#My life is being brutally stolen from me

[aftermathing]

How to find will to live and purpose in life when chronic pain is destroying your body and mind.

[theeveninghour]

All My Dreaming

Summary: You came to the Night Court as a fugitive and quickly became a valued member of the Inner Circle. Azriel’s love for you has burned brightly in his chest for nearly two centuries now, but when an unknown force threatens to take you from him, he must fight to keep you at his side.

Pairing: Azriel x Winter Court!Reader

A/N: I don’t use Y/N here just out of personal preference, but the IC do call reader “Little One” because she’s younger than them by like a century or so. Also, slight timeline deviation? I kind of just made the ACOTAR timeline work for me a little bit but the important bits are there mostly. If it’s not totally accurate, please suspend your disbelief and go with it. I also took some serious liberties with Prythian geography and Azriel’s shadows in this. I had to force myself to stop because I could’ve written five more scenes, so let me know if you all want a part two. I got nasty Azriel thots to spare, baby! 

WC: 16.1k  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

TW: 18+, Minors DNI, violence, death, descriptive gore, lots of time jumps, torture, smut, p in v, fingering, porn with plot, mating, slow burn, angst, friends to lovers, declarations of love, loving sexy times, miscommunications abound, Azriel being a big ole softie, Azriel being a big ole bitch to bad men, Azriel really going tf thru it emotionally, and Azriel being mouthy as fuck. Just girly things. 

Part 2

Azriel hadn’t seen you in four days. Nearly a week had passed since you’d left. Rhys mentioned a mission but no additional details, Cassian avoided the topic, knowing how frustrated his brother got when you were gone, and Feyre was decidedly unhelpful the few times he’d brought you up. His shadows searched aimlessly, they’d found nothing as far south as Winter Court, daring not venture into Autumn, and knowing damn well you’d never step foot into Spring. You were slowly driving him mad; the bond in his chest aching at the loss. Even if you hadn’t recognized the golden thread linking the two of you, he felt it. 

Gods, did he feel it. He’d often lay in his bed at night, eyes tracing the intricate foil patterns of the ceiling tiles. When sleep evaded him, as it frequently did, he’d grasp the thread tightly in his minds eye and tug it experimentally, begging you to see, to notice it was him that loved you with a ferocity that rivaled the sun. Try as he might, the responding tug never answered, his call into the void not returning an echo. 

The second it snapped for him, Azriel had resolved himself as unworthy, not of someone like you. You were powerful, breathtakingly beautiful, intimidatingly intelligent, and you regularly brought men to their knees, both in political circles and on the battlefield. Rhys relied on you as much he did Cassian and Az, you were a core member of his court, a valuable asset, and the love of Azriel’s life. Azriel avoided the latter subject entirely, choosing instead to silently stoke the ember in chest with unyielding affection; his own private paramour. 

When you’d joined the Night Court, you’d been on the run from both Winter and Autumn Courts. Your father was a high fae noble in Winter that had attempted to arrange a marriage to the second youngest Vanserra of Autumn. The family’s brutal reputation was legend and you were terrified. You were young then, barely a century old, and upon your introductory visit to the Autumn Court, Beron sought to make an impression by presenting a welcome gift. That gift? The public torture and execution of a servant he’d deemed traitorous. 

His gleaming eyes remained on yours with each cast of the fire whip he’d conjured using his cruel magic. He’d cracked it again and again until blood splattered and the servant was left flayed beyond recognition, flesh searing, and finger tips twitching from the remaining neurons firing in his brain. Only after his death did Beron announce his crimes. He’d stolen a parcel of food from the royal pantry to feed his wife and small child. Your stomach churned at the thought of the now widow and fatherless child waiting at home for the male that would never return. 

It had all been a test to see if you were worthy of the most violent and petulant of the broody sons, and you’d passed, holding Beron’s stare and keeping your back straight as you faced his wrath head on. You’d cried yourself dry in your room that night though, sobs wracking your form until your chest ached, grief for the male that was lost. Fear settled into your heart, terror of the family you were set to marry into. 

You’d ran at first light, leaving with nothing but the clothes on your back. Your Winter white blonde hair streaking across the red and orange forest as you bolted. Beron sent his dogs after you. You still had the scars lining your calves from where they’d gotten too close, brought you down into the dirt, jaws snapping and tearing at the muscly sinew there. But you’d fought. You’d kicked and clawed like a feral child of the woods, screaming with a sense of self preservation you’d never known you possessed. 

Rhysand had found you half dead, starving and a little savage in the mountainous border between the Day and Night Courts. He’d made a bargain with you then; he’d save you, if you worked for him. Word had already spread of the ousted Winter female and spurned Autumn princeling and Rhysand was impressed you’d lasted in the wilds undetected for so long. The small star flecked tattoo of the Velarian night sky that lived on your wrist since was the only evidence of his deal. 

You’d long moved past such a bargain. Rhys had offered to lift it half a dozen times in your first hundred years within his court, but you hadn’t minded. A reminder, you’d insisted, a mark of your loyalty to the family that didn’t lead you the wolves with such glee. 

You’d settled into a routine in Velaris, training with the Illyrian brothers and charming Amren with your intelligence and wit.  But you’d become the closest with Mor, who felt a kinship in your shared traumas. She’d soothed you in those first years, fiercely protecting her friend when Eris Vanserra had shown up in Hewn City as an emissary to inquire on your new position in the Night Court. It was that same night that Azriel realized how fucked he truly was.

Eris smirked at you and your back straightened, face growing cold. He spoke, “My brother was wondering where you’d scampered off to.” A laugh followed, “You couldn’t stomach our court, but found yourself bound to the Court of Nightmares? My my, what a wicked turn of events.” 

Rhysand had spoken then, wearing his High Lord mask well, “Watch yourself, Eris. You know not what our Little One can do.” Eris laughed, the sound laced with the dark spark of a threat. “Little One? Fugitive and Night Court whore, I must tell your father. I’m sure he’ll be proud to hear of his daughter’s fate.” Azriel’s wings pricked, then fluttered, he would’ve killed Eris right then for you. Your hand came to rest on Rhys’ arm as you stepped around the throne to level your accuser with a look that should’ve turned him to stone. 

“I am no male’s whore and I belong to no court except Night. Report what you wish to my father, to your father, your brother. May you all rot.” You’d spat at his feet then, and the room heated twenty degrees, Eris’ barely kept rage simmering under the surface, fire blooming on the fringes of his figure. 

He stepped forward and Cassian, Azriel, and Mor all shifted, prepared to take out the threat. Eris’ eyes tracked their figures, gauging the situation. He knew better. Any attack here would mean war on his court and his father have his hide for that. You stepped forward to meet him, knowing he could make no move without endangering his position. You kept your spine straight and narrowed your gaze at him with such contempt he would’ve been impressed at the show had you been anyone else. 

“I will say this once Eris Vanserra,” you held up one long manicured finger, and Azriel traced the action with thinly veiled obsession. “Leave my court or I will be the one to kill you. I’ll rip your spine from your body and I’ll do it with the same glee in which your father,” you’d spat that word, the hatred you held for Beron burning your throat as the words exited your mouth, “killed that male for feeding his family.” You took a step closer, summoning a dagger in your left hand, and rolling it your palm. “Trust that we have no tolerance for your family or your bullshit in these lands.” 

Eris had good enough sense to step back then, peering around your form to where Rhysand sat, legs spread, slouched in the throne, smirking at your display of dominance. Azriel to his right looked on in pure male satisfaction, you were a powerful little thing and he was rather fond of you in that moment. Eris spoke up, “Should I note that the Night Court threatens other Courts for sport?” Cassian and Azriel rolled their eyes in synchronous fashion, but it was Mor that spoke with the dark edge of a threat, “Only ones that deserve such brutality.” Her father, Kier, stood in the gathered crowd and sneered at the tone of her voice.

You’d done the unthinkable then, winnowing behind Eris, grasping the male by his red hair and dragging the dagger to his neck, digging in enough to cause the male’s heart to speed, a line of scarlet leaking from the press of your blade. You could feel the heat in his skin, the flame licked at your hand as you released him with a shove. 

You brandished your dagger as if it was an extension of your hand, the tip of the silver blade glinting with red from the now healing cut at Eris’ throat. “Come for me again and I’ll kill you.” It was then that Azriel noted the slight tremble in the hand at your right side and he wished on some distant star that he could reach out to you, soothe you, tell you that he was proud and you defended yourself and your court beautifully. 

As if his wish was granted, he felt his chest give way to a canyon of emotion, heart stuttering as the bond fluttered and snapped, thrumming with affection for the female standing at the center of the room. He had selfishly allowed himself to hope it would be you, in the dark of the night when he was alone and his shadows whispered to him of your whereabouts. Since he’d met you, he fostered that small romantic notion of soulmates. His most private desire. 

Eris whirled on you with a roar, grabbing your throat with hands of fire. Azriel felt the breath leave him, and he took two then three steps forward before he could think, hazel eyes alight with a fierceness you’d not yet witnessed. Your eyes found his and you held up your hand to halt his movements, the one that had trembled seconds earlier, now steady as a stone. You’d looked at Eris then, raising your chin defiantly, a slow smile overtaking your face as you once again spit at the Autumn male before winnowing back to your place in front of the dais. Rhysand raised to his feet then, taking steps down to meet you. His hand grazed your arm this time and his mind reached out, “Very good, Little One, very good.” 

“As the lady said, Eris, come to my court in search of her again, and she’ll be the one to kill you.” Rhys circled Eris, tracking like prey. “But not before I sanction it for laying your hands on a member of my house.” Rhysand spoke with such quiet cunning, it was no wonder he excelled as High Lord. Eris snarled then before winnowing out of the Hewn City and Azriel quickly set his shadows to following him, ensuring he was actually gone. 

You returned to Mor’s side and the shameless pride that set on your face the rest of the night made Azriel want to kiss you. Gods, he was fucked.. 

You’d flirted with him constantly in the first century you’d been in Velaris. You had laid it on thick too, dragging a long nail up his arm, your mouth sliding into a smirk after one too many drinks at Rita’s. Azriel had always feigned friendly indifference though, a mask he slipped on that was equal parts protection as it was self soothing. His only crack coming in the form of a slight tremble in his pinky as he tried to gather himself to avoid closing the space between you, touching, grasping, feeling.

He’d worn black leather gloves around you in your first few decades with them. His hands always held the most insecurity for him, the silver scars and warped skin a brutal reminder of his childhood. It was after training one day, as you all packed your small bags and threw towels into bins that you’d asked about it. 

“I don’t mean to pry, and feel free to tell me to fuck off, but why the gloves?” You asked quietly leaning against a wall less than ten feet from him. He’d stiffened and breathed tightly, “it helps with the work.” That had always been his excuse, wearing gloves when killing helped reduce the touch memories associated with the act, and it was partially true. But he wasn’t on a mission right now, and you called him on that, “are you spying right now?” Your lips quirked, “should I tell Rhys?” Your words were mirthful, but your eyes held nothing but empathy for the Shadowsinger, sometimes Azriel wondered if that was your Cauldron blessed gift. 

You’d reached down then, rolling up the left leg of your training leathers. You’d resumed your full height and rotated your calf outward for his eyes to survey the damage there. Ragged silver keloid scars marked the skin from your ankle to the soft back of your knee— a knee he’d admittedly fantasized about many nights in a row now. He’d selfishly thought about trailing kisses up your leg, pausing to nip playfully at the soft skin at your knee as he made his way north, up your thigh. He breathed deeply banishing those thoughts as he took in the site of your marred skin. Judging by the heavily keratinized markings, the injury had no doubt been painful when incurred originally. Azriel’s fingers twitched again, wanting to touch your face, hold you as he kissed away your grief. 

“From Beron’s dogs,” you breathed, rolling you shoulders, as if shaking the memory from your mind. “They wouldn’t heal when I was out there,” you clicked your tongue, “granted I was starving,” you sighed, “but that’s a story for another day.” You looked at him then, and he had to steady himself at the emotions pooling in your eyes. 

He’d already planned on killing Beron if the opportunity presented for what had happened with Mor, but for you, he’d make it hurt. He’d drag it out and make it slow. He’d torture him for days, flaying skin from bone, taking fingers then limbs and when at last he begged for death, Azriel would set the dogs on him and laugh as they tore him apart. He felt a long repressed need for vengeance creep up his spine, and he hated to acknowledge what its presence meant in regards to you.

“It’s okay, you know,” you’d said, head lolling to the side as you watched him, eyes swimming with a gentle affection, “I’ll never judge you for something like that.” Azriel squeezed his eyes shut as he turned his head from you and breathed in tightly. How did always manage to be so fucking disarming and vulnerable? That must’ve been a gift too.

He pinched the middle finger of the right glove and pulled it from his hand, grasping his now exposed fingers into a fist, knuckles cracking. He extended that arm out, palm up as he let you view his deepest insecurity, the thing he hated most in his appearance. 

You’d stepped forward, looking at his palm. Your hands went to reach but you’d paused, looking to his eyes as you silently asked permission to touch. He nodded stiffly, watching you with the same intensity of an animal being hunted, prey ready to bolt at any moment. 

Your fingers touched his hand, and he felt the connection race up his arm and to his chest, settling in his heart. Your eyes studied, and you rotated his hand, fingers gently tracing from his wrist, to knuckle, to fingernail in reverence. You covered his hand with your own, moving your eyes to his hazel ones. “Are they dead?” You’d asked seriously, and he stuttered a shocked laugh. “Yes, Little One, they are,” he answered, a small smile playing at his mouth. The two of you far too similar it seemed. “Good,” you’d said simply before kissing his knuckles and pulling the glove back on for him. The action was quietly intimate, and Azriel should’ve kissed you then. Mother knows he considered it, eyes watching you with rapt attention as his heart sped up and breathing shallowed. 

“If you two are done flirting, lunch is ready,” Cassian announced from the doorway, breaking the spell you were both under. You’d jumped and laughed freely at the large male smirking at the entrance. You grasped Azriel’s hand tightly in affection before releasing it to turn on your heel to exit the room, passing by Cass with an eye roll, thumping him square in the chest.

Cassian looked to his brother as he walked into the room and his face split into a shit eating grin. “Let’s go, loverboy,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. Azriel glared, scoffing as he followed behind you, praying to whatever Gods were listening that he’d get you alone again soon. 

In your second century with the Night Court, you’d lessened the blatant flirting and settled into loving, easy friendship. You regularly attended balls and galas in Hewn City, fitting into such pomp with practiced ease, but always with a dagger strapped to your thigh, ready to cut a male down in seconds. Those events were almost routine at this point: Azriel would save you a dance, and you’d move together in a slow ritual that you’d both perfected over the years, he’d bow as the violinist played their final note and resume his place on dais at Rhys’ right. His eyes would follow you the rest of the night, as you spoke in an airy manner to various high fae, glaring at any male whose hands ventured too close to his mate. 

Nights when the Court held parties at the House of Wind were different though. You were far less rigid, finding it easy to exist without scrutiny. Those were the nights Azriel’s eyes rarely left your form as he watched obsessively from the corners of the room. 

“You’re staring,” Rhys chimed from his place next to Azriel, eyes not leaving the crowd as he spoke to the Shadowsinger, mouth smirking. Azriel was staring. You’d worn cobalt blue tonight, a lovely color on your skin. His color on your skin. Mother above, the male possessiveness that crawled up his spine was unreal. Mate, mate, mate, his shadows had sang in his ear. He wanted to pluck the eyes from every male in the room for even glancing in your direction. He wanted so much more than that too. Your breathy sighs as he marked you, your moan as he made you come undone, his name crying from your lips as he ate his come from your cunt after. Azriel had a million and one scenarios running through his head. He yearned to make each one of them come to fruition too.

He hadn’t answered Rhysand, so the High Lord tried again, “you really should tell her, but please,” Rhys closed his eyes with a grimace, “quiet your thoughts first, for Cauldron’s sake.” That got Azriel’s attention, his back straightening and mental shield slamming down. His eyes squeezed shut, almost as if he was in pain. “I cannot burden her with that now,” he said, “not with war at our doorstep.” Indeed, the second war with Hybern creeped ever closer, disappearances of other high fae occurring daily. Whatever they were planning across the sea, it was going to bring Prythian to its knees. 

Rhysand sighed then, feeling older than his 500 years. “Be that as it may, we should hold those we love tighter.” Rhysand looked to Feyre at that moment, his eyes meeting his mate’s, as he sent a strum of warm affection down the bond. She smiled and returned it cheerily. He turned back to Azriel, “if it all ends tomorrow, I know my love and she knows me. That’s all we can ask for in this immortal life.” Azriel looked back to you, and your eyes were already on him, tracing the shadows that wound around his chest. You met his eyes and winked, before turning back to Mor and laughing freely.  

“I thank the Cauldron daily it was you that found her in those mountains, Rhys.” Azriel spoke quietly, admitting a small secret he’d not told anyone. Rhysand softened, and clapped his friend on the shoulder, “As I am, brother.” Azriel nodded, letting the conversation die between himself and the High Lord as he drained the drink in his hand and moved down the steps in your direction. 

You’d been in conversation with Mor when he approached. She was telling you of the seamstress she’d been seeing, and how happy she was. Azriel cleared his throat from behind the two of you and you turned to meet him, taking in his appearance with wide eyes. “Ladies,” he started, bowing to you and Mor, who snorted at the silly formality. “And that note, I’ll be taking my leave. I’ve got a lady to see,” she said with a wink and a flourish of her red dress. You laughed and shook your head before turning back to the Shadowsinger. He’d caught you staring earlier and your heart had nearly jumped into your throat, before Mor mocked you lightly, diffusing the tension. 

“Hi Az,” you greeted softly, before dropping your empty glass on a passing waiter’s tray and thanking them. Azriel watched you closely, noting the revealed skin that shifted with each movement, committing every angle and freckle to memory.

“You want to get out of here?” He dared ask, jerking his head toward the private balcony on the House of Wind. You raised a brow, Azriel? Asking you to leave? Together? You heart was back in your throat and you thanked the Mother that you’d taken your time getting ready that evening. Nodding, you grasped his arm as he offered it to you like a proper courtier. He walked the two of you up a round of stairs and away from the eyes he’d threatened earlier in the night. Voices dulled the more space you put between yourselves and them and you couldn’t help but start to sweat a bit at the thought of being alone with Azriel. 

You’d been friends for nearly two centuries, but you’d always felt a connection with the male. Your heart thrummed with a warm, golden affection when he got close. It made keeping a clear head during training hard. It made sitting next to him at dinner difficult. And when he’d looked at you like you hung the moon as you danced earlier in the night, it made you want to take him to bed and ride him until he moaned your name. You breathed deeply. ‘Focus,’ you chided yourself, ‘he is your friend, for Cauldron’s sake.’

He led you out onto to the balcony and stopped at the railing before looking up at the star flecked sky. “This is my favorite part of the House,” he said eyes scanning the sky before looking back to you as you watched him. A blush crept up his neck, before he cleared his throat again. 

“I’ve always wondered what it was like to be able to fly, you know,” you said quietly, removing your hand from his arm, rolling up onto your toes, leaning against the stone railing, and looking out on Velaris before scanning your eyes up to the three stars that shone brightly overhead. “When I was a child, I met a Peregryn from the Dawn Court and thought she had the most beautiful wings I’d ever seen.” You chanced a glance his way, “I’d not met an Illyrian yet.” You reminded with a smirk, bumping his arm with fondness. Gods, he was in trouble.

“I asked her what it was like and she said it was the purest sense of freedom possible.” You glanced down at your feet, “I spent the next year wishing for wings.”  He mulled on your words. He wanted to say something cheesy as Cassian would, like ‘I’ll be your wings’ but he couldn’t, so you continued on. 

“When I was a little older, I witnessed a blue skinned lesser fae’s wings ripped from his body as punishment and it was the most gruesome thing I’d seen at that point.” You took a shuddering breath, “I cried for him that night. The lost freedom. How maddening it must’ve been.” You looked at him then and he watched you with furrowed brows. “How does it feel for you?” You asked softly, eyes tracing the shine of his wing. ‘Magnificent things,’ you thought. You remembered seeing his wings for the first time and thinking the Peregryn had finally moved to second place in your mind. 

Azriel had to gather himself as he spoke, “It’s… everything.” He said quietly adjusting his body to extend a wing. “My ability to fly came in late,” he said, and your eyes widened, you hadn’t known that. “My childhood was… rough and I didn’t learn to fly until I was nearly grown.” He laughed, scuffing the toe of his boot, wings folding in behind him. “It was a lot of crash landings those first months.” You snorted, mental image of a younger Az, landing in a puddle of mud crossing your mind. 

“I was never a proud Illyrian, not like the others,” he continued, “it was hard for me to reconcile my heritage and our traditions.” He looked to the cityscape then, “but the stronger I got, the more I understood why flight was so crucial to my people.” He looked to you, eyes shining, “it’s the closest we can get to the stars.” 

You leaned over the railing again, staring wistfully at the night sky, the moon reflecting on your skin. “Will you take me someday? Flying, I mean.” Did you not know Azriel would give you the world? Of course he’d take you flying. He’d give you the moon, the stars, walk through fire and back, anything. He nodded, “you say the word, and I’ll fly you the the ocean and back.” The smile that broke across your face crippled him, his knees threatened to give way. 

