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gemissleeping · 2 months

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Sea Foam

Theodore Nott x Siren!Reader

Summary: One night a month, you’re unable to control the abilities you inherited from your siren Mother. Taking refuge at the Black Lake, you hope for that night to pass in peace. Until Theodore Nott discovers you sitting by the edge of the lake just as the full moon rises.

Length: 1.5k

Notes: Brash Theo (heart eyes), angst (i live for the drama), no proof read, slight allusion to cannibalistic desire. Not smutty just saucy. Keeping you fed with my niche day dreams. Short series please let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list.

Salt wafted through the air as the sharp cliffs of the rock below you cut through the thin cotton of your nightdress. It felt as though you may as well be wearing nothing at all. The breeze was picking up now. Full moon approaching the midnight sky. You dreaded this night each month, when the moon would rise in its completeness and you would lose all reins you had on your mind. It had been that way since you had turned thirteen, and it hadn’t ever stopped since.

You let out a sigh as goosebumps erupted across your skin and your toes made contact with the dry sand. It was the pits of winter and the sand always felt closer to ice chips than anything else this time of year. The moon continued its unrelenting rising and you knew it was only a matter of minutes now.

One foot planted in the sand, you readied yourself to approach the shoreline before the sound of footsteps behind you caused you to falter. You glanced back to where the sounds were emanating from anxiously. Hair falling over your near-bare shoulders as you searched the darkness, the distinct feeling of being watched making your throat tighten. No one else should’ve been out near the Black Lake this time of night.

“You shouldn’t be out here,” a deep voice echoed your thoughts from the shadow ridden tree line of the bank.

You blinked back at the shadows until a red glow became visible. At first you weren’t sure what you were looking at, but as your eyes adjusted you found yourself studying the end of a lit cigarette. It wasn’t a particularly helpful clue, half of the school smoked like chimneys.

“Neither should you,” you called back softly to the figure, still lurking in the tree line. “You need to leave.”

Urged by the pull you felt from the Lake’s depths tugging at your chest, you glanced hurriedly back to the moon where it was inching closer.

“Please.”

You turned back, eyes brimming with swallowed fear as you silently pleaded with the figure, who had now stepped out from the tree line. He was tall, hair falling in messy brown curls around his face.

Theodore Nott’s dead-eyed stare only made the material of your nightdress feel thinner beneath his calculating gaze. A cigarette hung lazily between his curious lips as he watched you, leaning against a tree.

“Why’s that?” He breathed in a cloud of smoke; cigarette mixed with chilled air.

The pull tugged at you again and your grip on the rock tightened momentarily. Something he clearly didn’t miss from the way his eyes dragged downward.

You clenched your jaw, knowing no answer you could give would satisfy him and that time was escaping you. You tried to keep your voice even but the shudder was audible.

“Because I asked nicely.”

Theo frowned at the shake in your voice, taking note of the fear that had leaked through your eyes. He took a step towards you, and the motion propelled you, pushing you off of the rock.

You spun to face him, stumbling back towards the water’s edge. Unsteady as the pull became more unbearable, urging you to the lake as you pressed your heels into the sand.

“Please Theo,” your voice sounded fragile against the wind, control dwindling.

“You didn’t answer my question.” He took another step towards you, discarding his cigarette with a curious frown. Hands shoved deep into his pockets against the chill as the wind made your nightdress dance.

You glanced behind you, where the water was trying to lick at your skin. Fear crawled its way up your throat, alongside desire.

The crunch of sand ahead of you drew your attention back to Theo. In your distraction he had found his opportunity, now standing before you, only a breath away. His movement startled you, and you took one, thoughtless, step back into the lake.

A sharp inhale was all it took before your lips had parted and your eyes had snapped up to his. Feeling all semblance of control unraveling as he watched you curiously.

Your fear melted into something far more dangerous as irregular breaths frantically tore through your chest. Fighting glazed eyes, you latched onto his from where he studied you. You could feel yourself slipping away slowly, body in control as you became aware of yourself taking another unsteady step back into the lake.

Theo’s eyes darkened with concern as you fled further. The water lapped at your legs, staining the bottom of your white nightdress. Feeling nothing but need burning through you as the moon took a hold completely, eyes blown out.

His hand found your wrist as you stepped back from him again, further into the Lake. A strange mix of confusion and longing in his unrelenting gaze as he stared, tall above you. Clouds of your breath dancing across one another’s cheeks as he grew nearer.

It was too late for the both of you. The water was drawing you in the same way you were now unwillingly luring him. He made no attempt to resist as you backed further into the lake. Instead letting you lead him, unable to tear his eyes away from yours. You could feel yourself trying to break through, to tell him to run. But that part of you was buried deep now, instead you waded further.

The wind picked up, a surge heading towards you as the lake grew rough. It brushed across your waist, bringing you to a stop as Theo closed in on you. With each wave you felt your mind washing away, filled only with him and the need to be deep below the surface of the lake. To drag him down there with you.

Theo’s hand released your wrist gently, traveling down to your fingertips as his other slid around your waist. You were both frozen for a moment, chests heaving as you were utterly transfixed by the other, before you crashed your lips against his.

Hands snaking around his neck to thread viciously through his hair as he lifted you, pressing your chest to his. You were hungry for him, a kind of hunger that you knew wouldn’t be eased by a kiss. His lips moved against yours with equal fever as you consumed each other, unable to breathe unless it was him.

Your bodies pressed against each other with urgency as you felt him gasping into your mouth, hands tangling in the fabric of your nightdress. The water pulled you again, as Theo pulled at the fabric, tongue slipping past your lips. Both came undone.

As Theo unknowingly led the two of you further into the depths of the Lake, you felt your skin changing. Scales sewing themselves across your skin as your legs gave way to fins. His lips not leaving yours for a second as your kiss only grew more desperate. Teeth tugging at his lips, you pulled at his bottom lip. Eliciting a breathy groan from the boy, which was muffled as he kissed you back roughly.

