yes, i am still working on sworn loyalty! i’m trying very hard to finish more of it before i start posting again so i’m so sorry that it’s taking so long. i’m also so unbelievably busy rn...
this is just a plot bunny that would not leave me so i wrote it out a little. it’s set in the same world of sworn loyalty, but directly before the events of the fic, right after voldemort gained power. i’ve redacted the name of the character to prevent spoilers but it might still be quite obvious who it is hehe
“Your Lordship,” she greeted, stiffly, a defiant tilt to her head. The Dark Lord could hardly find it within himself to be irritated.
“I was rather certain you would not have shown,” he said, deceptively innocent, if ever such a word could be used to describe Lord Voldemort. An expression of sheer indignance flitted across her face, blatant enough that the Dark Lord nearly found himself losing the wrestle with the deep glee within him straining to manifest in a sharp grin.
“Your-” she stopped herself, choosing her next words carefully, “That thug Crabbe did not give me much of a choice,” she said shortly, her voice modulated against the accusation she, no doubt, yearned to hurl at him.
“Walk with me.” It was a flippant demand framed as a request. She studied him closely for a moment, but nodded jerkily in the end. For the briefest instance, their eyes made contact and, though her Occlumency shields were commendable, he picked up on the traces of dread that stained her mind.
She was silent as they circled the newly constructed gardens of the Palace, not that he expected her to speak, caught somewhere between defiant and afraid as it were.
At last, he broke their silence, “Thorfinn Rowle has been detained under charges of seditious conspiracy.” She froze when she heard that, but recovered almost instantly. The continuous sound of breathing-- slightly sharper than usual -- was her only response. She straightened.
“That was not done for me,” she said in a measured tone, “That was done in spite of me. In spite of what he has done to my family.”
He smiled blandly for he could not begin to fathom her attachment to family. “I never claimed otherwise,” he said nonetheless, “But I thought you might have liked to know before the news broke.”
“You’re not doing me any favours.”
“No,” he agreed easily, “But I am for your brother.” She closed her eyes, her hands curled into pulsating fists and he watched her curiously -- would she dare draw her wand on him? Or perhaps assault him physically?
He waited; patience was a virtue. Or so he heard.
She did neither in the end, but when her eyes fluttered open again, there was a new loathing in them. “He championed rather staunchly for sentient-being rights, did he not?” The Dark Lord pressed on, undeterred by the depth of her grief. She was silent for a few beats too long.
“He did,” her tone was still impressively neutral, though the slightest sliver of fondness slipped in.
“A Bill will be proposed to the Wizengamot after the November elections. It will push for the criminalisation of discrimination against sentient-being. The Minister for Magic will have considerable sway in its successful passing.” What was left unsaid was that he alone controlled so much of the Wizengamot that only with his approval would the Bill be passed, Minister of Magic be damned. And he would not hesitate to use it to punish her. To torment her. She took a deep breath, her hands dusting over the neatly-trimmed hedges of his grounds as she followed a few steps behind the Dark Lord.
“What are you proposing?” She asked, fearing she already knew exactly what he wanted.
“Be my Minister for Magic.”
His Minister for Magic.
“That… that is for the people to decide,” she deflected, her voice soft and conflicted.
“Indeed,” he agreed wryly. They stopped next to a bed of white roses and she couldn’t help but feel that some greater being was mocking her.
Staring into the swirls of the pure petals, she asked slowly, “And... should I refuse…?”
His smile harboured the promise of seeing to the destruction of her life in every aspect that mattered-- a hint to the cruel Dark Lord nestled in the depth of this charming, alluring man. They both knew what would happen. “My dear, have I not already been infinitely patient with you?”
And the awful thing was, he had been extremely patient. That was the thing about the Dark Lord, he somehow managed to meet all her expectations of who he was while blowing every assumption she had of him out of the water.
Where was the monster her brother had so valiantly opposed in spite of the warnings of the rest of their family? Where were his death threats and terrible anger? Where was the nightmare of a man that justified his death?
