#violent delights fanfic | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

starogeorgina · 9 months

Text

Violent delights

Warnings: Mentions of blood, swearing, smut (hand jobs)

Pairings: Jacaerys Velaryon x oc

1.07

Late in the night, your sons are fast asleep, tucked into the large bed at the top of the room, while your daughters both stare at your husband with curiosity in their eyes while the maester stitches his arm. While you were focused on Aegon hurting your younger brother, you were clueless to Aemond picking up a knife from the table, which Jace snatched from his hands, causing the deep cut in his arm.

The moment the maester leaves the room, you place soft kisses over Jacaerys face, ignoring the sting in your bottom lip as you do. “I am so sorry; if I had just ignored Aegon, none of this would have happened. I should have known better than to even entertain what he was asking.”

“But now our uncles have shown their true colors, and because of their actions, we can tell we made the right decision by keeping the greens at arm’s length.”

Noticing Rhaenys bottom lip quivering, you kneel down to offer her a hug, but she shakes her, backing away from you. Her lilac eyes moved between your lip and Jace’s arm; she seemed frightened by you both. Lucerys picks her up, and immediately she buries her face into her neck, mumbling something you couldn’t hear.

Jacaerys sees the hurt on your face and sighs. “Reni, what’s wrong?”

She murmurs something that only her uncle can hear. Luke strokes her hair gently, quietly saying, “She’s scared of the blood.”

The cut on your lip had already started to scab, and both Jace’s arms had blood on them. The angle that he punched Aegon in caused his knuckles to burst, and his other arm would most likely have a nasty scar left behind. The thing that hurt most was seeing your little girl so frightened, especially when all you wanted was to hold your children close. You get two damp cloths and give one to Jace, then use the other to clean your face.

Aemma leans her elbows onto the table before dropping her face into her hands. “Kepa?”

“What is it, my darling?”

“Who’s Aegon?”

You hear the hitch in Jace’s breath but cut in before he can respond. “Right, it’s time for bed; off you go.”

Aemma pouts as she drags her feet walking towards the bed, and she climbs in next to Aethan. Knowing it was going to be impossible for you and Jace to fit in beside four children and Luke in the bed, you grab two pillows, handing one to Jace and keeping the second for yourself to sleep on one of the chairs for a couple of hours until it was time to leave.

Daylight couldn’t come quick enough.

—

Groaning, you sit upright, cringing as your bones creak from sleeping in such an awkward position. The first thing you see is Jace sitting across from you, talking quietly to your newborn, holding him close to his bare chest. You note that Lucerys and your other four children are no longer in the room; since your husband was calm, you didn’t assume anything was wrong.

Noticing your awake Jace smiles, he kisses the baby's head, whispering, “Look who’s awake, Daemon, do you want to say good morning to Muña?”

You sit beside him and take Daemon into your arms. “My precious boy,” you say, kissing the tip of his nose and Jace on the cheek. “Where are the rest of the children?”

“Breaking fast in our mothers quarters You were sound asleep, so I thought it best to leave you be, but I did bring you back some almonds before they were demolished by Gaemon.”

He motions to the small bowl sitting on the table in the center of the room. You were never hungry in the mornings but always tried to eat a small amount so you’d have enough energy. “Thank you, husband, but I think I will get dressed first, so do not keep everyone waiting.”

Daemon’s eye closes over as you reach the cot at the foot of the bed. Gently, you place him down before stepping back to remove your nightgown. In hindsight, you should have woken up early to bathe before, but the antics of the night before and Daemon crying throughout the night had taken a toll on you. Three times you left the room during the night to feed your newborn to spare Lucerys from feeling embarrassed or uncomfortable if he woke up and saw you breastfeeding.

Feeling eyes on you, you look over your shoulder to see Jace staring at you, his brown eyes practically glued to your bare backside. Grinning, you turn around, giving him a full view of you. “It’s far too soon for that, dear husband.”

“I know,” he gulps down. His gaze lingers on you as you put your small cloth on, and when you wince in pain as the fabric of your lilac dress brushes against your sensitive chest, Jace clears his throat. “I asked Clara to bring ice water; I put a couple of napkins in it for you.”

You kiss him on the cheek as you walk by; the cold compress would do wonders for reducing the swelling in the breast. You place the wet clothes underneath the soft linen corset before pulling your dress the full way up. “Can you tie this at the back for me?”

Jacaerys fingers shake as he laces up the back of your dress, which was unusual. “Is something wrong?”

He lets out a sigh while tying a small bow with the loose strands of fabric. Jace steps back. “I need to say something.”

Immediately, you feel guilty, as if you’ve done something to cause the pain on your husband's face. “Jace, what is it?”

“I know I always said I’d never be the type of father or husband who tells his family what to do, but I should never have let you or our children come here.” He takes a deep breath as red blotches start to cover his neck and chest. “I put you in harm's way.”

“Stop; none of this is your fault. The only people to blame are Aegon and Aemond; if they weren’t brutes, then none of this would have happened.”

Tears build in his eyes. “How long do you think it will be until my legitimacy is brought into question? Because as soon as that happens, our children will be as well.”

“Oh Jacaerys,” you cup his face. “I wish I knew, but there’s no way to tell what the greens will do.”

“I don’t know how you survived living here alone.”

You kiss his cheek and say, “I believe the gods put me through it all so I can have the family that I do now.”

“I don’t know how to protect you from them; they are so malicious. What if now that Aegon and Alicent have seen Aemma, they want her back?”

“Then all hell will break loose,” you say, pressing your forehead against Jace’s. “Alicent isn’t a fool; she knows what would happen if they tried to take one of our children from us.”

“Does Aegon?”

You had no clear answer for your husband. “I hope so.”

—

Sitting on the soft gray rug covering the center of your son's nursery, you cradle Daemon closer to you, kissing his head while doing your best not to laugh as your children and brother continue to debate between two dragon names to pick from, which was highly amusing. When Daemon’s egg began to crack, you were stunned, given that your son was still a newborn. You sent for the children to be temporarily removed from their lessons so they could witness a dragon hatching since none of them had seen it before. When the egg cracked, a beautiful dragon with light blue scales crawled out. It was so tiny, you didn’t think you’d ever seen a dragon so small.

You had asked if any of them would like to help pick a name since Daemon couldn’t do it himself. The children had gone back and forth on Gaelithox, Aegarax, and Trixon. But you knew the Maester would become irritated if they didn’t return to their lessons soon. “Have you decided on a name?”

“Aegarax,” Gaemon says. “But only if you and Jace like it too.”

You hum in agreement, “It sounds like the perfect name.”

It seemed fitting that your brother chose a name that belonged to one of the gods of Old Valyria when both his mother and father's dragons were named after the gods as well. Aegarax was the God of all creatures that walk, run, swim, or fly. The creator of the first dragon

“When will you take us flying on Viserion again, muña?”

You smile at Avery, ruffling his silver hair. “Soon, my sweetling, I promise.”

One of your favorite things to do was take your children riding on dragons. It was a great bonding experience, and it also meant they would have experience for when they rode their own dragons some day.

You smile at Clara, who is patiently waiting on the other side of the room to escort the children. “Right, you lot, time to go back to your classes before they send out a search party.”

—

You frown, hearing Jace cursing in pain as the warm water spills from the tube as you enter your bed chamber. “Fuck!” He hisses, and as you walk further into the room, you see him attempting to clean around the stitches in his arm. “Gods! Fuc-”

“Jacaerys?” Your voice startles him, causing Jace to throw the cloth back into the water. You chuckle lightly, “Let me help my love.”

You crouch down beside him, picking up the cloth, and rinse it off before scrubbing his back. Jace’s body softened slightly at your touch, but his back and shoulders were still tense. You move to the side and begin gently cleaning his arm; even though Jace was perfectly capable of doing it himself, you enjoyed the intimacy of it.

You watch amused as his Adam’s apple bobs back and forth, his dark eyes blown wide with lust when water splashes onto your swollen chest. You kiss his bruised knuckle before moving. You gently start rubbing at his chest. Smirking, you kiss the back of his neck.

“Lyarra,” he says in a warning tone.

“Yes, my prince?” You lower your hand to the bottom of his stomach while continuing to pepper his neck with gentle kisses, an action that always turns him on. “My husband, my-”

He cuts you off by crashing his lips against your own. “I promise in five weeks time you won’t be leaving this room. I will take you in every position possible, and won’t stop until you are screaming in pleasure.”

“Hmm, I'll hold you to that,” you giggle. Jace was a man of honor and always followed through on his promises, so you knew when you were eventually able to lay with him again that you wouldn’t be leaving your chambers for days.

As you deepened the kiss, Jace untied the laces at the front of your dress, pulling the fabric down until your breasts spilled from it. He holds back on groping them, instead delicately running his fingers over them so as not to hurt you. Jace groans when you take his hard dick in your hand and begin to stroke him, quickly taking up your actions. He grips your hair with one hand, holding your face in place as he kisses you.

It doesn’t take Jace long to come undone, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck as he climaxes into your hand. After a few moments he kisses your cheek, “you look really beautiful; you always do.”

You blush at the compliment, “Thank you.”

“I mean it; you really are the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. Inside and out, I’m truly lucky to have you.”

“Avy jorrāelan.”

“Avy jorrāelan tolī.”

—

“Dracarys!”

Aethan squeals when Viserion burns the dead horse lying in front of him, burning its corpse before devouring it. Avery watched in awe. Out of all your children, he was the most fascinated by dragons. He loved nothing more than going with his grandsire Daemon to search for dragon eggs. Aemma and Rhaenys remained in their lessons, but since your sons finished sooner, you decided to take them dragon riding with you.

In the distance, you could see Jace and Lucerys training, but you could tell Luke was struggling to keep up with his older brother.

Hearing a loud roar, you look up to the clouded sky. You pull your sons closer to you while trying to locate the sound of flapping wings from above, and then finally, you see the red queen, Meleys, fly into view. You smile, happy that your grandmother was visiting Dragonstone.

Avy jorrāelan - I love you

Avy jorrāelan tolī - I love you too

Muña - mother

#house of the dragon #Jacaerys Velaryon x you #house of the dragon fanfiction #violent delights #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon smut #jacaerys velaryon/you #jacaerys velaryon smut #jacaerys velaryon fanfiction #jacaerys velaryon fanfic #Jace Velaryon smut #jace velaryon x you #jace velaryon #Jacaerys Velaryon x oc #Jacaerys Velaryon/oc #Jacaerys Velaryon x fem oc #Jace Velaryon x oc #jacaerys velaryon

269 notes · View notes

flowersforjude · 5 days

Text

𝐕𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐃𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 ≈ 𝐢. 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫

❛ 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘥𝘥𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘦❜

﹙finnick odair x oc!fem reader﹚

﹙next chapter ➵ masterlist﹚┈﹙read on ao3 ➵ read on wattpad﹚

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | canon typical violence, slight self-injury, mentions of death, etc.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 2.8 k

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | I've been working on this for little over a year now. I've posted all current chapters on Wattpad and AO3. I thought I might as well post it here too. This chapter was really just for scene setting and character introduction. The juicer stuff is in upcoming chapters. Hope you enjoy!!