“Yours are my favorite,” you murmured softly, eyes glancing from his wings to his face. Azriel blushed in full, pink speckling his neck and cheeks as he laughed. “Don’t let Cass hear you say that, he’s got an ego,” he said, a smile remaining at his lips. You liked him like this the most. Loose, smiling, free. You reached up then, cupping his reddened cheek, thumb stroking. “I don’t care,” you said smiling, “it’s the truth.” Azriel swallowed roughly, staring at your eyes swimming with an emotion he knew, but was much too stubborn and scared to name.

Just as your hand went to retreat, he grasped it between his own. “You can touch them,” he offered, knowing damn well the implications, “if you want,” he added. Your eyes widened. Mor had mentioned once that Illyrian’s wings were ‘sensitive,’ was the word she’d used. It was a sign of great intimacy and trust to allow another to touch them. You felt the air shift between you two then, as you nodded.

He extended a wing toward you. This felt so much like the first time he’d shown you his hands all those years ago. Your hand crept forward and gentle fingers met the red gold membrane that stretched between two metacarpals. Your fingers traced the membrane in smooth circles, then traced up to the crest. Azriel felt his breath gutter out of his mouth in a loud, choppy exhale, and he felt himself harden at the sensation of your fingers against the most sensitive portion of his wings. You gasped and jerked away at the sudden noise, before apologizing. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have gotten carried away.” 

Azriel shook his head, “It’s not that, they’re sensitive.” There was that word again, only it made you think of how they’d been shredded before the King of Hybern, and you opened your mouth to apologize again, but he stopped you short. “I haven’t allowed another to touch them freely since my mother.” The admission floored you, your gut giving way with a breath.

You looked to his eyes then, the air between you had shifted again and you knew this was it. This was the moment you’d waited for, he was going to kiss you. Mother, it felt you’d waited a millennia, and he felt just the same. But that kiss never came. Instead, Azriel went stock still, his eyes now on the House behind you. 

“Azriel?” You questioned. “It’s Rhys,” he said tightly, “he’s summoning me.” You understood then. He looked to you desperately, eyes a little wild and apologetic. “I’m sorry, I have to go to him.” You nodded, you both worked for the High Lord, you’d never get in the way of Azriel’s allegiance to his Court. “Of course,” you said quietly, taking a step back and swallowing down your disappointment. 

Azriel took three steps towards the entrance then stopped. “I’ll take you,” he turned around, backing his way to the arched stone, but keeping his eyes on you for a moment longer. “When I get back, I’ll take you flying,” he offered. Another smile etched its way across your face and Azriel took a long moment to memorize it greedily. “It’s a date,” you said confidently. He beamed then, turning on a heel to pick up into a jog, Rhys no doubt shouting to hurry up. 

That date hadn’t happened though. The second war with Hybern broke out days later and you both barely made it out alive. 

When Feyre had come to Velaris after Amarantha’s defeat, you’d accepted her with easy friendship. You saw Rhysand, your longtime friend, overcome with love for his newly found mate, and you couldn’t help but love her as well. You’d shared your story with her and the two of you bonded deeply over her art. She’d offered to teach you to paint, and you began taking lessons in your off time. Rhys had been Cauldron blessed with her and you reminded him daily. 

Later, when Feyre’s sisters joined their little unit, you’d been the first one to break Nesta’s tough exterior. The female saw parts of herself in you and you’d gotten her to crack a smile when you mocked Rhys’ High Lord voice at dinner one night. Elain had been a tougher sell, but you’d tried, along with Azriel, to bring the female out of her shell. The day she joined you in the library to read, you knew progress had been made, even if you two had only sat in silence a few feet apart, a small smile gracing her features. 

You left her book recommendations with small notes and she began to do the same. Your friendship playing out in the margins of the library’s tomes. You won her over with silent conversation. Nesta noticed, of course, and she looked to you with gratitude as she saw her sister’s eyes brightened and skin began to return to its normal, healthy color. The night Azriel mentioned it as you walked down the hall toward the dining room for the family meal, you’d shrugged. “I met her where she needed me to,” you’d said quietly, glancing to your feet. Azriel smiled, a Cauldron blessed gift indeed. 

Dinners at the House of Wind were by far Azriel’s favorite version of you. You’d laugh with abandon, smile splitting your face, showing every tooth as Mor cracked a joke and leaned against you for support, one too many drinks in her system. The first time he’d seen that smile, it blinded him, and he’d gone a little dazed, staring at you in wonderment. Rhys had interrupted his train of thought with an invasive insertion of “How quickly she reduced you to a puddle, brother.” Azriel had scowled at Rhys then, mental shields firming up, but not before he heard the distinct sound of his High Lord laughing at the Spymaster’s defensiveness. 

Indeed Azriel was gone for you. When Cassian finally confronted him last year about the truth of his feelings, Azriel saw no point to avoid it any longer, not after his brothers had also found their mates. “Our souls are one in the same, she’s my mate,” he’d said pensively, as if he was letting his deepest secret breath in the light for the first time in centuries. Maybe he was. He’d made Cassian promise on his life not to tell anyone, and despite being the biggest gossip in the Inner Circle, he kept his promise. He was thrilled for his brother, knowing you were the perfect match.

Little did Azriel know, everyone else was already more than aware of his affections. Amren had figured it out a century prior when Azriel had tended your needs as you’d recovered from an injury sustained during a mission. He’d fretted around you like a mother hen, buying you flowers, sweets, and books while you were bedridden. The female had watched and hummed with a raised eyebrow as Azriel exited your room for the fifth time in one day, wringing his hands with worry despite Madja’s clean bill of health.

Feyre had figured it out the same year she’d returned from the Spring Court, just before the second war with Hybern. She’d seen the way his eyes had followed you in the war room Rhys had created to host strategy meetings. Saw him lean towards you when you spoke, saw his wings flutter when you finally cast your gaze to him, eager for your attention. More than anything, she’d seen his shadows, desperate little things, sneaking across the floor each night, sidling up your ankles and wrists, begging for your affection. You always laughed and nuzzled them as the wound their way to your hair and Azriel went a little soft at the sight. 

When she told Mor, the blonde had laughed, “They’ve been circling each for two hundred years now, eventually one of them will cave.” Mor leveled a sardonic look at Feyre then, “and when they do, we’ll all have to relocate to the River House for a year lest we be subject to the frenzy.”

This mission should’ve been simple. Rhys had asked you to check out reports of rogue soldiers spotted making their way towards the border of the Night Court from the Day coastline. The intel he’d received had mentioned three to four maximum, all of them drunken ex-Hybern loyalists. It should’ve been a matter of locating them, spying for a day or two, then winnowing in to neutralize any threat. Gods, this was far from simple. 

When you’d arrived in the region, the hairs on your neck rose, the air itself feeling off. As you tracked them, you’d noticed intentional attempts to throw you off course. A carelessly trashed map, crudely laid tracks in the opposite direction, Dawn Court wine bottles that had been emptied and tossed about. They knew you were there, and you quickly realized that a trap had been laid. You backed off them then, staying further than you’d have liked, but trying like hell to make them think you’d given up. 

On your fourth night following them, you’d drifted away to an inn two towns over, desperately seeking a place to bathe and rest, even for a few hours. As you bathed, you felt watched in a way that discomfited you to your core, and your dagger stayed within arms reach the rest of the night. Suddenly, the role you’d played for the last two hundred years had left you entirely ill equipped for whatever was happening here. 

You’d left out before dawn, refusing to lose an ounce of daylight, but as you hit the tree line, readying yourself to winnow out, you’d noticed it. Hanging from a tree, a hundred yards away was a piece of clothing, your clothing. Clothing that should’ve been in the pack at your back. Your breath shuttered out of you as you opened your mind to Rhys, asking for back up. You were in over your head and you knew when to admit it. There was no pride in getting yourself killed. 

As you turned to move back to the inn where you could wait out contact from Rhys in a public location, you were met with a pair of shining blue eyes. You stepped back, keeping your grounding, readying for a fight. “You’ve been following us,” the stranger said calmly, beginning to trek in a slow circle around you. You opened your mind to Rhys again, “Help,” you called. Rhys answered this time, “Where are you?!” It was a frantic response, you never asked for help, Rhys knew this. “Just off the coast, beneath the mountain range, Day court border, 400 hundred paces from the inn” you spoke to Rhys in choppy thoughts, trying to establish a location before all hell broke loose. 

“I have,” you finally answered the stranger, whose lips quirked at your voice. He stopped circling and resumed his stance in front of you, blocking passage to the inn. “Why?” He asked and you tried to keep your mind steady as you answered. “You’re trespassers in these lands” you stated simply, shrugging a shoulder up. He grinned then, “had your lot not gotten in the way of our King’s plans, these would be our lands. We were promised them. I was personally promised the Court of Nightmares.”

“Well,” you shrugged feigning indifference, “that’s not how the war played out, so I will have to ask you to leave,” you offered in your most bored political tone. The same tone you’d used with High Fae that ran off at the mouth in Hewn City. The stranger cocked his head the side then, eyes twinkling, “I don’t think I will.” At that moment, one by one, additional soldiers appeared from the forest line. One, then four, then ten, until near twenty stood around you, looking on with hatred. 

Shit. 

“We’d hoped for the Illyrians, but it seems your High Lord sent us a treat instead,” the stranger said with mirth. You steeled your spine, looking down your nose at the stranger, “They’re going to kill you, you know.” He’d laughed at your threat. “I think not,” he said as as arrow was released from your left, finding purchase in your shoulder. You folded over on yourself at the blow, and looked up baring your teeth, before drawing your dagger and rushing the stranger with a feral sound.

Five more arrows hit you before your blade could find its target. One into your hip, two in your back, a fourth piercing your in your upper thigh, until the last burrowed into the back of your knee, bringing you down in front of him — forcing you to bow to the stranger. The arrows were laced with faebane you realized as you’d begun to feel its effects in your blood. Your power waning quickly, thoughts becoming murky. 

You released another shattered thought to Rhys then, “Tell him, please,” you begged raggedly. Rhysand came back with a rushed and tight, “Hold on, Little One, we’re coming.” You shook your head, there wasn’t time. “Tell Azriel I love him if I don’t make it, Rhys, promise me.” He responded but it muddled out, sounding like words shouted through a pool of water, then your brain fell quiet. The line severed. 

The stranger lifted your head, hand wrapped around your throat, as he bent to meet your crouched form. “I’ll be sure to savor this,” he smiled and the hilt of his sword came in fierce contact with your forehead. 

It was the early morning on your fifth day away when Rhys heard you. “Help,” it had come through so clearly that it startled Rhys awake and set his heart to racing. You’d only asked for help once, during the war when you were overrun and near death. You were in danger.

He’d sat up straight in bed, Feyre still sleeping silently at his side, hand resting on her pregnant stomach. “Where are you?!” He’d asked down the line, a little frantic, remembering the state he and Azriel had found you in last time. Gods, you’d been run through on a Hybern soldier’s sword, the damage was astronomical. Azriel had nearly killed everyone within a mile radius at the sight of you.

You recited your location in short bursts and Rhys focused on the bond of your bargain, using it to locate you with more precision. He reached out to Azriel then, “Get Cassian and meet me downstairs. Be ready to fly.” Azriel responded an affirmative and Rhys rushed around his room, grabbing his dagger lined belt, and using his magic to dress in his leathers quickly. He winnowed to the base of the stairs and was glad to find Cassian and Azriel waiting. 

“Tell him, please” you begged into Rhys’ mind then, words growing ragged. Rhys’ eyes slammed shut with a wince and he attempted to reassure you, “Hold on, Little One, we’re coming.” Rhys opened his eyes and looked to Azriel, who was watching him with anticipation. You responded again, words growing murkier, a little warbled. “Tell Azriel I love him if I don’t make it, Rhys, promise me.” Rhysand felt sick. “We will find you and you will tell him yourself,” he spoke but the bond was dead, silent, foreboding. Rhys thought he might vomit. 

He looked to Azriel again, “It’s her. She’s in trouble. We have to go.” Azriel’s face darkened with a thunderous ferocity. Mother help the males who’d harmed you. “Where?” He asked, voice deep with the threat of murderous violence. “The wilds on the border, off the coast of Day. I’ll winnow us as close as possible.” Azriel nodded his acquiesce and lifted a trembling hand to his hair, running scarred fingers through the strands. Cassian spoke then, “we will get her back,” he’d said softly as Rhysand put his hands to the two of them, preparing for the jump. “And we will kill every last one of them,” Cassian added darkly as blue-black shadows encased them and they disappeared. 

You awoke with a start, gasping like you’d been underwater. Your shoulders ached from your position. You pulled on your hands only to realize you were shackled to a tree somewhere deep in the forest, the same forest you’d been on the outskirts of earlier. You looked up to the sky, trying to find the sun to gauge how much time had passed. The sun had long moved past midday and was sinking towards the evening horizon. Your throat tightened. Where was Rhysand? 

“Nice of you to join us,” a voice spoke. It was the stranger again, he emerged from the camp set two hundred paces to your left, hidden by shrubs and underbrush. You got a good look at him this time. He was tall, leanly muscular in a way that reminded you of Lucien Vanserra. His hair was a dishwater blonde and lacked any sheen, falling in choppy dry waves around his shoulders. His face was gaunt, eyes sunken, bruised with a lack of rest, and his cheekbones were sharp, giving his face an angle that made him look harsh and unforgiving. Though he carried himself with confidence, you noticed a slight, barely there limp in his right leg, an old wound perhaps, one that never healed correctly. You noted that for later, if you ever got out of these shackles. 

You leveled a glare at him that you hoped looked more fearsome than you felt. Mother, your bones ached and your wounds throbbed. “I left the arrows in, but broke off the shaft. Didn’t want to have you healing too quickly.” He spoke with nonchalance, while polishing a dagger, your dagger, you realized as your eyes focused. You pulled at the shackles above your head, and the stranger chuckled at your attempt. 

“What do you want?” Your voice croaked, mouth dry from disuse. The stranger laughed, pointing the blade at you, “I want my fucking court and you’re the key to getting it.” You shook your head then, “I am nothing.” The words sounded foreign on your tongue, a lie on some level, you knew this, but you would be damned before you gave up your family. The stranger clicked his tongue at your response, shaking his head. 

“Surely you don’t believe that? The High Lord doesn’t trust easily, you’ve been seen with his entourage. The Shadowsinger’s whore.” He squatted a few feet from you, eyes tracing from your tied hands down to your face, pausing at your breasts, before trekking down your stomach, thighs, and calves. He was sizing up how much fight you had left.

Your brain had short circuited though, the Shadowsinger’s whore. Mother above, you’d never even kissed. How long had this male watched you and your family? How had none of you seen it? A bitter laugh wretched from your lungs, “sorry to disappoint, but the Shadowsinger isn’t mine.” No matter how desperately I’ve wished it so, you added silently. 

The stranger grinned then, “if you are truly nothing, then I’ll make this a little sweeter.” He took steps towards you, raising the dagger to rest at your chin, the blade pressing to the underside painfully. “You’re far too pretty to be nothing.” He ran the blade along the column of your throat, resting it against your sternum, between your breasts. You pushed yourself further into the tree, back protesting as the arrows burrowed deeper with the movement. You didn’t like the new angle this interaction had taken and your fight or flight instincts were screaming. 

You attempted to reach out to Rhysand, but the bond was dead silent. Your breathing hitched at the realization that you were truly alone in this. The stranger chuckled, dragging the blade down your chest, slicing the leathers, letting the fabric fall open and reveal your undergarments to his greedy view. Your legs moved to kick, but you realized quickly they too were tied. The blade came to rest at your bare stomach, and the stranger dug it in below the navel, causing blood to pool there. You winced, but made no sound. 

“Ah, I was hoping you’d be louder than that,” the stranger smirked, “I’ll have to try harder.” He backed up then and pulled a whip from his back pocket, unfurling it with a crack. Your eyes widened and you brain went silent, fear overtaking your senses. “There it is,” his smile gleamed with violent delight, “there’s the reaction I was hoping for.” He reared an arm back before cracking the whip in your direction. The leather made contact with your torso, a stinging slice appearing along your rib cage. You jerked, but bit your tongue.

He cracked it again and again until you were bloody, slices in your leathers, festering wounds along your breasts, ribs, and stomach. You’d counted to 25 lashes before your brain gave out and your vision blurred from the pain. You looked up to the sky wearily. The sun was gone and the stars were slowly appearing. You smiled at them, remembering Azriel’s words from that night all those years ago. 

You hoped he’d forgive you for not telling him. You hoped he’d understand your fear in revealing that secret, that the bond had snapped for you during the war. When that Hybern soldier’s sword pierced your armor, running through your body to the hilt, and he’d let out a fearsome bellow from across the field at the sight. You felt it then, the golden strumming taking the form of a fated thread linking you two. You been near death when he and Rhys had found you and the only thing you could do was smile. Such an ironic thing it was to die in the arms of your mate. 

Your head lolled to the side as exhaustion threatened to overtake you. “Azriel,” your thoughts ventured, calling down the bond he didn’t even know existed, “I love you.” Darkness swam in the corners of your vision but you swore you felt his responding tug. The Mother was kind for granting that hallucinative mercy in your final hours. Your body gave out, slumping against the shackles and darkness overwhelmed you. 

Azriel was furious. No, furious wasn’t the word, he was a walking time bomb. You were gone. His mate was missing and he was going to explode. As he’d arrived with Rhys and Cassian to the location you’d given them, he could smell you. His eyes searched frantically around the scene before him until they zeroed in on an item hanging from a branch a few dozen paces out. Cloth of some sort? He approached and could detect your scent on it, realizing quickly it was your clothing. A ripped cotton blouse. His fists clenched and he vaguely heard Rhysand speaking to his left. “They must’ve captured her here.” Rhys crouched down to the ground, two fingers swiping the dirt there, before bringing them eye level to examine sample. “Blood,” he muttered, rubbing the hand on the leg of his pants, “she was injured.” Azriel’s heart thundered, he was going to fucking explode. 

He set his shadows work, surveying the forest with rapid precision. They’d cover more ground this way, an army of three operating like a whole infantry. By the time the sun rose to midday, Azriel was ready to begin screaming. They trekked further into the forest, following a line of smoke that was miles deep, originating at a camp somewhere far into the wilds. His shadows murmured to him of a small band of males there, of you, shackled to a fucking tree, arrows buried in your back. He’d nearly lost the contents of his stomach at the information and set to a run alongside Rhysand and Cassian. 

As the three approached the encampment, the sun was nearing dusk. Rhysand had commanded the halt and strategize. There were roughly twenty-five men, all armed. They couldn’t enter this blindly and infuriated, they would lose if they weren’t careful. Azriel hated admitting he was right, his instincts screaming otherwise. Mate, mate, mate, his heart pounded. 

They backed off to a thousand paces out, close enough that they could hear if the troop vacated the premises. As Rhysand and Cassian spoke quietly, Azriel felt his heart thrum. The golden thread there had pulled him closer to you and he could tell you were still alive. Though Rhys couldn’t reach out through your bargain, Azriel’s bond was still alight and warm, he stroked it with gentle affection. You might not feel it, but Gods he would try. 

As the trio retraced their steps to the camp, stars were just beginning to light overhead and Azriel grasped his daggers tightly, knuckles cracking around the hilt. He was going to kill them. Kill them all brutally for taking you, for touching what was his. When they were within a stones throw from the camp he heard it, heard you. “Azriel,” you whispered into his mind. He went stock still, spine ramrod straight, fingers trembling as they gripped his knives. The golden bond vibrated in his chest, and he felt you reaching out through murky waters, against all odds. “I love you,” you said with a soft exhaustion before your side went dark. Azriel’s breathing guttered and he felt high on mirthroot, sick from fae wine, and enraged to the point of explosion all at once. His blue siphons flared brightly from the surge of power. He closed his eyes and reached out to you through the bond, tugging on the thread connecting your souls. He was coming. He was going to save you. 

Rhysand looked to him then, curiosity swimming in his eyes as he took in the Shadowsinger’s sudden stop. Azriel opened eyes, irises alight with fire and shadow, voice grinding with dark threat, “Let’s go.” Rhys nodded and Cassian drew his knives. 

They moved with brutal efficiency, killing male after male until none remained alive. Some had begged, others shouted and scattered their belongings as they set into a run. His shadows had caught them, twisting around their ankles and dragging them back to meet their fate, daggers slicing throats from ear to ear until blood poured like a prized hunt being slaughtered, the Illryian’s hands grasping and snapping necks like twigs. It was a practiced routine for the three of them, who’d trained since they were teens. 

As they stepped through the shrubs to find you, Cassian gasped and Azriel felt his lungs threaten to collapse at the sight. You’d been shackled to a tree at the wrists and ankles and whipped within an inch your life. Wounds glistened with blood along your thighs, soft stomach, ribs, breasts. There had to be thirty lashes. A knife wound was visible at your exposed navel. Your head hung forward unconscious and Azriel’s heart pounded. He wanted to vomit and his hands shook. 

“She said you’d come,” a voice said, emerging from behind the tree you were bound to. The male held a dagger to your throat. This new stranger had to be the leader of this band of idiots. Azriel’s eyes followed the tip of the blade up his arm to the male’s eyes and a growl escaped him as he bared his teeth. The male laughed, “to think she said she was nothing and yet I have both the Shadowsinger and the Lord of Bloodshed before me to save her.”

Azriel’s mind latched on to that piece of information, turning it over in his head. You’d told this male you were nothing? Did you not know Azriel would do anything for you? You were everything. You were his love, light of his life, keeper of his soul, his mate. How alone you must’ve felt, how scared. Azriel’s eyes narrowed, he was going kill him. 

