#knight of the autumn court

[maple-princecore]

Fox Knight of the Autumn Guard

#rangercore #adventurecore #royalcore #royaltycore #knightcore #knight aesthethic #mine #autumn court #knights

[lycheedr3ams]

Death's Angel

Part 3: Taming the Beast

royal!fem!reader x executioner!konig

Summary: It's 1554. You're one of the eight daughters of the Austrian royal family, and your parents do everything they can to ensure their kingdom is prosperous and peaceful. No royal court is complete without their hand-picked executioner, one who stands out against the sea of black, faceless bodies that make up the profession. It just so happens that your family's new executioner, one who has made a name for himself far and wide for his skill with the axe, has caught your eye and ruined you for good.

Warnings: MDNI! Mentions of smut, eventual filthy smut, mutual pining, forbidden love, death (konig is an executioner duh), mean sisters, mentions of medieval-type violence, overbearing parents, konig is brooding and a perv, some predator/prey dynamics, maybe dark themes bc reader likes seeing him kill people and bc he's a perv?

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4

.......

series inspired by the art below!

You were more than lucky that no one caught you going down to konig's quarters last week on the night of the autumn harvest ball. You made sure to keep your interactions with him the following days very brief, if you even saw him at all. this was all for his sake, so that he wouldn't be thrown out of the castle - or worse - on accusations that he seduced the Austrian royal family's princess. not that it wouldn't be the truth, but you were the one who pursued him first, after all.

you found that you could hardly concentrate during your routine literature or violin courses. your eyes would always wander out the window, scouring the fields or training area for the hooded giant. but just like his living quarters, he must train in secret, for he was rarely seen outside of the castle during daylight hours. some nights, you'd spot him from your bedroom window, washing his clothes in the moonlit stream. you wanted to call out to him, but surely others would hear, and it wasn't safe. you wished you could be like Rapunzel, to just let down your hair for him to climb to your room like a storybook prince. but you were no Rapunzel, and he was certainly no prince.

it was too risky for you to sneak down to his quarters now that things had settled down after the ball. you thought endlessly on how to get more time alone with him, to just even speak to him, even if you would be the one doing most of the speaking.

crime in your country actually seemed to almost stop now that konig was the royal family's executioner. everyone was scared of him, and of his axe. to be killed by konig was a death like no other, even though he made it swift and painless. needless to say, castle life was getting a little boring. you had enough of the routine, enough of the shy, virgin-like smiles you sent his way on the rare occasion you saw him. he was the most interesting person you've ever met.

and konig couldn't get it out of his head how you said that fire just needed to be handled properly. he replayed that night over and over again in his mind, pondering your words with every free moment he got. he couldn't admit to himself that he missed you: from your kindness and smile to your plump hips and squeezable breasts. that cloth you gave him didn't make it three days before it was soiled with his essence as he jerked off to unholy thoughts of you. he pretended to not notice the way you would owlishly stare at him from your bedroom window when he was trying to wash his clothing.

but you couldn't think of a way to see him alone again, until tonight. you watched as konig cleaned his clothes under the light of a crescent moon, but he seemed to forget a piece of clothing as he left. no one else would've been able to see the black cloth if they hadn't already known it was there. you jumped up from your daybed by the window and smiled as a plan formed in your head. much like the night of the banquet the week prior, you slipped on a cloak and some loose boots before sneaking out of the castle. it wasn't uncommon for you to take walks at night, even before konig arrived, so that alone wouldn't arouse any suspicion. the silence of the night and the cold glimmer of the moon were often your only companions.

you pretended to follow the streambank lazily, as if you weren't making a bee line for the cloth, as if it wasn't the only reason you came out tonight. the knights each had their area that they guarded every night, and you had long ago memorized each of their paths and schedules. they were no threat to your plan. when you finally approached the black cloth lying on the ground, you sat down and gently pulled it under your dress with your foot. you carefully folded the garment under your cloak and tucked it under your arm before you sat down and admired the stream for a little while, like you usually did. the easy part was over. now, you had to figure out how to get to konig's quarters without being seen.

there was no way you could march right past the knights like you did last time. there were too many servants about, and your sisters often stayed up later than they should've, just like you. you aimlessly wandered the castle grounds as you thought, and remembered that there were secret passages throughout the castle that were only supposed to be used in times of an emergency. surely returning the executioner's forgotten clothing to him was an emergency?

you walked back to your room, to trick the servants and knights into thinking you were going to bed, before you entered one of the secret passages to the basement. it was hidden behind a painting that rested on the floor rather than hung. only you knew about it, somehow. maybe no one else ever bothered to wonder why one painting wasn't hung out of the thousands that already adorned the castle.

you could risk bringing no torch with you, so you braced the cold darkness of the passages and followed them down. in your younger years, you would often hide in these passages from your sisters, or when someone made you upset and you couldn't get away. but you had never been past the main level. but down you went, until you reached the trapdoor exit and were right in the middle of the basement servant's quarters. they all seemed to be asleep, so you quietly climbed onto the floor and descended down konig's staircase. you were slightly more confident this time since you've visited him before, but it was still like knocking on death's door.

you gently knocked and whispered his name. you heard the bed creak, and he opened the door a moment later. he didn't look all that surprised to see you, like he did last time. he wordlessly looked down at you.

right as you were about to hand his discarded garment to him, you realized that he might find it creepy how you knew he left a piece of black clothing, outside, at night, while you were supposed to be asleep. you blushed, and pursed your lips shut. he tilted his hooded head to show he was confused. but he already knew you watched him, so would it really be that weird? you couldn't think of an easy excuse as to why else you would be down here, knocking on his door in the dead of night. so, you timidly handed him his folded garment that he left by the stream.

"you...left this," you said quietly without meeting his eyes. he gently reached and took the garment from your hands. you lowered your head in shame as you realized you had become a stalker. you were about to turn to leave when his voice pierced the air, even though he spoke very quietly.

"can you handle fire?"

you looked up at him with wide eyes, and you must've looked like a spooked animal. you chewed the inside of your cheek.

"i'd like to think that I can," you responded breathlessly.

his silence gave you the idea that he was satisfied with your answer. but his gaze was so heavy that you could barely control your mouth before you blurted,

"i'm sorry i'm not stalking you i just think you're really interesting."

his eyes widened at that, and you blushed as you realized what you had just said. you turned to run up the stairs, needing to get away from his all-knowing gaze, before his strong hand grabbed your arm and pulled you into his room. he shut the door with his other hand and pushed you somewhat roughly against his hard, wooden door. his body caged you in as he leaned an elbow above your head and curved his back down so that your eyes were level while his other hand hung at his side. giving you an escape if you wanted. but you couldn't will your body to move. you had awoken a beast.

"you should not talk to me," he warned through gritted teeth.

you could barely breathe. "why?"

his eyes went up and down your frame before he gulped and answered.

"bad idea," he rasped.

you were truly a lamb caught within the wolf's jaws. your breath grew labored.

"I don't think so," you whispered.

"i am an executioner. you are a princess," he said, almost angrily.

you looked him in his eyes, and he truly had the look of a predator. his pupils were pinpricks swimming within a sea of grey-blue. "i don't care."

it seemed he tried to restrain himself with some hidden leash, with the way his body trembled as he caged you in. was he aroused? angry? scared? you couldn't tell.

"i will ruin you," he stated.

your body went on autopilot. you smirked.

"i'd like to see you try."

taglist: @kneelingshadowsalome, @plumdreadful

very filthy smut next chapter!!!!!

#konig fic #konig x reader #cod mw2 #konig call of duty #konig imagine #konig smut #konig #konig cod #konig mw2 #konig modern warfare #konig headcanons #konig x you #yandere konig #call of duty mw2 #mw2 #modern warfare 2 #könig cod #cod modern warfare #cod mwf2 #call of duty modern warfare ii #cod mwii #call of duty modern warfare 2

[natsaffection]

Kingdom of Secrets | Prologue | N. Romanoff

Knight!Natasha x younger!princess!Reader

MINOR DNI!! (18+!)

warnings: age gap (Natasha is 16 when she comes to the palace and the reader is 4 years old. At the end of this chapter Natasha is 33 and reader 21) fingering, begging, crying

word count: 4,5k

A/n: welcome to the prologue of Kingdom of Secrets! (Yes the title has a meaning) This is just the opening chapter. So it's not the first real part. It cost me already tears because I wanted it to come across the way people spoke back in the Middle Ages..so please give feedback!🫂

In the heart of the great kingdom of Celestria, where emerald fields stretch as far as the eye can see and spires kiss the sky, there was great anticipation in the royal court. King Alistair and Queen Seraphina Dawn, the beloved rulers of the realm, had long yearned for an heir to carry on the legacy of their noble lineage. The palace echoed with the whispers of courtiers as news spread of a momentous event.

Queen Seraphina was expecting a child.

Months passed, each one accompanied by prayers and whispered hopes echoing through the halls of the palace. The kingdom collectively held its breath, waiting for the joyous news that would bring new life to the royal family. The gardens adorned with blooming flowers bore witness to the ebb and flow of the seasons, reflecting the anticipation within the palace walls.

And then, as the golden colors of autumn tinged the landscape, the long-awaited moment arrived. Like a melody of hope, the announcement resounded through the kingdom and spread from town to town. Queen Seraphina had given birth to a daughter, a shining beacon of joy in the embrace of her parents' love.

The kingdom erupted in jubilation. Banners swayed in the fresh breeze, their colors dancing to the rhythm of the joy that flowed through the streets. The citizens rushed to the gates of the palace in their finest clothes to join in the royal rejoicing. The sweet scent of flowers was in the air and the distant sounds of musicians tuning their instruments heralded the great celebrations to come.

Inside the palace, the little princess lay in her mother's arms, wrapped in a tapestry of delicate silk. Queen Seraphina's eyes, glistening with tears of happiness, met King Alistair's gaze, a silent exchange that spoke volumes about the unspoken journey they had traveled to reach this blessed moment.

As the sun sank below the horizon, the palace gates opened to welcome the many well-wishers. The Great Hall, decorated with golden tapestries and crystal chandeliers, shone in the light of a thousand candles. Laughter and chatter filled the air as nobles, commoners and dignitaries alike joined in the celebration.

In the midst of this splendor, the little princess lay in her crib, surrounded by a symphony of admiration. Her tiny fingers, like rose petals, grasped at the air as if reaching for the love that surrounded her. The flickering candlelight painted her delicate features and cast a warm, ethereal glow on her.

Y/n, as she would later be called, became the beacon of hope that united the kingdom. Her laughter echoed through the palace like silver bells, eliciting smiles from all who basked in her innocent radiance. The court musicians, attuned to the heartbeat of the celebration, played melodies that blended with the collective heartbeat of the kingdom, a harmonious testament to the unity created by the birth of the princess.

Over the years, the princess's birthdays became a cherished tradition. The kingdom celebrated with greater fervor each year, turning the anniversary of her birth into a grand spectacle. The gardens, where once the whispers of anticipation could be heard, now bloomed in vibrant colors that reflected the princess's exuberant spirit.On her birthdays, the people of Celestria gathered to honor their beloved princess. The streets were lined with stalls selling sweet treats and enchanting trinkets. Musicians played lilting melodies and performers brought fairy tales to life through dance and theater. But amidst the splendor, it was Y/n herself who was in the spotlight.

Her laughter, the elixir that had breathed life into the kingdom years ago, echoed through the air. The joy that emanated from her was infectious and transformed the celebration into a mosaic of smiles and shared happiness. Y/n had become the living embodiment of the kingdom's dreams with her sparkling eyes and a heart full of kindness.

As Y/n grew, so did the kingdom around her. The once silent halls of the palace echoed with the footsteps of a vibrant princess whose spirit danced like the sunlight that fell through the leaves. She became a symbol of hope, bridging the realms of royalty and commonality - a beacon of unity for a kingdom that had waited with bated breath for her arrival.

And so, under the golden skies of Celestria, the royal court and citizens celebrated the birth of their princess, whose laughter echoed throughout the kingdom, mingling with the melodies of joy that had marked her grand entrance into the world.

But a shadowy group lurked in the hidden corridors beneath the splendor of the kingdom. Unseen and unheard, this gang shrouded in mystery plotted insidiously to infiltrate the royal house.

In the dimly lit chamber adorned with ancient symbols, the agents of the group - Shadows of Darkness - received a chilling instruction. The leaders, shrouded in the cloak of shadows, readjusted their strategy. Princess Y/n, an unforeseen variable, demanded an adjustment to their malevolent plans.

As Y/n's laughter rang through the palace, the group's secret game unfolded on an invisible chessboard. The birth of the princess upset their carefully laid plans and brought an element of unpredictability into play. Beneath the surface of the festivities, a calculated dance played out, where joyful echoes collided with the malice lurking in the shadows. Citizens and royalty revelled in blissful ignorance, unaware of the ominous threat lurking in the hidden corners of the palace. A dangerous dance began. One in which the laughter of a princess served as an eerie soundtrack to a covert operation that would reshape Celestria's destiny.

As daylight bathed the kingdom in golden hues, the shadowy group moved in secrecy. Their ominous influence extended to unsuspecting future queens. The dark puppet, manipulated by unseen hands, infiltrated the royal court and left a menacing presence.

The king, who had followers in every country, became aware of the terrifying power. Fearing for his family and the future of his country, he had his troops strengthened and also looked for a guardian for his daughter. So he spread the word throughout the country that a tournament was to be held in the late evening and that the bravest and strongest fighters were to take part.The anticipation of the great tournament was in the air that day. The king, seeking the perfect protector for his most precious treasure, gathered warriors from faraway lands. Men vying for the honor of protecting the jewel of the realm presented themselves in the arena.

The tournament, a spectacle of skill and courage, began with the clash of swords and the thundering hooves of warhorses. Knights from all corners of the realm showcased their skills, a dance of blades played out under the watchful eyes of the royal court.

As the dust settled and countless fighters succumbed to the skill of their opponents, there was a quiet tension among the spectators. The king, seated on his magnificent throne, surveyed the remaining warriors, his keen eyes searching for the one who would serve as a shield against the impending danger to the princess. Then, amidst the remaining fighters, a lone, young figure emerged, clad in armor that seemed to absorb the essence of the shadows. The air fell silent as this knight stepped forward, exuding an aura of fear and admiration. A murmur went through the audience, a collective acknowledgement that a formidable force had entered the arena.

The king, mesmerized and wary, leaned forward in his throne, a silent question etched on his regal countenance. "Tell me, what is a child doing on the field?" he asked his 1st in command. He bowed to his king, "Forgive me, my majesty, but you emphasized that the gates were open to anyone carrying a sword." The king forced the moment back into his mind and now looked further down, at the person.

At that very moment, the mysterious knight removed the helmet, revealing a cascade of fiery red hair framing a face marked by the scars of countless battles. Her piercing gaze, a mixture of steel and determination, met the king's eyes with an unwavering intensity. A murmur went through the hall as the realization set in. "Lady, Natalia Alianovna Romanoff," someone breathed, the name inspiring both awe and fear. As the first young woman to be knighted, Natasha was widely known, and her accomplishments on the battlefield were whispered about in saintly tones. The king, who also learned of her presence, widened his eyes.

As she approached the king, Natasha dropped to one knee, a sign of respect and submission. Her armor bore the marks of countless victories, and the sword at her side was a testament to her skill as a warrior.

"Your Majesty," Natasha's voice, a symphony of authority and humility, echoed through the arena. "I am Natalia Alianovna Romanoff, sworn to protect those deemed worthy of the Empire's protection. I offer my skills and loyalty to defend your princess, the jewel of Celestria." The king, observing the steely determination in Natasha's eyes, pondered her words. Isn't she too young to be a knight? Presently good..She could form a bond with Y/n. He thought.

The court remained in a collective breathless pause, awaiting the monarch's decision. After a moment's thought, the king nodded, a gesture that echoed through the arena like a decree.

"Lady Natasha Romanoff, rise. You have proven that you are an excellent Fighter. May the realm be witness to your service as my daughter's protector."

The crowd erupted in a mixture of cheers and whispers in appreciation of the gravity of the moment. Natasha rose from her knees and hid her features behind her helmet again. With measured steps, she returned to the ranks of the assembled knights, her presence leaving an indelible impression on the tournament and setting the stage for a new chapter in the kingdom's saga. Since then, the unique bond between the young princess and the fearless knight began to grow. Y/n, a little bundle of joyful energy, zoomed through the flowerbeds. "Tasha, look, I can fly!" she cried, spreading her tiny arms. Natasha, with a smile on her lips, leaned down. "Really? Show me, little whirlwind." And chase her through the field.

"Tasha, why are you so strong?" asked Y/n three years later, while they were playing in the halls. Natasha, with a mischievous smile, replied, "Strength comes not only from muscles, but also from courage and determination, my Princess."

The royal parents, from their thrones, watched the scene with warm smiles. "Look how Natasha is teaching our daughter," said the queen. The king nodded proudly. "A bond strengthened not only by duty, but also by the heart..I could not have chosen anyone better."

In the shelter of the pavilion, Y/n and Natasha talked about the years of shared experiences. "Promise me, Natasha, that you will always be by my side," Natasha, serious yet tender, replied, "As long as I breathe, I will watch over you, Princess."

Over the years, not only did Y/n grow up, but so did the love between her and Natasha. Adventures together, laughter and tears formed a bond that blurred the boundaries between princess and protector.

At the age of 20, Y/n found herself in the midst of an inner turmoil. The years had passed since Natasha had taken up residence as her protector, and a subtle change was creeping into the princess's mind.

In the quiet moments when the sun slowly disappeared behind the palace walls, Y/n discovered a growing urge to seek Natasha's closeness. Every look from the knightess, every gentle touch, seemed to break through an invisible barrier within Y/n.

The glances Natasha cast across the ballroom as they shared in royal festivities carried a deeper meaning. Y/n recognized the warmth in Natasha's eyes, which came not only from her proximity to the king, but betrayed something more intimate. Uncertainty gnawed at Y/n as she thought about these growing feelings. Society, royal expectations, all created a veil that kept her growing affection for Natasha hidden.

The Royal Mother observed the subtle changes in Y/n's behavior, but the secret remained hidden between the lines. Y/n felt her heart beat faster when she faced Natasha, and the soft sighs that escaped her were carried on the winds of fate.

One day, Natasha, bathed in sweat from the rigorous training session, gracefully moved through the courtyard, effortlessly wrestling each knight that dared to cross her path to the ground. As Y/n strolled through the palace, she unexpectedly caught sight of Natasha in action, sans her usual formidable armor.

Mesmerized by the raw power and agility on display, Yn found it challenging to look away. Natasha's every move seemed like a choreographed dance of strength and finesse. It was the first time Y/n had seen her like this, vulnerable yet invincible

Natasha, engrossed in her sparring session, sensed Y/n's eyes on her. Mid-wrestle with one of the knights, she subtly shifted her gaze to meet Y/n's, exhaling almost imperceptibly. In that brief connection, Natasha's intense focus softened, and a ghost of a smile played on her lips, as if she had caught Y/n in the act.

Y/n, startled by Natasha's awareness, quickly averted her gaze, pretending to be absorbed in the palace architecture. The blush on her cheeks, however, betrayed her attempt to conceal the intrigue Natasha's athleticism had sparked.

She continued her training, each movement deliberate and powerful. Y/n, despite her efforts to remain discreet, stole occasional glances, hoping Natasha wouldn't notice..

When a maid approached, unaware of the silent exchange, Y/n stammered, "I-I was just, you know, walking around," as she tried to divert attention from the fact that Natasha had momentarily captured her focus. Natasha, still engaged in her training, shot Y/n a knowing look, her eyes betraying a hint of amusement, silently acknowledging the unspoken connection while respecting Y/n's attempt to keep her feelings concealed.

Several hours passed, and Y/n immersed herself in the demands of royal duties. As she diligently attended to matters within the palace, she couldn't shake the memory of Natasha's training session. Much to her surprise, as she returned to the main hall, there was Natasha, seamlessly transitioning from warrior to protector, resuming her role by Y/n's side.

