to appreciate? Of course Asmodeus would notice, he never missed an opportunity to stare at her tits. No way he wouldn’t make a big deal about it, drawing the attention of the others. He could practically taste how lovely it would feel to feed on his brothers’ wrath. It also had the added bonus of making sure the others knew she was his – always had been and always will be.

Content with his little daydream, he continued downward to his human’s chest. Her fingers grasped at his hair to ground herself as he teased her nipple to hardness with his tongue, stimulating the other with gentle circles using his thumb. Cupping them in his hands, he took the opportunity to lean back and appreciate M/C. His eyes scanned her nude body for the first time, appreciating every curve and dimple, committing every scar and freckle and mole to memory. From her flushed skin to her messed up hair, she looked absolutely wrecked. He moved his hand to tease the marks he left all over her neck and chest, tracing each one.

“Satan, please, don’t make me beg. I want you inside of me.” she was surprised how pathetic she sounded to herself and possibly more surprised at how Satan’s eyes dilated and his smile grew at the sound, like he was a fox that had spotted a hare.

“But you sound positively sinful when you beg, and you know how us demons love to bask in sin” he replied.

Rolling her eyes, she grabbed one of his hands to drag it down her body to her core. Not willing to pass up an opportunity to be a little shit, kept moving downward until he landed at the underside of her knee.

“Seriously?”

“Shush, I’m a romantic, let me enjoy our first time together. I said I wanted to worship you, didn’t I?”

“Fine. You’re lucky you’re cute”. M/C huffed.

“Thank you for indulging me, your graciousness knows no bounds”. Before she could bite back another response, Satan parted her legs and descended on her inner thighs. Kissing and biting, he cut off her smartass reply and it was replaced by the loudest moan he’d gotten all night. The way he held her legs in place was as delicate as when he had been checking her over for wounds, providing a lovely contrast to way he attacked the soft flesh of her thighs.

“Sensitive?”

“I will end you if you don’t touch me where I want you right now, you ridiculous little furry”. This was the kind of shit that made him fall head over heels in love with her. She wasn’t afraid of him, she saw him as more than his sin. She saw all of them as more than their sins, but right now he was only concerned with the two of them. He didn’t think his smile could grow any wider without becoming distinctly inhuman, and while he was pretty sure she’d be into that, today wasn’t the day to drop that on her. Instead, he hooked her legs over his shoulders and dove between her legs with an enthusiasm he hadn’t felt for sex in centuries, if ever.

Her thighs locked around his head and her hands threaded through his silky blonde hair, throwing her head back and screaming his name. The sound was muffled by her legs covering his ears, but she was loud enough that he heard it loud and clear. It motivated him to show her just how agile his tongue was, to ruin her for human partners and other demons alike. He focused his mouth on her clit, rubbing her hips with his thumbs to soothe her as he overwhelmed the human’s senses. Satan’s tongue felt unbelievably long on her sex, somehow seeming to simultaneously cover her entirely and focus in on the spots that made her buck her hips involuntarily and grind down onto his face. She had never felt so overstimulated before and couldn’t help but continue to moan as he brought her closer and closer to climax. She was helpless to do anything but vocalize her pleasure as he ate her through her orgasm and beyond, her body tensing and twitching as he lapped up her release. When her noises of pleasure turned to noises of discomfort, Satan managed to make his way out from between her legs, stroking the outside of her thigh and using a gentle voice to guide her back into her body.

“Holy fuck. Where did you learn to do that?” she panted as she tried to catch her breath. She caught his eye, appreciating how his face was shiny with her slick. She felt her arousal returning against all odds as he grinned wickedly and licked it all off of his face with a tongue that looked different from usual - too long for his mouth, but lined up more with what she felt on her sex.

“I’m Satan, remember? What kind of great corrupter of mankind would I be if I couldn’t eat pussy?” He flopped down next to her as they laughed, basking in the afterglow.

“I’m still pretty sensitive, but I can touch you in the meantime if you’d like?”

“No, let’s just stay like this for a bit. I want to cum for the first time inside of you, if you’ll allow me”.

Her eyes grew large and she felt herself almost salivating. “Yep, yep, sounds great, good, let’s do that”.

Her demon laughed again, loving how awkward and enthusiastic she was even after it seemed like he’d given her an out-of-body experience.

“Oh, wait, can you let Lucifer know that we’re back? I don’t want you getting in trouble for ‘stealing’ me again”. As M/C curled up on her side and drew the covers up over her, Satan paused. His eye caught the lacy black bra hung on the doorknob of her closet.

“Of course, love”. He was the co-chair of the Anti-Lucifer League. He couldn’t pass up this opportunity. So, before he curled up into her side to be her big spoon, he decided to snap a picture of the bra hanging there. He opened up his DDD, holding it in one hand and stroking her arm gently with the other. It conveniently showed a notification that Lucifer had texted him about half an hour ago.

Lucifer: Have you and M/C returned? The weather is getting worse and it is almost time for dinner. Lucifer: M/C is not answering her DDD. Will you please update me on the situation once you see these texts? Lucifer: Satan. If this is a repeat of last time I will make you wish that I just strung you from the ceiling like Mammon.

Perfect.

Satan: Don’t worry big brother, M/C is inside and safe from the storm.

The eldest brother responded almost immediately.

Lucifer: It took you long enough to respond. I will be speaking to you about this after dinner. I hope you’ve made sure she’s eaten, it’s past dinner time and I can’t guarantee that Beelzebub has not gotten into the leftovers. Satan: Don’t worry, she’s having a great time.

*one image attached*

Lucifer: What. Is. That. Satan: Sorry, I’d assumed you’d seen a woman topless before. Silly me. That’s a bra, it’s a type of undergarment women wear to support their breasts. Lucifer: I know what a bra is. Why do you have a picture of what I can only assume is M/C’s bra taken from inside her room? Satan: Oh, I think you know, brother.

He nudged the human beside him, who was enjoying the skinship and starting to drift off to sleep.

“Hey, wanna mess with Lucifer?”

“Always”

“Can I take a picture of you in bed? You can cover as much of your skin as you want”.

She took a moment to think. “Sure, why not?”

He knew he loved her for a reason.

#Bee's writing #obey me smut #obey me Satan #obey me Satan smut #obey me fanfic #obey me nsft

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disgraceful-writings · 7 days

Text

Meant To Be

Chapter 1

Y/n and Aegon were born on the same day, with velvet eyes and white crowns. Y/n is sent to Oldtown by their mother to keep her pure. What happens when she doesn't return so? How will her twin react?

Aegon II and y/n were born on the same day at the same time, with white crowns and violet eyes. Y/n was quieter than Aegon, she seemed to only observe those around her. Aegon was boisterous and needing someone’s attention all the time. However, when placed together, they would coo to one another and gravitate closer. As time went on, another princess and prince were born. Aegon didn’t seem to get along well with his other siblings, but he knew he loved y/n. Their father and mother spoke of them being betrothed due to the gods creating them as two halves of a whole. Viserys saw this as a blessing for years to come.

The burning star rose and gave warmth to y/n’s face. She rose and contemplated the dream she had that night when suddenly a knock was heard at her door, “Your grace? It is morning.” Savann, y/n’s favorite maid, opened the door with two others in tow.

“Good morning, Princess, did you sleep well?”

“Yes, thank you for asking, Savann.”

As she set a pitcher of water on the vanity, she started humming a tune and setting the princess’s beauty tools out. Y/n fumbled out of her large bed and onto her feet before walking to the vanity. “Savann?”

“Yes, your grace?”

Savann started to clean the princess’s face with the water from the pitcher. “Do you believe in visions?”

She paused for a moment and looked the princess in the eyes, “I believe people want and dream, however, they have to make those things come true.”

The princess hummed and Savann begun on her hair. “Savann, is Aegon really how people say he is?”

The elder looked into the princess’s eyes through the mirror for a moment, then said, “Your mother would never let him lay a finger on you. You will have your duty as husband and wife, but after that you are your own person.”