Rhysand spoke then, emerging from behind the two Illyrian brothers, “And may I ask why you’ve abducted a member of my court?” He was in High Lord mode, tone bored, fingers picking at his sleeve. The Hybern male’s smile gleamed at the introduction, “just who I was hoping to see!” 

“Hybern, the old fool, made a few promises in his last days as King,” the male spoke, digging the blade down to your chest, where it rested over your heart. Azriel stared at the blade, eyes tracing to the the hilt. That was your blade, the one he’d given you when you first arrived in Velaris, the one you wielded against Eris, the one you kept strapped to your thigh. Your own knife had been used against you.

“One of which was that I would inherit these lands after your lot were annihilated.” Azriel wanted to laugh at the male’s words, was he serious? “A dead king cannot honor empty promises,” he ground out eyes shifting to the male’s blue eyes. “A dead and headless king cannot gift you shit,” Azriel spat. The male smiled then, a feline grin growing on his lips. “Precisely Shadowsinger, a dead king cannot give me my due, but this little thing can help.” You’d made a noise then, something akin to a whimper as you came to. Eyes wincing then fluttering open as your irises found Azriel’s immediately, some preternatural magnetism existing between the two of you. Then you looked to Cassian and Rhysand, and your eyes swam with apology.

“She awakens!” The male sang, looking to you. Azriel jumped at the opportunity to send his shadows out while the male’s attention was elsewhere. They traced over the ground to you, circling the tree and working at your binds. He sent two others towards the distracted male. “Who knew the Night Court was so attached to a whore,” the male laughed, “I want my lands,” he fixed Rhysand with a glare, “you can have your plaything back in exchange for my seat, High Lord” he sneered. 

Rhysand looked from you to the stranger to the shadow now creeping ever closer to the male. “You must be mistaken,” Rhys said then and Azriel’s shadows wrapped around the male’s neck and wrist simultaneously, whispering violence for touching their mate, forcing the dagger from his grasp and air from his lungs. Azriel tightened them until they heard bones crack in the male’s arm and choked sounds exit his throat, face reddening as oxygen was cut off. “I do not make deals with dim witted cunts,” Rhysand said darkness beginning to surround him, High Lord voice encroaching, “I do not entertain terrorists and I do not take kindly to threats on my family.” 

‘Finish him,’ Rhysand said darkly into Azriel’s mind and the Shadowsinger moved with lightening precision, dagger find purchase as the male’s neck was sliced open and his right hand was removed from his body. The male’s body toddled forward with a choked gurgling, before falling to the ground, lifeless, blood pooling.

Azriel’s gaze fell to you and he softened. His shadows finished picking the lock of the shackles that held your arms and they clicked open, allowing your body to fall into his. “Azriel,” you breathed, voice weary with exhaustion, “I didn’t— I—“ you stuttered, pulling a shaking hand to his face. You swallowed, tracing his cheek with trembling fingers, “I didn’t think I’d see you again,” you murmured, your watery eyes searching his face, memorizing the details of his visage.

Azriel picked you up in his arms and unfurled his wings protectively. “I will always come for you,” he said vehemently, eyes watching your face with intensity. You smiled, a weepy trembling smile as you nodded. Rhysand reached the Shadowsinger’s side then and your eyes moved to his violet ones, “Hi Little One, I’m so sorry we’re late.” You let out a single watery laugh before wincing as the sudden expansion of your chest burned the wounds littering your chest and back. 

“The arrows,” you gasped, “at my back,” you twisted in Azriel’s hold, “please get them out.” Rhysand leaned down to inspect the wounds. “Faebane,” he surmised, that’s why his connection to you had been severed. “We need to get her to Madja, now.” Azriel nodded, allowing Rhys and Cassian to move closer so the High Lord could winnow them home. 

Landing back at the House of Wind had been chaotic. Rhysand shouted immediately to get every healer available and the dining room table had been lined with a sheet, turning the warm family room into a medical ward. You were laid facedown on the table and Azriel took to your side, scarred hands touching your face, keeping you awake as Madja worked to remove the six arrows burrowed in your body. 

You’d screamed. The sound would haunt Azriel for centuries. You begged to make it stop and Madja had apologized softly as she worked faster to remove them while minimizing damage. “I’ve got you,” Azriel said softly, “eyes on me, alright?” He rubbed the hollow under your eye with a scarred thumb and you opened your eyes to lock on his. “No gloves,” you said, smiling tightly, before wincing as Madja applied local anesthetic to an arrow wound. Azriel smiled, eyes a little watery. “Not with you,” he whispered shaking his head, “never with you.” You smiled at him and the sight set Azriel’s heart to fluttering.

Later, after the arrows had been removed and wounds bandaged, you’d been given a strong herb tonic for pain that set your head swimming as exhaustion overtook you. Azriel carried you his room, laying you gently onto the mattress and covered you with the duvet. He leaned down then, breathing in your scent as he placed a kiss to your forehead, nuzzling his nose to the Winter white hair there. He would tell you. When you awoke, he would bare his soul to you. 

You woke with a groan. Fucking Gods, your body ached with the effort it took to roll over. “Easy,” a voice came from the corner of the room. Your breath gasped out of you as your eyes raced to the figure there. “Azriel,” you breathed. The male smiled warmly at you and stepped forward to rest at the edge of the mattress. You pushed up in the bed, the wound at your shoulder screaming from the exertion. Once in a sitting position, you rested your back on the headboard as you looked at him. “For taking out a small militia, you seemed to be decently uninjured,” you said smiling tightly, memories of the stranger and his whip haunting your mind. He snorted a small laugh, “Yes well,” he looked down then, thumbs fiddling with each other, chest heating, “I had something worth fighting for.” 

He looked back to you and your cheeks had grown pink, a small pleased smile at your lips. “I heard you, you know,” he said softly, turning enough to rest a hand on your thigh, thumb drawing small, soothing circles there. The heat generated in the touch sent a spark to your belly. Oh, you were fucked. “I heard you in my head, through the bond,” he said eyes watching his thumb as it traced on your bare skin hypnotically. 

“You know then?” You whispered, breath skittering out of you. You were scared to death of the trajectory the conversation was taking, your heart preparing for the best and the worst simultaneously. Azriel’s eyes dragged up your form to your face and a smile broke over his lips, one that caused your heart to ignite. Your Mother had once told you the heart was an organ of fire and you’d laughed, never having cause to believe such a statement. You understood now. 

“I—“ Azriel started, before clearing his throat, turning his body to face you in full, a knee pulled up on the mattress, touching yours. “In the whole time I have known you— two centuries, Little One,” he looked at you pointedly, “you have been my dearest friend, my greatest comfort, my confidant, and the person I admire most in this Gods forsaken world.” He breathed deeply, a whoosh exiting his lips as his hand tightened around your thigh. “The times when you were lost to me have been some of the most painful moments I’ve experienced.” 

Your eyes began to water, and you moved a hand to rest atop his own, thumb circling the scarred skin at his wrist. He took a breath then and the air shifted between you, his mouth opening and closing, as if he was gathering his confidence for what he was about to say next. “I have loved for you so long that I’d given up all hope of reciprocation.” The words shattered through you as all air escaped your lungs, guts swooping down as heat alighted there. “I felt the bond the night Eris came for you,” he continued, eyes watching your entwined hands. Your body went still and a startled laugh exited your mouth. Azriel’s eyes flew to yours questioningly. 

“Sorry,” you chuckled again, “I’m just realizing how fucking stupid we’ve been.” You lolled your to the side, watching him with loving eyes. “I’ve been in love with you for almost two centuries, Azriel,” you smiled, “I thought you wouldn’t want me.” Azriel’s eyes widened, his mouth opening and closing in disbelief, two then three times. You thought for a second to compare him to the guppy fish that swam in schools along the banks of the Sidra but refrained. 

He pushed forward then, hands coming to cup your face, pinky and ring fingers resting in the hollow below your ear, thumbs stroking your cheeks. “How could I not? You’re everything,” he whispered, searching your face, conviction showing in his eyes. You couldn’t stop the smile that overtook your mouth as you spoke, “and you’re my mate.” His eyes moved to your lips, glazing before they moved back to your eyes. “As you are mine,” he spoke confidently. 

Your eyes watched each other for a long second, “I really hope you’ll kiss me this time,” your hand trailed up his arm, fingers teasing. “Mother knows I’ve been dreaming of it for far too long.” He surged forward, lips meeting yours and you thought you might float away. You gasped and his tongue moved in, claiming your mouth, your taste with his own. 

He pulled away minutes later, a little breathless, “Sorry to have kept you waiting, my love,” he spoke, resting his forehead to yours with a smile, watching your dazed expression, pink cheeks, as your lips split into a grin. Your hand moved to the front of his button down, fisting in the material there, giving an experimental tug. “Kiss me like that again and I’ll consider forgiving you.” 

The laugh that came out of him was golden, and you pushed yourself to memorize it. Azriel, Lord of Shadows, Spymaster for the Night Court, Rhysand’s right hand and Illyrian warrior was soft for you. He loved you. He was your mate. You’d be giddy about it for the rest of your life. 

Your healing had been slower than you would’ve liked. The faebane had done serious damage but with Madja’s help, the scarring was minimized. The lashes at your front took two weeks to heal, the arrow wounds took three. Three fucking weeks. Meanwhile all you could think about was your mate. He hadn’t left your side in the interim. Helping you take steps, applying the wound creams that Madja had left in small glass pots, keeping you fed, making you laugh, telling you how much he loved you daily. Mother above, you were going to ruin this male. 

You walked into the kitchen at the end of week three, the only evidence of your wounds now in the slight limp of your right leg and twinge in your left shoulder. The marks at your stomach and chest had diminished into barely there, silver scores. Cassian was sitting at the small table in the corner as you entered. “Hi Cass,” you greeted, “seen my mate around this morning?” It was fun calling him that, a small part of your chest swelling with pride each time. 

Cassian smirked, “He’s been…… out.” Your eyes narrowed, he was being evasive. “Out where?” You asked, grabbing an apple and hopping up on the counter to watch the male. He shrugged, “No idea, Little One.” You smirked, “I know where you sleep Cassian,” you started, “is it really wise to lie to me?” Nesta strode into the kitchen, “What’s he done now?” She asked laughing. “Hey! I’ll have you know I’ve done nothing!” The male exclaimed, “She’s interrogating me on the whereabouts of her maaate.” He dragged out the vowel of the last word mockingly. Nesta took her seat next to Cassian and laughed, “Ah, him.” She looked to you then, “he’ll be around to collect you soon.” 

You looked between the two, suspicion dripping from your features as you took another bite from the apple in your palm. “You two are being weird,” you stated. Nesta shrugged, nudging Cassian who smiled at her. “Just wait,” she said softly, “maybe cook yourself a meal.” Cassian’s mouth quirked with a laugh he restrained. “Right, I’m leaving, cause whatever this is,” you waved a hand at them, “is deeply odd.” You hopped off the counter and strolled to the exit.  You heard them laughing softly once you were out of the room, making you roll your eyes at their antics.

You’d gone to the library after leaving the kitchen and found Elain already there. Her eyes moved to you upon your entrance and she closed her book, middle finger marking her spot. “How are you feeling?” She asked softly, eyes surveying your body for lingering damage. You sighed, falling into the sofa across from her. “I’m better,” you said quietly, “the pain is gone, scars are minimal.” You turned your eyes to her, she looked brighter than the last time you’d seen her. “How are you?” You asked in return. She smiled sweetly. “Better,” she echoed you and you wanted to laugh. “I’ve been exchanging letters with Lucien,” she added and your ears perked up.

“That’s great, Elain,” you rest your chin on a closed fist, watching her. She shifted and sat her book to the side, page forgotten. “I want to tell you something,” she said quietly, fingers twiddling with each other. She looked... nervous? “I’m all ears,” you said softly. 

“I had a vision while you were gone,” she started and took a deep breath. “It was so muddled at first, I couldn’t tell who it was, but then I saw you. Your hair was longer, you stood taller, and your belly was round.” The breath left your body in a powerful exhale. She looked to you again, eyes watching yours, “You were pregnant and happy and in love,” she said quietly, as if the words in themselves were fragile. Your hands trembled and you moved them under your thighs, her eyes didn’t miss the action. 

“I couldn’t understand why the Mother would send me a vision like that, I saw Feyre’s pregnancy, but we’re sisters, you know?” You nodded. “Then I realized I recognized the tattooed arm I’d seen wrap around you, knew it was Azriel.” Your eyes watered, and you hiccuped out a small laugh. “I’ve known for a while you two were fated, but the Mother was telling me for certain. I hope you know how happy we are for you.” She finished and moved to sit next you, small hand touching your knee. 

“When they brought you in that night, I thought the Mother had lied to me, that it was a vision of what could have been, that you wouldn’t make it.” You’d never heard Elain speak at length in this way, and you thought you might stop breathing. “I’ve never been happier to see you than when Azriel brought you in to read days later, my sweet friend.” You surged forward, throwing your arms around the female and she returned the gesture warmly. 

You sat back and looked at her then. “Thank you,” you said, voice small, a little watery. She nodded before turning to resume her original spot at the end of the sofa, picking up her book and opening it to the page she’d left off. 

In the hours that followed, you’d returned to the kitchen, grateful to find Cassian and Nesta had left. You took Nesta’s advice, gathering the ingredients to build a small berry tart. It had just gone in the oven when your mate appeared in the doorway.

“Hello love,” he said casually, leaning against the door jamb. You startled, turning on your heel to find him smiling at you. “Where have you been?” You asked walking towards him and running your hands around his midsection in a hug, head resting against his chest. His arm came around your shoulders as he pressed a kiss to your hair, breathing in your scent. “That, my dearest one, is a surprise.” 

You looked up chin resting against his chest, watching his face. “It’d better be good, I baked for you,” you said, smiling softly at the Spymaster. His eyes moved to the oven then and back to you, irises darkening, as his pupils blew a little wide. “You… baked?” He asked disbelieving, “didn’t know you knew how to bake,” he followed up playfully. You gasped and shoved him, “for that, you can starve, have fun finding another mate to bake for you.” He laughed heartily and caught your hand, bringing your knuckles to his lips, eyes swimming with warm affection as he pressed a kiss there. Gods, the action made lust swoop in your stomach, heat spreading. 

“The fool I’d be to turn away such a female,” he said, voice deepening, lips running across your knuckles with each word. “Azriel” you breathed. “Yes?” He offered in return, still smiling, moving your knuckles back and forth against his hot mouth. “Please tell me this surprise involves you bedding me.” A growl creeped out of his throat, the thought of you under him sending lust racing down his spine and to his groin. 

“It might,” he said quietly, lips resuming their exploration, tracking small kisses from your knuckles, to the joint of your thumb, the inside of your wrist where Rhys’ tattoo lingered, up the soft skin of your arm, to your elbow, until he reached the skin of your shoulder. His lips traced over the raised skin there, a small nip above the scar as he traced north to your collarbone. You’d gone to putty in his hands, head rolling to the side to bare your throat. He pressed soft kisses there, pausing at your pulse point to trace the area with his warm tongue, a whimper escaping your mouth. 

“If this is going to become a regular thing, I’ll need you two to relocate to the River House,” a voice came from behind you and you jumped in shock, but your mate, he let out a possessive growl before turning on the intruder. Rhysand laughed airily and folded his arms over his chest. “Easy, brother,” he smiled, causing Azriel to roll his eyes. You blinked a little dazed, and pulled away from the Shadowsinger. “You’re gonna make me burn my fucking tart,” you shoved him with an arm and laughed as you turned to resume your place at the oven. 

Azriel instructed you to dress comfortably and be ready in a hour as he kissed your knuckles one last time and exited the kitchen. Butterflies roamed freely in your stomach at the thought of what he had planned. You’d returned to your quarters after removing the tart from the oven and portioning it into a small travel sized container. You were going to accept the bond, and your nerves were alight with anxious excitement. After you dressed in a lightweight linen dress, you packed a small bag with your remaining creams, and the boxed tart you’d prepared earlier. 

You descended the stairs to find Azriel waiting at the base, his wings standing proudly behind him, shadows skittering around his feet. At the sight of you they raced to meet on the bottom step, running up your legs, around your waist and into your hair. A laugh escaped you as one nuzzled into the space behind your ear. Azriel watched fondly. “They love you,” he said smiling, taking a step to meet you, “ever since the bond snapped, I’ve had the hardest time reining them back from touching you.” 

You reached a hand out to meet his, interlacing your fingers. “They’re cute, but you’re cuter,” you said with gentle affection. A shadow pinched at your waist and Azriel’s cheeks went a little pink as he laughed. 

“Will you tell me what the surprise is?” You asked as he walked you toward the training balcony. “I’m afraid I’m very poorly dressed for training,” you joked. He snorted, “no, we’re not training.” He came to rest at the railing and then turned to you, running a hand up your arm, fingers moving to hold the back of your neck, warm palm heating the skin there, thumb grazing your jawline. “Amongst many things I’ve been terribly late for recently, I realize I owe you a date.” 

Your face went a little puzzled and you looked to his eyes. “A date?” You questioned. He nodded, “I was supposed to take you flying.” Realization dawned on your features and a smile overtook your lips, each tooth shining in the setting sun. “I wanted to kiss you that night too,” you admitted laughing, remembering how desperate you’d been for his touch and attention. He smiled softly, “you have no idea how angry I was with Rhys for calling me away.” Your eyes widened, still in disbelief that this male wanted you return. It seemed both a millennia in the making and still so new and fragile. 

Azriel snuck an arm around your waist and brought you up into the stretch of his firm body. His other hand tracing down your hip, then thigh, to curve under your knees as he picked you up. His wings unfurled and he shot into the air. A shaky laugh startled out of you and you gripped him tighter, your arms winding around his neck. His wings flapped in thunderous bursts, taking you higher, until you could see the entirety of Velaris spread below, the Sidra flowing like a snake through the winding city. Your breath left you in awe. “The Peregryn was right,” you said loud enough for him to hear and he smiled, pressing a kiss to your temple.

The flight was short, but it took you to the rural banks of the Sidra on the outskirts of the city, just before it emptied into the sea. You could see ships sailing into the harbor, moonlight beginning to trickle across the water. This was undeniably special, you thought, no one would see you up here and you felt like this was the edge of the world itself. You turned to Azriel, finding his eyes already watching you. “Thank you,” you said softly, leaning into him, his chin meeting your forehead as you moved your body to rest alongside the length of his. His hand came to rest at the small of your back, pinky stretching to graze the curve of your bottom. Wherever this was going, you were very interested. 

He turned and grasped your hand, pulling you back up the hill and away from the view, towards a field of wildflowers and grasses. There, in the middle, a blanket had been laid out, small candles lit to illuminate the setting. A basket sat in one corner, a bottle of fae wine held within with an assortment of pastries, breads, and cheeses. You realized quickly that your mate, the male you’d loved for damn near two centuries, was courting you. The thought thrilled you. 

He led you to the blanket and motioned for you to sit next him. “I must confess, I never took you for a romantic,” you said looking from the candles, to the basket, and then to him. He was watching you again. He smiled, laughing a bit nervously, “I’m a lot of things,” he said and your eyebrow quirked. “Oh yeah? Like what?” You challenged him and he loved you for it. You made him feel easy to love, you made loving fun and freeing. Azriel had once only thought freedom could be found in fucking and flying, then he’d found you and he knew it was there too. In the smile of your lips, in the thrill of your touch, in the ease of your love. 

“Well,” he started, moving his wings to lean into you, pressing a kiss to your exposed shoulder. The action caused you to shiver. “I’m a spymaster.” You snorted, “no shit.” A laugh rumbled in his chest. “I’m a bit shy as you well know, I’m quite fond of dancing, I’m—” he hummed the last letter, pausing his thoughts and moving his lips up your neck. “I’m in love with you,” he said biting into the flesh at the juncture of your collarbone and throat, cock hardening at the sound that rolled out of your mouth. “I’m going to take you right here, on this blanket, under the stars.” 

You gasped, your hands moved find purchase in the hair at the back of his head, fingers winding through the strands, nails dragging at his scalp. His nose ran the length of your jawline before his lips found yours. He rumbled a small hum the instant his mouth touched your own. At first it was a gentle press, teasing you as he had done today in the kitchen at the House of Wind. The adrenaline racing up your spine made you feel like you might vibrate out of your skin. His hand reached up then, threading broad fingers into your hair as he took the kiss deeper. Tonguing the bottom of your lip until your mouth opened, his tongue stroking your own. Humming with contentment, he tilted your head, deepening the kiss at a new angle that had heat swooping down to your core. 

You brought your left hand to his shoulder, fisting your fingers in the fabric there and pulling him closer. He understood your intention and leaned you back into the blanket, pleasure alighting each nerve as his body pressed into your own. He eased up on your lips and began a slow trek south, pulling the strap of your dress down the curve of your shoulder, leaving a love bite there that had you gasping. He kissed down the bust line of the dress, laving his tongue at the swell of your breast. Your breath was coming in pants and you pressed yourself up on your elbows as he moved further south, fingertips tracing the hem of your dress that had risen to the middle of your thigh. 

He looked back to you and smiled, mischief playing in his eyes as he ran his hands up your thighs, the slow drag pulling the dress with it. “I’ve been thinking about your cunt for centuries,” he said, his lips on your knee, pressing insistently as they moved north. “I’ve been dreaming of making you come on my tongue since I met you.”