The water was at your chest now, and if he had noticed the sudden change to your body he gave no acknowledgment of it. Continuing to hold you tightly to him as you drew him further into you, the torn remains of your nightdress floating to the shore. Arms pressed against the back of his neck as you leaned back towards the surface.

Just as the water was about to swallow you both, one of his hands came to rest against your cheek. It was gentle, careful, and the feeling of his rough fingers trailing across your skin hit you like a rush of air. Eyes flying open you clawed your way back to the surface of your mind. Both of your hands falling to his chest and pushing him back roughly.

He surged away from you in the water, stumbling back and blinking with confusion. Both of you staring at one another in shock as he took in the water around him, the sight of you before him as though he was seeing it properly now. Breathing the harsh winter air in half-breaths as you both desperately tried to fill your lungs.

You could feel your eyes glazing over, and you did your best to fight the feeling as the guilt set in. Lips quivering slightly, you tried to blink back the grip the moon had over you as you floated a few steps away from him, struggling to remain on the surface. But it was no use, this wasn’t something you could simply control.

It took your last remaining strength to push yourself away, disappearing beneath the surface of the lake with the flick of your tail and the force of the moon bearing down on you. Leaving Theo above, his shirt see-through and half unbuttoned in the water. Lips swollen with desire and panting with confusion.

Read Chapter Two here

#theodore nott x you #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott angst #theodore nott fluff #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott fic #theodore nott fanfiction #theodore nott imagine #theodore nott #slytherin boys #gemwrites #theodore nott x siren!reader

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beansidhebumbling · 5 months

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Any chance of a Nesta x Eris drabble?

Let me know what to think. As tends to be the case I lost control of the length.

Warning!: smut

Patience and Other Vices

His hand glances over hers at dinner.

It's an accident. She's been so studious in her avoidance of his gaze, his presence, the mere mention of his name since the announcement. Tonight and this brief touch are just another in the long list of regrets he surely ties to her name.

He reaches for the pitcher of water just as she does and their fingers brush.

He has the hands of a pianist, dexterous, elongated, agile when they play on the keys, when they play with her.

And how he played her.

***

Their eyes catch.

He's thinking of that night too.

She knows as his eyebrows furrow, light colour tinting high cheekbones, left hand clenching his fork in a death grip as his right lingers- outstretched and alone.

If he is striking in sunlight, he is devastating in candlelight, the sharp cut of his jaw and his glare cast shadows, even as the rich red tones of his hair burn and flicker under the gentle wavering glow of the candelabra.

***

Long fingers pump inside her in a rhythm she chases but cannot catch as her head falls back on the rich navy velvet shoulder of his tailcoat.

'Please... God in heaven please.'

Gasping and breathy, a more sincere prayer than any she has ever offered on a Sunday.

He lets out a low chuckle.

'That's not my name, sweetest. Plead to me, look only to me or I may take note from your God and be very cruel indeed.'

And when he stops the infernal masterful movement, she finds herself possessed, for that is the only reason Nesta would be compelled to beg him.

The plaintive cry that leaves is a sound foreign to her ears,

'Please my Lord. Do not stop or I may die and take my spot in Hell alongside you.'

She squirms in his lap, attempting to create her own friction. Her cunt, as he calls it, as he taught her, is stretched and hot over his blasted unmoving fingers.

Cunt.

The word looks blunt and crude on paper, in the secret letters sends. But when said by him it sounds more like treasure, more like covet. The word dripping in awe and adoration.

She is full in a way she never achieves with her own tender nocturnal explorations. He taught her this too, the importance of self-exploration, coaxing her to find herself in the wet messy flush of carnal pleasure.

He pinches her right nipple with his free hand, brief and chastising.

'This is a lesson in patience Nesta. You are learning to wait for me.'

Another mean twist, this time to her left nipple.

'And you still haven't said my name.'

'Eris.

Eris.

Eris.'

Each gasp is breathier than the last. She loves the familiar shape of his name, how it falls from her tongue.

A confession no deity could pry from her.

'Good girl.'

The dance of his fingers inside her continues once more.

A reward.

And she thinks maybe he needs no confession when her loud moan at his praise is a sure equivalent.

'Look at you. Beautiful and bared like Venus for me.'

He pulls her hair so she is once more looking in the mirror at the wanton naked figure that is splayed across the Duke of Vanserra's clothed form.

His fine leather boots still gleam under moonlight.

He reduces her to this wild, unkempt thing. Hair undone, blood rising to her cheeks, her chest, eyes glazed and starry.

But if it is a reduction why does she feel like so much more when held in his arms?

She comes apart with the practiced thrum of his thumb on her button, his name the only chant she knows as her mind whirls and galaxies fall apart and come together again behind her eyes.

She sees love in the kisses he presses on her collarbone, in the gentle pass of a washcloth along her centre and thighs, in the delicate way he redresses her in her nightwear before sneaking out the window, a thief in the night, her heart buried between his and navy velvet.

***

She is patient.

Patient when his nightime visits and secret letters stop suddenly.

Patient in her rejection of those who come to call, to plead for the privilege of a promenade.

Nesta Archeron, the diamond of the town, is patient a full week until word of his engagement to Lady Morrigan Velaris reaches the breakfast table, gossip spilled between tea sips and flaky pastry. A most advantageous match. Very likely to be the wedding of the season.

When Nesta retires with a migraine she goes unnoticed. Her tears, salty and unceasing, flow onto her pillow, heartbreak and rage released like a river, like a flood.

The smell of pine and leather and tobacco lingers even now.

She burns her bedsheets.

***

She is no longer patient.