The princess looked down sadly. She had remembered their years together before she was sent to Oldtown at their mother’s request. He was always so gentle and kind to her, then they grew, and he turned to drink and whores for reasons unknown to y/n. Now she is 15 and bled for the first time, she will wed him. She always knew they’d be betrothed, it is their family’s way of things. That didn’t change her heart in the ways of the man she wanted.

“I suggest the green dress, your grace”, Savann pulled the dress out to show, “It will make your eyes stand out.”

The princess stood and walked over to Savann who called one of the other maids to assist. She was 10 when her mother decided to send her off. Queen Alicent claimed it was for her education, but everyone knew she wanted to keep her favored of the twins pure to the world. What she wouldn’t know is y/n didn’t stay pure. Around the age of 13, a certain servant boy caught her eye. He was tall, built, and 3 years her elder. On her strolls around the land, she would hear him speak of becoming a knight at the keep or going north to the wall. They always saw each other, him walking through the halls, bowing to her or her strolling through Oldtown and seeing him train with the swordsman. This went on until one day she gathered the courage to approach him and ask for protection, as she wanted to go outside the castle walls. How could he refuse a princess? The ride was quiet between the two. But there was a feeling of want anyone could’ve felt.

After their ride, they came to a clearing covered with wildflowers. Y/n hopped off her horse and laid in a patch with a sigh. “Do you ever feel like something is missing?”, she had caught him off guard while tying up the horses. “What do you mean, princess?”, she rose onto her elbows to look at him, “Life is planned out for everyone. If your father or mother are servants or peasants, you’ll be a servant or peasant. If you’re a Lady, you marry a Lord and give him heirs who will carry on the name and do the same as you.” He walked closer to her and sat beside her, “Not always. My father and mother were farmers in the north before they passed, and I was sent here. Now I am a servant working to be a knight, and I will do anything to be one. You can change your fate whenever you want.” She lied back and looked at the sky in contemplation. They sat like this for a time until he spoke, “Do you not like being a princess?”

“What?”

“I’m sorry, your grace, I do not mean to offend.”

She sat up, “It’s a good life, but I want more than just being someone’s child barer. I want to go out and explore, maybe discover something new.”

She felt his gaze locked on her, so she turned to him. He did not falter and slowly moved closer until his lips were on hers. Their hands wandered as their tongues searched on another’s mouths. He moved her to lie on her back, never departing from her lips. Her hands clawed at his chest wanting, no, needing to feel his skin on hers. With his shirt ripped open, she kissed and sucked on his neck, creating the most beautiful whimpers she's ever heard while he ground himself on her. She let him go, so he could push her skirts up, and he paused in awe at her pussy. Y/n sat up and started to unlace his trousers as he started to kiss her neck. He cried out, laying his head on her shoulder when she encircled his cock with her hand and started pumping. “I want you inside me”, she said into his ear and laid back.

“As you wish, your grace”, trying to catch his breath, he lined himself up and slowly pushed in as he lowered himself on top of her. She cried at the burn, so he whispered sweet nothing's while kissing away the tears. “Can I move? I don’t think I’ll last, princess”, she nodded and the pain begun to subside with every thrust of his hips until they were both a mess of each other. His hips started to stutter, and he removed himself from her to finish in the grass. Breathing heavily, “we should go back. They’ll be looking for you”, he wiped his face of the sweat and laced himself back up, making himself more presentable. Y/n sat up, this empty wanting feeling filling her, what could this be? When she saw him start walking to the horses, she turned to look over the sun kissed field and rose.

Taglist : @watercolorskyy , @xitsemm, @d3nny

Next Chapter ->

Masterlist

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witchthewriter · 2 years

Photo

𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐆𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐥𝐟 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐀𝐫𝐰𝐞𝐧'𝐬 𝐬/𝐨 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ female, ambiguous race & all/any size reader!

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ

(Also anyone can be a witch, not just a woman.)

🌿ENFJ 🍁Ravenclaw 📜Neutral Good 🔮Pisces Sun, Aquarius Moon, Gemini Rising

SFW ✶

・You wanted to be a healer. Not just any healer though, you wanted to be one full of knowledge of the natural world.

・You learned about herbs and tinctures, flowers, and potions. It had been passed down from woman to woman in your family.

・Gandalf was an avid visitor of your family, since they made the best salves for aches and pains. That’s how he met you, a young woman with a passion for magic.

・He taught you all he could - and in return, you made tinctures, salves, remedies, etc, for him and his companions.

・You frequented Rivendell with Gandalf. Watching with awe at the elves and their gracefulness. It was all so beautiful. Everything about the land made you tingle with delight. It was like a dream come true.

・Arwen was curious about you. You weren’t fully human, but no other race seemed to be in your blood. So she watched you from afar, noticing your satchel and how whatever was in it, made people feel better.

・One day she approached you, questions ready on her tongue. But the way your eyes looked up at her ... my goodness. They glowed. Your beauty was different up close. She could see the freckles across your nose.

・Technically you did court each other - but neither realised that you had been. Gandalf knew, but he didn’t say a word. That’s the thing with wise men, they observe.

・You had your first kiss under a willow tree. Her plump lips were so close and didn’t think you’d get this opportunity again. But something held you back - you didn’t want to sacrifice your friendship. But it was just friendship between the two of you. So Arwen kissed you.

・Gifting you books; you want to have your own library

・Living at Rivendell, but traveling with Gandalf a lot

・Teaching you the ways of the Elven

・Her pet name for you would be ‘My Love’ and ‘My Heart’

・Playing with each other’s hair. Arwen’s is like silk.

・Arwen is very protective of you and makes sure no harm comes to you whenever you’re in her presence. (She worries whenever you’re not.)

・She always knows the right thing to say. She has the best advice

“Be kind to yourself. I have never seen someone who has a brain like yours.”

・Being part of the Fellowship

・Relationship Tropes:

֍ Power Couple

֍ Casually Physically Affectionate + Touch-Starved

֍ Chaotic with a soft spot (you) + Normal but also chaos enabler (Arwen)

NSFW ✶ 18+ minors do not interact pls and thank you

・Arwen is a sensual woman. Her hands feel like whispers against your body, roaming and moving wherever they please.

・Her soft breath tickles your ear, her lips placing light kisses against your neck.

・She’s a sight to behold, and in the moments when you’re together - you feel like the luckiest person on Middle Earth.

・Arwen takes things slow - savoring each kiss, memorizing how your body looks, and how it feels. Especially against her own.

・Her kisses fill you with butterflies, and you feel almost like you’re flying

・I don’t think Arwen would be very experienced - even though she’s lived many years, Arwen believes sex is something that should be between two people who love each other.

・She isn’t very vocal during sex but makes high-pitched whines and moans. It makes you shiver to hear them.

・She would be a switch - on days when she hasn’t seen you, she’ll become more passionate than you’ve ever seen her. But she isn’t dominant in a ‘master’ kind of way. It’s more she’ll take the lead.

・She does like to leave hickys in places only she’ll ever see them (your thighs, your chest/breasts)

・Oh and she adores your tits - she finds them absolutely delicious. She could play with them all day.

・Arwen is the best at aftercare; she’ll have a cloth ready for you and clean you up. Or maybe you’ll bathe together. Whichever the case, she just wants to hold you close.

Taglist: https://autistic-solar-fandom.tumblr.com/

#lord of the rings #LotR #lord of the rings headcanons #arwen x reader #arwen x reader headcanons #arwen headcanons #LotR headcanons #gandalf #gandalf headcanons #gandalf x reader #witch reader #reader insert #the hobbit #hobbits #the hobbit headcanons

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deepperplexity · 1 year

Text

Prompt: 1. Home For Christmas

Pairing: Brandon x Wife!Reader

POV: Second, Reader

Setting: Delaford Estate

A/N: I'm a day late due to being super-duper sick, have been for 2 weeks now but I will do my best to make sure you'll get a fic a day until Christmas Eve darlings! 💚 We are kicking this month’s shenanigans off with our sweet Colonel Brandon returning home from overseas to you, his beloved wife, after being apart for nearly six months. I hope you’ll enjoy this very first fic 💚

Tags/TW’s: Fluff, Kissing, Longing

Abbr.: Y/N - Your Name

Word Count: 1,8k+

Masterlist page // Masterlist post // AO3 // LINK TREE

There was a dreary quietness constantly present at Delaford Estate recently. The staff was lovely and caring. You never lacked company or conversation. Yet, it was not right. There was a longing, a missing, within your heart that none could calm or remove but your beloved husband, your dear Christopher.