Their eyes met once again, and this time Natasha's expression spoke volumes. A playful glint in her eyes suggested a shared secret, referencing the earlier stolen glances. Y/n couldn't help but smile in response, a subtle acknowledgment of the connection they had formed.

Weeks later when the moon towered over Celestria, Y/n dared a tentative look into Natasha's eyes. It was as if the universe melded their souls together, and in that moment, Y/n knew it was more than mere reverence for the brave knight. The realization that her heart was following a path of love was like the blossoming of a delicate flower within her. But the world she lived in demanded secrecy - a love that blossomed in the shadow of royal duties.

Another year passed and Y/n's duties to the throne drew ever closer. Her parents now saw her as an adult woman who would later rule the people. However, this could not be done alone and the time had come to find a suitable mate. So they embarked on various journeys to neighboring countries to consider their princes and princesses. A point Y/n is proud to show. With all the fuss she secretly has about Natasha, her eyes opened to another part.

It was a sunny day when the royal family were visiting another kingdom. The family was welcomed with joy. But the festive atmosphere was pervaded by an underlying tension. As Y/n strode through the hall in royal garb, she was swarmed by the polite remarks and advances of the foreign prince. The looks he gave her were full of obvious interest, and the smile on his lips betrayed intentions that went beyond polite courtesies.

Natasha, standing in her imposing armor alongside the royal family, felt a flame of jealousy flare up inside her. Every passionate look, every touched hand, felt like a stab in her chest. In a quiet moment, when the prince engaged Y/n in a private conversation, Natasha could hardly bear the sight. Her hands clenched into fists as she inwardly fought back the burning sting of jealousy.

Finally, the festive gathering broke up and the royal family returned to their chambers. The opulent chambers of Y/n awoke to the pale glow of candles as the evening shrouded the royal estate in an atmosphere of twilight. The prince, wearing a polite facade, had made his intentions clear. But Natasha sensed the unease in the air. When the prince attempted to cross the boundaries of politeness and seek out Y/n in her chambers, Natasha turned cold as ice. Her eyes, normally as impenetrable as the darkness, bore into the young nobleman. Without a word, her gaze spoke volumes, and the prince retreated as if he had entered an invisible barrier.

When Natasha entered Y/n's chamber, the discomfort was reflected on Y/n's face. "Thank you.. I was so uncomfortable, but I didn't mean to be rude," Y/n murmured, her voice low in the intimate atmosphere. Natasha stepped closer, her touch cooler than the night breeze blowing through the open window. "My princess, you never have to compromise for politeness."

In a calculated move that blurred the line between protector and seductress, Natasha lifted Y/n's hand and stroked her fingertips over the delicate skin. "Don't let anyone enter your world if you don't want them to. You deserve respect and so much more."

The darkness of the room seemed to tighten around the two of them as Natasha continued, intensifying her own touch. "And maybe, there is someone..who is willing to go deeper than politeness allows."

The words echoed between the walls as the coolness of the night turned into a dance of desire. Y/n sensed the play of shadows as Natasha, took on the role of seductress. A passionate revelation that in the twilight of her chambers revealed a connection that transcended the duties of the royal hall.

The room lost its dimensions in darkness as Natasha and Y/n were caught in a mesmerizing dance of tension. Y/n's heartbeat quickened as Natasha's words sounded like a breath in the night, a promise that implied more than it stated. "Natasha, I don't know what you mean..." whispered Y/n, her voice caught between curiosity and an underlying desire that lingered in the air. Natasha stepped closer, her gaze like the dark veil of night that hid everything and yet revealed everything. "I speak of desire that goes deeper than any protocol that exists within the walls of a palace."

The atmosphere thickened as Natasha began to loosen Y/n's royal robes with deft fingers. "You can feel it, can't you? This suppressed energy between us. It's time to explore the shadows that lurk in the corners of our connection."

Y/n's breathing quickened as the warmth of Natasha's hands touched her skin. A mixture of fear and desire flickered in her eyes as she embraced the unknown.

"N-Natasha, I... Is this right?" asked Y/n, but her reticence was swallowed up by the darkness.

Natasha replied with a cool smile that betrayed a deep, hidden passion. "Right or wrong, Y/n, does not exist in this world of shadows. There is only what you desire and what you are willing to experience." The air between them was charged as Natasha gently placed her lips on Y/n's. A passionate kiss that burned down the blurred lines between duty and desire. Still, Natasha paused for a moment and looked her princess in the eye, “I notice your looks, your breath when I sneak up on you..you’re begging when I retreat to my chambers..” Natasha pushed the princess onto the bed. The redhead had Y/n's legs wide open. Open for her to devour.

Natasha licked her lips, staring at Y/n's underwear, a hungry look in her mouth. Y/n still felt the slight urge to protest. What is she doing here? What happens if her parents find out about this? Are they allowed-

But all words of resistance melted into a moan in her mouth as Natasha opened her entrance with her tongue. She lay down in front of Y/n, lifting the princess's legs by her thighs onto her shoulders. Natasha's tongue turned her princess's moans into groans and then shouts of ecstasy. After tasting Y/n for long enough, Natasha lifted her head. Her mouth was covered in Y/n's fluid, giving her face a glow that Y/n found simply intoxicating.

"How are you feeling? Can I continue?" Natasha's eyes widened as she saw the sight of her ruler. Spread wide and with her hands clenched in the pillows, "K-Keep going please..” Natasha smiled and climbed up to Y/n to take off her dress and while she undressed Y/n, Natasha kissed Y/n and she tasted herself on her lips. Without breaking the kiss, Natasha inserted two of her fingers into Y/n. In response, the young princess let out a deep moan into Natasha's mouth as she slowly penetrated her. As Natasha alternated between driving her index and middle fingers in and out of Y/n's cavity, Y/n was disturbed by the amount of armor Natasha still had on and set about removing it.

Natasha smirked again as she realized what Y/n's plans were and sat back up, "You could have asked, my highness..." Y/n's eyes were wide as she watched Natasha remove every single piece of metal from her body. Eventually it just tinkled on the floor and Natasha stood before her in a white shirt. She wasted no more time and pounced on the young girl again.

"What do you want me to do, princess?" Natasha now asked, breathing in unison with her aroused ruler. She had already slipped a hand between Y/n's thighs and was leaning on her shorts. Y/n knew what Natasha wanted to hear. "Please.." she begged, "fuck me." Natasha watched Y/n's flushed face. It was so, so lewd. This time, however, Natasha stroked a finger over the edge of her labia and felt how far the wetness had spread.

"You really want it, don't you?" said Natasha with a hint of smugness in her voice. Y/n knew it wasn't to humiliate her, but rather to increase her sense of exposure.

Yes, I really fucking want it, Y/n wanted to say, but managed to hold back. Natasha, however, didn't miss the look on her face before she leaned in and slowly kissed Y/n again. She began to run her fingers up and down the wetness between Y/n's legs, stroking slowly and rhythmically.

Y/n held back any sound that wanted to come out of her mouth, knowing there was more to come. A touch slipped past a certain spot so briefly and lightly that Y/n's body flinched in response. Natasha had to keep her senses together, just a little longer. The stroking and kissing gradually became faster, without either of them noticing against the backdrop of their growing arousal. Natasha's fingers were touching Y/n's clit more and more frequently now, and Y/n couldn't keep up, the tension between her legs growing and her mouth remaining slightly open.

"A-A-hh..." she gasped, and her body arched back more and more. She was crying out now, twisting and turning, her clit at the center of the movement, her hands wrapped around Y/ns, her face pressed into her shoulders, her upper body arched so that her breasts and erect nipples moved against Natasha's body in the same rhythm as the caresses between her thighs. "Nat-..Natasha...!" She cried out. "I'm... ah, I'm..."

Natasha kissed her neck in response and concentrated fully on bringing Y/n to climax. She wanted to hear her princess scream, to feel her thrusting against her body in a frenzy of pleasure. She wanted Y/n to lose all inhibitions and move against her hand like a horny slut. Y/n couldn't take it anymore. Her hips and buttocks began to move against Natasha, thrusting towards her with desire, begging her not to stop. It felt so dirty to cooperate and beg so earnestly, but Y/n didn't care about any of it. Natasha moaned along with Y/n and couldn't hold back either after listening to Y/n feel this way about her.

“Cum for me.”

When Y/n heard Natasha's soft and loving voice moaning like that, she shook with pleasure. Her mind went blank. The room disappeared, the bed vanished. The world consisted only of her body, which contracted and pulsated to release all its pent-up arousal in one go. Y/n didn't know how much time had passed while she trembled and shook and moaned, even though she didn't want to. All she knew was that Natasha had been holding her the whole time and watched every single facial feature of her beloved princess.

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[acourtofmenandthirst]

Fox Hunting

Back to your regularly scheduled Eris programming: Eris loses his control during an Autumn Court party, and only you can tame him

Warnings: Basically just smut lol, fireplay, mean-ish Eris

Word Count: 4.3K

While the Autumn Court did not play well with others, not often inviting other Courts to come play with them, it was quite known for its elaborate dinner parties and balls.

Amongst such parties, the High Fae gathered with the powerful Autumn citizens, intermixing with academics, knights, politicians, bankers - it was not often outside these balls that such groups commingled. Times like these called for loud music, flowing liquor, shared cigars - all in fueling lucrative deals and battle plans.

That’s how you found yourself at the High Lord’s estate, dressed in your most elaborate gown, your hair swirled up atop your head, a goblet of red wine swirling loosely in your grasp. The male across from you smiled broadly as he told you about his studies. You paid more attention to his exaggerated movements than what he was actually saying… something about the history of the Night Court - the conquests of the High Lords’ before Rhysand’s time. You ought to pretend you were interested, but you knew he was only invited for Beron to play him like a fiddle. 

You bit your tongue, knowing you were invited for the same reason. Afterall, that’s how you met the High Lord’s eldest son. He was sent to inquire about your research on Helion and the magic he possessed. No doubt just a last-ditch effort for Beron to learn anything he could about the Spell-Cleaver and his abilities, sending his son in as a front. 

But that is how you met Eris Vanserra.

And how you ended up bent over your desk, the fiery male’s cock stretching you out. 

But you straightened, turning your attention back to the male in front of you. His dusty hair curled nicely over his brow, his brown eyes were wide with passion - thought perhaps it was just the mirthroot. His jacket was the same color as his eyes, a rich dark chestnut, reminding you of nothing but the Autumn forest. “The High Lord lived for over a thousand years,” he rambled on before taking a drag from his cigarette. The smoke swirled from his lips and across your chest, evoking a shiver down your spine and goosebumps erupting over your bare shoulders. “But he wasn’t the longest ruling in the Night Court, though.”

The male continued, and as he did, you simply sipped your wine, nodding along with him. You decided that he wasn’t too bad looking, he had a lovely facial structure, high cheekbones and a nicely set jaw. Autumn males tended to have that sharp look: clean, put-together. He might be a nice distraction for the evening, as the other male you hoped to spend your evening with was clearly taken with some statesman’s virgin daughter. 

“It’s correlated to the tensions with the other courts, you see,” he continued, hands moving between the two of you, nearly spilling his drink on your light gown. Suppressing your eye roll, you wiped your hand against the soft cream colored fabric, making sure it still remained stain-free. 

“Will you be joining me tonight?” The deep voice startled you, nearly causing you to drop your own wine. The light haired male stiffened, standing bone straight, facing the male behind you. You already knew before turning around - he stood at least a head taller than you - that he was glaring at your companion. 

With an exasperated sigh, loud enough that both males could year, you turned on your heel, facing the one at your back with a blank stare. “I’m speaking with Lochlan,” you informed him, bored. 

He leaned against the wall nonchalantly, clad in his finest burgundy jacket, hair curled nearly around his temples. He was a proud male, one who stood above all others not only in height, but in rank and power - he was a male who knew it, and wanted everyone else to know it, too. “That’s not what I asked,” he replied simply, red eyes burning into yours. 

You rolled your eyes, glancing back at the other academic. He stared at the Vanserra, confused almost. His mouth opened as he looked between the two of you, as he moved to say something, but suddenly decided against it. He, instead, mumbled something about using the restroom, offering you one last weary look before disappearing into the crowd. You crossed your arms over your chest, huffing out a breath and throwing a glare at the tall male remaining beside you. 

He smirked, leveling your gaze. Pathetic male, Eris couldn’t help but think, afraid of a challenge - though rightfully so. Staying around any longer, between the hunter and his prey, would have been a death wish. He wasn’t that dumb - he was a scholar, afterall, Eris had to give him at least a little credit. 

He watched you carefully, taking careful note of the change in your scent as he approached. Subtle, like you were fighting yourself from taking him right then and there - maybe by pressing those sweet thighs together. He didn’t miss how you crossed your arms over your chest, pushing your cleavage up ever so slightly, and he took his time staring at your chest, completely unabashed, almost laughing when he saw your exposed skin blush. “Maybe I was planning on joining you later,” you replied, annoyed. “Though you interrupted my conversation.” You shrugged, eyes scanning the sea of people before you. “I may have to find him later to finish.”

Eris barked out a laugh, staring out into the crowd, spotting the fleeting male easily. “To finish,” he repeated in a mocking tone, adorning his statement with an eye roll. You were visibly irritated - it was a sight he cherished - your set jaw, drawn eyebrows, narrowed eyes. He thought you looked very powerful, and he was so gods-damned attracted to pissed off females. 

He knew tonight would be fun. 

“Yes, Eris. Perhaps tonight I’m seeking a male who can have an intelligent conversation. You know, one who can use his head - not just the one on his cock.”

He wondered how you kept that straight face, not even the corner of your lips turned up in jest. It was impressive, really, especially considering the shit-eating grin spread across his face. “Oh, (Y/N), I’ll have you know I’m quite intelligent - well versed in many tongues. One in particular that has left you quite the screaming mess.”

He reached behind you and pulled the pin from your hair, leaving your locks flowing down past your shoulders. He fought the urge to drag his hand through it, pulling out the knots from your wild mane, twisting his fist up in the length, pulling it taught as you sucked his cock. He shook the idea from his mind, willing himself to be patient - hoping that he would be given the chance for that later that evening. 

You stepped away and brushed past him, trying to hide the blush crawling up your chest and cheeks at the thought of his head buried between your thighs. “Anything to drown out the sound of your pathetic commentary.” In reality, the future High Lord’s grunts and moans did make your legs clench. His primal grunts and lewd commentary always had you dripping wet for the male. Even the swift memories that flashed through your mind in that moment had your stomach in knots. 

“You want a pathetic male like Lochlan?” He scoffed, standing straight, sliding in front of your path, an arm held out to stop you. You paused before his arm could brush against your waist, dropping your hands to your side - an arm out to push his away from you. “A quiet male? So tongue tied he doesn’t know which way to lick you?” When you moved to retort, he cut you off. “You think he could fuck you like I can?”

You stared at the head haired male, unable to lie to him and yourself. 

“Oh, (Y/N), no snarky comment? Sounding more and more like him by the minute. Almost as if you caught some of his stupidity.” He tutted, grabbing your chin, turning your head to face him. “When I’m done with you tonight, you won’t even remember your own name.”

That’s exactly how you ended up in his bedchamber, thrown on his bed. 

He crawled his way over you on the mattress, pushing aside your fluffy dress, moving to lean over you. You glared at him, the way his greedy hands moved over your sides and up your chest. “Don’t ruin my dress,” you told him flatly, his deft fingertips tracing over the outline of your bodice. 

“Or what, (Y/N)?” He asked, pressing his palm against your ribcage. Heat dissipated through your abdomen and you narrowed your eyes in warning at him. Flames flashed behind his own red eyes, a smirk crawling up his plump lips. You bit your tongue, unsure of what to respond with. You kept your eyes level with his but laid helpless. “You’re so smart,” he whispered, leaning in closer. His nose brushed the tip of your own, the curly strands of hair fell against your forehead. “You know I can do whatever I want.”

The heat against your stomach made your legs tense beneath the pile of skirts, and though you didn’t kick against him, he knew you were seething. “Eris,” you warned behind gritted teeth. 

He smiled, flashing his white canines at you, pulling his hand away from you. Tendrils of smoke wrapped around his fingers, sailing up into the open air. His palm was glowing, flames threatening to spill from his skin. Your eyes fell to the grey scorch mark on your abdomen, where the cream color fabric had been charred away, material burnt and flaking at the edges. Eris leaned over you, hips pinning yours to the bed. “You truly are despicable, Eris,” you spat. “Everything everyone says about you is true, you know.”

Eris rolled his eyes, dropping his head against your shoulder. “You listen to the rumors, my sweet (Y/N)?” You felt him smile against your skin, lips sucking at the sensitive skin of your neck. “What do they say about me?” He pressed a wet kiss to the spot below your ear, the place he knew had you weak in the knees. 

You stifled a moan, turning your head to the side, allowing him more access to your neck. Your hands carded through his red locks, pulling slightly as he nipped your skin. “That you’re a prick.”

Eris laughed, hand roaming upward over your chest, palming your breast through the unsinged portion of your dress. “Is that why you were holed up in the corner with that piss-poor excuse for a male? You were avoiding me?” He whispered, licking the shell of your ear, causing shivers down your spine. “Me and my cock?”

He ground into you, his hard dick pressed up between your legs. You parted your legs slightly, as much as you could with his leg pinning your thigh down. You made more room for him to move between your legs, and he took advantage, rubbing himself against you. Eris almost groaned, fire surging through his blood. No other female had him that hard - he’d been waiting all night for you to pull him away from the party. “I wasn’t avoiding you,” you huffed, trying to move your leg up over his back. You were trapped under the male’s thick thigh and the confines of your dress. “I knew you’d fuck up my dress with that messy fire - I wanted to enjoy it a bit longer.”

Eris moved his lips to yours, kissing you harshly, tongue swiping over yours, teeth sinking into your bottom lip. “I was enjoying it - ” he broke the kiss to glare down at you with those lust-blown eyes. “ - the way your tits looked pushed up in this flimsy dress.” His hand rose to the edge of the bodice, taking hold of the fabric and ripping it clean in two, all the way down from between your breasts down to the ashy hole at your stomach. “I was watching you all evening, pressing yourself into the first male that gave you attention.”

“Well,” you mumbled, hand still gracing the back of his head, fingers tangled in his hair, as he moved back down the column of your neck, working to attack your chest in kisses. “You weren’t, and I was bored of waiting.”

“Waiting? Or hiding?” Eris mused, mouth closing in on your nipple. He nipped at the budding peak, earning a sharp gasp from you. He only smiled, rising up on his knees, towering over you, hands moving to unbuckle his belt. You shimmied the flailing fabric down your body, the pool of fabric stuck around your hips. Eris freed himself from his pants, cock bouncing against his stomach as he leaned forward, tearing the garment free from your body. He was hit with the smell of your arousal, he knew you were dripping wet without even needing to touch you. 

“Hiding?” You almost laughed, cut off by baring your teeth, huffing out a breath as Eris lined himself up and slid into you, no warning or any other foreplay. He smirked at the gasp that threatened to spill from your lips, the gasp that caught in the back of your throat. You released a shaky breath, meeting Eris’s glower. “You’re simple, Eris. I know you love a chase.”

He did laugh, sliding back and forth, nearly shocked at how wet you actually were. His cock was already coated with you - the sweet smell of your lust fueling him, the wet sound of him slapping against you, nearly pushing over the edge. “I love hunting my prey,” he muttered. “A small fox with a bruised ego? Not hard to find.”

Embarrassment flushed your cheeks as he snapped his hips into you, rocking you backwards on the bed. You gripped at his shoulders, still clad in that reddish jacket. Your nails scratched at the fabric, pulling at the gold piping, pulling the threads from the delicate embellishments. He loved the animalistic side of you, he loved toying with you. You secretly loved it too, and had planned on enticing the primal side of Eris all evening. “A male led around only by his cock - not hard to entice.” He nearly growled. “So archaic.”