The deluge of letters returns, multiple daily, even when he doesn't dare show his face.

Unread they join the ash of her bed linen in the grate.

And when Lord Cassian, still a little too loud, a little too slow, brings her flowers, yellow roses with no hidden messages, she accepts them with a smile.

He never makes her feel more, but he never makes her feel less.

Her engagement is announced the same day the dissolution of Eris' is published in the gossip sheet.

***

She sees him at church.

Gaunt and sickly, stress marked in the crease of his forehead, the anguish of his gaze.

The burn of his stare does not relent through the sermon and she wonders if this is her damnation.

Because despite it all she longs to smooth the wrinkle of his forehead, hear the low timbre of his voice.

***

He attempts to knock on the balcony of her room that night.

When she wakes the house with screams about intruders he does not try again.

***

She should have guessed he'd somehow finangle a way to Lord Cassian's dinner.

She thought it safe considering the still smoking wreckage of his dalliance with Morrigan.

She underestimated his cunning and unflappable shamelesness as he bats off Lord Rhysand's increasingly cutting remarks about failed nuptials with all the ease of breathing.

When the men depart into the smoking room she seizes her chance to catch a breath in the conservatory.

He finds her.

Of course.

***

She is alone all of thirty seconds before she hears the urgent clap of boots on the tiled floor.

He confronts her by the orange tree, his eyes frantic and jaw tight.

'Nesta.'

Her name sounds like a prayer.

Her response stops his urgent pace towards her.

'My Lord, I'd advise you to return to the party before you are missed and warn you against using my name with such impropriety in future.'

Her tone is clipped, words measured, as her heart bleeds within its cavity.

'I...'.

A speechless Eris Vanserra is a new sight to her.

She takes her chance at escape, dipping so shallowly it hardly bears the definition of a curtsey, she begins to walk away, heading towards the ruckus of laughter and chatter.

A thud causes her to turn, skirts twisting around her frame with the sudden movement.

He kneels, shoulders hunched and face bent to the floor.

'Nes-my darling. I beg of you, have mercy and stab me before you once more deprive me of the honour of company.'

'My Lord, cease the melodramatics and rise this instant.'

She snaps.

'Anyone could walk in, you fool.'

He huffs a strangled laugh, maimed with pain.

'I'm a fool you're talking to, my love. Beter shade a fool than every other colour I've been'

He looks at her then and God save her he's crying.

How dare he?

The fury that churns within her is only matched by the sorrow that threatens to expose itself in the faultlines of her masked expression.

'Get up Eris. This is a misery of your own design. You used me and discarded me. I will put up with no further humiliation.'

The light that sparks in his eyes when she uses his name dies quickly as the proceeding words hit him like blows. He flinches but still holds her gaze, like he fears she may disappear if he blinks.

A valid fear to hold.

'Did you.. did you read even one of my letters, my Lady?'

She arches an eyebrow, disdainful at the question and her premature rise in rank. It's answer enough.

His next words are rushed, fearful she'll leave before he finishes she imagines. That is her plan but she finds her feet glued to the spot as he continues, tripping over words, voice shaky.

'It was an arrangement by my thrice-cursed father, still haunting me beyond the grave. I asked you to be patient while I tried to sort it discretely. I thought you'd never have to know, to worry. Rhysand forced my hand and I was engaged and by the time I escaped it you were ...'

He gulps, shaking his head, long hair moving like silk, like he is trying to dispel the reality.

'I...I kick myself for not telling you before. It haunts me, every missed opportunity to propose to you, to do it the messy way, cleverness be damned. I'll die sick and bitter that I squandered my chance to be yours. But I cannot have you ignore me like this anymore.'

He stands then. Makes his way towards her, pulling her hands, that must have clasped around her mouth at some point, towards him, grasping them like they hold his salvation.

'I will be whoever you want me to be, Nesta. I have proposed marriage, friendship, acquaintance in my letters, poured my soul to you in pretty words, calculated and considered to try and redeem myself. I am unprepared while struck stupid in your presence. I only have these clumsy pleas but do not question their sincerity when since the moment I've met you I've loved you. Since your first barbed comment my heart has been yours. I will be anything but do not make me a stranger. Grant me this, I beg. I will kneel if you wish. I would risk it all to have you look at me softly once again.'

Her heart escapes between the faultlines as a tear falls down her face.

His right hand reaches, outstretched and alone, hovering, shaking by her face.

She turns her head to kiss his palm.

She feels his pulse beneath her lips.

Patience is recovered in quiet citrus-scented air.

#neris #nesta #eris #i am sick #so if there are loads of mistakes #no there's not #acotar #regency #gemwrites

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breeziegem · 6 years

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People like Me.

It's 2am I've just gotten home. Mom's upset I stayed out so late, but she knows I was with you so its all okay.

Changed into my night gown, and there in my bed I slept. I dreamt of you and the time we spend together, just you and me, riding around with my best friend.

In my heart I knew I wanted more and finally had the courage to say it.

So the next day after school I told you how I felt, you pulled me aside and said "It's not possible girlie, I don't get into real relationship with people like you."

People like Me? What does that mean? I don't what those words are doing to me?

It sat with me for days, swirling around in my head People like Me, People like Me.

The following weekend you texted wanting to hang out, i said because i missed you. We spent our time as we always do driving around the country roads talking about life or whatever cane to mind.

You told me about your family a bunch of stuff you'd said before, some new drama, but still I was lost in my head.

People like Me?

I couldn't take it anymore! I just had to know. "What does it mean? What do you mean?"

You'd forgotten the situation, I had to refresh your memory. When i finished explaining you replied with a simple "nothing, it means nothing. Let it go."

But I couldn't just let it go i had to know. "Tell me! Tell me what you meant by that!" Silence. "You promised you would never lie to me, please just be honest with me."