Christmas was approaching, when he had left the flowers had been in full bloom as summer had begun but now the ground was covered in glistening snow and there had been no news of his whereabouts for the past two weeks. You usually received at least one letter a week and the absence of news had constructed a knot in your stomach.

You wandered the halls, up the stairs, along corridors and past closed doors, downstairs and along the windows of the grand ballroom. Your home, in all its glory, was beginning to take on the gentleness of Christmas as the servants hung garlands, and switched the white candles for red and green ones. All around, it was slowly but surely unfolding.

“Christopher,” you whispered and looked out through the massive window, “where are you, my heart?” There came no reply, from the widespread landscape beyond covered in glistening snow or the empty halls you were so fully surrounded with. Come home to me, you thought while your fingertips graced the cold glass.

You watched as your fingers left trails of warmth behind, painting swirls and abstract patterns absentmindedly while your thoughts lingered on the gentleman you loved beyond what words could possibly describe.

A black dot appeared far off in the distance, your throat cinched itself tight as you gasped. It appeared to nearly fly over the field while snow was kicked up in a swirl all around. Closer and closer it drew, faster and faster your heart hammered.

Right at the top of the hill, it stopped. The massive black steed carried the most precious man atop its back, it reared and your smile took shape — spreading your cheeks wide as you ran to your left, opening the glass doors cleverly hidden among the windows.

The cold air of December greeted you, stroking your bare arms only slightly covered with a silken scarf, and you ran. “Christopher!” you shouted with joy as the steed set off in another gallop, heading straight for you as you bolted down the slipper stone stairs with eager relief at seeing your husband anew. “Christopher!” you called again with laughter in your voice, dropping the scarf being tugged at by the wind. Your minty green dress bounced around your running legs and you were too overjoyed by his arrival to even lift it up from the snow below.

You dashed along the covered gravel, flicked open the back gate of icy iron, and laughed as he halted his horse with a whinnying neigh carried towards the cloudy sky above.

You were in his arms the next second. Oh God, how I have longed for you, my heart, you thought while his sturdy arms came around your waist and he lifted you up so your feet lost their contact with the ground below. “Darling, oh, my darling,” he murmured by your ear as one of his hands grasped your neck while the other arm and hand held a firm grasp of your middle part while he lowered you down gently, still pressing you against his taller frame.

“How I have missed you, my love,” he said by your ear in that baritone, rumbling voice that sent shivers along your spine while the tip of his hooked nose dug into your upper shoulder.

“I’ve longed for you with every beating of my heart,” you said as tears rolled down your cheeks when his musky, sweet scent reached your nose and mingled with the smell of horse and salty sweat. You inhaled as deeply as you could before a slightly choked laugh bubbled up from your throat.

“Let me view you, my darling,” Christopher said as he loosened his grip and leaned back, but your lower halves remained pressed against one another. His light grey eyes roamed your features while his cold hand came around to stroke your blushing cheek. He watched you with such reverence, such warmth and joy, your heart could scarcely take it for much longer.

Your eyes met his before they danced over his features, from the perfectly large nose to the marvellously thin lips you knew to be incredibly soft to the touch. “Beautiful,” he whispered and you slid your hands up from his chest to grasp his sturdy neck, pulling him towards you. “I love you,” you whispered, your voice a throaty sound as his viewing of you alone set your insides ablaze with unrelenting warmth. “As I love you,” he replied and dove in for your lips.

Your mouths crashed against one another, sealing you together while your tongues darted out gently to dance and caress each other. Marvelling in each others’ tastes and warmth, gripping and kissing each other oh-so-fiercely. He had come home to you, and not a minute too soon.

You whimpered as he groaned into your mouth. Longing and love mixing and tangling with each other while his large hands grabbed at your dress and neck, pulling you as close as possible. It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough when there was fabric, or even air, between the two of you. Ever since your wedding day, he had been the one thing you could never have too close.

However, as your lungs began to burn and the heat within was unable to battle the cold air around, your mouths parted with a gasp shared between you both. His eyes hooked yours, yours refused to let go of the connection.

“How I have missed you, most grievously so,” your husband said with a calm severity to his voice that elicited the sweetest sensation within your heart. “As I have you, my sweetest heart,” you replied just as his lips widened with the most beautiful smile in tune with your own display of joy.

He reached for the reins of his horse, separating the two of you for a moment before you could wrap your arm around his. The coarse but soft coat he wore felt offensive to your bare skin as you so longed to grace each inch of his pale skin once more. You had no wish for propriety or sensible waiting, you wished to view each sliver of him and assert that he was indeed home and wholly yours once more.

“Why have you not written?” you asked as you crossed through the back garden. “Oh, my love,” he began, “I wished to do so, but I hadn’t the chance. My mind was fully occupied with returning to you, darling, and the postage services are nearly inoperable at Christmas time, swamped as they are.” Oh, that makes utter sense now that I think of it for a moment, you thought while you leaned further into your husband.

“I worried,” you whispered, the sensation slipping away fully along with the confession. “I apologies, my love,” he murmured and tensed his arm, the voice he spoke with bore the markings of guilt for a little moment but you tilted your head and beamed up at him. Simply happy he had returned, safe and sound, in time for Christmas.

“Colonel Brandon, sir,” said Anthony, the stable boy, and bowed deeply. “May I take your horse, Colonel?” he continued with a smile and Christopher nodded, a sharp motion of his head, while he held out the reins and Anthony smiled widely at him. “Welcome home, sir,” he said with another bow of his head. “Thank you,” Christopher replied and then the boy led away the horse just as the two of you began to traverse the stone steps up towards the open glass doors to the ballroom.

“We will make a mess,” you whispered while looking down at your slightly sodden dress and the almost wet slippers from the snow your body heat had melted. Your husband merely glanced down and smiled, a sly smirk that tugged one side of his mouth upwards in a most handsome way.

The next moment, you giggled out a shriek as he hoisted you up bridal style and stomped off the snow from his shiny black boots before entering the ballroom. “We cannot be making a mess of the floors when they shine so prettily,” he said in a low humming and you clung to his neck with a girly giddiness. You always adored when he carried you, making you feel as light as a feather and in perfectly capable hands.

“I know of something far prettier, that I would adore making a mess of, in due time,” he whispered and you gasped, your cheeks heating and your stomach tightening with cording nerves and warming softness. “Christopher,” you chided in a soft whisper, even if you adored his mischievous side. “But it will have to wait, I sense a large welcoming taking place,” he said as he stopped by the flickering fire in the grand hearth of polished stone and wrought iron. He sat you down on the padded bench before it, allowing your sodden dress and cold feet to heat up and dry with the fire’s help.

And, as if he had spoken a certain truth of the future, the ballroom began to fill with the Delaford staff who all wished to welcome their master home. You sat and watched as the staff, one by one greeted your sweet husband with smiles and warmth in their eyes.

He was a good man, and now, he was finally home once more. Within reach, to touch and view, to hear and be heard by. You couldn’t stop the tears of joy seeping out before they trickled down along your cheeks and dripped from your chin before you had a chance to swipe them away.

Your heart was overjoyed, beating harder and faster than at any moment in the past six months of his absence. My heart, my husband, my Christopher, your mind chanted as he greeted the last maid with yet another soft but somewhat withheld smile.

Then he turned towards you, a warmth colouring his eyes a darker grey. How you loved him, how deeply he had rooted himself within your heart. You were not whole without him, and you had dreaded spending Christmas without him by your side.

Now, as he took your hand, you were filled with such gratitude towards the heavens for bringing him home safe and sound to you. “My love,” he said as he kissed your knuckles with a twinkle in his eyes. “My heart,” you whispered in return and then he tugged on your hand, forcing you to move forward a step while he reached out and clutched you gently. He kissed you once more, with all the passion in the world but so seductively slow it told you he had all the time in the world to adore you. You came home for Christmas, home to me… You thought while your body turned soft and pliable in his gentle hold as his lips worshipped yours and the rest of the world with all its garlands, snow and flickering candles fell away.