Your breath leaves you in one fell swoop as you feel his tongue at the juncture of your hip and thigh. His mouth was insistent at skin there, tonguing the lace of your panties before pulling them down your legs and off entirely. He picked up a foot, placing it to his chest as he traced the long line of your body with hungry eyes. You were panting already, dressed rucked up around your waist, straps fallen down your arms and breasts heaving. His gaze flowed south and landed on your pink cunt, glistening, begging for him. His eyes went back to your face then, and his titled his head to the side, “Will you let me eat your pretty little cunt?” He asked fingertips tracing the scars of your calf with reverence. He brought your foot up, kissing the inside of the ankle, then nosing his way over your scarred calf, suckling at the skin there. “Please,” he added, eyes moving back to yours as his mouth continued his ministrations. 

“Mother above, Azriel,” you breathed and a laughed startled out of you, “you are mouthy.” He chuckled darkly then, nipping at your knee, taking special care to press a gentle kiss at the new scar there. “Is that a no then?” He said softly and your head fell back with a groan, exposing your neck to his view. “As if,” you said, head pulling back up and lolling to the side to rest on your shoulder. “I’ve thought about it too, and if you back out now I will explode.” He laughed again, freely this time, forehead resting on your thigh. 

His eyes find yours again, and he kept them there as he traced his lips north. He nosed the juncture of your cunt and inner thigh, running a tongue along your mound. You gasped and eyes narrowed, watching him with rapt attention. He pressed a kiss to the top of your slit and his hands come up to open you to him, pulling the lips apart and tonguing the collected moisture there. Your head fell back as your elbows gave way, falling flat against the blanket. 

“You taste better than I imagined,” he said before wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking. The moan that left you had his hips pushing into the ground to find relief as his cock begged for release. His tongue flicked against your clit as he sucked and hummed. He thought this might become his favorite place in all of Prythian. He thought that every bad thing that had happened in his life seemed insignificant now that he was able to worship freely between your thighs. He traced fingers up and paused to wet them on his tongue, before pushing his middle and ring finger in to the second knuckle, pulling them out and scissoring them back in again. His tongue found your sweet little button for a second time that night and he laved at it, listening to your cries as he pushed you to the brink. Azriel’s life had been a nightmare, but between your thighs, mouth on your cunt, walls fluttering around his fingers, he thought he’d been blessed by the Mother herself. 

Your hips rocked up in time with his fingers and you cried as your gut twisted, the coil there tightening. “Az-“ you gasped. “Azriel,” you went a little whiny on the vowels of his name, and your hand reached down to thread your fingers into his hair, nails scratching and tugging the strands. He hummed, the vibration sending shocks up your spine. “Azriel, baby,” you gasped, coming up on an elbow again, rutting your hips into his face as he took you higher. He didn’t let up, suckling at your cunt, fingers finding the spongy spot on the backside of your clit that made the world go blank “Azriel!” you gasped again, hips stuttering out, “Fuck, fuck— oh.” In seconds you were reaching your peak, hips faltering, thighs twitching, toes curling into the hard planes of his back. 

He pulled his mouth off of you, pressing kisses to your pubic bone as he moved north up your stomach. He eyes were alight with desire, the male was pure want and you were his last meal. He pulled his fingers from your cunt and trailed them up to rest at your neck as he slotted his body between your thighs and kissed you. The hedonism of tasting yourself on his mouth made you wetter, cunt pressing into the hard line of his cock, still restricted in his trousers. He moaned at the contact, mouth leaving yours to rest his head against your chin and gather himself. The sound sent a pleasurable shock directly to your core. You grasped the hand at your throat and brought his fingers up and to your mouth, tongue laving at them before taking them to the knuckle, and pulling back slow, hollowing out your cheeks and sucking, keeping your eyes on his. He bared his teeth the sight and ground his hard cock into you, the friction on your clit making your thighs twitch. 

“My sweet little mate,” he cooed. “Love of my life,” he nosed your cheek, his fingers still in your mouth. “All my dreaming has been put to shame it would seem,” he pulled his fingers from your mouth and replaced them with his tongue, his hands flying to his belt. He growled in struggle and you ventured a laugh. His eyes found yours and his jaw ticked, “keep laughing, sweet girl, I’ll fuck your throat next and you won’t come.” Your eyes went a little wide and a feline grin appeared on your face. “Mouthy indeed,” you said with glee as he finally got the buckle undone and pushed the pants down and off. 

His shirt went next and your fingers traced up his exposed arms to his shoulders. “I’ve seen you shirtless a dozen times, and you still take my breath away,” you said softly, a hand resting on his pectoral. He laughed and went a little pink, before he pushed your dress up your body and over your head, leaving you bare. “I’ve always been impressed by your ability to so disarming,” he said, mouth finding the space above your breast as his hands came to cup them, fingers toying with the nipples. “It’s my favorite thing about you, you see me in a way I can’t even see myself,” he followed up. 

Your eyes watered at the admission and your hands found his face, bringing his mouth back to yours as you kissed him again, tongue entwining with his. Your hands grasped his shoulders, as your leg found his hip and you pushed him over, onto his back. Your hands came to rest on his chest as you settled your weight on his lower abdomen. You could feel his manhood standing to attention, insistent at the curve of your ass and you reached around to grasp it, pushing your chest out for his greedy eyes. Taking him in long strokes, you ran your hand up and down, circling your thumb around the head. His eyes screwed shut as his breathing shallowed. 

“Wanna know a secret, baby?” You offered, rocking your hips in time with your strokes. He whined then, the Lord of Shadows keened a little whine for you that had you ready to come right there. “Last time we hosted a gala, that night before Hybern,” you were panting, “all I could think about was taking you to bed.” His eyes opened and hazel was gone blacked out in pure desire. His hands found your hips and his own began to move in time with you. “I thought about riding you,” you said, twisting your hand in a way that had his breath guttering out of him. “I thought you might love me in the way you looked at me.” His eyes softened and he leaned up, hands tracing up your spine as he pressed kisses to your chest. 

“I loved you that night and every night since,” he said before tonguing a nipple and sucking it into his mouth. “That dress you wore, my color, had me hard for a week.” You laughed then removing your hand from his cock and bringing both to his face, so you could kiss him. His hands slipped to your ass then, palming the cheeks as his tongue moved in tandem with yours. When you moved back from him, a string of salvia still connected you two, you reached up to comb fingers through his hair gently.

“I brought you something,” you said quietly, looking to the corner of the quilt where your bag had dropped ages ago. His brow furrowed, confusion showing in his features. “You don’t have to, but I brought some of that tart. If you want,” you offered the statement nervously, as if there was still a chance for rejection. Azriel’s heart went soft and his brain turned to mush.

“You want to accept it?” He questioned, hands sliding up your back and to your waist. You smiled and looked at him incredulously, “Of course I want to accept it, it feels like I’ve waited a millennia for you.” You’d laughed a bit and that feeling of home raced through him again. Gods, he was fucked. 

You leaned off his lap, pulling the strap of your bag to you and unzipped it. There, packaged in a little glass container, lay a small slice of the berry tart you’d fretted over earlier in the day. “Nesta made some stupid comment about ‘cooking’ when I’d asked where you were,” you laughed in hindsight at the female’s leading words. “She knew because Cassian knew, he helped me with the food and candles,” Azriel murmured pushing your hair up and over your shoulder. 

He pulled the container from your grasp then and opened it before picking the pastry up with his fingers, the same fingers that had been inside you minutes ago. Eyes on yours he took the first bite, your heart thrumming as the golden thread of your bond lit up like the sunrise. His eyes never left yours as he consumed the pastry in four bites, swallowing and pulling his fingers into his mouth at the remaining sweetness there. 

The bond between you two was shining, strong and thrumming with love. ‘Hi,’ you tried, your thoughts reaching out to him. He smiled, laughing freely, and his voice came through clearly, ‘Hi, Little One.’ You choked out a laugh, eyes watering as you leaned forward to kiss him, tasting the berries on his tongue. ‘Can I make love to my mate now?’ He questioned down the bond and you laughed again. His hands were already tracing your hips as you leaned forward, hand reaching underneath to guide him into your cunt. Lowering yourself down, you rocked forward once then twice in order to take him to the hilt. 

Mother above, he was big. His cock was thick and filled you wholly, pushing against your cervix making your eyes flutter in pleasure. You thought of the comment Mor had made about wingspan once decades ago and you heard him laugh, “I’m flattered, truly,” he said playfully, reading your thoughts and nipping at your shoulder.

You rose up again and set to riding him slowly, hips moving in long strokes as his hands traced your ass, pulling at the flesh there in time with your movements. You gave a experimental squeeze of your walls, and he keened a loud moan that had you speeding up your flow. “You keep that up, Little One and I won’t last,” he panted at your throat. “That’s rather the point,” you laughed breathlessly, your own hand moving to cup your breast, the other sliding down to circle your clit. His eyes traced the view greedily, moving down to the point where you connected, watching your cunt take him in full, his cock glistening with your shared wetness. He bared his teeth at the sight, a rumble lighting in his chest. 

Just as your walls began to flutter with your impending orgasm, he grasped you and flipped you to your back, pulling your hands from your body and entwining your fingers with his own on each side of your head. He ground his pelvis in deep and your legs hitched higher around his waist. “Azriel, fucking Gods,” you called out at the switch in angle, the tip of his cock grinding into your cervix. He hummed at your throat, teeth marking you there as his hips pulled out and pushed in, grinding each time he bottomed out into you. His wings flared behind him and you thought you’d never seen a more beautiful sight. 

“You take me so well, my love,” he panted, “you were made for me.” You whined then, cunt fluttering around him as he bottomed out deep and held it there, grinding his pubic bone into your clitoris. The pleasure raced up your spine and you thought you’d never be able to leave this place, might have to keep him inside you forever. He growled, reading your thoughts. “You want me to fuck this cunt forever?” He asked aloud leaning up, pulling his hands from yours. 

You whined at the loss, but the sound died as he pulled your legs up his waist to his shoulders, kissing the scarred calf. He drew his cock out, only to slam back in. “Fuck,” you moaned out, voice going up two octaves. “You want me between your thighs for the rest of my days?” He said again, hips moving faster, your hands moving to your tits as they bounced from the impact. His eyes watched the movement and he bared his teeth again, turning his head to bite into the flesh of your calf. 

“Azriel!” You called out again, pleasure zipped up your spine and you felt your stomach tighten. “Az, baby, I’m so close.” He chuckled darkly. “Be a good girl and come on my cock,” he said as his fingers traced down your leg to find your clit, rubbing the bundle in quick, timed circles. “Az- I-,” you barely got the words out before your orgasm overtook you, a long moan exiting your mouth as your cunt tightened around him, he ground into you and worked you through it, before dropping your legs back to his hips and pistoning deeper.

“My sweet mate,” he gasped at the skin of your throat, mouth tracing up to find yours, hands finding purchase on your thighs as he pulled you open, allowing him dive deeper. “My darling love,” he moaned and his tongue moved with yours, your hips pushing up to meet his thrusts, walls fluttering against his velvet length with the remnants of your orgasm. 

You ventured your hand up his shoulder to the base of a wing and traced your fingers up the membrane to the bone. His eyes twisted shut, and he keened a low primal whine that had your cunt ready to come again. At the tightening of your walls, he groaned dark and deep, shadows seeping from him, as he pushed in, grinding against the innermost portion of you. His hips pulled out slightly and then pushed back in as his cock kicked, come spurting against your walls. He panted against your throat as his hands released their hold on your thighs and moved up your body before grasping your throat. He moved up to lean over you and his eyes found your own. He gave an experimental thrust of his hips and your eyes widened. Fucking Cauldron, he was still hard. 

He laughed then, nuzzling at your mouth as he nipped at your bottom lip. “I’m giving you five,” his voice was deeper than you’d ever heard it, “and then I’m eating my come from your cunt and fucking you until the sun comes up.” 

You gasped out a laugh as your arms wrapped around his shoulders. ‘They call it frenzy for a reason,’ you thought, kissing along his cheekbone and to his mouth. Gods, you were fucked. 

[thesassypadawan]

Spring Has Sprung (Master Anakin x FemPadawanReader)

Summary: This isn’t how you imagined your first time would be like. You thought it would be romantic, loving. That all changed though when your master was infected by a sex pollen during a mission. Taking what he’s always wanted, whether you like it or not, and…showing you a side of yourself that you never knew.

Warnings: 18+ (minors dni), because of all the lovely smut. Sex pollen, hair pulling, rough sex, age gap implied (20 years), and Ani’s big dick. Padawan Reader is of age.

Notes: Happy First Day of Spring, lovelies!

“I’m sorry, angel… So sorry… I promise to make this up to you… To give you the moment you deserve…”

Despite his compassionate words, Anakin’s voice was low. Filled with lust, laced with darkness. A darkness that sent a chill down your spine, straight to your soaking core.

You let out a small whine as he slid in and out of you. Slow, teasing; pushing you further to your limit each time his hips pressed against yours.

With your ass high in the air, Ani kept his steady pace. Brushing your cervix with his tip, making you whimper…causing him to growl.

From the way his grip on your hips begins to tighten and how his thrusts grew more forceful. You could tell that what little of his self-control was quickly slipping away. That he would no longer be able to hold back. “Don’t be scared.”

This isn’t how you imagined your first time would be like. You had always pictured, had always hoped that it would be gentle…loving…the most romantic moment of your life. Instead it was being stolen away; stripped and reformed into something entirely different. Something more twisted and ugly. All thanks to the pollen…the pollen that had infected your master.

Well, at least one piece of your dream had come true…

He grabbed the back of your neck. Squeezing hard, enough to cause you to gasp out in pain and terror. “Do you know how many times I’ve fantasized about this?”

Organic hand moved higher, burying itself into your hair. “About the way you’d look beneath me.”

Pulling harshly, he yanked your head up. Hips now moving at a brutal speed. Length slamming into you over and over while you whined helplessly. “The feel of you clenching around my cock.”

Mecho hand slapped your ass painfully and you cried out. A small flame of pleasure igniting inside of you. “The sounds you’d make as I break in your tight, virgin pussy.”

A moan spilled from your lips. “Yes…please, yes.” That broke off in a high pitched mewl as his cold fingers brushed your clit.

You can practically hear the smirk in Anakin’s voice. “Please, huh? Please, what?” He pulled your hair roughly, the burn on your scalp sending shivers down your spine.

He pinched at your sensitive bud, swirling around it. Your walls fluttered in response and a gasp flew from your mouth. “Master! Please, master! Break me in and make me yours!”

“Better,” he grunted, tugging even harder. “Now tell me, who does this pussy belong to?”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, the sting so overwhelmingly good. “You. It belongs to you.”

Removing his fingers, he lands another powerful smack on your ass. Pulling you up higher by your hair, he forces himself deeper. “What was that, padawan of mine? Couldn’t hear you.”

No words, all you manage to do is squeal in delight. Ani’s fingers were toying with your clit once more, his hips thrusting frantically. The sound of your obscene slapping only spurred you on, clinging to every inch of his rock-hard length,

Not answering him properly earned you a low, warning growl. Then a sharp tug, your neck snapping back. “Aargh! You, my pussy belongs to you!”

You felt his hot breath on your neck, followed by his teeth sinking into your shoulder. “That’s right, only your master’s. To cum and ruin whenever he pleases.”

No longer fighting your torn emotions, you let yourself get swept up in Anakin’s words. Your whole-body trembles, you clamp down hard. Fingers dig into the mattress and your toes curled. “Maaa…Master!” You wailed, your orgasm ripping though you.

Spent; you begin to fall forward, but are yanked back up. “Not yet! I’m not finished with you yet!”

His hand slid to your hip, squeezing it with a durasteel grip. He pounds into you without remorse. Bruising and abusing your poor cervix, while he chases after his own release.

It’s all too much, you’re so overstimulated. Tears stream down your face as the pain sets in. As the realization hits you…that you’re being used as nothing more than his personal cocksleeve. And maker help you, you have never been more aroused. “Cum! Cum, please! Want it! Need it!”

A loud groan filled the air. “Take it! Don’t you dare waste a single drop!” With one last forceful pull, he buried himself to the hilt. Cock twitching, shooting rope after thick rope deep inside of you. Filling you to the absolute brim.

Both panting, the hand in your hair slackened. Now gently massaging your poor overtaxed scalp. “I-I wasn’t too rough; was I, hatari?”

Anakin’s actions… His words… The pollen must have worn off...

Head tipping forward, you laughed softly. Relief with a hint of disappointment washing over you. “Nothing I-I couldn’t handle.”

Peace had fallen… Your Ani had returned to you… It was finally…

His grip began to tighten, hips slowly started to rock. And that voice; that voice filled with lust, laced with darkness muttered. “Good then you’ll be able to take much MUCH more.”

Tag List: @espinathena-17, @myheartwillgoon2022, @cacti5539, @wifeofasith, @princessswifie

[cupidkenji]

the warm spot at the bottom of the stairs

Pairing: Ghost!Spencer Reid x Chubby!Fem!Reader CW: Fluff, Mild Angst, Soulmate AU, reader has dreams, mentions of sex/masturbation, mentions of death, cursing, reader feels like she knows him but they've never met, let me know if I missed anything please! Summary: After inheriting your grandfather's estate, you fall in love with the man from your dreams. He just so happens to be in your house, too. Disclaimer: Reader is always written with a chubby/bigger person in mind but in this she's literally not described aside from the fact that she has hips, a stomach, and legs on her body. WC: 9k (this is what happens when you let a man cook) This fic is genuinely my baby. I love soulmate aus with all my heart and soul and also love the dynamic of falling in love with a ghost. Enjoy this please, I tried <3

You swore the heat radiating off the sidewalk was enough to melt the soles of your shoes down to liquid. The sun was unforgivably angry today, glaring down at the world like it had a score to settle. You were less than thankful, as the death of your grandfather had stolen any desire you once held for warmth. The brutal dichotomy of the cold pit sitting in your stomach and the burning heat of the day only added to the sour taste in your mouth.

This house was fucking huge. 

You had no idea how your grandfather managed to hide such an enormous investment from everyone in his life but he’d managed the task seamlessly. Nobody even knew what he was giving you at first. The reading of the will and testimony left nothing but confused relatives until they had found the address that marked the estate. Some were jealous of you, some were confused, some even asked if they could come live with you once you got settled in. You had been absolutely floored when you learned he’d given you a house. Being fresh out of university, you were moving on to grad school while simultaneously preparing yourself to live with your mother until you could afford anything besides student debt payments. 

Now though, you had a castle, with no clue why a house this big was given to you of all people. You were your grandpa’s only grandchild and were by far one of the least deserving of such a generosity. Sure, you were close, but never abnormally close. You talked once a week on the phone and were glued to his side at family gatherings - but he saw your aunt everyday, and spoke with your mother much more than he ever did you. Was it pity? Maybe he saw this as the only plausible way of you escaping the fate of leeching off your mother. Hopefully he didn’t think of you so lowly. 

You mentally cursed at the dull ache in your legs that persisted even after stretching. You had been driving all day with a car packed full of stuff that needed to be hauled into the house, and only yourself to move said stuff. You said a short plea in your head to not let the pain hinder your speed and began walking into the house to view the inside. The estate was isolated, huge fences of greenery surrounded the place, adding to the pleasant sight of budding flowers throughout the front yard. Even without the towering hedges, though, the nearest neighbor was miles away. Great, you thought. Any concerns of your car being robbed while you were gone were extinguished as quick as they came, but you locked the car regardless. Force of habit. 

The heat was only lessened slightly when you reached the interior. You made a mental note to get the A.C. turned on, no way a temperature like this was a liveable one. You’re sure the numerous floor-to-ceiling windows were the culprit. They were excessive. Beautiful - of course - and you were thrilled at the amount of light they let in, but you could basically see the heatwaves permeating through the stained glass. Your eyes caught on the odd choice. The slightly colored glass making the mansion feel mildly like a church, the thought coming to you quickly and stripping any of the minimal comfort you held moments prior. That’s weird, you thought. Your grandpa had never been particularly religious. He was a man of faith - said grace before dinner and thanked Jesus for every day he lived, but never to this extent. He was rather progressive for a man his age.

The kitchen could have easily fit a team of 12 and you wondered if there had been staff at one point. There was no sign of any employees, and you prayed there weren’t any left working. The last thing you wanted was more responsibility in your life. You took your time walking the house, marveling at every painting and polished chandelier that was now an asset of yours. The house was gorgeous, you’d give at least that much to the old man. The centerpiece, of course, was the large spiral staircase leading to the second floor. As large as the house was, it held only two stories. Getting it’s square footage from length, rather than width. It was equally as glamorous as the house it resided in, however it filled you with a certain devastation you couldn’t place. As though your most primal self rejected the idea of it. That’s silly, you thought. You wanted to go upstairs, you were definitely not avoiding half of your house because a couple of your neck hairs stood at attention. The only real peculiarity was the heat pooling at the very bottom of the staircase. The kind of heat that seemed to thread itself into you, intertwine itself with your very being. The rest of the house was cold and accusatory, if your grandfather ever did live here, any of his warmth was flushed out by his death. This was the only spot in the whole house you felt calm, cared for. You could bask in it, weirdly fascinated with the little pocket of humanity that sat there. 

It was more difficult than you’d expected to pull yourself out of it, and you could have sworn you felt arms trying to pull you back in. Ten minutes into your new life and you were already on edge. Negative feelings didn’t seem to penetrate the spot at the bottom of the stairs, so you physically felt the wave of unease when it struck you upon exiting. The upstairs was creepy. The abundance of windows was apparently only a trend on the first floor, as the second floor held dark, dim hallways. The whole thing, it seemed, was lit up by ancient lamps that lined the walls. It reminded you of the Shining, and you wondered briefly if maybe your mother would let you move back in. There was a bedroom right near the staircase, and you decided it would be yours. It could have been the smallest one for all you knew, the only thing you cared about was a quick escape if such a thing was needed. Something about the house put thoughts like that at the front of your mind. 

