𝐒𝐚𝐛 is an ever-recurring name in ancient tomes and historical fables. A sorceress of unprecedented power, she is coveted for her prowess, creativity, and affinity for the mystic art of writing.
Many perceive the sorceress to be currently hiding somewhere in the multiverse, working as an up-and-coming author, who shares tales about her adventures throughout the many lifetimes she has lived and influenced.
𝐍𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬
Delve into the thunderous world of magic, uncover secrets that were otherwise unknown, and discover the depths of love and treachery.
𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐨 𝐌𝐚𝐥𝐟𝐨𝐲 ۵ 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐨𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐭 ۵ 𝐁𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬 ۵ 𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐑𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 ۵ 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐫 𝐎𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧
𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐒
You are cordially invited to attend the festivities of the Request Season taking place at Mystic Manor.
For those who are interested in attending the event, kindly send your RSVP via owl delivery services through The Owlery or contact the hostess directly through the Chamber of Requests.
Being the smothered baby Archeron has led to quite the stifled life—until a meeting with a certain heir of Autumn sparks a desire long wondered about. Deadly curiosity leads you to proposition him with a bargain that he just can’t refuse.
Pairing: Eris Vanserra x f!reader
Word Count: 14.2k
Warnings: eventual smut, p in v, oral(f), slight fingering, Archeron sister reader, virgin reader, slightly realistic first time, overbearing Archeron sisters
A/N: So much gratitude goes to @harvest-bunny for all the help with this series—helping me brainstorm, proofread and so much more provided during the entire creation of this fic. ☺️
I don’t know why it took me so long to write an Archeron sister reader, but man this dynamic was fun. Prepare to go on a wild ride with these two. This is only part one of three. 😉
Eris Vanserra was a walking, talking danger.
At least, that’s all you’d ever been told.
You weren’t entirely sure what to believe, anymore. After all, perhaps danger was only a preconceived notion.
You lived amidst danger every day. The fae lands you’d once had no choice but to call home was filled with danger. The people who you now called friends were dangerous. Cauldron, even your sisters had become like living, breathing weapons in their own ways.
Which was probably why despite being grown, your three sisters still hovered over you, protected you, kept you from immediate danger—especially after being turned fae. It was even worse now than when you were mere humans.
Legend had it that before your mother died, it was Elain that was once the most protected one of the Archerons—at least by Nesta. You were so young when you’d lost your mother, you’d barely remembered her or what life had been like when she still lived.
Being a little more than a year younger than Feyre, you were just shy of your seventh birthday when your mother had passed. Somehow, at some point—you were never clear on how—your sisters had banded together to protect you, the baby.
As if they realized since you’d no longer had a mother to tend to you, they would be the mother you lacked.
Even if they always didn’t get along—Feyre and Nesta the most—they tried, for you. At some point, it was no longer Elain the one that was coddled, it became you. At a point so early in your life, you hardly remembered that either.
Even when your sisters bickered, they’d always rally around to make sure you were taken care of. Especially when your father had lost his fortune and your family fell into poverty. You were always the one your sisters made sure had enough food, had the warmest blanket, was always in the middle of the bed, cocooned by them.
But your lives now were so far removed from that dilapidated cottage. Just four of you remained from your original family, having lost your father in the war with Hybern—killed by the King, himself, in front of Nesta.
Life being protected by your sisters was all you’d known.
When your family was destitute, you’d let them. Back then, you were a mere girl who didn’t know how to take care of herself, didn’t have a need or desire to.
Everything had changed when you, Nesta and Elain were forcibly turned fae by the Cauldron. That was following Feyre becoming immortal herself after months spent in the faerie lands of Prythian, living and experiencing horrendous things that you’d once only could dream of.
But in the aftermath, after all of your sister’s trauma and healing journeys combined—plus yours, you supposed—they still continued to rally around you tighter, closing in ranks.
You weren’t the same person you were when you were human. You weren’t the same female as the one that had went into that Cauldron.
For now, you despised being smothered.
Their insistence to keep you from harm's way was inevitably what led you to noticing a specific male, after all.
The first time you’d met him—been allowed around him more like—was at the Winter Solstice ball in the Hewn City almost a year ago now. The only way you’d even been allowed to go was because you’d insisted your sisters take you.
Even if you’d despised having to beg to do something.
So you had accompanied the group to the Hewn City.
You, Nesta and Elain were all dressed in Night Court black—Nesta in more of a revealing dress, Elain more modest. You, on the other hand, had somehow fallen in the middle.
Though you’d had to argue just to wear the semi-loose black dress you’d donned.
It had shorter, ruffled sleeves—unlike Elain’s long sleeved dress—and a billowy skirt of sheer black gossamer. The fabric was layered over a black satin lining that lay underneath, fitting closer your body. Though more risqué in comparison to Elain’s dress, it was nowhere near as tight or revealing as Nesta’s or Feyre’s outfits. But what had caused the argument was the neckline that had plunged, just enough to show off a decent amount of your breasts.
You’d clearly won the argument.
You may have been their baby sister, but you were an Archeron—you didn’t come without bite.
You and your two eldest sisters had entered the throne room after the two Illyrians and Mor, but before Feyre and Rhys. The crowd murmured as the three of you approached the dais.
Which was when you’d first caught a glimpse of the male—one of two that stood at the dais, awaiting the arrival of everyone.
Tall, long red hair, dressed in Night Court black—seemingly coming with an air of arrogance and self importance.
Eris Vanserra, the heir of the Autumn Court.
You had been intrigued almost immediately.
Nesta was supposed to dance with him tonight—all for a plan you’d had little knowledge of. As per usual, your sisters kept you out of the loop when it came to most courtly matters.
It was only after Feyre and Rhys had been seated on their thrones—and dismissed the gathered court to their festivities—that the two males had finally approached the dais. One was a tall, blonde male that resembled Mor too much to not be her father. Keir, you’d taken it.
Your sisters may not have involved you in much, but your snooping and deduction skills were immaculate because of such behavior.
The other one—Eris—had been the one who’d kept your attention.
Feyre and Rhys had spoken to Keir, dismissing him, but you’d hardly heard them, as your eyes had kept wandering to the heir. Though he never once turned to you in that short amount of time, something told you that he had been aware of every peek and glance you’d sent his way.
You couldn’t help the way your stomach had swooped in reaction to how attractive he was.
Sure, you’d been surrounded by beautiful males from the moment you’d been turned fae, but he was different. Off limits. Dangerous in a way you’d never been allowed to touch.
You’d had a brief recollection of the first time you’d met his younger brother, Lucien. At how you were practically smitten with the handsome face and well mannered male—all to find out that this was the male that was your second eldest sister’s mate.
Clearly you’d been too traumatized after being turned to be able to remember that it was Lucien that was your sister’s mate—had hardly remembered the fact that he had whispered to Elain that she was his mate.
Perhaps it was fury that drove you to act out more. Disdain for the fact that even Elain—the one who was the most gentle sister and once even briefly coddled—could have a mate and spend a few years ignoring him with little repercussions.
But had you ever been allowed to experience anything like that? Of course not.
Which is why you’d allowed yourself to look at Eris Vanserra that night. Maybe out of sheer foolishness, maybe as a way to invite trouble.
Maybe out of something far deadlier.
His amber eyes had roamed the three of you—snagging on Elain, assessing. He’d known good and well his little brother’s mate was standing in front of him.
He was to dance with Nesta, but before he’d turned to your eldest sister, his eyes fell to you. Something sparked in them as his eyes raked over your form. The corners of his mouth curled upwards in a smirk.
“Now, who do we have here?”
It was the next to youngest Archeron who had spoken, your sister only a year older than you—your High Lady.
“She is none of your concern.”
You’d wanted to grimace at the dismissal. Wanted to argue against the statement—to say you could speak for yourself. But amber eyes still remained steady on you.
“Can you not speak for yourself, dove?”
You hadn’t shown your surprise, but you’d certainly felt it, hearing the heir voice the words you’d just been thinking.
“Eris.”
There was a warning growl in Rhys’s tone. You’d practically sighed dramatically. If there was anything worse than overprotective sisters, it was overprotective brothers.
Having mated sisters also meant you’d gained a small army of overprotective males—which wasn’t anything you weren’t used to from your own blood, the overprotectiveness, that was.
But Eris had turned from you, finally offering Nesta his arm.
You’d watched his retreating form all the way to the dance floor, something sparking in you by his mere existence.
Later, you had wandered from the dais under the pretense of getting refreshments. While that was partially true, you had been growing bored standing on the dais simply watching the festivities. You wanted to join, wanted to explore.
Your wandering had resulted in you running into Eris. You’d been slightly shocked he hadn’t still been glued to your eldest sister. They’d already danced three dances together—or more—by that point.
But his attention had snagged on you, borderline predatory as the corner of his mouth curled up. You’d almost run right into his strong build and one of his hands had hovered over your waist, so close to touching your body, but not. You’d felt the way his touch had skimmed the material of your dress though before he’d dropped his hand, finally speaking.
“Where have they been hiding you?”
You’d only tilted your chin up, in defiance, not in the slightest intimidated by the boldness of his direct question.
“Maybe I haven’t seen a need to trouble myself with such boring, courtly matters.”
It had been a flat out lie. You’d have done anything even for the monotony of a boring meeting or courtly discussions. Even Elain—a warrior in quieter ways than your other two sisters, preferring baking and gardening in her spare time—somehow managed to be more involved in the dealings of the Night Court.
She certainly seemed to have more of a life than you did.
Perhaps it was because like Feyre and Nesta, she too had extraordinary powers granted by the Cauldron or in Feyre’s case, gifted from the High Lords.
You’d never developed any sort of Cauldron blessed powers.
If the Cauldron seemed to think Nesta was a thief and hated her for stealing something from it—if the Cauldron seemed to love Elain and gave her something, it seemed to have been pretty apathetic towards you. Its indifference had left you with nothing more than the normal High Fae powers. Nothing grand. Like it, too, had conspired with your sisters and didn’t deem you trustworthy with something as powerful as your sisters’ powers.
It was one in a long list of things that infuriated you.
Not necessarily the lack of powers, but the fact you always seemed to live in the shadows of the other three Archeron females.
As for the matter of your life…there seemed little for you to do really, other than just exist for them to protect.
There had been only so many times you could go to the quarters to shop. Or help Elain prepare a meal. Or even do menial housework like you were a servant.
You’d helped Elain in her garden so often, you were sick of the sight of it. Not that it wasn’t lovely—your sister was amazing at growing and tending beautiful flowers.
You simply just yearned for…more.
You knew your sisters loved you, but you were tired. You were so incredibly tired of this life.
Which is exactly why you’d set your sights on him.
He’d only grinned fully—likely not a comforting thing to most. It had been a cunning and mischievous smile. But it still sent a thrill through you anyway.
“You appear akin to the type to leap at any chance of excitement.”
His voice had been cool, amused, as he studied you.
You’d studied him right back, eyes roaming over the pale, freckled face, amber eyes focused on nothing about you. You tilted your head casually, innocently—perhaps a touch flirtatiously.
“You sure you’re not thinking of yourself, Eris?”
If his name on your lips had any sort of affect on him, he sure hadn’t shown it outwardly. He’d simply slipped his hands into the pockets of his black pants, that grin only sharpening even more.
If your sisters had been anywhere nearby they’d have probably fainted at your carelessness with the male—or likely exploded into balls of fury. Either would’ve been possible knowing them.
“So you can speak for yourself,” he’d chuckled, clearly amused at your quip back to him.
“I don’t see anyone else that happens to be a part of this conversation, do you?” you’d snarked.
That deep chuckle had sounded again and you’d luxuriated in the sound. The rich smoothness of it, like velvet.
“I noticed you haven’t taken to the dance floor. Is there any reason why?”
You had just quirked a brow at him.
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a tad too bold and brash?”
“Every day of my immortal life, dove.”
That smile still hadn’t left his face, eyes taking you in as you’d been conversing with him.
“Perhaps I have no interest in dancing,” you’d lied smoothly.
“Perhaps you’re kept on a leash. One that you seem to thrash against.”
It had been incredible how much the male seemed to observe about individuals. You’d barely met him and he’d already seemed to have an incredibly accurate read on you.
“I think you happen to be dramatic, on top of thinking highly of yourself—and your skill set,” you’d drawled.
He’d known you were evading the truth. You saw it in the way those burning amber eyes sparkled. He was very aware that there was much you weren’t voicing.
Whatever he’d assessed about you in the following beats of his silence had him humming, eyes raking over you in interest.
“What a shame. You seem to be the most entertaining thing I’ve encountered yet.”
You’d simply grabbed a goblet of wine, facing him. You’d given him a sharp smile of your own before inflicting your parting shot.
“You must’ve lived an incredibly boring life for an immortal then.”
You’d left him there, still smirking at your retreating form.
It was then that the bare bones of an idea started forming in your mind.
Now, in the present, nearly a year later, your sisters still tried to keep you from Eris. Though so far, you’d managed to finagle your way into going to some meetings he was involved with.
While you’d had your fair share of trauma like your sisters, you were also the most restless of them. Perhaps it was due to the fact you remembered nothing but being coddled, sheltered and overprotected.
So you’d managed to get them to loosen their hold—slowly, at first—but even just a little bit. Enough to let you be helpful in small matters. To attend meetings. Listen to conversations.
To be around a certain Autumn heir.
Though that was for pure selfish reasons as an idea had been weighing on your mind since last winter.
Due to your sister’s overprotectiveness, you’d never taken a male to your bed. No male had stood a chance, not with three Archerons circling you like a pack of wolves.
You’d hated that fact.
Feyre had been allowed to make mistakes, learn from them. Nesta had been allowed to lose her maidenhead to a random fae male and keep male company in her bed for months on end. Elain had been allowed time to heal, explore her own options, even ignore her own mate while she processed her own trauma.
Two of your sisters were now happily mated. Even Elain was getting to know her mate, not entirely open to completely rejecting the bond yet.
Meanwhile, you felt like you couldn’t do anything without being treated like the child they clearly still saw you as. Despite the fact that they’d started allowing you to do small things just to appease you, you were still far from being involved. The tighter they’d tried to hold you, the more you wanted to rebel.
Which is how the idea truly came to form.
You’d been watching the male for some time—granted, only in the times you were allowed to be around him. The word allow always made you want to roll your eyes into the back of your head in annoyance and frustration.
But you’d had an idea. A reckless one perhaps, but one nonetheless.
And Eris Vanserra was the perfect male for it.
•••
You’d been waiting for him in the hall outside of Rhys’s study—leaning against the wall—for about an hour.
You’d known he was in Velaris to meet with Rhys for some things they needed to discuss—not like you had any knowledge of what, though you were half tempted to peek through the crack of the wooden doors to eavesdrop.
But you were above that.
Sometimes.
You weren’t sure what possessed you to approach him today, but when you awoke this morning, you’d vowed the next time you saw the male, you’d take the chance.
It turned out that opportunity just happened to come a lot sooner than you’d expected.
You straightened the moment you heard approaching voices, signaling one—if not both of them—were approaching the door. Then the heavy wooden doors opened and he walked out.
Mercifully, alone.
You glimpsed Rhys still at his desk, dark head of hair bent over as he scribbled something on parchment. Then the doors closed behind Eris.
The corners of his lips curved upwards, delighted by your presence.
“Well, if this isn’t a surprise. Should I flatter myself by thinking you’re waiting for me or were you waiting for Rhysand?”
You didn’t beat around the bush, you just blurted what was on your mind.
“I have a proposition for you.”
He looked at you, intrigue shining in those amber eyes. He assessed you briefly—likely weighing your words, your body language, your demeanor.
“Walk with me,” he finally said.
You chewed on your lip nervously, following the tall redhead. You were already starting to have second thoughts about going through with this.
But it was something different—exciting. Hadn’t you craved that for so long?
His long legs took him a few strides down the hallway and away from Rhys’s study doors. You followed, suddenly wondering how the hell you were gonna manage to put this request into words and not sound like a complete fool.
You finally caught up with him, coming up at his side, displaying a lot more bravado than you certainly felt.
“Do you preoccupy all your spare time with dull court politics or attempting to thwart your father?”
He turned to look at you, lifting an amused brow.
“My duties never seem to cease, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“It’s a mere observation,” you replied casually.
At this point, the two of you had sauntered down the hall far enough from Rhys’s study so when he finally paused—crossing his arms and leaning against the wall to look at you with curiosity—you weren’t worried about eavesdroppers.
“Quite the curious thing, aren’t you, dove?”
You shrugged, seemingly unruffled.
He studied you for a moment, eyes narrowing infinitesimally.
“If you have something to say, I would encourage you to just voice it.”
Truly you had no idea where the courage came from.
“You haven’t taken a lover in a while.”
His eyes sharpened, something flaring in them that you couldn’t put a finger on.
“Been utilizing that shadowsinger, haven’t you?”
It was true. Somehow, you’d managed to convince Azriel to do some snooping. You’d convinced him—and the others, when they’d found out—that it might be good information to have, to keep him in line if he ever acted out. To see if Eris had any lovers, anyone that could potentially be used as a pawn.
Though it was born out of purely selfish reasons and you had absolutely no intention of using any potential individual in such a way.
You’d been shocked when Azriel’s intel had come back with nothing. As far as he could sniff out, it had been some time since Eris had taken a lover.
That was the final push you’d needed, determined to proceed with your plan.
“I— What if we— If I said—”
So much for the bravado you’d just had. That all came tumbling down like a house of cards. You were now stumbling over your words, awkward and nervous.
You tried again.
“I wanted to know if— I thought perhaps—”
The smug smirk on his face was annoying—and annoyingly attractive—as he watched you fumble for what you were trying to say. He wasn’t even bothering to put you out of your misery, happy to allow you to continue to stutter.
“Dove, if you can’t use your words, I’ll be leaving now.”
You blurted it out before you even had any idea what was coming out of your mouth.
“Take me.”
Gods, the words that came out of your mouth made you internally groan and want the floor to swallow you whole, simultaneously.
Those lips twitched in amusement—he was practically vibrating with it.
“Take you where?” he quipped, smoothly, absolutely unbothered.
The bastard probably knew exactly what you meant, too.
You just gave him an exasperated look resulting in one of those deep, sensuous chuckles of his.
It was enough to give you goosebumps.
“What if we made a bargain?”
Now, he certainly looked intrigued.
The male, who usually appeared so cold, face like stone, looked genuinely interested. The arrogant amusement from earlier had banked a tad as he eyed you. He wasn’t mocking you, wasn’t dismissing you. He was clearly waiting a moment before speaking—either to give you an opportunity to continue or to gather his thoughts.
Clearly it was the latter for he dropped his arms, straightening from where he’d been leaning against the wall. His face was now serious, giving you nothing but his full attention.
“What would motivate the precious, youngest Archeron sister to want to make a bargain with me?”
He was a head taller than you, face bent down to look at you. Those intense amber eyes bore into you, face free of anything he could be potentially feeling or thinking.
Gods, no wonder some were terrified of him.
“You have not had a lover in some time,” you began after taking a breath, steadying your nerves, “And I have never had one.”
The speed of which his brows flicked up surprised you—certainly coming from a male that had mastered the art of keeping a blank face as to never give anything away.
You pushed on anyway.
“You end a drought and I…” you trailed off, straightening your shoulders, “I make a choice that is for myself, for once.”
Something flashed in his eyes, there and gone before you could hardly register it, let alone identify what it was. He looked to be choosing his words carefully, as if he had much to say, but was sifting through all the possibilities—careful to pick the best answer.
“That isn’t a bargain. That’s theft.”
You gritted your teeth. You should’ve anticipated that he wouldn’t take what you offered so easily. He was a male that thought through things thoroughly, assessed every situation from every angle, observed what would and would not benefit him the most.
Which is why, completely unplanned, you added what you did.
“Then if you agree to this, I will owe you a favor. Of any kind. You need to win favor with Rhys? I’ll argue your case.”
You weren’t about to back down as you stared up at him defiantly. Even if he refused or gave you a hard time, you would see this through to the end at least.
“A favor of any kind. Whatever you want.”
He finally leaned back a little—you hadn’t even realized he’d been hovering so close. He once again folded his arms over his chest, fingers curling on his biceps.
Biceps you tried not to focus on—even if they were displayed quite nicely in his courtly finery.
You tried not to fidget under his gaze. You remained calm outwardly, though, willing to see this through.
“That is a fool’s bargain. You have little to offer me. After all, you cannot offer me what I truly want anyway.”
Likely his father’s throne.
You may have been kept from much, but you weren’t stupid.
“Anything you want,” you pressed.
“Anything I want?”
“Yes.”
He eyed you curiously, eyes trailing your form lazily, even slower on the way back up. When he spoke, his voice was the icy cadence you’d heard from him in the past—more on par with the horrible male your own family and friends made him out to be.
“Didn’t Morrigan tell you I torture virgins?”
You had to restrain the urge to roll your eyes. Your sisters, Mor, everyone had spun tales about Eris Vanserra like he was a frightening bedtime story. Yet they all seemed to interact with him fine. For Cauldron’s sake your own sister was a sister-in-law to him—sorta.
You betrayed none of your irritation or whirling thoughts, just leveling him with a piercing gaze.
“Is it truly torture if one wants it?”
He just hummed, saying nothing more, though he kept that unwavering stare directed on you. Gods, he could be intimidating.
You weren’t about to let him scare you though.
“Do your sisters approve of this?”
Irritation flooded your senses at the mention of them.
“My sisters have nothing to do with this.”
He hummed once more, eyes continuing to take you in, likely turning everything about this situation over in his mind.
“I only ask because I’d prefer avoiding the wrath of three Archeron sisters.”
You bristled further.
“This is my choice. I chose to approach you. If you haven’t picked up on it, today’s theme is my choice.”
At some point your hands had planted on your hips, fingers digging into the material of the pants you’d stolen from Feyre’s wardrobe. Mercifully, they didn’t dictate what you wore, but it was an unspoken sentiment that they assumed you’d prefer being much more like Elain—prim and proper and clothed in dresses.
You never minded the more feminine clothing, often having bonded with the eldest of the two middle sisters over beautiful dresses. But you diverged from Elain, desiring to not always be clothed in them.
Even more so now that Nesta often lived in pants.
You could see the thoughts churning in his mind, the unsaid things swimming in his gaze. It was an insane thing to ask of him—of anyone, yet you were.
But you knew if anyone would, Eris Vanserra wouldn’t make it a big deal. You knew he had knowledge of navigating deals however he saw fit—mostly ones that could benefit him.
This would most definitely benefit him. He was a male, after all.
You didn’t know what you would do if he said no. Likely try to save face and not slink away with your tail between your legs—not give him the satisfaction of your humiliation and desperation.
Though you supposed you likely already permeated the scent of desperation—if the fae could actually scent that, that is.
But you were tired, so tired of the shackles you’d been forced into.
So it came as a surprise when he finally spoke.
“Fine. I’ll…assist you for a favor. Of any size I wish.”
“Then it’s a bargain?”
“It is indeed a bargain.”
You extended your hand for him to shake—to seal the bargain—though it was a bit preposterous in the scheme of things. You were bargaining for Eris to be the first male you laid with, shaking his hand now almost made you want to laugh.
His large hand slid into yours and shook it firmly.
Then something happened that you hadn’t anticipated.
The feeling of magic zapped between you and Eris, like a shock. A slight burn-like heat—like flames—briefly consumed the skin of your right wrist. The same hand that had just shaken his.
At the first sensations, you’d jerked back, hand falling from his at the unusual magical reaction. Lifting your hand, you saw a tattoo on your wrist.
You briefly recalled Feyre and Nesta mentioning that Night Court bargains often came with a physical marking too—in dark as night black ink.
Yours was wildly appropriate. It was a tiny tattoo, perhaps barely over an inch big, but like a beacon of light on your once smooth, unblemished skin. The outline was of a singular flame—the ink, the darkest black.
Gentle fingers circled your wrist as he turned it to study it. A thumb ran over the newly marked skin, gently, sensually. Your breath hitched slightly at the movement.
“How very appropriate—flames right over the pulse that I’ll soon have speeding…from my own sort of fire.”
For indeed, right where the tattoo had been inked into your skin was just over your pulse.
Something caught your eye as you noticed an identical tattoo on his pale wrist—on his right wrist as well. The same hand he’d used to shake your own.
He seemed to track your stare, his own eyes following. Gently releasing your own wrist, he held up his own to admire.
“Huh—can’t say I’ve ever received a tattoo from a Night Court bargain before.”
“Well, glad to be your first,” you quipped.
You didn’t know why you felt so shaken, all of a sudden. You didn’t regret it, but you were left uncertain. Now that the bargain was quite literally inked into yours and Eris’s skin, you didn’t know what to expect.
He seemed to read your thoughts and he finally stepped away again, ready to make his exit, likely back to Autumn.
“Don’t you worry dove, our bargain will be fufilled—eventually.”
With that, he gave you no further inclination on just when that would be.
No, Eris just winked before he winnowed away, disappearing right before your eyes.
Leaving you with the realization that you now had proof of a bargain you would somehow have to hide from your sisters.
•••
Months passed.
Months.
You’d grown rather crafty with hiding the flame tattoo from everyone. Lots of long sleeves were worn or—when you were in shorter sleeves—a stack of jeweled bracelets sat on your wrist.
Feyre never questioned why you seemed so intent on occasionally raiding her massive jewelry collection. Likely, she was pleased that it was an inane, innocent interest. One that kept you preoccupied and safe.
Little did she know.
You’d borrowed a small collection of beautiful bracelets yet you’d barely made a dent in her own collection of jewelry. She did have quite an array between Rhys spoiling her and what he already owned prior to meeting her.
You’d concluded the pieces you’d taken were some of the cheaper ones, since Feyre seemed to have no issue with you wearing them.
Besides, you didn’t want anyone discovering what you’d done. Especially not Feyre, Nesta or Elain, though the males were to likely be as insufferable about it if they found out. Not only about the bargain, but who you’d made a bargain with.
You were already treading on thin ice.
You’d continued to conveniently appear any time Eris was around. If he was in Velaris to discuss courtly matters, you’d happen to be in the same location—or happen to have an important question for Rhys that you just had to ask him, while he was meeting with Eris. Sometimes it was a tiny lie that someone needed Feyre. Once, you pretended to need a book that Cassian had asked you to fetch. In Rhys’s library. Just as your next to youngest sister and her mate were happening to expect Eris.
You’d even managed to worm your way into a meeting—something about reinforcing Autumn’s borders that his father had turned into a bigger problem than necessary.
“How am I supposed to learn anything if you don’t let me learn?” you’d asked Feyre earlier that day.
You’d felt smug when she couldn’t find an answer for that question and had reluctantly let you join.
Admittedly, you weren’t that enamored with the business that required discussing.
It was nice to be included though, especially since two of your three sisters were included, along with the two Illyrians, Rhys and even Amren, though how Rhys managed to pull her away from her apartment and Varian was beyond you. Mor—probably grateful to be—had left for the continent again this morning.
No, you weren’t there for business, but to feel out Eris.
Every time you’d run into the male, he always smirked like he knew a secret. But, of course, he actually did.
It was always in the knowing looks, the sly smirks, eyes dipping to your covered right wrist. It was like he was burning with the knowledge of what had occurred between the two of you.
But he’d yet to approach it. You would still owe him any favor, but he’d not even fulfilled his part of the bargain yet. It was like he found the utmost enjoyment in keeping you on your toes, extending the suspense for as long as possible.
During said meeting, you busied yourself trying to listen to the flow of conversation, even if you only understood half of it. You sat lazily, chin resting in your hand, attempting to keep your eyes from straying towards him.
Eris noticed every time, amber eyes flicking to you and catching you in the act. Even if his face remained neutral, his eyes danced with amusement, intrigue and a whole lot of mischief.
Later, when he stood, stretching slightly, the material of his shirt pulled taught across his chest—just enough to give you an idea of the toned physique underneath. Accompanied by a deep chuckle at something that was said, you found your body reacting before you could stop it.
You felt heat curl low in your belly, your thighs pressing together. When he turned, eyes falling to you, you swore you felt that desire deepening.
If he truly went through with the bargain, he would be the first male you’d take to your bed. What started out as something born of a desire to clear this milestone in life had suddenly—and sneakily—turned into actual attraction to the male.
You no longer wanted Eris for what he could do for you, you wanted him because it was him.
“Is it too warm in here?”
You blinked, realizing he was talking to you.
“I’m sorry?”
“You look rather flushed. Mere observation,” he shrugged.
He strolled past you towards the door with no further comment. But you still caught the sly flicker of his eyes as they slid to you, just as he passed you, intent and promise in them.
Soon, he seemed to say.
You didn’t know what to make of it, but you knew the day was rapidly approaching that Eris would come knocking.
And you’d be prepared for it.
•••
The night that Eris appeared at your door followed a really horrible day.
You were still tense, your mood sour from leftover anger and frustration following a horrible fight with your sisters. What had started as an innocent question had resulted in your defenses rising—thus turning it into a whole ordeal.
“Is there something going on between you and Eris?” Feyre had asked pointedly, earlier that afternoon.
For once, you, she, Nesta and Elain were all in the same place. Something that was rarer nowadays with Elain kept busy flitting across different courts, falling into a natural emissary role—a title Rhys thought was perfect for her with her bubbly, social personality.
Nesta was usually off with Cassian or the Valkyries and priestesses. In the last months, she’d started finally merging into a teaching role alongside Cassian and Azriel—at least teaching the beginners.
You were no warrior, but sometimes you’d wished you were even allowed to desire the option to train.
Feyre, of course, was kept busy between being High Lady, mate, friend and sister.
All to say it was a rare occurrence that the four of you were gathered at the same time.
Nesta had been reading a book by the fire, content to relax with a good story after a busy morning. Feyre had been at a small desk in the room, reviewing correspondence from another court—not that she was likely to fill you in on just what it entailed. Elain was at her back, sipping her cup of tea and reading over her shoulder. Perhaps it had to do with a court that Elain had just returned from visiting.
You? You’d been sitting in the window seat, staring out at the beautiful day, unable to focus on the book of Nesta’s she’d lent you. You weren’t sure if you’d even made it past the first chapter yet.
Restlessness had always plagued you, but more days than not, lately, you felt like you drowned in it from sunrise to sunset.
You’d snorted, finding the accusation utterly ridiculous, even if there was a hint of truth to it.
“That’s preposterous!”
“Is it?” Nesta peered up from her book, putting a finger between the pages—to mark her place—as she closed it, “Because any time that male is around, you somehow find a way to be involved. Or make an appearance. Or happen to be passing through.”
You’d recalled that maybe you had been a bit obvious.
“Well he’s certainly more exciting than you lot are,” you’d mumbled.
It had been the wrong thing to say.
“Exciting doesn’t mean throwing yourself into danger at every turn,” Feyre had reprimanded, “We are trying to spare you from such things.”
You could’ve laughed—purely out of exasperation and frustration. You almost had. Which was likely why you had downright exploded.
You’d hopped up from the window seat and flung your arms into the air.
“I am not like you three! I don’t have any powers!” you’d screeched, “So what are you trying to protect me from?!”
Though you weren’t proud of your tone thinking back now—further proving you were no better than the baby they’d always seen you as—it’d felt good in the moment to unleash the anger and frustration.
“There are many dangerous things in Prythian,” Nesta said, icily.
You’d leveled your glare on her.
“Oh? You mean like the ones that Feyre has faced? You have faced? Even Elain has been involved in more than I am!”
It was true—though Elain wasn’t the long babied one, Nesta had always had a desire to protect Elain just a bit too. Wisely—unlike you—Elain knew when to speak up for herself and demand space to breathe.
Maybe if you’d done that long ago, you wouldn’t have been in this position.
“That is different and you know it,” Feyre had snapped.
“Oh really? How so?” you’d challenged the three.
Elain—sweet, sweet Elain, who was always the most gentle, even if she did possess an occasional edge to her—had still been gentle when she’d finally piped up. Until this moment she’d been silent, monitoring the conversation. Her perception of things was excellent, you knew many underestimated your second oldest sister.
“Not everyone in this land is a friendly face. There are dangerous individuals—males—around.”
You’d nearly snorted in disbelief.
“I’m surrounded by dangerous males every day! I have four brothers—three which you lot are mated to, need I remind you?”
“They would never hurt you, either. They only want to protect you, too.”
It had been Elain with her soft tone that only further kindled your anger—the way they were treating you like a child expected to throw a tantrum. Even if you sort of had. But it had been the condescension that made the conflagration in you burn hotter.
“Is this truly about Eris or the fact you just want to control every aspect of my life?” you bit out.
“Eris is not good. He’s—” Feyre had begun.
“Dangerous. Cruel. Awful. An arrogant bastard. A snake. Bid for Nesta’s hand once over a year ago,” you listed off.
That last one had been an intriguing development, back when you weren’t as invested in your interest in him. Unsurprisingly, Nesta didn’t even entertain the offer. After all, she had a mate. One she very clearly loved. But she was powerful and for reasons still unknown to you, Eris had wanted her as his bride.
Little had they known that his attention had shifted to a different Archeron.
“I know all of this. You’ve been over it with me so many times,” you groused, “But has it ever occurred to you that maybe you’re grossly underestimating him? If he was so awful, why do you continue to ally with him? And manage to interact with him just fine?”
“We know how to handle him. You do not,” Nesta had simply uttered.
That had almost made you laugh.
“He’s selfish. He will take advantage of anyone or anything if it will benefit him in some way. He’s cunning,” Feyre had tried to explain.
You hadn’t wanted to give anything else away, didn’t want to let on to the fact you were more closely connected to him than they were aware of. So, you’d pivoted to your next point. One that you knew would slice, one that you’d found wholly unfair for a long, long time.
“Why is it that Nesta was allowed to fuck strangers and drink as much as she wanted?”
They had actually flinched at your language and tone.
You were not the innocent baby sister they’d believed you were for so long—you hadn’t been her for a long time.
“Why is it that Feyre got to make the mistake of dying for a male that didn’t deserve her—one she thought she loved, almost married. Why did she—like Nesta—get time to process her trauma then get to fall in love and become High Lady?”
They’d all stared at you, an array of reactions on their faces. Elain had paled, eyes as wide as saucers. Nesta’s lips were set firmly, blue gray eyes blazing. Feyre looked pained—like she wanted to fix things for you, like she always used to.