Then he did growl.

He grabbed your hips tighter, pulling you into his lap as he leaned back on his knees, holding you above the mattress as his hips slammed into yours. His cock parted your lips, your arousal nearly running down your ass, falling onto your dress still in shreds below you. His tip pushed up against your deepest point, causing you to scream as it rubbed against your cervix. “Is that why you’re dripping for me? Like you didn’t leave a path for me to follow.”

You cried out as he dropped you onto the mattress, his dick slipping out of you entirely, slapping against his abs, shining against the light. Flames crawled up his hand and arm, glinting brightly in his eyes as he pressed his palm against your bare skin. 

You watched with wide eyes as those flames danced along your skin, crawled up your chest and rung around your throat. It tickled, licking against your sweaty skin, hot, but not burning - you knew it would if he willed it. You felt your cheeks warm instantly, and you were about to beg the male to continue fucking you. Your hand drew down your chest, fingers playing with the fire as you moved your hand toward your clit. 

Eris, the simple, distracted male did not notice your ministrations, only how your fingers fiddled with the flames, as if you wished to yield it, yourself. Gods, he would truly be a broken male if you could. The sight of you covered up in his flames was arousing, and Eris could have blown his load right there if he didn’t notice your hand curling around your sopping cunt. 

“My troublesome fox,” he breathed, letting your fingers dip into your pussy, spreading the wetness over your clit. 

“I like to keep it interesting,” you mewled, rubbing your clit, forcing your legs to stay open - clenching them around nothing. Eris’s pupils were blown wide, he was frozen, watching you masturbate in his bed, glowing against his fire. 

Snapping out of it quickly, not about to let you take control of the situation or let you get yourself off before willed it, he grabbed your wrist with a burning palm. You hissed, biting your bottom lip as he held that hand above your head. He slid back into you, allowing you to pull at his hair with your free hand. Your legs hooked behind his back, calves grazing the rough material of his coat. “You said it yourself, the dumb ones are boring.”

He huffed a laugh at your marking the end of your sentence with a squeeze of your pussy. “They are. But what of a female who thinks she’s smarter than me?”

“It’s not hard to be,” you muttered quietly, knowing full well he heard it from the furrow of his amber brow. With ankles locked behind him, you angled your hips upward, fucking back into him, meeting him thrust for thrust. Just the way he liked.

He narrowed his eyes at you before his free hand found your neck, flames sparking from his fingertips. “Watch your mouth,” he growled. “Or I will find better uses for it.”

You smiled broadly at him, humming out in pleasure as he squeezed the sides of your neck. The warmth erupted over your throat, shooting right down your chest and directly into your core. “You amongst many of the other males tonight.” He drove in deeper, faster. “I’m sure one of them might find my mouth desirable, wouldn’t you think?” His fingers slid higher, cutting against your jawbone. “Maybe even charming?”

His mask faltered if only a little. “I’ll paint my own court bloody before I allow another male to even look at you again.” 

Something like love bubbled up in your heart. 

Truly an Autumn male love confession if you’ve ever heard one. 

You tried desperately to tilt your neck upward, restrained by Eris’s fiery hand. He indulged you, leaning forward to capture your lips in his, ravishing your mouth. You danced together, tongues swiping against each other, teeth nipping. His hand squeezed tighter, blocking your airway just until you gasped, struggling for breath, when Eris pounced, breathing a throaty moan as he spit into your mouth. 

Your eyes flew open, meaning to shout at him, but his hand didn’t move - not even an inch - to let you up for air. Eris smiled down at you, releasing you only for a moment to grab your other hand, the one pulling at his hair, and hold it against the bed with your other one. “You fucking - ”

“Awe, (Y/N),” he cooed, devilish grin pulling at this burning lips. “I know you like it. Otherwise you wouldn’t have licked your lips and swallowed it up.” Shame pooled up in your stomach at the way your pussy clenched around him, sucking him in deeper. “If you’re lucky I’ll cum in your mouth. But seems like you have other ideas.”

Releasing your throat fully, still holding your hands captive, he held your knee up to your shoulder, hovering over you and jackhammering into you. With a scream you came around him, the new position allowing him even deeper inside of you. He allowed you to ride out your high before sitting back fully, staring down at you with a questioning look. 

You didn’t even notice the glistening along his stomach and thighs, how your juices adorned his pale skin. You pushed yourself up on your elbows, legs shaking and numb as you met his eyes, apology lurching in your throat. He dragged a finger between the carved muscle on his abdomen, holding the finger out to your lips, rubbing it against your bottom lip before pressing it against your tongue. “We’ll have to do that again later,” he whispered, removing his finger to caress your cheek with this palm. You nodded deftly, unable to find any words, mouth agape. “First, you’re going to ride me.”

He grabbed your wrists, lurching you forward on wobbly knees, laying back on the bed, leaving you straddling his hips. His dick fell against your lower stomach, red and straining. His hands raised to your chest, pinching your nipple before caressing your breast, humming as you flinched at the contact. 

You rose up on shaking legs, angling his hard dick with your abused cunt, before sinking down slowly - painfully slow - so much so that Eris hissed as you dropped down. He humped into you, hips rising up from the mattress to slam into yours, cock poking against your insides. You rolled your eyes, dropping your hands against his burning hot chest and moving your hips up and down slowly. “That’s it, (Y/N),” he breathed, dropping his head against the mess of blankets. “Ride my dick how you know I like. There’s one thing you’re good at, huh?” He babbled through an exasperated breath. 

As his hands moved to your hips, you pushed them away, drawing an annoyed look from the male below you. You willed your legs to work as you fully rose, dick dropping from your wet pussy, and twisted around, facing the edge of the bed. You held a steadying hand to his thigh as you used your other to guide him back inside of you. 

Your hair fell around your shoulders as you pressed into the expanse of the mattress, throwing your hips up and down quickly, bouncing on his dick. The sound of skin slapping skin echoed throughout his bedroom and Eris hissed, watching your plush ass jerk against his thighs. He tutted, displeased at your new position. 

You knew how the territorial male liked to watch you as the two of you fucked - so he could see you drunk on his cock, as he so kindly put it before. You rode him quickly like that, able to bend fully forward on your elbows, tits brushing the mattress as your hips rose up and down. 

Flames danced around your throat, wrapping around your neck and pulling you backwards. Your hands flew to your neck as your back arched, hips failing as you sat upright fully on Eris’s thighs, cock still buried deep in your cunt. He pulled the fire leash backwards until you gasped, straightening over him. 

You had him too close to finishing. 

He wanted to fuck you himself before he came.  

His hips jutted against yours, knocking you forward onto your hands and knees as he knelt behind you, still reigning your neck upwards with the inferno tether. He rutted into you from behind, pushing at the small of your back, so you arched beautifully against the mattress. The flames still wrapped around your neck, keeping your face from falling against the blankets. 

You clenched around him, moaning at each thrust, the tip of his cock pressing too far into you. “Look at me when you come,” he demanded, pulling back at the flames around your neck. Your head lifted and you threw a glare over your shoulder - a glare that you couldn’t keep up with once his free hand found your clit, rubbing quick circles against the sensitive spot. 

You came again with a soft gasp, squeezing Eris once more, intoxicatingly so. He followed behind you, spilling his seed inside of you. The flames vanished, allowing you a full gulp of air as you fell forward onto the mattress. Eris’s hand fell next to your head, holding himself just above you as his legs could no longer hold him up. 

He rolled off you, groaning as he pulled his sensitive cock from between your legs. You remained there on your stomach, blinking tired eyes at the male next to you. His brows drew together as his hand fell to the back of your head, brushing your hair with his fingers and tucking the loose strands behind your ear. A silent question - are you okay?

You swallowed hard, your throat hot and sore, but nodded, sighing as your eyes shut and nose nestled against the mattress. The male tutted, rising quickly to shed his clothing. How he managed to fuck you in the layers of clothing was beyond him. After tossing the jacket and many layers to the floor, he scooped you in his arms to move you to the head of the bed. Your arms slung around his shoulders as he lifted you, turning the covers down swiftly before setting you under the blankets. He climbed in next to you, laying on his side, allowing you to curl up into him. 

So you did, tucking yourself in the crook of his arm, resting your head on the expanse of his pale chest. You threw an arm over his abdomen, fingers tracing over the myriad of scars there - some faded into his skin, others sat marred and puckered. Eris’s hand came to your neck, thumb brushing softly against the column of your throat, your skin splotched with red. 

His chest still rose quickly; it always took him a while to calm down fully from an evening like that, where his fire ran rampant through his veins, on a path of destruction, tamed only by you. 

You grabbed a hold of the duvet, pulling it up higher over the both of you. A frown pulled at your lips as you fisted the cream colored dress, now tattered and being used as a blanket. “I liked that dress,” you mumbled, holding up the ashy fabric. 

“I’ll buy you a thousand more,” he murmured, pressing a kiss into the crown of your head. He had, of course, bought the original one for you. 

“I want one to match your jacket.” You smiled, eyeing the burgundy material on the floor. 

He hummed in approval. “Matching clothes, then matching crowns.”

#eris vanserra #eris x reader #acotar fanfic #acosf #eris vanserra x reader #eris x you #eris vanserra x you #eris / reader #eris vanserra / reader #eris

[climbthemountain2020]

A Heartbreak in Mid-December

Also on Ao3 | World's biggest thank you to @wilde-knight, my love, my light, my life, my beta reader <3

Synopsis: Lucien gets rip-roaring drunk after yet another failure of a Solstice and spends some time reflecting on the events that led him here. He decides that perhaps it's time to let go of the bond once and for all.

OR

CC couldn't stop picturing Elucien scenarios while listening to Neck Deep.

Highly recommend listening to December by Neck Deep before reading because it is screaming Elucien vibes to me.

Lucien crashed in through his front door, stumbling over his own two feet and slamming into the coat rack right within the doorframe. 

Shit. Fuck. 

He straightened it, blinking his eyes against the streetlight spilling into his dark apartment. The single, depressing Solstice candle he had lit before he left hours ago was still burning low. He fumbled his arm back behind him, searching for the door to slam it shut. It didn’t shut quietly, and he winced. It was very, very late–or, rather, early– and he hoped he hadn’t just woken his neighbors on a holiday. 

The sky was lightening far off in the distance, and the copious amounts of liquor Lucien had drunk roiled in his stomach as he made his way to the kitchen. Rifling through his near-empty cabinets, he found some bread and hard cheese, choosing to save himself the pain later of having gone to sleep drunk as a jester on an empty stomach. 

He chewed sloppily as he looked out the window to the brightening horizon of Velaris. It really was a beautiful city, the stars twinkling more brightly in the sky here than anywhere else he’d ever been. Every time he went into town, he was thrilled to find some new, fantastic oddity that kept his curious mind intrigued. He made friends with the shopkeepers, the artisans, the barkeeps, as he did everywhere he went. He truly could have seen himself making a home here. Except for the fact that every second of being here felt like rending his very soul from his body. 

Three years. It had been three fucking years now. Three Solstice eves where he’d gone out on a limb, taking his very carefully chosen gift like an acolyte bringing a sacrifice to an altar. Three years where he would sit through an awkward dinner with a family that wasn’t his and never would be. He’d give her the delicately wrapped parcel in carefully chosen paper, and she would politely smile and then…nothing. Not a word or even a nod in return. 

The bond might as well be a dead animal in his chest for the way it was rotting out his heart. She didn’t want him–couldn’t stand his very presence–and yet, he still tried, beating himself down and eroding more and more of himself in the process. He’d hoped, perhaps, this year would be a better year. He’d spent an egregious amount of time in the little tea shop in Day Court, combing through each of the hundreds of flavors and combinations available to choose the ones he felt she’d love. He’d bought a cinnamon, peppermint, and ginger mix, sharp and fragrant and interesting. He’d found a chai with milky ribbons of caramel that reminded him of Autumn. He’d found a breakfast tea there that hailed from the mortal lands, thinking it might be one she’d had before and warm her heart on the days that all the changes were too hard for her. Finally, he’d picked a lovely persimmon and lavender blend. It smelled like the flowers of her garden, and reminded him of warm days under the Spring sun. Rather than the physical gifts of the past two years, the enchanted gloves and the earrings, this was something simply for pleasure and enjoyment. He’d hoped this new approach would be appreciated, but just like every year, the placid smile graced her face and that was that. 

He wished, just once, she’d open that bond in her chest–let him know even the smallest bit of what she was feeling. What was he doing wrong? Was this all punishment from that god awful first moment where he’d unceremoniously blurted in his shock that she was his mate? Everyone had judged it as a claiming, a declaration, when what it had really been was a soul-gutting, horrific realization that it hadn’t been Jes. Lucien barely remembered the following events of that night–his heart and his mind cycling rapidly and frantically between protect your mate and you’d been wrong–she died for nothing. 

Lucien aggressively rubbed his hand down his face, sighing as he finished the bread, running water from the sink and sticking his face under it to drink. These were dangerous thoughts for a drunk mind. But with horrible lucidity, Lucien knew he wouldn’t be trying again next year. This had been it. As tortured as he felt about the constant rejections, he knew Elain must be tiring of his slow and steady attempts. He hoped that she could be happy here in Velaris, here in this fae body and fae life she’d never wanted, but three years of demurely rebuffed attempts had left him a ragged shell of self-hate. He couldn’t live this way anymore. 

Lucien had decided, somewhere between bottles tonight, that he was going to let this go–he had to. There was only so much a male could take, and he couldn’t keep gently offering his heart up to her only to have her crush it beneath her pretty, unfailingly polite fist. His centuries of life had been filled with so much heartbreak and torment, and he’d fought–fought like hell–to stay good. But there are only so many times a heart could be cleaved entirely in two before a person broke. He was on the precipice. He rubbed his eyes painfully as they began to burn. She owed him nothing, but he owed himself peace. 

Tonight, as he’d left the River House, kind words and hugs from Feyre, claps on the back from Cassian and Rhys, a cold side eye from the Shadowsinger, as always, he’d decided that he was going to go get rip-roaring drunk tonight. He’d allow himself this one night to drink until he forgot and wallow in his devastation, and tomorrow he would send a letter to Elain offering to sever the bond–urging her to. 

Would he go insane? Maybe. Was he already insane for allowing this to be drawn out for so long when he clearly wasn’t wanted? Perhaps. He’d tried so hard to give her the space she clearly craved these past three years, especially after he’d known she wasn’t going to fling herself off the balconies of the House of Wind. He’d been a perfect gentleman, never pushing or pressing, never overstepping. He’d been patient, tried softly to get to know her where the opportunities organically presented themselves, but he’d been foiled, one way or another, at every turn. She hated his presence as much as she hated his presents.

He’d see her every so often around town when she was walking around Velaris. It wasn’t a large city, so they were bound to see each other on his visits. She didn’t notice him, but he always noticed her, the sound of her heartbeat echoing down the bond and calling out to him like a beacon whenever she was close. She would be shopping, or talking to vendors in the market, or on her way to fix the garden of a Velaris resident. Her dresses would always complement her pretty, porcelain, freckled skin, and her hair would always be shining in the sun. Lucien would wonder, against all common sense, what it would feel like to simply sit with her at one of the many restaurants along the Sidra. He wondered what it would be like to eat lunch with her, exchange stories, get to know each other better, maybe even cause her to laugh at something he’d said. But instead, he noted her presence and moved on–Lucien never wanted to be the one to make Elain uncomfortable. 

His frustration led him to grab another bottle of liquor from the cabinet and drink straight from it as he collapsed onto the couch. What had he done in a previous incarnation to have earned such ire from the Cauldron? First, his family, then Jes, then Tamlin, now this? Lucien didn’t think he was a bad person. He’d made mistakes, sure, but he always tried to do the right thing, especially by those he cared about. But now he was here, in a city he couldn’t really call home with people he couldn’t really call friends. He’d barely bothered to decorate his apartment, choosing instead to put in a few small touches that reminded him of Autumn and Spring–an amber yellow woven blanket thrown over the back of his couch that reminded him of the maple leaves in late season, an aquamarine enchanted ceramic pot of ferns and hyacinths on the mantle from Spring. All just pieces of all the places Lucien had almost been able to call home once. 

There was no reason to torture himself and do more. He only stayed here every so often, popping in to report back to Rhysand, catch a glimpse of Elain, and hope beyond reason this would be the time Feyre told him that Elain had changed her mind. It never was. Sometimes he would see her in the halls of the River House, where she’d give a little curtsey and disappear before any words could ever be exchanged. Lucien hated the baser parts of him that the bond brought out, but most of all he hated how much her scent affected him. Honey and pears and the light smell of clean linens line-dried in the sun haunted him through the hallways, even long after she’d fled. 

Lucien swigged his harsh liquor and let the burn in his throat refocus him. He refused to lay here and think about how she smelled. 

She wasn’t interested, and she never had been. Lucien was a smart male; he wasn’t stupid enough to not be aware of Elain’s care for the Shadowsinger. At least two years now he’d seen the shared glances, the stolen touches. He was sure that Rhysand trying to avoid tensions was the only reason they hadn’t gone public with their relationship, whatever it was. He had once hoped that eventually, as a fae, she might understand the depth of a mating bond and at least want to give getting to know Lucien a try, but he’d put a time limit on it, and that was tonight. If she’d shown even the slightest bit of interest, he’d have waited forever for her. But she had shown him, again and again through her actions, or lack thereof, that she wasn’t. He couldn’t make himself be someone that he wasn’t, and she hated him solely for being her mate. He’d been raised to believe it was a blessing, and she viewed it as a punishment. What else could he do?  

Maybe it was a punishment. He’d spent centuries thinking it had been Jes, that he’d lost his one chance at real love when his brothers had cleaved her head from her shoulders and made him watch. His sweet, clever, mischievous Jes, with her kind eyes, and teasing words, and endless love for him. He’d never deserved her to begin with, and then his love had gotten her killed. A day hadn’t passed that he didn’t miss her. The worst part was, he actually thought Elain and Jes would have been fast friends–their care and love for nature and flowers and their gentle words. He could sense that Elain had a more mischievous side, not that he’d ever been allowed nor would he ever have a chance to see it himself. 

Lucien’s vision swam thinking about it all, his heartbeat a dirge within his chest for the life he’d suffered through. He had to remind himself that he, against all odds, was alive. It was enough to be thankful for, and he’d convince himself there were better times still to come, even without either of them. He pulled that woven blanket that reminded him so much of his mother around his shoulders, closing his eyes and placing the half-empty liquor bottle onto the floor next to the couch. Tomorrow he would send the letter to Elain and return to his friends; even listening to Jurian and Vassa banter as foreplay until they inevitably hate-fucked each other would be better than this torture. 

He’d leave Elain to her freedom–he truly hoped she would get whatever it was that she wanted from this new life she’d never asked for. The Cauldron had taken everything from her and left nothing she wanted in its place. Not her fae body, not her fiance abandoning her, and definitely not Lucien. More than anything, he hoped she found her way here and found a way to be happy despite all the horrors she’d seen. She could have her Shadowsinger and their little winged babies, and three brothers could have their three sisters, and Lucien could have some peace. 

Perhaps breaking the bond would blessedly drive him insane, and he could be rid of this pain once and for all. This looming feeling of inadequacy would leave him, or at least he wouldn’t be aware of enough to know it existed in the first place. He had seen enough, and now it all felt like too much. Maybe being insane would be preferable to all this, he thought as he began to drift off. 

Just as sleep began to take him under, he heard a light tapping. What was that? It happened again, three quiet raps on his door. He rolled over, pulling the blanket tight against the knocking and the dawn light beginning to pour through the windows. But the knocks came again, louder this time. 

Shit, fine. 

Lucien groaned and rolled off the couch onto the floor with a grunt, the knocks still ringing through his apartment like a thumping heartbeat. He swayed as he tried to get to his feet, moving the bottle to the table and stumbling to the door. 

“Hang on, okay? I hear you, I hear you.” 