You don’t recall ever being a paranoid person, nor a believer in the supernatural, but this house was watching you. The feeling of eyes on you was simply too strong to write off. What a warm welcome. 

—

It had been a week, but the nights so far had been sleepless ones. The people you called on day one were just now getting around to starting the A.C. so you were hoping for a decent rest tonight. The fridge was stocked, your things mainly unpacked, and the house started feeling a little more like you with each day. Although, your friends were more or less convinced there was a ghost living with you. You spoke of the feelings you had, plus the fact it was an old and mildly creepy house, and they were off and running with theories. One of the tamer ones consisted of the house being an old church - given the windows - and that the eyes you were feeling were perhaps an old priest who died here. You were less than fond of that idea, but you would take it any day to the other propositions of old mental hospitals and certain death. You made a mental note to never again let your friends speculate on situations you couldn’t get out of.

You argued that a malevolent spirit wouldn’t invoke such a comforting sense within you. You felt watched - yes - but it wasn’t as though you felt stalked. It was much worse, actually, you felt lonely. Loneliness was never a battle you fought very hard in. You had hobbies, and you had friends. The desire for a romantic companion usually took the back burner if it was even a thought at all. People questioned the topic - you were pretty, smart, capable - what more could somebody want? They asked if you were insecure, if you liked girls, told you that you were wasting your “prime years” and needed to find someone - but it was never that simple. You just didn’t get it. The feelings others spoke of were unfamiliar ones to you. You held your breath for a long time before realizing that it probably just wasn’t for you, that you were built a little differently.

Needless to say, you were uncomfortable with the sudden sensation. It felt like seeing the moon in a glass jar - something unfathomably beautiful but something you were unable to hold. Lord knows it wasn’t from a lack of desire, though. You’re sure you reeked of longing, able to suppress the lot of it but unable to stop some from slipping through the cracks of your fingers. And with no obvious direction to cast it, it just clung to you and seeped back into your skin. 

–

“No, dude, I’m telling you shit’s fucking weird.” You shoveled popcorn into your mouth as you spoke with your friend. This was the third call since you moved in. “Every night I wake up at like two in the morning and just for a split second I feel it. It’s like I'm lying on someone’s shoulder or something. And - oh my god - the amount of times I get stuck in that fucking warm spot on the stairs is gonna drive me crazy.” 

You could hear her laughing at your frustration on the other end. “What do you mean you get stuck? Y/n I'm getting worried about your mental state.” 

“No I’m telling you, I walk in this one - like - warm spot and I enter some kind of trance. Like I want to leave but I can’t - Jesus!”

“Are you alright?” Your friend was quick to ask, hearing you cut yourself off mid sentence. 

“No! This shit is haunted I swear. My kitchen lights just turned off for no reason. If I die here I’m blaming you and Kelly for not getting me out.” You were being dramatic, you knew that, but it was starting to feel justified. You don’t remember a time in the last week you felt truly by yourself.

“Hey don’t blame us for your own choi-” She started speaking, but you lost her. 

“Hello? You there?” You tried calling her again but the usual buzz of the dial tone was dead silent, the lamps that were illuminating the house followed soon after. Phone lines were the first to go in a power outing. No fucking way the power just went out. You felt around in the dark for the drawer of the end table. There had been a flashlight on the counter when you’d first arrived. You threw it in the end table because you had no clue why it was there - you were thanking God you’d done so while also praying the thing had batteries in it. You wrapped your hand around the object and said one more plea to the stars you wouldn’t have to be without light until tomorrow. Somebody must have been listening, as the room lit up when you hit the ‘on’ switch of the flashlight. 

You’d seen the fuse box towards the south end of the upstairs hallway, sitting between a Da Vinci replica and a mirror taken straight from a movie star's wet dream. I’m gonna die was the only thing you could think at a moment like this. You were for sure going to see glowing red eyes at the end of the hall and die a horrific and bloody death. Thanks grandpa. The warm spot was a welcome refuge from your journey to certain death, and you embraced the sense of  peace it brought you at a time when your heart was surely beating too fast. You held the light in front of you as you ventured up the stairs. The top of them seemed cartoonishly haunting, you thought momentarily that you would fit perfectly into a Scooby Doo episode. It was vast and dark, having multiple pathways you could walk down, but you set your sights on the south hall and did your best to disable your peripheral vision. It was right there. You just had to reset the power and you’d have your precious light back. Who puts a fucking mirror above a fuse box? 

You held the flashlight between your teeth as you focused on your task. Open and reset. Open and reset. It was truly as simple as that and then you could be done. Go watch a midnight rerun on TV and pray that the spirits would leave you alone. Open and reset. The switches were flipped off - you didn’t think that was normal but what did you know - so you flipped them back on and heard the hum of life returning to the house. Thank God. Your nerves dissipated almost immediately. You were alright, no ghost had it out for you. It’s an old house, and would probably experience things like this a lot. You could do that again if you had to. You looked up, though, and ate your words. There was definitely a man behind you. If you had been trying to look at him, you would have seen he was young, tall. You probably would have thought he was attractive, but you had no time for that. You whirled around, yelping at the sight of him and mentally preparing to defend your life. It proved futile though, he was gone as quickly as he came. There was nowhere he could have gone that fast, so as much as you were certain he was there, you settled for him being imaginary. It was dark upstairs, and you were scared out of your mind. Surely your eyes were overcompensating for the paranoia that was racing through you. You walked back to the couch on guard and decided to call your friend back tomorrow. It was nearly twelve, and you knew she had work tomorrow. You could cope using TV and proper lighting to comfort you until sunrise. What’s one more sleepless night?

“You boys let me know if you need anything.” You heard the words in your own voice as if listening to a stranger. 

“Sure thing, doll.” All the men were in uniform. Gray fabric covered their bodies, adorned with hats of the same color. Soldiers.

You walked back behind the front counter as the bell above the door continuously chimed at the arrival of new guests. Orders were being shouted to the cooks. You stared at the bold letters painted on the large graffiti piece decorating the wall, “Cathy’s Cooking.” A greasy apron covered the light blue dress beneath it - waitress attire. The smell of fried eggs clashed hard with the scent of sanitizer you were using to wipe down the counter. Bells rang to signal orders were ready to be taken out to guests, and you discarded the rag you used to mop up spilled coffee. 

“Thanks, Benny.” You nodded to the chef as you took the food plates to table two. He nodded back at you before returning to flipping bacon. 

“L/N!” Your manager barked at you. “Take your break. Be back in thirty.” He was a friendly man, though he got a bit hostile under pressure. 

You couldn’t be more thankful for the break. It was hour 6 of your shift and you were beginning to think he might never let you off. You removed the apron as quick as possible and excused yourself out the back entrance to cool off in the alley way. It got hot as hell during rush hour, so the way the slight breeze nipped your cheeks felt like heaven. 

“Tough shift?”

“Jesus!”

He started laughing as you startled, turning to face him. “‘Fraid it’s just me, honey.” He walked towards you as you grinned at him.

“You scared me, Spence.” 

He shook his head, mocking you. “I’m so sorry.” Drama queen. “How ever will I make it up to you?”

You giggled at that, and wrapped your arms around his neck as he got closer. He put his hands on your hips, leaning you against the brick wall of the alley. You could feel your lungs open up when he kissed you, always feeling like you could breathe better when his lips were on yours. He was your God given destresser. He still donned his uniform but had opted for taking the hat off, he knew you hated when his hair was hidden.

“That’s not very nice, Reid. I thought you were a gentleman. What would your boys think of you being so mean to a lady?”

He smiled a bit at that. “You like when I’m a little mean, Y/N.” 

Fuck. He had you there. 

You looked to the side for a second to snuff out some of the tension. “How long are you here for?”

“We’re in town for two weeks. Gotta catch a boat up to base 14 on the 20th. Supposedly they’re preparing for a big fight.”

You frowned as you made eye contact with him.“I get so worried about you. About all of you. I don’t know what I’d do if - you know if something happened.” He’d been a soldier for a little while now, joining when he turned 18. He’d kept his hands on your hips, and you started to run your hands through his hair, a nervous habit you picked up when the two of you first got together.

“I know, honey. But by the time it’s done I’ll be off my leash. I do this and we can run away together.”

You looked at him the way you always did - with such admiration and love that he often had to look away before it went to his head. He swore he looked at you the same, but you knew deep down nobody could love anyone as much as you loved him. You laughed a bit at the elation you got from just his presence. 

“I got lucky with you, Reid.”

He just shook his head. “Give yourself more credit, L/n.”

Your consciousness hit you like a truck and you realized before long that sun was shining through the windows. You’d fallen asleep sometime between ultimate terror and fleeting hope of your survival. And that dream - dear lord what the fuck was that dream. It was more vivid than you thought possible. You always forget most of your dreams when you wake up, but this time it felt like forgetting would be a betrayal. You could recall word for word every single thing about that dream. It was as though you saw a movie of your own life. A feeling so familiar you could taste it but just far enough to escape your grasp - and boy were you reaching. Not to mention the man. You didn’t know if this was some sort of coping mechanism you were inventing in your head but that was definitely the same man from the mirror last night. An imaginary friend. You had an imaginary friend as a grown woman. Terrific. 

–

“You’re never going to attract a suiter with such a tragic expression, my dear.” This had to be the third time your mother had roused this point in the past hour. 

“These dances are dreadful, idiotic nights of captivity that do nothing but mock the existence of genuine companionship.” The irony of you saying this while patting your cheeks with rose pigment was not lost on you. “Let me scrub myself raw and willingly restrain myself in hopes a man will see me and fall in love.” You spat out the last word with enough vitriol to hopefully drown yourself in. “Maybe he’ll like me so much he’ll lay claim and I can live on to be his housewife and half a person. How I've always dreamed of letting a man decide how much value I have.” You were flustered by the end of your spiel, looking at your mother through the large vanity with the tentative hope of a child asking for sweets. 

“You read too much, darling. Those little romance books of yours are nothing but nonsense.” She was a professional at writing you off by now. “You know plenty of women who are perfectly satisfied with their lives. This is how we do things, Y/n. I don’t understand why you insist on fighting it so intently.” 

She was never truly angry at your defiance, only tired. You could never tell if she was tired of you complaining or if she, like you, was tired of living this way. Your mother had married young - even for the times - and you knew your father left much to be desired in her life. They were basically repulsed by each other, only joining in union to produce a child. Your mother had been thrilled to have a daughter. Your father would trade you if he could, but he made do. The ultimate lack of affection between the two of them made you ill. You weren’t much older than your mother had been, you could very well end up trapped and child-bound in a loveless marriage.

“I would rather die alone than end up with my father.” You spoke, she sighed. 

“I know.”

You stared at her through the mirror for a moment longer, then you rose from your chair. Your makeup was done, your look now complete. You noticed your mother’s eyes start to well up at the sight of you and she started to walk closer. 

“My beautiful girl.” She smiled, forbidding the tears to venture down her cheeks, and held your shoulders. “You deserve a man who will worship you. Your future husband will be the luckiest man on planet Earth.” A gentle prompt, but a prompt nonetheless. You knew she loved you, but she carried more shame as you got older. Having only a daughter was something frowned upon, but having only a daughter hellbent on avoiding marriage was something that weighed on her. 

“I’ll see you in the carriage.” Then she was gone, kissing your cheek and taking her exit to go talk with the director of the communal ride. Carriage was being generous, it was more like a one-way wagon to the local suiter’s ball. You watched her leave with a sense of grief so intense it nearly toppled you. She deserved a man like that too. 

-

This was your third ball of the month. The pool of potential partners diminished with each one. People would often take whatever they could get, meaning less and less people even needed these nights anymore. You walked in with your mother, hand resting gently in the crook of her extended elbow. Your father stopped attending with the two of you a while ago. You believed he’d given up hope of a man ever choosing you - Lord knows he wouldn’t. Scanning the crowd, you saw little to look forward to. The music was pleasant, you would dance with a couple men who seemed bearable at best and criminal at worst, indulge in some of the enticing pastries and teas, and then you would leave. Back home until your mother dragged you out the following week for another one. With your current rate, you assumed you would end up marrying the vagabond that perused your neighboring streets. Taking another look around, you thought you might prefer that. 

You made your temporary home in a corner chair, letting your mother excitedly drag prospects up to you and watch dejectedly as they ruled you out as an option. You felt bad for her, considered caving in and finding a man to give you a child, but you remember swiftly how long the years take to pass when you’re miserable. The chair gave you a good view of the room, you could see the entrance and the dancefloor filled with enticing women waiting for men to notice them. You could feel the sweat start slicking your skin beneath the corset you wore. It was too hot in here. 

If you hadn’t been so determined to ignore the occasional advances of bored men, you would have missed the small group entering the area. Two women and two men, you wondered briefly if it was two couples, but discarded that thought. This wasn’t a place for couples. You felt your heart physically lurch at the sight of the last man in the row of four, as though your heart was running to greet an old friend. Had you seen him before? Surely you would have remembered such a visceral reaction. You averted your eyes before he could notice you. You don’t remember ever wanting to be noticed by a man - especially not this badly. You allowed yourself the escape of your own thoughts, getting lost in your head to pass the time and focus on anything other than what was probably the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. 

“Do you mind if I sit with you?”

You looked up, he was standing above you. The chair next to you had been taken all night, the same woman had been sulking in her seat, and you found comfort in the fact someone else was unhappy to be here. She was gone now. Someone was definitely messing with you. 

“Not at all.”

Your mouth was drier than it had ever been. You wondered if your lips remained stained from the color you applied earlier. You’d done nothing but sit all night and yet you were praying nothing had happened to your makeup. 

“Why are you alone in a corner?” 

“Men tend to be repulsed by my pessimism. I also happen to hate it here. Serves for a less than desirable combination.” You refused to let your sudden attraction diminish your stubbornness. You hated the self-consciousness racing through you, no man had the right to take your assurance in yourself. 

“Why do you hate it here?” He wasn’t being mocking. He seemed - genuinely - a little sad at the thought of you being unhappy. 

“Well, sir, I am of the belief that these dances are nothing but congregations of people settling for lives that won’t make them happy. They trade excitement for safety as though the presence of security has to mean the presence of misery. I don’t think anyone can know the true meaning of love in our current state as a society.” You didn’t look at him as you spoke, instead staring out at the people dancing. “I hold no desire to settle. I am capable of making happiness on my own. Most men don’t like the thought of me not needing them.” 

You were almost positive you lost him. You were betting on him not being there when you looked, preparing yourself to bite the bullet and cope with tonight’s losses. Maybe your mother would agree to leave early. 

You heard him chuckle softly. “Sir.” He repeated your words, finding humor in the formality. “My name’s Spencer.” He added. “And I also happen to hate the purpose of these events. I’ve never actually been to one before, but I’m new to the city, and something about tonight was begging me to come out.” 

You were absolutely bewitched by him. “I’m Y/n.”

“Fitting.” He smiled, a smile directed at his own thoughts, as though something in his mind had clicked. “Will you dance with me?”

The music had slowed severely. You scoffed at his proposal, but you were taking his hand as if you’d been waiting on this. Maybe you had been. You were grateful for the ballad that was playing, never having been one for upbeat dancing. He led you gracefully, and for once you felt yourself relinquish power. With a mind like yours, a man’s company was almost never wanted. With this one, though, you laid your heart at his feet as if you’d done so a dozen times before. The heat of his hands was seeping through your dress, and his eyes were locked with yours. 

“I feel like I know you.” A confession. He had an effect like that.  

“Maybe you do.” 

–

Two in the morning. Everyday you’d woken up at two in the morning from a different dream involving the mysterious ‘Spencer Reid’. You friends had kindly dubbed him the “Man of your dreams” following the stories you told them. You’d been a housewife, trying to welcome him home from work before he laid you down and made an altar of your dining table.You’d been the daughter of a king, at one point, falling in love with his favored knight. Shamefully, that one haunted you. Reappearing in your mind during intimate times when you needed a spark. You’d never been one for desire either. When your friends started preaching the wonders of sex to you during your highschool days, you felt no pull towards the act. Just another it you didn’t understand. Now, though, this house served as an aphrodisiac. You lost count of your streak by day 13, and were now just begging whoever put this apparition in your home for the strength to keep your hand out of your pants. 

Spencer had become more like a roommate rather than an unwanted guest. You saw him in most reflective surfaces around the house. You felt him everywhere. He sat at the table with you, watched TV with you, he would wait by the door when you got home from work. Sometimes, your hand or your shoulder would run hot. Physically hot, like he was putting his hands on you. You wondered if he was around during those times, but if he was there he made sure you didn’t know it. You were gaining a sort of intuition for him. The thought Spencer would like that struck you numerous times when you were window shopping or when you tried on an outfit. You were starting to think maybe you were just crazy. Perhaps a ghost who seemed to be your soulmate and made you incredibly horny was how all psychotic breaks started. 

Weirdly, through your bizarre dreams and inconsistent sleeping patterns, this was the most well rested you’d felt in a while. Waking up at two am was routine now, sometimes you managed to fall back asleep afterwards but most times you were up dwelling on the images your mind had shown you that night. You thought maybe your body was just adjusting - surely it was nothing supernatural giving you energy - just the adaptivity of the human brain. One persistent thing you couldn’t adapt to, though, was how much you missed him. The increasing number of times you woke up to being the only occupant of your bed was starting to wear you down. You feel like you’d spent lifetimes with this man and yet he was someone you never knew. You'd seen the two of you fall in love countless different ways except the one that actually counted - the present. 

“I genuinely don’t know how much longer I can do this.” Another phone call, another conversation about your rapidly declining mental state. “I have fallen in love with a figment of my own imagination. Surely this is some demented form of narcissism.”

“I don’t think it works like that, Y/n.” Your friend was terrible at comforting people. It probably didn’t help that you hadn’t been fully honest with her about the severity of your situation. From where she was standing, you had learned to lucid dream and now that was bleeding mildly into your real life. Not the biggest deal, maybe you were just lonely. 

“It’s a ghost, dude, I’m fucking telling you. There’s no way I’m imaginative enough to conjure all this shit up.” 

“You know his name right? Go down to the library and look him up. If he’s a ghost then surely there’ll be something to find.”

Holy shit. She was a genius. “Oh my God you’re so smart. I love you. You just saved my life. You’re God’s gift to the planet. Who would I be witho-”

“Jesus Christ will you just go? Stop kissing my ass and start driving. I want details when you get back.” 

You don’t know if you’ve ever been so eager to get to the library of all places. If you could snag a computer spot then you could put an end to all of this. He wasn’t real, realistically you knew that, but you had a fool-proof way to check. If he was real you were going to have to come to terms with the fact you could see dead people. Well, a dead person. You had never seen any before Spencer. You’d never seen Spencer either, not before the house at least. They say you can’t make up faces, that if you see someone in a dream then you’ve seen them in real life but you were incredibly doubtful of that by now.

Spencer Reid. Thankfully the man didn’t have a particularly common name. You hoped there would be limited matches, less to look through. Pretty soon you could accept your own mental insanity and maybe ask your mother to spot you for some therapy. Well, moment of truth. You watched each letter be typed in with baited breath until his full name was in the search bar. Even just looking at his name brought that sense of calm. You were hopeless. Until, apparently, you weren’t. 

Brilliant Dr. Reid dead at 26

Former FBI agent Spencer Reid found dead in his home

Spencer Reid co-workers speak out on his legacy. Where to go from here?

You scoured every article you could find, analyzing every pixel of every image available. This was your guy. Same Spencer Reid from your dreams. Same Spencer Reid that stands behind you in every mirror of the house. Holy shit who was this guy? He was a little older than you, died last year in the summertime. Each article painted a brutal picture of his death, speculating on how the doctor died but never comfirming anything. Only that he was dead when paramedics got there, the sight of his covered body being extracted from his home was one that would stick with you. His home. It was the same house you were living in. It’s possible your grandfather was renting it out. That’s probably why nobody ever knew about it - he wasn’t living there. You didn’t know when water started pooling in your eyes, you only realized them as they started falling down your cheeks. You didn’t even know him. You didn’t even know him but you felt like someone just sucker punched you and were about 60% sure your lunch was coming back up. Jesus. 

There was no way you could tell your friends about this. The majority of your brain was pleading with you to rationalize this. Maybe you’d seen one of the articles before. Maybe your grandpa talked about him. Holy shit he had known your grandpa. Every individual thought you had was identifiable and that was far too overwhelming for your brain to handle. You signed out of the computer and went to go sit in your car. Could you even drive like this? Your hands were shaking so bad there was a good chance you’d crash the car before you got home. It’s twenty minutes, you thought. You had to go back. Staying away from the house any longer felt like a punishment. You can make it twenty minutes.

–

“No, no. Like I said it was just some old guy who wrote a book. No sign of my Spencer.” You were lying straight through your teeth. You figured it didn’t truly matter. If you sat here and told the entire story of finding exactly who you were looking for online, you think she’d have checked you into a facility. 

“Maybe if you believe hard enough you can manifest him.” 

“Wow you’re hilarious. Remind me again how I ever lived my life without such a humorous presence.”

“I question that same thing everyday, Y/n.” You could hear the smile embedded in her words.

“I’ll let you go. I know Dylan is probably waiting on you. Thanks for checking up on the Spencer chronicles.” You felt slightly bad. She was on her honeymoon currently, and instead of spending time with her new husband, she was listening to your stories of fraternizing with a ghost. 