“How come Elain was met with no arguments, no pushback when she spent years, years avoiding her mate. Never acknowledging the fact that she even had a mating bond. Was she not allowed to go about it the way she needed to?”
But it had been like once everything started pouring out of you, you couldn’t stop it.
“You all had the chance to go on your own journey of self discovery and make mistakes. That was fine. There were no issues. It was all: ‘Feyre’s healing. Nesta’s dealing with trauma. Elain just needs time’, well what the fuck about me?!”
You’d struggled plenty with your own trauma—even if in different ways than your sisters. Yes, you’d been chased from dreams many nights from the fear of being kidnapped from your bed, drowning in the Cauldron, the uncertain anxiety from the first weeks of feeling foreign in this new body.
But you’d found it easier than they first had with adapting to your new life. You’d gotten used to being fae—especially when you’d never felt like you’d fit anywhere else—never knew your own identity outside of being the youngest Archeron sister.
Which is why you’d been so desperate, so adamant for Eris’s help.
For once, you’d wanted to be allowed to do something for yourself—something you had control over.
No special powers. No mate. No journey of your own.
Earlier that afternoon, you’d finally reached your breaking point—a long time coming, too—and it hadn’t been pretty.
They’d had little to say to you after that, considering you’d stormed out of the room. You’d been locked in your room ever since, even skipping dinner.
You didn’t trust yourself to not say anything else hurtful to your sisters. There would be time to apologize, later when everyone had cooled off. You weren’t sorry for what you’d said, but you were sorry for the way it’d come out.
Despite the fact you’d wanted to get it all off your chest, you hated fighting with your sisters. All it did was dredge up bad memories of how tense the relationships between all four of you had been when you were destitute.
You sat in front of your vanity, in your room at the River House, running your brush through your long hair. Despite still being tense, you felt tinges of guilt creeping in. You still appreciated all your sisters had done for you, still loved them in what way you knew how.
You just wanted space, sometimes.
You were so caught up in your thoughts, you didn’t even hear a knock at your door. It wasn’t until you heard a more insistent, slightly louder knock that you’d realized someone must’ve just knocked and you’d completely missed it.
You stood, the hem of your satin nightgown brushing your thighs.
As ridiculous as it was, once you’d started rebelling against your sisters, you’d gone to the shop in Velaris and bought yourself comfortable—and more risqué—nightwear. Even if you wore them for yourself only, it gave you a sense of control.
You’d grown to love them, the silkiness of the satin, the straps that bared your arms and shoulders. Some were lacy and delicate, a tad more modest. Some were more scandalous, dipping low in the front and exposing what the other three would likely find to be an indecent amount of your breasts.
You thanked the Mother that you’d been in one of the latter when you opened the door and discovered who was on the other side.
Eris.
Calm, unruffled and looking positively delighted at the outfit you were currently clad in.
His eyes dipped and traveled, rather quickly, before he spoke.
“I do believe I have a bargain I still need to fulfill.”
His voice was deep, slightly raspy, enough to send a chill along your spine—not helped by the piercing gaze on you.
You managed to keep from gaping at the male though your hand tightened on the doorknob you still held.
“I didn’t realize you were in Velaris.”
“I’m a male of many surprises.”
The corner of his lips curled upwards, peering past your shoulder into your room.
“Oh, right,” you said, shuffling to the side awkwardly, inviting him in.
Despite wanting this—making a bargain surrounding this—you were suddenly unsteady at the fact that this was actually happening.
After you closed the door behind him, you turned to find him waiting in the middle of your room, intensity lining his features as he watched you approach him.
“Right. Okay. So we just do this then?”
You automatically reached upwards, going for his shirt, his face, something—to kiss him. To just launch yourself into this headfirst.
He halted you, a broad hand curving around your waist, the presence of it feeling heavy—like his touch seared through your thin nightgown. It was incredible how your body immediately reacted to him from a simple touch.
“Settle,” he murmured soothingly, not a hint of mocking in his tone, “I won’t bite.”
His other hand slid gently up your arm, over your shoulder and his palm caressed your neck, thumb barely brushing your jawline. His eyes stayed locked on your face as he continued.
“You’re not the little bird your sisters have diminished you to. But you still deserve to be treated with respect and care.”
Your breath came out in a whoosh, surprise filling your body at the unexpected comment from a male you’d been told was nothing but cold and cruel—even if you didn’t believe it.
“I know how to be more decent than those Illyrian brutes you’re used to,” his mouth curved in a grin.
“Watch it,” you glared.
Even if you were sick of your sisters, those Illyrian brutes were still your brothers and your friends.
He just chuckled, thumb brushing ever so lightly over your cheek before he bent his head, bringing his lips to yours.
You’d kissed plenty of men before—something you’d surprisingly managed to keep from your sisters, something you’d once thought was just for yourself, that your sisters couldn’t control.
Perhaps you’d never been able to lie with a man because the handful that you had kissed knew exactly what sort of protectors the other three Archeron sisters were.
But Eris…Eris kissed unlike any other before, though it could be likely due to the fact he wasn’t a man but was a fae male.
Whatever it was, you absolutely loved it.
His lips moved languidly against yours, savoring the glide, the press of them, the weight of yours against his pillowy soft ones. The hand on your waist slid further around to the dip in your lower back, pulling you closer to him.
You tilted your head, letting the kiss naturally deepen—letting his tongue brush effortlessly against the seam of your lips. Your lips parted, allowing it to sweep in and tangle with yours. As he kissed you, as the two of you shared breath, your hands found his chest, fingers finding the buttons of his shirt.
Your lips immediately moved against his faster, with more desperation and heat. He followed your lead with little issue, until he felt your hands scrambling over his clothes, trying to get him out of his clothes. You’d already managed to get his shirt halfway unbuttoned when he pulled away.
Your lips followed his, momentarily thrown off from his departure.
“Slow down,” he murmured, lips dropping a kiss on your jawline before moving back to look at you.
His hands rested on your hips, slightly bunching the fabric. His roaming eyes said he wanted to do anything but.
“As much as I want to enjoy you, it’ll be a lot better if we take our time. I’m free all night.”
He bent again, smirking against your jaw, where his lips had found purchase, sucking and nibbling. You gasped slightly, head falling back as he kissed a line forward, moving away from your ear.
You just wanted him to touch you.
Clearly, he wanted to as well for his hands slid up your sides, closing over your breasts, even through your nightgown.
“Mm,” you moaned, chest arching, strong hands kneading them, massaging them just right.
You pressed into his touch further, feeling the way your pebbled nipples pressed against the now irritating satin, how they felt against his palms, even through the fabric. You wanted—no needed his hands on your bare body.
All over your bare body.
The drumbeat increased in strength between your legs, arousal pooling in your underwear as his hands grasped and explored, as his lips traced over your neck, tongue coming out to lick over random spots of your skin. Growing impatient you pulled your arms out of the straps of your nightgown, connecting your lips to his again.
You pulled your other arm free, hand tangling in the lengths of his hair as your hand cupped his jaw, kissing him with more fervor. He grunted against your lips, reaching down to grab the backs of your thighs.
He lifted you in his arms, your legs automatically wrapping around his waist as you continued to kiss him.
He stayed there for a moment, hands spread across your ass, mouth hot on yours, then he was moving. Before you knew what to expect, you were yelping and freefalling. You landed on the bed with a dramatic bounce, eyes wide as you stared up at the smirking pale face—one full of heat.
“I should’ve warned you to expect a bit of excitement with me, dove,” he smirked as he joined you on the bed, crawling over you.
You weren’t in any mood to complain as you raised onto your elbows, reaching for him. Just as your mouth met his, your fingers finished off the rest of the buttons of his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders.
Despite your earlier nerves, you were slightly amazed at the fact that he put you at ease rather quickly, though you still felt like you were fumbling some.
When he broke the kiss to remove his shirt the rest of the way, you took the opportunity to take in the glorious sight of the pale muscled physique. Broad, strong shoulders, defined pectorals, biceps—and then your eyes dipped to the contours of his abdomen. The vee of his pelvis dipping into his pants.
You might’ve slightly been drooling.
He was…stunning. No other word could describe him.
“Keep looking at me like that. Does a male good,” he hummed, capturing your lips in a kiss again before his mouth was descending, long fingers coming to the neckline of your nightgown.
Hot presses of his mouth traced a path down your throat as his fingers hooked into the neckline and pulled it down, exposing your breasts. The cool air of the room hit them, making you shiver, but all you could focus on was the way his gaze fell to them.
You swore you heard him mumble something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a, “Mother above”. You didn’t have time to question him though because then his head was dipping, his tongue flicking over one of the nipples before taking it in his mouth.
The breathy inhale that came from you didn’t even sound like you. You’d had no idea you were even capable of such instantaneous reactions. Meanwhile, his other hand came to the opposite breast, fingers pinching the nipple.
As if the pulsing between your legs couldn’t get any worse, his teasing made it strengthen and you squirmed under his attention. His free hand pushed the rest of your nightgown up, bunching it at your stomach, revealing the matching underwear—made of the same fabric and the same color as the gown.
Of course, you’d bought these just for yourself but they sure came in handy now.
His eyes dropped to the item that hugged your hips, a devilish smirk barely gracing his lips as he peered up at you.
“It is too forward of me to say I hoped you weren’t wearing underwear?”
You snorted, but it wasn’t derisive. It was amused. You looked down at him, a smirk growing across your face.
“Maybe next time.”
He growled lowly in response and you saw his hips shift against the bed. If he was enduring anything like you were right now, he sure managed to allude to still managing to have some sort of control.
He certainly wasted no time in ridding you of both articles of clothing, leaving you bare to him.
You should’ve felt shy, but the way he was looking at you made the heat pool like molten lava in the pit of your stomach.
“So what, we just have sex now?”
The deep laughter that followed your comment made you want to scowl, but the reaction wasn’t at your expense, though he was genuinely amused.
“Dove, I’ve got much to teach you. I want to make sure you’re ready for me.”
“Ready for you?” you repeated dumbly.
His hand slid over the expanse of your stomach, painfully slow and sensual. Your eyes dropped to the movement, even as he spoke.
“Aching. Desperate. Slick with need,” he murmured, hand dipping between your legs, fingers brushing along your soaked slit. You whimpered, hips automatically bucking towards his hand.
“And even then…I’m not taking this lightly. You’ll take all that I give you.”
You blinked, unsure of what he meant, but nodded anyway. His tongue came out slowly, moistening his bottom lip, just as fingers began to explore. You felt the gentle push of a finger into you and you gasped, hand flying to one of his biceps.
“You’re okay,” he cooed.
You knew he was right. It was just…new.
But you felt how you were gushing, your arousal dampening your inner thighs—all of this in reaction to him before he’d even done anything. So much so that he had little resistance inserting a lone finger. He groaned at the way you clenched around the digit as he slid it in and out of you.
Despite you never having experienced the sensation before, you suddenly ached to be filled—preferably by more than just his fingers.
“Gods, already so eager for me,” he mumbled, more to himself than anything.
You nearly quipped back that you’d have to be blind to be wholly unaffected by him, until he added a second finger. It was tighter, but not unpleasant.
You moaned quietly, the pump of his fingers already making your vision spotty. You felt a brief sting as his digits spread and came together again then he repeated the action, over and over until that initial brief discomfort had faded.
“What— what are you doing?” you asked.
You’d let go of all fear of appearing foolish, earlier. Whatever happened in this room between you and Eris would clearly stay in this room. You were curious and you were going to ask.
“Just stretching you a bit,” he hummed, placing a kiss to your hip bone, “Preparing you for my cock.”
You swore your mouth went dry at the thought.
Apparently that wasn’t the only way your body reacted and he flashed you a wicked smile and provided you with another languid pump of his fingers.
“I felt that. Getting you all excited for my cock, hm?”
And there it was again, the way your cunt contracted, squeezing around his fingers. All he did was chuckle, scooting backwards—touch not leaving you as he did so. You watched him curiously and then he was leaning forward, some strands of his red hair pooling against your bare abdomen as he licked over your clit before taking it into his mouth.
“Ohh, fuck,” you moaned, arching.
Another wicked chuckle—this time against you—and you moaned again at the vibration. He pulled away just enough to comment.
“I never realized you had such a mouth on you, dove.”
“Shut up and do that again,” you hissed.
He just smirked up at you, fingers curling within you as his mouth lowered again, tongue coming out to press flat against your clit—all while his eyes still remained on you.
Gods, you could’ve come from the sight alone.
“Eris,” you whimpered.
His eyes flashed—a hint of fire sparking to life in them as he groaned against you, clearly pleased to hear his name fall from your lips.
He shifted against the bed again and your eyes fell to the movement. Though his bottom half was still clothed, you had the good enough sense to know he was extremely aroused, himself, by this point.
You nearly cried when he pulled his fingers free of you. But he moved so quickly you barely had time to process the fact that he’d licked just over your entrance, as if tasting you for the first and only time before he slid his tongue in you.
“Gods!” you gasped, back arching clear off the bed, one hand automatically threading into his hair.
Your mind—your body—felt like it was on overdrive. You had known pleasure before, but it had been at your hand alone and nothing like this.
“Oh gods— that’s— Eris—” you whimpered.
You pressed closer to him, body having a mind of its own as your hips moved, grinding against his mouth, pushing your hand into his hair.
You couldn’t help it, you were greedy and it felt so incredible. You wanted to come, wanted him to make you come.
“Yes, yes, please don’t stop,” you chanted, losing all control of your mouth, too, “Feels so— fuuuuck.”
You were moaning louder, unabashedly as his tongue thrust, licked, swirled, lips kissed and sucked. He was winding you tighter and tighter and you weren’t sure if you were going to last much longer.
Your fingers tightened in his hair, pushing his head down further against your cunt. He licked his way back towards the apex of your thighs, giving a gentle kiss to your clit before beginning to lap at it.
“You— are— delectable,” he murmured in between pauses, licking against your clit with each pause.
“Please,” you whined.
He groaned, more than affected now by your responsiveness to him.
“Don’t worry, dove. I’ll take care of you.”
As his lips closed around the bud, sucking gently, you felt the building pressure deep within you—that had seemed dormant and far away—grow suddenly hotter, stronger. Your legs kicked against the mattress weakly—involuntarily—unable to control your body and the incredible amount of pleasure that was building.
He slid the two fingers back into you—with much less resistance this time around, you were so soaked for him. You heard the grunt deep in his throat as he noted that observation too.
“Eris, Eris, I can’t— oh gods you’re—”
You were babbling without even meaning to, words bubbling up before you could stop them, being interrupted by gasps, moans and other small sounds of pleasure.
You weren’t too far away from falling and once again you ground with more determination against his face, adding a tad more friction.
You came apart with a cry, that tension finally snapping so abruptly and swiftly that it sent the sound up and out of your throat before you could stop it. The feeling of euphoria swept through you with such force, all you could do was arch into him, press closer and grip a combination of his hair and the sheets at your side.
Your chest was heaving when it finally ceased enough for you and your body to relax. He gave one last lick along your slit, tasting your release and you whimpered, sensitive from what he’d just pulled from you.
“Cauldron,” he breathed, when he finally sat back, mouth still slick from you.
He looked devastated—though maybe devastated wasn’t the word for it, but Eris did not look unaffected. You briefly wondered if any of his past lovers ever showed such enthusiasm or appreciation for the things he’d done for them—or if he even did those things for them.
You knew you felt pretty damn appreciative for what he’d just done for you.
“I do believe someone once said you had a sharp tongue…I may have to reevaluate just what they mean,” you muttered.
You were still blinking, dazed from what had just happened. But Eris only chuckled, though you could’ve sworn it sounded strained to your ears.
He looked ready to eat you alive.
When he was at your head again, you pulled him down by the shoulders, kissing him hard. It was a hot, open mouthed kiss, tongues tangling with one another and you groaned, tasting yourself on his mouth. Somehow, it made the kiss that much hotter.
His mouth moved with yours, as his hand slid up your bare leg, opening you wider for him to settle between your legs. He kissed you with nothing but pure intent and urgency, his own desire for you bleeding into the act.
You kissed him back just as fiercely, tongue sliding against his. His hips pressed forward, letting you feel just how much he wanted you.
His hardness pressed roughly against you and you moaned, breaking the connection of the kiss.
“Gods,” he groaned, head falling, looking down to where the arousal in his pants pressed against your bare cunt.
You whimpered, squirming, pressing closer, canting your hips to rub against him. His breathing deepened as his hips jerked forward, grinding against you. If this had your lashes fluttering at how good it felt, you had no idea what to expect when he was inside you.
His arms braced the sides of your head as he kept kissing you, kept grinding against you. It was as if you were two young lovers that’d been separated for too long. When he pulled away for a moment, your eyes fell to one of the toned biceps in your periphery.
Perhaps because you’d lost all control of your senses, you turned, kissing a line along the sculpted muscle—from shoulder to the crook of his arm. The feel of the taut muscle underneath your lips nearly drove you wild.
You simply grinned up at him mischievously as his heated gaze burned on you, desire written all over his features.
He’d had plenty of time to explore you, perhaps you’d wanted to explore him a bit.
He pushed away from you, leaving you entirely as he stood from the bed. You mourned his presence for half a second until you realized what he was doing.
Strong fingers worked at the button of his pants as he unbuttoned them, pushing them off his hips. Your eyes stayed locked on his, breathing becoming labored, caught in his intense stare like if he’d tied you to the bed, making you unable to move.
Motion snapped you out of your trance only for you to realize he was fully bare now.
Your eyes dropped only so, then slowly rose up that powerfully honed body, lean muscle everywhere you looked. Your eyes dropped again—further this time—your chest expanding in a slow inhale.
Oh gods…
You had not been prepared for the sight that greeted you—even to the point of being slightly overwhelmed by it.
Not only by the obvious cock that was on full display—hard, the tip flushed the prettiest shade of red and leaking—but the entire sight of him.
“What’s the matter? Never seen a naked male, dove?” he purred.
Normally you’d have a smart remark to match his swaggering arrogance, but you only swallowed hard, face warming a bit as you sat up against the pillows.
While no, you hadn’t, you hadn’t thought it was such a big deal. But here—in this moment at least—you felt off kilter, vulnerable in a way you’d never expected to feel. You said nothing, just pulled your bottom lip between your teeth in slight apprehension.
You watched the smugness quickly dissipate from his features as he took in your unnatural silence. Perhaps thinking he’d gone too far in his comment—especially when you didn’t rise to challenge him like you normally would’ve.
He grew more serious, perhaps a shade softer, though his voice became rougher around the edges, like he was undone from this entire situation.
“Despite what you may have heard, I would never force you to do anything you did not wish for.”
“I realize that,” you said plainly.
You didn’t want sympathy or pity for your inexperience, but at the same time you felt very out of your depth. Mercifully, he didn’t push the matter, said nothing more—didn’t continue to tease you either—and stepped closer to the bed again.
Your eyes dropped to the movement of his hand as he reached out for yours. He then led it to his cock, his hand staying over yours.
Your fingers wrapped around him and you just barely repressed the gasp that crawled up your throat.
You hadn’t known what to expect, but if you had been told it was like velvet warmth, you'd have thought the individual crazy. But, it was. Though he was hard as granite, the skin was so soft and warm—a part of you wondered if it came from the fire that was in his blood.
If anything, he was definitely way more well endowed than you could’ve anticipated. Perhaps that attributed to his arrogance—he certainly had good reason to where that was concerned.
He groaned at your first touch, involuntarily arching into you, as if he had no control over his body. Your eyes flicked up to his face, a shade hesitant. His eyes didn’t leave yours as his had guided yours upwards in a slow, gentle stroke.
His lashes fluttered, a deep grunt coming from his chest. Your own lashes lowered as you watched the way he guided your hand along him, showing you what to do—what he liked.
You weren’t sure why you suddenly craved to put your mouth on him. You wanted him everywhere—in your hand, mouth and cunt.
“Your hand feels amazing on me,” was all he could rasp out, breaking you out of your thoughts.
Heat curled tighter within you, hearing how affected he was by your touch. But you didn’t continue as he moved from your reach, climbing over you, your body once again falling back against the pillows.
He stared down at you momentarily and you found yourself a tad shaken—even more left in awe—at the look on his face. The face you’d once known as nothing but cold, devoid of any joy, was now more at ease—you could even go as far as to say it was almost soft.
In an attempt to distract from the intense moment, you spoke.
“Now’s likely not the time for an utterly inane comment about it not fitting, is it?” you uttered.
Though you truly were wondering if it would.
He just chuckled deeply, bending to brush his nose in a short line along your cheek.
“You’re adorable,” he purred.
“Not exactly an answer,” you huffed.
“Believe me, dove, it’ll fit.”
One of your hands braced his thigh—palm flat against the muscle—and you had to bite back a moan at the reminder of the strength of him.
While he was preoccupied elsewhere—lips peppering kisses over your jawline and neck—your hand slid inward. You figured you might as well get acquainted with the part that would soon be inside your body.
You weren’t afraid, nor were you nervous. You were…curious. Treading unfamiliar territory, yes, but eager to learn and explore, even if you’d already touched him once. But that had been with his help, you wanted to try on your own this time.
It wasn’t like one touch would ever be enough for you either.
Once more, your fingers wrapped around his cock, dragging your hand in a slow pull upwards. Your thumb brushed over the thick head and you swore you watched his control crumble before your eyes.
Oh, this held power. You bit back a smirk at that discovery.
“If you don’t want this to be over before it even starts, I highly suggest you stop that,” he gritted out.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you grinned widely up at him, dragging your hand back downwards again.
“You’ll have time to play later,” he grunted, removing your hand.
You just cocked a brow.
“Oh? I will?”
He muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, “If I have a say in it, you will.”
You repressed a snicker, though your mouth curved upwards. His face loomed closer before he dipped his head, kissing you.
If there was one thing you knew for sure, it was you wouldn’t ever get tired of the way his lips felt—or tasted. You took the brief moment to explore other places on him as well.
Even if your hands were hesitant, they slid over his chest, up to his shoulders and down to his upper back as he kissed you, just enjoying the feel of your mouths connected.
He pulled back, tongue flicking over your bottom lip, sitting back.
His fingers circled your calves, pushing your legs up until they were bent, the soles of your feet flat against the mattress. Then, with gentle care, he pushed your knees further apart, giving himself room.
“I need you to relax for me, dove,” he murmured, a hand sliding under your hips, lifting them slightly to position you better.
“You know saying something like that is only gonna make me do the opposite,” you quirked a brow.
He gave you a half smile.
“Just trying to make it less…intense for you.”
“Isn’t sex intense to begin with?”
He almost looked exasperated at your questioning and you couldn’t help but bite back a giggle—especially since he didn’t look truly annoyed. More like amazed at your rapid fire questions.
“I meant there can be some discomfort,” he supplied.
You…hadn’t expected that. Hadn’t known that, though you figured that made sense.
“It’s going to hurt?”
You hated how small your voice sounded. So much for being confident and in control.
His brows pinched together ever so slightly, face tightening. His voice was rough when he answered you.
“Not if I can help it.”
Then he turned back into the matter-of-fact Eris you knew him to be.
“I will leave right now if you no longer want this.”
“I am no coward,” you scowled.
“I didn’t say you were,” Eris’s gaze was steady on yours, serious, “I’m giving you choice.”
“Then I choose to stop you from leaving,” you said stubbornly.
He chuckled lowly, as if impressed.
“I always knew there was fire in you.”
“According to you, I haven’t had enough in me.”
He snorted.
“I never said that.”
“It was implied.”
You gasped feeling the head of his cock press at your sensitive, untouched center.
He’d been distracting you through the last few traded remarks, loosening you up further. You couldn’t explain why that made you warm towards the male further.
He didn’t ask, but his eyes questioned one more time and you gave a short nod. Then he was pushing in, slowly.
Even with the slight movement, you felt a deep sting—not exactly painful, but unusual. Slightly uncomfortable, the deep stretch, but nothing you couldn’t handle.
“You’re okay,” he murmured, repeating his words from earlier.
He retreated, the sting easing before he pressed a bit further in. The dull sting grew but instead of fighting in, you kept breathing—kept trusting him.
Assessing amber eyes never left your face.
He repeated the action over and over—retreating and pushing a tad further with each movement. He leaned closer, allowing you to wrap your arms around him and with every inch you gave, your arms tightened just slightly.
He took his time, didn’t rush, accommodating his movements depending on how hard your touch dug into his back.
You weren’t sure how long it’d been, if he’d already filled you fully, but on the latest press forward, the burning sting was sharper this time, more noticeable and you inadvertently tensed.
“Hey, eyes on me,” he mumbled, thumb brushing your hip soothingly.
Your eyes found his and once again instead of panicking you kept your focus on him.
The hand that had fallen earlier—subconsciously gripping the sheets from the deep discomfort—reached up, fingers trailing softly over the splatter of freckles on one cheek.
“Your freckles are pretty,” you mumbled.
Eris looked like you’d slapped him across the cheek instead of caressed it. You smiled at his stunned expression, your thumb brushing over the top of his cheek.
The comment wasn’t meant for pure distraction, you actually meant it.
“You’re doing so good,” he murmured his praise.
He pulled out again, pushing the furthest he had yet, causing you to squeak the tiniest bit at the feel of him bottoming out.
The discomfort was still very much present, accompanied by a strange, foreign sensation of feeling full. Almost overwhelmingly so. To the point it seemed to radiate outward a bit.
His hips pressed flush against yours, in as far as he could go, as close as he could possibly get to you.
“Still with me?”
You couldn’t recall ever seeing him look so concerned and caring.
His hand shifted, planting on the pillow next to your head, stabilizing himself. He’d yet to move an inch since fully entering you, staying still, letting you adjust to the size of him. You studied him, felt him grip the pillow next to your head, watched the way his eyes closed, watched his brows slightly scrunch.
As if he was in pain. Suddenly a wash of fear and concern filled you.
“I’m not hurting you am I?” you bit your lip, worried.
After all, you weren’t exactly…familiar with the logistics of this. You knew you were feeling quite the deep and momentarily uncomfortable stretch and burn, but what if you were somehow hurting him too?
His laugh was more of an exasperated, strained exhale of breath than anything.
“No. You’re not hurting me, sweetheart.”
Something funny twisted within you at his abnormal nickname.
Your arms fell from around him, hands coming to rest on his biceps.
“You promise you’re not lying to make me feel better?”
You studied his face as he finally opened his eyes, heat burning within them.
“I’m just trying real hard not to push you past your limits,” he gritted out, “And it’s a…struggle.”
Perhaps you were a touch naive, but you asked anyway.
“Why?”
Those flames came to life in his eyes.
“Because you feel so good all I want to do is fuck you for days—and you’re not ready for that yet.”
You may have blinked in surprise. But then you tilted your head in curiosity.
“What does it feel like?”
Instead of answering, he pulled one of your hands away from where it rested on his bicep, taking it in his hold.
His lips brushed across your knuckles briefly before drawing one fingertip past his lips. The sensation of a warm, slow and gentle pull of suction surrounded the digit, making you gasp. He released your finger just as slowly as he’d brought it to his lips, tongue lightly flicking across the pad of it as he did so.
“Like that.”
You were positive you’d gone utterly breathless.
“Oh.”
“Yeah, oh,” he smirked.
The discomfort had begun to ebb, your body adjusting to the new intrusion. You shifted slightly, impatience setting in.
“Okay,” you nodded, giving him the go ahead.
You were surprised at how gentle he was the first few times as he eased out and re-entered you. It was such an odd sensation, being so full in an area you’d never experienced such a thing—but it wasn’t unpleasant.
He groaned as he moved.
“Gods, you’re tight.”
The slow drag of his cock against your walls had you gasping, gripping his biceps harder. The discomfort had completely faded—had blossomed into something warmer and much more pleasant.
Then your next issue was you had no idea what to do.
Though he felt the way your body had relaxed, he also quite likely sensed what was running through your mind—the nature of your anxious, uncertain thoughts.
“Don’t overthink it,” he uttered against your mouth.
Which was easier said than done.
But as he kissed you, slow and gentle thrusts into you accompanying his kiss, you found your body taking care of that worry, taking over for you. As your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer to you to kiss him harder, your body shifted, clearly growing impatient.
The tiny movement provided extra friction as he moved, hips speeding up the slightest. You moaned against his mouth, fingers curling even tighter into his locks, hips experimenting again.
A small rock of them had him groaning, breaking the kiss.
“There you go,” he murmured around another groan.
His hips pulled back and thrust forward again, a little faster with a tad more power. You were still feeling the overpowering pressure, that fullness of him filling every inch of you, but your lashes fluttered, starting to enjoy it.
“Gods, you—”
He growled lowly, clearly trying to hold back as he moved forward again repeatedly, head dropping towards you, a strand of his hair falling along the side of his face.
But you didn’t want him to be careful with you.
“More.”
His head lifted, gauging if you truly meant the command. Your body felt warm, tingly, the sensations pleasurable. But despite whatever you tried to do, it didn’t seem to satiate you enough.
Since you were still so unfamiliar with the act, you were more than content to let him take the lead.
The hand not braced by your head slid down your side, sliding under your hips once again, hand splayed across your backside as he shifted you again.
The way it gripped your ass—quite cheekily, you might add—made you moan as his hips thrust forward again. He was deeper, the angle different from before and you were definitely beginning to see why people raved about the act.
His own moan of pleasure ignited the fire in you and your eyes fell closed as you did nothing but let the incredible feelings—ones you weren’t sure you could even describe—sweep you away. With your eyes shut, you didn’t see his approach, but you felt his lips close over yours, capturing them with his and you groaned, automatically kissing him back.
Your hands slid down the length of his back, feeling the way the muscles shifted and moved as he thrust repeatedly into you.
You felt his groan against your lips, the way strands of his hair fell to your bare skin, brushing it as he moved over you. Your body completely relented to him, giving over to the pleasure that was unlike anything you could’ve imagined.
Then his lips were moving beyond yours, attaching to every inch of skin in his reach he could. They left hot kisses against your jaw, down your throat, nipped harshly at your collarbone.
You were so close to him, hard muscles pressed against your soft skin and it was driving you wild. You needed more and more and more.
You had the sneaking suspicion that this was only a fraction of what he was capable of, but you swore you still saw stars as his pace sped up, cock hitting spots within you that you’d never imagined could exist.
If it could always feel this good, you never wanted it to end.
You heard a low grunt come from his deep in his throat as your body finally rejoined his movements, needing more of something—though you couldn’t pinpoint what. His head dipped, mouth coming to one of your breasts.
“Eris,” you gasped, arching into him.
He was slowly driving you mad with each and every movement. He timed every thrust of his cock perfectly to the flick of his tongue over your nipple. You felt your own body inadvertently react to him, inner walls tightening around him.
“Fuck,” he groaned, fingers digging into your hips as he pulled your hips to meet his.
You’d never heard him sound so utterly undone and it made you spiral, lose all sense of your mind as your fingers dug into his back. You felt the sensations of the pleasure and was clearly enjoying it, but thought it was odd that you weren’t feeling the building of it like you had earlier, when his tongue had been between your legs.
He was cursing again, the sentiments falling from his lips repeatedly. You could feel his body tensing underneath your touch, a low groan falling from his lips as he stilled.
Then you felt warmth, slick on your thighs and it was over.
You blinked, coming back to reality, not sure if you were disappointed or not. It hadn’t been awful but it hadn’t really been quite what you’d expected either.
Your heart was still racing though, breathless from exertion as he finally moved again, pulling out of you gingerly. Which was a blessing because suddenly it hit just how sore you were.
It was quiet as he sat back, detangling himself from you and you lay there, peering at him, unsure what you should even say. You watched as he stood, bending for his pants. As he pulled them on, he peered over his shoulder at you, as if assessing your state after such a life altering event. You had sat up by this point—sheets pooling at your waist—and those eyes roved every inch, as if just to make sure you were alright.
“Expect some soreness tomorrow,” Eris murmured, a cocky upturn of his lips accompanying his remark.
You rolled your eyes, mumbling under your breath.
“Cocky bastard.”
When it fell silent again you knew at the very least you should thank him. He had actually come through with his end of the bargain and helped you.
You had no idea what possessed you to do it when you stuck your hand out to him.
Eris turned around to face you fully, still shirtless—with said shirt dangling from one hand—brows high. You didn’t balk, even if you cringed internally at your action. But truly, what did one do in this situation anyway?
You pushed your hand out further, refusing to let him dismiss you.
“Thank you,” you said pointedly.
His lips twitched, amusement evident on his face.
“Can’t say I’ve ever had anyone thank me for fucking them with a handshake before.”
You were about ready to drop your hand when he reached out, sliding his own into yours, giving it a firm shake. But before he let go, his thumb brushed your wrist once and your eyes dropped to the black as night ink still present on your skin.
“Why is it still there?” you scowled.
“Because it’ll only disappear after I’ve called in my favor. Not a moment sooner.”
You huffed, pulling the covers up over your bare chest to chase away the chill, looking up at him as he finally pulled his shirt on, buttoning it up.
“And that will be when?”
“Soon, dove. When the moment’s right.”
He gave you a wink and winnowed away before you could even question what his vague, cryptic remark meant. In turn, you were left staring at the space where he'd just been standing, long after he’d left. Swirling thoughts and emotions warred within you, along with the knowledge of an unfulfilled bargain that would remain a secret.
Until whenever Eris Vanserra decided to call in his favor.
Summary: Loki has been in love with his childhood best friend for years. She, on the hand, has never seen him as more than a brotherly type. How will he react when the love of his life shows up in the middle of the night, in his bedroom, professing her desire for him at long last?
Warnings: sickeningly sweet professions of love, fluff AND lots and lots of smut, mentions of loss and grief, oral (female and male receiving), p in v sex, virgin reader, no use of Y/N, language, 18+
Word Count: 5.8k
A/N: I’ve been reading the most romantic historical fiction lately and I just loved the idea of a romantic, head-over-heels in love Loki! Enjoy my take on a smutty, fluffy, friends to lovers Loki fic!
“Oh hells!”
Your high-heeled foot snagged on the hem of your dress, and you neatly tumbled into the ornately carved door in front of you.
Your hands slammed into the wall with a dull thud as you regained your balance, muttering curses under your breath all the while.
Frantic, you scanned down the vast, empty halls, and you were assured no one heard you.
Thank gods that Thor, in his delirious birthday drunkenness, had given the night off to the palace guards. You were certain they were happily drowning themselves in kegs and kegs of drink in the servants’ quarters below.