Lucien was not in a good place to deal with a neighbor complaining about the noises earlier, but he supposed he’d brought that upon himself. He undid the latch and threw the door open, the early daylight peaking in as he grimaced and covered his eyes. 

But there, against the soft light of the rising sun, stood Elain. She was haloed by it, the light shining off her tousled hair, her cloak thrown hastily over her shoulders, cheeks bright red from the cold and her breath freezing into clouds in the chilly morning air. 

“Elain–” he gasped out. 

“Happy Solstice, Lucien.” He was at a loss for words, like every thought in his head had ground to a horribly abrupt stop and there was nothing left but empty space and confusion. “I came to check on you. I felt…well, I’ve felt nothing but anguish down the bond for hours. I’ve never felt so much from you, and I got worried.” She said, shyly. 

He could have rammed his face through the wall; he was mortified beyond belief. For three years, he’d kept those carefully constructed walls up night and day to keep from torturing her. One drunk night and he’d plagued her all evening with his self-loathing. 

“Elain, I am so sorry. I drank a bit much last night. I never meant–” She held up a hand. 

“It’s quite alright. But are you okay?” This was more words than she’d spoken to him at once ever. Maybe more than she’d spoken to him altogether over the past three years. Strangely, she didn’t look put-upon–likely her years of training as a lady in society. His shame was oily and horrid, and he immediately went to reconstruct those walls around the twisting gold thread in his chest. She looked up at him, eyes wide and…disappointed?

“Uh, yes. I’m alright.” He scratched the back of his neck. “I didn’t even know you knew where I lived.” He tried to lighten the mood with a laugh, his default. He was still drunk and trying to focus when something so insane was happening was nearly impossible. Surely this wasn’t just a dream?

A blush painted over her beautiful, freckled cheeks. 

“Oh, I actually do. I’ve come by a few times, but I’ve never had the nerve to knock.” A stiff wind could have knocked him clean out. She’d come here? She looked embarrassed to admit it, but Lucien was still trying to make sense of things, gaping and looking insane in the doorway. “Might I come in? It’s a bit chilly.” 

“Oh, gods, Elain. Yes, of course. I’m so sorry.” He ushered her inside, kicking himself repeatedly for ruining this. “Can I get you some tea?” He was immediately ashamed of his apartment–everything so sparsely put together and nothing fancy for her. Without thinking, he tossed a ball of flame to the hearth, warming the room for her. 

“No, that’s fine. I just wanted to come and check on you. When I felt some of the emotions coming through, I worried you might be in danger…I couldn’t just ignore it.” 

“I am so sorry, Elain. Truly. I never intended for you to feel anything.” She looked down. 

“I know, Lucien. You’re always very vigilant.” The words left her tongue with a bit more bite than he had expected, but it was enough to sober him. 

Fuck the letter. He was doing this now. 

“Elain, do you want to break the bond? I planned to write and offer you the option today, but since you’re here, I’ll just say it.” Elain’s eyes shot to his, her expression heartbroken and appalled, and Lucien suddenly got the first spark of feeling down that faded, dim tether that he’d ever felt. Devastation. 

“Is that what you want?” Her voice was a whisper, but Lucien couldn’t help the laugh that barked out of him. 

“Me? Gods, no. You. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

“No, Lucien. It is not.” He felt like he was living in a fever dream. Maybe he’d fallen into the Sidra on his way home from the tavern and was slowly freezing to death beneath the waves. 

“Don’t you want to be with Azriel?” It was her turn to huff a laugh out, looking incredulous. 

“Cauldron, no. You know he’s mated, right?” Lucien did not know. “Yes, to Gwyn, Nesta’s friend. I mean, for full disclosure, at one point, there was some…tension. But nothing ever became of it. And it was a year ago.” Lucien had never been at such a loss for what to say as they stood in the entryway of his small apartment. He hated the relief he felt, hated even more than in his drunken state, she could definitely tell. 

His mate was there, in his home, speaking to him. Laughing. Her scent filled every inch of space around him–he may never be able to sleep here again. Could he seal the doors and keep it forever?

“So, you don’t want to break the bond?” He asked, tentatively. She sighed, walking to the couch and dropping heavily down, her head in her hands. 

“Lucien, I am so sorry. I have made such an incredible mess of this. I imagine you’ll never forgive me, and I understand if you’ve had enough. I never meant to make you so miserable, and I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am.” He must be hallucinating. How old had that liquor been?

“I was so lost at the beginning, so hateful and resentful. I had never wanted any of this, and for the longest time, every time I saw you, I was reminded of all that.” 

“I reminded you? But I gave you space, I–”

“It didn’t matter! You were just so fae.” She gestured up and down at him as if that made it make sense. “Your bright, braided hair, your beautiful eyes, your tailored, colorful clothes. You were so unequivocally inhuman that I couldn’t look at you without remembering.” He guessed that made sense. Human men were incredibly dull, and Lucien had always prided himself on his appearance. 

“After a long time, I just continued to push you away because I didn’t know how to fix the gap I’d made between us. I couldn’t admit I was wrong because it didn’t feel wrong that I’d been scared, but it did feel wrong to be apart from you. I just didn’t know how to fix it.” She got quiet at the end, and he came to sit on the table in front of her. 

“To accept you would have meant I was wrong, but it would have also meant I accepted everything that happened to me. It wasn’t fair, but it was what happened. I hate how horribly I’ve hurt you working through it all.” Her eyes were rimmed with tears as he looked at her. Elain. Here. Sitting on his couch mere inches from him and pouring her heart out at his feet. She laughed, somewhat mirthlessly, and met his eyes again. 

“You drove me mad. Bought me the most perfect gifts every single year. Not stupid, surface-level things, but things that told me you could see me when no one else could. The tea? How could you have possibly picked so many flavors and scents I love? You’re always there and you smell so good and it makes me want to act against every single thing I’ve ever been taught. I can hear the way your heart skips and races when you see me, and I hate that I know you can hear mine do the same. I hate to know that you feel how you affect me. I have no secrets; I have no defenses against you.” It had all come rushing out in a single breath, and she was left on the couch, panting and staring at him with wide eyes. 

Lucien stood, dumbstruck, jaw hanging and unable to form a thought let alone a sentence. Was this a joke? A dream?  

She stood too, pacing in front of the couch Lucien now stood next to, watching her like a male seeing the sun rise for the first time in his life. 

“More than anything, I hated how you always knew me. Knew what I needed, sunshine and the sea, while everyone else wanted to keep me inside. You knew the gifts I would love, the space that I would need. I knew you’d be there waiting for me, too. And I took you for granted, and that makes me the worst of all.” 

He wanted so badly to tell her it didn’t matter. If she truly felt this way, it didn’t matter. If he’d thought, even for a moment, that she’d just needed a bit more time, he’d have waited forever. He wanted to tell her he’d only offered to break the bond because he thought it’s what she wanted. He wanted to tell her he’d fall at her feet and stay there for the rest of their immortal lives if she wanted him. If she allowed him. 

“Elain, I–”

“Do you know I have your jacket?”

“My…What?”

“The one you wrapped around me when I was thrown from the Cauldron. I saved it. I folded it into a small box in the bottom of my closet. Sometimes I bring it out when I have nightmares and hold it close to my face, and it feels like you’re there with me.” 

Lucien was astonished, the beating of his heart and hers drowning out all remaining rational thought. Lucien hadn’t felt hope like this in centuries. 

“It’s starting to not smell like you anymore, and I can’t bear it,” she whispered.

Her eyes flicked back to his, and she took the smallest step forward. If his heart hadn’t been thundering like the hooves of a thousand running horses, he’d worry it had stopped entirely. All thought left him, all sense. In two long strides, he was across the room to her, her jaw in his hand and her eyes closed. 

“You smell like pine needles in the sun,” she whispered, her breath grazing his hand. He laughed through his grin, his thumb brushing across her cheek as she sighed and opened her eyes, soft brown like the leaves coating the forest floor in fall, to look into his own with a smile of her own. 

“If I offer you the moon on a string, Lucien, will you give me a kiss too?” He laughed again, not knowing whether or not Feyre had told her that tidbit or if she’d Seen it herself. But she smiled at his laugh, and the effect was blinding. 

He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her lips, before he could change his mind. 

Her lips were soft, soo incredibly soft, and her hands wound through his tangled hair immediately, pulling him closer. He was intoxicated with the smell of her, so close and unfiltered. It was Elain who ran her tongue along the seam of his lips, begging for entry as he used his hand to tilt her head slightly. The smallest noise left her throat, and Lucien had to call upon every single bit of restraint he’d ever mustered to hold himself back from tossing her over his shoulder. She must have heard the thought, felt it even, as he noticed his walls had crumbled down again. He felt a smattering of emotions from her, elation, relief, arousal. It was too much, it was not enough, it was perfect. 

They might have kissed for hours, days, or minutes, but it tapered down into soft, quick presses of their lips against each other as they steadied their beating hearts. 

“Would you like to get lunch with me today, Lucien?” Elain said, breathless as they pulled apart, but barely. 

“I would like nothing more, my lady” she smiled against his lips, smoothing her hand over his chest. He felt as though every breath had been drawn out of him, his lungs simply existing in a void where he floated blissfully on a cloud. 

“Then you better rest up. You’ve got about six hours to sleep, then I’ll be expecting you on the bridge by the market. We’ve got some catching up to do.” She pressed a small, wrapped parcel into his hand, then stood on tiptoes to give him another kiss on the jaw before walking back to the door, looking over her shoulder to say goodbye. 

“Happy Solstice, Lucien.” She smiled as she pulled the door closed behind her.

Lucien hoped beyond reason that this wasn’t a dream, but her lingering scent swirled around him as he let himself drop back to the couch. He looked down at the parcel in his hand, wrapped delicately in white and silver tissue paper, folded neatly at the seams and wrapped in a bow of twine. 

She’d given him a Solstice gift. 

He undid the bow carefully, fully planning to save every single aspect of this present as long as he lived. He peeled back the carefully folded corners of the paper, making sure not to rip it. Inside the beautiful paper was a folded, cream colored handkerchief. He picked it up and unfolded it to find the smallest embroidered fox in the corner, the colored threads somehow catching the mischievous glint in its eyes. Beneath it was a round piece of glass–no–resin. Pressed within it were bright Autumn leaves, layered in yellows, oranges, and crimsons held at the peak of their color forever, suspended in time. A piece of his very first home to have here and hold close. 

He’d never received such gifts in his life. They were both so perfectly him–things he would have been drawn to immediately at a market, but would never have bothered to purchase for himself. It made up for a million Solstices. 

He laid back on the couch, holding the gifts to his chest and closing his eyes as he drifted off, the smell of pear and honey wrapped around him like the yellow blanket that reminded him of days spent running through the woods of Autumn. 

I hope you get your ballroom floor

Your perfect house with rose red doors

I'm the last thing you'd remember

It's been a long lonely December

I wish I'd known that less is more

But I was passed out on the floor

That's the last thing I remember

It's been a long lonely December

December by Neck Deep

Cast me aside to show yourself in a better light

I came out grieving, barely breathing

And you came out alright

But I'm sure you'll take his hand

I hope he's better than I ever could have been

My mistakes were not intentions, this is a list of my confessions I couldn't say

Pain is never permanent but tonight it's killing me

#elucien #angst with a happy ending #hurt and comfort #acotar #sjm fic #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #songfic #oneshot

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

May I please request Daemon Blackfyre with the prompt: Summer Wine? (Feel free to delete this.)

Hello!Thank you for the request! I confess I have not yet reached the part of Daemon Blackfyre in Fire and Blood, but I will try to do my best. I hope you like this!

"Redgrass field"

Pairing: Daemon Blackfyre x Fem. Reader

Themes: Secret love / Lost love / Angst

Warnings: Alcohol use | Brief mention of kissing and intimate activities (very very brief and very very mild)

Word count: 600 approximately.

Summary: It is not everyone who captures Daemon Blackfyre's especial attention. But what happens after that?

Minors DNI | 18+

Rules and tag form here | Prompts for requests here

You could still remember the first time you saw him.

The bastard son of Daena the Defiant, the one known to all as Blackfyre, rode up to the lists, all proud and tall and fierce, with his beaten silver hair and bewitching lavender eyes that could beckon even the most resolute of maidens like a siren's call. His silver spurs jingled sweetly even as they glinted wickedly in the brilliant summer sun. His milky white courser had been resplendent in red and black silks that swirled around it whenever it broke into a run.

It was the most beautiful of days, all bright and golden and glorious. The crowd roared every time Daemon broke his lance and unhorsed his opponent. They would gasp when his foe fell to the earth with a sickening clangor. They would applaud when the fallen knight struggled to his feet. Daena would cheer louder than all the rest, her eyes filled with unbridled pride. Daemon was her child, her light, her life, and her joy. And yet, it was not her he sought out, but you. Out of all the ladies present, Daemon sought you out.

"Victory would be all but assured, sweet lady," he had declared, "if I had the great honor of wearing a token of your esteem."

You honored him, bestowing upon him not just a bejeweled token but a great many other things even as the days melted into each other. It was you he came to for companionship; it was you he turned to in the dances. He would tenderly lead you, his feet as light as air, his touch as gentle as a feather. His laughter would ring across the grounds, as clear as dawn bells. There was magic as light and sweet as summer wine, and the two of you drank deeply during those heady nights.

Oh, how heady indeed were those nights. Daemon wooed you and courted you, his kisses tasting like strawberries and cherries and bright spring mornings. His hair smelled like warm summer nights. His skin tasted of sunlight. You both knew it would never last, for he was the son of a Targaryen princess, and you were of little consequence to be considered a worthy consort for one such as him. Still, the two of you made the most of what the Gods gave you that season, delighting in summer days and summer nights and sweet, sweet summer wine. And when he left, you wept not, content to hold onto the memories that kept you warm many a cold autumn night, thinking that perhaps, some day, he would come for you and take you for his own.

That would never be. He wed another, quarreled, and warred, and now you were here, in this faraway field, standing before the great winged warhelm that was all that remained of his grave marker. The wonder and terror of his age, your summer love, snuffed out in the blink of an eye. If you did not weep then, you wept now, your eyes filling and stinging with uncontrollable tears. Did he think of you, of those glorious days and nights the two of you shared? Had he ever considered seeking you out, even for a moment? Unspeakable grief welled up and spilled over like a mighty flood. The lady he would go on to marry had his children. You had nothing of him, save for his winged warhelm, and, of course, the memories of summer days and summer nights and sweet, sweet summer wine.

#daemon blackfyre #Daemon blackfyre imagine #Daemon blackfyre x reader #x reader #reader insert #house targaryen #asoiaf #asoiaf imagine #asoiaf x reader

[areyoudreaminof]

Future Rust and Future Dust

Chapter 3

The throne room of the Autumn Court was packed with guards blocking the main entrance. Beron Vanserra sat on a lacquered throne of oak that stretched into the floors and low ceiling. Male nobles from Autumn mingled with males from Valhallan. Deep laughter rang over the small orchestra that played a cache of monotonous tunes that had been played for  No females were ever allowed in the throne room, making the place stink of body odor and liquor. 

It was in this room that Eris Vanserra slipped on his mask of spoiled boredom and disdain and watched his father like a hawk. 

As he had since he was no more than a boy, Eris stood to the right of his father, watching. The male never seemed to move as he sat on the Autumn Throne. He did not adjust himself in his seat, nor did he cross his legs or lean back. Beron’s hands didn’t even twitch. No, Eris watched for the movement in his father’s eye. That small spark of cruelty and deception that would flash quickly while his jaw was set into a hard line. Eris knew his father’s tells, and now he could see it in Beron’s eyes as the emissary from Valhallan presented a cache of weapons at his feet. 

“Pure black steel, forged from stone found only in our volcanoes.” the brute of a male said, kicking his leather boot at the stone trunk. The blades on the axes and knives were indeed an oily shade of black. The steel reflected off the amber colored lights, muting the sharp edges. The blades looked dull to Eris. Tristian and Kaspar surely thought the same thing, as they snickered at the display on the farther end of the dais. 

The Valhallan emissary raised a flaxen brow. 

“Volcanic steel has truly been a gift for us.” the Emissary said, “I swear it is Cauldron forged. Tough in the rock face, but when you melt it, the metal becomes so flexible.” He picked up a small and curved knife, casually twirling it in his fingers. “One can make such incredible weapons.” He continued in a dreamy tone as he approached Kaspar on the bottom steps of the dais. 

“Here, let me show you just how sharp.” the Emissary said. His hand snaked behind Kaspar with quickness, a sharp sound of air piercing Eris’ ears. Kaspar brought a hand up to his own ears, checking for blood. 

“Do you see, now?” the Emissary said with a laugh as he held Kaspar’s elaborate auburn braid in his fist. “Such flexible and sharp metal to take someone by surprise. Cauldron forged, I tell you.” He bared his yellowed teeth in a smile from behind his trimmed and curled mustache. Kaspar gripped at the back of his head, fingers tracing the jagged remainder of his braid.

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Taglist: @acourtofladydeath @asnowfern @born-to-riot @c-e-d-dreamer @corcracrow @damedechance @foundress0fnothing @hugeclearjellyfish @itsthedoodle @kataravimes-of-the-shire @krem-does-stuff @kingofsummer93 @fieldofdaisiies @lidiacervos @lucienarcheron @melting-houses-of-gold @octobers-veryown @ofduskanddreams @iftheshoef1tz @popjunkie42-blog @queercontrarian @reverie-tales @sassyhobbits @separatist-apologist @secret-third-thing @thesistersarcheron @thelovelymadone @the-lonelybarricade @vulpes-fennec @velidewrites @witch-and-her-witcher @wilde-knight @xtaketwox @mossytrashcan @labellefleur-sauvage @cursebrkr @temperedink @rosanna-writer

#future rust and future dust #eris has arrived! #early!

[witch-and-her-witcher]

Tamsand | Explicit | Monstober Inspired Pre-Canon | Knotting

ao3 (huge thanks to @wilde-knight & @popjunkie42-blog for the beta reads <3)

“The wolf thought to himself, ‘What a tender young creature. What a nice plump mouthful.’” - Brothers Grimm

--

The dinner party had gone just as atrociously as anyone would have anticipated: the High Lords of Spring and Autumn one-upped each other and boasted until the room had spilled over with male bravado and overbearing testosterone. Until their wives were near cowering under the tables and their armful of warrior-trained sons were nearly at each other's throats.

This. This was what Tamlin had been called from his brothers-in-arms and his beloved wilderness for. Broken his peace to witness and forcefully participate in this embarrassing charade of a pissing contest.

At least in the camps, the people were forthright with their intentions.

At least in the camps, they respected Tamlin for the warrior he had grown into.

But not in Rosehall.

In Rosehall, Tamlin was nothing more than the black sheep of the Spring Court. The most vulnerable for the Vanserra brothers. 

The strapping Vanserras, three old enough to sharpen their monstrous canines for use against their enemies while the fourth hell spawn cooked in their mother’s belly. Tamlin wasn’t a small male and had an intimidating wildness about him - but even he cowed under the full attention of their barbed tongues and the honed insults they welded as deftly as their blades.

It didn’t help he had no taste for this pageantry, this political fuckery.

The second oldest viper poked his tongue out, nearly touching Tamlin’s cheek tauntingly, as he breathed down on him. “Your muscles have hardened well, Goldilocks, but I have heard tales of what Spring warbands do with the likes of you. I bet you’re real soft in other places, like a well-worn saddle.”

“Would that excite you?” Tamlin growled in response, cautious of the twitching points of his brothers’ listening ears - waiting for their own opportunity to jump on him later, waiting for something to use as fodder to prove his weakness and unfit presence in their ilk. “Must get you hot all over, to think I don’t have to present every lover to my father first for approval. How does it feel, to only experience Beron’s seconds?”

Before he could be grabbed by the collar, wrenched off his feet, and blamed for ruining the already disastrous dinner, Tamlin stepped away.

It was cowardly. 

It was for their mothers’ sake.