Silence...... He sighed "People like you. People who look like you." We sat in silence, I finally got my answer.

You broke the silence "it's not your fault, you were born this way." your attempts to make it better only made it worse.

Silence til we got back to your place. You got out of the car and said goodbye. As you did I felt a tear start to form and i dove off because i didn't want you to see me cry. My eyes had gone so blurry I had to pull over and just let it all sob out.

People like Me

The phrase hurt so much more now but i just kept repeating it over and over and over again.

People like Me

When i got home i was immediately stopped at the doorway, Mom realized i had been crying and me sit with her.

"I'm fine, I don't wanna talk about it. I'm okay. People like me don't need to talk about things like this."

No matter how much I denied being upset she knew i was hurt and was determined to help.

She finally won and i start to release all the pain and hurt as i explained what happened. "People like me aren't good enough for people like him."

"No. " she responded "No more tears, you've cried enough. I know it hurts but remember this. People like him don't deserve people like you."

We such a simple spin her words healed the hurt.

The world has haters and people who will hurts but remember this people like us deserve better than people like that.💜💎

#shortbyGem #gemwrites #positive #messageforyou #lesson

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timidfantasist · 7 years

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It went WHOOP WHOOP WHOOP past my face like a fucking helicopter

my mother, explaining why it was completely necessary to murder a moth with a potato chip bag

#tf talks #gemwrites #bugs mention

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kayelleallen · 5 years

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Civil Hearts by Claire Gem @gemwriter #RLFblog #Supernatural #Suspense

#romantic suspense

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pminc · 6 years

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Tweeted

New books to read on #FreeBookFriday #RLFblog @gemwriter https://t.co/IZ9txIJjvw via @kayelleallen

— PM&P (@pmnp) January 13, 2018

#IFTTT #Twitter

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aprilzyon · 7 years

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Spirits of the Heart by Claire Gem

A New Haunted Voices novel @gemwriter #CR4U #romantic #suspense #supernatural Spirits of the Heart Spirits of the Heart – A Haunted Voices Novel An addiction counselor and a security guard struggle to free a little girl and her father, two lost spirits trapped inside an abandoned mental asylum. Addiction counselor Laura Horton returns from college to move in with an old friend and start her…

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irisblobel · 7 years

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When Imagination Becomes Reality "Spirits of the Heart" by Claire Gem #EggcerptExchange @gemwriter

When Imagination Becomes Reality “Spirits of the Heart” by Claire Gem #EggcerptExchange @gemwriter

When Imagination Becomes Reality

Or vice versa. In the writing of my latest release, Spirits of the Heart, I had a very creepy event occur that literally stalled the completion of the book for over eighteen months.

In June of 2015, I was in the middle of crafting my new supernatural suspense, set on the grounds of an abandoned mental asylum in the town where I grew up—Middletown, N.Y., USA. My…

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#Claire Gem #spirits of the Heart

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ovalleba · 7 years

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Spirits of the Heart ~ Claire Gem

A New Haunted Voices novel @gemwriter #CR4U #romantic #suspense #supernatural Spirits of the Heart

Spirits of the Heart – A Haunted Voices Novel

An addiction counselor and a security guard struggle to free a little girl and her father, two lost spirits trapped inside an abandoned mental asylum.

Addiction counselor Laura Horton returns from college to move in with an old friend and start her…

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#book Spotlight #contemporary #New Release #Paranormal Romance #Romance #Series

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gemissleeping · 2 months

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Moonlight & Masks

Theodore Nott x Fem!Reader

Summary: Newly turned Death Eater Theodore Nott is tasked with hunting down Harry Potter and the Order Operative protecting him. Only to discover the person he hunts happens to be the one he loves.

Length: 1.8k

Notes: Back from the dead (I am so sorry things are hectic and I don’t want to release a chapter I’m not feeling) with this little one from @thatdammchickennugget’s Hogmarch Challenge! Death Eater Theo. Use of the killing curse. Angst as always because we know I live for the drama. For those of you wanting more Veleveteen, in my head this occurs in the same story universe (which I know isn’t the same as an update pls forgive my sins). Not proofread, we have deadlines to meet.

The sting of lightning hung in the air as she weaved through the trees. The thundering footfall still pressing behind her. Lungs burning with need, she pressed on. Dizzied from the turbulent descent she and Mad Eye had suffered.

Alastor. He was dead.

She hadn’t even been able to take his body from the dirt where it had fallen. And the Death Eaters certainly wouldn’t afford him the dignity of a proper burial.

Tears clawed at her cheeks as she bounded over the tree roots twisting across the forest floor. Thinking only of Mad Eye, the way his voice had simply ceased when the curse had hit him. No cry of pain, no strangled wail. Only silence.

Her grip on her wand tightened as her tears ran hot. The taunting laugh of one of her pursuers echoing through the trees as they crashed after her. The darkness spinning endlessly around her. It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair. Gone were the rules they had been taught to play by. Humanity sacrificed for power. Thoughtless with rage, she cast back her wand into the leering shadows. Letting the words fall from her lips before her heart could catch them.

Avada Kedavra

The green light felt as though it tore right through her as it ricocheted from her wand. Scattering through the trees and hitting its mark with a crack. Ripping at her chest with blistering heat, forcing her ribs apart until the spell dissipated. The laughter ceased. That same absence that had followed earlier resting through the trees. She was dragged to a still.

The force of the spell brought her to her knees. Bark breaking the skin of her palms, blood blooming as she fell forward in agony. She felt it being torn from her throat just now; some vital piece of herself. What she had given to cast the curse. The crack rung through her ears. Trailing her even as its ringing grew soft, faded into the background of the forest’s creaks and stutters. She could feel the heaving of her chest, dizzied by the absence that had been dug into her.