Trying not to lose your nerve, you creaked open the door. The sound of your own breath was deafening in your ears.
In the slit of torch light from the hall, you could just make out a lone sleeping figure in the bed, dark hair messily splayed out on a pillow. One pale, toned arm slung behind his head. A slight rise and fall of his chest told you he hadn’t been awoken by your little tumble.
Or he was just pretending to be asleep.
He was Loki after all.
The trickster god.
Brother of Thor, son of Odin.
Second prince of Asgard.
And your best friend in all of the 9 realms.
At least he was. Nowadays, you weren’t so sure what exactly, was the nature of your relationship.
A rustling of the sheets made you flinch, shaking you out of your thoughts.
Immediately, you regretted everything. You turned too quickly, tangling yourself on your ridiculous emerald gown again. The clumsy stomp of you saving yourself from falling flat on your ass, rang out loudly. If he wasn’t awake before, he certainly was now.
Your shoulders braced against the sleepy drawl of his voice.
”Well. I’ve imagined you in my bedroom many times my dear, but certainly not out of your own volition.”
Your ears flushed hotly at the thought of what in the worlds Loki had fantasized would happen with you.
Here.
In his bed.
How little did he know that your own traitorous mind could not stop thinking about the very same thing. It’s what brought you here, practically against your own will, and definitely against your better judgement, to his door in the middle of the night.
“I’ve thought of many a method to convince you. Dragging you kicking and screaming was an appealing one. Or perhaps a love potion. A persuasive spell was another.” He rambled on leisurely. “I hadn’t quite decided and yet—“
“I want you.”
At your interruption, Loki paused mid-sentence. He took in your face as a multitude of emotions flashed across it. Regret, and apprehension. But there was desire there too. Determination. A desperation and openness he hasn’t seen since the two of you were much younger.
Since before tragedy had hardened your heart.
“Come here, my love.”
Your heart practically melted at the endearment. Loki has flirted with you constantly for years, feeding all sorts of wild rumors in the court.
But somehow, tonight, in the quiet darkness of his bedroom, you finally believed him.
That underneath all the joking and teasing, he really did love you.
With a flick of his wrist, Loki lit the lamps, bathing the room in a soft amber glow.
He rose from the bed and the sheets gracefully fell away, revealing a shirtless Loki in a pair of loose fitting pants.
Not much was left to the imagination and seeing him like this, in this context, made your face heat up like a furnace.
Slowly, Loki took one of your hands in both of his. His green eyes studied your expression with an intensity that made you want to look away. But you didn’t. You held his gaze steadily and met it with the same intensity.
The same passion.
“You’re serious about this.” His words came out in a whisper. All the humor left his tone as he regarded you with awe.
Not trusting your own voice, you took the smallest step closer to him, closing the gap between your bodies.
Loki was utterly baffled. He’d spent his whole life watching you. Observing you. Studying you.
He knew every expression, every nervous habit—like how you cracked your knuckles right before you had to talk to someone you hated (which was everyone at court). Or how your eyes crinkled in affection and sadness anytime you saw your father with Odin.
The way you rolled your eyes at his idiot brother’s boasting.
And your raised eyebrows and slight smirk whenever Loki pulled yet another prank on him.
Loki knew what you looked like when you steeled yourself for battle. How your shoulders drew back, your hands gripped your sword, and your eyes sharpened with a predatory focus.
He knew that your jaw would clench in pain, and your face fall into an impassive mask at the mere mention of your fallen Valkyrie mother.
Only for him to find you in silent tears in your favorite hidden corner of the library that only he knew about.
He knew that any romantic advance he would make towards you would be met with a laugh, a painful shove to the floor, or a condescending pat on the head. Along with a decisive declaration that he was “like a brother” to you, and nothing more.
But tonight, in this moment, Loki was struck with two things that went directly against everything he thought he knew about you.
One.
Ever since your mother was slain in battle, you hated being touched. By anyone. Even your own father.
Two.
You never, ever allowed yourself to be commanded by anyone other than Odin, your father, or your Valkyrie generals. Loki couldn’t tell you to do a goddamn thing. Nor Thor for that matter.
And yet, when he asked for you, you approached him willingly.
You let him hold your hand.
And now, you were looking at him expectantly. As if you were asking to be kissed.
“If this is a dream, don’t wake me.” Loki breathed into your mouth right as he sealed his lips over yours.
At the first taste of him, your body relaxed all the tension you didn’t realize you were holding. He tasted of spiced wine and smelled of parchment and evergreen wood like the palace library. You inhaled deeply and unconsciously pulled him closer to you by wrapping your arms around the back of his neck.
“You smell like the library.” You smiled. Of course he would smell like your safe place.
“Where do you think I spend all my time hiding from my family?” Loki joked, his hands held your waist as if this was an everyday occurance.
“And with me.” You retorted playfully. You were a battle strategist before you were a warrior. People called you calculating, and ruthless in war, but Loki saw you as brilliant and under appreciated by the Valkyrie’s and his father. Where your mother was a fearsome, powerful commander, you were just as fierce, in intellect instead.
It’s what drew the two of you together to be fast friends since you were young. And formidable partners on the battlefield. Thor would dive headfirst into the enemy, relying on brute force. But you and Loki stood back, observed, made a plan, and vanquished the opponent by outsmarting them.
So Loki knew your actions weren’t a spur of the moment, brash decision of lust. It was meticulously decided. Every possible outcome had been weighed and mulled over. And somehow, you had landed on finally coming to his side.
He kissed you again, softly, as if to reassure himself you were really there. Really letting him hold you and kiss you.
He led you to the bed and sat you down and knelt before you in full surrender. He looked up at you, emerald eyes shining with emotion.
“I have not an inkling as to what caused your change of heart, but I will do anything in my power to please you. Anything to make you happy. I am yours, and I’ve been yours for years.” Loki confessed with reverence, and he brought your hand to his lips.
You stilled the slight tremor of his hand by holding it in your warm palms. A rush of power, and thrill, raced up your spine as you gazed down at Loki, a prince of Asgard, prone at your feet, professing his loyalty and love to you, a mere woman. Well, a formidable, intelligent, warrior-woman, but not by any means a goddess nor princess.
“Loki.” You breathed out his name with a clear realization. This man, no, this god, was truly, deeply, and undoubtedly in love with you.
You decided to be fully transparent with him. He deserved to know how you truly felt about him.
“Loki, you know I trust you. I trust you with my life on the battlefield, with my position in this court of snakes, with the well-being of my father and myself, especially after Mother died.” Your voice started to tremble with emotion.
You thought back to sleepless nights as a teenager, where you were awake with grief. And Loki, lonely Loki, was the only one who could understand your loss. In a land that professed to be paradise, and buried pain, Loki relished in it, understood it, harnessed its power.
He was an orphan, an outcast in his own kingdom, in his own family. He knew grief. He knew suffering.
But when he saw it in you, all his selfish ambition faded away into wanting to protect you from ever hurting like that again.
”I remember.” Loki murmured, looking at your intertwined hands.
“You cared for me Loki. You always have. You were the one who sat with me in my grief until the sun rose in the library. You were the one who vouched for my abilities in battle and saved me from death countless times. You were the one who drove away unwanted suitors who were after my power, not my heart.”
“By courting you myself instead.” Loki chuckled. He thought back to the first time he cracked a half-hearted joke about proposing to you and you, in full shock and embarrassment, kicked his feet out from under him, knocked the wind out of his lungs, and threatened him at sword point to never make a joke like that again.
So of course his flirting has been unrelentless ever since.
“You know, I didn’t believe you at first.” You laughed with him, and the sound was as beautiful as the most talented Asgardian musicians could play.
“I was serious the whole time. And still am.” Loki confirmed.
“I knew you loved me. I never doubted it. And I knew as we grew older that that love had become more than friendship. More than family. But…” You hesitated, unsure how to form into words what you were feeling.
“But what, my dear? You still haven’t answered me. Why the change of heart if you knew I loved you for all this time?” Loki pressed gently.
”I—I knew I loved you as well.” You confessed, and Loki inhaled sharply. “Like a brother! Like a best friend.” You clarified, but continued on.
“I’ve been thinking over for a long time if I’d ever want to be with someone. I’ll be honest, I didn’t think it was in my future. I’m too cold, too hardened for love.”
Loki opened his mouth to refute this but you held up a palm to stay his words.
“But my heart changed. I don’t know when it began, but I started missing you. I found myself wandering around the palace, looking for you. And when we weren’t in the library together, I couldn’t stop thinking about you, wanting you to be by my side at every boring council meeting, every court function where I had to show up alone, yet again. And in the evenings, when the weight of my grief and loneliness felt too much to bear, I longed for you, Loki.” You felt another flush creep up your chest. It was beyond embarrassing to be this honest with Loki right in front of you.
“So tonight, watching women fawn over your brother, the court in drunken lust from wine, and everyone sneaking into beds that were not those of their wives, I just kept wondering…” You trailed off, definitely too shy to say what you really thought.
”Who was in mine?” Loki finished for you.
You buried your face in your hands and nodded, your own cheeks hot to the touch. At that, Loki rose up and sat next to you on the mattress.
Gently, he pried apart your fingers and was shocked to see tears lining your eyes, making them sparkle in the lamplight.
“I couldn’t bear the thought of someone else sharing your bed and I don’t know what I was thinking, barging in here to—I don’t know—spy on you? Confront you?” You babbled, feeling like a fool, and utterly overwhelmed with emotion. You wanted to curse whoever invented love; you felt awash at sea, and totally out of control.
“There was never anyone, my love.” Loki wanted to laugh at how ridiculous the idea was that he wanted anyone other than you.
But instead, he leaned in and kissed the tears away from your eyes.
“It has always been you. Only you.”
You let yourself be caressed by his kisses, by his touch. His fingers danced across your collarbone and pulled down the soft fabric covering your shoulders.
“Do you still want me?” Loki murmured against your shoulder. His eyes flicked up to meet yours. In them you could see for yourself, his love, his loyalty. His deep, yearning want for you and you alone.
“Yes.” You breathed out the single syllable with all the love, all the desire in your heart.
“Let me show you how the only person I could ever want, could ever love, is you, my dear.”
This time, it was you who initiated the kiss. Cupping under his chin, you drew Loki’s beautiful face to yours and pressed your lips to his waiting ones.
An unseemly moan escaped from your throat and Loki startled, but didn’t let you pull back.
Instead, his deft fingers found the tightly knotted ribbons on the back of your gown and tugged them free. Your dress fell in swaths of fabric at your waist, revealing soft breasts with nipples that pebbled in the nightly breeze.
Loki brushed his fingers across the tops of your breasts until he found your sensitive nubs and pinched them softly.
You’ve never had a lover, and so the only touch your body knew was your own.
But Loki, sweet, sensual Loki—his touch. His touch was magical. Your body immediately reacted and you were under his spell.
“Loki—what are you—!” You failed to form coherent phrases as you gripped his shoulders, your head buried in his neck.
“You are beautiful, my love.” He swooped your hair across your shoulder and kissed the hot skin of your exposed neck. His lips trailed further down until he reached your nipples and swiftly sucked them into his mouth.
“Ah!”
“And very, very sensitive.” Loki grinned and clamped a hand on the other breast, pinching harder while his tongue swirled circles.
Getting overwhelmed, you couldn’t decide whether to pull his face away from your chest, or bury him deeper. But when you felt teeth on your flesh, you drew back, startled.
“Loki!” You gasped in shock. “You bit me!”
“A love bite,” Loki bit down on the other nipple. “Do you like it?” He teased you, mischievously.
“L-Loki!” You sputtered out, unsure what to say.
“I love it when you’re speechless.” Loki laughed. “It’s a rare occurrence.”
At that, he finally released your breasts and gripped the back of your head. He crushed his lips to yours with so much force, you were certain it would bruise.
But you kissed him back just as forcefully, relishing how soft, how hot, how wet his mouth was. You’ve seen lovers practically eat each other when they kissed and it always made you want to throw up in disgust.
But when Loki kissed you, all you could think was this:
Kissing Loki was lighting you on fire.
“I want that sharp tongue of yours.” Loki suddenly panted out.
“What?” You sucked in some air, still figuring out when to breathe while making out.
“Put your tongue in my mouth. I want to taste you.”
“Oh my gods, you can’t just say that—!”
He interrupted your embarrassment by devouring your mouth, forcing it open, and you hesitantly obeyed by sticking your tongue out.
His firm, wet muscle somehow tangled with yours, sliding across with certainty. The feeling was foreign but not unpleasant.
Far from it.
In fact, his tongue was sending vibrations of lust straight to your core. You could feel your innermost muscles contract and release in desire.
You were practically humming with want.
“Mmm!” You moaned, “L-Loki!”
“How was that for you, my dear?” Loki swiped his tongue along his lips, making a show of savoring your taste.
“G-good.” You stuttered, swollen lips making it hard to speak.
“Just ‘good’? I was hoping for higher praise.” Loki teased you, his arrogant side appearing. “No matter. I’ll show you what else this tongue can do.”
He pulled your dress off your hips and was met with a welcome surprise.
“Nothing underneath?” He stared at you in lustful awe and a grin split his face.
You couldn’t meet his eyes and resisted the urge to cover your body. So you simply shook your head.
“Well then. Let’s see how you taste.” With that, Loki dove headfirst between your legs. His firm grip pulled each of your thighs up to give him clear access to your dripping center.
You twisted the bedsheets in your fists when you felt it.
When you felt him.
Gods, Loki’s tongue worked wonders on your pussy. His tongue explored every fold while your center gushed and throbbed uncontrollably. He kissed, stroked, and invaded your flesh as deep as he could go.
The most sinful, wet, squelching sounds came from where Loki’s face was buried in you and you found it impossible to keep from moaning continuously.
“Ohhh!” You cried out. “It’s too much!”
“That’s it, my darling.” Loki encouraged you. “Let go.”
He returned back to your pussy, finding your clit this time and swiping his tongue rhythmically across it.
“Oh my gods!” You screamed. “I can’t—!”
You inadvertently clamped your strong thighs against Loki’s head, holding him against your clit as the orgasm ripped through your body.
You had always kept a tight reign on yourself and Loki unraveled every ounce of self-control you ever had. The sounds that ripped from your throat could not have been you. The whimpers, the erotic moans, the ragged gasps.
Where was the Valkyrie? The strategist? The warrior?
At his touch, you melted under Loki’s command for the first time. How quickly the tables had turned the instant you fell in love.
These thoughts ran rampant in your head as you gathered your wits post-orgasm. Now feeling boneless, your knees dropped to the side and Loki freed himself.
You looked down and wanted to laugh. His hair was plastered to ruddy, sweaty cheeks. Dribbles of your juices were smeared all over his chin. His chest and neck flushed red with the exertion that was eating you out within an inch of your life.
He was a mess. And you made him that way.
“Come here.” Now it was your turn to command him. You swiped the juices off his face and smoothed his hair back with your fingers.
“Make love to me.” You locked eyes with him, letting him see your conviction. ”Be mine.”
Loki stared at you, robbed of words. He tugged himself free of his clothing and sat back on his heels. You couldn’t help but stare at his cock. It was a soft, fleshy pink, engorged with veins protruding on the shaft. A small drop of liquid formed on the bulbous, angry looking head. And, unsurprisingly, it was sizable in length and girth.
It was the cock of a god—that you weren’t sure you could handle.
“I have been yours from the beginning.” Loki replied with awe in his voice. “But if I fuck you…if I take your virgin pussy tonight…”
“Loki!” Your eyebrows shot up as you exclaimed at how dirty his words were.
“You belong to me as well.” Loki’s voice grew serious. His green eyes darkened in desire and he crawled across your body until he caged you in his arms. You held your breath, suddenly feeling small and vulnerable underneath him.
Loki had never been intimidating to you. In fact, as children, you often bested him in both duels and in lessons. But now, your eyes were glued to the muscles of his chest, to the ripple of his abs. He drew back, kneeling on the bed with your hips between his knees. Your gaze viewed him completely differently now that you saw him as a man. As a lover.
For Loki, it was a sight he burned into his memory. Your flushed skin, the sharp rise and fall of your beautiful breasts betraying your desire for him. Eyes awash in lust and love that had once only regarded him with equal parts familial affection and sisterly impatience.
“I’m not letting you go.” Truer words had never been spoken from his lips. You belonged to him and him alone.
A shiver of excitement shuddered through your body. You knew you were growing wet just from his words. A flirtatious jest in the past, but now? His possessiveness made your body sing with want.
Your next words came easily. You had surrendered your control, your desire, the whole of your being to Loki the moment you found yourself in his bedroom and confessed “I want you.”
“Do it.” You challenged him with a sinful smile. “Fuck me, Loki.”
Loki released a growl from clenched teeth and threw himself on you. A sharp grip enclosed on your jaw, fingers dangerously close to your throat as he kissed you like a man possessed.
“Mmm, more! L-Loki!” You managed to cry out between breaths.
Loki could sense your need because he pulled that bothersome green dress over your head and continued to kiss you all over your hot, tortured skin.
”Did you wear my favorite color on purpose, my love?” Loki teased you, sucking your earlobe into his mouth.
The sensation was ticklish, and made you squirm.
“Perhaps,” you giggled. You never giggled like this. Who was this woman who was so quickly undone by the touch of a man?
“You looked ravishing in it.” Loki whispered hotly into your ear. “I couldn’t stop staring at you all night.”
He kissed down your body once again, hands holding your wrists above your head so that you couldn’t escape his grip.
“It made my mind wander, my love.” Loki confessed to you now. “To a dark and hungry place. You don’t know how long you’ve tortured my mind,” another kiss, “and my heart.”
“How many times have you thought about…” a groan of pleasure broke through your lips, “a-about having me, Loki?” You strained out the question as your back arched from Loki’s teeth on your nipples.
Loki spread your thighs now, looking down at the glistening sheen of your core. You were more than prepared for him to enter. His mind seemed far away as he stared down at you.
“Beyond counting.” His answer came out in a whisper.
He couldn’t believe this was finally happening. All the years of watching, of longing for your glance. Searching for your attention, your affection. And you would give it to him, in your laughter at his sarcastic remarks, in the comfortable silence of reading side by side in the library. In your knowing eye contact across a crowded room, or a confident nod on the battlefield. He had your trust, he had your friendship, but now, at long last…
He had your love.
You mistook Loki’s hesitation for uncertainty on your part.
But you felt a certainty deep in your soul. You had never been more sure of your decision in your life. You and Loki—there could never have been any other.
This was right.
This was good.
This was love.
“You need not wait any longer, my love.” You spoke with a softness you have not been able to voice in years. Loki was bringing out sides of you that you didn’t know you had.
At your words, Loki pushed into you for the first time, his ears ringing with your endearment over and over.
My Love.
“Ah!” A gasp wrenched from your throat. The initial breach—painful and sharp— was immediately soothed with throbbing waves of pleasure. “L-Loki! It feels—!”
He thrust forward, harder, deeper into you. His hands pulled the back of your knees into himself so he could gain even more access to your wettened, clenching core.
My Love.
You could feel the stretch, the penetration. The sensation teetered on the edge of pleasure and pain unlike anything you had known before. Your body responded, molded to his size, as if it were made for sex. Made for his cock. Made for him.
My Love.
Loki’s arms wrapped around you now, and he pressed his chest to yours. His hips slammed down, pulling out only to push in once again. Ravenous. Hungry. Passionate. Your hands found his hair and held on, your bodies twisted and tangled like only lovers could.
A keening whine released from your lungs. It was overwhelming being fucked by Loki. It was so sinfully good and you didn’t know how much more you could take. And yet, at the same time, you felt utterly insatiable.
“Mmmh! S-so much! It’s so much!” You whimpered.
Sweat dripped down the side of his face from the exertion. On impulse, you licked it. Salty and tangy. A taste that belonged solely to your lover.
Loki whipped his head back to look at you in surprise. A smile lit up his whole face and he looked like the carefree boy from your youth.
And it made you fall for him all over again.
Somehow, in each other's arms, you could forget the pain, forget the sufferings the both of you had endured.
Tonight, with Loki’s body wrapped in yours, as close as any two people could be, you felt a serenity and a fullness that could only be found in a soulmate.
“Ah!” You squealed. “My love, slow down a moment.” You panted out after a particularly rough thrust.
You kissed his flushed face. “I want to savor this.”
Loki paused, his face scrunched up from passion, now relaxed into affection. You had a feeling he could keep going for hours without tiring. You, on the other hand, had already come once.
“Of course, my dear.”
He carefully eased out of you, and your core clamped down, unwilling to let go. The slow stretch and pull was an encaptivating sensation, well-lubricated by your juices.
“Ohhhh my gods!” You mewled, a high-pitched, desperate sound. Loki, for his part, gasped at the sudden pressure on his cock. Then he groaned as he felt you throb into another orgasm.
Twice. Now he had made you come twice. After the peak of your high passed, your core finally released him and Loki fell back heavily on the bed.
He stared at you with the most gobsmacked expression. “T-that was incredible.”
You slowly sat up, legs shaking, chest heaving. You reached for him and Loki scrambled to hold you. You rested your spinning head on his shoulder, trying to calm down.
“One more,” you murmured into his skin once you had recovered your senses. “I want one more.”
“Anything for you, my love.” Loki obeyed you without question, but this time, he let you set the pace.
Gingerly, now suddenly aware of how sore your pussy was becoming, you climbed into his lap and held his cock in your right hand. The weight surprised you, and you squeezed it gently, feeling how firm he still was.
“C-careful my darling!” Loki gasped out. “I don’t want to come before you do.”
“Is that so?” You teased, a mischievous twinkle in your eye. Loki recognized that look. It was the look you had right before you bested him. Right before you knew victory was imminent.
Before he could react, you brought your lips down to his cock and sucked him in fervently.
“Oh hells!” Loki growled. He almost crushed your head in his hands, and you couldn’t tell if he was trying to pull you off, or push you down further.
Regardless, you pulled his cock in as deep as it could go. Your tongue wrapped around the shaft, sliding and slipping along his generous length. Somehow the taste of him made you hungrier for more.
You slowly released him and kissed all around his member. You gave particular attention to the head, running your tongue along its smooth, sensitive surface. His cock started to tremble, and you could tell Loki was almost at his limit.
“P-please my dear!” Loki’s voice broke out in a hoarse gasp. “P-please—I want to come inside you, for our first time.”
The god of mischief had resorted to begging. Another thrill of power licked through you.
A woman's lips on his cock — a noteworthy weak point that you will definitely use against him later.
“Alright, alright.” You acquiesced with another cheeky kiss to his cock. “Come inside me.”
With shaky hands, Loki guided you on top of his lap, his knees fallen to the wayside to make space for your curvaceous bottom. He firmly grasped his cock to let you slowly sink down.
Your core split and stretched for him once more, and you couldn’t help but cry out again. You knew you would never tire of the pleasure that was Loki’s cock fucking your pussy wide open.
“L-Loki!” You whined, nails digging into his shoulders, trying to control the descent and being pushed into so deeply.
“I know my love,” Loki comforted you, “you can do this. You can take me.”
With another moan, finally, you bottomed out and Loki kissed you soundly. You were so full, so utterly complete with him inside you.
“You did so good,” Loki breathed into your mouth. “So good for me.”
He continued to murmur sweet nothings as his lips pressed gentle kisses all over your face. You naturally began to roll your hips into his, and you could feel the press of his cock inside your core with every motion.
“You feel so—!”
“Incredible.” Loki finished for you in a low voice. “You’re incredible.”
Loki pressed his face into your bosom as you continued to undulate in his lap in a sensual slow dance chasing your pleasure. Each rock of your pelvis was enough to make Loki—and yourself—vocalize just how good you felt around his cock.
“Mmm!” Loki groaned into your chest for the umpteenth time. “Can you take more, my love?”
At this point, your own movements were not hitting how you wanted it to. You could feel the build up to your third orgasm was coming, but you couldn’t quite get the sweet spot you were itching for.
“Y-yes!” You mewled greedily. “More—I want more!”
With your consent, Loki grabbed his arm behind your back, locking you into himself. The air was squeezed out of your lungs from the strength of his grasp.
Then he slammed his hips up.
Fast.
Hard.
And without stopping.
“L-Loki! Oh my gods!” You screamed out. The pace was unlike anything Loki had done earlier in the night. This was what it was like to have sex with a god. And you knew Loki wouldn’t rest until he made you both cum.
He bounced you on his cock incessantly as if you were weightless. Your core, a flood of wetness you didn’t know your body was capable of. The smell of sweat, sex, and the intermingling of your scents filled the air.
Cries of lust, of pleasure, of unfettered desire echoed off the high-ceilings of his bedchamber.
“My love!” You gasped, your voice broken into pieces. “I can’t anymore!”
“Yes, you can!” Loki gritted out, “Take it! Take all of me!”
All at once, the world spun to a stop and you fixed your gaze on the emerald eyes of your lover, ablaze with arousal.
You loved him.
You wanted him.
So much that your body ached, trembled, practically vibrated for him.
At once, an electric current sparked through your every nerve and the orgasm hit you like lightening.
A pleasure so strong, it robbed your lungs of air, your eyes of sight, your ears of sound.
But you could feel.
You felt the hot, slickness of his cock eject into your core. The throb of his member as he thrust into you one more time.
You felt his body shaking from the power of his own orgasm, his arms rubbing soothingly up and down your back.
Eventually, you slumped down into him, and you registered his gentle encouragements in your ear.
“You did so good for me. You were amazing, my love.” Loki murmured into your hair, holding you with a softness you knew he only showed to you and no other.
The two of you fell into familiar stillness. You, soothed into slumber from the rise and fall of his breath and the relaxation that only comes from orgasmic bliss.
Loki, on the other hand, stared out into the stars outside his window, wondering if tonight was truly real, or just a dream.
Did you really profess your love to him? Did he really spend the night making love to you? And you not only let him, but you wanted it?
You wanted him?
He must have spoken that last bit aloud because he heard a sleepy whisper from you.
“I want you, my love.” You sighed into his chest as you fell asleep. “Always.”
“Always.” He echoed in awe.
As he closed his eyes to let sleep take over, Loki knew he would never tire of hearing you call him “my love” for the rest of his days.
Despite the odd circumstance that brought you and Eris to this situation, both of you decide it’s time to try something new. Now, after several sexual encounters, Eris is ready to take it up a notch and see what you’re into.
Pairing: Eris Vanserra x f!reader
Word Count: 8.2k
Warnings: smut, p in v, fingering, rough sex, choking, lil bit of biting, Eris being a true autumn court male in bed, smut gets filthy, bunny nickname appearance, arranged sexual relationship, consensual concubine adjacent reader
A/N: Is it hot in here or is it just Eris? Well, here is part 5 of 6. Next up, is a little bit of a diversion from the original plan, but it will be a bonus part—from Eris’s pov—so keep your eyes peeled for part 5.5. If you’d like to be added to the tag list, just let me know!
The splash of water filled the quiet room as you shifted in the bathtub.
You’d been an absolute mess from the dust of the library as you’d fallen into the habit of aiding the scholars and other librarians in your time there. You’d come to discover how fulfilling it was to find or recommend books for others. The interactions with other inhabitants of your court had been doing you good, too.
Unfortunately, by the time you finished, you always seemed to be covered in dust and cobwebs. Especially when fetching the more uncommonly borrowed books from dark and dusty spaces.
That didn’t even account for the ingredients you’d been wearing that you’d half heartedly managed to wipe off of yourself before taking off to visit the library. There’d been an…incident in The Forest House kitchen this morning with you and a dropped bowl.
All you had been doing was experimenting with a new recipe.
You’d been playing around trying to perfect a good pumpkin bread recipe. You’d tried such things as nuts and chocolate chips which were all delicious, but still didn’t feel like what you were ultimately hoping to achieve. Today, with feedback from your friends in the kitchen, you thought you’d finally figured it out.
You’d kept the recipe simple, nothing but the regular ingredients, pumpkin and all the normal spices that paired well with it—cinnamon, nutmeg, ginger, clove and the like. This time though, you’d topped the pumpkin loaf with a simple maple icing glaze. It had given it the perfect amount of sweetness to balance the spice and richness of the pumpkin bread and you were extremely proud of it.
It just happened that the first batch ended up all over your clothes. At least it had been just the dry ingredients and not an entire batter, but it’d still been bad enough.
Honestly, it was a blessing from the Mother above that you hadn’t gone riding today. With your luck, Cinnamon would’ve tossed you right into a mud puddle.
But, you’d brought Eris a slice of the actual finished product—which made his face brighten considerably, in the midst of the work he’d been doing for hours at his desk, prior to your arrival. He’d told you he’d be more than happy to have your company, even if he was busy, so you obliged him.
He was more than happy to oblige you too and try the pumpkin bread and much to your delight, he’d loved it. Even if the moan he made as he took the first bite made you nearly clench around nothing.
Now, you sat in the bath while Eris continued working in the next room. The water had gone cold long ago, but you had other things on your mind.
Mostly involving the male behind the desk in just the next room over.
You couldn’t stop thinking about the smallest gesture from earlier. It was really the tiniest of things, but it had stuck with you.
Before you’d had a chance to get into the bath, you’d stopped next to Eris, where he sat at his desk busy with work. Papers were strewn across the surface and he was writing. You couldn’t even pretend to understand it. When he’d said he didn’t mind you hanging around while he worked, you’d decided you’d have a soak in that amazing bathtub of his.
You’d only meant to peer over his shoulder for a moment, out of pure nosiness, but he’d sat back for a moment to glance up at you. You’d been getting ready to apologize for bothering him, the sorry on your tongue, when he made all words die in your throat.
He’d reached out, fingers skating featherlight down your spine as he said, “Thank you for spending time with me.”
You might’ve blinked. Or gaped. Gods, you hope you didn’t look like he’d just given you an orgasm over a simple touch and a few whispered words.
But it’d been so effortlessly sexy that your brain completely blanked. You’d melted and your core had turned molten.
Somewhat thankfully, he’d turned back to his work and didn’t seem to pick up on your reaction.
You’d bolted to the bathroom right after that.
Back in the present, you sighed, figuring you couldn’t stay hiding out in here forever. At least you were finally free from dust and baking ingredients. You’d scrubbed your skin twice and then washed your hair, which was only partially damp now from you sitting in here so long. Well, at least the parts of your hair that weren't hanging long and in the water. You’d just make sure to wring the water out real well before you dressed.
You’d just stepped out of the bath, pulling the drain and watching the water circle it when you heard a frustrated groan. You grabbed the fluffy towel you’d set aside and wrapped it around your body securely before going to investigate.
“Well, that doesn’t sound good,” you noted, padding into his room.
Eris sighed, rubbing a hand down his face, looking exhausted and exasperated at the same time.
“My father thinks it’s a good idea to slash the funds for the libraries of Autumn Court. He finds the spending there too extreme and that it’s irresponsible to keep wasting money,” Eris rolled his eyes.
You stiffened.
“The libraries bring joy to many people of the Autumn Court. Not to mention the scholars frequent it enough themselves to keep the libraries afloat for centuries.”
“I realize that,” he sighed again, hand running through his hair.
Probably not for the first time either, by the looks of it. The poor thing looked stressed beyond belief.
“But you’re also so swept up in political matters, court life. You don’t have the general consensus in the way I do. My whole life involves the people I call my friends, in our court. I have a better idea when it comes to public opinion than you do.”
You winced, realizing that sounded harsher than you’d meant it to. You weren’t trying to insult him or accuse him of not caring. It was just a fact of the matter. He had so much on his plate as an heir trying to keep the court running smoothly that actually interacting with most of its people wasn’t high on the list, unfortunately.
He didn’t seem upset though. In fact, his head tilted as he thought it over. His gaze, having gone distant as he thought, returned to you, but he said nothing.
“Did you try telling him that? That the library was important to many residents of this court?”
Eris gave you a look that said that was an incredibly dumb question. Touché.
“You know how hard it is to convince my father of something when he thinks he’s made up his mind on the matter at hand.”
You chewed on your lower lip, thinking. You were so caught up in your thoughts you didn’t even notice the way Eris’s eyes dropped to your lips, watching the movement with much more interest than necessary.
“What if…” you started slowly, the pieces of the idea slowly forming in your mind, like a puzzle coming together.
“What if he thinks it was his idea?” you continued on with your question, “You could spin it that way, couldn’t you?”
Another look from the heir of Autumn, making your lips twitch. Of course he could. He was a master at doing that with his father.
“What are you thinking?” he asked, eyeing you with a different sort of interest now, curious to where your thought process was going.
“What if you tell him it’s worth keeping those funds going into the libraries because it’s of more use than he realizes? Not in those words exactly, just stay with me here.”
He motioned for you to go on, not impatiently, but to show he was paying attention.
“The libraries could be an important asset and bargaining chip. There’s a lot of information there not available in other courts. I know ours aren’t as grand as Helion’s or the Day Court’s libraries, but we have some important stuff here, plenty of the scholars have told me that. You could tell him it wouldn’t be a bad idea to have knowledge like that in his arsenal or even use it as leverage for other courts who might want to access the libraries.”
Eris’s eyes took you in and you stood—still in your towel, fresh from the bath—arms crossed casually. Your hip rested against the side of his desk as you leaned against it, curious to what he was going to say. You got the feeling he was taking in more than what you’d suggested as his eyes lingered along the bare skin your towel didn’t cover. You waited, amused.
It took a moment for him to snap out of it and you couldn’t help but find him adorable.
“That’s actually…scarily accurate to something I would think up,” he murmured, sounding impressed.
“You’ve rubbed off on me, I suppose.”
“Plenty of times, actually,” he mumbled, turning back to his work.
“Eris!” you gasped, slapping his shoulder.
They shook from his silent laughter and you let out an exasperated sigh, rolling your eyes, though it was done with more fondness than actual annoyance. You didn’t realize he was stacking things and putting away papers into files as you turned to head back to the bathroom to grab your clothes.
You felt fingers around your wrist and before you knew what was happening, he was pulling you into his lap. You squealed, feeling like you were free falling, only to be caught by a pair of strong arms and landing on muscled thighs.
“I thought you were working!” you huffed, trying to recover from the sudden surprise.
“All done,” he smirked, wrapping his arms around your waist, “Besides, even if I wasn't, you’d be way too much of a distraction for me to get anything else done.”
“Well, if you’d let me go get my clothes, you wouldn’t have been so distracted,” you argued.