At the other end of the room, speaking softly to each other but watching their sons with apprehension. Lady Laurel surely couldn’t handle an all-out brawl in her condition, and Mother knows the Lady of Spring had been shamed enough by her brood's actions this evening.

So Tamlin tucked tail and slipped out of the formal dining room despite the song in his viscera that begged to feel knuckles collide with flesh in a requiem for vindication. His blood curdled with unbridled rage, skin too tight and heated with the shame of an unanswered call to his honor at his back.

Rise above it. Or at least get the hell out of the manor before he lost his ability to pretend at being the bigger male.

A feral growl hung low in his chest and he didn't care that he snarled at the shimmering green skinned servant, sent him skittering away with a stink of fear. Tamlin had enough wherewithal to grab a bottle of alcohol on his swift retreat and nothing else as he sought out the second to best place to the wilderness to swallow him up and hide him from these overdressed stiffs -

"Wait,” a voice called from the doorway behind him.

Tamlin didn't wait. He set off at a quicker pace, stomping pebbled stone under foot. His anger was only fueled by the uncomfortable, unbroken formal boots he wore. Pinching his toes. Pissing him off.  

"I said wait, you insolent whelp - "

Tamlin wheeled back just as they entered the gardens. Relinquished any control he'd had standing in Rosehall's lavishly decorated dining room and accepted he might get ground into dust against the eldest Vanserra now. They weren't all that different in age and he was sure whatever Eris had on him in height Tamlin compensated in muscle. But what he knew for certain he lacked was Eris's cutthroat moves in a fight.

He might lose an eye, but damn it all to hell if he was going to listen to one more insult without matching it in kind.

"Go to hell, Eris," he snarled, pressing chest to chest with the male smiling cooly down on him. "If I hear another word from one of you inbred firelings I will shred - Cauldron!"

Tamlin leapt back. Away from the fire that had licked the knuckles of his clenched fists.

"Easy with the bloodline accusations." Eris smoothed the front of his jacket. Sniffed pompously. "Last I heard, it was your brother engaged to be wed to his first cousin … After being caught in a torrid affair that bound him by honor to do so."

"Allegedly."

Eris snorted. "Right. Allegedly." His posture remained poised, but relaxed, despite his burst of magic in warning before, and his cool amber gaze seemed to uncoil some of the tension within Tamlin. "Do you intend to drink that bottle alone?"

"Do you intend to let the role of loyal ass kisser remain absent at your father's side?"

"Someone will surely fill in for me." Heat flickered momentarily in his eyes, but Eris didn't rise to the bait. "Come now, show me where you go off to brood in such a state. Misery loves company and all."

Tamlin considered. Mind reeling. 

This was exactly the reason he avoided these people, these events. Eris had just been privy to the insults hurtled Tamlin's direction, egged his brother on until they'd been standing toe to toe. Now here he was, back to the cantankerous excuse of a comrade Tamlin caught glimpses of without watchful eyes.

Why could no one just be who they were? Why was all the posturing and playacting necessary?

The least he could do was not make himself one of them. Tamlin could drink the bottle himself - but he didn't need to, would prefer company. Always preferred company.

"Don't try to compare your misery to mine, alright? You win that contest," Tamlin said with a sharp nudge of his chin into the garden. "This way, then."

The Autumn red cape affixed roguishly over Eris's shoulders snapped as he followed Tamlin into the gardens. 

continue reading

#tamsand #tamlin x rhys #smut #acotar #acotar fanfic #my writing

[mysteriesmuse]

Fall for me ~ Fairy Prince Shoto 🍂✨

———— Fairy Prince Todoroki Shoto by all accounts shouldn’t have been flying about in your neck of the woods unescorted. He belonged at home with his father in the summer court, or at home in winter’s palace, but not buzzing about in the autumnal forest.

Prince Shoto is known for looking exactly like two fairies spliced together. And as you recover from performing a dare-devil flying loopty-loop to stop yourself from crashing directly into the young man you can see what the people are talking about. You groan brushing yourself off from the crash landing and find yourself blinking wide-eyed like a toad at the Summer Prince. The striking silvery white strands on one side flinging over the part and illuminating the dark ruddy auburn on his other side — but never any red on the right. A famous scar hiding beneath bangs that are coiffed back to the tops of pointy ears — parted directly in the middle of his perfectly symmetrical bone structure were a slim nose nestled. And your eyes trail down to his neck-shoulders-arms-legs all lean muscle like a fine fairy dancer. A limp wrist is hanging over the hilt of a gorgeous winter crafted blade (you would know you’ve visited the winterlands on many occasions)

“Apologizes, I fear — I didn’t mean to frighten you so badly.” He says. You quickly stumble back onto you feet and close the mouth that’s been hanging open, “Oh no!” You wave you hands, leaves on the tree rustling instinctively to your magic. The poplar tree you’re resting on shifting with another sticky sweet breeze of summer — the summer lands. A fairy as powerful as him must bring some of his realm with him. He watches you inquisitively, he’d never seen an autumn fairy up close, merely saw them at the harvest games and whenever he passed through the fall lands to reach his mothers kingdom of winter. He blinked slowly — like a lightening bug after a row of summer sex — at your wings. Autumn fairies were known for being the fastest of all with the slender nature of your wings, the aerodynamic tip and the unique golden shimmer of the veins running along the wing panels. And yours fluttered wildly like a hummingbird — unable to keep still. Your appearance was nothing short of breathtaking with your coppery hair that strung over your shoulder and a dress made of a glowing red autumn maple. Delicate fingers brushing bangs behind your ear as your lips mouth an introduction and Shoto Todoroki found himself with a compulsive shiver at the way your magic seemed to stir something in both halves of him— something he’d never felt before from another fairy. He cleared his throat, steeling the wild reaction of his magics — control had never been an issue before. “— but I must ask what brings you here to autumn Prince Todoroki?” He frowns, he’s never liked the sour taste his fathers name leaves on his lips. “Shoto.” He replies. You blink perplexed, “Call me Shoto.” He clarifies. Your chin tucks into a little nod at this and he notices a strip of pink bandaid across your nose. He huffs a smile — just a bit. The eve of his 22nd birthday is about to arrive: a pivotal moment in the life of a fairy. He must prove himself as worthy for the throne by seeking out trustworthy allies for his fledgling court: he already has a slew of allegiances in both summer and winter — and a far share in spring, but unlike his elder brother, Prince Touya of Winter, he hasn’t had the same ties to autumn. In fact, he’s on his way to the capitol to meet with his brother and his husband, a knight of autumn. “I’m here to meet with my brother, Prince Touya. I hear he’s received well in this realm.” At this your face lights up with familiarity and your wings seem to beat still for a split second. “Naturally — ah, well the capitols in the other direction,” you turned and point north. The rustling leaves overhead fluttering in that direction as Shoto feels the chilled breeze against his neck. He pouts and you giggle, “Hey, it’s my day-off anyway. I’d be happy to take you there myself. It’s only an hours flight —“ you look past him. At his awkwardly arranged wings. One with seering translucence and the other with a frosty sheen, neither one identical in shape. The point of winter, the smooth edges of summer, both a little misshapen. “Perhaps two,” you smile. “Perhaps two,” he nods. And if anything he’s probably going to slow-down on purpose now, just to chat with you some more. Because he’s not sure if this is what his siblings described as love — that rush of blood to the head and this “static vibe” in the air. But the way your magic seemed to curl into his so naturally, so beautifully, so unique a feeling — he’s quite sure that part of your meeting was real. That thing all lovers describe as your fairy-mate.

#mysteriesmusing #shoto todoroki #shoto fluff #shoto todoroki x reader #fairy prince todoroki

[vicioux]

☀️ ELUCIEN FIC RECS ☀️

my OG acotar ship will always be nesta x lucien lol but i got suckered into falling for these two as well by @valamerys ("dove" 🥺) and all the seriously beautiful work that continues to be written year after year. without any further ado here are some of my fav elucien fics i've had the pleasure to read - hope y'all enjoy reading and happy elucien week! p.s you can find the rest of my fic rec lists here.

oneshots

BETWEEN THE RAINDROPS WITH YOU by stardustsroses Lucien comes home after a mission to find his mate sleeping in their garden among the summer flowers. Fluff ensues.

DESPERATELY WAITING by shipatfirstsight She tries not to think about Lucien.

COLD HANDS, WARM TOUCH by shaziskhalid Lucien falling sick and Elain going all mother hen on him.

BLAME IT ON THE ALCOHOL by perseusannabeth Elain gets drunk and decides to sleep in Lucien's room. Also, she keeps talking about her boobs.

DON'T LET ME GO by ellesbasement The first time Lucien comes to visit, Elain doesn't talk to him much.

BURNING GOLD by sennawritesthings “I don’t think I want to know you.” “It’s alright. Would you mind if I know you?”

human!elain

EFFLORESCE by flowerflamestars So bleeding and burning, lost and found, Lucien Vanserra staggered into human lands, and found he wanted to live.

A SOFT PLACE TO FALL by valamerys Math was never a strong subject of hers, but the calculation is too simple to allow error: if one of them must die for this, their family cannot survive without Feyre. But they can survive without Elain.

LA VIE EN ROSE by thelonelybarricade He was being purposefully vague, she thought with a stab of irritation. Elain tried quickly to recall the other rhymes children whispered in the streets of the market. “Can faeries lie?” That russet eye gleamed. “Most can.”

TO MATE A FAERIE by flamesandshadows Elain Archeron is happily married to her true love, Graysen Nolan, and has settled into life at the Nolan estate. But her life is thrown into confusion when a faerie prisoner is brought to the manor.

EXILE by separatist_apologist Humans have been bred for the Fae for as long as the Archeron sisters have been alive. Separated, Feyre and Nesta are sent to shadowy Night Court with feared High Lord Rhysand and his unpredictable winged General Cassian while Elain is taken by Eris Vanserra to terrifying Autumn Court to serve the High Lord's wife.

multichapter

A GREEN AND GROWING THING by valamerys This is the story of the fox boy and the flower girl, of spring and fall and everything inbetween.

THE SUN RISES by zhiantara Fate has tied their souls together; now they just need to get to know each other.

THE AUTUMN FLAME by the_twisted_kingdom Months after the war, Lucien returns to Velaris to see Elain and is pleasantly surprised when she appears open to spending time with him. He is even more surprised when Rhysand sees fit to send him and Elain across Prythian to visit the other courts in an effort to unite them all.

FOX AND FAWN by daevastanner “I have spoken with Feyre...And she has agreed to break our bond.” Lucien stood gracefully and held out his hand. Then he raised her knuckles to his lips, just like a knight in one of the books that Nesta read to her as a girl. Just like a prince. Just like a gentleman. “Happy Solstice, Elain.”

A TALE OF NYMPHS by reveriedusoir Elain is a nymph of spring, spreading beauty and happiness wherever she goes. Lucien is the Lord of Death, whose realm is dying. When they meet, he knows he will need her to save his court - and perhaps for some other things as well.

WONDERLAND by separatist_apologist In a kingdom where a Maiden is forced to be sacrificed to appease the monster in the woods, Elain Archeron is chosen out of spite by her spurned suitor. She doesn't know he's freed every maiden he's ever been sent...but her? Her, he intends to keep.

FIANCES, FIREBIRDS, FOXES AND FAWNS by mango Together, they attempt to unite the fae and mortal lands and unravel the deal made between Koschei and Vassa.

LIABILITY by myinnercrisis A mating bond is supposed to be sacred, right? It seems to be working out just fine for everyone but him.

KINGS, QUEENS, AND VAGABONDS by gingerwritess Elain is wasting away in the Night Court, seeking out a destructive last hope to return to her human life and human love. Her unwanted mate wants nothing more than to see her healed, and takes her to the Day Court, in hopes that true sunlight can bring her back into herself.

smut

WHAT WE WANTED by valamerys Lucien’s first Fire Night as High Lord of the Spring Court puts he and Elain’s fledgling relationship in an awkward position.

YET WE DREAM by valamerys In which Elain is *not* having a nightmare.

NOCTIS by valamerys Lucien is a vampire. Elain is the village's sacrifice in an attempt to keep him at bay.

UNDONE by highfaelucien & pterodactylichexameter "Elain sucks in a delicate breath when she sees the silk binding her hands to the headboard, holding her there for him...And over her eyes...he’s blindfolded her."

modern au

HOLY GROUND by separatist_apologist Blindsided when her ex-fiancé informs her he's taking his mistress on their honeymoon, Elain decides to move back home just until she's back on her feet. When Lucien and Elain reconnect on the dock behind her childhood home, sparks fly instantly and Elain is forced to reconsider what she wants out of her life, and if there's a place for Lucien in it.

BRIGHT AS A FLAME, SOFT AS A ROSE by aquietpersonwithaloudmind An Elucien florist AU.

INSPIRATION by moononastring Aspiring writer Elain Archeron is looking for some inspiration for her new novel when she happens to meet the perfect man for the job.

ALL MY LOVE by lebensmuede In which Lucien does not take well to hearing how Graysen mistreated Elain.

A SPARK OF SOMETHING by shadowriel Elain is a half-fae party girl unwilling to accept her mating bond with Lucien, the fae male she can't help but want. (a Crescent City AU)

THE LOCKER ROOM PACT by neverthecanonotp Lucien Vanserra will soon find out that his transfer to play as goalkeeper for the football team entails many more responsibilities than he bargained for. Or: The one time Elain tries to have a casual hook-up goes spectacularly wrong.

anything and everything by these authors

VALAMERYS SEPARATIST_APOLOGIST ABOOKANDACOFFEE HIGHFAELUCIEN RABBITLOVER1027

#elucien #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #acotar fanfiction #acotar fanfic #elucien fanfiction #elucien fic #elucien fic rec #elain x lucien #lucien x elain #elucienweek #elucienweek2022 #vicioux fic rec #ao3 recs #fic rec #ficrec #fic recs #fic rec list #multiverse of multishipping #i have a very specific favorite type of fic for them

[lycheedr3ams]

Death's Angel

Part 2: Playing with Fire

royal!fem!reader x executioner!konig

Summary: It's 1554. You're one of the eight daughters of the Austrian royal family, and your parents do everything they can to ensure their kingdom is prosperous and peaceful. No royal court is complete without their hand-picked executioner, one who stands out against the sea of black, faceless bodies that make up the profession. It just so happens that your family's new executioner, one who has made a name for himself far and wide for his skill with the axe, has caught your eye and ruined you for good.

Warnings: MDNI! Mentions of smut, eventual filthy smut, mutual pining, forbidden love, death (konig is an executioner duh), mean sisters, mentions of medieval-type violence, overbearing parents, konig is brooding and a perv, some predator/prey dynamics, maybe dark themes bc reader likes seeing him kill people and bc he's a perv?

Part 1 | Part 3

.......

series inspired by the art below!

It's only been a week since konig carried out his first execution at your castle, but you've seen him more times in those few days than you saw your old executioner in 10 years. You found any excuse at all to even just glimpse at him. He was sharpening his axe outside the blacksmith's hut? Suddenly, you remembered you left something outside that just so happened to be right by the blacksmith. He was scrubbing his clothes in the nearby stream? You were planning on dipping your feet in the cool water anyway.

his eyes would linger on you whenever you were in his proximity, but he was always silent. even when you politely wished him "good morning" when you went out of your way to see him, or sent a kind smile his way, all you were met with was a pair of unblinking eyes concealed by a hood as dark as the void. was he playing hard to get? you almost forgot yourself. you are a fucking princess, after all. and he's the new executioner with so much blood on his hands that he'll never be able to scrub off, who has cut off more heads than days he's spent on this earth. he had no business even looking or breathing in your direction.

and yet he still did.

his eyes always found you, even during the rare times you didn't notice him in your proximity. he'd watch the way your dress perfectly hugged your hips, or how perfect your feet looked under the cool water of the stream. on the rare occasions he was able to make direct eye contact with you, his gaze was unwavering. unblinking. he simply couldn't miss a second of anything with you.

your sisters giggled about him, making fun of how tall he was. you defended him each time, but that only led them to teasing you. they wondered why you were sticking up for the troll who lived in the basement of the castle in the most untouchable servants' quarters, where even the light of the torches couldn't reach. you covered your motivations simply by stating your morality, that all people deserve to be treated equally. your sisters got a rise out of that.

you had to be more careful moving forward. if you sisters saw you around the untouchable behemoth you defended, what would they say if they saw you looking at him, smiling at him? You didn't care about your own status or image. It was him you were worried about. so you kept your interactions with him contained within curious glances and smiles when no one was looking. and he drank it all like you were the fountain of youth. but you wouldn't know it, the way his face was always perfectly veiled. a wall.

the autumn harvest ball was finally here. everyone in the castle was preoccupied with something: your parents with looking as perfect as they could, your sisters securing love interests, the servants bustling around the castle, the knights on guard. every living being in the castle tonight was alive and buzzing.

except him. except the untouchable ones who lurked in the castle basement. an unspoken blight on the royal family, yet a necessity for the peace. as you sat in your chair at the family table that overlooked the banquet hall, you wondered what konig was doing right now. had he even eaten? with all the food that needed to be prepared for the banquet, it was likely that his own meal had been overlooked. could he cook his own food? surely he could, but did he even have food to cook, or pots and a fire to cook with? you'd never been down to the lowest servants' quarters, where it smells cold and damp and whispers echo in dark corners. yet your worry for the brooding giant below could not be quelled.

"mother," you leaned over as you whispered. "i am feeling unwell. I might be catching a cold. I think I'm going to lie down for a while."

your mother looked concerned and began to wave some servants over. "they'll tend to you. please come back as soon as you are well again."

your sisters were too busy buttering up whatever sorry chap they each managed to enchant to see you being escorted to your room by some servants. you formulated a plan as they walked you to your room.

"i'm still a bit hungry, would you mind bringing me a plate of food?" you asked one servant. she quickly ran off with a bow. the other servant helped you out of your formal gown and into a much more comfortable and loose dress, but one that still showed your figure. your mother insisted that you always look comely, even in the privacy of your own room. the other servant came back with some food, while the other began to dap your forehead with a cloth.

"you two are dismissed. I've got it from here. thank you," you said with a smile as you took the cloth from the girl. They bowed silently and left you in your room. you leaned against your wooden door and listened until their footsteps could no longer be heard.

You wrapped the plate of food - which had the finest chicken, the best quality of cheeses and fruits - with a spare clean cloth from your drawer. you put on a slight cloak and pulled it over your head, tucked the wrapped plate under your arm precariously, and quietly shut your door as you left your room.

the only issue was, you didn't exactly know how to get down to the basement. there was never any need for you to be there. but luck was on your side, since all servants were in the banquet hall, so no one could see how you snuck around the castle, opening side doors and going down staircases only to get to a dead end. the food was growing cold, and you became worried. finally, you found the passageway down to the basement. but it was guarded by two knights.

you shook your head to yourself. they're technically you're knights, who are they to say where you can and cannot go in your own castle? you walked right by them with a bowed head, as if you frequented the bowels of the castle, and carefully looked around for anything that could pass as an executioner's quarters. it took a while for your eyes to adjust to the low light - you were always used to the well-lit, stained-glass hallways of the main areas. you quietly creeped down a stone hallway, shivering in the cold. you passed by small rooms with no doors and hay beds on the floor, and felt disgusted. how could your parents treat their own servants like this? you kept going, and the hallway ended at a staircase, spiraling down into the earth. this must be the way to konig's quarters, you thought. so, you braced yourself and carefully descended down the stairs.

you reached a point where there was almost no light, and began to be afraid, when you finally saw a single torch at the bottom of the staircase. there was a single door at the bottom, and it was shut. you collected your breath, straightened your back, and knocked a lot more timidly than you had meant.

you heard a wooden chair squeak as he got up and walked towards the door. you heard shuffling of cloth - had his mask been off? and you looked up at him nervously when he slowly opened the door. even in the low light, you could see how wide his eyes were to see you there. he thought you looked perfect, all doe-eyed looking up at him. vulnerable. he could drag you in his room and take you right now if he wanted. but he instead stared at you with his eyes almost popping out of his head.

you cleared your throat and brought the covered plate out from its hiding place underneath your arm. you held it up to him with both hands, saying nothing. your shaking hands told him all he needed to know.