He was home.

Masterlist page // Masterlist post // AO3 // LINK TREE

A/N: Oh, I so hope you enjoyed this fluffy and light introduction to RICKMAS 2022! We have so much ahead of us and I sincerely hope you’ll enjoy every moment of this crazy month of daily fics!

MERRY RICKMAS DARLINGS! 💚

Taglist: @lizlil @snapefiction @darkthought15 @monstreviolet @flowerdementia @marvelschriss @once-upon-an-imagine @ravennight41 @caseydoodles98 @slytherinprincess03 @theconsultingdetectiveswife @grimmyhild @monster-energies @myobscureimaginarium @snowblossomreads @eternal-silvertongued-prince @cherryglossie @setsuna-meiou31 @helena211 @a-queen-and-her-throne @justsaturn0 @turvi @imwithyoutiltheendofthelinebucky @sunnylikesfrogs @snowblossomreads @leah1243 @reinekefoxart

Want to be tagged? 💚 You can tag yourself HERE! Or tell me and I’ll gladly tag you! 😍

[Dec:2022]

#rickmas2022 #rickmas #colonel brandon #brandon fic #sense and sensibility #christmas fic #alan rickman #rickmaniac #deepperplexity #deepperplexity fic

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gracesmusings · 1 year

Text

Heartbreak in the Fireworks

Just a little drabble that has been sitting in my drafts.

It was no secret that Fred and George enjoyed the company of a certain Slytherin. Most thought it was because of their peculiar sense of humor. Some thought one of the twins, or both, fancied the Slytheriness.

“Wonderful day,” George grins ear to ear. “Isn’t it, love?” Fred sits on the armrest. E/c’s cut to Fred. “Ouch!” He dramatically clutches his heart. “Move.” His features return to their normal state when she pokes his bottom with her finger. “Now.”

George beckons his brother over to the couch in front of their audience. Fred sighs loudly before joining his other half.

“We need help.” George says once his brother is securely in his seat. Y/N’s gaze does not lift from her book, her seat now saved from the peril of Fred’s heavy form. “It involves quidditch.” Fred baits her. She yawns loudly into the back of her hand. George elbows Fred. “After curfew.” Y/N turns the page of her book.

Fred tries his hand. “It involves fireworks.” Fred smiles in victory when the book is slammed closed. Y/N angles her legs towards Fred, causing George to smirk. “I’m listening.”

“How did you know she would help us?” George asks his brother when they leave the study area. Fred looks at his brother with concern. “She always helps us, you know that.” George rolls his eyes. “Not after she had to cover for us with Snape. She was awful mad that Slytherin was docked points.” George stops. A first year curse when they nearly run into the duo.

George watches his twin carefully. Years of experience teaching him the signs of Fred’s true thoughts. “I knew that she has been wanting to see Muggle fireworks, okay?” Fred hurriedly whispers. “Is that the answer you are looking for?” Exasperation seeping through every word.

The sun beams through the large window, spotlighting the signs in which George is already all too familiar with. Pursed lips, followed by the sucking of his upper lip, and then the picking of his right sleeve. The sleeve which is by far more worn than it was at the start of the year.

“So this prank, that you have been very vague about, just so happens to include the one thing that gets us back in the good graces of the Slytherin Princess.” George watches as Fred’s eyes narrow at the nickname.

“It not a prank.” Fred begins walking towards the Gryffindor common room. “Not a prank!” George’s faux alarm causes Fred to turn suddenly. “Password?” The Fat Lady asks. “Is it a date?” George pushes Fred’s chest, nearly touching his. “Password?” The portrait sings. “An invitation?” Fred fiddles with the fabric on his sleeve. George grins. “A invitation to the ball! My brother!” George shoves Fred’s chest. “You are finally doing it. You are going to ask—" “PASSWORD!” The Fat Lady shouts, scaring a first year who just approached. Fred turns briskly and mutters the password.

—

Approaching the quidditch field, Y/N looks around for the twins. “Hey.” “Hush.” “You hush.” “Ay! Be careful where you put that thing!” “It’s not even on Fred.” Y/N laughs loudly, causing both boys to blush red. “Hey,” Fred says hurriedly. “Heyyy,” George mimics, causing Y/N to chuckle and his brother to glare.

Y/N’s eyes widen at the array of muggle fireworks that the twins managed to smuggle. “How did you—“ “Bought them at a stand.” “They sell them like candy, those muggles.” “Better than candy, in my opinion.” The twins continue bouncing off of each other as they tell the story.

“We have a show for you.” Fred says, causing Y/N to raise an eyebrow. “Is this a prank?”

George laughs. “No, I promise,” Fred reaches for Y/N’s hand. Y/N takes it without hesitation, allowing him to pull her further under the stands. George stays behind them as Fred hands her a few smaller items. “Go sit with George in the stands, you’ll get a better view that way.”

Fred squeezes her hand before allowing them to depart.

“If this is a prank, so help me, Salazar Slytherin. I will hex you both into next year.” Again George laughs, but this time he gently bumps her hip with his. “I promise it is not a prank. And I can promise you that you will enjoy it.” Y/N fiddles with one of the box in her hand. Once they find a spot to George’s liking, Y/N opens to box. “Um George,” she shows him the sticks. “Here, hold this end.” George says the fire spell and lights the end away from her on fire. “Wow!” She shouts in excitement. George picks a red one and touches the tip to hers.

“Expelíamos!” George shouts, pointing the sparkler at Y/N. “Oh, so that’s how it is!” They play fight until the first boom sounds. Y/N’s sparkler falls to the floor as the sky lights up in an array of color. “Oh my, it’s beautiful.”

George points towards the corner of the field where his twin flies on his broom. Fred shouts something, but they can’t quite make it out. Y/N assumes it has something to do with the box in his hands. Suddenly the Gryffindor quidditch team enters the field, Angelina at the front. The box in Fred’s hands explodes upwards. The muggle invention mixed with a little magic put on a spectacular show. “Does that say—“ Y/N is cut off as the Gryffindor team cheers loudly.

George watches as Y/N’s face falls. Looking back to his brother, he wonders what went wrong — he knows that Y/N fancies Fred, probably more than anyone has every fancied Fred — but he quickly finds the source of her despair on the field. Beneath the booming invite to the ball is a clearly surprised Angelina. George stands up quickly, his head shaking a little to feverishly. No, this can’t be right. She thinks that Fred is asking her to the ball — and George can’t believe his eyes, she’s saying yes. “George,” Y/N places a hand on his arm.

“George,” her voice cracks. “I’m so sorry.” George bites the inside of his cheek as his brother’s feet touch the ground. George can see the tension in Fred’s shoulders and the strained smile on his face as Angelina launches herself into his arms. “Y/N, this wasn’t supposed to happen like this.” George tries to tell Y/N about the mistake. “I know. I am so sorry George. I know how much you like Angelina.” George frowns and shakes his head, but she doesn’t see it because she has her arms wrapped around him.

This has been in my drafts for a while. Anyone want a part 2?

#fred and george #fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x you #weasley twins #george weasley #gracesmusings #gracewrites

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nightingale-ghost-writer · 9 days

Text

By the Grace Of [Sorcerer Rogier x Fem!Tarnished] - Chapter Eleven

Summary: Rogier feels the ends of hope and hopelessness. He might still be saved. He’s already been marked for death. In the end, it doesn’t matter whether or not he accepts it. Delia doesn’t.

Author’s Notes: 3.7K words here! There are some rather… important (to the story) items I list out later in the chapter. If anyone’s interested, they can be purchased from the West Limgrave Nomadic Merchant, which is a quick trip down the mountain and up the coast from The First Step! I also pulled dialogue out of order for this, which I’ve been trying to avoid, but have been doing in pieces throughout. Gotta get that flow, though.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or events from Elden Ring

Warnings: abstract horror? I think? Suggestive content, unedited (basically), unfinished story- read at your own risk!