Before she could break upon the forest floor completely, the snap of a twig behind her brought reality rearing back. Whipping to face the darkness, she searched the teasing shadows that surrounded her. Nothing answered but the wind. She pushed herself up on bloody palms, staggering towards the nearest tree. Catching the glint of a metal smile hit by moonlight as she turned. But it was too late.

The Death Eater was on her in a second, wand jammed to her throat. One hand wrenching her head back by the hair. A mutilated snarl coming from the unmoving mask.

“Potter.”

She still had Harry’s face.

The figure towered before her, gloved hand pulling harshly at her hair as she strained against their grip. More tears pricking at her eyes as she faced the smooth and indifferent wall between them. Both of them were wearing masks really. But the thought brought little comfort to the nausea biting at her.

She was going to die someone else.

Wand to her throat, she closed her eyes. Preparing for the flurry of hot green light. Perhaps it was what she deserved, it could be a mercy. This way she would never have to truly face what she had done. There was no doubt in her mind that the person before her would finish the job. And yet she waited, but nothing came.

Opening her eyes once again she found him watching her carefully. Blue eyes clouded with something foreign, his silver mask lodged in the dirt at their feet. Looking at her with nothing but quiet restraint. She felt her throat close at the sight of him, all defences leaving her as she stared up at the boy before her.

“I asked something of you, when I saw you last,” Theo spoke lowly, wand still jammed to her throat as though he didn’t fully trust the person he saw before him. “Do you have an answer for me?” His voice fell flat against the forest air, low and heavy as his empty eyes.

His words sent another wave of dizziness crashing through her. The events of the past ten minutes threatening to bring everything up from her stomach. She wanted to fall into his chest and let his robes soak up her tears. To slice her palm clean across his cheek. Fall to the forest floor and not get up. Beg him to finish the job.

But instead, she did as she was told; she stayed quiet. Like the good little soldier they had taught her to be. Counting the freckles and moles that dotted the skin of his cheeks like they were her favourite constellations.

“Answer the question,” Theo snarled again, shoving her back forcefully. Back hitting the jagged edges of bark with an audible crack as a groan left her. Still she didn’t speak, blinking up at him as her head spun from when it had made contact with the tree.

“I’ll do it Potter,” he hissed lowly. His wand cutting further into her throat as she struggled to breathe under its pressure. He barely seemed to notice, staring down at her with empty eyes. “Don’t think I won’t just because you have something I want.”

She only watched him carefully, trying not to let herself give it away as she watched him. Staving off the clouds of memory that threatened to consume her at the sight of him.

“No?” He chimed, a sharp edge to his warm voice, “Very well.”

He drew a breathe, anger taking him in its burning grip. But just as the curse he had planned to cast was forming a whisper of air on his lips; she felt it. The rippling beneath her skin. Pulling and tugging and melting at the fibres of her. She bit her tongue as the pain of it ripped through her. Reforming beneath the skin as everything cracked and popped in and out of place. Until only she remained, swimming in Harry’s ridiculous hoodie.

Theo still had her pressed against the tree, all colour drained from his face as he watched the skin seem to melt and reform on her bones. His hands began to shake. She watched him with distant eyes, trying to hold onto what little restraint remained.

“What’s wrong?” She asked hoarsely, her throat aching from the potion’s due course. Theo’s wand still hesitantly pressed to the delicate skin of her throat. “Can’t do it anymore?”

It happened like the break of a dam. Her name fell from his lips in a rush of credence. Lips falling apart at the sight of her before him, what he’d almost done without realising. His wand dropped in a stagger, as though she had struck him. The darkness of the forest enclosing around them.

“You left me there,” he breathed suddenly, as though it hadn’t meant to come out. She blinked up at him as confusion swept her. But the lost look he carried only washed away as his eyes hardened.

“What?” she breathed.

“You left me there alone,” he spoke again, ignited with a sudden rage. His words were like kindling to her own. Her brow cracking with anger.

“No, Theo,” her voice shook, “you left me.” Theo looked to the ground, shaking his head gently in denial. He took a hesitant step forwards, as though to reach for her. But she stepped back, her spine hitting the tree. “Do you know how much I had to go through alone before I got out of there? Because you were too busy running off with Draco, or-”

He closed the distance between them with a blistering intensity.

“Do you know what it’s been like since? Without you?” It came out in a boiling whisper. “He wants your head almost as much as he wants Potter’s,” Theo’s eyes softened at the words, swept up in whatever memory they procured. “And I just have to sit there and take it, listening to the vile things they plan to do to you. Knowing there’s not a single fucking thing I can do about any of it, except for-”

He didn’t have to say it, the break of his voice said enough. The way his eyes fled from her own. He had meant to kill her.

“Why don’t you do it then?” She whispered, eyes brimming with more tears. Looking to the boy she had loved since she was too young to understand the word. “It would save me the-”

“Stop it.”

“I deserve it, don’t I? For leaving you. You said so yourself, in your letter. I read it you know.”

“No, I didn’t mean-”

“I know you’ve cast it before-”

“I said stop,” he bellowed, pressing himself against her in a flash of pent up fury. His body flush against hers as his chest heaved with the weight of his rage. “Even if I wanted to,” he whispered, his lips brushing lightly against her ear, “I can’t.” His hands tightened into fists, “He wants to do it himself.”

He peeled himself away from her, as though every inch of his skin that couldn’t feel hers was the worst form of torture. Drinking in every part of her except for her eyes, which he couldn’t bring himself to meet. She searched his, begging him to pull himself to meet hers.

“Is it that?” She breathed, fearful eyes rounded as she looked up to him. Searching for that thread that had always hung between them. His eyes grew tense as he saw what thoughts lay in hers, “Or is it because-”

“Stop.”

-you love me.