"you shouldn't be here," were the first words he ever spoke to you. your heart dropped.

you blushed and spoke quietly, staring at his chest rather than his eyes that seemed to burn right through you. "i...i didn't know if you had eaten...since all the food in the castle is for the harvest...please...i want you to have this." you held up the plate again and closed your eyes, prepared for him to slam the door your face, when you felt the weight of the plate being lifted from your hands.

he took the plate and stared down at you. "thank you," he barely whispered. you perked back up and looked at him, the fear in your face now morphed into a mixture of happiness and concern. you were practically serving yourself on that plate for him. after a moment of staring at each other, you realized he wasn't going to speak again.

"i hope you like the food," you said timidly as you stared down what almost seemed to be the devil himself. this man was so dark and brooding, like a horrible thunderstorm that was standing at a respectable distance from you, just waiting for the right gust of wind to blow him your way.

konig wordlessly turned around and made a bee line for the crude wooden table in his living quarters. he left the door open. an invitation? you looked at him, spooked, but his back was to you as he sat down and removed the cloth from the plate. you tiptoed your way inside his room and looked around. there was a modest bed in one corner, the table he sat at with two splintered wooden chairs, and a rotted chest at the foot of the bed. you approached the table cautiously, afraid he might turn and sink his teeth into you, before you sat down at the other chair across from him.

he ate the food with his hands, which you found oddly endearing. if you saw any other person doing that, you would've been disgusted. but the way he carefully pulled apart the chicken and reached up into his mask to eat, almost like how an elephant eats, tugged on your heartstrings. you noticed, however, that he was eating very fast. almost like he was starved. looking around, you didn't notice any other plates in the room.

"i trust you're being fed well?" you asked, not bothering to hide the concern dripping from your voice. he glanced up at you before returning to his meal. "please tell me if you're not being fed enough -"

"i am," he roughly uttered as he swallowed a large piece of chicken.

"the way you're eating, it looks like you haven't eaten in days," you observe with a slightly teasing tone to your voice. he finally finished eating and wiped his hands on his pants.

"not your concern," he said as he gently threw the cloth you wrapped the plate with across the table. despite his rough words, you knew his intentions. there was no bite, no malice, in his tone. as a princess, you weren't supposed to be worried about him. you weren't even supposed to look at him. and here you were, in the executioner's room, making sure he's being fed and cared for.

"keep it," you say as you shake your hand. "you might need it for something. and I know it's not my concern, but I do want to make sure that you..." you cleared your throat and blushed "and everyone else in this castle is well taken care of."

konig stared at you so intently that you felt glued to your chair. your heart stopped in your chest.

"you play with fire, princess."

your breathing got deeper, which did not go unnoticed by him. princess was literally your title. it wasn't supposed to make your panties soaked or your nipples hard when you were called that. especially not when you were called that by the executioner. in his room. in the lowest part of the castle. he could have you screaming his name, and no one would be any wiser.

"there's nothing wrong with fire," you clumsily tried to flirt, or ease the tension. you weren't sure. "it's warm. it keeps us safe from beasts. brings us together."

"it burns. destroys." he said deeply.

you gulped. "yes, it can do that as well. you just have to handle it properly."

konig was near speechless at your effortless banter, the way you tried to convince him that he wasn't whatever beast he thought he was. he fell silent and stood up abruptly from his chair. he looked at you, almost confused, before walking towards the door.

"you should go," he said as he stood by the door with his hand holding it open.

part of you wanted to tease him, wanted to tell him that you wanted to stay. but he was probably right. if your sisters or mother found out you were away from your room for too long, things could get bad. you stood up and walked towards the door. you were about to wish him goodnight as you passed the entryway when he spoke again from behind you.

"you always stare at me," he stated plainly.

You turned and blushed as you looked past his muscular frame and at the wooden table. "does it bother you?"

"no."

feeling a surge of confidence, you smiled up at him. "goodnight, konig. i'm glad you enjoyed the food."

you nodded your head at him in respect before sneaking back up to your room. when he shut the door behind you and threw off his hood, he couldn't admit to himself how red his face was, or how his cock strained in his pants. he didn't tell you how he had never had food of such high quality before, or that a girl has never shown him kindness like you did. he didn't tell you the things he wanted to do to you as you sat timidly in that chair. how he would have rather been feasting on your core than the chicken you so kindly brought him.

and you let him keep the cloth. you were so innocent, he almost felt bad.

taglist: @kneelingshadowsalome

#cod mw2 #konig x reader #konig fic #konig #konig call of duty #konig smut #konig imagine #konig cod #konig mw2 #konig headcanons #konig modern warfare #konig x you #konig fluff #call of duty mwii #call of duty #call of duty mw2 #call of duty modern warfare 2 #modern warfare 2 #cod modern warfare #könig cod #codmw2 #mw2 #sub konig #cod mwf2 #cod mw fanfiction #call of duty modern warfare #cod fanart

[separatist-apologist]

You Painted Me Golden

Did you know that while your mate was warming Amarantha’s bed, most of our people were locked beneath that mountain?

Did you know that while he had his head between her legs, most of us were fighting to keep our families from becoming the nightly entertainment?

SUMMARY: Eris Vanserra never wanted a mate, never wanted a wife. When a chance meeting in Day Court alters the course of his life, Eris will be forced to acknowledge both. But a new threat is looming, and an old foe has come back to Prythian.

And it will take more than luck for Eris Vanserra to keep himself and his family safe when he's dragged beneath the sacred mountain

Read More: AO3

Chapter 6

Thank you @wilde-knight for tracking this relic down for me!

Eris had begun to have nightmares. Not the usual Autumn nightmares that plagued him, but ones that spoke to shifting fears. Of things he could not afford to lose, lest he lose himself. Dreams of Arina’s blonde hair stained red, her eyes vacant as she stared sightless. Eris would wake coated in sweat, twisting just to ensure she was still okay. Still breathing. 

He knew he woke her, too. Sometimes she’d reach out a hand, pretending she was merely searching for him in her sleep. Other times she’d turn entirely, eyes blinking in the dark, and ask if he was alright. Eris would lie—oh, how often he lied to her—and insist she go back to sleep. He couldn’t tell her the truth, that it was Beron killing her and Eris forced to watch. Forced to choose. 

Between her and the throne of his home. He lay awake at night chewing on the inevitability of it all. One day, Beron would have to die. His brothers were surely plotting just as he was. He’d have to choose between Arina and his crown. Beron knew what motivated Eris, what kept him complicit and quiet and if Eris was ever caught making a move, it would be Arina who paid for it. 

For now, though, Eris could have her. And for now, Eris reveled in it. Delighted in her presence, in the way he’d catch her looking at him not with hatred or open, unguarded loathing but delight. Wonder. She was softening and so was he. Eris knew it was dangerous to care for her the way he did and she was the only thing that really belonged to him.

When the time came, he’d send her back to Day or he’d send her to the continent where he knew she was safe. He’d tell everyone she hated him—and maybe she would by then. As long as she was alive and not a tool to keep him forever trapped beneath Beron’s thumb, that was enough. 

She was the only thing keeping him from breaking beneath the mountain. Five years had passed in miserable, unmuted drudgery and nothing had happened. 

“Update?” Amarantha barked, pulling Eris from his musings. Arina remained on his lap, one arm slung over his shoulder. Rhysand strode forward, paler than Eris last remembered, but still as vicious as ever. Eris thought he would have dashed himself against the rocks rather than suffer half a decade as Amarantha’s favored pet. 

Let's get this over so I can get my cock wet, he thought with irritation. 

“There is nothing to report. Another Calanmai come and gone with no hint of human, female or otherwise.” Perched on her throne in a sheer, blood red dress, Armantha sighed. She crossed her leg, nearly showing the whole room her miserable cunt and though it might get them both killed, Arina had to turn her head to smother her giggling.

Absurd creature, his wife. 

“He bores me. What is he doing, then?”

“Brooding, my lady,” Rhysand said with obvious amusement. “Pondering five decades of misery before he finally joins us for a little fun.”

“How dull,” she pouted, scanning the room for a bit of amusement. But Eris knew she’d burned through them all in the early years and now they were merely fixtures for her ego. This was not how she wanted to spend her time, the equally famed and feared Hybernian general. Eris wished she’d just get to the point of their little experiment.

Bring in Hybern, enslave them all or get out. 

She waved a hand and the music began, freeing them from a night of torment. Arina twisted in his lap again, looking for his brothers. They had a long standing card game going, trading coins they routinely lost and regained on an endless loop. No one was bored of it, though—least of all, Eris. 

He pressed an absent kiss to her soft cheek. “Behave,” he warned her, setting her to her feet so he could stand. 

“Will I see you this evening, my lord?” she teased, as if there had ever been a moment when Eris hadn’t joined her in bed. Sleeping beside her was the only true peace Eris had.

“If you’re lucky,” he replied, smothering the urge to smile at the twinkle in those sage colored eyes. 

Arina melted away, leaving Eris to try and figure out what, exactly, was going on between Summer and Day. Something was happening—you had to be willfully blind and stupid not to notice. Glancing toward his father, who dipped his head only once in acknowledgement, Eris made his way toward the only person in Summer he knew well—princess Cressida.

“Busy?” he asked, sidling up beside her. 

“For you? Always,” she replied dryly, not bothering to look at him at all. That was fine—Eris hadn’t expected a warm, delighted welcome. He probably would have said the same to her if she’d tried to interfere in Autumn’s business.

“Aren’t you bored?”

Cressida turned to look at him, blue eyes sharp as ever. Tossing a loc of white hair over her shoulder, she asked, “Are you? Wasn’t your mate just giggling in your lap?”

“Who said anything about fucking?” Eris retorted, annoyed that everyone wanted to throw Arina right back in his face. It had been five godsdamned years. Surely his fidelity was proven? 

“I can’t imagine what else you’d want from me,” Cressida intoned. Eris saw the tightness around her eyes, smelled the salt of her agitation. Pretty little liar, he wanted to say. It didn’t matter, though, given the High Lord of Summer was coming from wherever he’d been hiding, and the High Lord of Day wasn’t in his chair.

Conspirators. Fucking morons if they were caught, but if they succeeded…

Eris rose from his chair with an exhale of air. 

“Even you need friends down here,” he told her, leaning close so only she could hear him speak. “You know how dangerous it can be.”

Cressida looked up at him, lip curling with dislike, but she didn’t say a word. If she was smart, she’d understand his warning. If he noticed, it wasn’t long before Rhysand did, too. They needed to be smarter—far more careful, and do their plotting outside of the mountain when they were given their weekly reprieves.

Eris made his way back to the corner Autumn occupied. Arina played cards with his brothers, save for Tanwen who was wooing a Dawn courtier with gusto. Beron watched his wife spend their money with a sharp eye, stepping away when Eris approached.

“Well?”

“Just as you thought,” he replied, swiping Arina’s goblet of wine from her hands to obscure his mouth. “They keep leaving at the same time.”

“Did you hear anything?”

“No,” Eris admitted, frustrated he’d gotten nowhere with Cressida.

“Send your wife,” his father ordered, his words ringing with finality. “Have her talk to Helion.”

“And then what?” Eris asked, desperate to keep Arina far from this plot. If Amrantha got a whiff of it, she’d kill them all indiscriminately.

“And then we bide our time,” Beron said shrewdly. “We take no sides, we do nothing at all.”

Eris understood what his father meant, They’d side with whoever would come out victorious, which meant waiting and watching and very carefully plotting a multitude of courses. Eris knew if Beron thought they could take Amarantha with might alone, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

But he’d seen what her armies had done when they’d swept into Prythian five years earlier. And none of them had their magic to aid them. She pulled the strings of the High Lords and could kill them all, leaving their territories in the hands of the lesser Fae.

Eris nodded, wine sliding down his throat just as bitterly as the realization that once again, Arina was a pawn in his fathers games. She was expendable—she’d go talk to Helion, and if someone saw her, no one that Beron cared to lose died.

“Is everything alright?” Arina asked, pulling Eris from his thoughts. She’d twisted in her chair, hand outstretched for the wine he’d taken. Beron melted away, looking for his own wife without a care or concern. Eris beckoned for her to stand, delighting in that wicked smile on her beautiful face.

“Not anymore,” he lied. Arina would do what he asked because she was lovely and brave—and if she learned of whatever plot was brewing between the other courts, she’d wanted to get involved. Eris needed to figure it out without putting her in the middle of it.

Pulling her into his lap while his brothers rolled their eyes, Eris found his mother watching. Beron would slaughter him. No. This time, Arina needed to remain ignorant in order to protect her, and it needed to be his mother who risked something. Maybe it was Eris’s bitterness talking, but the scars on Arina’s back were a reminder that Amera Vanserra owed Eris’s mate. She’d taken that beating, had told all of Autumn Court that she’d slept with Helion when she hadn’t. 

Even if they all knew, Arina had still done it. 

Eris waited that night, tucking Arina into bed while resisting the urge to bury his cock in her body. He’d never get out of bed if he did—and he was waiting on his traitorous mother. She’d begun sneaking out of bed two years before, tiptoeing back to Helion for her little stolen moments. That Beron hadn’t caught her was a miracle and proof of how deep delusions could run. 

Eris heard her door open and slipped out of bed with more than a few regrets given how Arina whined in her sleep. Face hidden by those golden waves, Eris was tempted to brush them from her cheek.

He’d be back soon, and he’d wake her. That promise to himself was enough to send Eris out into the darkness, slipping down the smooth halls he knew like the scars etched against his skin. He caught his mother before she ever left, fingers wrapping around her thin wrist.

“Eris!” she exclaimed, the scent of her fear filling the air. Why did she risk it, knowing how mercurial her husband was? Eris couldn’t fathom it. 

“You’re going to see Helion.” It wasn’t a question, though he couldn’t keep the condemnation from his voice.

She didn’t respond, forcing him to plow ahead. “Father thinks Summer and Day are plotting something.”

“Eris—”

“If you don’t find out what they’re up to, he’ll send Arina. And she’s…” Fuck, he hated how desperate he sounded. How he had to plead with his mother to do this for him. Eris, who was practically drowning in his pride, forced himself to add, “Please.”

“I will tell you,” she said after a moment of heartbreaking hesitation, “if you swear to help Lucien however you can the next time he might need it.”

“Done,” Eris agreed, grateful it wasn’t a magical bargain. Her help always came on the back of wanting to protect Lucien. Eris swallowed the bitterness he felt about it because at least Arina didn’t need to be involved. This would stay strictly between the Vanserra’s. 

His mother sighed and then slipped out of his grasp, headed for Helion. Eris watched her go, hating how much he loved her. His mother likely loved him too, he reflected as he made his way back to his shared bedroom. She just didn’t know how to show it well. Didn’t know how to make him feel it the way she did for Lucien. Sometimes he thought there was an assumption that Eris could take care of himself and needed less from her.

But as he curled up next to Arina, foregoing his promise to fuck her in favor of tucking her into his chest, Eris though that wasn’t true. He needed just as much. 

Sometimes he thought he needed more.

ARINA: 

Eris was on edge again. It was their last day beneath the mountain before they could leave for Autumn and usually Eris all but bursting with excitement. Today, though, Eris was brooding, legs stretched in front of him, head propped against his fist. Arina sat at his feet like she so often did when she wanted Amarantha to ignore her entirely, one hand wrapped around Eris’s shin. If she made herself look like a pet, made it seem as though Eris was already humiliating her, there was no fun for the Lady of the Mountain to do the same. 

Indeed, she didn’t look at either of them as she tormented some Day courtiers, a wicked smile curved over her terribly plain face. It gave time for Arina to contemplate what secrets Eris wasn’t sharing this time.

In the course of five years, she’d become rather accustomed to Eris and the strange contradictions that existed just beneath his skin. His cruelty wasn’t entirely imagined—he could be quite awful to people around him, kicking them while they were down, scheming behind their back, and standing with a grin on his beautiful face while the High Lord punished them mercilessly.

And at the same time, Eris was fiercely protective of the people close to him. His brothers, his mother—her. Eris would go to war for any of them, would suspend the few morals he did hold dear if it meant keeping his family safe. And sometimes, when they were alone, Arina thought she loved him. 

Was certain she must. 

And then he’d retreat back into himself, putting up wall after wall for her to try and get through until she grew frustrated and wished she’d never met him at all. Eris made it so difficult to want him and she suspected he did it on purpose. No one could hurt him if they didn’t know him—if he kept them all at arms length.

Today, though, Arina was grappling with a new, more terrible thought. Eris had been creeping out of bed most nights. Sometimes he was only gone a few minutes but others he was gone for hours. His return often sent him straight to the bathing chamber where he’d aggressively wash himself.

Coupled with the fact that they weren’t having sex the way they used to, and Arina was starting to think Eris was having an affair. And she’d decided if he was, she was going to make his life hell until she could leave him. After all the fuss he’d made about being together, about getting married, the idea that in just five short years he was already bored enraged her.

Even his miserable, stupid father managed to remain faithful and Beron had no morals at all. What was so wrong with her that he needed to take his pleasure elsewhere? 

Testing her hypothesis, Arina slid her fingers higher and higher up his leg, making her way toward the cock she liked so much.

Eris caught her wrist in unforgiving fingers, no bothering to look at her at all. His eyes were focused on Summer Court—on princess Cressida. 

Arina wrenched from his grip, irritated that Eris couldn’t be bothered to even pretend. If he was having an affair, did that mean she was allowed, too? Somehow, Arina very much doubted Eris would be fine with her picking out another lover.

The realization was made all the worse by her own private admission that she didn’t want another lover. She only wanted her mate, her husband. Gods, but Arina felt so pathetic then, sitting at his feet like a good little pet.

She rose abruptly, unable to stand another second beside him. Eris finally turned to look at her, amber eyes flooded with curiosity. He didn’t have to talk to her? Fine. She turned her back to him, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she marched off. He didn’t chase after her and when she looked back, Eris was lost in his own thoughts again just as she left him.

Arina might have screamed in frustration if she hadn’t been so afraid of Amarantha. She was going to bed, was done with this hateful night. She’d wake in the morning for Autumn where it was easier to ignore and avoid Eris. She could leave, could probably convince one of his brothers to take her to the sea if she made up some lie about not feeling well.

She could— “Helion?”

It was strange to see him, leaned casually against a wall, draped in the Day Court white. He seemed sadder—older, colder. So unlike the male she’d once been friends with. She knew he was waiting for her given the way those gold eyes fell on her. 

“You look sad,” he said, the question beneath obvious to them both. Arina chose to ignore it, unwilling to admit Eris Vanserra had the power to break her heart.

“Tired,” she replied, stepping as close as she dared. She wasn’t going to be beaten on Helion’s account. 

“You’re still welcome back, you know,” he said as she made her way past him. “I would still…I would still honor the agreement between us.”

A bitter laugh escaped her. “Wow. What choices. A loveless marriage in Autumn or a loveless marriage in Day.”

“Arina—”

“Good night, Helion,” she called over her shoulder, walking away before anyone could overhear. Helion called her name again and Arina ignored it, anger bubbling inside her chest until it was practically a raging inferno. There was no release for it, not here. Arina made her way back to the room she shared with Eris, pacing and stamping her feet and when that didn’t help, throwing the blankets furiously from the bed.

In the end, she went to the bath. Soaked in the hottest water she could stand until her brown skin was red from heat, Arina managed to calm herself. Wrapped in a bathrobe, hair dripping over the silk, she expected to return to an empty bedroom.

Eris was there, sprawled on the wrecked bed. Utterly naked, his cock fully erect. He had to be insane if he thought she was going to crawl into his lap tonight. Arina paused, drinking him in. Eris looked exhausted, the hollows beneath his eyes smudged purple. His already fair skin was practically sallow making the dusting of freckles over his nose stark. Even the way he’d spread himself out spoke of someone who needed unbroken sleep.