“I’m sorry you’re going through this. I’m sure it’s weird as hell. Call me up if you need to, yeah? Hotel has unlimited calls so I can talk all night if you need to.” She was an angel in this world.

“Thanks, same goes here. If you get sick of your husband you know where to find me. Remember to use protection.” 

“Alright, nevermind. You may suffer by yourself for all I care.” She laughed while she threatened you.

“Bye, honey. Love you.” You should have felt alone, but you never did. He was most likely here with you. 

The exhaustion had well and truly crept up on you. You planned on getting home and calling your friend immediately, but you ended up needing a good few hours to cry and pace around the house. You weren’t scared - it was essentially the opposite. The complete lack of fear bred so much confusion that you didn’t know how to cope with the amount of frustration on your shoulders. You paced the house hoping to find him. You wanted to be near him. You harbored the immature hope that knowing who he was would grant you the ability to see him. Did you even know who he was? He was a doctor, an agent, but who was he to you? Is that what you needed to know in order to see him?

Now, sitting on your bed, you felt like you’d been through the ringer. The mental gymnastics of the day weighing heavily on your body. You needed to go to sleep. You wanted to go to sleep. In the last week or so you’d noticed a certain excitement regarding the promise of another tale, another dream. They were so extravagant, not even in the details of them, just in the consistency of pure emotion. You could have been fighting dragons or sitting on the porch in rocking chairs. If he was by your side, there was always this certain euphoria surrounding the two of you. A feeling reserved just for you and him. God you missed him.

– 

You woke up slowly to a familiar bed beneath you, this was your house. The window was open, curtains blowing cautiously as the mild chill of the Fall breeze wafted in and dusted over your collarbones. It wasn’t this cold last night. You felt the breeze again on your whole body, and realized you were lying naked on top of the ruffled comforter. Had he pulled the blanket off you?

“Are you cold? I didn’t think to shut the window when I got up. I was kind of rushing to get my stuff.” You noticed then that he was sat behind a canvas, angled so he could glance between you and the task at hand with ease. He noticed you furrow your eyebrows, and even managed to catch the minuscule tense of your muscles as you prepared to sit up.

“Stay still for me, honey. I’m almost done.” He was adding feather-light brushstrokes to the piece, a finishing touch of his you now recognized from watching him paint so much. 

“This isn’t a very good pose, Spence. You know I’m not the most photogenic.” You referred to the fact you had been sleeping as he painted, limbs not organized and environment chaotic. Notoriously unfavored things by the man. Maybe he was hoping to capture a candid version of you. 

He exhaled a laugh. “How rich coming from you.” His lips quirked upward as he continued adding touch-ups to his art. “Something about you this morning…I don’t know.” He shook his head like he was talking to himself rather than you. “You just looked…mesmerizing.” He shrugged, brushing off the sentiment. “Felt wrong to just look at you.”

Dumbfounded was the only word you could think to describe yourself. He’d painted you before, mainly from the neck up for practice with faces, but this was different terrain. You were nervous to see the piece. You thought of your hips, your stomach, your legs. A silhouette he’d sworn time and time again was worthy of worship. One he wanted to treasure. You hoped you’d see a glimpse of yourself through his lens, hoped all that adoration would show on the canvas. Once he was finished with it, he turned it so you could see. It was breathtaking. His talent never failed to leave you speechless. 

“I feel like I should be paying for this.” You joked, but still felt as though something should be given in return. He stood from his stool and joined you on the bed.

“I assure you, I’m well compensated.” Your face ran hot. “Can I hang it?”

“Spence, I’m naked-”

“Not downstairs, Y/n.” He chuckled. “I’d put it there.” He nodded to a vacant wall space on the right side of the room, entirely visible from his side of the bed. 

“You want me watching you sleep, Reid?” 

He grinned at you, shaking his head slightly at your remark. “Just wanna be able to see you.” He held your eyes. “I’m hoping looking at you before I go to sleep will give me good dreams.” You hummed in sarcastic agreement, your gaze falling soft a moment later.

“You can if you want to.” He looked relieved. 

“Thanks, honey.” He looked stunning in the morning light. The sun hadn’t risen too long ago, and he was only covered partially by a pair of joggers. He was practically luminous, the bare skin of his chest looking golden in the sunlight. You stuck your hands out to feel him, and you felt as though you were trying to touch heaven itself. He leaned down to be closer to you, he always said you felt magnetic. 

“You should let me paint you like this more often.” 

“Is that right?”

“Mhm”

And, just like before, you could breathe again when he kissed you. Truly breathe. It was times like these when he felt like your oxygen, like pulling away should be sin. Lord knows you would suffer any version of Hell for him. 

–

Your frustration seemed to have doubled in your sleep. Two am. You were gonna find that fucking painting. It wasn’t in the spot he left it - you would have noticed a giant painting of yourself naked on the walls, but you double checked to be sure. You threw up every light switch you came across and started scavenging through the upstairs. There was a certain tug in your body - when you didn’t find it in a room, you knew it wasn’t there, something internal telling you to look elsewhere. It was only when you were halfway done with the downstairs raid that you remembered the storage room. You’d found it when you first moved in, a room full of dust and white tarps covering furniture and other indecipherable shapes. It had to be in there.

You wrecked havoc on the tiny room. Tearing off layers of fabric quickly, leaving little thought to where you were throwing them, completely tunnel visioned on finding the painting. You came across a covered square the same size as the canvas had been. It was coated in so much dust that the covering looked ancient, and you were begging any conceivable being to be merciful, to let you have at least this if you couldn’t have him. You unveiled the shape to find the same vibrant pigments you’d seen just hours before. It was you, draped over the comforter and basking in the hue of the morning. This was it, you thought. Holy shit this is real. You had no grounds to deny this anymore. Spencer was a real guy, clearly he’d died in this house and clearly the two of you had lived enough lives together to fill months of sleepless nights with. 

What did this mean for you? Were you a clone? Were you and Spencer both clones? Were you living in a simulated reality and all of this was actually a ruse calculated to induce reactions in the brain that could then be studied? Oh my god - were you a ghost too? Had you died and were now stuck in some form of purgatory?

You felt sick with it. You didn’t know you were capable of bearing such intense metaphorical weight. You needed to see him. Maybe if you went to sleep, you would realize you were having a dream and could figure some things out. That’s so stupid. You mentally scolded yourself for even thinking of such a dumb idea. You needed to speak with him. You needed him to tell you what was going on. Of course him and everyone in your life who could have known him were six feet deep. A seance, maybe? Perhaps  just buy a ouija board and wing it. You’d seen the most of him when you were asleep, that had to be the key to figuring this out. Please dear god let it be the key to figuring this out. You took the painting and headed back upstairs. Maybe it could serve as a medium, you thought. That’s a thing, right?

You don’t think your bed had ever seemed so uninviting. You remember how grateful you’d been to finally sleep on your first day here. It was a pain in the ass hauling a mattress up a spiral staircase and the moment you realized you were done was a relief to say the least. Now you stared at it and your mouth ran dry. What if this didn’t work? What did you even want to happen? Were you going to rummage through your dreams and play detective to piece together what might have happened in your past? No degree of mental antagonizing could push you off course by now. He was real. You know he’d been a real man, and surely the painting of you meant you’d known him as something other than a ghost. You were simply praying this would work out how you wanted. You needed a semblance of closure, even just a small one.

–

The room was dark, making you double check if you opened your eyes in the first place. You hadn’t had a dream. This was the first time in months you had fallen asleep and woken up without having lived a different life. You felt tears forming in your eyes. The disappointment you felt was so immeasurable that your brain practically short circuited trying to find a way to process it. You knew it was a long shot for everything to be fixed overnight, but you’d expected something. Like he was reading your mind, the bed dipped down, him now occupying the space next to you in bed. 

You were worried your head might fall off your neck with how quickly you turned to look at him. The moonlight came beaming in through the window, like she was your secret ally, giving you enough light to finish your battle. It lit him up, practically shining through him like it would a crystal. He was ethereal. You stared into the same brown eyes you’d been looking into for months and felt your resolve give way from within you. You could have looked at him forever, you wanted to look at him forever, but you crashed hard into him. You would have fused your soul to his at that very moment if you were able to. Nobody had ever drawn out such a reaction - you needed to feel him. It was the proof you had been begging for, he was here, he was tangible. You could finally know what it all meant. 

You felt his chest jolt as he chuckled at you. “I missed you.” You could hear the smile in his words. 

Choking on a sob, you spoke your response so quietly you could barely hear yourself. “What the fuck is going on?” You knew tears were probably soaking through his shirt but he just held you against him. “Please tell me you know what’s happening.” You were muttering your words quickly, sharply inhaling between your sentences as air refused to stay in your lungs.

He ran his hand up and down the length of your forearm, a motion so familiar and so comforting you’re sure your knees would have buckled if you weren’t lying down. “Just relax, honey. I can explain everything, ok? I just need you to breathe right now.”

It was hard to maintain your oxygen through the sobs begging to get out of your chest but you were nothing if not stubborn. You needed an explanation. If that was his condition then so be it. You took a deep breath, regaining your ability to inhale and exhale at a regular pace. You could see the room better now having been awake in the dark for a while, so you tried to focus on anything that might help. The painting. You stared holes into that thing and forced your breathing to even out. 

“I was really proud of that one.” His words held an instinctual twinge of fondness, still smiling as he spoke. Like now that he had you, he could describe any horror of the world and still be happy with you in his arms. He looked back at you, tracing his thumb along your jaw. “You seem to get prettier with every lifetime.”

Even as the overwhelming confusion wrecked your brain, your body was completely in tune with him. Warmth seemed to spring to life in your stomach, his words bypassing any guards you had to root themselves within you. He regarded the situation so lightly, so casually. He wasn’t worried about slipping away, or running out of time. He would have given you a decade to calm down if you needed it. He seemed content with just calling you pretty, as though he’d waited a century to touch you again. 

“My dreams, were they -” You paused. You didn’t even know what to ask him. “What were my dreams?” Were they real?

He took a moment to just stare at you. The smallest, knowing smile on his face and a look of pure adoration in his eyes. He knew what you were asking. “They were us.” Fucking obviously. If you were any more on the edge of your seat you would fall off. “All the lives we’ve lived together.” Jesus.

“How long ago-”

“Two thousand years, 5 months, 27 days, and-” he leaned up slightly to check the clock “14 hours.” Giving you the cutest tight-lipped smile when he finished talking like he didn’t just say you’d been in love for two millennia. 

“So we’re soul mates?”

“Essentially.” He nodded. ‘Soulmates’ was close enough. 

“But - is everyone like this, then?” Did all your friends have this too? Everyone in the world? “Everyone has a soulmate?” Your friend’s on her honeymoon right now. 

He laughed a little and shook his head. “No, no. It’s just us.” What was so special about the two of you? “For all I know of at least. Your uh…your husband-” He hesitated for just a second, fingers digging into your skin just a fraction harder. “He found out about us. Had his mother cast a spell. He thought he was punishing us, I think. Figured we’d get sick of it after a while. Poor guy, all he did was condemn us to eternity together.” He held no genuine pity for the guy, more amusement at the thought of his plan actually succeeding. 

“How long have you been here?” You hadn’t bothered to check when the articles were from, too busy trying to keep your head on straight to look for the publication date. 

“A year.” A year of him alone in this house. God, you couldn’t even imagine. “I started having dreams of you. Everyday I just felt, like, something pulling me away from where I was. I knew your grandfather from an old case I worked and everything just seemed to happen.” He reminisced fondly, like the memory didn’t hurt him. “I don’t even really know how I died. I just remember having a party one night, and how the hallway looked from the bottom of the stairs.” Oh my God the warm spot.

“When you moved in I was thrilled but - fuck, honey, it was torture.” He delivered the line like it was a joke but his eyes were watering. “I couldn’t talk to you, I couldn’t help you - I couldn’t fucking touch you and it was unbearable.” His hands hadn’t left you since you woke up. Making up for lost time, you guessed. There was one question you were brutally aware of, something that persisted in your head even as you tried to enjoy the moment. 

“Why can I see you now, then?”

He sighed, so full of devastation that it was clear he’d been preparing for this. “You can’t.”

“What?”

“You’ve seen all our lives, Y/n. This is the only one left.” He was so delicate in his explanations. His palms soothing over your face as if trying to physically soothe the sting of his words.

“Wait what does that-” What was he talking about? “I don’t understand.”

“To be honest, I don’t really understand it either.” He exhaled at his own ignorance, the words unfamiliar in his mouth. “For the first time, I don’t know what’s gonna happen when you wake up.”

“Wake up? What do you mean wake up - Spence I’m awake.” You held onto his wrist that was near your face for emphasis, his hand still caressing your face. “I’m awake.” 

His eyes were definitely watering. “No, Y/n, you’re not.”

“Spencer.” You’d never said it so sadly before. Tears were in your eyes for the second time that night. You would have done anything to carve this moment into stone. Sit here in his arms until time forced you into your next life. 

“It’s ok, honey.” He was always reassuring, always safe. “We’ve done this for two thousand years, Y/n. You’re bound to get a little unlucky sometimes.” His optimism in the face of such a crushing development almost made you sick. Some things never change. “I finally have you back, alright? Just lay with me for a while. Whatever happens, we’ll figure it out. We’ve got plenty more lives to live.”

You halted the tears in your eyes, sniffling once to reign yourself in. “Ok.” You laughed, a little tearfully, and kissed him with all the love you had to give. 

Plenty more lives to live.

[lovezbrownies]

Long live the queen. (Yan!Queen x Reader)

Masterlist

Synopsis: A queen is nothing without her lover.

Queen Nia x Reader

Warnings: Forced marriage, abuse of power, violence (not against reader), not edited.

(Set years before Gen and Grim.)

Being the Queen right hand was never easy. But being her beloved wasn’t any easier.

Queen Nia has been ruler of Xelera since she was 16 years of age. However due to tradition she still hasn’t shown her face to the public, or any part of her to begin with. Any of her decrees were announced via the Board of Chiefs. The Xeleran tradition calls for a queen to be crowned at age 30, so a young princess cannot show her face until her coronation at 30. And in regard for princesses crowned before 30, they still were not allowed to show themselves.

Stupid old tradition no one really cared for since every queen was crowned at the perfect age. Except Nia, whose parents were brutally assassinated during some announcement, forcing Nia to take to the throne and own up to her responsibilities at a young rebellious age.

She liked this tradition. Only to use it to her advantage and sneak out of the palace and seek her favorite person. You. Her loved one. You were a servant, but you had the night shift, where you assisted residents and nobles whenever one called for you from 8 pm to 5 am, excluding anything sexual of course. That was a different type of servant and they don’t work nights due to how aggressive nobles can get by then.

There were two sections of her large palace, a section for the public and any noble visitors (Named Pulica), and a section for Nia, a carefully selected team of servants to tend to her, and a few guards (Named Khas). So, when Nia got too bored of her life as queen at age 20, she decided to sneak off into Pulica or even outside the palace entirely and cause some form of mischief with some rando.

But as she finally slinked her way into Pulica, ready to head to the gates exiting the palace she bumped into someone. Ready to flee back to her cozy room, but instead she had her breath stolen right out of her. She was looking at the most attractive person she has seen! And instead of appreciating her beauty as much as she did with you. They just dusted themselves off, bowed deeply, apologized and asked if she needed any assistance.

When she slowly shook her head no, still stunned, you smiled brightly at her. “My name is Y/n, please call for me if you need anything, esteemed guest.” Nia felt incredibly ashamed when she stuttered when telling you her name, how dare you fluster the queen to the point of stuttering. The queen was above that, but of course to preserve her identity she didn’t say any of this outloud.

Since then she would seek you out for entertainment during late nights, you’d stay up with her and play games, paint, knit, whatever hobby Nia felt like participating in that night. The more Nia spent with you she realized how perfect you were for her. So cute, so obedient, so indulgent in her needs. That was your job. That was because you loved her. 

There came one night where she went off to your designated shift area. Nia could not find you, she kept seeing this other servant rather than you. So eventually pulling herself up by her big girl boots she approached them, demanding to know where you had gone. “Y/n? My apologies however they’ve been switched to the day shift.” She raged that night. Her room was in disarray, she looked like a complete mess, and she demanded answers from the Chief of Management. 

Nia had threatened the answers right out of their throat. They confessed to coming to know of her late night activities from a few gossiping servants talking about how some random woman would only appear at night to take up a certain servant’s time. The chief confessed to changing your schedule so Nia can prioritize her time on her duties. Nia saw red, she never saw herself as the aggressive type, not at all, but something completely possessed her at that moment. 

Her tiny 5’4 frame somehow manages to beat the shit out of them, to the point where the big bad Chief of Management ended up on the floor, lying in the fetal position. Nia beat them black and blue, her hands, clothes, and face covered in blood she fired them immediately after. And the first time Nia has ever done any real work since she’s been crowned was to get you back to your old shift.

The next day there was a lot of discussion on who will be the new Chief of management throughout Khas, Nia’s mind, however, was set on you. So, she just picked the first candidate her Board of Chiefs suggested and started getting herself ready and pretty for her beloved.

Years pass as you two keep meeting up at night, you admittedly had fallen for her at one point due to her charm. However, you thought she would never like you back due to her social status, so you moved on. It may have taken a while to move on but you did! It was far easier since you only saw her at nights and she hardly accepts leaving the palace for a night out.

It was always odd for you how she was against leaving palace grounds but you eventually came to the conclusion that she must be the queen’s right hand maid. Those servants aren’t allowed off palace grounds, out of Khas in general, which might be why she only comes out at night. There were a few times you two ended up outside the palace and in the city but Nia would spend a lot of her time looking behind her in paranoia.

5 years left until her coronation and Nia was being pressured to look at suitors to rule her kingdom right beside her. Of course none of them are allowed to meet or see her, most of these suitors were chosen by the board from what they already know from past diplomatic meetings. Nia couldn’t care whose picture and portfolio she was presented. She was bratty, she didn’t want anyone other than you.

While the Board of Chiefs at the time were sick of how snotty she was about you, they realized there would be no way she’d ever marry if it wasn’t you. So they accepted it, they allowed her to propose to you and marry as soon as time will allow it.

Nia was overjoyed! Years of tantrums and abuse of power finally worked! She has you completely to herself! Bingo! It was quite a sight to see a 25 year old Queen dance and jump around in joy. She then ignored all her duties (as usual) and pampered and made herself pretty for you, she put on her prettiest dress, her best makeup, her cutest jewelry. 

That night was special for her. So special, and it’ll be special for you too! Whether you liked it or not. You denied her at first but she knew that it was just because you were scared to be ruler. It’s okay, she will teach you and assist you along the way! Or you two can throw your duties onto other people, as she normally does, and go out and have fun! Nia will ensure your complete happiness.

Nia did not take no for an answer, she guessed you’d be too nervous to accept the Queen as your wife so she had guards follow her until she called for them. And when she did that she commanded them to take hold of you and send you off to Khas, where you two shall spend eternity together, forever.

It was quite a sight, you trying to refuse to sign the contract that will forever bind you to the psycho you called a friend, and Nia threatening to execute your friends and family publicly. With no other choice, you reluctantly signed, making her swear not to hurt your loved ones.

Nia made sure to emphasize that there was no escape. If you do try to escape she will execute someone in your family, and every attempt to escape will end in the death of an innocent life. You were stuck. Forever Queen Nia of Xelera’s arm candy.

[little-emerald-snake]

Blackmail - Ominis Gaunt X F!MC

🔥 NSFW 🔞 MDNI

scene is f!mc during the shadow of friendship quest where she needs to talk Ominis out of telling on Sebastian to be committed to Azkaban BUT instead of the soft reaction we get in-game what if Ominis has actually harbored deep desires for the mc until now and since he's aware that she has feelings for Sebastian instead, uses this opportunity to "blackmail" the mc into convincing him to not put Sebastian away. so really a non-con scene of dark!ominis x f!mc if you will requested by @moongurl95 via dms

Genuinely so sorry this took me like three weeks but my life is in shambles literally setting this up to post while sheltering from a tornado 💀 but don’t worry I’m fine. Anyway I hope this is what you’re looking for 🫶🏻

Warnings: blackmail, threats, dirty talk, non-con, Dominis, stolen virginity, unprotected sex, creampie

2.4k words

She stood beside Sebastian who paced the stone floor beside his blonde companion. The air in the undercroft hung heavier than ever around them. Ominis was being brutally honest, telling Sebastian that his twin, Anne, couldn’t bear the thought of turning him in. Sebastian was a bit shocked, pacing back and forth while trying to defend himself before Ominis finally gave a sigh, saying he’d give Sebastian some time to think.

As he walked away Sebastian resumed his nervous pacing and she approached him, laying a hand on his shoulder. “I can’t believe he’s gone. How did things go so wrong? I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean to-“ He shook his head in dismay. “Oh Anne. I was only trying to help. I can’t leave now. Anne needs me more than ever.”

She nodded, her head felt full of confusion and worry but she’d grown to care for Sebastian and couldn’t imagine that he’d truly wanted to hurt anyone. She knew the lengths he was willing to go for Anne. That kind of love and devotion spoke to her. “Don't worry Sebastian. I shall speak with Ominis.”

Sebastian breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you. You’re a real friend, truly. No matter what happens from here, I’m glad we met.” With that he turned and walked to the exit of the Undercroft. She waited till the doors chimed and she heard him exit before she turned with a sigh toward Ominis.