He had it.

He finally had it.

He had no idea how long it had taken- it felt like days, it felt like it could have been only a few minutes- but he had it.

The name he’d been searching for.

Lunar Princess Ranni.

His hands shook with the excitement of it.

And with the nervousness of telling Delia.

What would she think? Would she call him mad, deluded? As D had?

No.

He oughtn’t even have the thought in passing.

He turned his attention to the pages he’d copied for her, finally dry after the grease he’d applied to protect them from water. He still needed to bind them somehow.

He only deliberated for a moment when the idea struck him. He unbuttoned his jerkin, reaching into a tiny pocket inside for the needle he kept there. He paused, thinking of the luminescence of Delia’s eyes in the dark, and unfastened his cloak as well. He shrugged the garments off entirely, face heating at the very idea of being so undressed around her. He shook himself from the thought. Then he lifted his hat from the bedpost, grasping the glintstone he’d hung from the brim for power and luck. He caressed it for only a moment before yanking, snapping the cord at the base.

He threaded it through his needle and began to sew. It had been some time since he’d had need to sew anything, and so he found himself pricking his finger from time to time. But it went quickly, and he was tying off the cord when the heavy wooden door opened.

Delia strode in, throwing back her hood and tossing an easy smile his way that he returned. He relaxed at the very sight of her. When she turned, he saw that a great, curved blade was strapped to her back. His smile widened.

“Always good to see you safe,” he said, letting warmth seep into his words. “Found yourself a new toy?”

“Indeed.” She pulled it from its sheath, laying the blade across his palms and collapsing backward onto the bed beside him. “It’s proven quite useful. It’s enchanted to-”

“Cloak its user for a quick forward approach?”

Delia sat straight up, gaping at him in indignance. “I thought you studied that… that…stone…” she waved her hand in an irritated motion.

“Glintstone sorcery,” he supplied smoothly.

“Yes, glintstone sorcery,” she glared. Rogier beamed.

“It’s a beautiful weapon,” he conceded. He handed it back to her and she smiled, pleased.

“Thank you. And now that I have it…” She lifted his rapier from her belt. Rogier’s heart sank. She saw the expression and leveled a serious gaze at him. “I don’t want to hear it. I saw you reach for it when I surprised you last time.” She held it out to him, wrapping his hands around it when he tentatively took the hilt. “Besides. I know you’ll use it again.”

She said it with such sincerity that he found himself nodding before he realized it.

“And on that note, I brought you some things.”

Delia pulled a leather satchel out from beneath her cloak, upending the contents onto the bedside table. Various leaves, butterflies and fireflies, berries, and flowers tumbled out.

She unbound another leather pouch from around her thigh, drawing out bundles carefully wrapped in larger leaves and cloth. She glanced up at him. “Bloods and greases and the like.”

Then she reached under her cloak for yet another pouch, this one bound to her waist. She held it in both hands, as though hesitant to show him. She looked at him through her lashes.

“I’m not… entirely certain that these are what you’re looking for.” He set aside his rapier with care, pulling himself up and facing her. She opened the bag, reaching in carefully to withdraw small, fleshy globes in vibrant green, indigo, and crimson.

Boluses.

“Delia,” he breathed. “Where… how…?”

“So these are them? Boluses? Will any of them…?”

Rogier was already shaking his head. He reached forward, taking the green globes carefully. “These treat poison.” He pointed to the crimson orbs in her hands. “Those staunch blood loss.” He gestured to the indigo spheres, which she’d lay on the tabletop. “And those lift sleep magic.” His gaze caught on them as the words left his mouth.

Delia, of course, saw this. “Have you slept?”

He looked up at her, suddenly dumbstruck at the memory of her in his arms. It had felt so good to hold her, so right. Her heat had driven out the cold of the Blight, warming his chilled body. Her breath fanning against his neck had nearly undone him, keeping him awake, longing and pitiful, long after she’d drifted off. He’d lay trembling each time her lips brushed his skin, only following her into sleep after she shifted to lay her head against his chest.

It was the soundest sleep he’d had in ages.

And then there had been the almost kiss. He’d wanted to kiss her, desperately, body moving of its own volition. Hadn’t even registered what was happening until it was almost too late. It had taken him far, far too long to gain control of his senses, wading through the mire of sleep and Death.

He swallowed hard. “Not since you left.”

Her eyebrows pinched together, drawing a furrow between them.

He looked away. “I should tell you. Lately, I feel I'm on the precipice… of falling into a deep… fathomless slumber. It’s too hard to wake up,” he admitted quietly. “And… I’m afraid I won’t.” When he looked up, Delia’s expression was pained.

She lay a hand on his, squeezing lightly. “Will these help?”

He looked back to the collection of boluses on the table. “To tell you the truth, I’m not sure. But I’ll try them. I don’t want to fall into this sleep- I have an inkling it could spell trouble for you somehow.” A slow smile spread across his face as he spoke. “As I’m sure you’ve noticed, I can be quite useful. So I just wanted to get the apology out of the way, beforehand.” He leaned forward to nudge her with his elbow, now fully grinning. “Since you’re so scary and all.”

Delia scowled at him. “At least one of us can find amusement in this.”

He felt his face fall.

She grimaced instantly, raising her other hand to his. “Sorry,” she whispered.

“Don’t be.” He squeezed her hands back. “And on the note of usefulness, now I have some things for you.” He released her, reaching for the pamphlet he’d created. Her eyes stuck on the glintstone, fingering it reverently as he handed it to her, then lit up when she opened it.

He’d penned a table of contents for the lot once he’d finished, with blank pages in the back for additional recipes. Delia beamed at him. “Thank you,” she breathed. “This is wonderful.”

Rogier hummed. “Something to repay my debts to you, I suppose.” Delia’s brow furrowed again. He went on before she could object. “And now,” he bent, raising the knifeprint from where he’d laid it at the bedside. “My examination is complete. Here's the knifeprint back, with my thanks.”

Delia’s eyes glowed with excitement. “Don’t be silly,” she murmured, turning the blade in her hands. “You keep it. I’ve got no use for it.” She grinned up at him. “Besides, I can always come see it when I see you.”

Rogier’s heart sped in his chest, and he found himself smiling widely. “Now,” he began, growing serious. “I have a fairly good idea who performed the rite upon the blade. The person who orchestrated the Night of the Black Knives. Lunar Princess Ranni.” Delia nodded, patiently awaiting the explanation she expected him to give. “One of the children born to King Consort Radagon and his first wife, Rennala. Demigod and sister to General Radahn and Praetor Rykard. Hers was the name I discovered in the imprint. Truly, you have my thanks. But,” he said hesitantly. “If I might be so bold, I would also like to ask something more of you.”

“Go on,” she said softly.

“If Ranni truly is the one who plotted that fateful night, then she should bear the cursemark of Destined Death somewhere upon her flesh.” He took a deep breath, and then spoke before he lost his nerve. “I would like you to procure it for me. And then all will be laid bare.” Delia stared at him, wide-eyed. He whispered “I will have the answers I have sought for so long.”

“Alright,” said Delia slowly. “And where would I find…?”

“I have some idea of Ranni’s potential whereabouts. There’s a manor to the north of the Academy of Raya Lucaria. It is the familial home of the Carian royals from whom Ranni descends. There’s been talk of the old royals’ vassals gathering there in recent years. Ranni’s whereabouts since the Shattering are a well-kept secret. She hasn't been seen even once. But I suspect she might have returned to the manor in which she was born…”

Delia said nothing for a long moment. “Why do you want this cursemark?”

He hesitated. “I'm afraid there's something I must tell you. Do you know of Those Who Live in Death?” She nodded. “The very notion of life in death defies the Golden Order.” He snorted softly. “By D's account, these defiled fiends must be expunged. But truth be told, I seek the cursemark to save them. And… possibly myself.” Delia fixed him with a piercing stare. He hurried on, hoping she’d hear him out.

“You may find this peculiar, but I discovered something in my examination of the Night of the Black Knives. These souls have committed no offense. They have every right to life, only, they happened to touch upon a flaw in the Order.”