Maybe he should end his affair. 

“Yes?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Come here,” he murmured, beckoning her with two fingers. “Let me kiss you.”

Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you. 

“Touch yourself, Eris,” she replied, letting her eyes slide down his form with open appreciation. That wasn’t fake, though it did fill her with anxiety. She was so stupid and she knew it—wanting him when he was out cavorting with only the cauldron knew who.

His eyes gleamed. Unaware she meant to bring him to completion without ever touching him, Arina toyed with the ties of her robe while Eris ran a large, broad hand down his toned stomach and chest.

“Is this what you want?” he asked, his voice dark and husky with desire.

No. I want you to tell me you love me—that you’re not fucking someone else.  “Yes.”

Eris wrapped his fingers around his thick, large cock and gave himself a slow, soft tug. He still thought this was a warm up until she cracked. Arina remained where she was, standing just outside the bathing chamber with her dripping hair and her aching heart. 

“Again,” she whispered. Eris’s gaze sharpened, as if he knew what game she was playing. 

“Do you want to watch me come?”

“Yes,” she replied. That was safe—he couldn’t hurt her when she stood across the room, when it was only him made vulnerable. He didn’t understand the why, and Arina forced herself not to think about him wanting to please her. 

Eris slid his thumb over the head of his cock, slicking it through the bead of moisture already gathering along the slit. “It’s been too long between us,” he groaned, eyes half lidded. “I miss your taste.”

Do you prefer it over your mistress? “Tell me more,” she said, tugging at the ties of her robe. Eris watched, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Eris began stroking himself in earnest, his free hand running over his parted thighs to chase whatever pleasure had begun to pool in his body. Watching him was like watching an out of control wild fire. He was going to ignite, was going to take them both with him. 

He’d consume her. Maybe he already had. 

Eris arched his back. “You never touch me anymore.”

Because you’re fucking someone else.  “That’s not true,” she said. Arina had her hands on him every single night, even if they were only sleeping. She’d been touching him in the throne room a few hours earlier. He’d been the one to pull away her hands. He was the one sneaking out at night. 

“I wanted to pull my cock out in that throne room,” he panted, arching his hips again. He was so pathetically close if the tightness of his balls were any indication. Eris continued to stroke, pulling the soft, sensitive skin of his shaft under those callused fingers. Arina wanted him so badly her legs shook from the effort it took to remain still. “I wanted to see you choke on it until your makeup was running down your face.”

Fuck him, she wanted that too— “Why didn’t you?”

Eris groaned. “Too many eyes. Don’t want that filthy fucking court to know how lovely you are.”

Her heart clenched. “Come for me, Eris.”

“I want you to touch me,” he half pleaded. “Arina, come touch me.”

She didn’t budge long enough that Eris’s hand slowed, eyes opening wider. Jaw set, Eris dropped his cock entirely despite how it twitched in protest. “You’re angry with me.”

It wasn’t a question, and still she responded. “Should I be?”

Eris slid his hands behind his head, sighing softly. “Probably. But tell me, wife. What have I done that’s displeased you?”

“You know what you’ve done,” she hissed, retying her robe angrily. “Don’t play stupid Eris. It’s beneath you.”

He took another loud breath. “I don’t know—”

“Where do you go every night?” Arina demanded, holding his gaze. “Who are you visiting?”

He became so still, his cock flagging beneath her hateful stare. 

“Arina,” he whispered but she didn’t want to hear it. Striding for the wardrobe, Arina flung on a nightdress without daring to look at him. She thought he was still on the bed, watching her with wary, guilty eyes.

“Where are you going?” he demanded, standing just behind her. Eris slid an arm around her middle and Arina had to bite back the urge to hit him. She couldn’t do that, even in her anger. Too many people vented their rage on him that way. 

Arina would use her words.

“Somewhere else. To someone else—” she began to add, wanting to hurt him as badly as he’d hurt her. Eris reached for her throat, pinning her back to his chest.

“Tell me who,” he whispered dangerously, teeth grazing her neck. “So I might rip out their heart.”

“It’s okay for you but not for me—”

“I’m not fucking anyone. Not even you,” he added bitterly, his hold on her body tightening. “I am doing something else—something that has nothing to do with my cock.”

“Tell me, then,” she replied, pulling herself out of his grip. Looking up at her mate, Arina all but pleaded with him. “Tell me where you’re going.”

A sliver of anguish betrayed him, vanishing so quickly she might have imagined it. Eris became stone. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because!” he snapped, running both hands through his hair. “Because I need you to be safe—”

“I’m not fragile!”

“Of course you are!” he all but roared, striding toward her to grip the tops of her arms. “You are so absurdly fragile it makes me sick every time I think about it! Anyone who wants to get back at me only needs to harm you.”

“And who wants to hurt you, Eris?” she demanded, breathing so hard she felt like she wasn’t breathing at all. “Tell me what you’re doing.”

“No.”

“Eris–”

“NO!” he shouted, half shoving her in his desperation to put space between them. “Ask anything else of me, but do not ask me that.”

Arina’s mind was a blur, trying to make sense of the fear coming off him, of his larger than life response. Eris, who was so typically unaffected, so cool even under pressure. 

“What are you planning?” she whispered, dread sluicing from her bones. “Eris–”

“Nothing,” he said, running a hand down his face. “I am planning nothing.”

Careful words from a careful male. He wasn’t planning anything, but someone else was. His father, perhaps, or someone else he’d allied himself with and Eris was….Eris was helping with whatever it was. 

“You’re going to get yourself killed, aren’t you?” she asked, cold horror washing over her. “And you don’t want me to be implicated. Is that it, then? You have a death wish?”

Eris set his jaw while Arina fought the urge to scream at him for being so stupid. So reckless. 

“Eris—”

“Don’t,” he warned, holding a finger up between them. “Do not, Arina.”

“Eris,” she tried again, daring a step toward him. Eris only shook his head, reaching for his shirt laying neatly against the back of a chair.

“You thought I was fucking another female,” he hissed, realization dawning over him. He’d been so busy trying to convince her not to be angry with him that it hadn’t occurred to him the full scope of Arina’s suspicions. “You—”

He swallowed hard, shrugging into his shirt, and then his pants.

“Where are you going?” she asked helplessly. Eris only shook his head. 

“Out.”

“Eris!” she yelled, but he strode from the room, boots in hand, and slammed the door loudly behind him. 

It was tempting to try and run after him, to force this confrontation. But Arina was exhausted suddenly. Too confused to make sense of his own angry reaction. Eris had never told her he had any deep feelings beyond the bond—and only expressed his want with his hands. If he wanted to be angry, well.

Maybe he ought to learn how to use his words.

ERIS:

Eris slept like shit that last night Under the Mountain. In his mind, Eris replayed the last several weeks, trying to figure out why Arina would ever think he’d sleep with another female. Why didn't she realize how he felt—didn’t she know? 

Eris remained in the lounge until his mother returned, flushed and bright eyed. Simmering in his resentment, Eris asked, “Well?”

“There is little Helion knows. Murmurings of a rebellion that would take years to achieve,” she whispered, adjusting the laces on her dress. “They meet above ground.”

“Morons,” he whispered, more to himself than his mother. “When Amarantha learns— and she will— I hope you’re prepared to do your mourning in secret.”

His mothers eyes flashed. “You can be cruel, Eris.”

He rose to his feet. “So can you.”

With nowhere but his bedroom left to go, Eris returned to find his wife curled up in bed, knees tucked beneath her chin. She smelled of salt and with a pang of regret, he realized she must have cried herself to sleep. 

Rubbing his eyes, Eris picked up the blanket pooling on the floor and draped it over her. Arina’s skin was warm, her hair tangled from the bath she’d taken just before their fight broke out. As he undressed, Eris wondered if maybe he was just a terrible partner. Arina didn’t know how he felt because he couldn’t get the words out from behind his teeth.

Couldn’t risk saying them and watching her blink up at him, pity flooding her gaze. 

Don’t you know what this is, he imagined her saying? I would leave you if I could. 

Eris pulled her against him, pleased when she rolled over in her sleep to nuzzle her face against his neck.

“Go back to sleep,” he whispered into her sweet smelling hair. Arina said nothing but after a moment her breathing evened out. If she hated him for the secrets he kept, Eris thought he could live with that. Even if it hurt, at least she’d be safe. If Helion was implicated, so would everyone around him. Rhysand would be called in to read minds, to force the truth from them all.

Arina could know nothing.

Even if she hated him for it and he was certain she would. His wife, his mother—all the females in his life were so hell bent on protecting Helion of all people. Helion who continued to put them in danger, who didn’t care if they died, if Eris had to watch his mother and wife subjected to his fathers cruelty.

Morning came too soon. Eris was pulled from his nightmares but soft fingers touching his jaw. “You’re back,” Arina whispered. Without opening his eyes, Eris turned to his side, gathering her in his arms. 

“Lets go to the sea for a few days,” he whispered. “Just us.”

“And do what?”

Eris peeked open one eye. “I think you know exactly what.”

“We can’t run from our problems, Eris,” she said, unaware of just how appealing her mouth was.

“Of course we can,” he retorted with a long-suffering sigh. “All we have is running away from our problems.”

“We could face them head on?” she suggested. Eris laughed, stretching himself until he felt his spine crack. 

“Let’s prioritize avoidance for now, Arina. There is too much happening and I…” I am in love with you.

The realization slammed into his chest like a force of nature. Of course he did—rationally, Eris must have known years ago, but he’d never truly thought about it. Never really considered why he did so much to try and keep her safe, to keep her happy. 

He couldn’t tell her. Eris wouldn’t risk her rejection. Not until he knew for certain she returned his affection, at any rate. And judging by the guarded expression on her face, Arina was not in love with him. Eris swallowed that knowledge, thinking that she could be if he tried a little harder. 

He knew how to court a female, had been trained by both his parents to be a gentleman. “Let me do something nice for my wife,” he finally said, cupping her face. “Let me make my poor behavior up to you.”

“I want you to tell me the truth, Eris,” she whispered, rubbing her nose against his own. “I want to be your equal.”

“You are—”

“I’m not. I’ll never be for as long as you’re keeping secrets even to protect me,” she whispered, as if someone might overheard them. “Who protects you, Eris?”

He felt defensive, stiffening at the implication he even needed to be protected. From her set jaw and the blazing look on her face, he knew what she wanted him to say, though. “Can’t you trust me, just this once?” he asked her desperately. 

“If you want to go to the sea, you have to promise you’ll tell me what’s happening. Otherwise just take me to the Forest House.”

Take her to the Forest House where she’d spend their time above ground avoiding him until the inroads he’d made over the years eroded into nothing. Until his own father had a better relationship with his wife than Eris did. 

“Fine,” he said, though Eris would give her nothing but the very basics. “But I want you to swear to me that we’re both walking out of this mountain alive.”

“Of course—”

“So there will be no heroics, Arina,” he hissed, holding her face too roughly in his hands. “No self-sacrifices. We will continue to remain neutral. Swear it.”

He could bind her by magic. Eris knew she felt it hanging between them, waiting for her agreement. Arina brought her mouth to his. “I swear, Eris.”

She’d kill him when she learned who was on the line. It didn’t matter—Eris had her agreement, and for the rest of the morning he was impossibly smug about it.

“Arina and I are going to the sea,” he informed his parents the moment Arina dropped her bag at his feet.

Beron Vanserra narrowed brown eyes. “For how long?”

“Three days,” Eris replied, certain that was the absolute longest his father would tolerate his absence. “I’ll check in on the neighboring cities and villages while I’m there.”

That appeased Beron enough to nod, sparing the High Lord the trouble of trying to round up stragglers himself. Of course, Eris had no intention of doing any of those things. He wasn’t going to help Amarantha enslave his people. If they’d managed to avoid her patrols, Eris didn’t see how that was his problem.

They stepped out of the tunnel into the fresh air of the middle and without another word, Eris grabbed Arina’s wrist and winnowed them away. What had once been so easy was laborious now, exhausting him when his boots slammed to the sandy, spiky ground of the sprawling, wooden estate. 

“Fuck,” he panted, shaking out tingling hands. “Fuck that stupid cunt.”

Arina nodded, tucking a piece of blonde hair behind pointed ears. “Tell me, Eris.”

And so he did. Walking her through the empty halls that smelled of cedar and salt, Eris told her the basics of his fathers suspicions and what he knew. He didn’t tell her how he knew it, nor did he admit that most nights he stayed up to ensure his mother returned safely before his father discovered her missing. Arina was smart. He could see her piecing things together.

“Eris, if the courts are working together to fight Amarantha, we should—”

“Do nothing,” he interrupted, unbuttoning his jacket in the room they’d share for the next few days. “Because they’re going to lose.”

“Not if we all stood up to her—”

“Especially then,” Eris hissed as he kicked off his boots. She controls the magic of seven High Lords, she has most of our soldiers trapped in cages under that cursed mountain. The only people who can fight are courtiers—warrior trained, to be sure, but Hybern’s legions will wipe them out.”

“So then, what? We just…do nothing?”

“We hope Tamlin figures out how to beat her,” Eris said with a heavy sigh. “And bide our time, pretending we enjoy her reign, this new normal. We remain careful.”

“What if they can win?” Arina asked, biting her bottom lip. Eris sighed.

“They can’t. Not two of them, and not even three assuming Winter is stupid enough to join them. Dawn won’t and Night certainly won’t. Spring can’t, and Beron will risk nothing until he’s certain he can win. It’s delusion to think two, maybe three courts can take on the might of Amarantha.”

Arina bit her bottom lip. “It feels like cowardice to just…do nothing.”

“It’s self-preservation. Don’t fight something you can’t win. She has a weakness and it’s Tamlin. Eventually there will be an obvious way to exploit her through him and when we learn, we’ll take it. Carefully.”

“Promise?”

Eris made his way toward her, wearing nothing but a pair of trousers. “I hate this just as much as you do. I swear I’ll take the first opening I can…so long as it doesn’t risk you.”

“Careful, Eris,” she said, rising to her feet. Eris drank her in, dressed in warm marigold. He needed her in nothing at all. “I’ll start to think you care.”

He grinned wolfishly. “I owe you for last night.”

“Oh?”

“Come get in the bath with me,” he said, reaching for her hand. “Let me touch you.”

“Single minded,” she chided, though Arina still let him undo the laces of her gown. Eris took his time, indulging in the softness of her skin and the sight of her body revealed to him inch by glorious inch. He’d never be tired of the sight of her, would always be excited at the thought of having her.

After all, mates were rare, and belonged to those deserving. In his life, Eris had never expected to find his, and never imagined he even had one. And yet here she was, blinking big, green eyes up at him with open admiration and trust.

Eris was absurdly hard by the time he got her into the large, open bathing chamber, with its glass wall overlooking the moody, cold sea below. Arina was delighted by it all the same, ignoring him just long enough to step into the jetted water or realize what he was doing, how he was positioning her. 

Not until was behind her, erection squashed against her spine. Eris hooked his ankles around her legs to spread her out, pushing them both forward until one of those bubbly gets was right against her cunt.

Arina gasped, wigging in an attempt to remove herself from the pressure, but Eris held firm.

“I said I owe you,” he reminded her, mouth against the nape of her neck. 

“Eris—”

“You’ll come,” he interrupted, hands groping her breasts beneath the bubbles. “I want to watch.”

“You didn’t come last night,” she breathed, resting her head against his shoulder. 

“I’m sure you’ll make it up to me,” Eris replied, thinking of Arina’s soapy, wet body beneath his own. Water pooled around her as she sank to her knees, sucking his cock into her warm, willing mouth. 

Arina was clever, or at least smarter than him. Reaching behind her, her fingers curled around his cock. She gave him a firm tug, causing Eris to jerk upward. He was keyed up from the night before when he’d stupidly thought she was going to straddle his lap and ride him into oblivion. 

She could stroke him into it, too, he decided. In fact, Eris quite liked what was happening. Arina spread her legs wider, held open by his own. Breasts heaving as the water continued to pound unrelenting against her cunt. 

“Are you going to come for me?” he rasped, nipping her earlobe softly. “I want to hear you scream.”

“How long are you going to keep me here?” she panted, nails grazing the throbbing vein on the underside of his cock. 

“Until you beg me to fuck your pretty mouth.”

“You’ll be waiting forever,” she gasped, chest flushed from the heat of the water and the release he knew must be barreling toward her. Eris bucked into her hand, tempted to take himself into his own again, if only to force her to focus on coming. He couldn’t stop himself, addicted to the sight of her, to the feel of her skin against his own. And Eris was greedy more than anything else. If he came, too, they’d be wholly even.

And he’d last longer the second time he fucked her. He could spend hours edging them both, drawing out their pleasure until she did beg. Eris so loved when she did. 

Panting, unable to stop the soft whine that escaped him or his bucking hips, Eris could feel release gathering along his spine. He needed to come, and her hand was perfect. Squeezed tight, using the water to heighten the orgasm racing for him. She squirmed, the swell of her ass teasing his balls until Eris couldn’t take it anymore.

He bit her shoulder to keep from crying out, plucking at her nipples until Arina bowed upward, writhing desperately to escape the onslaught of the water.

Despite his own throbbing cock, still spurting an impossible amount of fluid, Eris pushed her back down. 

“I’m not done,” he growled. 

“Fuck me—Eris,” she pleaded, her voice rising in pitch. She was going to come again and oh, he couldn’t look away. “Eris please, Eris—”

The sound of her pleasure echoed off the glass, echoing down the emptied halls. Only then did Eris unhook his legs and free her, and only long enough to set her on the edge of the sink. He wasn’t going to make it to the bed—he wanted to feel the aftershocks on his cock, wanted to bring her right back up without any reprieve.

“What happened to my mouth?” she panted, his tricky female.

“It can wait,” he groaned, sliding his wet cock into her tight cunt. “Gods, Arina…”

The sound of their slick flesh joining and pulling apart was the most obscene thing Eris could remember hearing. He needed her just like this, needed to keep her with him somehow. And beyond that, Eris needed her to love him with the same desperation that he loved her. He wanted to hear her say it and didn’t know how to tell her first.

Digging her nails into his shoulders, Arina pressed her forehead against his own. “No more lies,” she panted, holding him close. “No more secrets.”

Maybe that was the start, then. “Nothing between us,” he agreed with a shuddering groan. “Nothing but this.”

And Eris swore, as they came again, that it wasn’t just nothing looking back at him. When Arina’s eyes opened, arms twined around his neck so he could drag her to the bed, that it was the same thing glowing in his chest reflected in that mossy green gaze.

It was love.

#I LIVE #and you all think im just abandoning things PSYCHE #im just BEHIND SCHEDULE #anyway #erina #eris vanserra

[garbagewitchcraft]

Tarot Correspondences

SUITS OF TAROT

SWORDS - related to element of air, Sping and male energy. They have active polarity. It is The Mind of the Suits and the quickest of them all.

Keywords:  logic, intellect, ideas, change, communication, teamwork, decisions, thinking, planning, analysis, ego, cruelty, abuse, conflict, arrogance, manipulation.

WANDS - related to element of fire, Summer and male energy. They have active polarity. It is The Heart of the Soul and the second quickest. 

Keywords: energy, creativity, action, willpower, strength, sexuality, intimacy, adventure, ambition, community, fun, celebration, social skills, soul, aggression, self-centered, impulsive, destructive. 

CUPS - related to element of water, Autumn and female energy. They have passive polarity. It is The Heart of The Suits and very slow. 

Keywords: feelings, relationship, love, healing, family, home, comfort, nurturing, dreams, intuition, spirituality, the past, childhood, subconscious, fantasy, illusion, repression, secrets.

PENTACLES - related to element of earth, Winter and female energy. They have passive polarity. It is The Body of The Suits and the slowest of them all. 

Keywords: health, finances, appearance, education, possessions, career, responsibility, routine, manifestation, stability, security, safety, service, the body, materialistic, strict, critical, greedy, detached. 