She could practically sense the dark cloud looming over the other side of the undercroft and a sort of unease rolled over her. This wasn’t going to be an easy conversation. Ominis had sensed her approach and decided to tell her what had happened after they’d spoken last. He’d run back to Hogwarts and before he’d been able to speak to the headmaster Anne had contacted him. He’d rushed to Feldcroft and found Anne with Solomon’s body. How deeply stricken with grief she was. “I don’t want to lose Sebastian but I don’t think we have a choice.”

She chewed her bottom lip with a worried expression. “Ominis…we do have a choice. What good would it do now to turn him in? He clearly regrets everything. He’s not going to do anything like this again.”

Ominis’ eyes darkened. “What makes you so sure? You’ve said that about nearly everything else thus far? You said letting him into the scriptorium wasn’t going to end badly yet he casted Crucio on you without a moment's hesitation. You promised the relic wouldn't cause harm yet he was ready to throw our entire friendship away just to take it with him.”

She looked down. He was right. Everything he’d said had been true. Yet she had grown fond of Sebastian both as a friend and maybe more over the span of their year. “Ominis I know how this seems but Sebastian isn’t like this. He made a mistake…it was for Anne’s life.”

Ominis’ tone turned angry, the same scowl that first day she’d come from the Undercroft painted his features as he took a step toward her. “He’s got you wrapped around his finger…he used you…and you don’t even seem to care?! You’d rather blindly ignore the damage he’d caused to make him the hero in your book because you’ve begun to harbor feelings for him haven’t you?”

She was about to deny it but what was the point? Ominis had so clearly seen through everything and while she hated to admit it, he wasn’t wrong. “I…suppose I have. I just want the best for him and Anne…it makes no sense to send him away now when Anne will be needing her brother the most.”

Ominis’ scowl darkened. “I see. So are you willing to accept the punishment for his actions? You’re an accomplice to murder if you choose to continue down this path. If he continues on the way he is I will not hesitate to turn you both in for these crimes.”

She blinked, honestly shocked about what he’d said. But she truly believed that Sebastian was good deep down. He just let this get away from him. “Yes. I understand. I promise. He won’t cause anymore trouble. Just don’t take him from Anne.”

He agreed begrudgingly, taking another step forward. She backed up a step, bumping into a stack of crates with a gasp. His voice came out dark and low. “So you are the kind of girl who falls for the villain then?”

Her eyes widened in surprise as her head whipped back around, his tone dark and a bit husky. His palm came up to rest on the crate right beside her face, his body pushing closer. “What are you willing to give up to ensure I don’t turn you and Sebastian in? What price would you pay for a life that’s already been stained in blood?”

The knot in her throat solidified and it felt like she had mouthfuls of sawdust she had to swallow in order to form words. “Ominis, w-what are you talking about…we don’t have to give up anything…we just don’t tell anyone…”

Ominis chuckled darkly, shaking his head. “I’m well aware darling. I asked what you were willing to give up in order to keep me quiet. This deal has nothing in it for me. You and Sebastian get away with murder and I’m stuck holding the truth for nothing while you both run off and fall in love. Hardly fair if you ask me.”

Her eyes widened and she suddenly understood what was happening. She moved to run but his hand, much stronger than she’d imagined, came up to hold her wrist, wrenching and pinning it above her head, shortly joined by her other. “Now now, no running away from your problems anymore. You need to come up with a solution I’ll accept or you won’t be leaving here. You better get thinking before I decide for you.”

Her mind reeled over what she could offer him. What did he want? She thought and thought but nothing came to mind. He grinned darkly. “My choice then. I can work with that.”

He moved quickly, spinning her and bending her over a crate. She gasped, surprised by the suddenness as the wood bit into her hip bones. His surprisingly strong body pinned her down with ease, one hand holding her wrists above her head while the other worked at pulling up her school skirts. “Tell me darling, are you currently taking contraceptive potions?”

Her heart pounded in her chest. Her body had the choice of fight or flight and for some bloody reason it had chosen to freeze. “I-I no…why would I-?”

He’d laughed, cutting her off while pulling her underwear to the side. “Well you better start my dear. Because if you manage to conceive I’ll ruin your pathetic life. As a Gaunt I refuse to carry forward the bloodline.”

She listened to the sound of his belt being undone and blood whooshed in her ears. She knew the time to speak up was now but she was still at a loss for words. She couldn’t very well deny him after he’d made the threat to turn her and Sebastian in. She had to stay quiet and take it, if not for herself and Sebastian’s innocence than for Anne still having a relative to care for her.

She pressed her face to the crate, tears welling in her eyes. “O-okay. I-I won’t let that happen.” She listened to him as he hummed in satisfaction and she listened to the shuffle of his pants as he pushed them down. She felt the blunt tip of him at her opening and she sniffled, stiffening up with nerves wound tight.

Ominis huffed, trying to push forward but her tense body wouldn’t allow his entrance. “For Merlin’s sake you need to relax. Just imagine it’s Sebastian like always and it’ll be over before you know it.”

She sniffled again as he released her hands and they immediately went to the edge of the crate, gripping so tightly her knuckles turned white. “S-Sebastian has never…I’ve never…”

His eyes widened in recognition and he pulled back, voice coming a bit softer this time. “You’ve never…not once?”

She nodded and his hand came to swipe away the tears, his other hand coming to slide her hair behind her ear. “It feels good after the initial bit you know…if you could survive the pain of Crucio you can make it through this and it’ll start to feel good. You don’t even have to imagine it’s me...”

She sniffled and nodded carefully, he brushed her cheek and his other hand dipped between them to rub the blunt tip up and down between her slit. The sensations were all new but the feel of him stimulating that bundle of nerves between her legs had small spikes of pleasure shooting up through her. She hated it.

She tried to fight it, her body may be wanting this but he was good at pushing the right buttons. She didn’t want Ominis. She was still stuck, she had to do this for Anne and Sebastian to be a family. She sucked in a shaky breath that turned into a whimper as he slid over her clit again.

His warm breath ghosted over her neck. His chest, which was pressed against her back, rumbled. “That’s right dear. Relax and let your body take over. Turn that brilliant brain off for a bit and put yourself somewhere happy. It’ll be over soon.”

He notched himself at her entrance and she let another few tears slip, rolling down her cheeks. She tried to imagine that this was Sebastian above her, that it was after the ball and he’d asked her to go somewhere private. Just then, slim fingers slid between her folds and rubbed small circles around that bundle of nerves.

She moaned out softly and his hips slid forward, his tip kissing that barrier within her that she knew would end this pleasure. She pushed the thought away, trying to imagine those fingers a bit thicker and rougher against her body. She tried to imagine what breathy sounds he’d make or what encouragement he’d whisper against her skin.

A moan from between her lips and Ominis’ body sank forward, pushing past that barrier and sending spikes of discomfort through her body. But as quickly as the discomfort started his fingers redoubled with the pleasurable circles and she was arching into it and whimpering in pleasure. His breath came gently across the back of her neck as he slid her hair out of the way. “That’s right Darling, just like that.”

She moaned low as he praised her, his hips slowly moving back and forth inside of her but he focused most of his intentions on her clit. She was at the very least thankful he didn’t want her to be in pain.

She tried to force herself to think about Sebastian again but the way Ominis’ breathing picked up and his slender body slid against hers as he began to thrust deeper dragged her out of the daydream. She hated how her body reacted, her stomach flipping and swirling and tightening as she listened to the small puffs of air and panting that left his lips.

The pinching discomfort between her legs slowly morphed into hot pleasure that rippled through her in waves. She gripped the crate tighter and his thrusts grew longer and deeper. “Great Merlin you’re so fucking tight, I’ve never had a witch who was a sweet little virgin. I don’t think I can go back after this. Or if this is all just you we may have to convince Sebastian to share your brilliant little body.”

His words sent shocks of pleasure through her and she moaned, pushing her hips back. This felt so good, she struggled to maintain her fantasy of Sebastian ravaging her when Ominis was the one here making her feel so incredible. Pleasure swirled deep in her stomach and she tightened, forcing him to groan behind her. “You better be careful squeezing around me like that. Might just get the idea you actually like this with me or something.”

She whimpered, unable to hold another ripple of pleasure from surging through her. His fingers moved faster, making her arch into his touch for more. “Fuck yes, darling. That’s it. Make me cum, pretty girl.”

His hips slammed deeper till their bodies had no space between, his thrusts growing faster. Her poor hips were going to be bruised and sore from being slammed forward into the crate. The head of him nudged against a spot inside of her that had her seeing stars. She hadn’t even realized how loudly she’d cried out.

He chuckled darkly, angling her hips so he’d hit that spot with every single thrust. “That’s it, come on love, you know you want to cum all over my cock after I took your sweet innocence.”

She made a pitiful sound, the pleasure was too much and the emotions swirling inside of her caused tears to form in the corner of her eyes. His fingers rolling deft circles and him nudging into that spot was all too much for her.

She heard him groan in what sounded like sweet agony as her body stilled, her traitorous body tightening around him. He tensed, holding onto her hips for deer life as he pumped into her. She grew slick and sticky between her legs and she pressed her forehead against the crate, letting her tears fall as she composed her breathing.

Instead of staying to comfort her, he pulled out, casting a cleansing charm on himself before tucking himself away and fixing his attire. She stayed there, quietly crying as his seed and her blood mixed and dripped down her thighs.

He cleared his throat and she finally stood up, not bothering with a cleaning charm and just righting her clothing. She wouldn’t feel clean till she soaked in a boiling hot bath for several hours. But she turned to find him standing there as if nothing had ever happened. “I’ll take this into consideration when I talk to Anne about how best to break the news to the Headmaster. For now you can tell Sebastian I’ve chosen not to turn you both in. But this only lasts as long as you both stay away from the Dark Arts. Understood?”

She nodded, quickly feeling like an idiot before giving him a shaky verbal response. She wouldn’t let her sacrifice be for nothing. She’d make sure the fluffy haired brunette would stay in line no matter the cost.

[thelarriefics]

SUMMER FIC REC, Part II: Below you will find fics that take place in the summer, or have summer scenes. (Part I)

📖 On The Horizon by FitzAndLarry (261k)

Drunk, loose, and excited on the first night of his two-week-long cruise, Doctor Harry Styles finds himself with a little extra company on what has turned out to be a lonely experience. Louis, the pilot who helped fly him across the Atlantic, is the object of his fling. Thus begins an adventure filled with laughter, sun, and trauma rearing its ugly head. Deadline on their companionship, the pair commit to enjoying their time - and Harry, the screw-up he is, can't help but lose himself in the fantasy.

📖 love is a word, you gave it a name by @larrydoinglaundry (158k)

After two decades in brutal show business, Louis Tomlinson is trying to restore his tranquility of mind in the peace of Northern Europe where the sun barely sets, Maria's bar is always open, and young Harry has an irresistible spark in his eyes.

📖 blue moon by @aquietlarrie (152k)

or the self indulgent 50’s au where i wanted a safe space to explore the culture, history, and sexuality of being gay in a time when it was extremely difficult to do so. includes, lots of questionable dancing, healing your inner child, and one heck of an emotional ride.

📖 a cycle of recycled revenge by @broken-beaks (103k)

Or: The one where Harry likes to infuriate Louis almost as much as he enjoys straddling his lap.

📖 gloominess of summer days by @adoremelikeasunflower19 (90k)

Following a devastating and unexpected split, Harry finds himself rewarded by the mysterious ways of Faith in the form of an inheritance of his Uncle’s house in a distant country Wolveheuls. Dismissing his initial scepticism, he chooses to seize the opportunity. He starts a journey of self-discovery, relearning the meaning of loving and being loved, moving on from the painful past, and making his place within the eccentric small-town community. Between his efforts, his path crosses with Louis Tomlinson, a town native, known for his ridiculous number of jobs, incomparable wit, and profound adoration for the cottage lifestyle.

📖 Summer's in the air and baby, heaven's in your eyes by @starryhaze28 (82k)

or a 70s tennis au filled with skirts, pet names and intrigue

📖 your memory over me by @shimmeringevil (64k)

The worst heartbreak of Louis’ life walks right back into it when his parents invite their family friends on an all-expenses-paid trip for their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. Facing a past that he tried to bury long ago, Louis learns that some people have a way of sticking with you even when they’re gone.

📖 hope your life leads you back to my door by wildestdreams (56k)

Harry Styles set out to be a doctor; a steady career and a good living is all a young person could ask for. What he hadn't set out to do was to spend his summer holiday on a trekking trip in Spain with a group of people he barely knew. And he certainly didn’t plan on having his heart stolen by Louis Tomlinson, class clown, and secret crush, in such a way that he feared he might never find it again. ft. cheesy chat-up lines, a big desi wedding, falling in love, and growing up.

📖 A Golden Goal by a_momentwitme (55k)

"Even they, as free as you think they are, don't always get to love like this, in the true meaning of the word, of the feeling. Not some diluted version that some settle with for their entire lifetime. I mean love in its purest form, which still grows every day despite the problems, barriers and annoying habits you discover in your partner. A love that refills your heart after you pour it out or makes you go on during your worst days, knowing that your best is expecting you at home."

📖 where the tide takes you, i will follow by @pinkcords (53k)

Louis lives in Gloucester and Harry tries to find a way to stay.

📖 sent by the sun by @givesuethemoon (51k)

In 1970s Los Angeles, Harry is a groupie who aches to feel alive. Louis is the lead singer of a rock band who aches to know him.

📖 Suddenly Last Summer by @disgruntledkittenface (44k)

Louis is bored, rich and lonely. He has no reason to expect that this summer in the Hamptons with his friends will be different from any other – until he meets Harry. Suddenly he has someone who listens to him and cares about what he thinks. Someone who really sees him. But their happily ever after is forever marred by an incident at a party during Labor Day weekend, and Louis is left with a choice to make.

📖 Awake Dear Heart, Awake by She_bear (35k)

Cute, fun, sexy and at times emotional AU where Harry and Louis meet as strangers on holiday in Greece and find themselves stuck on a remote beach together. An initial misunderstanding gets them off to a bad start. Both at a turbulent point in their lives, they are forced to confront their internal struggles and of course each other.

📖 He Still Takes My Breath Away by @parmahamlarrie (32k)

 the one where Harry is a lifeguard and Louis is the head of recreation. And, sometimes, you just need a little push to realize what was right in front of you the whole time.

📖 Bitter Ends Turn Sweet by @allwaswell16 (30k)

It had been four years since Harry first heard the song his ex wrote about him and far longer since they broke up. He forgave Louis long ago, and now his life was focused on his career, his family, and especially his son, Max. But Louis was back in Chicago, after all this time, and he’s not an easy man to ignore. Or a songfic inspired by the song Chicago

📖 Dancing With Masks by @softfonds (18k)

With awards season coming up and new films on the way for both of them, Harry and Louis' managers decide it's time for them to date for publicity. They don't mind, given that they are best friends and have known each other for ages. Besides, after years of sexual tension built into a fake relationship for press, what could possibly go wrong?

📖 Come on in, the water's fine by @greenblueish (9k)

or, the one where Louis is set on enjoying his last summer jobbing abroad as tourist entertainer and it only gets better when a mysterious hotel guest with overly expensive sunglasses keeps coming back for his drink recommendations.

📖 Black Leather, Blue Lace by @insightfulinsomniac (8k)

aka: a pwp in which new soulmates farmer!Louis and city girl!Harry are filthy exhibitionists.

📖 Near You Now by @beyondxmeasure (8k)

When a leaky bathroom sink turns into a minor flood, Harry has to act fast. So, he thinks of the closest (and most unlikely) way to find home repair help… Grindr. The last thing he expects from this quick fix is to find anything long-term.

📖 now i'm tracin' all my steps to you by @alwaysxlarrie (5k)

Of all the things Harry was prepared for this summer, Louis Tomlinson and his wonderful, wonderful scent isn't one of them. It probably shouldn't be as shocking as it is that it makes Harry want to nest. There's only one slight problem -- Harry and nesting aren't exactly on familiar terms. At all. This does not stop Harry from borrowing ("borrowing") Louis' things all throughout summer, though. Oops?

[momenalostaz]

"Hello

We are the momen family, we used to live a simple life, a beautiful family before October 7th. We were like everyone else, going to our university, meeting with relatives and friends. But after the war started, everything changed. Our lives turned upside down; we became homeless. Our house was bombed, and we move from place to place, struggling to survive, fleeing from brutal shelling, killing, and hunger. We have nothing left to lose; we have literally lost everything. There is no source of income to face the high cost of living and the harsh life.

The relentless bombings have reduced our neighborhoods to rubble, and the sounds of explosions and cries of anguish are a constant reminder of our new reality. Children who once played joyfully in the streets are now haunted by the trauma of war, their laughter replaced by silence and fear. We are trapped in a cycle of violence and despair, where the mere act of finding food and water is a daily battle. The world outside seems oblivious to our suffering, as we endure the unendurable, clinging to the hope that one day, peace will return to Gaza.

We have spent our entire lives in the Gaza city neighborhood, amidst its bustling streets and familiar faces. But when the war erupted, everything changed. My family fled in desperation, seeking refuge in the Der albalh area. The news of our home being reduced to rubble pierced through our hearts like a dagger. The place where laughter once echoed now lay in ruins, erasing the precious memories we held dear.

With heavy hearts, we sought solace in the Der albalh area, hoping to rebuild our shattered lives. Yet, fate seemed relentless in its cruelty. Forced to flee once more, we found ourselves in Rafah, joining the countless others displaced by conflict in Gaza. Each step we took was weighed down by the burden of loss, the pain of displacement becoming our constant companion.

My family, once the pillars of strength in my life, now find themselves homeless ,and lives in a tent in a very difficult situation seeking refuge in makeshift tents, deprived of even the most basic necessities. Food and water, once plentiful, are now scarce commodities, priced beyond reach. The bonds of kinship have been shattered, and friends and relatives lost to the relentless tide of conflict.

I am haunted by the anguish etched upon their faces, by the despair that clouds their eyes. I am driven by an unwavering determination to ease their suffering, to provide them with the semblance of a life that has been mercilessly stolen by war, by death, by destruction.

I seek only to ensure that my family can once again experience the simple joys of life, the comforts that war and violence have ruthlessly stripped away. I implore you, dear reader, to heed my plea, to extend a helping hand to those who have been left with nothing but the echoes of their shattered dreams.

Together, we can rebuild Gaza, brick by brick, hope by hope. Together, we can make a difference in the lives of those who have suffered far too long. Stand with me in solidarity, and let us sow the seeds of hope in the barren fields of despair.

With heartfelt gratitude,🙏🙏🙏🙏👇👇❤️👇

Here our donation link 🔗 :

[my-insanity-is-an-artform]

It had been a week since The Lamb had been summoned to The Gateway in the aftermath of Shamura’s death.

A week since The One Wh-… since Narinder had ordered them to kneel.

A week since they refused.

A week since they won.

A week since…

Since they had returned to the cult, bloody and victorious over their former patron, only to find him at the centre of a concerned crowd by the Indoctrination Circle.

Comatose.

The Lamb methodically tucked the blanket securely around Narinder’s still form. The only sign of life being the rise and fall of his thin chest. Whether the thinness was a sign of his former role as Death or due to his long imprisonment, the Lamb wasn’t sure but it was something of concern.

As was the gaunt look to his wrist, scarred and furless, with long oozing sores up his forearms.

“Oh, what am I going to do with you?” The Lamb murmured softly as they smoothed out the blanket.

While not entirely sure why Narinder had fallen into a coma, the Lamb suspected it might have been related to the shock of becoming mortal.

The wounds that were so easily shrugged off as a god were fatal to any mortal.

“I don’t know why I spared you. You demanded so much of me and took everything else. Maybe it was pity. Maybe I am just a coward like you said. Or perhaps I’m just tired of all the bloodshed. So many of us have died, mortal and divine and for what?” They soothed another fake wrinkle in the blanket.

They did not regret killing the Bishops. How could they when the four had stolen their entire people from them? The Genocide had started before they had been born and thus any chance of them knowing what it was like to be a Lamb, to know their culture, their heritage, was destroyed before it began. The fanaticism had extended to any who would show a lamb any form of mercy or those who tried to preserve anything of lamb culture.

The zealotry had even begun to affect other species as the number of lambs dwindled. Goats, antelopes, deer, bison, cattle, even llamas, all became rarer towards the end.

Cats, black ones especially, were also affected, being considered an ill omen and too many cats considered themselves allies of lambs to allow such brutality.

And for what?

The prophesised inevitable had finally come to pass. Five became Four became Three became Two became One became…

Nothing.

The Lamb began to gather the old, ichor-stained bandages they had replaced and threw them into a bowl. Cloths they had used to wipe Narinder down followed. The old bedding was thrown by the door, ready to be washed. They refused to allow anyone else care for him with only the healers being allowed to watch over him while they performed their duties away from his bedside.

An act of devotion, penitence and safeguard all rolled into one.

“It’s funny. I thought we’d do all sorts of things once you were free. I wanted to stay by your side. I wanted to show you my favourite fishing spot by the docks and show you where I picked all those camellias in the Darkwood. I wanted to make you my favourite meal.” They were quiet for a moment. “I wanted to know if I meant as much to you as you did to me. Even if I didn’t, I hoped you let me stay. I would’ve given anything, you know, but after everything I’d done for you, after all I had given, you just had to ask for the one thing I couldn’t do.”

The Lamb sat on the floor by the bed and rested their head on the cover, watching his face for even the smallest of reactions.

“If you hadn’t demanded that... If you had found another way… Would you have let me stay?”

Nothing.

Just the rise and fall of the thin chest.