“Explain the part where it helps you.”

Rogier stammered a bit, caught off-guard. “W-well, I was infected with the Blight by Deathroot. Deathroot was never seen in the Lands Between prior to Godwyn’s murder. In fact, it seems to stem from his corpse. Something about the cursemark, the rite itself, or perhaps even the very death of a demigod, must have caused its growth. If I can only understand that…”

“Then perhaps you can undo the damage.”

“Yes,” he breathed. She hummed, fixated on some point against the far wall. Her head whipped suddenly toward him, a dangerous gleam in her eye.

“Done. How do I ‘procure’ the mark?”

He found himself stuttering again, unnerved by the vehemence in her tone. “I’m honestly not quite sure. This work is entirely unprecedented. Convincing her to come here would be the best, easiest outcome. Somehow, though, I doubt she’ll agree to that. Are you much of an artist? Could you draw it, or perhaps take a rubbing of it? Assuming you could convince her to let you so close, that is.” He was rambling, and Delia’s expression had morphed from shock to relief before she began to laugh. He frowned. “Yes, yes, all fun and games until you’re the one in the hot seat.”

“Rogier, I will be the one in the hot seat. I assumed you were asking me to cut this mark from her skin.”

He sputtered, indignant. “Do you take me for a butcher?”

“Not a butcher. A scholar,” she said fondly. Then her smile turned to a sly grin. “Besides.” She lay a hand on his abdomen, sliding it slowly up to lay against his suddenly racing heart. The heat of her skin through the thin fabric of his poet’s shirt had him breathing too quickly, too shallowly. She leaned forward until their noses nearly brushed, and Rogier found himself fighting every animal instinct to tip his chin up and close the gap between them. “I can be quite convincing when I want to be.”

She shoved lightly, sending him reeling back against the cushions. His head spun as he watched her with wide eyes. “Indeed,” he agreed, voice low. “You certainly can.”

Something sparked in her gaze then, something zealous. Something hungry. Something he hadn’t seen in her before, but something that kindled a flame deep within him. He held his breath, waiting to see what she would do. She was leaning forward, looking as though she hadn’t even noticed.

Then her eyes flicked to his covered legs.

Rogier felt himself jerk as though scalded, feeling as though he’d been scalded. Shame coursed through him.

Of course. How could she ever want him? Damaged goods, and at Death’s door to boot.

“So, you’ll seek her out?” he asked brusquely. Delia made a confused face, pausing halfway to leaning over him. He looked away. “Lunar Princess Ranni.”

She didn’t answer him right away. He could feel her slow withdrawal and wondered, belatedly, whether he’d gotten it all wrong.

“Of course I will. I… I can go now.” There was a hitch in his voice that made him furious with himself. She’d already begun to rise when he reached for her, grasping her wrist.

“Would you stay? Get some rest, first? W-with me?”

She relaxed under his fingers, nodding quickly. She stood, removing her cloak and armor with rushed movements. He was growing concerned at her rushed motions until she lay down, pressing herself against him, and his thoughts went blank. She wrapped an arm around him, tucking her head beneath his chin and nestling as close as she could get, and it occurred to him that she thought he might change his mind.

Never.

He tucked an arm under her, drawing her even closer. She raised a leg, resting it across his hips, and he drew in a sharp breath. The blouse and bloomers she wore were thin, and his own clothing did little to mask the shape of her body against his. He could feel every curve of her, at least to the point that he still had feeling; feel the contrasting softness and hard muscles at every point her body touched his.

“You’re so cold,” she murmured. He didn’t respond, and felt her tense as realization set in. “It’s the Blight, isn’t it?”

“I believe so.”

“Do you feel it? The cold?”

“Somewhat,” he admitted. “It’s not so much that I feel cold, as that I feel the absence of heat. For example,” he said, laying his hand on her hip. “You feel hot, in the way things that aren’t hot feel it when your skin is too cold.”

Delia bolted upright, and Rogier found himself leaning up, too. “Am I hurting you?” she asked.

He blinked. “No. It’s… nice, actually.” He looked down as Delia began chewing her lip nervously. She haltingly reached up to lay her hands against his chest, pressing him gently back. He went down willingly, and was rewarded by Delia straddling him carefully.

His ever racing thoughts ground to a halt as she settled her weight over him, laying forward to cover him with as much of her body as she could. She rested her head in the crook of his shoulder, lips brushing his jaw. The heat of her was so intoxicating, her closeness tantalizing in a way that had him on the verge of begging- for what, he didn’t know.

He was, for the first time, quite grateful for the loss of feeling in his lower body. The sensation would have been altogether too much.

Then he felt her fingers, toying with the edges of his shirt.

By Marika, if she-

She did. She slid her hands under the material, palms blazing a molten trail against his skin as she ran them up his body. A great, shuddering breath went through him as he arched up into her caress, desperate. Desperate for the heat, desperate for her touch. He felt her smile against his jaw as his arms came up to clutch her tighter, felt her squeeze her legs around his hips. He imagined he could feel her knees pressed to his thighs, caging him in her body and presence.

“How’s that?” she whispered. He didn’t trust himself to speak. He nodded. She chuckled, raising gooseflesh where her warm breath fanned over the column of his throat. Her hands, trapped between them, had wriggled free to run down his sides. He turned his head, and she raised hers so that they were cheek to cheek.

Her lips were so close.

Her breathing began to even out, body soon sagging against his in sleep. The weight of her was soothing. Though his heart raced, he soon found himself nodding off, too.

In his dreams, he wasn’t nearly the coward of reality.

In his dreams, she pressed him down to the bed and straddled him. In his dreams, he pulled her down over him to seal their lips together. In his dreams, he kissed her, fast and hard and searching, until she broke away for breath, and then he kissed her throat until she gasped and writhed in his lap.

In his dreams, there was no Death Blight. He wrapped her waist in one arm and rolled, pinning her beneath him with his hips, arms caging her in his embrace. She panted against his mouth, pulling at his shirt and wrenching it up and out of her way. She ran her hands all over him, eyes locked on his, and dragged him down to fasten her lips to his neck, sucking on his pulse point and making him see stars.

“Rogier,” she gasped, wrapping her legs around him. “Rogier,” she moaned as she pulled him closer, heat bleeding through their garments.

He blinked and she was suddenly laid bare before him, stunning and stunningly wanting. Wanting of him. She scrabbled at his trousers, drawing him back down to her. Her bare skin burned him where it touched his. “Delia,” he choked out.

“Rogier.” She was pulling his hair again, making him moan like he’d never been touched before. He really did love when she did that.

“Rogier!”

He groaned, peeling his eyes open blearily. Delia’s worried face swam into focus then, hovering not far away. “Oh, thank goodness,” she breathed. She lay a hand against his cheek, leaning forward to press a kiss to his forehead. Her fingers slid against his skin and he realized that he was drenched in sweat. “I’ve been trying to wake you for… well, for a long time.”

He drew himself up slowly, looking down at his soaked shirt. “Let me help you.” Her fingers brushed his sides as she lifted the garment, making him shiver. When he looked at her, for a moment, he saw her flushed face and glassy eyes from his dreams. He squeezed his eyes shut, berating himself in shame. But when he opened them again, Delia was staring.

He couldn’t stop the smirk that pulled at his lips, or the satisfaction rising in his chest. She noticed it, cheeks pinking as she stood, crossing the room to a chest. She rummaged in it for a moment, then drew out another light shirt. It was only then that he realized that she was already fully armored.

“You had me worried,” she said softly. He grimaced.

“Forgive me.” She shook her head, looking up once he’d pulled on the shirt. It was close to a good fit, only slightly tight across the shoulders when he raised his arms. “And thank you.”

She made a noncommittal noise. “It’s just an old shirt.”

“All the same.”

She was unfocused, staring at some point on the wall. Rogier leaned forward, trying to catch her eye.

“Delia?”

She looked sharply up. “You said my name, while you were sleeping.”

Rogier felt his cheeks begin to burn. He looked away instinctively. “Did I?”

She came closer, seating herself at the edge of the bed. “Are you going to tell me what you were dreaming?”

Never.