The crunching of gravel beneath hundreds of feet echoed through district four in a sorrowful song. Each pair of feet belonged to a different person with their own story. Each pair was distinct from the one beside them, in front of them, or behind them. But today they were all moving in the same direction, for the same reason. Today they all had one thing in common. They were all reluctantly marching towards the Justice Building because today was the reaping for the annual Hunger Games. They were hesitant, and yet everyone walked steadily on their path without complaint, as if resigned to their fate.

I walked with my mother Camilla, my father Lyle, and my little sister Shae. We are silent as we make our way to the growing crowd of people in front of the Justice Building. Today was not the day for idle conversation. Today was the day for fear or for hope. Fear that your name would be called. Hope that it wouldn't, or that some other unlucky child would be forced to go to their deaths.

This morning, as I got ready, I found myself sitting in the bath longer than necessary. I watched with blank eyes as I dipped my hand down into the cooling water and lifted it back out. Droplets of water raced down the back of my hand until they faded out like one of the many lives taken by the games every year.

The longer I sat in the cold tub of water, the harder it became to keep my mind focused on the small things. Like how shivers ran races down my spine or how my damp hair rested limply on my shoulders. No matter how hard I tried, my thoughts wouldn't stay simple for long. Soon they morphed into debilitating notions of blood and death. My mind ran rampant with scenes of tributes dying in brutal and messy ways.

Now as my feet crunched gravel under my soles, my brain created new ideas of torment. Shae turned twelve this year, and that meant it was her first Reaping Day where her name was in the drawing. It was only once, I kept telling myself. She wouldn't be picked. But the odds never favored ones in our position.

"This is where we go our separate ways." My mother said when we reached the point where we had to split up. I could see unshed tears making her brown eyes glossy as she pulled me and Shae into a hug. She kissed both our cheeks before stepping aside for our father.

"Be brave, girls." He told us and then bent down to hug Shae. When he straightened up, he pulled me in and squeezed. He gave me a kiss on the cheek before he stepped away completely.

"After the reaping, we met back here, and we'll go home." My mom said firmly, as if cementing the idea that both of her daughters would be returning to her. She wiped away a few tears that managed to sneak their way down her cheeks. "We love you both."

"We love you too," I replied.

My parents went off to the area where the adults watched. Watched as two kids were chosen to fight to the death. Shae and I walked on together, our breaths shallow with fear and anticipation. As we approached the spot where our paths diverged, I turned to say goodbye. Her eyes flickered over to me as if to plead for escape. She switched her gaze to her line, staring at it like a slithering viper ready to strike if she dared take even one step closer.

"Shae?" I dropped down to her height.

She started shaking her head, and her pink lips began to wobble. "I can't, Lyssa. I'm scared."

I gave her a sympathetic look and smoothed down her hair with my hands. "I know you're scared, but your name is only in there once. The odds of you being chosen are slim."

She inhaled deeply, her chestnut eyes still wide and fearful. I pulled her close and breathed into her hair the words of reassurance that she needed. I cupped her face in my hands, gave her a gentle nod of encouragement, and watched as she tentatively stepped away from me and towards the other children. It took everything in me not to grab the back off her dress and run.

I took my place in line with the other seventeen-year-olds and watched as the people in front of me got their fingers pricked by an intimidating looking woman.

As the seconds ticked by like the timer on a bomb, it grew harder to breathe. The nerves I chained down all this morning fighting their way up. An anchor pressed down on my chest, weighing my whole form down as it rested in the sand of the sea. I couldn't look scared. I knew it made no difference whether or not my fear was visible. If my name was called, then that was that. But I didn't want anyone to view me as weak. Even if that's what I was in reality.

My feet shuffled forward as the line flowed. The girl in front of me gasped loudly as her blood was drawn. In seconds, she was moving out of the line, and it was my turn.

"Next!" The woman called. "Name?"

"Lyssa Monroe."

She looked down the list till she landed on my name. She silently held out her hand, and I held my pointer finger out to her. She pricked it, but I barely registered the small pain; I was too focused on staying calm. She smeared my blood on multiple sheets of paper; in a way, she just sighed my possible death certificate. Those slips of paper will be sent to the big glass bowl, whose only purpose was to hand out death sentences. And I stood a chance of being called. I wonder if that bothers her. That by doing this job, she's sending kids to their deaths. I wonder how she feels or if she feels anything at all. Maybe she didn't; maybe you have to be void of emotion to do this job.

When she called for the next person, I stepped out of the way and went to stand with my age group. I pressed my still bleeding finger into the fabric of my dress. It was the nicest clothing item I owned, and I hated it. I wore it on reaping day and reaping day only. The atrocious piece of material served as a reminder of the worst days of my life. Days filled with fear and dread. The only thing I felt when I looked at it was anguish.

I didn't know any of the girls I was standing with, so I searched the crowd for Shae. I found her standing between two girls her age, but she was so small compared to them.

I caught her eyes and sent her a smile and a wink. I tried to look carefree for her even if my stomach was twisting in rough knots. Something was off; I could feel it in the pit of my stomach, swirling around like unruly waves in a storm. No matter how much I attempted to convince myself otherwise, today was not going to have a good outcome. But Shae needed me to reassure her so she wouldn't break down. I knew she was scared. This was her first year in the drawing; her name was only in once, but it was that one chance that kept her up all last night.

I dug my nails into the palm of my hand. The sharp pain of them digging into my skin was enough to ground me for now.

Sabine Glass, our district escort, strutted out from the Justice Building, and we all focused our attention on her. She had the usual bold and careless air about her as clicked her way to center stage. With each step, her dress glistened in the sun, its green sequins catching the light like tiny mirrors. Around her neck hung a necklace of bronzy-white seashells that matched her earrings, bracelets. The same shells were intricately woven into her updo. Her shoes were the same color as her dress and had heels so long that I wondered how on earth she even managed to walk on stage without falling.

She cleared her throat into the microphone, getting the attention of the crowd. "Welcome! People of District four, to the reaping of the 70th Hunger Games! I know we're all very excited to see who our tributes will be this year, but before that, we have a presentation from the esteemed President Snow!"

The crowd clapped with a small fraction of Sabine's enthusiasm. four was a career district, but only half the population fell into that category. So some of the citizens had pride for this whole charade, but the hatred and fear of the other half far outweighed that misguided respect for the games.

Two huge black screens were set up on either side of the building, and with Sabine's cue, they started to play the origin video of The Hunger Games. We were made to watch this video every reaping day, year after year. It was to remind us of the horror before the games so we wouldn't want to rebel again. When the video was over, Sabine began clapping, and slowly, the crowd reluctantly joined in.

"That was spectacular!" Sabine cheered into the microphone. "Let's begin, shall we? As per usual, ladies first!"

She walked over to the glass bowl and swirled her hand around in it, meticulously searching for the right slip of paper. The tension of the crowd was palpable. Everyone was still and the quietness was suffocating. My heart raced in my chest, like I had just gotten done for a swim and was laying on the warm sand of the beach, soaking up the sun's rays. Though even after all the time I spent out there, my skin stayed its same pale shade.

Sabine plucked out a slip of paper and pranced back over to the microphone. As she neatly unfolded it, my nails racked deeper into my palm, digging into my skin until I felt a slight trickle of blood flow down my palm. My ears clouded with the sound of adrenaline, and only Sabine's shrill voice brought my senses back to me.

"Lyssa Monroe!"

My heart stopped along with everything else as the blaring silence rang in my ears. Chills ran down my body, and the blood froze in my veins. I didn't move; I couldn't move. The girls around me murmured amongst themselves and stared at my unmoving body with sympathy and selfish relief.

"Lyssa Monroe?" Sabine spoke again, this time as a question.

The girls parted like a great wave, creating an aisle for me to walk through. The first step I took was unintentional, but it was like my body had switched to autopilot. My legs numbly carried me all the way to the stage. I didn't raise my head until I walked up the steps and was in front of the crowd.

As I lifted my eyes, the sun seemed brighter than before, momentarily blinding me. When they adjusted, my eyes met the crowd of my fellow District four members.

I found my parents in the cluster of adults. My mother had her face buried in my father's chest. Even from here, I could see her shoulders shaking with uncontrollable sobs. My father's face was set hard, but I knew he was trying to keep his tears reigned in.

I turned my attention to Shae, who had pushed her way to the front of her section. Her tiny hands held the barricade in a death grip. Her cheeks were red and stained with tears.

Sabine shoved the microphone at my face, and only then did I realize she had asked me something.

"What?" I muttered dumbly.

"I asked how old you were, dear."

"I'm seventeen," I mumbled.

Sabine took the microphone back and placed her hand on her heart. "And how lovely you are, my dear."

She turned back to the audience, clapping her hands. "Now for the gentleman." She glided over to the bowl that held the boys' names. She repeated the same swirling hand movements around the glass until she snatched up a slip of paper.

She cleared her throat before reading the name. "Hector May!"

A gasp rang out among the crowd, and even me in my numbed state lifted my eyes in surprise. Hector May was Mayor Walim May's son. Of course, being the child of the mayor didn't exclude you from the reaping, but they were rarely chosen. That's why everyone had started to murmur amongst themselves as Hector slowly made his way up to the stage.

He looked behind him at his father. The mayor tried not to show any emotion at his son being reaped, but I saw how his jaw clenched and his hands began to subtly shake in his lap.

"What an interesting turn of events!" Sabine exclaimed. "How old are you, dearie?"

"Eighteen." Hector answered in a deep monotone voice.

"And you're the mayor's son, correct?"

"Yes."

Sabine laughed almost giddily. "What a wonderful pair we have here." She motioned for us to shake hands. We both moved forward and grasped the other's hand as Sabine addressed the crowd. "Ladies and gentlemen, I have the pleasure of presenting to you your District four tributes for the 70th annual Hunger Games!"

━

We were marched in silence down a long hallway, escorted by a couple of stern-faced peacekeepers. Hector and I were taken to separate rooms, mine with harsh fluorescent lights that cast everything in a painful brightness. The stark and sterile air felt suffocating as I helplessly waited for what was next. I shifted nervously on the hardwood chair, tracing small circles onto its smooth surface while my leg anxiously bounced up and down. Even pinching myself couldn't make this nightmare go away. My throat tightened in despair while tears stung my eyes.

A creak of the door handle made me jump, and I scrambled to my feet. My parents and Shae entered the room, their faces blurry with emotion. We raced towards each other, a tangle of limbs that collapsed into a heap on the floor. Someone was sniffling, and it took me a moment to realize it was me.

My father wiped the tears off my face and placed his hands on my shoulders. "Everything will be alright." He stated calmly like there was nothing to worry about.

I looked at him in disbelief. "Dad, how can you say that?"

He sighed. "I know you're scared, sweetie. But you can't let your fear control you. You're going to be fine because you're going to win."