He hummed, nose nudging your temple affectionately.
“Jokes on you. You’re tempting whether you’re clothed or not. Doesn’t matter if you’re under me, on me or not.”
His hand had at some point migrated to your thigh, thumb stroking the skin there innocently. But with every pass, his thumb got closer towards your inner thigh.
“How do you feel about experiments?” he mumbled, pulling back enough to look at you, fingers tucking a stray strand of your damp hair back behind an arched ear.
“Well considering the last experiment I did was this morning and it resulted in a mess of dry ingredients all over me.”
His eyes twinkled.
“I think you’ll like this kind of mess better, though.”
His voice was low, sensual, suggestive. You tried to shift imperceptibly, your body already piquing in interest. Despite the fact that you’d gone to bed with Eris many times now, he always seemed to get you worked up without hardly even trying. It’d been months at this point and yet you still found yourself tortured with thoughts of past nights.
You’d be lying if you said that you didn’t find yourself wet and aching for him during the most innocuous times of the day. Unfortunately—or maybe fortunately, depending on how you looked at it—that had become your new normal. He’d almost, quite literally, stoked a fire in you that couldn’t be put out by anyone but him.
“I do remember you saying that next time you wanted to try something different. Been a while though,” you uttered, casually.
Unfortunately, Eris had been away for most of the last week while you remained in the Autumn Court, burning. It was insane, you acted like a horny youth without him around to satisfy your needs. You’d developed an itch that only Eris could scratch.
It really hadn’t helped when in passing, here at The Forest House, Beron had made the comment that he hoped everything was going well.
Oh, it was going well alright. Probably a little too well.
Apparently Eris did actually give progress reports to Beron now and again as weird as that sounded. Although it’d made you laugh when he’d mentioned he might’ve been a tad snarky with the High Lord when he’d asked his father if he’d wanted ratings from Eris for each sexual experience. Beron hadn’t been all that amused.
But according to Eris, all he told his father was that the trying was going well and he had nothing to fret about.
Trying for a baby. An heir.
Lately, it was something that completely escaped your mind for longer and longer periods of time. This thing had become comfort in one another, a sort of bond that had been formed—a camaraderie, if you will. Plus, there was no escaping the fact that both you and Eris clearly enjoyed each other’s company both in and out of bed.
Boundaries had started to blur a bit at some point. What went from no longer knocking at his bedroom door and walking in had turned into you casually lounging and even bathing while he did work. It had been such an effortless shift, you’d had no idea when it had actually happened.
But the thought of the very real possibility of you actually ending up carrying Eris’s child was something that hadn’t fully sunk in, despite your consent and desire to do this. For some reason, it felt like it would open a whole different can of worms, but you couldn’t say why.
These were thoughts for another time though, a conversation to have with Eris at a later date.
He groaned at your last statement, pointing out that for the first time in several months, it had been more than a week since you’d been in his bed.
Since he’d been inside you.
While it had started out as tentatively once a week, it had inevitably become more frequent the longer the time passed. More often than not, it never stopped at one instance per night. There’d even been a few occasions where it’d happened more than once in a day.
“I mean you sound like you could use some stress relief after working hard,” you mock pouted, hands gliding over his chest.
“Sweetheart, even just looking at you is stress relief for me.”
You smirked, feeling just a tad bit proud that you could have such an affect on the male.
“So about that experiment…” you prodded, clearly intrigued.
He chuckled lowly, hand gliding upwards on your thigh again, disappearing under the towel. His lips pressed to your neck and you arched a bit, both at the feeling and to provide him with more access.
Just a few touches from Eris and you were already resisting the urge to squirm.
“What about it?” he asked, nipping at your neck, fingertips just barely inching inwards on your thigh.
“Well, what are you thinking?”
You lifted your head from the angle you’d arched it moments earlier, curiosity piqued.
“Well that would ruin the surprise wouldn’t it, sweetheart?”
You groaned low in your throat. In frustration and in need.
Eris always knew how to string you along just enough to be maddening, to tease and poke and prod just the slightest amount that would have you figuratively crawling after him for more. You weren’t complaining. It worked beautifully every time.
If being with him had taught you one thing, it was the art of seduction went so much further than just physical, sexual touches. Words, tones, implications, were just as deadly as any touch. And with that silver tongue of his, it was even more lethal coming from Eris.
A kiss was dropped on the top of your shoulder, then right along your collarbone where it met your shoulder. His next words were vulnerable and quiet, but you heard the sincerity in them.
“Missed you.”
You turned your face to him fully, those amber eyes that were always filled with some sort of mischief were filled with the same sincerity you heard in his tone. You ignored the way that all knowing gaze made you feel and you smiled softly.
“Missed you too.”
You didn’t offer a playful retort or anything extra, just the truth. Something you figured he needed in the moment. No games, no big deal made out of a simple statement, just simplicity.
You swore a soft smile turned his lips upwards, just the slightest. You couldn’t resist the temptation after that, they were so enticing.
Your head dipped and you pressed your lips to his. Somehow, it was always so comforting being back in his arms, feeling his touch, his lips against yours. It was comfortable, familiar.
His head tilted, mouth slanting over yours as he deepened the kiss, a low groan escaping his lips as if it’d truly been too long since the last time he got to do this. His touch was soft as he kissed you, as enticing as anything else sexual. Fingers were featherlight on your skin as they stroked your jawline, your neck, your collarbone, your shoulders and along your back, right at your shoulder blades.
You knew he felt your shiver, could sense the held back whimper you fought as his tongue twirled with yours, keeping the kiss slow, but not without passion.
Sometimes it was touches like that that got you worked up quicker than the blatant and more direct ones. Just like that touch from earlier when his fingertips had been gentle down your spine, in a more innocent gesture, but it had instantly got you hot. Either kind of touches from him were always welcome, though.
He broke the kiss first, lips kissing the corner of your mouth, down to your jaw at your chin. Your head tilted back as he left kisses down your neck and throat. One hand came up to the knot in your towel and he loosened it with those slender, nimble fingers. You felt it pool in his lap before sliding to the floor.
You decided to press your luck a little. Starting with the way you innocently shifted in his lap, just trying to get more comfortable, of course.
Eris grunted, hands flying to your hips to still you instantly.
“Stop moving,” he growled the command.
You smirked.
“I will if you tell me what it is you want to try tonight.”
“Oh you sly little fox,” he drawled, approval shining in his eyes, “Why should I tell you?”
His fingers traced over your naked body, once again with that featherlight touch, not even coming close to touching areas you wished he would.
“Weren’t you the one who taught me that words can be just as erotic as any touch?” you challenged, peering at him.
He hummed, thumb absentmindedly running over the peaked nipple of one of your breasts. You inhaled sharply, back instantly arching into the simple touch.
“Always so damn responsive,” he mused, a grin spreading on those beautifully addictive lips of his.
It was amazing, really. He hardly had to lift a finger before he was turning you from a normal female into one that was really to bite him, lick him, suck him, fuck him within seconds.
It was slightly terrifying. But with a pretty face like that, you supposed it came easy to him.
Since he hadn’t answered your question, you squirmed again, making sure your ass ground right into his hardening cock beneath you. Even though you were fully nude and he was still fully clothed, the sensation was still just as delicious.
“Gods, maybe I don’t even need you, I could just get off like this.”
You spoke candidly as you dragged your cunt over the length of him, rubbing against his hardened length just enough to make both of you moan.
Of course, you didn’t mean the comment. If you had a choice, you were always going to pick Eris, to have him fully because he was just that good. But, you also knew it would rile him up.
Which, it did.
With a growl, he’d tugged your face down to his and kissed you roughly. Hands on your hips, he moved you perfectly so you rubbed against him, both of you reacting again. His lips fell away from yours as his head fell back with a groan.
“Cauldron, sweetheart, no one turns me on like you do,” he breathed.
Eris could’ve said a million filthy things to you, but nothing could’ve sent a blaze of heat through you so quickly and thoroughly like that statement alone did.
You felt the exact same way about him and you told him so, breathless yourself.
“Likewise.”
One of his hands pushed your hair to the opposite shoulder, dropping kisses along the side of your neck. You felt the fingers of his other hand return to their exploration between your thighs, not quite reaching their destination yet.
He breathed your name against your ear, making you shiver.
“Hm?” you responded.
“All I do is constantly think about when I’ll get to fuck you next,” he admitted, teeth sinking gently into your earlobe.
If that hadn’t been back arching enough, at the same moment, with no warning, one finger pushed inside of you. You were really reacting now.
Your moan was breathless, back arching, legs falling apart more to give his hand more access. He groaned, already sounding half wrecked himself.
“Gods, you’re so sweet,” he murmured.
A chill skated down your spine. Lately, the two of you had no filters in bed. Not that that had been a bad thing per se, but fuck was Eris dangerous when you got him going.
He didn’t waste a second. The lone finger retreated from you and a whine built in your throat until you felt his touch return, this time with two digits pushed in you. You squirmed, already wanting more.
He brought your face back to his and kissed you, all the while his fingers dragged slowly in and out of your dripping cunt, curling and twisting at just the right moments. It was eerily similar to the move he pulled the first time the two of you had been physical. He timed each measured drag to the movements of your twining tongues, how they moved lazily and languidly with one another. Despite you wanting more, the slower pace was actually what was driving you wilder. It was just as hot as a more rough, extreme touch.
You were pretty sure it was safe to say at this point that Eris Vanserra was a master of the bedroom.
You gasped, a broken sound, when he curled his fingers just right inside of you. He caught it with his mouth, receding just a bit to sink his teeth into your lower lip causing you to groan at that.
When you finally had to break away for air, your chest was heaving, breath shallow from more than just your shared kisses. His thumb came up, flicking at your clit.
“Eris,” you moaned, sounding even more breathless to your own ears than you thought you were.
His teeth scraped against your pulse point before sucking hard enough to leave a mark. His free hand trailed so lightly up your bare spine, his fingertips almost ghost of caresses, making you shiver. He was busy in so many places at once, you didn’t know where to focus. One of your hands gripped his muscled forearm as his fingers worked steady within you.
“You wanna know what I want to try tonight?” he whispered against your shoulder before lifting his head, watching you slowly losing it on his hand.
You weren’t even trying to be subtle anymore as you tried to grind on his hand for more friction.
“Mhm. Yes,” you panted, eyes sliding closed as he took you closer and closer.
“I want to take you from behind. Slam into you so deep all you can think of is my cock and my name.”
Your moans were increasing in frequency and sound and you reserved an extra special one—it slipping from your throat eagerly—in response to his words, his fingers pumping in out of you steadily, ready to send you over the edge.
“Would you like that, sweetheart?”
“Yes! Gods, oh—”
You erupted from your core outwards as the mixture of his ministrations and words finally caught up to you. Your head dropped back and you moved on his hand until every last wave of your orgasm had crested over you.
You were dazed and you looked at him, gaping. You didn’t know what your look held, but whatever he saw in it made a smirk grow wide on his lips as his fingers retreated from you.
“I’m not nearly through with you, darling.”
He brought your face back to his, kissing you much gentler than previously, as if savoring it. He parted from your lips long enough to whisper against them.
“This would be much more comfortable in my bed. You always look prettiest there anyways.”
You tried not to roll your eyes, but the expression slipped out anyway, despite the words causing a swooping sensation in your stomach.
“That’s an awful line, Eris.”
You startled, hands gripping his biceps when he rose from the chair, carrying you in his arms towards the bed.
“Not a line if it’s fact,” he stated simply.
You were laid on the bed gingerly and he kissed you even as he climbed over you. Automatically, as if it took no thought on your part, your body wrapped around his. Arms coming up around him to wrap around his back, legs lifting to his hips to pull him closer to you.
His long hair tickled your skin, it falling along your bare body as his head bent to ravish your neck. All the while, you canted your hips against his hard length, still unfairly hidden behind layers of clothing.
It truly was completely unreasonable for him to still be fully dressed.
He moaned against your skin at your eagerness, despite him having already given you one orgasm. Which was nice, but it wasn’t nearly enough. You were never completely satisfied until his cock was buried in you and he was moaning for you and only you.
“I want you to do something for me,” he murmured against your skin.
He held you by the hips to still your eager movements as he sat back on his heels to remove his shirt.
“Yeah? What’s that?”
Your breathing was erratic again, heart pounding as your body prepared for what you knew was coming. The thrumming need that buzzed through your entire body making you more impatient than normal.
“It’s likely not necessary, but I think it would be wise to have a safe word.”
Eris paused his thought, leaning down to connect your lips to his again, like just looking at you made him realize how desperately he needed your mouth against his again.
When you parted, your brows furrowed.
“Safe word?”
His nose bumped yours gently, absolutely accidentally, but it made you huff an amused laugh, a smile creeping over your face. He kissed your lips again, a quick, soft peck before sitting back to unbutton his pants.
“Yes. In case something is ever too much, you’re tapped out, you don’t like it or want to stop. For either of us.”
He said that last part pointedly, as if to exaggerate that he wasn’t doing this out of pity for you or that he was under the impression you wouldn’t be able to handle it. The fact he wanted to communicate—like he’d stressed so much, earlier on in your sexual relationship—was touching to you.
“Okay. That sounds like a good idea. What would it be?”
His smirk was mischievous.
“How about autumn?”
You gave him a look.
“Really? Autumn?”
“What, you want me to tell you to say molasses or some shit?” he tossed back, with a raised brow.
You give him a halfhearted glare, “Autumn is fine.”
You bit your lip as your eyes dropped when his pants and underwear slid off his hips and down his legs. Clearly your mouth had a mind of its own when you blurted out your thought before even thinking about it.
“Anyone ever tell you that you’ve got the prettiest cock?”
Months ago, you’d have been as red as his hair to have said something of the sort so unabashedly, but now? You were simply stating a fact.
He groaned deeply, raw and desire filled as his eyes roamed over your naked form sprawled across his sheets.
“You have got the foulest fucking mouth I’ve ever heard,” he smirked.
Something about the tone of his compliment made pride swell in your chest. You forgot it completely in a moment though when he leaned down, dragging his nose along your jaw, the head of his cock purposely running through your folds, teasing you for what was inevitably to come.
With a whine, your hips lifted, wanting him inside of you already.
He took the opportunity to grab your lifted hips.
“Turn over,” he growled.
You made something akin to a whimpered moan as you obeyed, scrambling as quickly as you could to your hands and knees. You felt possessive hands smoothing over your ass and hips and your body instinctively shifted back toward his touch, awaiting him to enter you.
He snickered at your eagerness and spent a moment further to keep you hanging, anticipating. Fingers of one hand glided along your soaked cunt and you nearly growled yourself.
“I love getting you all needy and eager.”
You were inclined to throw a vulgar gesture over your shoulder at him, so you did just so and he let out a boisterous laugh at that. It sounded fond and it made you smile the slightest.
It quickly melted from your face and morphed into a slackened jaw as he finally pushed into you. It was an intoxicating feeling every time, feeling the intrusion of him—albeit a welcome one—into you.
“Cauldron, there’s no cock like yours, Eris,” you sighed, hips already attempting to move back on him.
He made a pleased sound.
“There’s that filthy mouth again. Who would’ve thought that sweet little face could say the dirtiest things?”
You peeked over your shoulder, a wicked smile on your face.
“All for you, pretty boy.”
His growl was sharper now, bucking his hips forward, driving his cock into you deeper. Though after that lone movement, he reined himself, rocking into you slowly.
Your teeth sank into your bottom lip, fingers already curling into the sheets under your hands. Every drag of his cock against your sensitive walls was an absolute delight.
Finally—seeming to be on the same page as you and over the slow pace—he pulled out, nearly to the tip before thrusting back in all the way to the hilt. The sharp gasp that left you marked just how much you’d enjoyed that.
“That’s my good girl,” he breathed, appreciative of your responsiveness.
It didn’t slow down from there.
Each and every rough movement of his hips sent you careening forwards slightly more, rocking with the force of his thrusts. You also couldn’t control your mouth in more than words, alone.
Moans kept spilling from your mouth. Especially when his hands were especially rough on your hips, pulling you back on his cock, fingertips indenting your skin from his tight grip on them.
You don’t think you’d ever been this loud with Eris before. Sure, you never were exactly quiet, but tonight…
Tonight Eris was exquisite.
You couldn’t stop it. The sounds that clawed their way up your throat before you even had time to think about them. You might’ve been screaming, but you couldn’t be sure. All you could focus on was the world altering pleasure he was subjecting you to with each brutal thrust.
Suddenly you were extremely glad The Forest House was as expansive as it was, so large it easily took half the morning just to reach one end of the residence from the other. At least it shielded the rest of the residents from the sounds, as you were positive you’d likely traumatize anyone and everyone if they overheard you right now.
You sounded absolutely debauched to your own ears.
“Fuuuck,” your moan was loud and long, knuckles white in the sheets, “Fuck, Eris.”
“Yeah? You like it when I fuck you hard, bunny?”
Your eyes squeezed closed, your body instantly reacting to his dirty words, the pet name. You could feel the clench of your cunt tightening around him momentarily. All you heard from behind you was his raspy, dark chuckle.
“Tell me, was it what I said or me calling you bunny that did it for you?”
“Both,” you whimpered, peering over your shoulder.
He was a miraculous sight. Broad and towering as he kneeled behind you, all strength and muscle as he drove into you. Your eyes took in everything from his chiseled body to the pure euphoria etched into his face. He hadn’t noticed you staring as his head had dipped back, exposing the strong column of his throat, lips parted around a moan. Half of his hair had fallen back along with his head, but a few stubborn strands clung right to the sharp cut of his collarbones, the red a stark contrast against his pale skin.
Gods, he was beautiful.
His head lifted, amber eyes opening as his gaze met yours. There were so many complicated emotions that swirled in those eyes at that moment that you didn’t have the brain power to unravel right now. With another sharp pull of your hips back into his, your head dropped with a delighted moan.
You were prepared for him to fuck you just like this for the entirety of it, so you didn’t expect the fist in your hair, yanking your head firmly to the side. It was rough enough that it was just on this side of painful, yet it added to the sensation of him burying himself deep inside you, repeatedly.
“You remember the safe word, right?”
His voice was guttural, like it was taking him all the willpower he had not to lose control before he got his question out.
“Yes,” you nodded.
Or at least tried the best you could to nod with his fingers gripping your hair so tightly.
“Tell me,” he demanded.
“Autumn,” you gasped out amidst another sharp thrust.
“You’ll use it if you need to?”
His pace had slowed significantly, the slow drag of his cock along your walls a vast difference from his harsh fucking of a moment before. You whined at the abrupt change and he tugged on your hair firmly, clearly expecting an answer.
“Yes.”
Your answer came out whiny, needing his brutal pace back, the one that was sending you skyrocketing from how good it was. But, clearly, Eris had other plans.
He yanked you up from where you been on hands and knees, not by your hair, but by your throat.
Oh, fuck.
You were now kneeling, back pressed flush against his chest, his hand effortlessly engulfing your throat where it was splayed across.
You reached out in front of you, one hand finding the headboard, knowing you would need the stability for whatever Eris had prepared for you.
Pace picking back up, his fingers tightened with just enough pressure over your pulse. Almost at the same time, your cunt spasmed around his cock, giving you away. You could’ve denied in that moment that you didn’t like it, but your body gave you away before you could even make a sound.
Eris groaned lowly behind you, picking up on just that. He thrust faster, harder, fingers tightening briefly just long enough for you to feel the effect before letting go. With the hand that wasn’t holding on to the headboard for dear life, you reached back and threaded it into his hair, tugging on it hard enough that he responded with an equally rough thrust.
You really should’ve expected it, you’d heard the allegations about Autumn Court males, but a good part of you never anticipated this from Eris. Cauldron, how glad you were to be surprised though.
Every thrust, every hard slam of his hips, every squeeze of your throat had your head going fuzzy and not just from his hand on your neck.
“Eris,” you whimpered.
You needed more, not knowing what exactly, especially when he was giving you so damn much. You turned your head slightly and he was right there. His lips captured yours in a searing, claiming kiss and you moaned loudly into it.
Yes, that’s exactly what you’d needed.
To be completely and utterly ruined by his mouth and his cock, at once.
His other hand squeezed your hip, holding you tight against him. The one at your neck squeezed again, not as tightly since his mouth was on yours, but enough to send you soaring. You tugged at his hair as your tongues brushed one another, an erotic dance between both mouths and hips, one the two of you had perfected ages ago.
You broke away when the feeling became too intense and you whined, tears forming at the corners of your eyes. Not from pain, just from the sheer amount of mind blowing pleasure he was giving you.
“Come on bunny, you can take it. Fuck, you always take me so well.”
His words were laced with grunts, his own control slipping quickly.
The slap of skin against skin was so filthy and obscene yet it still made your eyes nearly cross and jaw drop. Simply because you were experiencing all the sensations that came with those sounds—that inherently being Eris feeling like fucking heaven as he pounded into you.
“Don’t stop, don’t stop,” you gasped.
You had no control of your body, of your mouth. You’d lost that control somewhere around the time you’d started screaming for him earlier.
“Gods, I love this tight little cunt,” he rasped in your ear, voice sounding raw, half gone with ecstasy.
Seemingly out of nowhere, he bent down, hand still on your throat and licked a line up the side of your neck, practically growling in your ear as his hips kept up their brutal pace. Your head lolled a bit, moaning at the feeling—of his tongue, his cock, his hand on your neck. It was all so much yet it was everything, all at once.
You were rising and rising, high on the feelings he was invoking in you. His hand barely had slipped from your hip to tease your clit when you heard him behind you, losing control.
“Oh gods, gonna come, gonna come,” he groaned, words spilling out of his mouth faster than you thought he was even processing them.
Didn’t stop you from very visibly reacting to the extremely hot words and tone they’d been uttered in, inducing an eye roll of pleasure from you. He had no filter on his sounds, on his words when you two were tangled and you absolutely loved it.
Then he really did something that stunned you.
You felt teeth on your shoulder as he bit down hard barely muffling his groans as he came, spilling into you. His hips kept rocketing, fingertips at your clit and the combination of everything at once had you climaxing right behind him.
The cry that erupted from you was unlike anything he’d wrenched from you to date. It was unabashed euphoria as your orgasm rocked through you, feeling like actual fire was shooting through your veins.
Any other time, you’d have laughed at the irony, but you were currently wrecked, body trembling as you fell limp against Eris. Your head fell backwards on to his shoulder, grasp slackening from his hair, chest heaving.
His hand fell from your throat, arm wrapping around your middle, keeping you close.
“I got you, I got you,” he murmured reassuredly.
“Fuck,” you breathed out.
His warm breath fanned against your ear as he huffed a laugh.
“My sentiments exactly.”
You felt like you could sleep for a week, you were so thoroughly wrecked.
You had no knowledge of when he’d slipped out of you or your head hitting the pillow. The last thing you heard before your heavy lids fully closed, exhaustion taking over, was the deep, rich tones of Eris’s voice, sounding softer than you think you’d ever heard it.
“Rest, sweetheart.”
So you let the darkness sweep you away.
•••
When you’d blinked your eyes open, you had to reorient yourself. Eyes peering around, you remembered where you were—in Eris’s room, in his bed and just why you were there.
The memories of what had happened earlier flickered through your mind.
Him calling you bunny, pulling your hair, fingers tightening around your pulse point, pounding into you from behind until you’d come so hard you’d nearly seen the Mother, herself. You resisted the urge to groan and stifled the urge to let desire rise again. A small shift of your body alerted you of the delicious ache between your legs, another nice reminder of what had transpired.
But it wouldn’t pay to get aroused again, not when you were already this tender from him.
Speaking of. Your eyes scanned the room but quickly landed on him back at his desk. He’d put pants back on, but he was shirtless, working again.
“Thought you said you were done with work,” you mumbled sleepily.
He peeked over a shoulder with a smile as you sat up in bed—still very much nude—rubbing the sleep from your eyes.
“How long was I out?”
“Only an hour or so. Want me to order us some food from the kitchen?”
You blinked. He’d just fucked you silly a mere hour ago and now he was offering to order you food?
Eris seemed almost amused by your stunned silence.
“What? You still have to eat,” he commented, that amused grin on his lips.
Of course, your stomach chose just then to protest. Which of course would be picked up by any Fae hearing.
“Yeah, that sounds good,” you finally admitted.
While he took care of summoning a servant to order, you managed to finally make your way to the pile of clothes you’d left in the bathroom for after your bath, though that now felt like ages ago. Forgoing the rest of the outfit, including your underwear, you grabbed the oversized sweater you’d brought from your room and slipped it over your frame, perfect for the chill of the room.
“We’re Fae. Shouldn’t we be able to magically whip up something to eat?” you asked when you’d returned, climbing back into the soft sheets of his bed.
“We could. But magic doesn’t always replace the finery of good cooking,” he pointed out.
You knew he was right. You knew from experience with your baking and the people in the kitchen here at The Forest House. Many in the faerie lands actually enjoyed cooking. Magic couldn’t replace that love and passion that was naturally put into good dishes.
The two of you discussed the library issue from earlier in the evening and Eris bounced ideas off you on how to sell the idea to Beron the best, caring about your input and opinion. You knew he would be able to convince Beron no matter what angle he went with.
By the time he’d settled on the appropriate course of action, there had been a knock on the sitting area door, the fancy metal trays left in the outer room. Eris brought them both in a second later.
“You order a feast?” you asked, arching a brow.
“Hardly,” he scoffed, “But I got you a few different options cause I thought you’d be hungry after working up quite the appetite.”
His last comment was spoken with a smirk sent in your direction and you had to grin. He wasn’t entirely wrong.
“You don’t mind eating in the bed, do you?” he asked, handing you your tray before grabbing his and settling next to you.
“We’ve certainly done enough of everything else in it, so I don’t see why not.”
That earned you a bark of sharp laughter. You loved the ease that you two had that such comments could be made without it being weird. Plus, it made you just a little bit proud when you managed to get a laugh out of him unintentionally, from one of your remarks.
You were pleasantly surprised when you lifted the lid to find the random array. A sandwich, a pastry, mixed nuts and seeds, some cheeses and a random pile of green beans that made your brows rise.
“What? I know you like the cook’s way of fixing green beans. You think I haven’t noticed the times you helped yourself to more because you loved them that much?”
You chuckled. You couldn’t argue. Whatever spices The Forest House cook used always made them taste like the best thing.
You found it oddly touching that Eris had noticed.
For dessert were what looked like spiced pears and—
“Is that a piece of my pumpkin bread from this morning?”
“Mhm.”
Eris’s mouth was already full as he’d dug in.
“You think I wasn’t going to jump on the chance to get myself another piece of that?”
You beamed at his compliment. You were proud of that recipe.
You dug into your food, starting with the spiced pears that looked absolutely heavenly. Which, they were. They’d been baked and drizzled with just the right amount of honey and cinnamon. You might’ve moaned a little.
You also missed the way Eris’s eyes flicked to you rather quickly too.
“Forget your cock, this is the real delicacy right here.”
He nearly choked on his food. You couldn’t help the way your mouth twitched as you remembered how you’d made him nearly choke on his drink months prior—when you accidentally said something else just as candidly, that caused a similar reaction to now.
“Darling, settle down with the compliments, why don’t you?” came his dry, sarcastic quip.
You chuckled, knowing full well he knew your true opinion on that part of him.
It fell silent while you two ate and you had to admit, Eris had been right. You were starving.
After a little bit, your thoughts from earlier in the evening returned to the forefront of your mind and you finally decided to address them.
“So I was thinking…realistically when I inevitably conceive—I mean if we keep on doing this long enough that I do—what happens then?”
He was leaning back against the pillows, hair falling over his shoulders and onto his bare chest. Cauldron, he didn’t even have to try and he was effortlessly beautiful. It was kind of unfair to wield that kind of beauty. You had to shake your head—mentally that is. Males were always so easily pretty without much effort on their part.
“I honestly don’t know,” he said, eyes sliding to you.
“I mean with the way he desires a future heir, I kind of figured that Beron would be snatching the child practically the moment it enters this world.”
You pushed around the food on your plate with your fork. It wasn’t something you’d put much thought into because it seemed such a distant reality, something that might not even come to pass. But the longer this arrangement went on…
“I…hadn’t considered that,” Eris said honestly.
“Yeah, neither had I.”
There was a beat of silence after your statement. Then, he spoke slowly, carefully, like he was trying to piece together exactly how to say what he needed to, as he was saying it.
“I know it seems like just a hypothetical situation and something that doesn’t feel…real, but there’s the possibility it could be real one day. And it’s probably going to take more than just one conversation.”
You didn’t miss the way the air around you felt heavier, more serious. Filled with unspoken and unknown things. It was a bit intimidating. At least, too intimidating for a further conversation today.
“So, we keep it light for now,” you smiled, nudging him gently with your shoulder, “And enjoy good food and good company.”
“Good food and good company,” he repeated, a slight smile on his face.
But even as you ate in silence, you couldn’t help the heaviness from settling over you. There was a lot of uncertainty in that potential future between you and Eris.
But when he playfully nudged you back over something you’d just said, it lightened your mood significantly. So did the charming smile he gave you, a bright, full one that stretched wide enough to show teeth. Something that wasn’t the usual for him.
Eris smirked, scowled, grimaced, frowned, pursed those lips, even gave half grins and smug smiles full of arrogance.
Rarely had you seen a full blown smile on his face like the one he’d just given you.
You pushed those specific and concerning thoughts from your mind. This was just sex. An odd, arranged situation that came about in the strangest ways, but still an arrangement. Just for fun. As you’d said, good company. That’s all this was.
Right?
As you looked over at Eris, you realized something. You had no idea just when the lines had begun to blur.
Not only am I saving this as one of my favorite chapters of all time, I’m filing a complaint against you, ma’am, because there was absolutely no need to shatter me to pieces and make every one of them yearn for Eris Vanserra to touch them and put them back together—then repeat!
Thanks for the tag @justmeinadaze! These Pinterest things are always fun!
+fictional character +date +gift +outfit +dessert
No Pressure Taglist: @k-marzolf, @bellaxgiornata, @e-dubbc11, @the-unforgivenn, @kayhi808, @hellfire--cult, @becauseicantthinkwritings and anyone else who wants to play!
@sillyvasha @puellaxun @yukiyee-akian @asneakyobserver @avasugarcotton @callme-mag @theblueshark @paws-of-the-quill @fromashesweriseuphiddenones @itskenwaybitch squishing you all in a hug
aww thank you, this was such a wonderful surprise 🫶🫶🫶
@obsessingoverl @fionas-frenzy @fiveminutetrash @strrawberrywaffles @the-tech-turn @only-my-unexistent-fiances @fictionalmenjusthitdifferent @willaminabaggins + my other moots because I don't have a list and I know im forgetting ppl T^T
@sev-says-so @beskar-of-a-bygone-era @chibai06 @cyarikaskywalker @the-art-of-psalrmararue and idc Beanie alr tagged you cause I ALSO want to give you a hug @fictionalmenjusthitdifferent
Thank you lovely @djarins-cyare you are always so kind 💖 Big hugs back to you and passing some along to @insomniamamma @grogusmum @oonajaeadira @moonlight-prose @massivecolorspygiant @beccaplaying @pspspscal @lareinadehades @seawhisperer @coulsons-fullmetal-cellist @nuvoleincielo @sistasarah-sallysaidso @seasonschange-butpeopledont @evenstaredits and YOU if you're reading this 🤗
Passing this along to @its-moopoint @its-a-state-of-angst @harmionesworld @colemansdimple @cant-resist-temptation @jadesassenach @rey-jake-therapist @journeymode
Aww thanks @jadesassenach !! I pass to @faebaneofmyexistence @tremsing82 @acourtofthought @goforth-ladymidnight @impossibelle @gwynethberdarasupremecy @princesserene @thefatesofspring AND TONS MORE OF YOU 🥹🥹
Synopsis: Centuries spent at the House of Odin have transformed the eclectic balls into familial gatherings and council meetings into morning tea rituals. The gilded walls of the castle have become home, and its royals, family. Yet, when your wisdom crosses paths with folly, affection is born unexpectedly, senselessly—a trait you’ve never been known to entertain, but one that Thor Odinson wears proudly.
Pairing: Thor Odinson x Asgardian!Reader
Warnings: Allusions to sex. Jealousy. Unrequited Love. Love Triangles. LOKI. (we love him, though.)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort | Fluff | Mild Angst
Word Count: 6K (I have no regrets)
Based on this Request from my writing celebration.
All Masterlists | Sab's Wring Fest
𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒𝐍’𝐓 𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐍𝐄𝐀𝐊 into the queen’s revered gardens, let alone assault her precious snowdrops. But rationale had long been buried deeper than Yggdrasil’s roots, allowing impulsivity to reign over you.
The white petals screeched from the force of your tug, a harsh touch you’d never known yourself capable of administering. But your assault proved relentless, flower after flower limply falling to your side. Ironically, their innocent petals congregated on the fabric of your dress, painting a tinge of beauty over your despondency.
Even in their misery, they refused to be anything but enduring. Pitiful.
“Oh, how delightfully entertaining will it be to gauge Mother’s love for you once she sees what calamity has befallen her garden by your hands.”
“Go away,” you commanded bitterly, back turned to the unwanted presence.
The god behind you neglected to comment on your tone. You heard him shuffle, his feet carefully avoiding stepping on another virtuous plant. He plopped down next to you, elegantly brushing his hands atop the neglected flower stems by your side, reviving them.
“It would be a shame to forgo free entertainment,” Loki smirked, twirling the rejuvenated snowdrop in his fingers.
You craned your head to the right, eyes burning with fire even his Jotun genes couldn’t withstand. “Pity, so many courtesans have slipped from your fingers you now have to settle for my misery for pleasure.”
Loki laughed, his shoulders shaking. His gaze retained his familiar mirth as he answered, “Would your misery be associated with a certain courtesan and an Asgardian prince... fonduing, perhaps?”
“Fonduing?” Your face twisted in disgust. “What in the Nine does that word mean?”
“I heard the spangled American Captain utter it once," Loki recalled. "It’s a euphemism for two people partaking in the biological act of reproduction.”
“What?” you scoffed in disbelief. “It doesn’t make sense.”
Loki’s wry smirk reappeared. “Mortals rarely do,” he confessed.
Your face fell at the reminder of the race you were persistently attempting to forget. Focused on your previous discourse, you had ignored the snowdrops delicately sitting in the palm of your hands. Without a second thought, you resumed your previous ministrations, gracelessly tearing apart petals from the stem.