Polarity:

active (wands, swords) - changes one’s environment, focused energy outward, direct, extroverted, active.

passive (cups, pentacles) - adapts to environment, focused energy inward, indirect, introverted, reactive.

Interaction between Elements:

Strengthen - increases the intensity of elements, amplifies both positive and negative qualities.

Support - collaboration between elements, build each other up.

Weaken - elements cancel each other out, decrease the effectiveness of each other.

Neutral - elements don’t influence each other.

COURT CARDS

KINGS - related to air element and mutable zodiac signs (end the season; adaptable, flexible, communicative, rebellious). Kings as Control.

King of Wands - Sagittarius. King of Swords - Gemini. King of Cups - Pisces. King of Pentacles - Virgo.

They lead their people and inspire the masses; they’re in the center of attention. Strategic and analyzing.

QUEENS - related to water element and cardinal zodiac signs (begin the season; assertive, initiators, decisive, aggressive). Queens as Creation.

Queen of Wands - Aries. Queen of Swords - Libra. Queen of Cups - Cancer. Queen of Pentacles - Capricorn.

Feminine energy at its finest; they work behind the curtains, far away from the public but not less effective than Kings. Private and wise. 

KNIGHTS -  related to fire element and fixed zodiac signs (middle of the season; focused, stable, stubborn, reliable). Knights as Movement. 

Knight of Wands - Leo. Knight of Swords - Aquarius. Knight of Cups - Scorpio. Knight of Pentacles - Taurus.

Often impulsive and charming, they are the one to act rather than think. They serve. The quickest of all the court cards. 

PAGES - related to earth element. They are usually the students, the least experienced and willing to learn. Pages as Messengers. 

MINOR ARCANA

Ace -  represent the entire element itself, and therefore 3 entire zodiac signs (example: Ace of Pentacles represents Virgo, Capricorn, Taurus).

2, 3, 4 - represents the cardinal zodiac signs (Aries, Libra, Cancer, Capricorn.

5, 6, 7 - represents fixed zodiac signs (Leo, Aquarius, Scorpio, Taurus).

8, 9, 10 - represents mutable zodiac signs (Sagittarius, Gemini, Pisces, Virgo).

Astrology Correspondence

More information here

MAJOR ARCANA

NUMBERS OF TAROT

1 (Fire) - beginnings, potential, opportunity, individual, raw energy, birth. Tarot: Aces, Pages, Magician.

2 (Air) - collaboration, teamwork, opposition, decisions, balance, duality, diplomacy, crossroads, partnership, yin-yang. Tarot: 2s, High Priestess, Justice, Judgement.

3 (Fire) - group, growth, action, friendship, creativity, ambition, expansion, fertility. Tarot: 3s, Empress, Hanged Man, World.

4 (Earth) - foundation, stability, security, comfort zone, protection, focus, stagnation, structure. Tarot: 4s, Emperor, Death.

5 (Air) - chaos, conflict, unknown changes, struggles, challenges, damages, loss. Tarot: 5s, Hierophant, Temperance.

6 (Water) - harmony, support, memories, charity, help, fragile, vulnerable. Tarot: 6s, Lovers, Devil, Knights.

7 (Water) - introspection, reflection, past, experience, knowledge, change of course, motives, asses. Tarot: 7s, Chariot, Tower.

8 (Fire) - success, movement, action, achievement, progress, change, evolution, finishing. Tarot: 8s, Strength, Star.

9 (Earth) - near completion, reward, fruition, moving on, final outcome, transition, fate. Tarot: 9s, Hermit, Moon, Queens.

10 (Earth) - ending, cycle, rebirth, death, extremes, path, renewal, karma. Tarot: 10s, Wheel of Fortune, Sun, Kings.

#tarot correspondences #tarot #tarot witch #divination #divination community #court cards #major arcana #minor arcana #elemental correspondences #witchcraft #witchy tips #grimoire #numbers of tarot #numbers meaning #numerology #tarot numbers #astrology #astrology correspondence #astrology in tarot #witches of tumblr #witches #baby witch #beginner witch #original post #my notes

[visd3stele]

Hi I wanted to ask for a request where the reader is rhaenyra sister and she is married to harwin but loves Criston cole and when rhaenyras goes to present Joffrey to Alicent the reader is there and criston comforts the reader because of Harwin and rhaenyra affair

oh, yeaaaah! i can work with this. sorry it took so long. acting college is tough, man. but in the good, good, best way possible :)))

tw: ANGST, post natal pain, cheating, forced marriage, pregnancy, birth, lmk if there's anything to add here.

Not so strong

Y/n Strong.

The name tasted weird on your lips. Even worse in your mind. No musicality. No rhythm. It was, ironically, weak. Not like the imposing sound of Y/n Targaryen.

Not like the romantic dream of Y/n Cole. Simple, yes. Far less important than Strong. But it bear the scent of spring as you mouthed it along the jumpy steps you took along the autumnal garden. And it sounded like the clink of small, soft jewels discarded on the table from behind, a lover's hands caressing the heated, sensitive skin.

Ser Criston Cole. A knight. He made himself remarkable, a gem between the dust and rock of his family's name.

Harwin Strong. A knight. Loyal. Valuable. And most importantly the offshoot of a long line of highly regarded men.

Your father's choice has been simple, really. Your heart needed Criston Cole. Your title, House and position demanded Ser Harwin.

Viserys thought of Rhaenyra first. But as word of her affair with your uncle, Daemon, got out, you were presented on the silver plate. The younger Targaryen princess from the King's first marriage.

A big event was needed to make people forget of the ill spoken rumors of your sister. Even though your father and Ser Strong senior much preferred Rhaenyra and Harwin together, a powerful couple, the future Queen and King consort of Westworld, all of you understood the delicate situation. A rightful marriage between an unblemished dragon princess and an honorable man of an old House would tame the spirits and give each family the benefits the sought.

The years passed. Too many. Too few. Time became a broken mill instead of a well oiled wheel. Sometimes moving faster, other times... the sun burned your skin, brain, muscles, every fiber of your soul until it descended. And the moon sang pitiful wails inspired by and dedicated to you.

Your husband: fast asleep by your side. Laying on his back, a hand beneath his head and another on his chest. Legs sprawled, making you squirm in yourself on your quarter of the bed. Making you think of Criston. And how he'd hold you close, back so far pressed into his chest you could feel his lungs grasping for air. Thumbs rubbing, even in his sleep, the skin of whichever body part they rested on – tummy, arms, neck, collarbone, breasts, calf, knee, cunt. His warm breath in the sticky, sweaty back of your neck, pleasantly cooling it off.

In the years you spent with him, you learned to be friends with Harwin. Making your duty as his wife, guilty picturing Criston in his stead. He has stopped seeing you in your chambers after your wedding. You stopped calling for him. It was the right thing to do, you both knew that. The moral thing to do. It didn't sooth the ache knowing so.

Even worse, your relationship chilled like deserted valleys, abandoned houses. A nod from the head if you gave and get passing each other around the Court and you'd think yourselves lucky.

You tried to love him. Harwin. You really did. And you thought that once you have fallen pregnant with his child, you would. But the bairn was born and your heart started to beat for her, her father forgotten. Four pregnancies later and you loved all of your children as you never knew your heart could behold. Forever growing, forever expanding the limits you imagined you had in your feelings.

But in the spot their father should have been, another man was nurtured in the same amount of love, bathed in passion and lust. Ser Cole thought your daughters how to fight in secrecy. Ser Cole made sure your son respects his elders – women included – mother and sisters. When Harwin was too busy with his two nephews, the bundle of joy born from the Realm's Delight and her husband, your cousin Laenor, Criston made sure all the other children, overseen and ignored by their fathers, grandparents and nobles, felt loved, supported, appreciated, powerful.

You have suspected your husband and your sister were having an affair from even before their first son was born. Then, the thought made your blood boil. How come they can enjoy their lives, live their hearts' desires, and you had to dance by the music played for you by unfair poets?

Later, the thought pained you. You tried and tried and tried to make your marriage work. Making yourself available, enjoyable, pleasuring your husband to your best qualities and a bit more. And it didn't matter. Nothing mattered. Not your sleepless nights, not your teary eyes, not even the rage muffled in an echoless chamber. Your sacrifice, taken for granted. Your wishes, ignored, pushed aside. All the while Rhaenyra and Harwing didn't bother notice the sweat privillage they owned.

Why couldn't he try too? Make the half of a step you left vacant for him to do? At least for the kids, if not for you (your sanity, your well being, your spirit). Why do you have to be alone when he isn't expected to?

The lords and ladies noticed too. The resemblance of Rhaenyra's kids to their uncle. The cold distance between you and your husband. People talked of your children heritage as they did of your sister's. But she was the realm's delight, the king's favorite, your husband's chosen. Their kids' mistakes of being born out of wedlock could be forgiven. Yours, not. And it wasn't even the case as you never laid with Criston since your marriage and if the masses would be kind enough to look twice at your girls and son, they'd see how well the Targaryen and Strong genes mixed. How glowing the purple eyes looked behind brown strands of hair.

But your and your own's was the sufferrance. You had gotten used to it.

Or you thought you did, at least. Until the third son of your cheating husband was born to your traitorous sister. It was when you and Queen Alicent were discussing a potential marriage between your little man and her only daughter when the news reached your ears. Without a thought to spare, the young wife of the decaying King called for the baby to be brought to her. Knowing your sister, she most likely would show up herself.

The passing thought to leave turned to disgust for your own self. You have been putting up with this pain for so long in silence, it was time you made the world aware of it. Why hide, when you did nothing wrong?

But the Targaryen stubbornness paired with the dragon fire of hurt born anger cheated you this time. As the baby whimpers echoed on the hallow hall, your heart shrunk. Collapsed under the weight of yet another child your husband loved more than you own. Yet another baby born out of love in your crippled, pained, broken family, Love that was denied for you. Love that only two people in the castle could enjoy and the fate made it so it wasn't you, nor Cole.

You thought you can take it. Another pierce in your bleeding chest. But you were wrong. As soon as the door opened and the ravished form of your sister limped in, chin held high, cries of pain muffled by sheer force of will; as soon as you saw the reddened skin of the small body in her arms, hot with yells and cries, framed by Harwin's locks and eyes, you crumbled inward.

Your feet carried away away like a swift blow of wind. Unknowing of what they left behind, in the all of a sudden too crammed room. So fast you ran and so aimlessly you disheveled around the castle's grounds, you didn't even realize when you knocked into a wall.

You barely, slowly came to your senses to conclude it wasn't a wall at all. But a chest. A knight's chest, judging by the scaly metal plate you bruised your forehead into.

"Sorry," you mumbled softly. Knowing that all the tears you swallowed back would either cascade the moment you work your vocal chords, or choke you the second you open your mouth.

As you avoided looking up at the knight, or anywhere but the ground at all, his voice stopped your heart and stiffened your body the second your ears caught it.

"It's quite alright, princess. Everything is fine?"

The concern in his tone, the love still lingering there, so clearly, so close and yet out of reach. Your eyes spilled your secrets before you could nod and pass him by.

"Y/n," Criston seemed to forget about the moral code he wants to live by, forget about the position you both were in. His hand, as if it had its own mind, wrapped around you on the instant, bringing you close to his chest. His free palm rubbed your head from the crown of your hair to the nip at the back of your neck.

You cried harder. Sounds now joining the tears. Sobs so husky, so rough scratching with shar claws the walls of your burning throat. Soon, hiccups shook your body with an unusual strength and violence.

"Y/n, my life, my love, you are scaring me." Criston tried to take a step back, analyze your face. He only meant to cup your swollen, hot cheeks in his palms, wipe your tears with his thumbs, perhaps even kiss away the unnecessary heat from your forehead and upper lip. But you clung to him, to the safety and comfort of his arms, his hug - so familiar, so deeply missed - his scent - a balm to your sore soul - his voice and presence, grounding you, strengthening you even in the absence of words.

So Criston complied. He froze you both in time, covering your body with his and his own with his cloak. And you stayed there for skies knows how long. Just the two of you, tangled in the dreams and flames of your love. True affection. Pure desires.

No words were needed between you and your knight. Speaking never filled the silence for the two of you. It was but an extention of it. Of the feels and comfort. Of the tangible untouchable that is real human connection.

A long time after your tears had dried and the violent waved of sorrow and woe left your body you remained there. Criston might as well have fallen asleep, such still and relaxed he was. But he was awake. very much so. Catching every spasm of your quietening form, every ragged breath turning normal again, every vibrating fibre reminding him of your neverending love. And he secured them in the treasure chest of his mind.

"Harwin and Rhaenyra had another baby."

"I've heard."

"I've seen him."

"I'm sorry."

"I don't think I am anymore. Just tired."

"Your kids are advancing quickly in their lessons. And they excell in everything they put their mind to do. So their teacher praise."

"Our kids," you whispered and he understood. He has been more a father for them than their actual one. And if not for the ugly fangs of the Court, they'd call him father too.

"Thank you." For loving him, for gifting him this immense honor: your kids. For still thinking of him with the same warmth and ponding heart even after all these years.

"Thank you," you finally looked up into those glassy black eyes. I love you, it sounded more like. And the secret of your escaped day together dissipated in the air, sealed by a certain, full kiss.

#ser criston cole x reader #criston cole x reader #criston cole #ser criston cole #ser criston #my writing #original writing #my fic #my fic writing

[ae-neon]

Okay I'm a blabber, I cave, I wanna talk about the rewrite with y'all

Spoilers for the REWRITE, obv, but if you do read through, please let me know what you think (good or bad, I won't be hurt I promise)

*please note that fae are not immortal in the rewrite and each current HL is either the child or grandchild of the ruler who was alive during the War

*also, pre- Amarantha's rule, the Courts were ruled by Kings and Queens, during her rule they call themselves HLs but their heirs are still called Princes and Princesses

*if I use the word Aspect and you either can't remember or have never seen me explain the REWRITE lore, just know it's basically a magical saint kinda

I'll add the map at the end because I'm shy and because it's very chaotic - no one is surprised, just know that I can't draw lol

Seasonal Courts

Spring

Spring has two rivers that start on each end of the continent, Lixus and Neda, and they intercept and form an island. This site is holy to the Spring Court and it's where they hold Rites like Calanmai

Tamlin is the only son of Prince Lachlan and Lady Roisin.

(his brothers don't exist in this, sorry)

During the build up to the War, the elderly King Iain didn't want to pick a side but when Lachlan saw that Jurian was basically at their border, he challenged his father to an ancient Spring Rite in the form of a duel and won

Lachlan bargained with Amarantha because he believed her to be an Aspect, giving up a drop of his power, and relinquishing his title.

Tamlin did not share his father's beliefs.

Spring remains the only court in open rebellion.

Autumn

During the war Autumn was ruled by King Sebastian Vanserra

He died in battle defending the humans but Autumn suffered severe casualties, their armies were in disarray and the King's heir was just shy of adulthood

So an upstart lower noble and a brilliant tactician named Beron stepped in, rallied the armies to retreat, convinced Princess Delphine to bargain with Amarantha (certain they couldn't win against her) and became regent

Delphine would bear 5 sons though only 3 are still alive: Eris, Marcel and Lucien

She holds court for the nobility from Vancour, the Forest House, while Marcel oversees things like trade from the city of Ambreville.

Beron and Eris are both UtM

Summer

Summer and the UnderSea share the Isle of Adriata as a capital

During the war it was ruled by Queen Ceto who gave birth to the twins, Proteus and Nereus.

When Proteus realised and admitted he couldn't bow to Amarantha, even to save his people, he gave up his crown and became a commoner.

Prince Nereus fathered the twins, Cresseida and Varian but when he died, the power did not come to them

Instead it went to a young, half-merling man. The son of Proteus.

Winter

The young king of Winter went against his queen-mother's advice and bargained with Amarantha but while her son was away, Queen Aurora sunk the heart of the Court under the ice and turned the surface into a desolate tundra, leaving only the boarders habitable by anyone not born to Winter

The stubborn young king erected a city called Konigshaven and ruled from there

UtM, Winter is represented by the knight, Kallias who maintains that there is no way to force the hidden Court to the surface as no one is strong enough to challenge Queen Aurora

In reality, Aurora has been dead for decades and it is her granddaughter, High Lady Viviane who maintains the Frost

Kallias fought and won the honour to be her (secret) champion

*both Tarquin and Viviane have white hair because they are half merling but the trait is not universal in their courts

Lmao, sorry, I really can't draw so this is all I could do to visualise what I'm saying. This is half the map of Prythian on one A4 page

Ignore the mortal lands for now 💀

#a grave of thorns and roses #acotar : the rewrite

[ganyuslily]

SAORSA.

you heard the folks whisper about the lonely boy living in the woods. you wonder if he might be the one to gift you the freedom they all so often speak of.

outcast!kazuha x princess!reader

fluff. reader is referred to as a lady/miss/princess! (although no specific prns are used)

kazuha. yknow. . . “saorsa” means freedom, liberty:]

“are you the outcast the older women speak so much of?”

the young man sitting a tree trunk slowly looks up at you. his eyes are a striking color of red; it reminds you of your kingdom’s maple trees every autumn and at the same time of the color a field takes after a fierce battle. he is beautiful — he is awfully beautiful. the kind of beautiful that would make all heads in the room turn after him in court.

you can feel him scan your attire and your face (perhaps you should’ve made yourself seem a little bit more presentable. but honestly, who has times for things like that while being on the run). both of them are ruined — your face littered with scratches and bruises, and your royal dress that got ripped after walking through the woods has definitely seen its’ better days. in your defense, being a runaway was not an easy task.

“perhaps i am. perhaps i’m not. depends on who’s asking,” he answers while resuming his sculpture. he doesn’t look phased at all and you thank the archons for that. “who might you be, miss?”

“depends who’s asking,” you parrot his first words. if you’d look at him closely, you’d see him stifle his laugh. “are you going to report me to the knights stationing in the nearest village?”

his eyes flash with some kind of recognition and it makes you tense up — perhaps, he will turn you in and he knows who you are even though he’s been living as an outcast. the news of the princess’ disappearance has spread through the country quickly. way too quickly for your liking.

you see, you always wanted freedom. you always wanted the freedom your kingdom was so well-known for and yet, you hadn’t had any kind of idea of what it meant to be free. the crowned princess of the kingdom that was famous for it was anything but free. how cruel.

“i’m not going to, miss,” the moment he says those words your whole body relaxes.

“please stop calling me miss.”

“if you say so, miss,” the man answers you in what seems to be a joking manner. you don’t feel the same disrespect from him that you felt from people back in the castle, though.

“are you teasing me?” you huff, sitting down on the trunk next to the one he’s sitting on. he only laughs and god, does he have a pretty laugh. flustered, you look down on the figure he’s holding in his hands. you really should get it together! you cannot fall for the first man that shows you a mere ounce of kindness.

“pretty,” you murmur to yourself in wonder. (he is pretty. you wonder if he noticed you were saying it about him too and not only about the figure.) “can i ask who’s that going to be?”

“i’m not sure. perhaps it might be me. perhaps it might be you. there is no way of telling where my inspiration is going to take me.”

you hum in acknowledgment while putting your head on the palms of your hands. you’re exhausted from all the running. you truly meant what you said when you called the sculpture pretty. even though it has no specific features for now, you can still see the care he put into it and the experience behind every movement he makes while sculpting it with a little knife.

for some reason, he already feels more like home than the place you came from did — and oh, how silly is that. he should never feel like that to someone like you and yet, you can’t find it in yourself to care.

“i’m kaedehara kazuha,” the young man finally introduces himself after putting down his work and looking at you. he smiles; and oh, your cheeks heat up at that mere action.

perhaps, he might be the one to teach you what the freedom everyone speaks of so much is.

#kazuha x reader #kazuha fluff #kaedehara kazuha #kazuha genshin impact #genshin kazuha #genshin impact fluff #genshin fluff #genshin x reader #ganyuslily.writes