"How? I can't–" I couldn't even finish my sentence. How could my father be so sure, so calm?

"Lyssa." My mother said, clearing the tears from her eyes. "Your father is right. I know you're scared, but you can't think about that right now."

"What do I do?" I asked helplessly.

My father was the one to answer. "Find a weapon that fits you. One that's easy for you to use but effective. Try throwing knives. You were always good with those."

"Okay." I nodded along with him.

"You have to come back, Lyssa." Shae blurted out.

I looked down at her small frame and immediately drew her to me. "I promise I will try my hardest." I said into her hair. My lips connected with the top of her head as her arms tightened around me.

The door opened again, and the peacekeepers came in. "Time's up." One of them said.

We hugged each other one last time before one of the peacekeepers escorted them out. They all called their last farewells as they were moved out of my view.

"Be brave, Lyssa! Remember what I said!"

"Win, so you come back home!"

"We love you, sweetheart!"

There was one peacekeeper left in the room with me. "It's time to board the train, Miss Monroe," he said.

I nodded and hesitantly followed him out into the hallway, where Sabine and Hector stood waiting.

"Now then, you're both very excited, I'm sure, so let's hurry along. The Capitol awaits!" Sabine sang, genuinely excited, with a smile plastered on her face. I tried to tell myself it was just because she was from the Capitol and didn't really know any better. Though, as she led a silent Hector and I away, I couldn't help but feel disgust towards her. She was voluntarily escorting us to our deaths.

My face remained blank as we boarded the train. The odds were never on my side, and they never would be.

Let me know in the comments if you'd like to be added to the tag list for this story! <3

#ˏ*ೃ➵violent delights #the hunger games #finnick odair #finnick odair x oc #finnick odair x reader #thg #thg fanfiction #fanfiction #finnick odair fanfic #thg finnick #thg series #the hunger games catching fire #the hunger games mockingjay #friends to lovers #mentor x mentee #slow burn

29 notes · View notes

marsneedstherapy · 7 months

Text

it is time

#chloe gong #foul lady fortune #secret shanghai #foul heart huntsman #these violent delights #last violent call #our violent ends #fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 #university au

44 notes · View notes

wweskywalker · 1 year

Text

The Return of The King 🔥

Based on “Our Violent Delights” scene by bikadoo.

#our violent delights #aemma velaryon #vermithor #fanfiction #hotd #hotd fanfic #fanfic #fanfic art #fanart #asoiaf #asoiaf art #game of thrones #art #fire and blood #artist #open commission artist #open commission

135 notes · View notes

heatherleighann · 10 months

Text

These Violent Delights has destroyed me. I may never be okay again honestly 😭

#these violent delights #fanfic #marauders #wolfstar #jegulus #titanic #moodboard

21 notes · View notes

crispydonuts · 9 months

Text

Just discovered tvd, ove, and flf fanfiction today and they’re very fun

#these violent delights #our violent ends #foul lady fortune #benmars fanfics altered my brain chemistry

14 notes · View notes

originalmkh · 11 months

Photo

I laughed, I swooned, I wept, I mourned. Book cover by yours truly. Enjoy xoxo

Not Fun Fact: This is a picture of the iceberg that sunk the titanic. haha. suffer.

#wolfstar is canon #these violent delights #have violent ends #these violent delights have violent ends #damagecontrol #jegulus fanfic #jegulus fan art #wolfstar fanart #mischief managed #wolfstar fanfic #titanic fanfic #fanfic book covers

26 notes · View notes

irrevocableloves · 8 months

Text

violent delights

twilight rewrite! edward cullen x fem!witch!reader

chapter one: the city of forks welcomes you

masterlist ౨ৎ chapter two

summary: y/n swan has lived in forks all of her life, but when she takes her summer-long vacation to california to visit her mother, she returns to a strange new family accompanying the small town.

warnings: swearing, angst

words: 1.8k

a/n: this has been in my drafts for so so long and tbh i haven't written a fanfic since i was 12... and i'm fr 22, but i've ran out of twilight fanfics to read (i've been waiting weeks for one specific one to update and i'm going crazy)... so anyways !! hope you enjoy !!

Opening my eyes, I was greeted with the trees of Forks, Washington. After an almost four hour drive, I could sense that I was nearing my home as the city was nowhere to be found. Instead it was replaced with deep green trees, dim skies, and the small shops that swept by as my dad drove.

I liked Forks, more than I probably should. Everyone here, mostly the kids, sulked about big bright cities where the sun would actually make an appearance. They longed for the liveliness that Forks had never given them.

But me? I secretly adored the quietness of it all. But of course, I had a disadvantage. Every summer I bathed in the sun rays of California, visited the busy cities, the warm beaches, and the overall liveliness that was craved from everyone else. But I was drained. Normally, it would be the opposite from any other person, but I always loved the cold. Ever since I was a kid, my little brain was wired to believe that Forks was almost like Christmas every single day of the year. So, rain, snow, or even ice (even with the ungodly amount of times I've slipped) never had me in too big of a rut.

With my mom back in California, though I loved her to death, was an absolute headache most of the time. And unlike my dad, she hovered. But, it wasn't her fault. The summer is the only time she had me, the rest were reserved with Charlie, which had resulted in this summer's mishaps: she begged me to stay longer. One would think that school would be an easy get out, but she knew the first month was nothing but dry introductions, syllabi, and effortless assignments. It was partly my fault. I was never one to turn her down, perhaps it was guilt because maybe she and I felt deep down that I favored my father more because who could ever turn down a chance to live in the perfect bustling city of San Francisco over Forks.

So I stayed. But now, it's the beginning of October. Thankfully, I was able to get in contact with the school in order to get all of my classes in order, as well as the help of my best friend, Angela, who emailed me all of the assignments. Jessica on the other hand, filled me in on all of the gossip. Her phone calls consisted of talks about her massive crush on Mike as well as the new and "totally weird" (as Jessica put it) family. "Suuupperrr pale, but weirdly GORGEOUS. I mean this Edward guy, he's wow. I swear if Mike doesn't make a move soon... I wonder if I could make him jealous?" The conversations were mostly one-sided, always either complaining about Mike's obliviousness or never catching that new guy's attention.

Now that I knew I was caught up on everything to do with school, all I wanted was to bury myself in bed and prepare for an alarm that hasn't been set in months.

I awoke to the sound of a car honking outside my window, assuming it was nothing, I settled back into my pillows, throwing my purple duvet back over your head for hopefully another thirty minutes of sleep.

"Y/N/N!" I heard my dad's voice accompanied by one of his famously loud whistles from outside of my window. That's when I finally got up and peered over with squinting eyes to see my father coming out of a car that most definitely wasn't his squad car.

Once my vision settled, I saw a green Volkswagen beetle parked in the driveway. No fucking way. I sprinted down the stairs and flung the front door open to see my father with a wide grin, gesturing the keys in front of my face.

"For me? You're joking?" I said in complete shock.

"You want me to be joking? Cause if so I can just bring this right back to Billy and let him sell it to some other geezer."

"No! No! No! I mean... Thank you, dad. Oh my god, how did you guys even find this?"

"Well, consider it a late birthday present. Billy and Jacob found it back in May for your birthday and decided to fix it up for ya, free of charge, but I paid 'em of course."

"Thanks dad and how about we invite Billy and Jacob over sometime and I'll cook? As a thank you?"

"You bet."

Once I parked in front of the school, my group of friends welcomed me with open arms, with Angela and Jessica squealing about how much they missed you and the boys, mostly just Mike, trying to awkwardly hug me.

I knew Mike had a crush on me, since third grade to be exact, which only made it worse for my friendship with Jessica, which made it worse for Lauren, Jessica's bestest friend to have an even better reason to despise me.

The first four classes: English, Government, Trigonometry, and French were surprisingly a breeze thanks to the assignments either Angela or the teachers sent over while I was away.

While at lunch, a new, unfamiliar bunch emerged from the cafeteria doors. They were beautiful... and also extremely pale even for Forks. So, this was the family Jessica was practically drooling over?

"Who are they?" I questioned anyways.

Jessica leans in, being careful to whisper, "It's the family I was telling you about. Dr. and Mrs. Cullen's foster kids. They all moved down here from Alaska like last month."

I studied the first girl who walked in, bleached blonde hair, almost black eyes that were almost unsettling, she wore a thin grey coat and a knitted white scarf that matched her icy skin, and a necklace with a large charm that looked to be a family crest of some sort.

"The blonde girl, Rosalie, and the big dark-haired guy, Emmett..." Jessica continued.

More of the family gathered in slowly, the blonde was linking hands with a man with jet black hair, with the same family crest residing on his wrist.

"... they're a thing. I'm not even sure that's legal." Jessica grimaced.

Angela piped in, "Jess, they're not actually related."

"But they live together and all wear that weird creepy crest like some sort of cult. And the little dark haired girl, Alice, she's really weird..."

Despite Jessica's remarks, Alice was the one who caught my eye the most so far and not in a negative way. She reminded me of a fairy almost with her pixie-like hair cut, her style, and the way she carried herself, which was pretty whimsical in a way. Her arms were locked with a man beside her, bleached blonde just as Rosalie was.

"... she's with Jasper, the blonde who looks like he's in pain" Jessica continued on, "I mean, Dr. Cullen's like this foster dad slash match maker."

"Maybe he'll adopt me." Angela giggled.

The last Cullen to enter, I assumed it was Edward, the man Jessica claimed to be weirdly gorgeous and 'wow'. 'Wow' was the perfect word to explain how I felt as he strode down the cafeteria. I couldn't keep your eyes off of him, even as he went past your table, I was oddly captivated by his presence. He had a lanky body, matched with the same pale skin as his siblings, bronze hair and striking smirk. You could've sworn he heard Jessica's whispered remarks from across the cafeteria.

"He's totally gorgeous, obviously. But apparently, no one here is good enough for him. Like I care." She does. "Anyway, don't waste your time."

"I wasn't planning on it." I looked away before his eyes could find mine and once I did, I felt as if holes were practically burned at the back of my head. Was he staring?

Out of curiosity, I peered over my shoulder, quickly glancing, seeing his eyes on mine and quickly turning my eyes back, slowly hiding behind my hair.

Before I walked into Biology, I shuffled through my backpack to look for the assignments I'd done in your time away, settling them in my hands as I walked through the door.

Greeting Mr. Banner, I handed him my completed assignments that were neatly put together with a paper clip.

"Finally nice to see you Miss Y/L/N, how was your summer?" Being great at biology put you at an advantage, not only for assignments, but because Mr. Banner didn't question much about my month long disappearance, but I couldn't say the same about PE...

"It was good, thank you."

"Well that's great, I'm glad! And I appreciate your completed assignments, not even people attending have it all quite done like you have!" He rambled. "So! Your seat... There's a seating chart, but there should be an empty seat I left for you...,yes! Right there, next to Mr. Cullen." Mr. Banner pointed to the right side of the classroom to the seat next to the Cullen boy.