“You do not happen, by any chance, to be superseding this flower for Thor’s meek mortal friend. Do you?” Loki asked.
“No,” you were quick to reply. “She may be as delicate as a flower, but she’s as beautiful as a Ratatoskr. What do brown eyes remind one of besides tree trunks and repugnant mud?”
“The warmth of an autumn day as the sun embraces the woodlands and shelters its inhabitants from the seasonal tumult to come,” Loki poetically recited, hands drawing figures in the air and a gleam of mischief glowing in his irises.
“Sounds tedious,” you lamented.
It earned you a scoff from Loki, though not for a lack of frivolity. “Midgardians possess this abhorrent concoction called coffee,” he informed, gaining your attention. “It’s a muddy brew that staggeringly increases one’s anxiety threshold.”
“Why would someone create such a senseless horror?”
“Perhaps to use it as a metaphor for a mortal’s brown eyes.”
You scrunched up your nose at the image of the mortal in question. “Fitting. She has such a petite stature. As feeble and brittle as her thirty-year lifespan.”
“I regret to inform you that mortals can live up to a century.”
“Irrelevant. That is still a trifle of our lifespan. And do not get me started on her vexatious disposition. Has this mortal woman been raised in a cave of trolls?”
“Well, this would certainly explain her infatuation with Thor.”
“You are not helping!”
You gathered what remained of the flowers, pelting Loki with the stem and petals. He didn’t deflect your assault, accepting your sour behavior. What you hadn’t accounted for was his retaliation. He pushed your shoulder, slightly rougher than usual, forcing you to land on a bed of flowers.
You groaned, feeling the flora entangling in your hair and their pollen dusting your dress. Loki’s dulcet amusement echoed above your head. A sharp gasp escaped him when you tugged at his emerald green robes and shoved him down. Hard.
“I did not inflict a grain of harm on you,” Loki groaned, swatting the fallen petals, which landed in his hair. “This hurts, Y/N.”
“Your pride or your head? The latter could benefit from some sense knocking into it,” you rebuked.
Loki gazed at you unimpressed. “Now is not an agreeable time to spread your wisdom, Little Goddess. You’ve clearly demonstrated your dwindling abilities when you groaned and moaned about the earthling.”
“I did no such thing! I, astutely might I add, pointed out her subpar qualities that do not mirror what Asgard is looking for in a queen—”
“Thor clearly disagrees.”
“Do not interrupt me, you venomous snake! Thor has always been a dunderhead, overthinking with his brawn and underthinking with his brains.”
“And yet, you were stupid enough to fall in love with him, Goddess of Wisdom.”
“Watch your mouth!” you spat, eyes roving the expanse of the garden to ensure no meddling ears were meandering around. “I care for your brother. But do not confuse care with admiration.”
“Devotion, Y/N. Has the human’s visit caused even your accrued lexicon to recede,” Loki taunted. Had it not been for your skirts in the way and your position on the ground, you would’ve kicked him so hard in certain nether regions that he would’ve sung to Valhalla.
“I stand by what I said.”
“Apologies, Little Goddess. Allow me, as the God of Lies, to refute your statement. Both metaphorically and in the literal sense.”
That filthy little python. You scoffed, perhaps a little more at yourself than him. He elicited the responses he desired, painting a mockery out of you and your feelings. You knew you couldn’t debate the matter with him more than you already had. As the God of Lies and your, unfortunately, best friend, he’d always have the upper hand in this matter.
So, you stood up and dusted your skirts. If you weren't winning, then participating in this debate was of no use.
“Where are you going?” Loki inquired, an underlying tone of merriment hiding beneath his words.
Your eyes squinted, regarding him with indignation. “You have effectively sullied my mood even further. Your mother’s beautiful flowers do not deserve more ill will at my hands. Therefore, I’m taking my leave.”
If Loki had said anything after your response, your mind had elected to ignore it. Huffing aloud, you marched toward the castle, uncaring for the traces of mud and the wealth of fallen petals that trailed behind. On a regular day, you would’ve been more mindful, casting a simple cleaning spell to polish your appearance and ensure the poor attendants of the Odin Household would not have to partake in more work than necessary. But your anger and heartbreak had been immeasurable enough to deny you any act besides sulking over the mortal woman Thor had ignorantly brought along to Asgard.
The Norns, much like Loki, must’ve been taking pleasure in your predicament. You had rounded the corner, one gilded hallway separating you from the castle’s entrance, when the silhouette of the Crown Prince appeared.
Unlike the ladies of the court, your admiration for Thor did not stem from his ethereal beauty. It bloomed like Freyja’s primroses, a sturdy seedling that, with time, opened its foliage to a world of wonder and ardor. He was a cosmic presence—a child of the sun, with light and fire dancing around his immaculate frame in wisps of enchantment, leaving every woman breathless. Including you.
“Lady Y/N!” Thor’s voice reverberated in the long hallway, laced with excitement. "I hadn't anticipated your presence today. No wonder the day exudes such radiance."
His comment made heat rise to your cheeks. It was almost as if he had shared his warmth with you, sending it trekking along his words to your heart. You smiled at him, demure and saccharine. But your lips downturned once another presence, one less noticeable or agreeable, appeared behind him.
You cleared your throat, attempting to restrain your unease as you greeted, “Thor, Mistress Foster.”
Norns burn you if you call her by the same title you bear. The earthling, as Loki so eloquently worded it, could not match you.
Without a greeting nor a poised lexicon, the Midgardian inquired, “Why are your clothes dirty?”
Her question intrigued Thor enough for his eyes to rove your body. The warmth that had settled in your veins morphed into the embers of Helheim. You felt small and brittle under the scrutiny of his penetrating gaze.
“I beg your pardon?” you fired back promptly, indignation concealing the shame you felt at your soiled image.
Your words caused the mortal to pale, head swiveling to Thor’s side in anxiousness and trepidation. “I apologize, my lady,” she rectified her earlier statement. “I didn’t mean to be rude.”
Well, you certainly were, you internally chastised.
Thor took another look at your attire, meticulously examining the fabric. You endeavored to compose yourself, resisting the urge to shift your weight from one foot to another. His hand reached for your arm, his thumb sweeping across your elbow. “Are you well, Lady Y/N? You look… disheveled.”
You immediately retracted your arm, fearing his senses might pick up on your galloping heart. “I am quite alright. I was with Loki in the gardens,” you supplied.
“Loki?” The mortal regarded you with an air of cynicism. Your blood boiled at her brashness. “What were you and Loki doing in the gardens?”
“Have you no tact, you imprudent minger? Although your kind lacks sensibility and decorum, you ought to address those of elevated stature with respect while in their dominion! Neither Prince Loki nor I are your comrades to tolerate such crass mannerisms.”
“I’m… my sincerest apologies, I didn’t think—”
“Thinking is not as sparse on Asgard as it is on Earth. If you find yourself incapable of harnessing a modicum of wisdom when addressing me, then you are in the presence of the wrong Goddess.”
"Y/N," Thor interjected, his omission of your title not slipping past your notice. Nor did you miss the hand that reached out for the mortal girl.
His actions only served to fan the flames of your jealousy and hurt. Almost a millennium of knowing that male, and he had chosen a measly mortal's side over yours.
“Do not patronize me!” you ordered, jamming a finger in his broad, muscular chest. “I am not the right audience for your feigned, princely performance.”
Thor squeezed the mortal’s hand in reassurance, tugging her further to his side—as if to shield her from you. He craned his face lower to meet your gaze. Endearing as you'd always found it, it made you uneasy at this moment.
"You seem overly emotional today,” he inquired, voice low and delicate, juxtaposing his chosen words. “Has Loki said something to upset you?"
You cracked. How dare he?
“Loki may perhaps be the only male in all of Asgard who possesses an ounce of empathy and understanding when it comes to my feelings and disposition,” you snapped back, ignoring how your words seemed to slap Thor in the face. “He has been my best friend for close to a millennium and is one of the princes of this realm. So if I, as a lady of the court, find that your little mortal is besmirching his name, the least I could do is call her out on it!”
Your outburst held more weight than you had anticipated, managing to leave Thor speechless. He regarded you with an air of perplexion, his mouth open—seemingly unsure of what response was fair in this situation.
You didn’t want to waste any further time in his or the mortal’s company. You grunted, walking away. The sound of your footfall ringing louder than deemed honorable for a lady.
“Y/N, wait!” Thor called out after you, his hand shooting up to grab your arm. Though he was massively built, with the strength and mass of Asgard lying on his shoulders, his shy grasp fluttered against your skin. Featherlike, it tickled your nerves, sending a chorus of tenderness through your pulse.
You turned around, a mask of stoicism hiding your feelings. “Yes?”
“I appreciate your inclination to defend my brother, but, I, and Jane, were merely concerned over your well-being—”
“Accusing Loki of maltreatment!” you reminded Thor, swiftly retracting your arm from his grasp.
He sighed, placing both hands on his hips. You loathed how small he made you feel before the mortal. “You are exaggerating.”
“And you are heedless! Whatever Loki and I were doing in the gardens is none of your or the mortal’s concern! What’s it to you both? Maybe we decided to fondue. We do not get in your business, so do not meddle in ours!”
No sooner had the words left your mouth than your legs commanded you to retreat to another room. You didn’t understand why you had said that. Your wisdom melted into a puddle whenever Thor and his little pet were involved.
When had you become so insensitive?
Mistress Foster left. Her visit didn’t amass more than a fortnight's worth of frustrations before King Odin had deemed her visit long. If an immortal God such as Odin Allfather perceived these days as anything but transient, then Jane Foster was truly a nuisance in her own right.
The knowledge of her absence, particularly on this day, overjoyed you. The Vernal Equinox served as a portent of hope for Asgard—embracing prominent figures from neighboring realms in celebration of Asgard’s princes and in anticipation of the future.
In loose terms, it presented the Asgardian royalty with a wealth of eligible females to choose from as the next princess and queen of the realm. In broader terms, it was another opportunity to observe Loki and Thor merrily charm the ladies to appease Odin and Frigga—while satiating particular desires on the side.
You dismissed your ladies in waiting, taking a deep breath as you pulled open the door. Your feigned smile fell, and the familiar trepidation rose when you saw who stood by the door.
“Fondue?” Loki snickered, mischief practically waltzing in his bejeweled eyes. “Darling Y/N, had I known you were inclined to roll in my sheets, I would’ve bedded you centuries sooner.”
You grabbed him by the fabric of his tailored robes, pulling him harshly toward your rooms. “I panicked!” you grumbled. It was barely heard over the deafening sound of his amusement.
“Well, you certainly rectified your error by pulling me into your chambers.”
“Shut up!”
“Ah, my Little Goddess. How exquisitely appetizing do you look,” he joked, purposely raising his voice.
You jumped on him, a screech tearing through your vocal cords. Loki laughed louder, trying to grasp your hands as you assaulted him with your fists. You hadn’t expected him to bite your finger.
“You bastard!” you seethed, cradling your hand.
“What was that, Y/N? You want it faster?”
“Loki!!”
“Ah, tell me how good it feels,” he mused.
You were not impressed. “You are an idiot,” you retorted.
Your argument, if you could call it that, receded rather swiftly. You refused to look at Loki, rolling your eyes and settling them on your vanity. You weren’t frustrated, per se. Loki always had a knack for playing with your feelings like they were puppets on a string. Not in a malevolent way. The matter was, if your gaze caught him, you knew the little impish snake would expose the laughter he had succeeded in digging out of you.
Loki’s voice caught you before your thoughts meandered further. “You’re wearing the wrong colors.”
You looked down at yourself, your silver shoes peeking from the fabric of your long blue dress. It was light azure. Quaint and placid. An exterior representation of the feelings you were chasing. The fabric was tulle, whimsical and, airy like Spring’s birds merrily dancing across cloudless Asgardian sky. Its off-shoulder design, adorned with gleaming silver gems and bishop sleeves, accentuated your elegance and grace. A Goddess. A member of the House of Odin, even if you didn’t have a crown.
“If you’re insinuating I ought to have worn your brother’s colors, then I regret to inform you, that you were mistaken.”
Loki shook his head as a mischievous shadow passed over his face. “You’d appear desperate. And you, Y/N, are anything but.”
“Then what colors were you referencing?” you asked, brows creasing in thought. “Surely not your own.”
“Mine, no. But the witless oaf doesn’t have to know that.”
You didn’t comprehend whatever it was he was insinuating. Wordlessly, Loki twirled his fingers, a thread of emerald green seidr tantalizing your sight. He flicked his wrist. The magical trail shot from his fingertips to your dress, deftly pirouetting along the light azure tulle.
The colors changed from blue to green and silver to gold. The boldness of your outfit contrasted with the muted portrait you tried to paint earlier. You studied your dress, eyes roving the fabric before examining Loki’s attire. You almost scolded him for putting you in his colors when you did not intend for your farce to go further than it did. But then you noticed these colors, chosen by Loki, were darker than his.
It was a subtle contrast, discerned when in closer proximity to the God of Mischief. The royal family could immediately catch the difference. The ladies, though, wouldn’t be able to. Neither would Thor.
“Is this a wise choice?” you asked, playing with the sleeves of your dress.
Loki took your hand in his, kissing the back of it. “The answer lies with you, Little Goddess.”
Wise, maybe not. Fun? It certainly would be. You couldn’t remember the last time you went to these festivities without constantly having to clutch your heart at the thought of Thor.
“It’s a mutual agreement,” you answered diligently. “This keeps the ladies and Thor away.”
Loki tutted. “This keeps the witless oaf’s mind working. He has stashed his wits so far beneath the surface, the cobwebs have devoured them whole.”
“And you think this alliance between wisdom and mischief will decontaminate his head from thoughts of the impertinent mortal?”
“I believe my brother is a hopeless case. If it works, then by all means, enjoy the fruits of our labor. If it doesn’t, then enjoy the privilege of my company.”
“Your company?” you chortled, wrapping your arm around his elbow. “Lokes, I’ll be gracing you with mine.”
He mimicked your chortle, beginning to lead you out of the room. "I must admit, your presence has staggeringly illuminated my days in Asgard. Father is covertly hoping that I ask for your hand in marriage."
"And Frigga?" you asked, aware of Loki's deep affection for his mother and her opinion.
He covered your hand, which rested on his arm, with his free one, leaning closer to your ear. "She much prefers you with Thor." You blushed, a crimson hue spreading across your cheeks. Loki took delight in your sheepishness. "You could spare me the hassle of sifting through noble ladies by accepting a marriage proposal, Y/N. I immensely enjoy roleplay in the bedroom. And though I do not wish to lay eyes on certain biological regions of my brother, I can indulge you if that is what you fancy."
"I fancy your silence, you brute!" you chastised, stomping on his foot.
Loki barely flinched, but he placed some distance between you both. He opened the door, and before you could venture beyond your bedroom, he positioned himself in your line of sight. "You forgot something, darling." The nickname felt foreign, especially when unaccompanied by your first name. Before you could inquire about it, you felt a shimmer of magic raking through your hair.
"What did you do?"
Loki smiled fondly, passing his fingers through your loose hair. "Turned you from a goddess to a princess."
Your gaze locked with his as you lifted your fingers to your head. There was a weight there, not something unbearable but undeniably foreign. Your fingers traced the contours of what you assumed was a diadem.
"What was that for?"
Loki stepped closer to you, his taller frame engulfing yours, cocooning you with his body heat. His lips settled on your forehead, his fingers intertwining with yours. You blinked, mind racing to figure out the parameters of his new trick. “You’re precious, Y/N,” he confessed breathlessly, his voice almost vulnerable. “More valuable than the troves of Asgard and the magic of Yggdrasil. And by the Norns, whoever forsakes your treasured company deserves to be bereft of your radiance, ensnared by the unforgiving grasp of Helheim for their sacrilege, Little Queen.”
For the first time in your 800 years of life, you found yourself at a loss for words in response to Loki's. His words were carefully chosen, poignant, and endearing, befitting his poetic prowess. Yet, something about the declaration felt amiss; a subtle discordance that unsettled you. It was then, out of the corner of your eye, that you caught sight of Thor.
His cerulean eyes, usually bright with warmth, were now veiled in darkness, glinting with a silver sheen you had never seen before. Thor's demeanor betrayed a mix of emotions, his features clouded with anger and a hint of betrayal. Before you could utter a word, he turned and left, his bloody red ceremonial attire fading from view.
Loki's intentions became clearer then. He sought to deceive Thor. But why would such words incite his brother's ire? And why had Loki chosen to describe you as such?
This Vernal Equinox proved to be different. You couldn’t categorize it as either good or bad as you had yet to comprehend your perplexing emotions about the celebration. The familiar joviality and folly were missing given that Loki and Thor seemed to have reversed their roles.
Content with you on his arm, Loki’s charade persisted well into the late hours of the evening. He kept you to his side, not that you minded, twirling, discoursing, and occasionally, joking about the whole ordeal. The nobles, courtiers, and ladies had all presumed you debuting, your green dress a declaration of your choice in contenders. If not for that, then the golden diadem on your head
Frigga and Odin seemed to know better. The Allfather offered you and his youngest no more than a feeble smile, pleased to see you and Loki together, even though he knew this was all but a farce. The Allmother, while graceful as ever, did not attempt to mask her errant gaze, her bright eyes dimming as she looked at Thor.
The older son, heir to the throne of Asgard, had forgone merriment in favor of appeasing the ladies. Given that Loki had monopolized your time, all of the wayward bachelorettes traveled toward Thor. No lady was cast aside, each receiving a handful of minutes with the prince. And though that should’ve hurt you, the ache in your heart could only be attributed to the misery Thor wore.
You and Loki drifted toward Sif and the Warriors Three since Thor had abandoned his usual idle chatter and reckless drinking. Hours later, Fandral was on the verge of passing out, Hogun was inebriated yet still standing, while Volstagg recounted one of the ancient battles on Alfheim to Loki and Sif.
When it was an hour past midnight, you excused yourself from the festivities, claiming you were too tired to continue.
In truth, sleep evaded you. Your mind inundated with thoughts. But you didn’t allow yourself to entertain one more question or idea, letting your feet guide you wherever they preferred.
You reached one of the castle’s balconies, a small one on the right side of the ballroom. You could still hear the music from the festivities, although it was a gentle hum. Euphonious and dulcet, serving as the perfect ballad in the backdrop. The sky lit up, gleaming stars strewn across the darkness. You wondered if they were the Norns’ portents. If you could wish upon them and the world would hum in answer.
The sound of retreating footsteps pulled your attention away from the sky. You knew that silhouette anywhere.
“Thor?” the word tumbled from your lips before you could fully register what the night had brought.
Thor’s shoulders tensed. He didn’t respond, almost as if contemplating whether to provide you with an answer or ignore your presence. He sighed, broad shoulders deflating, before he turned around.
“I apologize, Lady Y/N. I was not aware the area was preoccupied.”
“You need not to apologize, Thor,” you stated, unsure where his usual boldness had gone. “The area is large enough to accommodate both of us.”
It almost looked as though Thor would decline your offer. His blue eyes wandered, from you to the horizon then back. He regarded you in an unfamiliar way, taking in your appearance. You didn’t want him to catch sight of your fluster, so you turned your back to him, getting lost in the sight of Asgard at night.
When you thought Thor would leave, you heard him make his way to your side.
“I wish to apologize to you, Y/N,” he whispered, uncertainly. Not because he did not mean it, no. You knew Thor well enough to tell when he was lying about something. Your friendship with Loki illuminating his brother’s traits further. Thor leaned on his side, the banister supporting his weight. His demeanor was brittle, a far cry from what you had known. Your breath was lost in your throat, unsure whether you should gasp or sob. A step forward and there would be no distance between the both of you. You never wanted to hug him more. “Had I known you and my brother were…” He paused, taking in a shaky breath. “...Courting. Had I known, neither I nor Jane would have adopted such an insensitive tone before.”
You shook your head, fingers tingling to reach out for him. “We’re…Loki and I we’re…” But you couldn’t complete your sentence. A part of you imploring to deny Thor’s claim. Another fearing Thor’s distance if you admitted the truth.
“An odd combination,” Thor smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Mischief and Counsel. Wisdom and Lies.”
“They’re opposite sides of the same coin. Perhaps, that’s why they work better than expected,” you defended, unsure why.
Thor nodded, the same meek smile unerased. He looked down at his feet, strands of his blond hair covering his face. It had grown taller from the last time he had cut it on Midgard. Now resting upon his shoulders. As if he needed more weight to bear.
“I must admit that he might be the luckiest one between us both. And he does not even know it?”
Your hand shot up involuntarily, clutching at the golden jewels across the bodice of your dress. “How so?” you asked, your thumb circling the fabric in a futile attempt at soothing your heartache at Thor’s tone.
One of Thor’s hands glided across the banister, landing where yours had laid. While his gaze held your face, your eyes couldn’t help but land on his larger hand. “Loki presumes I cannot tell his ire at the court ladies galivanting to my side. He has always been too forlorn to understand that numbers have mattered not to me.” His hand dared to reach for yours then, a featherlike caress that made your heart gallop faster than Sleipnir. “Those who choose me over Loki desire nothing more than the throne. I have nothing else to offer. No wit, no literary aptitude, or poetic charm. I am nothing but brutish and capricious. It takes a no great amount of ardor to love my brother. It takes a kingdom to love someone like me.”
You retracted your hand, the action so unexpected and harsh, Thor jumped back in surprise. He opened his mouth, perhaps to apologize, but he closed it when he saw the expression you wore. Silver misted your irises, decayed and morose, mirroring the disheartenment that haunted you.
“How can you say that?” you questioned—shrieked, even. Tears cascaded down your cheeks, your hands clawing at your dress because of the pain you felt. “Who…who made you feel as such?”
“Y/N—”
“No, Thor! You cannot utter such insidious words in my presence! You are kind, tender, and caring. A summer’s breath, warm and ecstatic. In your fierceness, you wield passion, and in your tempest resides the strength to protect. You are worthy of many things, Thor Odinson. And love is atop that wealth. I would forgo the world’s realms and riches to bask in the light of your affection.”
The words that traversed the distance between were not measured nor were they second-guessed. You had not the time to question your affections, wondering if it was worth bringing them to light or not. But you needed Thor to understand that what he felt, the dejectedness and loneliness, were unwarranted.
You need to touch him, embrace him—assure his heart that he was worthy, and if you couldn’t do it physically, then your words had to suffice.
Thor stood there, his expression a mix of shock, confusion, and something akin to hope. He reached out tentatively, brushing away the tears from your cheek with his thumb. “Y/N…”
You allowed his thumb to trace the skin beneath your eyes before wrapping your arms around him in a tight embrace, burying your face in his chest. Once, you thought to yourself. Even if this was a lie, I’ll gladly entertain it, just this once.
“Those ladies who crave your affections for the crown are not worthy of you. Even if you were the second son, even if the Norns had created you a mortal, you would still be worthy, Thor. You would still be loved.”
Thor’s hands traveled from your back. One moved up to cradle your head while the other rested on your lower back, cradling you closer to his chest. You could hear his heartbeats frantically drumming against his rib cage. Almost as if they were loud enough to create their own melody.
You felt Thor plant a kiss atop of your head, close to where the diadem lay. He swayed with you in his arms, hold on you tightening and unwilling to let go. “You’re precious, Y/N,” he recited the words with complete reverence. Their familiarity registered, but you didn’t have time to question him before he continued, “More valuable than the troves of Asgard and the magic of Yggdrasil. And by the Norns, whoever forsakes your treasured company deserves to be bereft of your radiance, ensnared by the unforgiving grasp of Helheim for their sacrilege, Little Queen.”
A sharp gasp escaped your lips. “What did you just say?” you questioned, still nestled in his protective embrace.
“Loki did not compose this prose,” Thor confessed, his eyes dark with hesitation. “I wrote it. Two hundred years ago. For you.”
“What?” you breathed, the word splintering with emotion.
“I…I have always felt a connection to you. A sense of calm. Your wisdom and grace, but above all, your charm and wit captured my heart before I even knew it.”
“You never said anything,” you reminded, blinking harshly against the realization.
“How could I?” Thor’s thumb brushed the side of your mouth, drawing a choked whimper from you. “You are elegant while I am rough. A prince by title, but not by manner—”
“Do not belittle yourself in my presence.”
Thor chuckled softly, his gaze just as gentle.
“You are the Goddess of Wisdom, Little Queen.” That nickname—the Norns damn it—stirred emotions in you that you had never felt before. “What wisdom would there be in associating with the God of Thunder?”
“Is that why you distanced yourself?” The question was thick with unspoken feelings. “Is that why…why you chose Jane?” Over me. Your thought was left unspoken.
Thor’s expression darkened with remorse, his features shadowed by regret. “Have you never noticed the similarities between you two?”
“What similarities?”
“She is a smart woman. Accomplished, fastidious, attentive, and resilient despite her delicate appearance. Just as you are.”
“She is a mortal,” you countered.
Thor nodded solemnly. “She cannot be made a queen. Not in the eyes of the Asgardians.”
“Then why—”
“It would be easier to gauge her choice.” Thor shifted his weight from one foot to the other. You realized too late that he was pulling away, keeping you at arm’s length. “As I said.” His gaze traveled the expanse of your body, regret permeating the air suddenly. “Those who choose me do it for Asgard’s throne. Those who choose my brother do it for love,” he reiterated, brokenly. He added in a more fractured tone, “You look stupendous in emerald green, my lady.”
“Viridian,” you corrected, evoking his bafflement. “It’s viridian green, a darker shade than emerald. Truthfully, I had opted for my own colors. But Loki approached my chambers before I could leave, and he all but decided to trick the court to his own advantage.”
“You’re not… you’re not courting Loki?”
You shook your head. “No. He and I have long been friends.”
“Friends,” Thor repeated, but there was a shift in the air when he said the word—as if Valhalla’s gates had opened and the angels descended to Asgard, humming their dulcet ballads.
“Tell me that’s not what we were,” you ventured, figuring that courage ought to accompany wisdom. “Tell me after all that was said and done that we weren’t just friends.”
You expected Thor to flounder, to grapple with an answer to your demand. “It wouldn’t make sense,” he attested. “It wouldn’t make sense if that were all we were, Little Queen.”
The angels of Valhalla must have roared, not sung, because as soon as Thor had breathed those words, tentative and full of fealty, his lips captured your own. You understood then, the complexity that arose from his role as God of Thunder. Your lips were in a fray, lapping at each other, wet and thunderous as you were conquered by his veneration. His large hands grabbed at your bottom, hoisting you up in the air. Your dress didn’t allow you the pleasure of wrapping your legs around his waist, but that didn’t stop you from clutching at his clothes, his hair, his soul.
Thor’s lips caressed your own. There was no set direction to their motion, almost as if he couldn’t decide whether to take it slow or devour you whole. The noises you made, the noises he made, small and mellow, reverberated in the empty space, adding to the symphony of your love and desire.
You didn’t want to pull away. Latching to the thunder and lightning invading your senses, getting lost in the storm.
A shiver ran down your entire body, accentuated by Thor’s teeth nipping at your lower lip. “Y/N,” he whispered breathlessly.
Your eyes opened, your image framed by his irises—protectively and vehemently.
He settled you on the ground, lips widening at your sight. “My colors suit you best.”
You didn’t understand what he had meant until you looked down. Your clothes had changed color. Again. The accent of your attire shifted to a bold red and silver.
“You best not attempt to produce an heir tonight, brother,” Loki sounded from behind Thor. He wore a smug smirk, leaning against one of the balcony pillars. Of course that bastard followed you. “Our chambers are nearby, and I do not need to hear my brother and best friend fondue.”
You blushed, cheeks turning crimson. Thor didn’t even spare Loki a glance, focusing his attention on you. “Little Queen, you look magnificent in my colors strewn across every inch of your body.”
And before you could help yourself, you boldly claimed, “I would look even more magnificent with your love marks strewn across every inch of my body.”
Thor’s eyes darkened, a primal yearning painting his irises with desire. He tugged at your hands then, pulling you to his chest. “Let me mark you with centuries worth of love, Little Queen. Allow me to show you what lesser beings cannot do.”
“Show me, my God.”
You drowned in his ardent storm, uncaring for the waves, noise, or the chaos. It was senseless. Everything you never were. Everything Thor was. Everything you, deep down, longed to feel with him.
Thank you @crazyunsexycool for this request! It was so fun to write for Thor, you can tell since this turned out to be 6K words🥹 I couldn't stop! Seriously, this might've been my favorite fic ever! Thank you for participating in my celebration. ♥️
I might extend my writing celebration if more requests come in. For all those interested, please feel free to follow the link!
I hope you like this one, witchlings. Okay, byeeee.
Thank you so much!!! Every once in a while I go back to this piece because it’s arguably the best I’ve ever written!! I’m so in love with Loki, so when I was writing this fic with Thor as the love interest, I just had to make the reader and Loki close!!
Don’t we all want to be reader?? She gets the best of both worlds in this take🤍🤍🤍
Thank you for the tag, @throneofsapphics :) I had so much fun with this
I love researching names and meanings for what I want my character to be 🤭 and the way "gets ideas in the middle of the night" is literally with all my main series 😭 I woke up in my own cold sweat and decided we're gonna start writing
Tagging: @dee-writes-angst, @readychilledwine, @illyrianbitch @nocasdatsgay and open tag for any writer who wants to do it :)
Chapter V - Synopsis: Halfway through the semester, Y/N thought the only dire changes she’d face would be a hectic schedule and a few sleepless nights. But with the arrival of a mysterious woman with flaming red phoenix hair and a swarm of butterflies in her stomach at the mere thought of her professor, exam season is shaping up to be an even bigger rollercoaster than she imagined.
Pairing: Professor!Steve Rogers x Student!Reader/Mum!Reader
Warnings: Age Gap (14 years. Both are adults), teacher/student dynamic, abusive relationship, gaslighting, emotional manipulation, terrible partner, co-parenting.
Genre: Angst | Fluff | Emotional Hurt/Comfort | Slow Burn | Age Gap | Teacher/Student
Word Count: 4K Words
All Masterlists | Paint Me Midnight Blue Masterlist
𝐌𝐈𝐃𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋 𝐒𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐆, Stark University buzzed with frenetic energy. Though the campus was always lively, these last few days felt like a pressure cooker—everyone was moving, but no one had time to breathe.
Y/N delivered her argument earlier that day in Professor Coulson's Trial Advocacy class. It went well—too well, in fact—since Coulson kept the session past its scheduled time, firing one question after another at her. Luckily, Y/N didn’t have another class immediately after; even if she did, this was the time of year when professors were more forgiving about tardiness. They called it "We were students once, too.” Y/N called it breakroom chatter about the looming doom of their upcoming exams.
But students weren’t shy about playing the game either. They knew how to take advantage of this “forgiveness” by squeezing in a little extra time for themselves—chatting with friends, smoking a cigarette, grabbing a quick bite from the diner across the street. Any excuse was good enough to show up fashionably late. Or to not show up at all.
While Y/N didn’t have a class to attend, she did need to finish some work for Steve. Call it diligence or desire, she chose not to take an extra five minutes to toe off her heels and tone down her outfit. The better part of her reasoned that she couldn’t afford to waste any more time. But the sensual part, the one she nestled in the deepest recesses of her being, wanted to savor the moment and revel in her outfit just a little longer.
Swapping her casual attire for something as crisp and sharp as her plaid light brown skirt, off-white turtleneck, and beige blazer with brown accents was her own version of a Cinderella moment.
Maybe it was nostalgia for her teenage years or the desire to feel like herself again—confident, empowered, even a little attractive. She couldn’t say for sure. But between her classes, work, and caring for Nyla, Y/N rarely had time for herself. She had almost forgotten the feeling of wearing heels, let alone walking in them—there was something undeniably alluring about a woman in a striking outfit and bold stilettos. Thankfully, her agility hadn’t faded with time, just like her ability to command attention in a well-cut skirt.
She met a handful of inquisitive looks on her way to Steve’s office. Students carefully assessed her, trying to guess which department she belonged to and whether they had seen her before. The university was immense, so even if she were a social butterfly—which she was not—there was no way for her to have known any of them.
Though curious, and some a little charming, the looks she received were mundane. The interest was there, but there was a glint of something missing. An intensity she had started, albeit reluctantly, yearning for. These gazes weren’t the kind that sent a thrill through her, the kind she secretly craved even if she’d never admit it. No, it was almost blasphemous to dare and compare them to those blue-green eyes she revered, a meeting point between serenity and escape—a bridge she should never, ever cross!
Steve’s office loomed ahead, commanding the distracting thoughts away. Y/N inhaled sharply, smoothing out the invisible creases of her skirt for reasons that were beyond her. Knocking on the door once, hand already on the handle, she paused, waiting for a reply that never came. She pushed the door open, eyes immediately drawn to Steve’s desk. A gasp escaped her, her heels digging into the tiles when she met an unfamiliar sight. There, sitting comfortably in Steve’s swiveling chair, was a woman.
“Excuse me,” Y/N called out authoritatively, gaining no visible response. “May I ask who you are and what you’re doing sitting at Professor Rogers’ desk?”
The woman was dressed in a pristine maroon pantsuit, exuding an air of professionalism and composure. Yet, her callous behavior contradicted the very image she tried to project. She wasn’t a professor—Y/N was sure of that. And since she had never seen her around campus, it was unlikely that she was staff. Whoever she was, whether the owner of the university or the president of the country, she had no right to be lounging in Steve’s office as if she owned the place.
With a slight arch of her dark brows, the woman’s gaze swept over Y/N’s smaller frame. “Professor Rogers is not present at the moment,” she answered as if that was the question Y/N had posed.
“I didn’t ask about Professor Rogers’ whereabouts.”
“These aren’t his office hours,” the woman commented casually, seemingly unfazed by the edge in Y/N’s voice.
Y/N’s fingers twitched at her side, irritation beginning to simmer in her gaze. She was speaking English, for heaven’s sake. What was so hard to understand? Unable to get through to the woman, she decided on a different approach.
“My name’s Y/N. I’m his assistant.”
Though Y/N meant to assert the authority her title afforded, the reaction she received was unlike what she expected. The woman’s aloof demeanor shifted to one of intrigue. Her catlike eyes softened, and a small crinkle appeared at the corner of her lips.