“Don’t,” he snapped, but even the sharp edge of his voice couldn’t distract from the despair swimming in his eyes. “Please,” he breathed, his head dipping towards her neck in defeat, but not daring to brush the skin, “don’t.”

He wanted to hold her, let his fingers trail across her cheeks, brush his thumb over her eyelashes. Just to make sure it was really her. Not some cruel trick made out to test his loyalty. But instead he let his breath fan across the bare skin of her neck. Knowing it was the only way he could allow himself to touch her.

“It was you I asked after,” his confession fell dead against the skin of her neck. He heard the breath she drew as though it was taken from him. Felt himself unravelling being so close to her now, after months of waiting and silence and searching.

Fuck it.

He’d be flayed for it, but everything could be damned. None of it mattered if he could feel her lips on his again. His hands flew to the delicate skin of her cheeks. Palms soaking in the remainder of her tears as his lips met hers. They parted effortlessly for him, welcoming him in as though she had been waiting just as he had. The softness of her lips balancing against his hunger. Her head tilted towards him, completely at his mercy beneath his calloused palms. Just as she should have been all this time.

#gemwrites #hogmarch challenge #hogmarch #thatdamnchickennugget #theodore nott x reader #slytherin boys #theodore nott angst #theodore nott fic #theodore nott #theodore nott fanfiction #theodore nott imagine #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott x you #theo nott x reader

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beansidhebumbling · 6 months

Text

His heart tripped, stumbling in his chest and he heaved a breath at the painful tug at his ribs. A burning tightness felt in the gaps between seconds and there! Deep in bone he felt the twining braid of fate tugging at him, linking him, in life and beyond to the female that stood before him.

Nesta Archeron.

Nesta.

His heart righted itself and began beating anew to the rhythm of her name.

The two sisters arrived at the townhouse in a flurry of blood, broken wings, and tears. The rain pounding on the shingled roof was too similar to the hammering in his skull for Rhysand’s liking. Feyre was beside herself, collapsing in his arms, a bundle of salt water and regret bound in a slight frame. Nuala stood nearby, expertly bandaging Azriel who gave a nod at Rhys’ cocked brow. His focus so torn between consoling the Saviour and calculating exactly how fucked they were, meant he only registered Nesta and Elain as two shadows of his own follies in his periphery.

When Cerridwen arrived with steaming tea, he handed Feyre off to Mor and made his way to the Shadowsinger, who had stationed himself by the rich velvet curtains of the sitting room window.

Casting a bubble of privacy around them with the wave of his hand, he turned his ire on his brother and growled,

‘What in the Mother’s name happened, Azriel?’

The Spymaster huffed, one scarred hand raising to tug at the ebony curls of his fringe. His shadows agitatedly moved in whisps and turns around his body, the same coordinated dance as flocks of birds in flight.

‘We walked right into a trap is what. I had no clue…’

He paused for a moment to stare at the storm that raged and scattered oak leaves along the small front garden.

‘Nes…We need to discuss some things privately Rhys, the Cauldron-’

An unyielding grip on Rhysand’s silk clad bicep halted Azriel, whose mouth clamped in a tight line. Rhysand turned, scowl adorning his face to shoo away the intruder when, like walking into an April shower, he was caught in a cloud of jasmine, and freesia, and something intoxicating he could not name, as he came face-to-face with her.

Hair freshly washed and braided framed a heart shaped face. Whiffs of fresh florals and a sticky sugar sweetness trailed like vines in the air. She was glaring at him with a wrath that seemed depthless, churning in the misty eddys of her glorious eyes.

Nesta Archeron.

Nesta.

His heart righted itself and began beating anew to the rhythm of her name.

Feyre had once told him they looked alike.

She had been flattering herself Rhysand thought unkindly. No living being could compare to the harpy that stood, stony-eyed and iron-spined before him. For she was beautiful in the way only those made of blades could be.

‘You’re Nesta, Feyre’s sister.’

His unimpressive observation was uttered far too breathily. Azriel’s eyes burned hot on the side of his face. His lungs were too busily engaged with supplying air to his brain as it ran in circles because she was his-

‘You’re the bastard Feyre is engaged to.’

Drenched in acid and seeped from behind gritted teeth, the quiet words still caught the pointed ears of the Saviour.

‘Nesta! Don’t you-'

Feyre started from her seat beside Mor, lit with indignation on his behalf. Her strange loyalty to him received so quickly and nearly entirely undeserved… the human in her remained. How long before she lost that? Before her emotions cooled in the way of fae who had centuries to ponder and simmer on feelings? Was her forgiveness obtained as quickly as her loyalty? Rhysand knew with a sickening surety he was guaranteed to discover the answer to the last question.

He held up one hand never glancing at the Saviour, for he had no will nor ability to look elsewhere, not when the rest of his life stood before him seething so prettily.

‘Feyre darling. It seems your lovely sister wants a word with me.’

The words charmingly uttered did not temper Nesta’s ire in the slightest. Unable to resist the chance for time alone in her all-consuming presence even if it meant to face the full force of her rage, he offered hastily,

‘May I suggest we talk in my study Nesta? So you may express yourself unencumbered by an audience.’

‘Rhys, there’s no need for that..’

Again he cut Feyre off growing impatient with her continued interruption. Did she not see the chess pieces were toppled around them, the plans so carefully formed crumpled and tossed?

Three steps ahead was still two steps behind his father had advised.

What would he say to his son now when it all seemed irrelevant? Now that his heart was threatening to leap from his throat to land at the slippered feet of his-

‘Feyre my darling. Please.’

He allowed some authority to leak into his tone. Feyre stiffened slightly, eyes open and pleading but after a few strained seconds she nodded her head slightly, moving to Elain’s side even as silence reigned.