Edward's eyes once again felt as if they burned through my own, staring at me as if you had wronged him in some way. The hatred in his eyes was well aware, but for what reason?

With each step I took, the more disgust in his features appeared, almost as if he was holding his breath. Did I stink or something? I attempted not to smell myself to see if perhaps I had raging body odor or even a bad breath that radiated from across the classroom. No one else seemed to have an issue besides him.

Once I was sat, I heard him mutter into a cough, but I only made eye contact with his beading black eyes and said nothing at all. He only pushed the microscope towards me slowly, being careful to not come any closer to me as if he would catch something.

I sighed loudly, making my annoyance well known. He only just tensed.

Throughout the entirety of the class, the tension continued. I even considered going up to Mr. Banner and asking to switch seats with someone, but that only sparked the possibility of Mike forcing Eric to switch seats and I honestly couldn't figure out which would be worse. So, I decided to suffer through the entire hour and perhaps learn to suffer the entire year partnered with a man who could hardly even look me in the eye without being utterly disgusted.

At first I was hurt, but the hurt swiftly turned into annoyance once the partner sessions began. He didn't even consult with me, rather he just scribbled as fast as he could, only of what he was able to see through the microscope, only handing it to me after to check his answers. All correct, surprisingly.

Staring at the clock, I was counting down the time until the bell. Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Edward had gotten up, practically running out of the classroom before the bell had officially rung.

next chapter

#violent delights #edward cullen #edward cullen x reader #edward cullen x you #edward cullen x y/n #twilight #twilight rewrite #twilight fanfiction #edward cullen fanfiction #robert pattinson #robert pattinson x reader #violent delights fanfiction #violent delights fanfic

154 notes · View notes

gracexthoughts · 19 days

Text

of violent delights chap 16

too sweet

7 june 1996

Euphemia’s POV

We made it back to the hospital wing last night in the nick of time and the discovery that Sirius had escaped sent Snape into a conniption. I won’t deny it was slightly amusing; while Snape tends to be nicer to me than Harry, he’s still a prick. Pomfrey let Harry, Hermione, Ron and I leave the hospital wing at noon this afternoon, although most of the students are at Hogsmeade for the last trip before the train leaves tomorrow.

Exhausted, I’ve chosen to rest instead of going to Hogsmeade. We may have gone to bed around eleven last night, but I added about 3 extra hours to my life so I feel like I stayed up most of the night but first, Harry and I decide to pay a visit to Lupin. His office door is open and as we enter, I notice most of his things have already been packed. “Hello Mia, Harry,” Lupin says before he turns to see us, “I saw you coming,” he smiles and motions to the Maruader’s Map open on his desk. He has more scrapes across his face and he looks terribly pale. “I’ve looked worse.”

“You’ve been sacked?” Harry asks, looking around.

“No, I’ve resigned. Professor Snape let slip the nature of my condition and I feel its best to get ahead. At this point, the outcome is inevitable.” Lupin sighs, taking books from the shelf behind his desk and into a case.

“That’s not fair! You didn’t hurt anyone! Maybe Dumbledore-”

“Dumbldore has already risked enough on my behalf,” Lupin interrupts me, raising a hand to stop me. “By this time tomorrow, owls will start arriving with angry letters from parents. Like I said, it is inevitable. It’s alright, let’s just say I’m used to it.”

“Doesn’t make it fair,” I sigh. “You’ll come live with us, won’t you? Now that Sirius can’t, we have the room.”

“I will visit, I promise, but I won’t stay. I have my own place in London and you don’t need a guardian anymore, Mia.” Lupin moves around the desk and leans against it to face us. “I’m quite proud of the two of you and how much you learned this year. Tell me about your Patronuses.”

Harry and I tell him what happened, both times, and what forms our charms took. “Our father, his animagus form was a stag wasn’t it?” Harry asks at the end of his story.

“Yes, that’s why we called him Prongs,” Lupin says, smiling faintly at the memory. He stands suddenly, as if just remembering something important, and moves back around his desk and hands harry back his Invisibility Cloak. “I brought this back from the Shack this morning. And, since I am no longer your teacher, I feel no guilt about giving this back to you as well,” he says motioning to the map. “I dare say that James would be very disappointed if his children never found any of the secret passages in the castle.” We all chuckle at that.

“None of it made any difference,” Harry says sadly, looking down at the cloak in his hands, “Pettigrew got away and Sirius-”

“Is alive. That makes all the difference in the world,” Lupin implores, looking very deeply into Harry’s eyes as he places a hand on his shoulder. “You did a very noble thing, stopping us from killing Peter. Your parents would have most certainly done the same, and Sirius may not be absolved but he is free. And the two of you are certain of his innocence. That, for now, is enough… Now, I must say goodbye. Send me an owl once you are settled in your apartment, okay?” Lupin asks, handing me a small piece of parchment with an address scribbled on it.

“I will,” I nod, smiling up at my godfather and he nods, picking up his suitcase and his walking stick but before he does, he turns to the map still on his desk and, with a flick of his wand, mutters “Mischief Managed,” with a nostalgic smile and leaves the office and the classroom, leaving Harry and I in his office in silence, just the two of us once again.

✦

Mattheo’s POV

I step into the already raging party, instantly hit with loud music and flashing lights, the air is thick with warmth and smoke as a majority of the student body celebrates the end of the school year. I push through the crowd until I see Theo, Enzo, Elladora and Astoria and make my way towards them.

“Hey mate, finally decided to stop moping and join the party?” Theo chuckles, lightly smacking my shoulder.

“Shut up,” I grumble and take the liquor bottle that he’s holding and take a swig.

“Why were you moping, Mattheo?” Astoria asks from the arm of the chair to my left.

“He got stood up by the princess last night,” Enzo says sitting down next to her, his comment making Theo chuckle. Enzo and Theo had been the unfortunate two that were still in the common room when I finally came back last night and I told them everything which I am now severely regretting.

“You planned a date with her?” Elladora cries, disgust on her face.

“No!” I growl, reaching around Astoria to smack the top of Enzo’s head. “We were supposed to have rounds. She bailed and I am not moping.”

Ella watches me for a moment before stepping closer and leaning up to whisper in my ear, “When she breaks your heart don’t come crying to me.” And with that, she shoves past me and further into the party.

“For the record, I think the two of you would be great together, Matt,” Astoria says, squeezing my hand for a moment.

“Yeah, The Girl Who Lived and the Heir of the Dark Lord. Common sense pairing really; what could go wrong?” Enzo mutters behind his drink, earning another smack but from Astoria this time.

“Why should that matter? The war is over and your father’s gone, isn’t he?”

“I need a drink. Feel free to stop discussing my life,” I grumble and turn away from my friends, their laughter following me. I push through the crowd towards the back wall of the room where the drink table is and at it, I see a familiar figure making a drink.

“Well, well, well, look who I found,” I say lowly in her ear, startling her and she turns to face me.

“Hey! You scared the shit outta me!” Mia says, her face lighting up with a large smile.

“Hey Princess,” I say with a small smile. She’s wearing lightly distressed jeans and a tight and cropped green shirt which makes her auburn hair look more vibrant; all this to say she looks fucking hot. “You look great,” I say, resisting the urge to tell her how good she looks in green and how lovely she’d look wrapped up in the dark green sheets of my dorm bed.

“Thanks,” she says, her cheeks flushing as she tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. “Hey listen, I’m so sorry about last night,” Mia says earnestly, “The whole thing was so much more complicated and insane than I ever could have guessed and I couldn’t get away. I’m sorry.” Her green eyes are wide and honest and all the bitterness that has sat in my chest the last 24 hours melts away.

“‘S’arlight, Mia. No big deal,” I say with a shrug, hoping I’m hiding the disappointment I felt last night.

“I’m even more sorry that my brother interrupted us yesterday,” she says, picking up the drink she had been making and taking a sip.

“We do seem to get interrupted a lot, don’t we?” I chuckle, pouring myself a cup of Firewhiskey. I tell myself that us getting interrupted is for the best but still everytime I’m left wondering what would have happened if we were left alone for another minute or twenty. “So, what happened last night that was such a mess?”

“Ugh, Godric,” she sighs with a chuckle. “It’s a very long story but it involved a secret tunnel, a werewolf, a rat, a dog and several dementors.”

“Bloody hell, what did you get yourself into this time?” I chuckle, eyes wide and Mia laughs.

“A mess for sure,” she laughs. “But it ended up being for the best, I think.”

“You didn’t have anything to do with the runaway hippogriff and Sirius Black escaping, did you princess?” I ask, stepping closer, and very intrigued at hearing her story.

“That’s preposterous!” She exclaims, sarcastically scandalized.

“Salazar, it’s a party, Potter, not school. Who actually speaks like that?” I tease.

“Huh, and here I was starting to think you liked the way I talk,” she fires back without a moment’s hesitation, her eyes flicking to my lips only for a moment.

“Hey, Mia, there you are. You said you’d be right back and I got worried. Everything okay here?” One of the Weasley twins asks, his eyes boring into me as I step back from Mia and he wraps an arm around her. Mia’s shoulders tense slightly as irritation flickers in her eyes for a split second.

“Peachy,” I deadpan, returning his gaze as I take a long sip of my drink. Interrupted, again.

“Hey, Freddie, Matt and I were just talking. Do you need a drink?” Mia says and I suppress a smile at Mia using my nickname so casually in front of Fred because it seems to cause him to bristle. Fred raises an eyebrow and looks back to me, his arm still around Mia’s shoulders casually, the sight twisting my gut into a knot.

“Oh yeah? Sure, I’ll take a drink,” he says, not taking his eyes off me as he grabs an alcoholic Butterbeer bottle but it seems like he’s had quite a few already.

“Yeah, Freddie. No need for a guard dog,” I sneer, leaning back against the table, my gaze not leaving Fred’s, jealousy raging in my stomach and chest. Fred stiffens, his jaw ticking, as Mia moves out from under her arm.

“Okay, unnecessary,” she snaps at me before looking back to Weasley. “Can the two of you cool it with whatever macho-testosterone-filled-pissing contest you’ve had going all year? Unless you’d rather go to the bathroom and measure them just to finally settle it all?” Mia snarks. “Mattheo and I are friends now, I told you that earlier, so there’s no need to be protective,” she says to Fred before turning to me, ”and there’s no need to be defensive.” She looks between the two of us, daring one of us to defy her.

“Mia, how can you be friendly with him? His father-”

“I am very aware, Fred, and if I, of all people, can move past it then certainly you can as well!” Mia fires back, interrupting Fred.

“I don’t need you to defend me, princess,” I bite out, my gut twisting more and more every time Mia looks at him. Mia turns to me, hurt hiding behind her eyes and I immediately regret saying it.

“Hey, don’t talk to her like that!” Fred snaps, reaching out to push me back but I swing on instrict, my fist connecting with his face, and force him to stumble back.