“So, you’re the famous Y/N,” she said, the amusement in her eyes evident. Y/N felt something flicker within her, a small jolt of surprise that coursed through her veins. The woman adjusted her phoenix-red hair over one shoulder and leaned forward slightly, giving Y/N a more deliberate once-over. “Bucky talks about you all the time.”
Bucky? Y/N’s heart sank at the mention of her former History professor. She’d been bracing herself for another name. Swallowing the confusion, she buried it deep, down by the embers of her hope that had briefly flickered to life. Bucky was the one talking about her?
“You know Professor Barnes?”
The red-haired woman smirked, the kind that hinted at knowing far more than she let on. Her lips, however, played a different tune. “We go way back. Bucky, Steve, and me.”
Y/N nodded slowly, her lips pressing into a thin, disappointed line. A sharp discomfort settled over her as she realized she'd been standing there for an awkward five minutes, talking to a stranger.
Determined not to show any sign of weakness, even though the woman's overconfidence and cryptic remarks gnawed at her, Y/N squared her shoulders and walked to the desk. The sound of her heels clicking against the floor fueled the confidence she desperately clung to.
“If you could please wait for Professor Rogers in one of the seats across from his desk,” Y/N said as politely as she could, though a hint of disdain threaded through her tone.
“I’m perfectly content where I’m sitting.”
The nerve of her! Y/N took a deep breath, plastering on a fake smile. “It’s not a matter of content but a matter of respect,” she enunciated sharply.
The woman’s eyes narrowed into slits. “Are you calling me disrespectful?” she asked bluntly.
“Did I say that aloud?” No, Y/N hadn’t, but she was glad the woman wasn’t clueless. “If you truly know Professor Rogers, then you know his stance on conformity. He likes things a certain way.”
“Meaning?”
“You’re in his seat,” Y/N pointed out, gesturing toward the chair in question. “He’s only permitted me to sit there. So, if you wouldn’t mind pulling up one of the chairs in front of the desk, I’m sure we’d all appreciate it.”
If the woman had been perplexing before, she was downright baffling now. She laughed, her cherry-red lips parting in genuine amusement. Y/N couldn’t fathom how someone like her could muster so much energy this early in the morning.
Gracefully, the woman pushed the chair back, the wheels gliding smoothly across the floor. She stood to her full height, her ankle boots giving her a few extra inches. She crossed the short distance between them with a mixture of assertiveness and finesse that bordered on predatory.
As she moved to take a seat, her features became clearer under the office light. Her green eyes, like a verdant forest bathed in sunlight, were striking. Her face, a masterful blend of sharp lines and elegance, held an enigmatic allure. She towered over Y/N, the age gap between them becoming more pronounced the longer they looked at one another. The woman was clearly in her thirties—like Steve.
“Natasha Romanoff,” she introduced herself as Y/N placed her books on the desk and turned on Steve’s computer. “Normally, I’d indulge in a mysterious exchange, but the scales are uneven today. I know far more about you than you know about me.”
“Nice to meet you,” Y/N hummed dismissedly.
Logging into Steve’s computer, she immediately pulled up the list of tasks for the day: updating attendance records, double-checking grades for Steve’s Intro to Artistic Visualization class, and reviewing the research papers that had passed through the plagiarism checker, among other things.
She reached across the desk to grab Steve’s binder, a languid smile tugging at her lips as she caught sight of one of the teddy bears they had won at the fair. Nyla had split the plush toys evenly between her and Steve, and according to him, one of the three had to find a place in his second home—his office.
If the gesture alone hadn’t warmed Y/N’s heart, the image of Steve holding the small toy in his much larger hands, waving it around with animated enthusiasm, surely did. She could still see him playfully swaying the bear before her eyes, its stitched mouth "kissing" the tip of her nose. The memory brought a fresh wave of goosebumps to her skin—thankfully, it was still cool enough for long sleeves to cover them.
“Drink?” Natasha’s voice snapped her out of the memory.
Y/N blinked, raising her head as her mind adjusted back to the present. Is she asking or commanding? was the first thought that crossed her still-dazed consciousness.
“Oh, sorry.” Y/N quickly stood, heading toward the refreshment area. “It didn’t even occur to me to ask if you wanted anything to drink.”
Almost as if Y/N’s genuine tone had thrown her off, it was Natasha’s turn to momentarily lose herself in a stupor. Her daze, however, was fleeting. She quickly recovered, replying, “I was actually asking if you wanted something to drink. I know my way around this office, hon.”
“Nonsense, you’re a guest,” Y/N insisted, her tone polite, though laced with subtle passive-aggression. If Natasha noticed, she didn’t comment. “Let me get you something. Coffee or tea?”
Natasha hesitated, her gaze lingering on the coffee drip beside Y/N. She opened her mouth, then closed it again, still eyeing the rich brown liquid. Y/N was just about to place a mug beneath the spout, fingers hovering over the pot’s handle, when Natasha cleared her throat. “Actually, I’ll have water, please.”
Y/N didn’t question her choice, even though Natasha looked like the kind of woman who could down two pots of coffee without breaking a sweat. Hell, she looked like liquor couldn’t hold her, not the other way around.
Without a second thought, Y/N poured her a glass of water and placed it on a coaster by her side of the desk. She poured herself some coffee, adding two sugars, and praised Steve for having a well-functioning machine, even though she’d never seen him sip a cup of coffee in his life.
Back at her desk, Y/N set down her drink of choice, drifting back to her work. Beneath her lashes, she spotted Natasha leaning back, her spine practically glued to the chair. She was gulping down her water, pressing her nose to the rim of the glass. Confused, Y/N subtly chanced a glance, sensing the evident queasiness that shook the woman’s otherwise imperturbable demeanor.
“Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” Natasha replied swiftly. Although she intended to douse Y/N’s concern, the tremor in her voice only deepened it.
“You don’t look okay,” Y/N pressed, studying the way Natasha scrunched her nose. “Let me get you another glass of water.”
“Lemon,” Natasha coughed. “Can you…do you have something infused with lemon?”
“Uh, sure. Hold on a second.”
Darting back to the refreshments area, Y/N opened the mini-fridge. She scoured the shelves of iced tea, sparkling water, and juices. While she didn’t find anything with lemon, she did find a few fresh ones on the lower shelf where Steve stored his fruits. He had a penchant for yogurt and granola bowls.
Y/N made quick work of cutting the lemon and boiling some water in the kettle. Carefully mixing both in a new glass, she ventured a guess that Natasha’s discomfort was a result of nausea—one hand stifled her discordant groans while the other rubbed her stomach giving Y/N a clue.
“Here.”
Y/N replaced the old glass with the new one, which Natasha eagerly took from her hand.
“Thank you,” Natasha whispered, her voice void of that effortless confidence. Instead, it was laced with exhaustion, despite her best attempts to mask it.
“You’re welcome. Do you need anything else?”
Natasha nodded, languidly drinking the lemon-infused water. “Can you please move your coffee away?”
Perplexed, Y/N slid her cup to the far right of the desk. As soon as the mug was no longer close to the redhead, Natasha’s shoulders visibly relaxed, the tension evaporating like the steam coming from her glass. She sighed—almost moaned—in relief, her grip tight on the glass of hot lemon water. She hadn’t yet removed her hand from her stomach, tracing gentle, delicate circles around her belly.
A gasp escaped Y/N for two distinct reasons. The first was the conspicuous diamond ring that sat elegantly on Natasha’s ring finger—a regal emerald cut that reflected power and elegance in an iridescent interplay of blinding light. The second was where her fingers had been splayed, tracing the contours of her belly.
“You’re pregnant.”
The words left Y/N’s mouth before she even had a chance to evaluate them. Whether correct or not, Natasha’s enlarged pupils and the flare of her nostrils told her this wasn’t the right thing to say. Of course, it wasn’t! What kind of person jumps to the conclusion that a woman is pregnant based on signs that could easily indicate a different ailment or less serious condition?
Maybe it was because Y/N had been pregnant once, and the sensory sensitivity had steered her clear of even the smell of morning dew. She could pinpoint the signs easily—the slight discomfort, the twitches, even the hesitancy and over-calculation for the simplest of things, like a cup of coffee.
She was about to apologize, insisting that she didn’t mean any of it, but something in Natasha’s expression changed. Instead of the guardedness that had hugged her so tightly since Y/N first set eyes on her, a shadow of vulnerability crossed over her features.
“Is it that obvious?”
Y/N shook her head, sitting down in her seat and wringing her fingers together. So, she is pregnant.
“No. I just took a wild guess.”
“You wagered right. I better never bet around you.”
Y/N chortled at Natasha’s remark, the tension in the air gradually receding. “How far along are you?” she asked in a quiet tone.
Natasha rubbed her barely-there bump, smiling. “Two months.”
“First pregnancy?”
Natasha nodded. She stayed silent for a moment, the gears in her head practically spinning until she confessed, “I never thought I would get pregnant. It never happened in all the years we’ve been together.”
Y/N didn’t want to think of him if “him” was the person she could never stop thinking about in the first place. Instead, her mind unfortunately drifted to Paul and the first night they spent together—the night that led to conceiving Nyla. Ironic how some women wait years to get pregnant, while others are surprised by tiny versions of themselves on the first try.
“Are you scared?” Y/N ventured, watching for Natasha’s reaction.
But Natasha was unfazed. If anything, delight seeped through the cracks of her initial weariness, swiftly altering her feelings to something better, gentler. “A little bit. But I’m mostly excited. I can’t wait to grow our family. It’s been a long time coming.”
“Yeah. Congratulations.”
“Thank you, hon. If that’s something you want someday, I hope you find it too when the time is right.”
There was so much sincerity in her words, a mother’s delicate warmth harmonizing her sentences. But all Y/N could hear were the echoes of Natasha’s last words: when the time is right. Didn’t she know? Had neither Bucky nor Steve told her that Y/N, at only twenty-two, already had a daughter? A rambunctious, affectionate, social, and bubbly little girl whose eyes may have been a feature inherited from her father, but their glow resembled an infinite sky of possibilities and miracles.
The timing wasn’t right, and she would always be reminded of that when she looked at her classmates, Natasha, hell, even Steve. But she could never say that aloud, could she?
“Thank you,” she replied solemnly, busying herself with her work. She was far enough behind, and she needed to get a move on.
Natasha didn’t give her a moment of respite, though. “Is Steve available tonight?” she asked, her attention darting to the computer.
Y/N inhaled deeply, hyper-aware of the crescent moons her fingers dug into her skin for no apparent reason. “I monitor Professor Rogers’ academic schedule, but I don’t have the slightest clue what goes on in his personal life.” Hence why I don’t have a clue as to who you might even be, Y/N internally added.
“Well, does his academic schedule tell you anything about whether or not he’s taking work home tonight?” Natasha fired back, unfazed by the subtle hostility in Y/N’s reply.
Home. She said home.
“If I manage to complete today’s tasks on time, then Professor Rogers should be free for the evening.”
“Perfect! I plan to tell him tonight. I know he’s going to be excited to hear it,” Natasha stated. Y/N didn’t care to provide commentary, attempting to enter the attendance records digitally. She only hoped Natasha wouldn’t notice her slip-ups; she had already entered three records incorrectly. Fortunately—or maybe unfortunately for Y/N—Natasha continued, “He’s going to think it’s a boy. He’s the type to.”
“A girl. St—Professor Rogers strikes me as a girl dad. I think he’d want the baby to be a girl,” Y/N mumbled under her breath, hoping her lower tone was enough to mask her emotions.
Natasha regarded Y/N skeptically, the tilt of her head almost personal. Y/N refused to let her scrutiny bother her anymore. Her mind kept drifting to thoughts of Steve and Nyla, replaying their interactions in her head. She knew it was wrong to think of them together, but the more Steve came to mind, the harder it was to shake Nyla’s presence alongside him. She blamed it all on Paul. If he had been a better father to their daughter, maybe she wouldn’t be sitting here thinking these sacrilegious thoughts about her professor.
She didn’t need that fickle little toad to love her, nor did she care for him to treat her any better than he ever had. She just wanted him to be better toward their daughter, like Steve was.
Steve had a tenderness, a protectiveness in the way he moved, in the way he looked at Nyla. Y/N wasn’t blind; she could see it. Steve longed for what she had. Now, in his late thirties, it was clear he was ready to settle down, to have a family. And he looked the part too—like every girl’s Christmas wish and every mother’s prayer. The way he treated Nyla, like a little princess—hell, that was even his nickname for her—showed that he was meant to be a father. A girl’s father more than anything.
“You seem so sure about that,” Natasha noted. Though her words were framed as a statement, the unspoken “why” hung in the air.
Before Y/N could respond, a knock sounded at the door, giving her a momentary reprieve. She suppressed her relief and casually invited the person outside to enter. Unfortunately, luck was not entirely on her side. It was Steve who entered the office, and his eyes didn’t find her first.
“Nat, there you are!”
Steve’s smile lit up his face, his blue-green eyes sparkling at the sight of Natasha. She mirrored his enthusiasm, and though she had shown a colorful palette of emotions during her conversation with Y/N, her expression was now purely candid—similar to when she had talked about her baby.
Y/N watched as Natasha stood and threw herself into Steve’s waiting arms. It was as if they hadn’t seen each other in years, though Y/N knew that couldn’t be the case. If her suspicions were correct, then…she didn’t even want to continue that thought.
“I let myself in,” Natasha said, her voice muffled against Steve’s shoulder. Their arms were tightly wrapped around one another. “Didn’t want to bother you in case you were busy.”
“You could never bother me,” Steve assured her. He stepped back slightly but kept his hands on her forearms, his eyes sweeping over her. “Is that a new outfit? It looks incredible. Gives you a certain glow.”
Natasha laughed, her curtain bangs shaking alongside her shoulders. “That glow has nothing to do with my outfit.”
Y/N wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt and believe, truly believe, that she implied her secret pregnancy. But her glances felt more suggestive. And if even Steve picked up the innuendo, judging by his bright cheeks, then Y/N wasn’t wrong.
Steve cleared his throat, letting his hands fall back to his sides, though his fingers traced along Natasha’s arms as they dropped.
“Since you’re here, did you have breakfast yet? We could head to the cafeteria, or maybe a café nearby,” Steve suggested.
“Anywhere’s fine as long as we can sit outside. It’s nice out,” Natasha replied.
“I think you’d like the café by the east side of campus. They have great bagels. I could text Bucky to join us after his class.”
“Don’t worry about Bucky. He can third-wheel another time,” Natasha joked. At least, it seemed like a joke—Steve laughed heartily. Y/N, on the other hand, stood quietly on the sidelines, feeling like the real third wheel. Did they even notice her anymore?
In classic Steve Rogers fashion, he offered Natasha his arm. “Shall we?” he asked gallantly, and she didn’t hesitate to link their arms together. It looked like Steve didn’t forget about Y/N after all. Torn between relief and frustration, she caught his gaze. He smiled softly at her, offering a small wave. “Don’t overwork yourself, Y/N. I’ll see you later.”
“See you, Professor. Enjoy,” Y/N managed to say. But as the doors closed behind them, she couldn’t ignore the fondness in his gaze when he looked down at Natasha or Natasha’s gentle glances toward her stomach. The sharp sting that followed cut through Y/N’s heart, leaving her reeling.
What was she even thinking? Of course, he wouldn’t acknowledge her in the presence of another woman—a better woman. Y/N was just his student, practically a child in his eyes, a mess of imperfections. A pretty skirt and blazer wouldn’t change that fact, not that Steve had ever noticed her new outfit. Not that she really wanted him to… right?
God, what was she getting herself into? And how could she possibly get out before it was too late?
Series taglist: @crazyunsexycool @imaginexred
Originally, this chapter was supposed to include two more scenes, but since we're already at 4K words, I didn't want to drag it further. So, Natasha has officially entered the chat, and with her comes jealousy! What do you think Twilight (reader) will do with these troubling doubts and feelings?
Chapter V - Synopsis: Halfway through the semester, Y/N thought the only dire changes she’d face would be a hectic schedule and a few sleepless nights. But with the arrival of a mysterious woman with flaming red phoenix hair and a swarm of butterflies in her stomach at the mere thought of her professor, exam season is shaping up to be an even bigger rollercoaster than she imagined.
Pairing: Professor!Steve Rogers x Student!Reader/Mum!Reader
Warnings: Age Gap (14 years. Both are adults), teacher/student dynamic, abusive relationship, gaslighting, emotional manipulation, terrible partner, co-parenting.
Genre: Angst | Fluff | Emotional Hurt/Comfort | Slow Burn | Age Gap | Teacher/Student
Word Count: 4K Words
All Masterlists | Paint Me Midnight Blue Masterlist
𝐌𝐈𝐃𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋 𝐒𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐆, Stark University buzzed with frenetic energy. Though the campus was always lively, these last few days felt like a pressure cooker—everyone was moving, but no one had time to breathe.
Y/N delivered her argument earlier that day in Professor Coulson's Trial Advocacy class. It went well—too well, in fact—since Coulson kept the session past its scheduled time, firing one question after another at her. Luckily, Y/N didn’t have another class immediately after; even if she did, this was the time of year when professors were more forgiving about tardiness. They called it "We were students once, too.” Y/N called it breakroom chatter about the looming doom of their upcoming exams.
But students weren’t shy about playing the game either. They knew how to take advantage of this “forgiveness” by squeezing in a little extra time for themselves—chatting with friends, smoking a cigarette, grabbing a quick bite from the diner across the street. Any excuse was good enough to show up fashionably late. Or to not show up at all.
While Y/N didn’t have a class to attend, she did need to finish some work for Steve. Call it diligence or desire, she chose not to take an extra five minutes to toe off her heels and tone down her outfit. The better part of her reasoned that she couldn’t afford to waste any more time. But the sensual part, the one she nestled in the deepest recesses of her being, wanted to savor the moment and revel in her outfit just a little longer.
Swapping her casual attire for something as crisp and sharp as her plaid light brown skirt, off-white turtleneck, and beige blazer with brown accents was her own version of a Cinderella moment.
Maybe it was nostalgia for her teenage years or the desire to feel like herself again—confident, empowered, even a little attractive. She couldn’t say for sure. But between her classes, work, and caring for Nyla, Y/N rarely had time for herself. She had almost forgotten the feeling of wearing heels, let alone walking in them—there was something undeniably alluring about a woman in a striking outfit and bold stilettos. Thankfully, her agility hadn’t faded with time, just like her ability to command attention in a well-cut skirt.
She met a handful of inquisitive looks on her way to Steve’s office. Students carefully assessed her, trying to guess which department she belonged to and whether they had seen her before. The university was immense, so even if she were a social butterfly—which she was not—there was no way for her to have known any of them.
Though curious, and some a little charming, the looks she received were mundane. The interest was there, but there was a glint of something missing. An intensity she had started, albeit reluctantly, yearning for. These gazes weren’t the kind that sent a thrill through her, the kind she secretly craved even if she’d never admit it. No, it was almost blasphemous to dare and compare them to those blue-green eyes she revered, a meeting point between serenity and escape—a bridge she should never, ever cross!
Steve’s office loomed ahead, commanding the distracting thoughts away. Y/N inhaled sharply, smoothing out the invisible creases of her skirt for reasons that were beyond her. Knocking on the door once, hand already on the handle, she paused, waiting for a reply that never came. She pushed the door open, eyes immediately drawn to Steve’s desk. A gasp escaped her, her heels digging into the tiles when she met an unfamiliar sight. There, sitting comfortably in Steve’s swiveling chair, was a woman.
“Excuse me,” Y/N called out authoritatively, gaining no visible response. “May I ask who you are and what you’re doing sitting at Professor Rogers’ desk?”
The woman was dressed in a pristine maroon pantsuit, exuding an air of professionalism and composure. Yet, her callous behavior contradicted the very image she tried to project. She wasn’t a professor—Y/N was sure of that. And since she had never seen her around campus, it was unlikely that she was staff. Whoever she was, whether the owner of the university or the president of the country, she had no right to be lounging in Steve’s office as if she owned the place.
With a slight arch of her dark brows, the woman’s gaze swept over Y/N’s smaller frame. “Professor Rogers is not present at the moment,” she answered as if that was the question Y/N had posed.
“I didn’t ask about Professor Rogers’ whereabouts.”
“These aren’t his office hours,” the woman commented casually, seemingly unfazed by the edge in Y/N’s voice.
Y/N’s fingers twitched at her side, irritation beginning to simmer in her gaze. She was speaking English, for heaven’s sake. What was so hard to understand? Unable to get through to the woman, she decided on a different approach.
“My name’s Y/N. I’m his assistant.”
Though Y/N meant to assert the authority her title afforded, the reaction she received was unlike what she expected. The woman’s aloof demeanor shifted to one of intrigue. Her catlike eyes softened, and a small crinkle appeared at the corner of her lips.
“So, you’re the famous Y/N,” she said, the amusement in her eyes evident. Y/N felt something flicker within her, a small jolt of surprise that coursed through her veins. The woman adjusted her phoenix-red hair over one shoulder and leaned forward slightly, giving Y/N a more deliberate once-over. “Bucky talks about you all the time.”
Bucky? Y/N’s heart sank at the mention of her former History professor. She’d been bracing herself for another name. Swallowing the confusion, she buried it deep, down by the embers of her hope that had briefly flickered to life. Bucky was the one talking about her?
“You know Professor Barnes?”
The red-haired woman smirked, the kind that hinted at knowing far more than she let on. Her lips, however, played a different tune. “We go way back. Bucky, Steve, and me.”
Y/N nodded slowly, her lips pressing into a thin, disappointed line. A sharp discomfort settled over her as she realized she'd been standing there for an awkward five minutes, talking to a stranger.
Determined not to show any sign of weakness, even though the woman's overconfidence and cryptic remarks gnawed at her, Y/N squared her shoulders and walked to the desk. The sound of her heels clicking against the floor fueled the confidence she desperately clung to.
“If you could please wait for Professor Rogers in one of the seats across from his desk,” Y/N said as politely as she could, though a hint of disdain threaded through her tone.
“I’m perfectly content where I’m sitting.”
The nerve of her! Y/N took a deep breath, plastering on a fake smile. “It’s not a matter of content but a matter of respect,” she enunciated sharply.
The woman’s eyes narrowed into slits. “Are you calling me disrespectful?” she asked bluntly.
“Did I say that aloud?” No, Y/N hadn’t, but she was glad the woman wasn’t clueless. “If you truly know Professor Rogers, then you know his stance on conformity. He likes things a certain way.”
“Meaning?”
“You’re in his seat,” Y/N pointed out, gesturing toward the chair in question. “He’s only permitted me to sit there. So, if you wouldn’t mind pulling up one of the chairs in front of the desk, I’m sure we’d all appreciate it.”
If the woman had been perplexing before, she was downright baffling now. She laughed, her cherry-red lips parting in genuine amusement. Y/N couldn’t fathom how someone like her could muster so much energy this early in the morning.
Gracefully, the woman pushed the chair back, the wheels gliding smoothly across the floor. She stood to her full height, her ankle boots giving her a few extra inches. She crossed the short distance between them with a mixture of assertiveness and finesse that bordered on predatory.
As she moved to take a seat, her features became clearer under the office light. Her green eyes, like a verdant forest bathed in sunlight, were striking. Her face, a masterful blend of sharp lines and elegance, held an enigmatic allure. She towered over Y/N, the age gap between them becoming more pronounced the longer they looked at one another. The woman was clearly in her thirties—like Steve.
“Natasha Romanoff,” she introduced herself as Y/N placed her books on the desk and turned on Steve’s computer. “Normally, I’d indulge in a mysterious exchange, but the scales are uneven today. I know far more about you than you know about me.”
“Nice to meet you,” Y/N hummed dismissedly.
Logging into Steve’s computer, she immediately pulled up the list of tasks for the day: updating attendance records, double-checking grades for Steve’s Intro to Artistic Visualization class, and reviewing the research papers that had passed through the plagiarism checker, among other things.
She reached across the desk to grab Steve’s binder, a languid smile tugging at her lips as she caught sight of one of the teddy bears they had won at the fair. Nyla had split the plush toys evenly between her and Steve, and according to him, one of the three had to find a place in his second home—his office.
If the gesture alone hadn’t warmed Y/N’s heart, the image of Steve holding the small toy in his much larger hands, waving it around with animated enthusiasm, surely did. She could still see him playfully swaying the bear before her eyes, its stitched mouth "kissing" the tip of her nose. The memory brought a fresh wave of goosebumps to her skin—thankfully, it was still cool enough for long sleeves to cover them.
“Drink?” Natasha’s voice snapped her out of the memory.
Y/N blinked, raising her head as her mind adjusted back to the present. Is she asking or commanding? was the first thought that crossed her still-dazed consciousness.
“Oh, sorry.” Y/N quickly stood, heading toward the refreshment area. “It didn’t even occur to me to ask if you wanted anything to drink.”
Almost as if Y/N’s genuine tone had thrown her off, it was Natasha’s turn to momentarily lose herself in a stupor. Her daze, however, was fleeting. She quickly recovered, replying, “I was actually asking if you wanted something to drink. I know my way around this office, hon.”
“Nonsense, you’re a guest,” Y/N insisted, her tone polite, though laced with subtle passive-aggression. If Natasha noticed, she didn’t comment. “Let me get you something. Coffee or tea?”
Natasha hesitated, her gaze lingering on the coffee drip beside Y/N. She opened her mouth, then closed it again, still eyeing the rich brown liquid. Y/N was just about to place a mug beneath the spout, fingers hovering over the pot’s handle, when Natasha cleared her throat. “Actually, I’ll have water, please.”
Y/N didn’t question her choice, even though Natasha looked like the kind of woman who could down two pots of coffee without breaking a sweat. Hell, she looked like liquor couldn’t hold her, not the other way around.
Without a second thought, Y/N poured her a glass of water and placed it on a coaster by her side of the desk. She poured herself some coffee, adding two sugars, and praised Steve for having a well-functioning machine, even though she’d never seen him sip a cup of coffee in his life.
Back at her desk, Y/N set down her drink of choice, drifting back to her work. Beneath her lashes, she spotted Natasha leaning back, her spine practically glued to the chair. She was gulping down her water, pressing her nose to the rim of the glass. Confused, Y/N subtly chanced a glance, sensing the evident queasiness that shook the woman’s otherwise imperturbable demeanor.
“Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” Natasha replied swiftly. Although she intended to douse Y/N’s concern, the tremor in her voice only deepened it.
“You don’t look okay,” Y/N pressed, studying the way Natasha scrunched her nose. “Let me get you another glass of water.”
“Lemon,” Natasha coughed. “Can you…do you have something infused with lemon?”
“Uh, sure. Hold on a second.”
Darting back to the refreshments area, Y/N opened the mini-fridge. She scoured the shelves of iced tea, sparkling water, and juices. While she didn’t find anything with lemon, she did find a few fresh ones on the lower shelf where Steve stored his fruits. He had a penchant for yogurt and granola bowls.
Y/N made quick work of cutting the lemon and boiling some water in the kettle. Carefully mixing both in a new glass, she ventured a guess that Natasha’s discomfort was a result of nausea—one hand stifled her discordant groans while the other rubbed her stomach giving Y/N a clue.
“Here.”
Y/N replaced the old glass with the new one, which Natasha eagerly took from her hand.
“Thank you,” Natasha whispered, her voice void of that effortless confidence. Instead, it was laced with exhaustion, despite her best attempts to mask it.
“You’re welcome. Do you need anything else?”
Natasha nodded, languidly drinking the lemon-infused water. “Can you please move your coffee away?”
Perplexed, Y/N slid her cup to the far right of the desk. As soon as the mug was no longer close to the redhead, Natasha’s shoulders visibly relaxed, the tension evaporating like the steam coming from her glass. She sighed—almost moaned—in relief, her grip tight on the glass of hot lemon water. She hadn’t yet removed her hand from her stomach, tracing gentle, delicate circles around her belly.
A gasp escaped Y/N for two distinct reasons. The first was the conspicuous diamond ring that sat elegantly on Natasha’s ring finger—a regal emerald cut that reflected power and elegance in an iridescent interplay of blinding light. The second was where her fingers had been splayed, tracing the contours of her belly.
“You’re pregnant.”
The words left Y/N’s mouth before she even had a chance to evaluate them. Whether correct or not, Natasha’s enlarged pupils and the flare of her nostrils told her this wasn’t the right thing to say. Of course, it wasn’t! What kind of person jumps to the conclusion that a woman is pregnant based on signs that could easily indicate a different ailment or less serious condition?
Maybe it was because Y/N had been pregnant once, and the sensory sensitivity had steered her clear of even the smell of morning dew. She could pinpoint the signs easily—the slight discomfort, the twitches, even the hesitancy and over-calculation for the simplest of things, like a cup of coffee.
She was about to apologize, insisting that she didn’t mean any of it, but something in Natasha’s expression changed. Instead of the guardedness that had hugged her so tightly since Y/N first set eyes on her, a shadow of vulnerability crossed over her features.
“Is it that obvious?”
Y/N shook her head, sitting down in her seat and wringing her fingers together. So, she is pregnant.
“No. I just took a wild guess.”
“You wagered right. I better never bet around you.”
Y/N chortled at Natasha’s remark, the tension in the air gradually receding. “How far along are you?” she asked in a quiet tone.
Natasha rubbed her barely-there bump, smiling. “Two months.”
“First pregnancy?”
Natasha nodded. She stayed silent for a moment, the gears in her head practically spinning until she confessed, “I never thought I would get pregnant. It never happened in all the years we’ve been together.”
Y/N didn’t want to think of him if “him” was the person she could never stop thinking about in the first place. Instead, her mind unfortunately drifted to Paul and the first night they spent together—the night that led to conceiving Nyla. Ironic how some women wait years to get pregnant, while others are surprised by tiny versions of themselves on the first try.
“Are you scared?” Y/N ventured, watching for Natasha’s reaction.
But Natasha was unfazed. If anything, delight seeped through the cracks of her initial weariness, swiftly altering her feelings to something better, gentler. “A little bit. But I’m mostly excited. I can’t wait to grow our family. It’s been a long time coming.”
“Yeah. Congratulations.”
“Thank you, hon. If that’s something you want someday, I hope you find it too when the time is right.”
There was so much sincerity in her words, a mother’s delicate warmth harmonizing her sentences. But all Y/N could hear were the echoes of Natasha’s last words: when the time is right. Didn’t she know? Had neither Bucky nor Steve told her that Y/N, at only twenty-two, already had a daughter? A rambunctious, affectionate, social, and bubbly little girl whose eyes may have been a feature inherited from her father, but their glow resembled an infinite sky of possibilities and miracles.
The timing wasn’t right, and she would always be reminded of that when she looked at her classmates, Natasha, hell, even Steve. But she could never say that aloud, could she?
“Thank you,” she replied solemnly, busying herself with her work. She was far enough behind, and she needed to get a move on.
Natasha didn’t give her a moment of respite, though. “Is Steve available tonight?” she asked, her attention darting to the computer.
Y/N inhaled deeply, hyper-aware of the crescent moons her fingers dug into her skin for no apparent reason. “I monitor Professor Rogers’ academic schedule, but I don’t have the slightest clue what goes on in his personal life.” Hence why I don’t have a clue as to who you might even be, Y/N internally added.
“Well, does his academic schedule tell you anything about whether or not he’s taking work home tonight?” Natasha fired back, unfazed by the subtle hostility in Y/N’s reply.
Home. She said home.
“If I manage to complete today’s tasks on time, then Professor Rogers should be free for the evening.”
“Perfect! I plan to tell him tonight. I know he’s going to be excited to hear it,” Natasha stated. Y/N didn’t care to provide commentary, attempting to enter the attendance records digitally. She only hoped Natasha wouldn’t notice her slip-ups; she had already entered three records incorrectly. Fortunately—or maybe unfortunately for Y/N—Natasha continued, “He’s going to think it’s a boy. He’s the type to.”
“A girl. St—Professor Rogers strikes me as a girl dad. I think he’d want the baby to be a girl,” Y/N mumbled under her breath, hoping her lower tone was enough to mask her emotions.
Natasha regarded Y/N skeptically, the tilt of her head almost personal. Y/N refused to let her scrutiny bother her anymore. Her mind kept drifting to thoughts of Steve and Nyla, replaying their interactions in her head. She knew it was wrong to think of them together, but the more Steve came to mind, the harder it was to shake Nyla’s presence alongside him. She blamed it all on Paul. If he had been a better father to their daughter, maybe she wouldn’t be sitting here thinking these sacrilegious thoughts about her professor.
She didn’t need that fickle little toad to love her, nor did she care for him to treat her any better than he ever had. She just wanted him to be better toward their daughter, like Steve was.
Steve had a tenderness, a protectiveness in the way he moved, in the way he looked at Nyla. Y/N wasn’t blind; she could see it. Steve longed for what she had. Now, in his late thirties, it was clear he was ready to settle down, to have a family. And he looked the part too—like every girl’s Christmas wish and every mother’s prayer. The way he treated Nyla, like a little princess—hell, that was even his nickname for her—showed that he was meant to be a father. A girl’s father more than anything.
“You seem so sure about that,” Natasha noted. Though her words were framed as a statement, the unspoken “why” hung in the air.
Before Y/N could respond, a knock sounded at the door, giving her a momentary reprieve. She suppressed her relief and casually invited the person outside to enter. Unfortunately, luck was not entirely on her side. It was Steve who entered the office, and his eyes didn’t find her first.
“Nat, there you are!”
Steve’s smile lit up his face, his blue-green eyes sparkling at the sight of Natasha. She mirrored his enthusiasm, and though she had shown a colorful palette of emotions during her conversation with Y/N, her expression was now purely candid—similar to when she had talked about her baby.
Y/N watched as Natasha stood and threw herself into Steve’s waiting arms. It was as if they hadn’t seen each other in years, though Y/N knew that couldn’t be the case. If her suspicions were correct, then…she didn’t even want to continue that thought.
“I let myself in,” Natasha said, her voice muffled against Steve’s shoulder. Their arms were tightly wrapped around one another. “Didn’t want to bother you in case you were busy.”
“You could never bother me,” Steve assured her. He stepped back slightly but kept his hands on her forearms, his eyes sweeping over her. “Is that a new outfit? It looks incredible. Gives you a certain glow.”
Natasha laughed, her curtain bangs shaking alongside her shoulders. “That glow has nothing to do with my outfit.”