“I don’t remember.” The lie came easily enough, but he could tell even without seeing her face that she didn’t believe him.

He let himself look up at her after a short time, but her expression was inscrutable.

“You know, Rogier,” she said slowly. “I think we want the same thing.”

His heart leapt in his chest before rapidly sinking, like a spun stone skipping atop the foam of the sea before plummeting to the icy depths.

She gave him ample time- time to lie, to make excuses, to beg her to go and spare her heart or to beg her to come here and kiss him, already, heart and conscience and pride be damned.

He did, and said, nothing.

“As I thought,” she murmured, leaning forward.

Marika, help him. If she kissed him, he would be lost.

He couldn’t do this to her. If she cared for him half as much as he did for her, he couldn’t do this to her.

He had to fight to make his voice steady. “Delia, I’m dying.” She recoiled with enough force to shake the bed. He closed his eyes, unable to bear seeing her expression. “I can’t…”

“I’m not going to let that happen.” Her voice was firm and when he looked at her, her face was a stony mask of resolve.

“Delia, we can’t stop this.” He let all his fear, his desolation, all of his hopelessness flood the statement. He lifted the blanket from his legs with a shaking hand, revealing the tangle of thorny vines piercing his flesh. The vile insects that hatched from them poured up, dispersing around them.

Easier to forget him if she found him despicable.

She turned calmly away, and Rogier felt himself deflate in relief and heartsickness. But then she turned back, holding some small, strong-smelling herbs in her hands. She tucked them beneath his legs, scattering the nymphs and flies alike.

“We can.” Her voice was firm, gaze hard. “And I will.”

And in a shimmer of gold, she was gone.

#nightingale writes #elden ring #elden ring sorcerer rogier #elden ring rogier #sorcerer rogier #rogier #sorcerer rogier x tarnished #sorcerer rogier x fem!tarnished #rogier x tarnished #rogier x fem!tarnished

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ferahntics · 1 year

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OC Personalities

Realized I have not talked much about my OCs actual personalities, I just say ‘they’re this species, they’re nice/snarky/diabolical’ so let me just add more to them under the cut xDD

I am working on their toyhouse pages, will link them when they’re done where you’ll have more info about them~

Quiver Knight was originally very approachable in her prime years serving the GSA. She was loud and never minced her words, but anyone who took the time to know her would discover how large her heart really was. A way to describe her would be a patient impatient person - she would let you know to take your time, but still throw in a jab or two out of habit. She was more or less that one loud auntie you can’t help but love.

Later down the line, after Robin’s incident, she would close herself off completely, hesitant to form the same kind of parent/child connection again. She became much harsher and her words got more scathing, her entire demeanor screams ‘approach at your own risk’. Sarcasm and snark are her other two languages, and she has a soft spot for puns too.

Robin was a very hard worker to the point it was dangerous for his own well being, burning his own hands due to overtraining himself and his fire abilities. He’s reckless and clumsy, but his heart is in the right place. He’s kind, compassionate and very much determined - and refuses to give up. He’s quite the spaz too and gave Quiver a run for her money plenty of times.

A loud and friendly guy, he was someone who could get along with almost anyone and he was willing to accept anyone - which at times, could make him gullible or naive. Nevertheless, he was a very strong asset to the GSA who never turned tail and ran, especially if someone else’s well-being was at stake.

Inki is of Drawcia’s species, and her apprentice. Their relationship is very strained, with Drawcia’s harsh and brutal expectations taking a toll on Inki’s confidence and self-esteem. She’s quiet and shy, and very much dislikes the thought of fighting - which was exactly what Drawcia wanted from her.

Despite her rough roots, she’s very polite and soft-spoken. Can be very anxious and fidgety starting off - but as she warms up she does feel more comfortable being energetic and bubbly, especially with things she’s passionate about, like painting and baking. Just needs time and patience, and she’ll return all of that tenfold and a ton of love.

Spectra is a form of demon beast - an anomaly between her real world and Mirror World self, and this results in a very unstable personality. Immediately, she’s graceful and kind, soft and charismatic - all of this being a ploy to get people to drop their guards, before her second half makes itself painfully known.

In truth, she is a cruel individual, with a sadistic need to cause misery and takes great pleasure in it. She’s manipulative and very patient - a vicious combination when unfolding her plan - typically playing mind-games and tear targets down that way - but is just as - if not more - vicious in battle. There’s basically nothing she won’t stoop to - like any demon beast or Dark Matter being, she’s bent on destruction and will enjoy every second of it.

#been meaning to talk more about them for a while #again not doing udova quite yet cause im still trying to figure her out #more on toyhouse~~#kirby #kirby oc #fan character #quiver #quiver knight #robin #robin knight #inki #spectra #rambles

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cillspropertea · 2 years

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Flipped

Chapter 15: Showdown

Warnings: Angst, tense situations, mention of past trauma.

This fic might have dark themes which may irritate or offend some readers. But if you’ve seen Peaky Blinders and are familiar with Thomas Shelby, you’ll be okay. The story, plot, character histories and back stories might not be relevant to the original “Peaky Blinders” . Warnings will change per chapter. This is my first fic. Hope you all like it. English is not my first language.

Do not hesitate to comment, reblog and engage. It works as fuel for my writing. 😉💙💙

Synopsis: Her father’s one mistake shall alter her life’s direction forever.

Word count: 2378

Thomas Shelby

He walked unarmed and unafraid. Aunt Polly and Arthur accompanied him as directed by the Changrettas. ‘This is it’ he thought to himself. He walked thinking only and only about his son who he could hear crying in the background of the call he’d received with the instructions. “If you harm a single hair on my sons head I swear…” the man on the phone laughed. “I thought you’d be wiser Mr. Shelby! We can do whatever we want with him and you are too danm far away to do anything about it…” Thomas had gulped silently, “Think about that before threatening us again!” and the phone was off.

God! he would kill them. If he just got the chance, he would die a happy man if he could strangle the men who had dared to touch his son. All three of them strolled silently thinking about anything and everything other than their approaching deaths. Polly was thinking about her son Michael, to whom she did talk one last time on the phone. Arthur was thinking about his pregnant wife Linda and the child he will never get to see if he died tonight. But Tommy was focused on simply getting his son out of there alive and safe.

He could die tonight, the probability of it was high, but he wasn’t afraid. He hadn’t feared death ever since his return from France. But the end meant he would get to see Grace again. All of their special moments moved like a film in front of his eyes. The way he’d first seen her in the bar, the walks, the talks, her betrayal and their reunion, the result of which was their little Charlie. And then her death, right in his arms, moments after he had professed his love and need for her. But then unwittingly out of nowhere, Esmeralda’s face flashed before his eyes. And the need that filled his heart surprised him. Somehow, if he wasn’t already, knowing her story from Polly had made him feel closer to her, in a very intimate way. She was beautifully broken. And the damage was irreparable, just like his trauma. He wished he could see her one last time before his death. But do what? Say what? He didn’t know. They were literally in the middle of nowhere. They had been directed to walk on the road without any protocols or men and that they would be approached eventually.

And then two cars stopped before them. Eight armed men came out of them and covered Tommy, Arthur and Polly’s face with bags, tying their hands behind their backs before forcing them into the cars. “Ready to meet your end Shelbys?” one of them yelled before starting to drive.

-----

When the bags were taken off they looked around, taking in their surroundings. It was dark and humid, which is probably why it took them a moment to realize it was a movie theater. They were seated on wooden chairs right against the screen. The three of them squinted to see a bit clearer as there were spotlights directly focused on them. There were Changretta men all around them but then in came the man himself, Luca Changretta.

He clapped his hands slowly, “Isn’t this something now! Quite a show isn’t it?” He asked a man who walked a few paces behind him. Only when he walked further inside did the Shelbys see who it really was. They were all familiar with his face and they shared the exact same amount of hatred for him, if not more. It was Aberama Gold with his son Bonnie in his tow. Their men too held their positions along with the Changrettas.