“Stop!” Mia cries, stepping between us as a crowd forms a circle around us. Mia pulls Fred’s hand away from his face, nothing bleeding but he’ll take a shiner home tomorrow. Fred pushes Mia behind him, her much smaller frame easy for him to push back as he comes to get in my face, using the inch of height he has on me to his advantage.

“You leave her alone. She has enough trouble in her life without you adding more,” he says lowly to me, trying to be threatening but, to me, the pranksters of Hogwarts are just clowns.

“Back up, Weasley, or I’ll send you home to your mummy in a box,” But I don’t get a chance to make good on my threat as Mia wrenches Fred back by his arm and starts shouting at him how she’s not a helpless damsel in distress and she doesn’t need him to protect her from anyone but I stop listening and stalk through the crowd and out of the party.

At the back of the room, there's a slightly hidden staircase that leads up to the boat house and the lake. I take the stairs two at a time, no longer in the mood for parties or people, and take a deep breath as the warm night air hits my face and enters my lungs. She’s too good for you. She’s better off without you in her life, the voice in my head reminds me, souring my mood further as I reach for a cigarette. I try to spark my lighter but it refuses to light, out of fuel, and angrily I chuck it into the water of the Black Lake, sending ripples across the otherwise still waters as I sit on the edge of the ancient dock.

I sigh, looking down at the unlit cigarette in my hand and try to snap the fingers of my free hand, desperately hoping to produce a flame long enough to spark. After a few tries, I manage it; a small but steady flame at my fingertips, the warmth dancing along my skin but not burning, and I inhale the smoke into my lungs and let the flame extinguish. The waning moon shines brightly on the surface of the lake and the hum of insects and birds and creatures fills my ears, slowly draining the angry blaze in my chest to smoldering embers.

I don’t know how long I sit here, smoking and staring at the water and thinking about Mia; the physical manifestation of all I want in the world and everything I can’t have. Of course the first girl I want more than one night with is her. She’s too good, too sweet, too gentle for the likes of me. Men like me don’t get the girl, they don’t get happy endings, they don’t get what they want and I hate myself for allowing my heart to convince my brain that I could have all that. I take a final drag of my cigarette and flick the roach into the water, sending more ripples across the surface as it floats away with my hope.

“That’s littering, you know?” A voice pulls me from the dark depths of my own mind and I turn my head to see Mia standing by the stairs.

“Gonna give me detention? Get a head start on next year?” I ask dryly, turning back to look out at the water. I hear Mia’s footsteps across the wooden dock until she appears in my peripheral and sits next to me at the edge of the dock.

“I’m really sorry about Fred. He’s drunk and he’s being stupid and protective and a jerk. He shouldn’t have brought up your dad, you don’t deserve that, I’m sorry,’’ she says, her voice soft and gentle.

“‘S fine,” I grumble, resisting the urge to look at her.

“No it’s not. He was totally out of line, that’s not okay,” she implores. When I don’t respond, she reaches out, placing her hand on my knee and setting me on fire, but I can’t give in to it, I can’t, so I pull away and stand up.

“I’m used to it. It’s whatever. Have a good summer, Potter,” I force myself to say, sparing one glance at her beautiful face clouded in hurt, before I tear my eyes away and start back towards the party.

“So that’s it?” Her voice rings out, stopping me in my tracks against my will. “The year is over and you’re just going to go back to hating me? Pretend that nothing happened this year? That something didn’t change between us? That there’s nothing here? You’re just gonna run away because you’re scared?” Hurt clouds her voice, changing it from the clear, sweet, tempting sound I’m so used to and I turn around to face her. She’s standing now, her back to the water and her hair blowing out behind her in the gentle breeze, her eyes dark in the low light but confusion shines in them. Even with her face in shadows and her features contorted by pain, she’s still the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.

“I’m not scared,” I manage to say, my fists clenched at my side.

“Then why are you acting like this? C’mon Mattheo, we’ve been towing this line for months and you’re going to just walk away? Try and make me think it's all been in my head?” She asks, moving to close some of the distance between us.

“Mia,” I breathe out, her magnetic field threatening to pull me in the closer she gets to me.

“No. Say it. Tell me it's all in my head,” she implores, looking up at me pleadingly, like I am her last life line.

“Stop.”

“I'll stop if you can look me in the eyes and tell me its all in my head...You can’t say it, can you?” She asks, now a mere breath away from me, her perfume invading my senses and it takes all of my crumpling willpower to not reach out and touch her. “You’re many things, Mattheo Riddle, but you are not a liar. Not to me. You can’t say it because you know it's not true. You’ve felt it too.”

“I’m not a good man, Mia,” I say, my voice rough. “I’m not a good person and I’m not going to pretend I am because running around pretending you are a good person is worse than just accepting you aren't one. I’m not good for you; everything I touch I break and I don’t want to break you.”

“I think you are a good person. I’ve seen it, I know it. You’re just afraid to show anyone because you think it makes you weak but it doesn’t!”

“I’m not afraid of anything,” I snap.

“Fine, then prove it!” She says so loudly it echoes over the water for a moment. We stand there for a moment completely still, our eyes locked and our breath uneven. I want nothing more than to close the distance between us but I don’t because she’s right. I am scared. I’m scared because there is no way this works out well. I’m not a good man and I’m not a good partner and she deserves the world and I could never give it to her. “Why are you so bloody stubborn?” She breathes out, shaking her head slightly before she takes a step forward and, cupping my face in her hands, presses her lips to mine and my world explodes.

All my willpower crumples under her touch and I give in; my hands find the bare skin of her waist, pulling her body closer to mine, as our lips move in tandem. All I’m aware of is her; her lips, the way she smells and tastes, and the feel of her body pressed against mine. The world could implode around us and I wouldn’t notice, all my senses are consumed with her. Her hands are in my hair, tangling with my curls and I pull her impossibly closer as my hands clutch her to me desperately; one still on the bare skin of her waist and the other on her cheek, wrapped up in strands of her hair that is as soft as I’ve always thought it looked. I kiss her like the world is ending, like a starved man who hasn’t eaten in years, like kissing her could absolve me of all the darkness in my soul and make me anew.

She pulls away slightly after a moment, both of us breathless, and I’m in awe of her like this: her lips swollen, hair tousled and pupils dilated. “Matt,” she says breathlessly and I lean back in, capturing her lips once more. I step her backwards until her back is pressed against the wall of the boathouse, eliciting a small gasp from Mia’s mouth as her bare skin collides with the cool glass. I smirk against her lips, pressing further into her body as I deepen the kiss, taking advantage of her gasp. My body takes over, no longer thinking through my actions or their consequences, and I just feel. All that exists to me in this moment is us and for once I’m not the son of the Dark Lord and she’s not The Girl Who Lived. We are just Mattheo and Euphemia, Matt and Mia, and right now that is more than enough.

a/n; ahhhh!!!

yes this is named after too sweet by hozier bc its sooooo mattheo riddle coded and fit really well and I was listening to it while i wrote this. also this gif makes me literally feral so enjoy ;)

one more chapter to go in PoA year and then we get to move on to GoF so yay!

taglist; @purplegardenwhispers @somethingswiftandstyles @weasleyreidstyles @mayamonroem @girlbooklover555 @stxrszurzolo @abaker74

#harry potter #harry potter fandom #harry potter fanfiction #matteo riddle #hogwarts #hogwarts oc #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #hp fanfic #wizarding world #hogwarts houses #mattheo riddle fanfic #mattheo riddle fluff #mattheo riddle imagine #mattheo riddle smut #mattheo riddle #matty riddle #of violent delight

28 notes · View notes

starogeorgina · 11 months

Text

Violent delights

Warnings: Swearing, smut

Pairings: Jacaerys Velaryon x oc

1.04

Your mother stares at her eldest son with admiration; she respected him for his proposal to protect his family, but she could sense your hesitation. “Jacaerys...,” she sighs, “my kindhearted boy, that is the most honorable of proposals, but—”

“A genius idea,” Daemon states, cutting your mother off before she can continue. “Aemma will be a Velaryon, thus protected from the greens.”

A heaviness builds in your chest as you listen to your mother and Daemon discuss the political benefits that would come from you marrying Jacaerys. Watching your mother cradle her growing bump highlighted the disadvantages. You’d never be able to give him a male heir or possibly any children of his own.

“I’m not suggesting this as a political arrangement,” Jace states. Your mother's eyes widen at her son’s words, and she looks up at Daemon, who’s grinning. He didn’t seem surprised by your brother's idea. “You're proof that marrying for love works.” Jace looks over to you, his dark eyes full of fear. “Lyarra?”

Struggling to find your voice, you look between the three of them, knowing that none of them wants to hear what you have to say. You loved your older brother far too much to let him marry you for the sake of honor; he deserves better. Tears start to build behind your eyes at the same time Aemma begins to scream, “I need to tend to Aemma; excuse me.”

You practically run out of the room, not looking back as your name is called.

The moment the door to your bedchamber is closed, you begin to sob, your stream of tears matching your daughters. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” you say, softly kissing the side of her head. “It will all be okay, I promise.”

Reluctantly, you call for a wet nurse; not being able to feed Aemma yourself plagues you with guilt. When the wet nurse arrived, you handed Aemma to her and excused yourself. You go and stand on a small balcony just off your room, watching the waves crash below, not caring about your skin and clothes getting soaked.

You close your eyes, hearing footsteps closing in from behind. You just needed a few more seconds to clear your head before you were no doubt ambushed about how rude you were to leave so abruptly, but to your surprise, nobody speaks. You can feel their body heat rubbing off on you when a large cloak is draped over your shoulders, then the hood is pulled down to cover your face.

“I didn’t mean to upset you.”

You open your eyes and look into the bloodshot eyes of your brothers; it hurts to see him looking so hurt by your own actions. “You didn’t. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to run off like that, but I was just so overwhelmed.”

“Please don’t apologize or explain; it’s my fault. I put you on the spot, which I shouldn’t have done; I should have asked you privately.”

You cup the side of his face and say, “My sweet Jacaerys. I know you want to do everything you can to protect Aemma, and I am wholeheartedly thankful for that.”

He stares at you in disbelief. “You really think that’s the only reason I proposed marriage? Lyarra I was heartbroken when you married Aegon. And not just because he is cruel and vulgar, but because I’d be losing you forever. I’ve loved you since I was a boy, and I don’t ever imagine the day that I don’t. But I will not force you into another marriage.”

You cut him off by crashing your lips against his. Warm tears spill down your cheeks. You pull back from the kiss, rest your forehead against his, and chuckle softly. “I used to dream of marrying you when I was younger. How happy our grandsire would be, what we would name our children... but I stopped believing it was ever possible when Alicent declared I was a match made for Aegon.”

“If this is something we both want, then nothing is standing in our way.”

The sky above you had turned black as the winds picked up and the rainfall became much heavier. It was so dark that you could hardly see Jace standing in front of you, sighing and shaking your head. “I may never be able to give you an heir... After everything that Aegon put me through, the idea of ever laying with a man again... I just don’t know if I can do it. I’m sorry.”

“I will never force you to do something that you don’t want too. All I want is to keep you safe; as for an heir, we already have Aemma.”