Y/N wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt and believe, truly believe, that she implied her secret pregnancy. But her glances felt more suggestive. And if even Steve picked up the innuendo, judging by his bright cheeks, then Y/N wasn’t wrong.
Steve cleared his throat, letting his hands fall back to his sides, though his fingers traced along Natasha’s arms as they dropped.
“Since you’re here, did you have breakfast yet? We could head to the cafeteria, or maybe a café nearby,” Steve suggested.
“Anywhere’s fine as long as we can sit outside. It’s nice out,” Natasha replied.
“I think you’d like the café by the east side of campus. They have great bagels. I could text Bucky to join us after his class.”
“Don’t worry about Bucky. He can third-wheel another time,” Natasha joked. At least, it seemed like a joke—Steve laughed heartily. Y/N, on the other hand, stood quietly on the sidelines, feeling like the real third wheel. Did they even notice her anymore?
In classic Steve Rogers fashion, he offered Natasha his arm. “Shall we?” he asked gallantly, and she didn’t hesitate to link their arms together. It looked like Steve didn’t forget about Y/N after all. Torn between relief and frustration, she caught his gaze. He smiled softly at her, offering a small wave. “Don’t overwork yourself, Y/N. I’ll see you later.”
“See you, Professor. Enjoy,” Y/N managed to say. But as the doors closed behind them, she couldn’t ignore the fondness in his gaze when he looked down at Natasha or Natasha’s gentle glances toward her stomach. The sharp sting that followed cut through Y/N’s heart, leaving her reeling.
What was she even thinking? Of course, he wouldn’t acknowledge her in the presence of another woman—a better woman. Y/N was just his student, practically a child in his eyes, a mess of imperfections. A pretty skirt and blazer wouldn’t change that fact, not that Steve had ever noticed her new outfit. Not that she really wanted him to… right?
God, what was she getting herself into? And how could she possibly get out before it was too late?
Series taglist: @crazyunsexycool @imaginexred
Originally, this chapter was supposed to include two more scenes, but since we're already at 4K words, I didn't want to drag it further. So, Natasha has officially entered the chat, and with her comes jealousy! What do you think Twilight (reader) will do with these troubling doubts and feelings?
I’ve got a heartwarming scene with Nyla coming up in the next chapter!! If the writing goes exactly how I want it to go, then the next chapter is going to be packed with feelings and drama.
Chapter V - Synopsis: Halfway through the semester, Y/N thought the only dire changes she’d face would be a hectic schedule and a few sleepless nights. But with the arrival of a mysterious woman with flaming red phoenix hair and a swarm of butterflies in her stomach at the mere thought of her professor, exam season is shaping up to be an even bigger rollercoaster than she imagined.
Pairing: Professor!Steve Rogers x Student!Reader/Mum!Reader
Warnings: Age Gap (14 years. Both are adults), teacher/student dynamic, abusive relationship, gaslighting, emotional manipulation, terrible partner, co-parenting.
Genre: Angst | Fluff | Emotional Hurt/Comfort | Slow Burn | Age Gap | Teacher/Student
Word Count: 4K Words
All Masterlists | Paint Me Midnight Blue Masterlist
𝐌𝐈𝐃𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋 𝐒𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐆, Stark University buzzed with frenetic energy. Though the campus was always lively, these last few days felt like a pressure cooker—everyone was moving, but no one had time to breathe.
Y/N delivered her argument earlier that day in Professor Coulson's Trial Advocacy class. It went well—too well, in fact—since Coulson kept the session past its scheduled time, firing one question after another at her. Luckily, Y/N didn’t have another class immediately after; even if she did, this was the time of year when professors were more forgiving about tardiness. They called it "We were students once, too.” Y/N called it breakroom chatter about the looming doom of their upcoming exams.
But students weren’t shy about playing the game either. They knew how to take advantage of this “forgiveness” by squeezing in a little extra time for themselves—chatting with friends, smoking a cigarette, grabbing a quick bite from the diner across the street. Any excuse was good enough to show up fashionably late. Or to not show up at all.
While Y/N didn’t have a class to attend, she did need to finish some work for Steve. Call it diligence or desire, she chose not to take an extra five minutes to toe off her heels and tone down her outfit. The better part of her reasoned that she couldn’t afford to waste any more time. But the sensual part, the one she nestled in the deepest recesses of her being, wanted to savor the moment and revel in her outfit just a little longer.
Swapping her casual attire for something as crisp and sharp as her plaid light brown skirt, off-white turtleneck, and beige blazer with brown accents was her own version of a Cinderella moment.
Maybe it was nostalgia for her teenage years or the desire to feel like herself again—confident, empowered, even a little attractive. She couldn’t say for sure. But between her classes, work, and caring for Nyla, Y/N rarely had time for herself. She had almost forgotten the feeling of wearing heels, let alone walking in them—there was something undeniably alluring about a woman in a striking outfit and bold stilettos. Thankfully, her agility hadn’t faded with time, just like her ability to command attention in a well-cut skirt.
She met a handful of inquisitive looks on her way to Steve’s office. Students carefully assessed her, trying to guess which department she belonged to and whether they had seen her before. The university was immense, so even if she were a social butterfly—which she was not—there was no way for her to have known any of them.
Though curious, and some a little charming, the looks she received were mundane. The interest was there, but there was a glint of something missing. An intensity she had started, albeit reluctantly, yearning for. These gazes weren’t the kind that sent a thrill through her, the kind she secretly craved even if she’d never admit it. No, it was almost blasphemous to dare and compare them to those blue-green eyes she revered, a meeting point between serenity and escape—a bridge she should never, ever cross!
Steve’s office loomed ahead, commanding the distracting thoughts away. Y/N inhaled sharply, smoothing out the invisible creases of her skirt for reasons that were beyond her. Knocking on the door once, hand already on the handle, she paused, waiting for a reply that never came. She pushed the door open, eyes immediately drawn to Steve’s desk. A gasp escaped her, her heels digging into the tiles when she met an unfamiliar sight. There, sitting comfortably in Steve’s swiveling chair, was a woman.
“Excuse me,” Y/N called out authoritatively, gaining no visible response. “May I ask who you are and what you’re doing sitting at Professor Rogers’ desk?”
The woman was dressed in a pristine maroon pantsuit, exuding an air of professionalism and composure. Yet, her callous behavior contradicted the very image she tried to project. She wasn’t a professor—Y/N was sure of that. And since she had never seen her around campus, it was unlikely that she was staff. Whoever she was, whether the owner of the university or the president of the country, she had no right to be lounging in Steve’s office as if she owned the place.
With a slight arch of her dark brows, the woman’s gaze swept over Y/N’s smaller frame. “Professor Rogers is not present at the moment,” she answered as if that was the question Y/N had posed.
“I didn’t ask about Professor Rogers’ whereabouts.”
“These aren’t his office hours,” the woman commented casually, seemingly unfazed by the edge in Y/N’s voice.
Y/N’s fingers twitched at her side, irritation beginning to simmer in her gaze. She was speaking English, for heaven’s sake. What was so hard to understand? Unable to get through to the woman, she decided on a different approach.
“My name’s Y/N. I’m his assistant.”
Though Y/N meant to assert the authority her title afforded, the reaction she received was unlike what she expected. The woman’s aloof demeanor shifted to one of intrigue. Her catlike eyes softened, and a small crinkle appeared at the corner of her lips.
“So, you’re the famous Y/N,” she said, the amusement in her eyes evident. Y/N felt something flicker within her, a small jolt of surprise that coursed through her veins. The woman adjusted her phoenix-red hair over one shoulder and leaned forward slightly, giving Y/N a more deliberate once-over. “Bucky talks about you all the time.”
Bucky? Y/N’s heart sank at the mention of her former History professor. She’d been bracing herself for another name. Swallowing the confusion, she buried it deep, down by the embers of her hope that had briefly flickered to life. Bucky was the one talking about her?
“You know Professor Barnes?”
The red-haired woman smirked, the kind that hinted at knowing far more than she let on. Her lips, however, played a different tune. “We go way back. Bucky, Steve, and me.”
Y/N nodded slowly, her lips pressing into a thin, disappointed line. A sharp discomfort settled over her as she realized she'd been standing there for an awkward five minutes, talking to a stranger.
Determined not to show any sign of weakness, even though the woman's overconfidence and cryptic remarks gnawed at her, Y/N squared her shoulders and walked to the desk. The sound of her heels clicking against the floor fueled the confidence she desperately clung to.
“If you could please wait for Professor Rogers in one of the seats across from his desk,” Y/N said as politely as she could, though a hint of disdain threaded through her tone.
“I’m perfectly content where I’m sitting.”
The nerve of her! Y/N took a deep breath, plastering on a fake smile. “It’s not a matter of content but a matter of respect,” she enunciated sharply.
The woman’s eyes narrowed into slits. “Are you calling me disrespectful?” she asked bluntly.
“Did I say that aloud?” No, Y/N hadn’t, but she was glad the woman wasn’t clueless. “If you truly know Professor Rogers, then you know his stance on conformity. He likes things a certain way.”
“Meaning?”
“You’re in his seat,” Y/N pointed out, gesturing toward the chair in question. “He’s only permitted me to sit there. So, if you wouldn’t mind pulling up one of the chairs in front of the desk, I’m sure we’d all appreciate it.”
If the woman had been perplexing before, she was downright baffling now. She laughed, her cherry-red lips parting in genuine amusement. Y/N couldn’t fathom how someone like her could muster so much energy this early in the morning.
Gracefully, the woman pushed the chair back, the wheels gliding smoothly across the floor. She stood to her full height, her ankle boots giving her a few extra inches. She crossed the short distance between them with a mixture of assertiveness and finesse that bordered on predatory.
As she moved to take a seat, her features became clearer under the office light. Her green eyes, like a verdant forest bathed in sunlight, were striking. Her face, a masterful blend of sharp lines and elegance, held an enigmatic allure. She towered over Y/N, the age gap between them becoming more pronounced the longer they looked at one another. The woman was clearly in her thirties—like Steve.
“Natasha Romanoff,” she introduced herself as Y/N placed her books on the desk and turned on Steve’s computer. “Normally, I’d indulge in a mysterious exchange, but the scales are uneven today. I know far more about you than you know about me.”
“Nice to meet you,” Y/N hummed dismissedly.
Logging into Steve’s computer, she immediately pulled up the list of tasks for the day: updating attendance records, double-checking grades for Steve’s Intro to Artistic Visualization class, and reviewing the research papers that had passed through the plagiarism checker, among other things.
She reached across the desk to grab Steve’s binder, a languid smile tugging at her lips as she caught sight of one of the teddy bears they had won at the fair. Nyla had split the plush toys evenly between her and Steve, and according to him, one of the three had to find a place in his second home—his office.
If the gesture alone hadn’t warmed Y/N’s heart, the image of Steve holding the small toy in his much larger hands, waving it around with animated enthusiasm, surely did. She could still see him playfully swaying the bear before her eyes, its stitched mouth "kissing" the tip of her nose. The memory brought a fresh wave of goosebumps to her skin—thankfully, it was still cool enough for long sleeves to cover them.
“Drink?” Natasha’s voice snapped her out of the memory.
Y/N blinked, raising her head as her mind adjusted back to the present. Is she asking or commanding? was the first thought that crossed her still-dazed consciousness.
“Oh, sorry.” Y/N quickly stood, heading toward the refreshment area. “It didn’t even occur to me to ask if you wanted anything to drink.”
Almost as if Y/N’s genuine tone had thrown her off, it was Natasha’s turn to momentarily lose herself in a stupor. Her daze, however, was fleeting. She quickly recovered, replying, “I was actually asking if you wanted something to drink. I know my way around this office, hon.”
“Nonsense, you’re a guest,” Y/N insisted, her tone polite, though laced with subtle passive-aggression. If Natasha noticed, she didn’t comment. “Let me get you something. Coffee or tea?”
Natasha hesitated, her gaze lingering on the coffee drip beside Y/N. She opened her mouth, then closed it again, still eyeing the rich brown liquid. Y/N was just about to place a mug beneath the spout, fingers hovering over the pot’s handle, when Natasha cleared her throat. “Actually, I’ll have water, please.”
Y/N didn’t question her choice, even though Natasha looked like the kind of woman who could down two pots of coffee without breaking a sweat. Hell, she looked like liquor couldn’t hold her, not the other way around.
Without a second thought, Y/N poured her a glass of water and placed it on a coaster by her side of the desk. She poured herself some coffee, adding two sugars, and praised Steve for having a well-functioning machine, even though she’d never seen him sip a cup of coffee in his life.
Back at her desk, Y/N set down her drink of choice, drifting back to her work. Beneath her lashes, she spotted Natasha leaning back, her spine practically glued to the chair. She was gulping down her water, pressing her nose to the rim of the glass. Confused, Y/N subtly chanced a glance, sensing the evident queasiness that shook the woman’s otherwise imperturbable demeanor.
“Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” Natasha replied swiftly. Although she intended to douse Y/N’s concern, the tremor in her voice only deepened it.
“You don’t look okay,” Y/N pressed, studying the way Natasha scrunched her nose. “Let me get you another glass of water.”
“Lemon,” Natasha coughed. “Can you…do you have something infused with lemon?”
“Uh, sure. Hold on a second.”
Darting back to the refreshments area, Y/N opened the mini-fridge. She scoured the shelves of iced tea, sparkling water, and juices. While she didn’t find anything with lemon, she did find a few fresh ones on the lower shelf where Steve stored his fruits. He had a penchant for yogurt and granola bowls.
Y/N made quick work of cutting the lemon and boiling some water in the kettle. Carefully mixing both in a new glass, she ventured a guess that Natasha’s discomfort was a result of nausea—one hand stifled her discordant groans while the other rubbed her stomach giving Y/N a clue.
“Here.”
Y/N replaced the old glass with the new one, which Natasha eagerly took from her hand.
“Thank you,” Natasha whispered, her voice void of that effortless confidence. Instead, it was laced with exhaustion, despite her best attempts to mask it.
“You’re welcome. Do you need anything else?”
Natasha nodded, languidly drinking the lemon-infused water. “Can you please move your coffee away?”
Perplexed, Y/N slid her cup to the far right of the desk. As soon as the mug was no longer close to the redhead, Natasha’s shoulders visibly relaxed, the tension evaporating like the steam coming from her glass. She sighed—almost moaned—in relief, her grip tight on the glass of hot lemon water. She hadn’t yet removed her hand from her stomach, tracing gentle, delicate circles around her belly.
A gasp escaped Y/N for two distinct reasons. The first was the conspicuous diamond ring that sat elegantly on Natasha’s ring finger—a regal emerald cut that reflected power and elegance in an iridescent interplay of blinding light. The second was where her fingers had been splayed, tracing the contours of her belly.
“You’re pregnant.”
The words left Y/N’s mouth before she even had a chance to evaluate them. Whether correct or not, Natasha’s enlarged pupils and the flare of her nostrils told her this wasn’t the right thing to say. Of course, it wasn’t! What kind of person jumps to the conclusion that a woman is pregnant based on signs that could easily indicate a different ailment or less serious condition?
Maybe it was because Y/N had been pregnant once, and the sensory sensitivity had steered her clear of even the smell of morning dew. She could pinpoint the signs easily—the slight discomfort, the twitches, even the hesitancy and over-calculation for the simplest of things, like a cup of coffee.
She was about to apologize, insisting that she didn’t mean any of it, but something in Natasha’s expression changed. Instead of the guardedness that had hugged her so tightly since Y/N first set eyes on her, a shadow of vulnerability crossed over her features.
“Is it that obvious?”
Y/N shook her head, sitting down in her seat and wringing her fingers together. So, she is pregnant.
“No. I just took a wild guess.”
“You wagered right. I better never bet around you.”
Y/N chortled at Natasha’s remark, the tension in the air gradually receding. “How far along are you?” she asked in a quiet tone.
Natasha rubbed her barely-there bump, smiling. “Two months.”
“First pregnancy?”
Natasha nodded. She stayed silent for a moment, the gears in her head practically spinning until she confessed, “I never thought I would get pregnant. It never happened in all the years we’ve been together.”
Y/N didn’t want to think of him if “him” was the person she could never stop thinking about in the first place. Instead, her mind unfortunately drifted to Paul and the first night they spent together—the night that led to conceiving Nyla. Ironic how some women wait years to get pregnant, while others are surprised by tiny versions of themselves on the first try.
“Are you scared?” Y/N ventured, watching for Natasha’s reaction.
But Natasha was unfazed. If anything, delight seeped through the cracks of her initial weariness, swiftly altering her feelings to something better, gentler. “A little bit. But I’m mostly excited. I can’t wait to grow our family. It’s been a long time coming.”
“Yeah. Congratulations.”
“Thank you, hon. If that’s something you want someday, I hope you find it too when the time is right.”
There was so much sincerity in her words, a mother’s delicate warmth harmonizing her sentences. But all Y/N could hear were the echoes of Natasha’s last words: when the time is right. Didn’t she know? Had neither Bucky nor Steve told her that Y/N, at only twenty-two, already had a daughter? A rambunctious, affectionate, social, and bubbly little girl whose eyes may have been a feature inherited from her father, but their glow resembled an infinite sky of possibilities and miracles.
The timing wasn’t right, and she would always be reminded of that when she looked at her classmates, Natasha, hell, even Steve. But she could never say that aloud, could she?
“Thank you,” she replied solemnly, busying herself with her work. She was far enough behind, and she needed to get a move on.
Natasha didn’t give her a moment of respite, though. “Is Steve available tonight?” she asked, her attention darting to the computer.
Y/N inhaled deeply, hyper-aware of the crescent moons her fingers dug into her skin for no apparent reason. “I monitor Professor Rogers’ academic schedule, but I don’t have the slightest clue what goes on in his personal life.” Hence why I don’t have a clue as to who you might even be, Y/N internally added.
“Well, does his academic schedule tell you anything about whether or not he’s taking work home tonight?” Natasha fired back, unfazed by the subtle hostility in Y/N’s reply.
Home. She said home.
“If I manage to complete today’s tasks on time, then Professor Rogers should be free for the evening.”
“Perfect! I plan to tell him tonight. I know he’s going to be excited to hear it,” Natasha stated. Y/N didn’t care to provide commentary, attempting to enter the attendance records digitally. She only hoped Natasha wouldn’t notice her slip-ups; she had already entered three records incorrectly. Fortunately—or maybe unfortunately for Y/N—Natasha continued, “He’s going to think it’s a boy. He’s the type to.”
“A girl. St—Professor Rogers strikes me as a girl dad. I think he’d want the baby to be a girl,” Y/N mumbled under her breath, hoping her lower tone was enough to mask her emotions.
Natasha regarded Y/N skeptically, the tilt of her head almost personal. Y/N refused to let her scrutiny bother her anymore. Her mind kept drifting to thoughts of Steve and Nyla, replaying their interactions in her head. She knew it was wrong to think of them together, but the more Steve came to mind, the harder it was to shake Nyla’s presence alongside him. She blamed it all on Paul. If he had been a better father to their daughter, maybe she wouldn’t be sitting here thinking these sacrilegious thoughts about her professor.
She didn’t need that fickle little toad to love her, nor did she care for him to treat her any better than he ever had. She just wanted him to be better toward their daughter, like Steve was.
Steve had a tenderness, a protectiveness in the way he moved, in the way he looked at Nyla. Y/N wasn’t blind; she could see it. Steve longed for what she had. Now, in his late thirties, it was clear he was ready to settle down, to have a family. And he looked the part too—like every girl’s Christmas wish and every mother’s prayer. The way he treated Nyla, like a little princess—hell, that was even his nickname for her—showed that he was meant to be a father. A girl’s father more than anything.
“You seem so sure about that,” Natasha noted. Though her words were framed as a statement, the unspoken “why” hung in the air.
Before Y/N could respond, a knock sounded at the door, giving her a momentary reprieve. She suppressed her relief and casually invited the person outside to enter. Unfortunately, luck was not entirely on her side. It was Steve who entered the office, and his eyes didn’t find her first.
“Nat, there you are!”
Steve’s smile lit up his face, his blue-green eyes sparkling at the sight of Natasha. She mirrored his enthusiasm, and though she had shown a colorful palette of emotions during her conversation with Y/N, her expression was now purely candid—similar to when she had talked about her baby.
Y/N watched as Natasha stood and threw herself into Steve’s waiting arms. It was as if they hadn’t seen each other in years, though Y/N knew that couldn’t be the case. If her suspicions were correct, then…she didn’t even want to continue that thought.
“I let myself in,” Natasha said, her voice muffled against Steve’s shoulder. Their arms were tightly wrapped around one another. “Didn’t want to bother you in case you were busy.”
“You could never bother me,” Steve assured her. He stepped back slightly but kept his hands on her forearms, his eyes sweeping over her. “Is that a new outfit? It looks incredible. Gives you a certain glow.”
Natasha laughed, her curtain bangs shaking alongside her shoulders. “That glow has nothing to do with my outfit.”
Y/N wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt and believe, truly believe, that she implied her secret pregnancy. But her glances felt more suggestive. And if even Steve picked up the innuendo, judging by his bright cheeks, then Y/N wasn’t wrong.
Steve cleared his throat, letting his hands fall back to his sides, though his fingers traced along Natasha’s arms as they dropped.
“Since you’re here, did you have breakfast yet? We could head to the cafeteria, or maybe a café nearby,” Steve suggested.
“Anywhere’s fine as long as we can sit outside. It’s nice out,” Natasha replied.
“I think you’d like the café by the east side of campus. They have great bagels. I could text Bucky to join us after his class.”
“Don’t worry about Bucky. He can third-wheel another time,” Natasha joked. At least, it seemed like a joke—Steve laughed heartily. Y/N, on the other hand, stood quietly on the sidelines, feeling like the real third wheel. Did they even notice her anymore?
In classic Steve Rogers fashion, he offered Natasha his arm. “Shall we?” he asked gallantly, and she didn’t hesitate to link their arms together. It looked like Steve didn’t forget about Y/N after all. Torn between relief and frustration, she caught his gaze. He smiled softly at her, offering a small wave. “Don’t overwork yourself, Y/N. I’ll see you later.”
“See you, Professor. Enjoy,” Y/N managed to say. But as the doors closed behind them, she couldn’t ignore the fondness in his gaze when he looked down at Natasha or Natasha’s gentle glances toward her stomach. The sharp sting that followed cut through Y/N’s heart, leaving her reeling.
What was she even thinking? Of course, he wouldn’t acknowledge her in the presence of another woman—a better woman. Y/N was just his student, practically a child in his eyes, a mess of imperfections. A pretty skirt and blazer wouldn’t change that fact, not that Steve had ever noticed her new outfit. Not that she really wanted him to… right?
God, what was she getting herself into? And how could she possibly get out before it was too late?
Series taglist: @crazyunsexycool @imaginexred
Originally, this chapter was supposed to include two more scenes, but since we're already at 4K words, I didn't want to drag it further. So, Natasha has officially entered the chat, and with her comes jealousy! What do you think Twilight (reader) will do with these troubling doubts and feelings?
Thank you for taking my request! I hardly think you can ever disappoint!
So, Autumn Court is a rather traditional court, and we know how discriminating against females it is.
Picture Rhys and the IC being invited to Autumn for whatever reason may it be. There, he decides to wander through the grounds. Somewhere in a secured area within the forest, he finds a female sitting by herself—too gentle and demure to belong to Autumn.
She’s shy in her discourse and neglects to tell him who she is. Eris pops up suddenly and pries the female away from him in a manner that’s too protective and possessive to be friendly.
Later on, Rhys realizes that this young female is Beron’s only, and youngest daughter. Secluded from prying eyes, Beron has made sure no one knew who she is until he was ready to marry her off.
But when Rhys finds out, and the mating bond snaps for him, he’s ready to fight for her. Going as far as to ask for Eris’ help, who happens to be extremely close and protective of his baby sister.
I hope that was clear enough and not at all confusing. Take your time with it, love! And feel free to change any detail you deem necessary.
Thanks again🩷
This
Is
Perfect!!!!
Thank you so much🤩💕I love it so much that the story started to play in my head on its own and continued even in the dream. Hopefully, you'll like it
Moon princess
Word count: 9600+ (oops)
Warnings: mentions of Beron, court machinations, swear words, but no fights and no blood this time
I'm thinking about writing another part where they are slowly getting to know each other. Which I originaly wanted to add into this one, but tumblr stopped cooperating somewhere around 5k words in, messes up with saved text and takes forever to respond. Message is clear, I guess I have again too many WIPs in drafts. It happens all the time 🙄
Dividers by @tsunami-of-tears
Rhysand threw the pen on the desk and sighing leaned back in his big leather chair. Since early morning he was sitting in the office, writing letters, reading reports and sorting out complaints according to the urgency. It was already past lunchtime, but he didn't get even half through all the documents. He needed some distraction at least for few minutes.
In the very nick of time, the doors flew open and Cassian casually strode in, a massive sandwich in one hand, a piece of paper in the other one. He held only the corner of it between index finger and thumb, glaring at it as if someone had used it as a tissue.
"So.. What are we going to do with the invitation?" he asked with a full mouth.
"What invitation?" Rhys looked up, tired. This was hardly the kind of distraction he wished for.
"This one," general waved the paper. He flopped down to the chair on the opposite side of the desk. "From the Autumn Court."
Rhysand frowned. "I got invitation?" he asked with feigned calm.
"Yup," Cassian took another bite from his sandwich, a bit of dressing dripped on his shirt, but he didn't seem to even notice it. Rhys' mouth twitched.
"Oh, really? And remind me, when exactly did I get it?"
"Few weeks ago. Helion also got one. He wants to know what we assume about it and whether we will accept or no. He's still waiting for the answer by the way."
Rhysand raised brows at him. "So you wrote to Helion."
"Nope, he wrote to you right after getting it."
That was the last drop. Closing eyes, he pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed deeply. "I think that we already talked about this at least a million times before, Cass. You can't take my mail, open it, read it and then keep it in your room."
Cassian threw up his hands and the dressing and slice of tomato flew out of the sandwich, landing on Rhys' expensive carpet. Rhysand eyed the stain, blood boiling in his veins.
"I don't do anything like that, bro! You know me. Plus, I don't remember that we've ever talked about such rule."
"That isn't rule I made up. It's called postal secret and privacy. Now bring all my mail! Immediately!"
"Fine, fine," Cassian fumed and rolled his eyes, but at last he stood up, throwing the invitation on the desk and left.
When the doors closed behind him, Rhys flicked his wrist and stain from the carpet disappeared. Then he reached for the invitation and cursed because it was smeared with dressing, too. Rhys licked his dirty fingers, commendably humming and wiped the rest of the dirt with tissue. His stomach loudly rumbled, reminding him that he should head out for some food soon.
He unfolded the paper, quickly scanning the text. Beron was inviting him and his family to a week of festivities on the occasion of a significant announcement. There wasn't written anything else, no more details. Rhysand sighed heavily, drumming with the fingers. His brain coils were working at full speed.
'Significant announcement'
What could it be? Considering that it was Beron, it couldn't be anything good. Because of Cassian, they had last two days left to prepare. He needed to know at least what to expect, so he could work up some plan later.
Azriel?
Claws of his power knocked on Azriel's mental shields. He answered right away, letting him in.
What?
Where are you now? Are you busy?
I'm preparing for the mission we talked about yesterday.
Rhysand considered it for moment, biting on his lower lip. Forget that thing for now or entrust it to someone else. This is urgent.
Azriel answered without hesitation. Fine. Are you in your office?
Rhysand loved how pragmatic Shadowsinger was. No questions. All he needed to hear to drop current job was that it was urgent. He didn't question him. Yes.
I'll be there in a minute.
When Az arrived, half hidden in his shadows as usual, he showed him the invitation and explained the situation. Azriel actually laughed when he heard how Cassian came, asking what was the plan. After that, he immediately disappeared in his shadows, heading to contact the spies they had in Autumn Court.
As expected, Azriel returned shorty before they were supposed to leave for the party. His spies didn't know much, only that Beron was secretly planning something big, the wards around his castle were strengthened and that the frequency of the correspondence between him and Spring Court increased in last two months. There was no time to contact spies in Spring whether they knew something more. Azriel planned to use the time they would spend in the Forest House to spy on Beron and learn more.
It was decided that only Rhys, Az and Cass would go. He didn't even try to ask Mor because he already knew the answer. However, he asked Amren and she clearly refused. She literally said that she would rather give up all her jewellery than listen to a single word of that old, pathetic excuse of a male.
Rhysand winnowed them to the Autumn Court close to the borders of the High Lord's estate. As soon as the world around them stilled, the brisk smell of autumn hit their noses. At gates, a dozen of soldiers stood on guard, armed to the teeth. They eyed them suspiciously, but let them pass. The three of them exchanged look as they stepped in, feeling the strong pressure.
"Putting up so strong wards and then inviting guests, one would think that your High Lord is planning something evil or he got himself a gem of size of his head," Rhys purred, but none of the soldiers even as much as blinked. Pursing lips he nodded. "Sharp guys. I wonder if they would stay still even if we started cutting off their limbs."
"I'm sure they would scream like females," Cassian grinned, folding arms on his chest.
"Are you trying to terrorise our guards, Rhysand?" a sly, bored voice spoke from somewhere behind them. They slowly turned around, arrogant as ever.
"Eris," Rhysand flashed his best cocky smile and shoved hands into pockets. "We are just merely testing them. Since when are heirs on the duty to come to the gates and welcome guests?"
"Ever since the so-called guests are mutts from Night Court," he snarled back, picking non-existent dirt from under fingernails.
Azriel was as always calm and composed, avoiding any attention, but Cassian was his opposite. He straightened up to his full height, squaring his shoulders and gritting teeth. "It's a good custom for the host to respect the guests, especially if they were invited, not to insult them. In Autumn, good manners seem not to be taught though."
Eris didn't react, only scoffed. He turned on the heel and started to walk towards the castle surrounded by reds and yellows. He showed them to their chambers connected by private sitting room, briefly informing them about the time of the evening party and that someone would come to show them the way later.
With a free access to the castle, Azriel didn't waste a minute and as soon as Eris left, he disappeared into the shadows to snoop around.
The party took place in a fancy ballroom. Rhys snorted at the sight of pure opulence, shoving hands into his pockets. Everything in this huge room was made of white marble with gold details, including a high vault ceiling. It was so polished that it looked like a mirror.
Autumn aristocracy and several of the High Lords were already here, so Rhys made a show of checking his appearance, keeping his mask of ruthless arrogance.
He had to admit that Beron knew how to show off his wealth. Massive golden chandeliers hung from the ceiling, flooding room with bright light. In the vases next to each marble pillar around the perimeter of the room were big bouquets of flowers made out of gold and copper. The start of the party was planned for the sunset, so the whole room looked like made of gold. Amren would love this for sure.
Rhysand wouldn't let it show on his face, but inside he felt sick. It was overdone and suffocating. And he wasn't the only one who felt that way. Cassian was openly showing his disgust, Azriel scanned the surrounding from under his frowning brows, arms crossed on his chest.
"Finally some friendly faces and my favourite ones," a rich playful voice boomed on their left. Azriel rolled his eyes, not bothering to even look at the coming person and murmuring something about the need of a strong drink, he left. Rhysand with a cocky smile turned in time to see Helion, the High Lord of Day Court, giving a hug to Cassian.
"Good to see you, friend," he purred.
Helion hooked a muscular arm around his shoulders and winked. "What do you say about the host's taste?" he pointed with his chin to the ballroom, speaking lowly only for his ears.
"I say you must feel like home here," Rhys snorted.
Helion pursed his full lips, thinking about it. "Not really. But the drinks are good here," he swirled the golden liquid in his glass and waved them, already heading to the crowd. "I hope to see you later in the privacy of your room, so we can catch up."
Rhysand gave him just nod and his eyes turned to the dais in the same moment as High Lord of Autumn with his wife and sons appeared. Rhysand tried to keep his face emotionless as his eyes fell to the Lady of Autumn. He hated to see the visibly mistreated female, something about her reminding him of his late mother even though unlike Lady of Autumn she was strong and wild and didn't let his father to treat her badly. Maybe it was the motherly vibes they both shared.
He rather averted his gaze to the gathered crowd and half listening to Beron's speech, let his powers lurk around, looking for any useful information he could get from these people. His violet-blue eyes searched for Tamlin, the High Lord of Spring, between the High Lords. Maybe if he played it off well, he could find out more about the business Autumn and Spring were cooking up, but his golden hair and tall figure were nowhere to be seen.
Meanwhile, Beron finished his boring speech with a promise of the big announcement on the end of this week of festivities. Rhysand despised the idea of waiting for the whole week. He needed to know what was going on in order the prepare for it, eventually come up with plan to sabotage it. The sooner he knew, the better.
He tried to find Azriel's mind in the crowd to give him orders, but with satisfaction he realized that Shadowsinger wasn't anywhere nearby, most likely already snooping around High Lord's quarters where he intended to send him. That male was a real workaholic.
As the evening progressed, Rhysand got even more bored. Chat with other invited High Lords led to nothing as none of them wanted to discuss anything of real importance at place where they could be easily heard by wrong persons. Cassian was cleaning plates, Azriel was who-knows-where and even Eris seemed to slip out to the night.
In need of fresh, cool air he moved to the terrace and then down to the gardens, looking for a quiet, dark corner where he could blow out the steam. The sounds of party slowly grew distant, number of guests on an evening stroll decreased. Rhysand didn't want to be disturbed, so he walked more deeper into the dark gardens. Thinking that he found the secluded place he needed, he looked around, noticing guards pacing on the edge where gardens turned into a forest. That piqued his interest. What could possibly be worth of guarding in the forest?
He merged with the night, getting pass the guards unnoticed. It was too easy and thus it was no fun. He hoped for at least a small hitch to make tonight interesting. Hopefully, whatever was hidden there, would be worth of the effort and provide him with some sort of excitement.
He dragged through the forest looking right and left, searching for something that didn't fit in. After half an hour he was ready to call it off, marking it as a great waste of time, when he noticed a soft light behind the thick bush. Carefully stalking closer, he stayed hidden in the darkness of autumn forest and took a look around.
There, hidden behind bushes and trees, spread out a clearing bathing in the cool silver light of full moon and in the middle of that on a fallen tree trunk sat the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen. Her petite figure with soft features and porcelain skin glowed in the night. Dark brown silky hair fell in waves to her tiny waist. Dressed up in light, white dress that reflected the moonlight, surrounded by hundreds of fireflies, the small female looked like being of another world. Devouring that fragile beauty, he suddenly remembered the bedtime story mother used to tell him, his most favourite one. How could he forget it?