She closed her eyes again. How could her dear brother’s death be in vain?
It doesn’t have to be, her mind supplied traitorously, You can fulfill his final wish, do for him what he couldn’t finish in life—
Succumbing to the Dark Lord he fought is an insult to his memory!
As if sensing her conflict, she noticed that he had moved away. How considerate, she thought bitterly.
Better me than someone else.
She found him again a few days later and prayed for her family’s forgiveness even as she accepted his offer. “One term,” she laid out half-heartedly.
“That is for the people to decide,” he echoed, before he dipped his head in a mockery of a respectful bow, “I believe congratulations are in order, Minister.” She could barely bring herself to react with the finality of her acceptance weighing heavy on her every limb.
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On His Knees | Feysand
Canon divergent. Scene lift from ACOSF. Smut aplenty.
This is a little oneshot I wrote for @asteria-of-mars after we shared a rant. For you darling x
“Sit down,” Rhys snarled.
The raw command in that voice, the utter dominance and power… Nesta froze, fighting it, hating that Fae part of her that bowed to such things.
Rhys said, “You are going to stay. You are going to listen.”
She let out a low laugh. “You’re not my High Lord. You don’t give me orders.” But she knew how powerful he was. Had seen it, felt it. Still trembled to be near him.
Rhys scented that fear. One side of his mouth curled up in a cruel smile. “You want to go head-to-head, Nesta Archeron?” he purred. The High Lord of the Night Court gestured to the sloping lawn beyond the windows. “We’ve got plenty of space out there for a brawl.”
Nesta bared her teeth, silently roaring at her body to obey her orders. She’d sooner die than bow to him. To any of them.
Rhys’s smile grew, well aware of that fact.
“That’s enough,” Feyre snapped at Rhys. “I told you to keep out of it.”
He dragged his star-flecked eyes to his mate. Feyre angled her head, nostrils flaring, and said to Rhysand, “You can either leave, or you can stay and keep your mouth shut.”
Rhys again crossed his arms, but said nothing.
"I want to speak to my sister. Alone," Nesta ordered.
"We'll be in the hall," he said.
Cassian's fist tightened at the implied insult that they didn't trust her enough to go further than that. From the way Feyre's jaw tightened, he suspected she wasn't pleased at the subtle jab. Rhys would be getting the verbal beating he deserved later.
Rhys paced back and forth in their bedroom while he waited for Feyre to return. Nesta had gone with Cassian fifteen minutes ago, but he still hadn't seen his mate.
Finally, after what seemed like an age, she burst through the door.
"What the hell was that?" she hissed. "We talked about this. You agreed you could either be respectful or keep quiet."
"I was as respectful as she was," Rhys said evenly.
"You challenged her to a brawl, and then stood outside the door like a gods damned sentry!"
"You know what she is capable of," Rhys said coldly, anger and fear still tugging at his gut at the thought of leaving Feyre alone with Nesta.
"She is not our enemy, Rhys!" Feyre exploded. "We aren't trying to trap her, we're trying to help her, Cauldron damn you! How are we supposed to get her to trust us if she thinks we don't trust her?"
"Trust her?" Rhys repeated, appalled. "I don't trust her as far as I can spit. She and that other sister of yours-"
"What the hell did Elain do?" Feyre interrupted.
"Nothing," Rhys seethed. "She sat back and did nothing for years because Nesta was perfectly pleasant to her, and it did not benefit her to stand up for you or lift a finger to help. Meanwhile, Nesta tore you down year after year and practically dragged your family to its grave. Now here she is in our house, telling you it's somehow your fault that she's here even though you have yet again saved her miserable life-"
"That is enough, Rhysand. That is so far out of line." Feyre stood with her back straight, eyes blazing. Every bit his even match, every bit his High Lady.
"I know you don't like her," she stated, her voice clipped. "Either of them. But we are going to help them. I will not abandon Nesta, or Elain."
"I didn't say abandon-"
“They’re my sisters, Rhys,” Feyre reprimanded him.
“They’re your abusers, Feyre!” he roared back.