Your eyes brim with tears, but this time it’s from happiness. “You mean it? Even though she is no-t”

“Aemma is my blood; I would risk my life protecting her regardless of what happens between us,” he says, clearing his throat. “But I promise you I will love her as my own, the same way Daemon has loved us.”

You kiss him again, but this time it is significantly more tender and sweet. “We should inform them of our decision,” you laugh, “assuming, of course, the proposal is still an option.”

He kisses you on the cheek before wrapping his arm around your shoulder and ushering you inside. You feel as if you are floating as your head spins with everything happening so fast. You just prayed to the gods that this wasn’t a dream you could ever wake up from.

𝘏𝘦𝘯 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘰𝘵𝘪 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘨𝘢𝘳 / 𝘝𝘢 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘪 𝘷ã𝘦𝘥𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘢 / 𝘔𝘦𝘳𝘰

𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘻𝘰𝘵 𝘨𝘪𝘩𝘰𝘵𝘪 / 𝘌𝘭𝘦𝘥𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘢 𝘪ā𝘳𝘻𝘢 𝘴ì𝘳 / 𝘐𝘻𝘶𝘭𝘪 𝘢𝘮𝘱ã 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘻𝘪 /

𝘗𝘳ü𝘮𝘪 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪 𝘴ē𝘵𝘦𝘬𝘴𝘪 / 𝘏𝘦𝘯 𝘫𝘦𝘯𝘺 𝘮ä𝘻𝘪𝘭𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘯 / 𝘘𝘦𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘢

𝘰𝘻û𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘪 / 𝘚𝘺𝘯𝘥𝘳𝘰𝘳𝘰 𝘰ñ𝘰 𝘫ê𝘥𝘰 / 𝘙ÿ 𝘬𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘢 𝘮𝘢𝘻𝘷𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘬𝘴𝘪

𝘉𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘸𝘰 / 𝘑𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘴 𝘰𝘯𝘦 / 𝘎𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘭𝘢𝘮𝘦 / 𝘈𝘯𝘥

𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘴 / 𝘛𝘸𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘴 / 𝘍𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘴 / 𝘈 𝘧𝘶𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘨𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘴 / 𝘛𝘩𝘦

𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 / 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘷𝘰𝘸 𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 / 𝘖𝘧 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵

“Fuck!”

Hearing Jace moan loudly in pleasure caused you to speed up your actions. You were eager to give him the relief he desperately sought. Usually you would enjoy teasing him, but since you rarely got alone time together, you needed to be quick.

“Lyarra, please,” he begs. “Please don’t stop.”

You pumped his member into your hand while Jace continued to lick and suck at your breast. He had seen your body change many times over the past few years, but his lust for you hadn’t changed. It was only seconds after the door to your bedchamber closed that he had you pinned up against the wall, his lips clashing against your own. Craving to touch him, you didn’t bother attempting to undress Jace; you pushed your hand into his waistband and took hold of his already hard cock. At the same time, Jace bit and sucked at your neck before pulling the top of your dress down so he could have better access to your heavy chest.

With a knock at the door, you and Jace jump apart; he quickly shoves himself back into his trousers while you pull the top of your dress back up. Unsure what to expect, you shared a look of concern with him; you’d explicitly asked to be left alone and only interrupted if it was important. You smooth your dress down nervously before opening the door to face one of your mother's handmaids.

She bows, “Forgive the intrusion; Princess Rhaenyra has urgently requested both your presence.”

Jacaerys thanks her before taking your hand, and quickly you head in the direction of the chambers your mother was in. Silently, you prayed it wasn’t anything too serious. Both you and your mother were pregnant again and stressful situations was the last thing you needed.

—

“Absolutely not!” Your husband clenches his fists and says, “You cannot go to King's Landing. I will not have you relive the hell you went through.”

You glance at your daughter, who happily snuggles into what looks like an old rag, holding it close to her face as she sleeps in your bed, unfazed by her father's loud voice. Jacaerys has always been hot-tempered but usually manages to maintain his composure; however, he was being pushed to the edge. His brown eyes are full of guilt and shame when he looks down at his daughter.

Lord Corlys' eldest nephew, Vaemond, insisted he should be Corlys' chosen successor, claiming your three eldest brothers were bastards and your mother was guilty of committing adultery. To keep Lucerys as the rightful heir of Driftmark, your family would need to travel to the keep and fight for his claim.

“We will be fine, my love, Alicent-”

“She is cruel; she will do anything she can to further the claim that me, Luke, and Joffrey are bastards,” he says quietly. “I will do anything to protect our brother, but I’m not putting you at risk at the same time.”

You could tell he was holding something back as he pulled on the threads of the soft gray fur hanging on the bottom of the bed. “Things will be different this time; I won’t be alone.”

“What if Aegon sees Aemma and…”

“And?” You cup his face gently and say, “You’re her father, Jace. You’re the one who raised her, and she loves you as her father. No matter what anyone says, that will never change.” You could see the doubt in his eyes. “They wouldn’t dare say or do anything to our sweet little girl; otherwise, they would have the whole of house Velaryon to deal with. Not to mention Daemon; he would bring fire and blood if they ever hurt his children or grandchildren.”

“I suppose you are right.” Looking defeated, he sits on the chair by the foot of the bed and sighs, “If my legitimacy is put into question, then so is our children’s.”

The gods had been kind since your marriage to Jacaerys, blessing you with both healthy male and female heirs. After a year of marriage, you finally felt ready to lay with your husband, and not long after, your second daughter was born. You named her Rhaenys after your grandmother on your father's side. Less than two years later, you give birth to twin sons, Avery and Aethan. All of them shared your Targaryen features; however, you secretly hoped the next one looked like Jace. “Then we will remind them that we are part Targaryen, and the blood of the dragon runs thick through our veins and our children’s. We need to do this; we need to go and show a united front for our family. For Lucerys. I will not allow the greens to treat him the same way they treated me.”

“Your bravery never fails to amaze me,” he says, kissing the back of your hand. For the first few months of your second pregnancy, Jacaerys often found you kneeling, eyes closed, hands pressed together, while you prayed for your babe to be healthy. It was then that he truly understood how terrifying living in the keep and going through each pregnancy alone must have been. Ever since he took every opportunity to remind you of that, He lets out a soft chuckle. “Do you think our dragons will be restless without us near?”

“We shall bring them with us. I will fly on Viserion and you on Vermax to the keep; our children can either fly with us or go in the carriage with our mother and Daemon.”

A little more content Jacaerys nods in agreement before he starts to get ready for bed. You force a smile, afraid to admit how truly scared you are to return to the keep.

384 notes · View notes

flowersforjude · 5 days

Text

𝐕𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐃𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ≈ ⚓︎

❛𝘪 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘪𝘦 𝘴𝘰 𝘧𝘢𝘳 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘢❜

﹢✷﹢ a hunger games fanfiction ┈﹙finnick odair x oc!fem reader﹚┈

Summary | They say the odds are in your favor, but the truth is they never are. They're never in favor of the emaciated faces fighting to survive their day to day lives. The faces that are then forced to send two children year after year to continue fighting for their lives in a sick game controlled by those who believe themselves to be better.

Lyssa Monroe never expected to be chosen, even with the threat always hanging over her. To her horror, the day comes when she is. Lyssa is quickly thrust into a world that robs her of her innocence and forces her to commit vile acts that will forever change her.

A hurricane rages inside her that rivals even the most brutal storms on the vast ocean. It will not calm until the wrongs committed against the innocents like she once was is put to right. These violent acts that the Capitol delights in so greatly will surely have violent ends. Lyssa can feel sparks in the air, and you know what they say...it only takes a single ember for a fie to start.

⇾ chapter one﹙2.8 k﹚

⇾ chapter two﹙3.4 k﹚

⇾ chapter three﹙2.3 k﹚

⇾ chapter four﹙2.3 k﹚

⇾ chapter five﹙3.7 k﹚

13 notes · View notes

marsneedstherapy · 7 months

Text

why would the secert shanghai characters work so well in like a university au...

#IM JUST SAYING #i so could fit like every plot thread into a university au #well not exactly #but i could do so much with a university au #chloe gong #foul lady fortune #secret shanghai #foul heart huntsman #these violent delights #our violent ends #last violent call #fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 #university au

52 notes · View notes

sprnklersplashes · 1 year

Text

these violent delights (2/?) (ao3)

Someone is calling his name, the sound just about audible over the late-night ruckus in the Six. Jesper looks up immediately, expecting to see Wylan coming back in. His grin falters when he doesn’t make an appearance and grows steadily smaller when he hears the alarm in whoever’s voice it is. His shuffling hands slow down, uneasiness replacing the giddiness the cards had given him. Then, Annika skids to a halt at his table, her eyes wide, her chest heaving, and dread settles like a stone in Jesper’s stomach.

“It’s Wylan,” she gasps, leaning heavily against the table. “He’s hurt.”

Jesper shoots from the seat, the cards falling like dust from the table.

He throws himself through the front doors and out onto the street, turning wildly in circles as he searches for Wylan. He’s vaguely aware of Kaz’s presence, but for once the infamous Bastard is just another face. The streets are full to the brim; Barrel rats looking for a good con, tourists looking for good fun, kids looking for a good opportunity. Boys, girls, tall, short, young old, they all blur into one thing around him. One large, terrible thing surrounds them, flooding the streets. Terrible because none of them is Wylan, and because they’re stopping him from getting to him. Annika’s words play over and over again, in time to the beat of his heart.

Wylan’s hurt.

Despite his religious scepticism, he says a small prayer every time he looks around. That was a misunderstanding. That it was just a boy who looks like Wylan. That it’s a different Wylan. It’s awful, and he’ll do his penance ten times over, but right now he just needs, he needs Wylan to be okay.

“Jesper.” Someone-Kaz- tugs sharply on his coat, yanking Jesper around so that he faces the front of the Silver Six. There, as the crowd begins to part, Kaz points with his cane, and Jesper’s heart freezes. “I found him.”

He’s sunk to his knees beside one of the outdoor tables. His head is bent over and his hands are buried in his hair. It only takes one look to see the tightness in his body, and as they get closer they see how badly he’s trembling. It might be cold out, but this shaking is beyond that. It’s more like he’s fighting to hold on to something, and whatever he’s fighting is far stronger than him.

Jesper is already beyond scared by the sight. But then Wylan crumples and gives a weak cry as his shoulder strikes the ground, and he can’t breathe.

Saints, please let this be a dream.

“Wylan!”

A cough wracks his body as Jesper and Kaz kneel next to him, and blood trickles from his lips to the pavement. His skin is almost translucent, his hair starkly dark against it. The blood covers his lips now, oozing like oil from an engine. His body twitches, his face contorted in pain. He almost looks unrecognisable. He almost doesn’t look human.

“Wylan?” he says again. He touches his cheek, wincing at how cold the skin is beneath his hand. “Wylan, can you hear me?” He pushes his hair away from his scrunched-up eyes. But then Wylan bucks, his breathing frantic and jagged, and he pulls his hand away. He does something, a groan or a grunt or some attempt at speech, and blood leaks from his nose and runs down his pale face.