The story was about Moon Princess who spent her entire life, night after night watching Fae live, dance, laugh and love. Her desire to spend at least one day with them and experience the same things they did, grew so strong that she got sick, slowly fading away. When her father, Moon King, learnt about her desire, he decided to grant her her wish in order to save life of his only daughter. And so Moon Princess descended from the moon to the clearing in the deep forest, instantly feeling better.
At that time, young prince happened to be in the forest on his way back home, witnessing her descent. He immediately fell in love with her and took her to his castle. Gradually, she fell in love with the prince, but when the month her father granted her was coming to its end, she became sad and again fell ill. Her father couldn't stand to see his daughter suffer so much and allowed her to stay with her prince. After some time they got married, had a lot of children and grew old together.
When Rhys was younger, he dreamt about finding his own Moon Princess and having his happily ever after with her. Seeing this gentle creature in the woods now, he felt like he was witness of descent of Moon Princess he waited for. She took the air from his lungs and captivated his heart. Before he knew what he was doing, he stepped out from the shadows. Not wanting to scare her off, he cleared his throat, making as much noise as possible on his way to the fallen trunk.
Despite his efforts, she winced, covering lips like petal of rose flower with her delicate hands with elegant long fingers. Her doe eyes of colour of deepest sea gazed up at him. Recovering from the initial shock, she blushed, readying to run away.
"Don't! Please, stay. I mean no harm," he raised both of his hands, trying to calm her down. She was like a frightened animal. Rhysand assumed it would be for the best if he introduced himself.
"I'm Rhysand and I'm guest of the High Lord of Autumn. I was just on a walk when I noticed you sitting here alone. Are you lost?"
She shook her head, avoiding his gaze.
"What Court are you from? I happen to know all High Lords. I can help you get to the right one."
"I'm.. from here," she spoke shyly, her voice sounded to him like the sweetest melody. He swallowed hard, his palms sweating. What was wrong with him? He was feared High Lord who had more lovers in his life than he could count, yet he felt like inexperienced youngling.
"Can.. can I sit down here with you?" he asked out of breath.
How pathetic, Rhysand, he scolded himself. You finally found female of your dreams and you behave like total idiot. Bravo! She will certainly fall for you and agree to meet you again. You need to come with something better than this.
She bit on her lower lip, considering it, but at last she nodded, moving as far from him as she could. Rhys put on his most dazzling and kindest smile and sat down next to her. She blushed even more.
"The moon tonight is beautiful, isn't it?"
"Yes, my lord, I suppose it is."
Rhysand snorted. "I'm not your lord. Please, call me Rhysand or just Rhys if you want. How should I call you?"
Female nervously fidgeted her fingers. "I think I should go." She was about to stand up.
Rhys' hand shot up instinctively, his fingers firmly but gently wrapped around her wrist. Mother above, she was so small and fragile like a porcelain doll. "Please, stay. I understand. No names."
She weakly twisted her wrist in his grasp and he let her go. She sat back down and Rhys sighed with relief, licking his lips. He wanted to make her speak more, yearning to listen to her voice from now until the end of his life.
"Do you come out here often?"
"I'm not allowed to go out much," she whispered hardly audibly, her shoulders slumped.
"How so?" Rhys asked with concern, his gaze again roaming over her petite body. However, he didn't get the answer.
Eris emerged from between the trees, his features twisted in anger.
"What are you doing here?" he hissed and taking female's hand yanked her to his chest. He looked her up and down, checking her for any injury quite roughly.
"Hey! Stop treating her like that! You are hurting her, asshole," Rhysand couldn't stop himself, his mask naturally slid down to its place and he was again fearsome High Lord. He stood up baring his teeth, ready to fight him off if necessary. He wouldn't mind to even kill him to protect this Moon Princess, as he decided to call her until she told him her name, and maybe even after that.
Female's eyes widened at him, but she didn't dare to say a word.
"How did you get here, Rhysand?! This is a private place where guests aren't allowed. If anything, the fact that guards stand at entrance to the forest, should make it more than clear."
"And you," he turned to the female. "What did you do here with this bastard? Why didn't you immediately leave when he appeared? If he finds out what happened here, we both will have a serious problem! Do you even understand that?"
"I'm so sorry. I wanted to leave, but.." she mumbled, cringing, her face pale.
"But what?! Return to your room! Now!"
"I don't know and don't even care who she is to you, but I won't allow you to talk like that with her," Rhys grabbed front of Eris's shirt, staring him down. He was only a few inches taller than the Autumn heir, though the effect was the same.
Female gaped at him in shock, but as soon as Eris let go of her arm, she backed few steps, then turned around and ran away. Rhys wanted to ran after her to make sure she wasn't hurt, but he banned himself to even move. His outburst was bad enough, giving out too much.
They stared at each other, heaving.
"Back off, Rhysand!" Eris snarled lowly.
"No!" he growled back. "Who is she?"
"That's none of your business," Eris glared at him, unmoved.
"Now when I met her, it is my business. I won't just stand by and watch someone hurt females for absolutely no reason."
Pushing him away, Eris burst into fit of laughter. "Good joke, Rhysand, really. Maybe you should clean up your own yard before you start poking your nose into other people's affairs." With that he left, heading in the same direction as the female.
Rhys just stood there, taken aback, gazing after his receding back. He didn't want to admit it, but Eris was right. There was still too much to improve in his Court, but that didn't mean Eris had any right to point it out. In this regard, Autumn wasn't any better than Night.
Later that night Rhysand was pacing in their sitting room, while Azriel and Cassian watched him from couch with concern.
"Don't you want to finally tell us where you disappeared?" Cassian groaned, sipping his drink.
"Did you find anything out?" Azriel added. Ever since he returned he was frowning, angry that he not only couldn't find anything useful, but also that Beron's office and chambers were so warded that he wouldn't be able to get in even if he had a whole month for it.
"Nothing like that," Rhysand growled. The thought of the female and her scared gaze where eating him up. He needed to see her, to make sure she was all right. But where to look for her? Then his gaze fell to his brother, half hidden in his shadows. If anyone was able to find her, then only he.
"Fine, so listen up," he groaned. While still pacing back and forth, he told them everything about his encounter with her and described every detail he remembered.
Azriel listened him attentively, nodding at last. "I will look for her while spying around. But I have to warn you - don't keep high hopes. There's an entire part of castle where I nor my spies couldn't infiltrate no matter how many times we tried it. And we work on that for years. If she is held captive in this castle, they can keep her there."
Rhysand sighed and ran hand through his hair. Eris knew her, but he wouldn't tell him anything. Could she be his lover? Or some secret fiancée? Wife? Or she belonged to another Vanserra? Just imagining that such fragile, young female was here to satisfy Beron's needs made him feel sick.
He needed to calm down, to do something to change the flow of thoughts, so he stepped to the bar and poured a glass of whiskey. He emptied the glass in one gulp, the liquor burning his throat. He grimaced and poured himself another glass. He sat down.
Cassian and Azriel started to discuss something, but he couldn't focus on their words even if he wanted. He could still see her in front of him, surrounded by silver moonlight, beautiful and so unearthly. He was only snapped out of the memory when Cassian put his big hand on his knee.
"Stop it," he muttered in amusement. "It's nerve-wracking when you nonstop tap your foot. Even Azriel here is getting nervous because of you."
"I don't-"
"You do," Azriel nodded, corners of his mouth twitching. With raised brow he looked at Cassian. "What do you think? Finally?"
"Finally," general agreed.
Rhys was confused. "Finally what?" he snapped.
"You are in love," Cassian howled with laughter and Azriel joined him shortly.
"I'm not in love. I'm just worried," Rhysand retorted, crossing hands on his chest and almost tipped the drink on his expensive shirt.
"And now he's even blushing like an innocent schoolgirl," Cassian was laughing so hard that tears were rolling down his cheeks.
"What's so funny?" Helion appeared on the threshold, light smile playing on his lips.
"Nothing. They are just two bored idiots," Rhysand groaned. Helion was the last person he wanted to find out about his encounter. High Lord of Day was the worst gossiper in entire Prythian.
"Oh, c'mon. I want to laugh, too. I'm bored here. This is the worst Court to be in."
"Because you would like to make out with a certain lady who is out of your reach?" Rhysand grinned. This lifted his spirit a bit.
Helion groaned, flopping onto other couch. "Don't even remind me of that matter."
To that Cassian started to laugh even harder.
Helion frowned at him. "Is he okay?" Rhysand only shook his head.
"Two lovesick birds," Cassian tried to calm down, Azriel next to him was massaging his hurting cheeks. He hadn't laughed so much in ages.
Helion watched them with wolfish grin and shiny eyes. "Idiots or no, I'd love to see them worn out in my bed anyway."
Azriel stopped smiling immediately, the idea had never been to his taste. Cassian just shrugged. "Maybe some other time, but thanks," he playfully winked at Lord of Day who obscenely ran teeth over his lower lip.
"I'm already waiting for the day."
Rhysand cleared his throat, grinning. "So.. Did you come for something specific or just to make obscene proposal to my brothers?"
"Actually, yes," Helion smiled, still undressing his long-term targets with eyes. "I and other High Lords are worried. You certainly already heard about something going on between Autumn and Spring."
"Sure, I did."
"I didn't see Tamlin at party tonight. I have quite bad feeling about this."
"Me too, friend," Rhysand swirled the golden liquor in the glass. "Me too."
"I guess that you don't have more detailed information on this matter that you could share with me."
"Unfortunately, I know just as much as you and the others. Azriel here is trying to find out something while we are here and his spies are snooping around in Spring, but we haven't heard anything new from them, have we?" He turned to Shadowsinger who only shook his head.
"But if you find out something, you will share it with us, right?"
"Of course I will. I can imagine only one scenario in which Beron is after the access to the Wall and human lands. We both know very well what it would mean."
"Do you think that Tamlin would allow such thing?" Cassian asked seriously.
"We can only hope that he has enough common sense to not allow it," Rhysand emptied his second glass.
The room fell into a heavy silence.
The week of festivities passed quickly. Beron prepared all kinds of activities to keep his guests entertained. Rhysand had stopped counting the number of hunts, competitions and banquets he absolved right after the first day.
Azriel spent most of the time in the shadows, spying all around the castle, following Beron like hound, but there were no news about the female nor the plans Lord of Autumn had.
Rhys started to have very bad feeling about this all and grew nervous with every passing day in dark. He kept his eyes on Eris who was obviously ignoring him, hoping he would make a mistake and take him to the female. However, Eris, the cunning fox, after the first ball never left the room, participating on every event from the beginning to the very end.
When it was finally time for the last ball, Rhysand was so nervous and irritated that even his brothers were avoiding the conversation with him. And he wasn't the only one. All gathered High Lords seemed to have enough of this shit show and masquerade, waiting only for the big announcement.
That evening, the atmosphere in the ballroom was suffocating, none of the Lords bothered to tune off their powers anymore. When Beron with his family appeared on the dais, five pairs of hostile eyes gazed at him from the crowd, waiting.
Thank you for coming and blah blah blah, Rhysand didn't really listen that old asshole, not until Tamlin appeared on the dais next to Beron who announced that they were intending to make an alliance together. Tamlin seemed to be taken aback to see everyone and to hear that they spent the whole week here, so apparently he wasn't invited for the shit show nor Beron bothered to notify him about the recent events.
"And to confirm my good intentions, my only daughter, Selene, will marry Tamlin," Beron declared.
The wave of shock ran through the crowd. As it seemed, even Autumn aristocracy didn't know about the existence of the mentioned daughter. High Lords looked at each other. Their worst fears had come true. Beron was after free access to the Wall.
However, right at that moment, it was the last thing Rhysand cared about. The doors behind Beron again opened and from the dark of the hallway a small figure emerged. Dressed in dress of moonlight colour with dark brown waves styled into a complicated hairstyle, his Moon Princess walked into the room. She looked up and their eyes locked. Exactly as that night in the forest, her beauty took all the air from his lungs, but it wasn't the only thing that happened at that moment.
Something inside him broke, the crack so loud everyone in the room had to hear it. And in that hole in the middle of his chest, a shimmering gold thread formed, blooming like a flower. The thread shot out, bridging over the entire room. Gently touching his Moon Princess, it wrapped around her and bound their souls together.
Rhysand watched it all with wide eyes and slightly opened mouth. As understanding hit him, he wavered and took a small step back, shocked. Beron's daughter was his mate. The Mother had a strange sense of humor, but in certain way it made sense. The feeling he had when he saw her on the clearing, the pull, the need to make sure she was safe. Of course she was his mate.
"What's going on?" Azriel, always the most attentive, as the only one noticed his moment of weakness.
Rhys couldn't take eyes off of her, barely managing to force his lungs to work again. "She's.. she's my.." He didn't need to finish the sentence.
Azriel's eyes also widened, jumping between him and the female. Even Cassian who overheard them, gaped at him.
"Are you sure?" Rhysand gave him a look and Azriel shook his head. "Of course, you are. Whatever you decide to do now, you can count on me," he said darkly, tendrils of shadows dancing around him.
"And on me," Cassian pat him on the back.
After the shocking announcement, the party was naturally over or at least for High Lords certainly, as they all left right away.
Helion stopped briefly at the doors of their chambers with grave expression to tell them that all the High Lords agreed that the wedding must not take place. For some reason they expected that the Night Court would take care of that, but they were ready to assist them if needed.
Honestly, Rhysand didn't remember much from what had happened after the bond snapped for him, not even how he got back home and to his bed. He lay there in the dark, unable to sleep, all the satin sheets suddenly too scratchy and insufferably hot. His mind was nonstop returning to the only thought - he had a mate and she needed his help.
He tried to analyse the moment when it snapped for him. He was curious whether she felt it too. Though, no matter how many times he replayed the scene in his head, he couldn't find a proof she felt it. Her eyes were sad, her expression shy and guarded. She walked into the room, stopped at Tamlin's side and accepted his waiting hand without a single wobble. She was shivering like leaf in the cold breeze, but all for the different reasons. At dawn he finally came to conclusion that she didn't know about the bond.
He kicked off the blanket and changed. He was determined to solve this problem as soon as possible. He wouldn't leave his mate in hands of any other male.
The Town House was completely silent when he ran down the stairs taking two at a time. The wedding was supposed to take place on the day of the autumnal equinox. That left him only a month to solve this. He didn't have much time and had to start right away. He rushed into his office, almost breaking the doors, and took a sheet of paper and a pen. Quickly he scratched letter and without reading it again sent it. He waited for the reply whole day, without leaving his office. He didn't even eat nor sleep. When there was no answer, next morning he wrote another letter.
Nobody came asking him what to do. His family already knew where they were needed the most. Azriel took all his spies and dividing them into two groups, he sent one group to Spring, the other one under his lead headed to Autumn.
Cassian collected all information and maps they had of the Forest House and looking for places where wedding could take place, he began preparing plans from kidnapping the bride before the ceremony to snatching her from groom's hands before they could say their yes.
Amren shut herself up in her apartment, searching old books with ancient magic for the ways how to break through wards.
For Mor, this was hard. She couldn't be much of help in this case, so she took it upon herself to take care of her cousin and made sure that he ate three times a day, took shower and tried to rest. She gladly accepted the role of an emotional support, listening to all his worries and self-loathing whenever he was in mood to talk.
On the fifth day when there was still no answer, Rhysand decided that he wouldn't wait any longer. He only had a limited amount of time and it was inexorably running out.
Without invitation he winnowed to the clearing near Tamlin's manor in Spring. As expected, it took only mere seconds and Tamlin appeared in his beast form, ready to turn the intruder into shreds. When he saw Rhysand waiting for him, he slowed down.
"What are you doing here?" he growled angrily. "I thought that not sending a reply is quite a clear answer."
"So you read the letters. I need to speak with you. You are doing enormous mistake-"
"That is not your business!"
"The problem is that it is my business. It's all High Lords' business, for the fuck's sake! You are going to open for Beron a way to the Wall!"
Tamlin snorted. "No, I'm not. I would do no such thing!"
"But yes, you are. Why else would Beron want to make an alliance with Spring?!"
"I can assure you that he won't get to the Wall."
"You are wrong and you know it. Whatever is going on, it won't take long and he will get what he wants."
Tamlin just gazed at him, muscles in his jaw ticking.
"What is it what you need so much that you are willing to work even with that old bastard, Tam?"
The beast's gaze wavered, but he wouldn't give in so easily.
"Tam, talk to me. We used to be friends and damn good friends. If it is a help you are looking for, I'll send you any kind of help. Do you need more soldier? You can have them. Money? Bride? Skilled officials to help you rule the Court? You can have it all, you just need to tell me. But don't go into alliance with Beron.."
Tamlin seemed to consider his offer. "I-.. I have tied hands.. I'm trying, but I shouldn't have been ruler.. I'm not built for state affairs. Everything is falling apart and now.. my advisers gave me an ultimatum.. They ask for heir otherwise they will leave me alone in this mess.."
Rhysand blinked in surprise at sudden honesty. With Tamlin, they had a lot of bad blood standing between them like a wall. Ever since Rhys' mother and sister were killed and he and his father killed Tamlin's family in return, they had hardly spoken. This was definitely progress or so he thought.
"I don't need your help, Rhysand," Tamlin murmured, "return to your Court before I make you." Tamlin pivoted, heading back into the forest.
Rhysand planned to solve this without mentioning Selene and the bond, but now there was no other way. Tamlin didn't want to listen and wouldn't accept his offer. This was the last thing that could change his mind.
"You can't marry her!" he called after Lord of Spring.
The beast stopped and looked back at him. "Why can't I?"
"Because.. she is mine."
Tamlin snorted, again moving.
"She's my mate." Rhys only whispered it, but the sweet spring breeze carried the words to his former friend. The beast halted in the middle of the step and fully turned to him. He searched him for any hint of lie, but when he found none, the emerald eyes widened.
"It snapped for me the moment she stepped into the ballroom and our eyes met. I think she doesn't know though," Rhysand continued quietly, hoping he would understand and cancel the wedding. All he needed, was more time to find a way to get her out of Autumn. He didn't ask for anything more. She didn't need to find out right away that he was her mate. He would be completely fine with only a friendship as long as he knew where she was and that she was safe.
Tamlin's eyes narrowed and darkened, one corner of his mouth lifted in a half grin. "Don't worry," he said lowly. "I'll take good care of her. She will have anything she wants and I will protect her. I promise you."
"But will she be happy? Without her mate?"
"If she doesn't know about that, I see no reason why she shouldn't be. One can't mourn something they don't even know that exists."
"Tamlin, you don't understand-"
"But I do understand," he interrupted him. "See you at the wedding. Or rather not. Now we don't want to try our luck, do we."
"Tamlin!"
"Get lost!"
Rhysand fought against the magic of wards that after the dismissal was forcing him to leave. He wasn't done here yet. However, not even a High Lord could stay in other Court if the Lord there expelled them. Unwillingly he winnowed back to his house.
He stood in the middle of his office, heaving heavily. Tears gathered in his eyes. He ran hand through his dark hair and then dragged it down his face. He looked around, searching for something that could ground him, finding nothing. He fell to his knees and yelled so loud that walls shook.
In a blink of eye Cassian appeared at his side and clumsily held him, checking him for injuries. He seemed to be relieved to find none.
"He refused," Rhys sobbed. "I told him and he refused.."
"I'm so sorry, Rhys," Cass spoke kindly. "But.. We will solve this. Don't worry. We all will do our best to get her out of there."
Next week Rhysand's mood was switching between being furious, coldly calculating and falling into depression. At the end of the week, Azriel returned and whole Inner Circle gathered to share all facts they knew and come with some solution. As far as they knew, Selene lived in warded part of the castle where only family members and chosen maids could enter. Azriel spent the whole two weeks trying to break in but to no avail. Amren also had no luck with her research. Wards were a complicated ancient magic and to break through so strong ones, they would need a very powerful and dangerous magical object like Cauldron that was lost for centuries and they didn't have time to look for it anyway.
Rhys only sat there, gloomy, listening. He was again falling into depression.
"What if we got help from the inside?" Cassian suggested, looking around the table.
"From Vanserras?" Azriel looked up. His hazel eyes lit up with idea and he turned to Rhys. "I think that it's quite good idea."
"Thanks," Cassian grinned.
"And who would you ask for help?" Mor rolled eyes. "Beron? His wife? Or his rogue sons?"
Azriel didn't pay any attention to her insults and continued. "I think that the heir would be willing to help us if we convinced him."
Rhysand finally looked up, frowning. "He told me that he doesn't want to see me anywhere near her."
"Exactly! Don't you see it? Who let her out during the party when Beron was too busy to notice it? Eris. Who was out there protecting her? Eris. Who is often visiting the warded quarters despite having chambers in a completely different part of the castle? The answer is again Eris. I'll bet that he goes there only to visit her. Several times a day actually."
"Why should he want to help us to kidnap her?" Rhys shook his head.
"Because he cares for her," Azriel answered simply, tilting head to the side in disbelieve that Rhysand didn't get it yet. "I heard that he isn't thrilled for the coming wedding."
Rhysand clenched hands into fists, thinking. During the last two weeks they had tried everything and nothing worked, even Tamlin laughed him out. There was nothing else they could do except of waiting until the wedding day and then try one of the risky plans Cassian had prepared for that case.
At last, he nodded. "Fine then. Can you deliver message to him?"
Azriel smiled. "Gladly. If you write it right now, he can get it tonight."
Two days later, Rhysand winnowed to the river bend on the border of his Court and hid into the shadows under the trees, waiting. He didn't have high expectations, he was avoiding the hope so as not to be disappointed in the end. The time ticked by while he watched flowing river, but in his mind he saw only her, his Moon Princess bathing in the silver moonlight with shiny big eyes and soft smile on her lips. He could keep watching her lovely profile forever. If that was all he was allowed in this lifetime, he would die a happy male.
Thirty minutes later another male winnowed to the same bend of the river, his red hair looked like blazing flames in the setting sun. He eyed the empty river bank and nearby tree line with arrogant, bored expression. He crossed hands on his chest, glaring into the waters.
Rhysand stepped from his hideaway, casually walking with hands in the pockets to the place where the other male waited at. "I already started to think that you won't come," he tried his usual cocky tone, but even to him it sounded fake.
"You are the one who wanted to meet up at this.. where are we actually?" Eris raised a brow, disgusted.
Rhysand shrugged. "Just old campsite. Nobody is coming here anymore, not after what happened here. Old story. The most important is that we can talk here without being overheard."
Eris clasped hands behind his back. "So? What is so urgent? I'm busy with wedding preparations as you know."
"That's the reason why I need to speak with you." Rhys swallowed hard. He was preparing for this discussion ever since Azriel left with his letter in the pocket. Despite everything he decided to be honest for once instead of making up lies. "That wedding must not take place."
Eris raised brows at him. "Why?"
"Because..," he tried to say it aloud, but couldn't, "it can't happen."
"Good try, but I don't have time for this. So if you don't have any good reason for this, I'm leaving." He pivoted.
"She's my mate."
"What?!" Eris turned back to him so fast that he almost slipped on the stones.
"You heard me. Selene, your sister, is my mate."
Eris just gaped at him, eyes wide, but at least he wasn't about to leave anymore.
"The wedding is the biggest mistake. I don't think she knows about the bond, but she won't be happy. You have to help me stop it."
Eris's mask slipped down for a moment and Rhysand noticed pain hidden beneath. "I can't. It's too late."
"It isn't. They aren't wed yet, there's still time."
"And what do you expect me to do? Do you want me to go to my father and tell him: hey, forget about the alliance with Spring, her mate resides on the other side of Prythian? That would 100% work."
Rhys rolled eyes. "No, just help me get her out of there. If there is no bride, there won't be wedding nor alliance. This will solve all the problems at once and nobody gets hurt."
Eris snorted. "And what about her? What will happen to my sister?"
"She can live here, in my Court. I'll protect her, give her home and take good care of her. You will be welcome to come visit her anytime you want."
Eris shook head in disbelieve. "You will keep her at your side like some sustained lover? No, in such case she's better in Spring with Tamlin. I saw them talking together and he was really kind and respectful to her. That's what she deserves, Rhysand. The respect. There might be no love between them yet, but it can change in the future. He will provide her with the same things you are offering, but he will make her his wife."
Horrified, Rhysand took a step back. "Lover? What? Don't put words into my mouth. She doesn't know about the bond and I won't push her into relationship with me. If she wishes so, we will be friends. She decides what we will be, not me. But if the bond snaps for her and she accepts it, I'll more than gladly marry her right away. In my Court, she will have freedom she never had and in marriage we will be equal. In everything."
He gave him a doubtful look, laughing. "Equal? Mother's tits! I won't believe such empty promises."
"These are no empty promises, I'm serious. Can you see me laughing? I'll make even a bargain with you. If she agrees to marry me, she will be my equal. I'll make her a High Lady."
"There is no such thing as High Lady." Eris stuck out chin, narrowing eyes.
"Then she will be the first one. Do you want to bet?"
"No, but I want that bargain."
"Fine," Rhys smiled for the first time since he learnt that his Moon Princess is doomed to marry another male. "So, what do you want in exchange for your help?"
Eris tilted head to the side, pressing lips into thin line. "Help for help. When the time comes, you will help me get rid of my father."
"We have a deal." After wording their vows, smell of magic filled the air and a small tattoo appeared on their bodies.
"Great that you agreed so easily. I was ready to get down on my knees if necessary," Rhysand grinned.
"That sounds like a lot of fun. Especially, in this awful state you are in. I think I'm going to change my mind."
"Good you can't," Lord of Night patted his shoulder with new tattoo.
Eris barked with laughter.
"Now tell me, just out of curiosity, is Selene really your sister or just half sister? It doesn't really matter to me, I'm asking because-"
"She looks so different?" Eris finished the sentence with fox grin. "She is my sister. Frankly, she looks like clone of father's great grand mother. I would show you her picture, but.."
"No need. I believe you."
Eris raised his brows doubtfully.
"How exactly do you imagine her abduction to take place? If your spymaster can so easily get into my chamber, I'd say you don't need me."
"Believe me when I say that we already tried to get to her. Unfortunately, not even my brilliant spymaster can get through your father's wards. That's why we need your help."
"I see. I'm relieved to hear there are wards that can stop you and your people."
"If we weren't in such time crunch, we would find way in for sure. But we don't have so much time now," he winked. "All I need from you is to get her out of the wards inside the castle. It really doesn't matter whether you take her to your room or to that clearing, as long as she will be somewhere where we can get to her."
Next hour or so they spent discussing the details of the abduction, so the both sides knew the exact meeting place, time and what to do. When Eris left, Rhysand return back home, feeling much better. In good mood he shared the plan with Cassian and Azriel who would go into the action with him. Now he just needed to wait for message from Eris. If he hadn't seen with his own two eyes how much young heir cared for his sister, he would doubt his intentions. This all was possible only thanks to the exceptionally strong sibling love and overprotectiveness. In moments like this Rhys thought about his own baby sister. What would it be like if she was still here?
Days were passing one after another without any news from the Autumn heir until finally four days before the wedding a small piece of paper appeared on Rhysand's desk. He opened it and skimmed a neatly written short message.
Cassian! Azriel! he called in his mind.
Ever since he made the deal, they were staying in their rooms in the Town House instead of the House of Wind, just in case they would need to quickly move on. It took them only a minute to get to his office. As soon as they appeared on threshold, he happily waved the paper in the air.
"Get ready! We leave an hour after sunset."
Exactly one hour after sunset Rhysand winnowed the three of them to the Autumn Court's borders, the rest of the way they had to fly to avoid being detected by the magic of the wards that Eris inconspicuously lifted for several minutes.
Thankfully, wards around the Forest House weren't so hard to get through and Azriel could safely get them in without any help. Under the cover of night, Rhysand led them through the grounds to the clearing where they were supposed to meet with Eris and Selene. They slipped past the patrol on their way, unnoticed. Just to make sure they weren't walking into a trap, they silently landed in the forest and went on foot the rest of the way. Hidden in the dark shadows under the trees, they waited.
Ten minutes later, Eris appeared on the clearing dimly lit by the waxing moon. And he wasn't alone. Holding his hand, a small figure walked behind him.
"Be careful here," Eris kindly warned his sister and she smiled in answer.
When they stopped in the middle of the clearing, Selene looked up on the moon, bathing in the silver light. With her long hair down and in the snow white dress, she was stunning. Meanwhile, Eris intently gazed into the night, his body tense. Rhys nodded to his brothers and moved forward. They assumed she would be less frightened if he went first. He let the dry twig to crack under his boot on purpose, notifying them of his arrival.
Both siblings turned in the same time. Tension in Eris's shoulders melted away, replaced by sadness. Selene seemed to recognize him and shyly hid behind her brother.
The males nodded in greeting. "Everything okay?"
"Nobody saw us."
"And Beron?"
"Some kind of troubles with goods for wedding in the port."
Selene watched their quiet exchange calmly from behind the brother's back, curiously peeking at Lord of Night. She didn't seem to be surprised by the turn of events at all.
Rhys nodded at last and leaning to the side to get a better view, he smiled at her.
"Hey there," he said so softy he surprised even himself. "Do you remember me?"
"Yes, my lord," Selene answered shyly and hid even more into brother's shadow.
Rhysand huffed in amusement. "I thought we already had this conversation, darling. Only Rhys for you."
Eris winced at the way he addressed his sister, but didn't say a word. Instead he took his sister's hand and pulled her from behind him. "It's okay, dear. He's here to take you.. to safety."
She looked up at him with her big bright eyes, waiting. "I'm sorry, Sel," Eris continued, "I can't let you marry Tamlin. I genuinely think that he would be a good husband to you, but you wouldn't be happy with him. That's why you have to.." He couldn't finish the sentence, his voice failed him. Rhys noticed the tears in his eyes and decided to ignore them for now. He understood how hard this must be for him.
"So you allow me to leave with my mate?" Her silent question made them both gape at her in shock. Eris recovered as first and smiled sadly. He reached into the pocket between the words and pulled out a bigger bag.
"I- I packed you some clothes for the start.. and a couple of your favourite things.."
"You know about the bond?" Rhysand's heart stuttered. He didn't expect that.
She met his gaze for a second and quickly shied away, blushing fiercely. "Since the night we met here," she took her brother's sleeve between fingers and stepped closer to him, partly hiding behind him.
Rhysand was so happy that he couldn't find words. He had so many questions that he didn't know where to start. Cassian and Azriel quietly approached them and Selene's eyes widened with fear.
"That's okay, they won't hurt anyone. They are my friends who came to help me get you safely to my Court," Rhys held out hands, explaining. "This is Cassian, General of my armies, and this is Azriel, Spymaster. They are big, clumsy and quite grumpy, but both are very kind-hearted, I assure you. We grew up together like brothers."
When introduced, Cassian grinned widely and waved at her, while Azriel put hand on his chest and slightly bowed.
Eris scoffed, rolling eyes.
"It's time. We should go before someone notices she's gone," Azriel murmured lowly. He was right. It was too risky to stay here for too long.
Rhysand cleared his throat nervously and offered her hand. "Can we?"
She looked up at her brother questioningly. Eris's jaw tightened as he turned to face her. At first he only held her hands, suppressing his feelings, but then he broke and pulled her into a hug. He whispered her something in the ear and tried to wipe his tears away stealthily while pretending to clean some dirt from her shoulder.
They parted and Selene walked over to Rhys' group, her cheeks wet.
Eris sadly watched as Rhysand gently picked her up and handed her bag to Azriel. "Everything is going to be fine. He will take good care of you.. I'll visit you soon," he looked at Rhys who nodded in agreement.
"Anytime you want."
"Oh, and take this," Eris reached into his pocket and handed her a blank sheet of paper. She turned it in fingers, confused. "It's enchanted. If you want to talk with me, just write on the paper and it will teleport to me. When I answer, it will return. If there would be any trouble with it.." His eyes moved to Lord of Night.
"I'll gladly help you with it or you can write a letter and Azriel will deliver it for you."
The mentioned one nodded in agreement and opened the bag so she could put it in.
"I'll miss you, brother," she sobbed.
"I already miss you. Stay safe." Eris stepped away, hardly keeping his tears back. He put on his cool mask of heir, but his amber eyes were giving him away.
"Thank you," Rhysand swallowed hard, hardly suppressing his own emotions. "When you are ready, let me know. I owe you for this. And don't worry. She will be safe and well cared of. I'll write you when we arrive."
Eris only nodded, fists clenched at his sides and retreated a few steps to give them enough space. Rhysand summoned his wings and carefully took off followed by his brothers. Selene watched Eris until trees obscured her view. Then she wiped her tears and rested head on his shoulder. It took him by surprise and for a moment he forgot how to use the wings.
"Sorry," he apologised for the shock and she hummed in answer. He exhaled shakily, again feeling like a youngling on the first date. "A-are you scared? Of flying?"
"No," she whispered between sobs.
Rhys tugged her closer to his body, gently rubbing her shoulder with thumb. "I know it's kind of scary for you. You don't know me nor my family, but I promise I'll do anything to make you happy. And the bond.. I won't pressure you. It's up to you-"
"I want the bond," she said firmly, interrupting him. "I saw that we will be happy."
"You did?" Rhysand raised a brow. Eris probably failed to mention that his baby sister was a seer.
"Sometimes I see little flashes of my future. I knew that you will come for me."
He huffed. "Of course you did. You are the Moon Princess after all."
"Who's Moon Princess?" She seemed to calm down at last and stopped crying, but she stayed hidden in the crook of his neck.
"Well, she's someone my mother used to tell me a story about. Do you want to hear it?"
She nodded and so Rhys started quietly whispering the story into her ear while they were sliding through the peaceful night sky, heading to their own 'happily ever after'.
Oh dear god, this is even better than I expected! She’s such a darling, and I admit, making her physically features so different that the anticipated Autumn/Vanserra appearance adds a little something to the story.
Oh, I’d love it if you make another part!! Her ability is interesting, and I’d love to see how that also plays in her relationship with Rhysand and the rest of the IC. Maybe we can even see more of her and Eris? I figure she’s also a lot like the Lady of Autumn, so maybe we can get a glimpse of that, too.
Thank you for that piece of perfection, love!! I didn’t expect it to be so beautiful ♥️♥️