Nesta’s eyes had only narrowed further throughout his interaction with the Saviour and when he extended her his arm, she looked pointedly at it, draped in the finest black silk woven by the Mothfae of the Elfeisian Valley, before ignoring it in favour of gliding from the room. With her chin held high, gaze higher still, she threw a scathing look at the Morrigan who whispered something to Cassian as she left.

He followed hurriedly, eyes glued to her, the dastardly pull, making her rejection of his proffered arm sting. She was a mere human not a day ago, a scornful shrew by Feyre’s account, a thorn in his side demanding security and protection below the Wall, when, if not for his vested interest in appeasing the Saviour of Prythian, he would have happily eaten her heart, and that of her doe of a sister too. Now she was a goddess who gazed upon him with such loathing that it tickled some perverse part of him.

If attention borne from hatred lit his skin aflame he could only imagine what such intense focus borne from more amiable feeling elicit in him.

As the door swung closed, the quiet hush of voices within could be scarcely heard, and mattered little, for she stood, arms folded before him, rendering him dumb as power eeked from her like rays from the sun.

He needed to say something.

Make some move.

Fall to his knees in a plea for marriage or forgiveness. Too slow at contemplating his options he lost his chance for action when she snapped,

‘Lead the way villain.’

His tether.

His entrancement.

The bond was pulled taut between them. Rhysand wondered could he see it shimmering if he squinted. And that chant continued in his pulse, catching his breath and breaking the rotten meat that lay in place of a heart.

Nesta

His mate.

Upon entering the study, Nesta made a beeline for the cushy leather chair in the corner and while arranging her full skirts gestured for him to take a seat at his desk, in his study.

Outside lightning struck and the sharp outlines of their shadows rose to almost kiss along the wall. The impertinence of her action, the arrogance, bit like venom at the back of his mouth.

But with it came the recollection he had pulled the exact same move on the eldest Vanserra not two years ago, making him almost shivery in anticipation. He had always revelled in a battle and here before him stood his equal who seemed to possess his playbook also.

So, he sat.

‘To what do I owe the honour of your anger?’

The languid drape of his frame, the jeering tone of his voice belied that he meant it. It was an honour and the way her power suffused through the air, cloaking him in blessed heat was driving him slightly mad.

It licked at his blood. His power hungered for her, the fantasy of her coated in the obsidian hand of night taunted him. Would she fall drunk when encased in his blanket of stars and gloom? Would she beg for a taste of eternal darkness?

Nesta shifted in her seat unaware of his more desperate musings. She did not waste time and spit out,

‘What have you done to my sister?’

Rhysand felt his jaw clench slightly despite himself. A slight flaw in his poker face. His composure shaky in the face of jasmine and freesia and the thought of burying his head in the curve of her neck and inhaling.

The tell was enough.

She could smell the answer in the scent of his posture, had clearly played the liar's game before. Those sharp eyes catalogued the slight fluttering tension in a beat. In response her fists clenched and the black of her pupils slowly began oozing out to coat iris and sclera, until like the gods of old her eyes were two obsidian holes in her fine face.

She had taken from the Cauldron. Azriel’s most grave fear, conveyed mind to mind, confirmed.

Mother save them all.

Even as his self-preservation screamed at him, to fight, to flee, the ribbon between them sung because..

.....because she was looking at him.

He wanted to swim in pools of eternal death, to bask in the creeping rot until he was but molecules. Molecules of a male, floating, drowning, dreaming in her.

‘So it is you who taints her ribbon of gold with decay, who has forged a chain of darkness to tie you to each other. Did you think you could get away with that?I could smell it on you. On her. Polluting the atmosphere with its wrongness.’

A predator on the hunt she rose from her seat to circle the desk, leaning in until he felt the sharp press of her nails against his throat as she squeezed her hands around his neck.

He caught the moan of ecstasy that carried from deep within.

Beautiful.

Vicious.

Witch.

His.

She had to be. He was hers.

Would she mark him with a cut if he begged?

Let red drip onto her fingers, stain them. Hope that some of it might seep into her skin, so he could be part of her, so that his darkness could rest easy amidst silver death.

His eyes fluttered, fighting to stay open and not submit to the scratching loveliness of her touch.

‘I will ask once more and then I will not again. What have you done to my sister?’

Her hands tightened for a second before loosening to let him reply,

‘What will you do if I do not answer Lady Archeron?’

He taunted.

He leaned into her, even as she recoiled, hands retreating to hidden pockets in her skirts.

In the icy absence of her touch, some form of sobriety presented itself.

From the simple cotton confines her right hand rose wordlessly and she held a clenched fist before him. He stretched his palm out to receive the silent offering.

A grey acorn dropped, scattering into ashes upon contact.

Her left hand braced on the arm of his chair so eye contact was unavoidable. She craved his fear, to see it surface in the violet gleam of his gaze, he reckoned.

He craved things far more precious than fear from her.

The dust marked his palm, etched itself between crevice and wrinkle, as she whispered calmly,

‘I did this on the way in. I felt the surge of life that it held. What would have been an ageless oak in the garden of the fae-scum that reside here. I felt life and I pulled. I pulled all that could be from it.'

She bared her teeth in a horrifying facsimile of a smile and hissed,

‘Ashes, ashes, we all fall down.’

An old ditty from some human plague.

He steadied himself, searched for the spine he was fairly certain she had not ripped from him yet.

‘I am no acorn, Nesta.’

‘No. But when I scatter your dust along the Sidra who will be able to tell the difference?’

There was a beat of silence.

She had a point.

Nesta tilted her head, tapping her foot in anticipation of an explanation.

‘Do your human tales mention the Weaver?’

She scrunched her fine arched brows before stating in a distant voice,

‘A Witch of Waste and Middle... who threads the tapestry of fate.’

‘Clever little thing aren’t you?’

Her eyes flashed.

‘Clever enough to know to mind my manners when someone could turn me to dust.’