“What’s happening to him?” he asks. Kaz’s gaze is as dark and stormy as ever; thunderclouds rolling behind his pupils. Wylan thrashes again and a helpless cry is wrenched from him. His head hits the cobblestones with an audible, horrible thunk.

“He’s going to hurt himself,” is all Kaz says.

Jesper slides his hands under Wylan’s shoulders and lifts him. This he can do. His touch is careful as though he’s cradling lit grenades. Gently, he rests Wylan’s head on his lap. It doesn’t stop the seizing, but at least his head isn’t hitting the ground any more.

At some point, Nina and Matthias came running out after them, and both of them kneel on either side of Wylan. Jesper looks at Nina, not trusting himself to speak. Find out what’s wrong, and fix this, he asks her silently. Nina just looks back at him, tears glinting in her eyes, and Jesper’s shoulders shake.

She’s not the same as she used to be, and whatever this is, it’s beyond her.

He wishes he could tell her it’s okay, but all he can think about is Wylan convulsing in his lap.

“Jesper.” Kaz’s voice is sharp, pulling him back to the moment. His dark eyes are trained on something above them, his jaw tight. Jesper has only seen this expression a handful of times before; in the depths of the Ice Court, on Vallegulk, when Van Eck took Inej. It ignites something in him, and he follows Kaz’s gaze above.

At first, he sees nothing, just the outlines of rooftops. But then the lights grow brighter, and it’s there, silhouetted against the night sky. A hooded figure stands atop the roof of the Silver Six. He can’t see them that well, just that their hands are moving in controlled jerks, and they’re staring down directly at Wylan.

“Jesper,” Kaz says again, but he doesn’t need to. The gun is in his hand and pointing up at the roof before he even realises it. His shooting arm is the only part of him that isn’t shaking and locks his aim at the figure above. If they notice, they don’t do anything, but Jesper suspects they don’t. Wylan cries out again, like an animal caught in a trap and he clicks the off the safety.

“We need them alive,” Kaz says. Jesper hears it, and it must click with him because when he sends off the bullet, he feels it fly a little lower than its initial trajectory. It’ll lodge in their hip, rather than their chest. He’s not particularly happy about it, but at least some part of him is thinking past this moment.

The figure on the roof falls soundlessly, and the next second, Wylan goes slack. The tension that had held wrought through his slight frame flees and he sinks into Jesper’s lap, taking heavy gulps of air. Carefully, Jesper runs his fingers across his face, brushing away a smudge on his cheekbone.

“Jes?” His voice is broken, strained, barely a whisper. Wylan is beside him, but he sounds like he’s coming from miles away.

“I’m here,” he whispers, afraid to hurt him again. He takes Wylan’s hand in his and squeezes it to warm it up. “I’m here, darling, everything’s going to be okay.”

Before he realises, he’s cupping Wylan’s cold cheek with his hand. He waits for the signal to pull away, that his touch is hurting him, but it doesn’t come. Instead, Wylan leans into his touch, and for a heart-stopping moment, Jesper thinks it’s over.

“Jes,” he says again. Droplets of blood trickle down to his chin. He takes a deep, uneven, desperate breath.

Then his eyes close, and he doesn’t say anything.

It’s Kaz who moves first. Of course, it’s Kaz. Jesper is busy not feeling anything and is still trying to process Wylan’s limp body laying against his legs. Jesper, for all the bravado he puts up, feels like his limbs are disconnecting and floating away from his body, but Kaz is the one pulling them together again. Or, pushing them aggressively until they pop back into place.

“We need to get him back to the Slat,” is his first command. “Keeping him out in the open is an invitation for trouble.” His dark eyes snap up. “Matthias, stay with Wylan and Jesper. If you can, find a Healer. Nina, you’re with me. If Jesper made the shot right, they’ll still be alive.”

If Jesper made the shot right. He looks down at Wylan again and brushes his hair away from his face. Their best (and maybe only) chance to find out what happened rests on whether he made the shot.

He bites his tongue and swallows the bile in his throat.

Nina brushes his shoulder before she goes, a whispered “It’s okay” in his ear. It’s both sweet and wrong because no part of this is okay. Those words have rarely felt as hollow as they do now.

Matthias appears in front of him, his eyes firm and his sleeves rolled up. He presses two fingers to Wylan’s neck, then his wrist. He exhales softly as he does, the worry not leaving his face. But his shoulders drop, and he gives a single, steady nod.

“His pulse is okay,” he says. “And he’s still breathing.” The Fjerdan grabs Jesper’s shoulder then, and his grip is so tight it sends a jolt through Jesper’s body. If Kaz pushed him back together, then Matthis pulls him firmly back to the present. “Jesper,” Matthias says. “Kaz was right. We need to get him back to the Slat. I’ll follow behind and try to grab a Healer. All right?”

“Right,” he hears himself say. He gathers Wylan into his arms and stands up. His head rests against Jesper’s shoulder, and he’s reminded of a few nights ago when Wylan fell asleep in his study and Jesper had carried him to bed. He’d woken up halfway there, but a soft murmur from Jesper and his head on his shoulder and fall back to sleep.

That was when Jesper started thinking Wylan needed a night off.

If he’d known-

“Matthias,” he says. “Try to be subtle. If word gets to the wrong person that Kaz Brekker’s demolition man got hurt-”

“I understand,” he says. He looks at Wylan, his blue eyes torn. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Thank you,” Jesper chokes out. He turns, keeping Wylan pressed against his chest, and holds him as tightly as he can all the way back to the Slat.

There’s a visible change when Jesper kicks the door open, his arms still firmly wrapped around Wylan. Those Dregs who haven’t gone out tonight spring into action the instant they see him; one closes the door behind him, several ask him what happened. One even has the foresight to run up ahead of him and use Jesper’s key to open their room. Another lights the lamps, bathing the room in a dull orange hue.

He carries him to the bed and lays him out, making sure to brace the back of his head. The sound of his skull hitting the pavement still ricochets through Jesper’s head. Wylan doesn’t react as Jesper sets him down; not even when he tucks a blanket around his cold body. He just lies there, and if it weren’t for his faint breaths, he’d be forgiven for thinking he was-

No, he thinks. No.

Matthias rushes in before he can go any further. Jesper has never been happier to see him, especially when he sees the girl standing at his side, whose brown eyes are trained on Wylan and whose hands are already poised to work.

“Healer?” he asks. Matthias looks half-apologetic, and the girl clears her throat.

“Heartrender,” she corrects. “But I can heal.”

“She’s a friend of Nina’s,” Matthias explains. “A sort of friend. It’s- I couldn’t find anyone-”

“It’s okay,” Jesper cuts off. Matthias nods at that. He looks over at the Heartrender, his own heart beating so loudly he can hardly hear himself ask, “Can you fix him?”

The girl rolls up her sleeves. “I can try.”

She sits on the edge of the bed and holds her hands over Wylan. Jesper hovers back, Matthias standing solidly at his shoulder. The other boy’s hands are clasped in front of his face in a way that vaguely looks like a prayer. Jesper almost envies him. He had never properly prayed before and instead relied on luck until it ran out. Now he watches this girl he barely knows move her hand over Wylan’s prone body and he realises he’s pinning all of his hopes on her.

He wouldn’t call it a prayer exactly, but he swears his allegiance to the first god or saint that saves him.

The girl holds her hand over Wylan’s heart, her fingers moving slowly before travelling up his chest. Unlike Nina and the slow, carefully controlled way she used to move, this girl almost forces her hand up Wylan’s body, her arm so stiff it looks like it could crack. He wants to believe it doesn’t mean anything, what would he know about the best way to be a Grisha?

Wylan moves, finally, when her hand hovers over his head. His face tightens and a pained gasp breaks the silence in the room. It’s nowhere near the agonised screaming they’d heard from him earlier, the one that floods Jesper’s head now.

“Careful,” he hears himself say. The Heartrender turns to look at him, her eyebrow raised. The expression is irritated at best and offended at worst, and Jesper clears his throat. “When I-When I touched his head earlier, it hurt him.” He pulls at his waistcoat. “Just… be careful.”

“How is he?” Matthias asks. “Can you heal him?”

“It’s hard to say,” she replies. “I’m not a trained Healer and even if I was… head injuries are tricky. Especially ones this severe.”

Jesper’s heart drops.

“How severe is it?” he asks. The Heartrender looks at him again, her hand still hovering over his head. Wylan groans again, this time with a little more force behind it, and shifts against the mattress. “I don’t know. I’ve fixed some of the surface-level damage, but…” She shakes her head. “There’s not much else I can do.”

“Will he wake?” Matthias asks. The stiffens, and the look on her face strikes Jesper’s heart. He knows that look. He’s spent the better part of his life trying to forget that look, that mix of pity and sorrow and not-knowing-what-to-say.

He turns, his shaking hands pressed to his mouth. Behind him, Matthias speaks to the Heartrender, their voices low and hushed. Or maybe that’s just the ringing in his ears. He forces himself to breathe out, to flex his fingers, to run his hands over his revolvers. None of it helps, his veins still spark like lit fuses around his body. The cracked plaster feels like it’s clawing at him, scratching down his skin. He needs to get out of here, to run up and down the streets and fire his guns until he runs out of bullets. Some deep, buried part of him wants to use whoever the fuck did this as target practice. The thought brings something, not relief but something close. Maybe it would help, but he’s not doing it. Kaz kept that person alive for a reason and he’s not leaving this room until Wylan’s awake.

A hand grazes his shoulder, and after he flinches he sees Matthias walking the Heartrender girl outside. He mumbles a “thank you” to the girl before she leaves. Colm Fahey raised a liar and a thief, but a polite one.

With nowhere else to go, he pulls the chair beside the bed and sits down.

It doesn’t feel right; seeing Wylan so still. Everyone thinks he’s the bouncy one out of the two of them, but they don’t see Wylan the way he does. At his workshop, he’ll wriggle his nose when he’s concentrating, or his shoulders when he’s on the verge of a breakthrough. At Merchant Council meetings, he’ll tug on his hair when he’s growing overwhelmed, or tap his nails together when he’s thinking. And when they’re in bed together, drifting slowly into sleep, he’ll trace patterns on Jesper’s arms, tattoos that exist only in his mind.

How can all of that be gone now, and how can he be so still?

Blood still stains his face, scarlet against paper-white skin. Slowly, Jesper stands and fetches the towel from the hook on the door, then runs it under the faucet in the corner. He doesn’t take his eyes off Wylan, walking backwards when he needs to. When he sits back down, he dabs the towel carefully against the bloodstains.

The last time Jesper cleaned something off Wylan, it was flour from a baking attempt gone wrong. Wylan had wriggled in his grasp, his eyes glittering, his laughter filling the kitchen like the sweetest music Jesper had ever heard. Now, he doesn’t even flinch.

He throws the stained towel over the bedpost.