They just stood there for a minute, breathing hard into the silence. Feyre shook her head.
“I know. But they're my family. And I love them.”
All the anger blew out of Rhys, then. He dropped to his knees in front of her. Fell on the mountains tattooed there. “But I love you,” her said. Hoarsely. Desperately. “And I can’t… I can’t see you get hurt anymore.” He leaned his head against her belly. "I just can't."
Feyre sighed, and pushed her hands through his blue-black hair.
"I know. But Rhys, imagine if I told you to turn your back on Cassian. Or Azriel. Or Mor. Imagine if I told you I could not forgive Amren the atrocities she committed before she was Fae."
Rhys's hands stroked their way up her calves, up the backs of her thighs and hugged her to him.
"If they hurt one hair on your head, I would."
Feyre gave him a look that was equal parts exasperation, and love. "You would, wouldn't you?" she murmured, ruefully.
Rhys groaned into her stomach. "I'm sorry, Feyre. I'm sorry."
Feyre ran her fingers over his scalp. "I'm still mad at you."
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Rhys repeated. He kissed across her hips, along the tops of her thighs. Then he looked up at her with violet eyes like chasms. "It's doesn't matter what I think. You're my High Lady and I will follow wherever you lead. My beloved. My queen. My mate."
At the last, he nipped at her stomach with his teeth. Feyre's hands tightened in his hair.
"Well I would like it if you at least tried to empathise with my sisters," she said.
"And if I can't?" Rhys asked. His eyes pleaded. Feyre sighed.
"Then you're going to need to get good at apologising."
Rhys lifted her sweater then, and pressed open mouthed kisses to the exposed skin there. "I can do that," he said. Moved his hands up to cup her ass as he sank down lower on his knees, his lips trailing downward.
"I'm sorry, Feyre," he whispered. A kiss on her navel. "I'm sorry." A kiss at her waistband. Rhys vanished her clothes with a thought.
"I'm sorry." And then he put his mouth over her and slid his tongue up the hot centre of her. Feyre gasped, and her hands landed on his shoulders. Rhys walked her back toward the bed, sat her down on the edge and then pushed her to lie back. Lifted her legs onto his shoulders and then put his mouth on her again.
Feyre arched her back, and pulled him closer with her legs. Rhys's hands gripped her thighs tighter, and his tongue worked her in broad strokes. Up and down, savouring every part of her.
"Who do you go to your knees for?" Feyre breathed. Rhys lifted his mouth from her, only to plunge two fingers deep inside her.
"Only you," he replied, and then sucked her clit into his mouth. Feyre bucked her hips off the bed, and Rhys moaned in response. The sound vibrated against her where his lips moved over the heat of her.
"Who do you yield to?" Feyre gasped. Rhys sped up his fingers, his own breathing coming fast with his arousal.
"Only you," he repeated, and flicked his tongue fast over her clit. Feyre started to move, matching her hips to his rhythm.
"Who..." Feyre's breathing caught then, and Rhys surged up and over her, covering her body with his as his fingers kept fucking into her, his thumb now moving over her clit to replace his tongue.
"Always you, always only you," he said onto her lips, and then kissed until her climax broke over his hand.
Rhys watched the wave build and and break in her eyes, and then pressed kisses to her jaw as it receded. Then he linked his fingers through hers where they were resting above her head, and put his face in her neck.
"Am I forgiven, Feyre darling?" he asked softly.
"Not even slightly," Feyre replied, then rolled on top of him, vanished his clothes with her own magic, and rode his cock until he begged for mercy.
And so began the High Lord's apologies.
TAGLIST: @ghostlyrose2 @highladysith @stardelia @tillyrubes10 @ratabrasileira @live-the-fangirl-life @maybekindasortaace @annejulianneh111 @thebonecarver @rowaelinismyotp @loosingdreams @whythefuckdoiexist @inejsarrow @swankii-art-teacher @sjmships @courtofjurdan @teddytdr @thalia-2-rose @positivewitch @feysand-babies
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