His lovely mate, all bark and bite.

‘Touchy, touchy.’

He sniped but when she snarled and her hands started to glow silver, he held up his own in surrender.

It wouldn’t do for her to kill him before she had a chance to fall in love with him. With this in mind he spoke carefully,

‘I made a bargain. A fiddly thing they are, love. Like thread, so many loops to be found. Dangerous business to mess with loops and the Weaver. Only the brave or foolish do so.’

In a voice drier than the sands of Day she retorted,

‘A tragedy then that you are both.’

A small laugh burst from the rising corners of his mouth. It was his true laugh, high and cold and utterly inhuman, not the warm gravelly one he created to enchant the Saviour.

‘You flatter me.’

She did. She flattered him every second she spent in his company.

He wondered did she find him pretty? Did she admire the sharp angle of his jaw, the sheen of his hair, the lean muscle of his frame?

‘I’ll flatten you if you don’t get to the point.’

‘A bargain with the Weaver to alter the bonds. Break and remake.’

Feyre’s bond to Cassian now a fraying string, a red primrose strangled by bindweed. A new one built of night and darkness and Winter’s blood. Nesta released a strangled scream, storming to the other end of the room as hot blush painted her cheeks and the pieces clicked together.

‘Oh you heinous piece of shit. You didn’t just break whatever bond she had, you tied her to you.’

A simple plan. Bond with the most powerful fae in Prythian. On the infinitesimal chance his mate appeared he would kill them. So simple and yet…

He had miscalculated.

A rare occurrence.

A fatal mistake.

He could not kill this creature of mercury and boiling burning anger, whose blood was dripping from clenched fists onto the well tufted carpet.

She had no such qualms however.

‘I’m going to murder you.’

Vow uttered she prowled towards him, stopped in her tracks as his low warning reached her.

‘I really wouldn’t recommend that if you value your sister.’

‘Is that a threat, you fucking monster?’

She thought him a monster. Strange for it to hurt so, an apt descriptor, one he had revelled in now sat heavy in his chest coming from her.

‘I’d prefer you think of it as sound advice. How about a deal?’

She scoffed, her disgust apparent.

‘Now why would I make a deal when I could just kill you before you hurt my sister or anyone else?’

True fear laced his voice as he responded,

‘Because your sister’s life is tied to mine.’

And only the Mother knew what possessed him to attempt to lighten the mood after such a confession.

‘I do so like a bargain.’

Nesta recoiled in horror.

‘Your lives are tied. What would possess Feyre…’

She trailed off. The answer hung in the air between them but he vocalised it all the same,

‘Love.’

There was no glee in Rhysand saying such a thing. Feyre’s love, adoring and fragile, still young and wild, a toy he’d played with for his own amusement, would eliminate whatever slim chance he had with Nesta.

His best laid plans would soon be his ruination. His heart could not be ignored, nor the screaming writhing bond that made his ribs ache. He had to salvage something from the wreckage of his greed and ambition.

‘Stay in the Night Court and I’ll break the false bond with your sister.’

‘I’d sooner drown myself in your river than vow to stay in this court under your rule, to be used for whatever evil you concoct next.’

‘A century. Stay here a century and Feyre can go where she pleases, free from the bond. I’ll fund her travels and comfort.’

Nesta let out a derisive snort.

‘Oh that is a given. She is the Saviour of you and your rotten kind. You fooled my sister and you brought myself and Elain into this mess with your carelessness and arrogance.’

She shook her head sadly.

'And a century? Not a chance.’

‘Need I remind you, you are one of my rotten kind now. Fifty years.’

The sharp intake of breath from her was all he got as she turned her back on him and did not deign to answer. No hostile party had ever turned left back open to him before. It pleased him that he did not frighten her.

Silver linings to cling to, as like ice melting, she sought to slip from grasping fingers.

‘Twenty and you live in the Townhouse and work under my employ.’

‘So you can exploit my powers? So I have to suffer your miserable presence?’

So he could see her face each day. So other Courts would cower before them. So he could offer her the world if she asked.

‘Consider Rhysand that if I figure out how to get to the Weaver myself I will fashion my own bargain with her.’

He was bombarded with different horrifying visions of Nesta. Hanging from one of the great oak trees that grew in the Middle, the Weaver hacking off limbs from her corpse to make wax and soup, her bronze hair matted with blood as her skull cracked like a runny egg, leaking all she was onto damp grass. Nesta with her newly burgeoning power was too weak yet for the Witch of the Middle. A dread settled in his bones and panic eroded his voice so it left his chapped lips in a rasp,

‘No.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Please... just five years. You will stay in the Townhouse and your time is your own.’

He held no cards, not at her own unwitting threat to her safety. She seemed to sense it, the gambler’s instinct gleaming in the twinkle of her eye.

‘Three years. I will live in Velaris independently on the condition you break the tainted mess that connects you and Feyre before the year end.’

He went to agree and was stopped by her voice continuing a pitch lower and finely sharpened like a dagger.

‘If not I will leave and make it my mission to take your court apart brick by fae-damned brick.’

Three years.

He was glad the bond hadn’t snapped for her yet so she did not know a bargain was unnecessary. He would throw himself off Ramiel to make her smile.

Three years to convince her he was a male she could love. Three years to earn Feyre’s forgiveness and qualify for Nesta’s consideration.

Three years.

A blink of an eye, especially when he had no clue how to break a bargain with the Weaver.

But Rhysand had faced worse.

He extended his hand.

At the very least he could touch her, feel the soft skin of her pale hand meet his, at least once more, relish in the sparks that flew and the marks they’d share.

There were silver linings after all.

#rhysta #rhysand #nesta #acotar #fae being fae #feyssian supremacy #acotar fanfic #nesta archeron deserves better #rhysand being chief clown in the clown car #gemwrites

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