“There you go, darling,” he whispers. “That’s better isn’t it?” He breathes out slowly. Purple bags. have appeared under Wylan’s eyes, or maybe they were always there. It’s been such a heavy week for him, long hours at the Council and late nights in his office. There were so many demands to meet in such little time. His side of the bed had been so cold, with him waking at the crack of dawn to work and not getting in until late.

All Jesper had wanted was for him to blow off some steam. To go someplace where he was just Wylan, and leave the burden of the Van Eck name in his office.

Wylan was reluctant, but Jesper had insisted. Of course, he did, because he’s like a freaking dog with a bone sometimes and maybe he wanted a night out too and now… now they’re here. Wylan is cold and unmoving in the bed they planned to share tonight.

“Wylan, I’m so sorry,” he whispers. He reaches over and slides his fingers between his. The heat from his hand bleeds into Wylan’s, and he hopes he feels it. “We should’ve just stayed in tonight like you wanted. And I promise as soon as you’re better, I’m spending my life making it up to you.” He kisses the back of Wylan’s hand. He hadn’t realised he was crying until the tears wet Wylan’s skin. “Get all those fantasies ready, merchling, because nothing is off-limits.”

The door creaks open then. He doesn’t turn around but the rhythmic thumping behind him means he doesn’t need to. A flash of black appears in his peripheral vision, hands folded over a crow’s head cane.

Neither speaks for a few seconds. Out of the corner of his eye, Jesper sees his gloved fingers curl.

“It was a Heartrender,” he finally says. “Using parem.”

“Parem?” Jesper echoes. He does look up at Kaz, just for a second, to make sure he heard him right. He nods once, slowly, and Jesper sinks into his chair. “Saints. Do we know anything else?”

“Not yet,” he replies. “After you shot her, she wasn’t in a very talkative mood. Nina’s taking care of her. ” He turns toward Jesper. “Lodged it right in her hip. Good shot.”

“Thanks,” he mutters, though he forgets what he’s thanking for. His mind is too focused on the words Heartrender and parem, and all the implications that has. Who sent her? Why did they send her? Where did they get parem from?

“How is he?” Kaz asks. He steps forward and lowers himself onto the bed. Something flashes across his face, and for once Jesper can’t be bothered to try to work it out. The question is hard enough; he can’t answer and try to fathom Kaz’s carefully guarded emotions.

“Matthias found a Heartrender. She said it was a head injury.” His chest tightens and his voice falls to a croak as he continues. “A bad one.” He holds Wylan tighter, pushing away the grief looming over him. He won’t mourn Wylan while he’s still breathing.

Kaz says nothing. His hand tightens on the head of his cane, and his hair falls in front of his unreadable eyes.

“It’s getting late,” he says. “Get some rest. I can take over for a while.”

“No.” Kaz blinks in surprise. Jesper honestly hadn’t expected it to sound so forceful, but he means it. He’s not leaving Wylan’s side. He’s not even taking his eyes off him.

He took his eyes off Ma. He spent all night with her hand on his cheek and his face in the mattress. When he woke up, it was too late.

He’s not making that mistake again and Kaz will have to knock him out himself if he has to.

He doesn’t though. Instead, he gives a simple “All right” and pulls the spare chair up beside him. Up close, Jesper catches the dark blue blanket folded in Kaz’s lap. He waits for him to cover Wylan with it, but it stays folded beneath his hands.

They sit in silence. Jesper’s breathing slows to match Kaz’s, and with it, the events of the past hour fall over him like dust over a shelf. A Heartrender. Using parem. Wylan’s head injury. The expression on the girl’s face when she looked at him.

The grief resurfaces, swirling like dark cloud over the prairie. He remembers how helpless those storm clouds made him feel as a kid. He feels that now, magnified tenfold. This time they’re pressing down on him, and no-one will pet his hair and tell him that it will pass.

“He’s not dying,” Kaz says suddenly. Jesper looks at him, wild hope flickering inside him. If there was ever a person who could fix the unfixable, it would be Kaz. He’s dragged himself back from death once or twice, surely he could for someone else.

Kaz leans forward, just a little, and Jesper holds his breath. He waits for Kaz to pull something out of his sleeve, or for Wylan to sit up and say it was all part of Kaz’s master plan. Neither happen. Kaz only bows his head and trains his eyes on Wylan’s sleeping form.

“He isn’t mean to die like this,” he says roughly. Jesper swallows. Even on a good day, Wylan dying is the last thing he’d want to think about. Not when the unspoken truth of their relationship is that Wylan might go before Jesper does. But Kaz is right. Whatever way Wylan is meant to die, it’s not here in this broken bed in the Slat, just turned twenty-three.

“No,” Jesper replies. “He’s not.” He squeezes Wylan’s hand. “There’s not even a bomb around.”

It’s a horrible joke, but they laugh. anyway

The night goes on. Wylan doesn’t move at all, bar the slow rise and fall of his chest. Nina puts her head around the door and asks about him. She puts a plate of bread and cheese in front of them and squeezes Jesper’s shoulder.

Kaz gets up and catches her just as she reaches the door. He hears Kaz’s hushed voice as he speaks to her, inaudible over the late-night rumblings of the Barrel. Presumably, it’s about the Heartrender they have in custody; Jesper is sure he hears the words ‘parem’ and ‘Heartrender’ used somewhere. He should probably ask Nina what’s going on. He’s also a Crow and he should be on the same page as everyone else.

The thought crosses his mind, but he doesn’t act on it. Kaz will catch him up if he needs to. He just focuses on holding Wylan’s hand, and dimly questions why the room is getting darker.

Morning brightness pokes at his eyelids, dragging him out of his sleep. He’s reminded of being back on the farm; his Ma used to pull the curtains open to wake him up, pestering him as he groaned and asked for five more minutes. The memory lingers for a few seconds, lulling him into the sweet lie that he’s back home, and that nothing has gone wrong yet.

Unfortunately, he’s not back home. He’s not greeted by endless blue skies when he opens his eyes. Instead, he sees Wylan, just as he was before, now bathed in a weak Ketterdam sunlight and Kaz rolling his cane between his hands. The blanket he had last night is nowhere to be seen, and Jesper realises blearily that it was draped over his shoulders.

“There’s been no change,” he says roughly. The crow on his cane spins. “His pulse and his breathing are still fine.”

“How long’s it been?” Jesper asks.

“About six hours.” Jesper bites his tongue, his shoulders shaking beneath the wool. Six hours he spent not with Wylan. Anything could have happened in that time. He shoves the blanket off and balls it between his fists. He wants to drop it to the floor and kick it under the bed, the feel of it makes his skin crawl. But he doesn’t. Instead, he just keeps pressing it, as if the pressure he pours will turn it into a diamond.

“You shouldn’t have let me sleep,” is all he says. Kaz doesn’t respond. Jesper shifts to the edge of his seat and waits for him to press on it. Or maybe he will. Maybe he’ll start a stupid fight just so the blaze in his chest can go somewhere-

Then Wylan gasps.

He frowns, delicate features scrunching like he’s waking from a long sleep. Quiet murmurs drift through the air, reminiscent of late weekend mornings spent in their bed. His slender pianist’s fingers curl and uncurl on the sheets, bitten nails scratching the coarse fabric.

“Wylan?” Slowly, Jesper rises from the chair and perches on the edge of the bed. His palm is cold as he lays it atop Wylan’s blanket. His breath comes in short, anxious puffs, his heartbeat echoing in his empty chest. “Wylan, it’s okay, I’m here.”

“Mm?” comes Wylan’s reply. His weight shifts, another sight familiar from their bed. He breathes out heavily, his long-lashed eyes fluttering. Jesper’s heart does a similar motion, and before he knows what he’s doing his hand comes up to cup Wylan’s face. Wylan leans into his touch, his cheek not nearly as cold as it was last night, and Jesper could collapse there and then.

He sighs, his nose scrunches, and Jesper holds so tightly to his patience. It could be seconds or hours, Jesper doesn’t know, but he waits and whispers and finally, Wylan’s eyes flutter open, and relief sweeps through Jesper like a spring wind over the fields.

“Hi.” The words squeeze out from his tight throat. The tears flow down his cheeks, but he’ll wipe them away later. He just wants to hold Wylan’s face and never let him go. “Welcome back, darling.”

Wylan frowns, his brown eyes still glazed, unfocused. Jesper nods encouragingly, his thumb rubbing circles beneath his eye. It’s okay, he wants to say. I’m here, everything’s going to be okay.

Before he can, Wylan jerks out of his grasp. He scrambles across the mattress and leaves Jesper’s cold hands hovering in the air. Jesper swallows down his panic as Wylan presses himself into the wall, his eyes widening and darting around the room.

“Where am I?” he stammers. Jesper notices the rapid rise and fall of Wylan’s chest then and shares an uneasy look with Kaz. The Heartrender’s words come back to him, “severe” and “tricky” breaking through his relief.

“You’re in the Slat, Wylan,” Jesper tells him. Wylan shakes his head, his hair falling in front of his face.

“The-the Slat?” he asks. His voice trembles and Jesper eases himself closer to him, his hand slightly raised. He’s found Wylan in dysregulated states before and brought him back, but something about this feels off.

“In the Barrel,” he says, his voice like an autumn breeze.

“The Barrel?” His voice is so high it scratches Jesper’s ear, and panic seeped deep into the two words. He shakes his head again, wilder this time, and he’s going to hurt himself if he keeps going.

“Yes,” he says again. He reaches for Wylan’s hand, only to grasp at thin air. He looks up and sees Wylan’s hand curled against his chest. Then he looks again and sees the feral look in his boyfriend’s eye. Behind him, Kaz stiffens, and a lump forms in Jesper’s throat. “Last night. Remember we went out, we went to the Barrel-”

“No!” he cries.

Wyaln falls from the bed, landing in an ungraceful heap on the floor. He pulls himself hastily to his feet, runs a hand through his hair, and steps back, the bed acting as a barrier between them and him. Jesper tries not to scream. He’s never seen Wylan like this, not even at the Ice Court. Hell, not even his father struck such fear in him. One trembling hand is raised, half curled into a fist, and his panic-stricken eyes dart from Jesper to Kaz. He looks ready to either start a fight or hurl himself through the far window. Jesper feels he should be ready to grab him, whichever he does.

Kaz steps out from behind Jesper, exuding a coolness that he wishes he felt. His cane touches the floor once, twice, and Jesper waits for the miracle.

“Wylan-”

“How do you know my name?”

Jesper freezes. Kaz freezes. They turn and look at each other. Their movements are slow like old doors on rusted hinges. As one, they look back at Wylan, his quick gasps filling the air, his whole body shaking. Jesper reaches out to him, but Kaz’s cane blocks his path.

“Who the hell are you?” Wylan asks. “And where have you taken me?”

The storm clouds return and when they open, Jesper lets them drown him.

#six of crows #six of crows fanfic #wesper #wesper fanfic #wylan van eck #jesper fahey #fic: these violent delights

20 notes · View notes