“Isn’t this how you killed my father Thomas Shelby? Tied to a chair as you tortured him and tormented him?” Thomas simply stared at him, not giving any emotion away. Luca walked slowly towards him, taking the fedora off, he knelt before Thomas. “Where is my son?” Thomas asked in a monotone voice. “Where do you think?” Luca’s answer made Thomas frown. He slowly stood up and walked back towards the first row seats and sat on one of them. Aberama came forward and knelt before Tommy. He looked weaker than the last time Tommy had seen him. Paler, weaker and tired. His hair were shorter and he had a mustache too “How does it feel Thomas Shelby? To be on the other side eh?” He chuckled. “Not so long ago, you held my daughter captive for one whole night. Did you think, for even a second, how I spent that night? Helplessly knowing what you or your men might be doing to her?” He was shivering, from excitement or fear, Thomas couldn’t tell. He stared into Aberama’s eyes, unblinking. “If I remember correctly Aberama, You were the one who flipped the coin, didn’t you?” Aberama groaned and grabbed Tommy’s neck as he continued, “You could have walked away from that wager, but you pride and ego came in between your intelligence and daughter’s safety!” Aberama punched him so hard Thomas fell down from his chair, blood dripped down his chin but he did not stop. “What did you do after that eh? You could have saved her, remedied your mistake but yet again you threw that girl to the wolves, making her pay for your faults!” He punched him again” Arthur was struggling so hard but Bonnie came and stood behind his chair, holding him down from his shoulders. They knew Arthur was the muscle and killing machine of the gang, if he went lose, God only knew what would happen next. “I knew what I was doing. I had everything under control!” Aberama said before kicking Thomas on his ribs again and again. Tommy grunted with every blow.

Aberama went out of breath and sat down on the ground next to Tommy. “The truth is she would have died over there if I hadn’t come to her rescue.” Polly screamed. Aberama twisted as his eyes landed on her, a new kind of madness spewed in them. “The truth Pollyanna, the truth…” he gulped between his heaving breaths as he made his way towards her now, “The truth is that if you wouldn’t have interfered, Sybill would have been alive today… she fucking died, burned alive because of you!” He came and stood above Polly. She looked up at him and then shook her head with a sigh, “Some people never change, and never learn. What a pity.” She rolled her eyes. “You raped that woman! And then launched that bitch you call mother on her! And you have the audacity to blame me!” She continued “God gave you a chance to remedy that mistake, for not standing up for Sybill, when you could have easily saved Esmeralda by owning up your mistakes but yet again, you chose yourself before everyone! Even your own daughter!” Polly’s voice echoed throughout the hall, “I had a plan. If you wouldn’t have stooped in like that …” Polly cut him off, “She would have died! She would have died like Sybill if I hadn’t!!” Aberama grabbed her face in both of his hands before she whispered, “Once a coward, always a coward!” and she spat on his face with that. Aberama blinked as what had happened sunk in. He wiped his face and smiled before slapping Polly across the face so hard that her chair almost toppled over. Her ear rang but she still spoke, she could not hold herself back anymore, “You destroyed her danm life you know that!” “Someone shut her up please!” Luca said in a bored voice and soon enough one of his men tied Polly’s mouth shut.

“Just tell me my where my son is, I wish to see him once before you do whatever you want to do with me…” Aberama was still heaving as his feet swayed towards Thomas once more, “You see he was crying a lot, that little fellow, made my heart so sad… and I hate being sad…” He pouted. “So we decided to send him to his mother.” Polly screamed as Arthur struggled to get his hands untied from behind the chair. He pull his hands with so much pressure that the chair broke, startling Aberama. He grabbed him from his neck, wrapping the rope from his hands around his neck.

Aberama’s men came forward and pointed their guns at Arthur, but didn’t shoot, probably because they weren’t sure if they’ll hit Arthur or Aberama. Bonnie rushed towards Arthur and grabbed him from his neck. “Let go of my father” Bonnie whispered in Arthur’s ears. “He’s okay, the kid is okay now let him go!” and Arthur did. Bonnie tied his hands once more behind a new chair now, and checked Polly’s bounds too while Aberama laughed like a maniac, “Why did you have to spoil the fun boy!? I was enjoying myself…” It was clear Aberama wasn’t used to this much exercise as he couldn’t even stand straight while he made his way to a seat next to Luca. “Your son is fine, we’ve sent him to your house. Your maid would be taking care of him right now as we speak…” Luca said while his mouth played with the toothpick, moving it left to right and right to left again. “We do keep our word Mr. Shelby and abide by the rules made by our bosses too.” Thomas sighed in relief. But he knew there was something wrong too, he had called Alfie and asked him and his own men to follow them and send help as soon as they could. ‘Where the fuck are they!?’ he thought.

“What the fuck are you waiting for eh?” Arthur said, “Do it, fucking do it, and be done with it, why don’t you?” he yelled. Luca looked at his watch and walked towards Thomas, steadying him on his knees “You see, in order to have this plan work, we needed people inside your territory. You have such loyal people around you guarding you like dogs…” Thomas scoffed, proud of each and every one of his Shelby family for standing by him like that, “It took me a while but I did figure it out. I found the person who did not only feed me all the happenings of the house but also of your locations and plans as best as they could. They were willing to do all of this just in return of a simple favor…” He walked and crouched behind Tommy, “If they could kill Thomas Shelby themselves…” he gestured one of his men who nodded and walked towards the entrance as he whispered in Tommy’s ear, “Oh! And they’ve been practicing for months just to pull the trigger on your head!” Thomas’s eyes widened as his heart sank at the figure walking in. It was Esmeralda holding her gun in her hands.

-----

Esmeralda walked and walked until she stood right in front of Thomas, who looked up to her face, still on his knees on the floor. His eyes were full of accusation and pain of betrayal. He was shocked speechless. The last time when that had happened he couldn’t remember. But out of habit, he regained his speech. He hated giving the enemy the satisfaction that they’d successfully affected him in anyway. Esmeralda was the enemy now, wasn’t she? He laughed and shook his head looking down before staring up at her again, “What’s so funny eh? Don’t have anything sly to spit Shelby?” Aberama barked from his seat. Everyone watched closely at Esmeralda and Thomas. “And here I was thinking of entrusting my son to you if anything happened to me tonight…” It was true. The fact that he’d let this girl get under his skin so danm easily made him want to furious at himself. His heart truly never had his best interest. “You see now huh Polly? Now everything will be back to normal. After killing Thomas, my daughter can proudly come back to her own clan. She’ll be a Gold again. We’ll be back together as a family. Lilly and Elizabeth miss you so much Emmy. You know…” then he stopped himself patting his temple, “How would you know…. The sight of you has literally made me go silly…” He smiled walking closer to Esmeralda. “They are getting married next week! Our little girls!” Esmeralda twisted her neck finally looking at her Father, “I am aware.” Aberama frowned at that a bit but continued, “To the heads of Scamp and Wood clan! They’ll be playing in riches! And once they bare them a son they…” Esmeralda cut him off “They are only thirteen and fourteen!”

“Doesn’t matter!” Esmeralda scoffed turning back towards Thomas. Luca had gone and sat back on his seat, enjoying the drama but then he whistled, “The chit chat show is over, time to do the deed Signorina or have you changed your mind?” He sniggered. “You look absolutely stunning like this you know! I can’t believe you’ll be my wife soon!” he smiled.

“So you are in love with him then? And this is for everything I did to you eh? This is for every bad thing that happened to you because of me?” Thomas said as Esmeralda angled her gun right above his temple. “So many questions tonight Mr. Shelby. As if this is our last conversation ever…” He could feel his heart breaking into a million pieces. In that moment he knew it was the end for him and that he was utterly and irrevocably in love with Esmeralda. The pain in his chest was proof enough. But she loved Luca. No wonder she hadn’t even flinched after seeing him with Tatiana. It made sense now. He closed his eyes and let the gun’s mouth scrape his head, silently urging the woman he was in love with to shoot and kill him off. “No…” Esmeralda slightly shook her head, a small smile touching her lips, “This is for everything Polly and your family has done ‘for’ me!” Thomas frowned but before he could respond Esmeralda had pulled the trigger and down went Luca on the floor with the bullet crossing right in between his eyes.

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