Just as it had been for a week.

Just as it would be for a long time yet.

____________________________

Everyone: Narinder is pissed and tries to assassinate the Lamb when he's indoctrinated.

Me: What if he's comatose tho?

AU where the shock of becoming mortal after being imprisoned for so long causes Narinder's body to be so overwhelmed that he falls into a coma immediately upon arrival to the cult.

The Lamb, while feeling betrayed yet still devoted, decides to personally care for Narinder while he's comatose.

Rumours spread about the mysterious comatose new recruit and how the Lamb spends every moment they aren't caring for the Cult with him.

Some think something happened their leader blames themself for.

Others think it's out of duty and safeguarding since he's technically not been indoctrinated yet.

One very persistent rumour insists that the mystery person is actually the Lamb's lover who was hurt and now they cannot bear to part from his side.

Even when the Mystic Seller commands them to free the Bishops, the Lamb is slow to do so until it offers to help Narinder heal.

With every freed bishop, the stronger Narinder becomes.

Aym and Baal are resurrected and are the only ones allowed to help with Narinder while the Lamb frees the bishops. The only ones they can trust with Narinder.

The Lamb continues to talk to Narinder throughout everything about everything. All of their hopes and fears and plans are laid bare to him. Their feelings too.

(Maybe the bishops also talk to him. Quietly and on the rare moments that the Lamb isn't hovering by his side. Their own form of confessional.)

However, no one has any idea that Narinder can hear every word.

And then he wakes up.

[03jyh23]

— a dance with danger || song mingi

night deepens, there’s nowhere to go with my heart. i can’t pretend to be strong anymore. i can’t be in this space where you left me.

nonidol!mingi ex!mingi x afab!reader; exes to (?);

genre: angst, suggestive

trigger warnings: break-up; physical violence; blood and injury; relationship conflict; emotional distress; mature language; alcohol use; toxic jealousy;

words: 3.3k

written while listening to: one of those nights by key

reminder: what you're about to read is purely fiction, so let's keep it separate from reality.

minors do not interact

— hi there! the time has finally come for my first requested one-shot! to my lovely anon, thank you so much for being the first person ever to leave a request! i sincerely hope you will enjoy reading!

love, monika. ♡

It's been more than four months since you and Mingi broke up. You never exactly received an explanation for what caused him to end your relationship. You had told your friends that the breakup didn't affect you, but it was nothing more than a lie. You felt foolish that such a short relationship had affected you so deeply. The memory of Mingi leaving while you were starting to fall in love deep was a wound that still felt raw, despite the passing time. It was a brutal blow, one that shattered the fragile trust you had placed in him and left you questioning everything you thought you knew about love. 

You haven’t been dating for long before he decided to leave, maybe that’s why it left you utterly shocked. You had entered the relationship with the expectation that your love would blossom tenderly, gradually unfolding. Mingi was the kind of boy that teenage you had dreamed of, he possessed an effortless charm that drew you in from the moment you two met, his smile igniting a spark within you that you couldn't ignore. With his tousled hair and mischievous grin, he embodied the very essence of youth and adventure. He was everything you had ever wanted and more, a living, breathing embodiment of all your teenage dreams. 

In the early days of your relationship, you often found yourself lost in daydreams, imagining a future filled with shared laughter and stolen kisses. Mingi seemed to effortlessly fulfil all the fantasies you had as a lovesick teenager, his presence a constant source of joy and excitement.  

The memory of Mingi breaking up with you still haunts you, though his demeanour was devoid of emotion as if he just wanted to get it done with. 

"Please... say something," his voice was monotone, devoid of the passion or empathy you once knew, as he searched your eyes for a response. You stood there, stunned into silence by his cold detachment. How could you find the words to articulate the storm of emotions raging within you? How could he be so indifferent? As you opened your mouth to speak, the words caught in your throat, tangled in a mess of confusion and disbelief. What could you possibly say to someone who had already checked out, who had already made up their mind? At that moment, all you could do was meet his cold gaze with tear-filled eyes, silently begging him to take it all back, to tell you that it was just a cruel joke, a misunderstanding. The silence between you was heavy and suffocating, it became unbearable. As Mingi turned away, his expression unreadable, you knew that your chapter had come to a close. And though the silence he left you in was suffocating, it was also a relief, a release from the turmoil that had consumed you. 

You haven’t seen him since. 

It was a Saturday evening. You slipped into your favourite little black dress, taking extra care with your makeup. You were all dolled-up and ready to step out and begin living your life. Hitting a club occasionally with your best friend used to be your way of dealing with reality, but after the breakup, it took on a new significance.  

As you made your way to the club, the vibrant lights and pulsing music greeted you, offering a temporary escape from the weight of your emotions. Among the crowd, you found solace in the anonymity, allowing yourself to lose control and dance away your troubles for a while. Each beat of the music seemed to wash away a layer of pain, leaving you feeling lighter, freer. Tonight, you were determined to embrace the present moment and reclaim your sense of joy and independence. You had never been the type to hit on guys at the club; you simply wanted to have fun with your girls, sipping on colourful drinks and feeling pretty. But tonight was different. You craved the sensation of being wanted. 

As the pulsating lights illuminated the crowded club, you scanned the club eagerly, searching for someone to fill the void tonight. Unwilling to admit it but consumed by an undeniable desperation for closeness. Frustrated by the lack of intriguing prospects, you retreated to the familiar comfort of the bar, ordering your favorite drink. Downing it in one swift motion, along with a few shots of tequila for good measure, you felt a surge of determination coursing through your veins as you made your way back to the dancefloor. Once again you started to look around, hoping to spot somebody worth your attention when unexpectedly, you felt hands on your waist, gently turning you around. The boy before you weren't your usual type, but something about his touch ignited a spark within you. Without hesitation, you pulled him closer by his neck, ready to confront him. 

"Don’t waste your time on me" you said directly to his ear. He looked at you surprised; a smirk appeared on his face. 

"It’s not a waste of time when you are this pretty" you smiled in response, not expecting to hear such an endearing answer. Perhaps sparing him a moment wouldn't be such a bad idea after all. "Does this smile mean you’re down?" you nodded, arms linking around his neck, pulling him till the space between you was non-existent. His arms wrapped tightly around your waist. With each movement, you felt a surge of adrenaline coursing through your veins. There was something exhilarating about surrendering yourself to the music, about losing yourself in the arms of someone whose name you didn't even know. Song after song passed, and you couldn't shake off the blissful feeling that accompanied you as you danced with the boy. It had been a while since you had been touched like this, and your body responded instinctively to the proximity of the boy. It was getting harder for you to resist the temptation building in your stomach. The music pulsed around you, drowning out the voice of reason as you allowed yourself to get lost in the moment. You couldn't help but wonder what the rest of the night had in store for you, as your bodies grinded against each other. With each passing second, you yearned for him to draw even closer. You exchanged breathless smiles, as the music continued to pulse around you, the stranger leaned in, his voice barely audible over the din of the club.  

"Let me buy you a drink," he offered, a hint of warmth in his gaze. You hesitated for a moment, caught off guard, but then you nodded, a smile playing at the corners of your lips. "This might just get easier with a little more liquid courage," you thought to yourself, considering another drink to ease the tension. 

"I'd like that," you replied, your voice tinged with a mixture of excitement. You navigated your way through the crowded dance floor, your hands brushing against each other as you made your way to the bar. As you settled onto bar stools, the boy ordered your drinks, his eyes never leaving yours. There was something in his gaze, that left you yearning for more. And things took a turn as you leaned in for a kiss, a familiar face emerged from the dimly lit corner.  

Mingi. 

For a moment, time seemed to stand still as you two locked eyes. But as you glanced once again across the crowded club, your heart skipped a beat, and your breath caught in your throat. Everything unfolded so rapidly; Mingi came almost running to where you were sitting, and then he seized your companion by his collar, forcing him to stand up. The boy stood no chance, overshadowed by Mingi's towering presence. You sat on a bar stool, completely flabbergasted, your body refusing to budge. Mingi grabbed the poor boy hard, his legs started to dangle in the air. 

"Who the fuck are you?" Mingi gritted his teeth, his gaze not meeting yours again. Four months had passed since you last laid eyes on your ex-boyfriend, and in that time, you had begun to believe that he had vanished from the world altogether.  

"Why don't you just sit back and relax, man?"  And as your companion uttered those words, you knew it was a bad move. Mingi's eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched tightly as he regarded your companion with a steely gaze. There was a dangerous edge to his demeanour, a simmering anger that threatened to boil over at any moment. You reached out, your hand trembling slightly as you placed it on your companion's arm, silently urging them to back down. 

"Mingi, let him go" you finally interrupted, but it was too late; the damage had already been done. Mingi's grip tightened, his knuckles white as he held onto your companion's collar, his gaze piercing and unyielding. The tension in the air was palpable, a silent standoff between Mingi and your companion, with you caught in the middle. 

"Are you fucking deaf? Who the fuck do you think you are, getting cozy with my girl?" Mingi's voice was low and menacing, his words laced with nothing but anger. Your heart pounded in your chest, torn between the shock of seeing Mingi again and the fear of what might happen next. You knew you had to defuse the situation before it escalated any further. 

"Mingi, please," you pleaded, your voice barely above a whisper. "Let him go. It's over between us. I don't want any trouble." For a moment, Mingi's gaze softened, a flicker of regret crossing his features. But then, as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone, replaced once again by a steely resolve. 

"Fine," he spat, releasing your companion and taking a step back. But the relief didn't last long, as Mingi reached for your glass. "Let me teach you a fucking lesson, so you won’t ever touch somebody else's girl ever again." As Mingi's hand tightened around the glass, a sense of dread washed over you, a premonition of the chaos about to unfold. Mingi hurled the glass with a forceful motion, aiming it at your companion. Instinct kicked in, and without a second thought, you lunged forward, placing yourself between Mingi and the boy, shielding him from the oncoming projectile. The glass struck your face, cutting your brow bone, with a sharp impact, shattering upon contact and sending fragments scattering across the floor.  

“Y/N!” Mingi shouted, horrified by his action. Pain exploded through you, and an ache spread through your body. As you staggered backward, the club spinning around, you felt Mingi’s hands on you, catching you before you collapsed. A surge of adrenaline coursing through your veins. Mingi's actions had crossed a line, igniting a fire within you that burned with anger. 

“You’re an asshole, you know that?” you spat the words out, voice laced with anger and disbelief. As you locked eyes with Mingi, you could see the shock and realization dawning in his expression, a stark contrast to the anger that had consumed him moments before. With every ounce of strength you could muster, you pushed Mingi away. The boy you were supposed to spend the night with was nowhere to be found, and you couldn’t blame him, you also wished you could disappear from this mess. Mingi had crossed a line. You straightened your spine, refusing to let the pain and the anger consume you. You stood before him, blood trickling down your face.  

"Oh my god Y/N, is this blood? Is it yours?" Mingi's voice trembled with concern as he pulled you back into his arms, his touch surprisingly gentle as he rolled up his shirt and pressed it to your face to stop the bleeding. To say Mingi was shocked was an understatement; the disbelief in his eyes mirrored the turmoil swirling within you. You could feel the weight of his guilt and regret pressing down on you as he struggled to process the gravity of his actions.  

"No shit, Mingi," you gritted through clenched teeth, the pain pulsating through you like a relentless drumbeat. Despite the anger simmering just beneath the surface, you couldn't help but feel a flicker of gratitude towards him for his attempt to stem the bleeding.  

"Baby I am so sorry," your ex-boyfriend stuttered, tears falling down his face. Mingi's shirt absorbed the crimson stain of your blood. As you leaned into his embrace, a strange sense of resignation settled over you. "I never meant to hurt you, I’m so sorry," he was trembling "Let’s get you out of here" he murmured softly, his voice filled with a quiet determination. You didn’t have it in you to refuse him. Mingi navigated your way through the crowded club, his arm wrapped protectively around you.  

After you stepped out of the chaotic atmosphere of the club, a sense of calm enveloped you in the cool night air. Your ex-boyfriend led you away from the pulsating lights and thumping music, his arm still wrapped protectively around you. You walked in silence for a while, the weight of your history hanging heavy in the air between you. But despite the tension that lingered, there was also a palpable sense of relief in the space that had opened up between you. As you reached a quieter street, Mingi finally broke the silence, his voice tentative as he spoke.  

"I'm so sorry, Y/N," he began, his words tinged with regret. "I never meant to hurt you like that. I don't know what came over me." you listened in silence, the words hanging in the air between you like a delicate thread. It was clear that he was grappling with his own demons, struggling to make sense of the chaos that had unfolded.  

"Mingi, we are not together anymore," you whispered softly, unable to meet his gaze, fearing that another look into his brown eyes would melt your heart completely. "I haven't seen you in four months, and now you finally decided to show up?" you continued, your voice tinged with a mixture of frustration and longing. Despite your attempts to maintain a facade of indifference, there was an undeniable ache in your words, a yearning for the closure that had eluded you for so long. 

"I didn't know you were going to be here, Y/N," Mingi replied, his voice carrying a hint of remorse.  

"It doesn't change anything," you said firmly, mustering all the strength you had to maintain your composure. "I was finally having a good time, and you decided to ruin it? I'm not yours anymore, and that's only on you." Each word dripped with the bitterness of unresolved pain, a reminder of the wounds that still lingered beneath the surface. 

"Please don't say that you're not mine anymore," Mingi pleaded, his voice cracking with emotion. 

"But it's the truth, Mingi!" you countered, your own voice trembling with a mixture of sadness and frustration. "You gave up on us, remember?" you shouted, the floodgates of emotion finally breaking open. "And then you left me alone to deal with the heartbreak." Each word carried the weight of months of pain, a reminder of the scars that still haunted you. "I didn't even get the chance to tell you that I loved you," you sobbed, the weight of your confession hanging heavy in the air. "...I still fucking do," you added, your voice barely above a whisper, but carrying the weight of a thousand unspoken emotions. You hid your face in the palm of your hands. You groaned in pain as your hands touched your cut brow, the sharp sting serving as a painful reminder of the chaos that had unfolded moments before.  

"You love me?" Mingi's voice was tinged with disbelief, his eyes widening in shock at your confession. Even in his boldest dreams, he had never dared to imagine hearing those words from you. 

"I do," you sobbed, your voice muffled by your hands. "But it doesn't change anything." The weight of your words hung heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the barriers that still stood between you, despite the depth of your feelings. 

"It changes everything," Mingi whispered, as you felt his hand touching your back gently, urging you to look at him. With a shaky breath, you lowered your hands, meeting his gaze with tear-filled eyes, bracing yourself for what would come next. 

"What do you mean?" you asked in disbelief. Mingi's gaze softened as he took a deep breath, his hand still resting gently on your back.  

"I mean," he began, his voice trembling slightly, "that I've been a fool. I let my fear get in the way of what's most important to me, and I pushed you away when all I wanted was to hold you closer." His words washed over you like a gentle wave, stirring something deep within your heart. Mingi's expression softened further as he met your gaze, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "I need you to know that I never stopped having feelings for you. In fact, all of this happened because I started to fall in love with you." his words hung in the air between you, heavy with unspoken emotion. You felt your heart skip a beat, a surge of conflicting emotions welling up inside. "I was scared," he continued, his voice trembling slightly. "Scared of how much you meant to me, of how much power you had over my heart. I didn't know how to handle it, so I pushed you away." As he spoke, you could see the raw honesty in his eyes, the pain of his confession etched into the lines of his face. Despite the hurt he had caused, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of sympathy for him, a recognition of the struggles you both faced in navigating the complexities of love. And as Mingi reached out to take your hand, his touch gentle and reassuring, you felt a glimmer of hope stirring within you. "I love you, Y/N," he whispered, his voice filled with sincerity. "And I'm willing to do whatever it takes to make things right again." Without a word, you reached up, gently cupping his face in your hands, your fingers tracing the contours of his jawline. At that moment, the world seemed to fall away, leaving only the two of you standing there in the quiet night. Finally, Mingi connected your lips, and you met in a tender, tentative kiss. As you pulled away, breath mingling in the cool night air, you knew that this was just the beginning of your journey back to each other. 

"You are a fucking idiot, Mingi" you giggled through your tears, your hand still resting on Mingi’s face. Despite the weight of the moment, a sense of lightness washed over you. Mingi intertwined your fingers, a smile never leaving his face. 

"But can I be your fool?" he asked, a boyish smile gracing his lips. In that moment, you felt a surge of affection welling up within you, softening the edges of your heart and filling you with a sense of warmth.   

"Yeah, I'd really like that," you replied, a genuine smile spreading across your face. Mingi pulled you in for another kiss, your hands linked behind his neck, his hands resting on your ass, igniting a fiery desire within you. The kiss quickly changed into a passionate, messy make-out session, both of you intoxicated by the intensity of your emotions. At that moment, you got lost in the heat, surrendered to the overwhelming rush of desire, knowing that you were exactly where you belonged, in Mingi's arms. As you started to lose your breath, you pulled back slightly, your lips brushing against Mingi's as you whispered, "Take me home."  

[agooddaytoscream]

LONG POST: About the situation in Inner Mongolia, Tuva, Kalmykia and Buryatia:

See this red piece of land here?

It’s almost as big as the actual country of Mongolia right?

…Wanna know why?

IT’S STOLEN LAND.

I am a Mongolian person from Outer Mongolia, it pains me to see my fellow siblings being subjected to a cultural genocide right now in China.

ALMOST NOBODY is talking about this.

Go ahead and search “Inner Mongolia” on any social media platform, see anything loosely related to it being stolen, or the eradication of the Mongolian language and culture in schools by the CCP?

Not much or close to none, right?

Unlike Tibet and Uyghurs, the other two biggest ethnic minorities in China, which have a number of campaigns/gofundmes/articles about the situation, there’s only a few articles about Inner Mongolia.

Do you want to know why you don’t hear about Inner Mongolia? Censorship and oppression.

Remember Tibet? And how China oppresses Tibetan Buddhism as a result, resulting in His Holiness, the Dalai Lama to leave his people’s homeland and reside in India? The biggest religion practiced in Mongolia and Inner Mongolia is Tibetan Buddhism.

I currently cannot find ANY campaigns aiming for a free Inner Mongolia, much less any recognizing what’s going on.

The Mongolic people have been the victims of genocide multiple times.

I’ve heard numerous negative opinions from foreigners online and in real life about the Mongol Empire and how “Mongolians deserve to be oppressed, China is doing them a favor, Traditional Mongolian script is used in Inner Mongolia and has a higher GDP, Outer Mongolia only uses Cyrillic.”

( Mongolia was colonized by the Soviet Union, and subjected to communism, do you know what it feels like for your own family members, brainwashed by communist propaganda during childhood, even now swearing up and down that Russians are superior and everything they do is correct. And when asked whether the innocent Mongolian Buddhist monks deserved to die at the hands of Russians, they said it was deserved?! This is how insane propaganda can get, nobody is immune)

Do you realize how fucked up that is?? To hear so many say your people deserve this??

“Mongolian is our mother language! We are Mongolian until death!” shouted ethnic-Mongolian students in China’s Inner Mongolia, in opposition to a government policy, ending bilingual education. Critics of this policy see it as the latest move in a decades’ long campaign aimed at erasing the Mongolian culture.

- PLEASE READ THESE ARTICLES, they’re not the most recent, but they tell the truth.

Why critics are asking if Inner Mongolia is the next Tibet or Xinjiang This is from 2023.

Inner Mongolia in 'War-Like State' This article is from 2011, however the events that were reported are still happening.

Mongolians in China Face 'Cultural Genocide' as Language, Culture Swept Aside: Group

This article is from 2021. It’s recent enough.

This goes without saying, but xenophobia is also extremely prevalent in China against ethnic minorities.

I highly recommend reading this specific tumblr post. I am also apart of many fandoms surrounding chinese media. OP makes many valid points and I cannot support them enough.

From personal experiences, I have also read about my people and Central Asians being portrayed as brutal, savage, uncivilized barbarians in many Chinese-American novels. It’s heartbreaking.

I despise how the world turns a blind eye to my brothers and sisters suffering, just because the severity of what my people endured is less than other groups, doesn’t mean that we should only focus on helping one minority, support all groups under oppression and colonialism no matter the severity of their situations.

I just found this Youtube video detailing the situation in Inner Mongolia, it’s beautifully done. PLEASE PLEASE WATCH THE FULL VIDEO, Beginning to End.

Why China Doesn’t Want You To Know About This Place.

Not to mention, the countries of Tuva, Buryatia, and Kalmykia are stolen by Russia just like Inner Mongolia. Throughout its history, Russia has seized foreign lands, colonizing indigenous peoples and destroying their national identity.

Note: I am not talking about the Sakha (Yakutia) because I am personally not apart of their community and will not talk over Yakut voices regarding Yakutia such as: https://www.instagram.com/verona.petrova?igsh=MXkyMHY3NDVoZjZxMg==

https://www.instagram.com/reel/C2iRvYqvu1M/?igsh=MTFucHg5aDdjaDFocA==

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by VERONIKA PETROVA (@verona.petrova)

The Tuvans are a Turkic group with their own language however, they share many cultural aspects with Mongolians. Tuva is the most poverty stricken place in Russia with the lowest standards of living.

The Buryats are an ethnic minority of Siberia whose population of around half a million largely follow a blend of Buddhism and Shamanism.

They are closely related to the Mongols, and the two groups share similar histories, cultures, religious beliefs, and lifestyles.

The Buryat language is considered one of the world’s most endangered languages.

Soldiers from Tuva and Buryatia have the highest casualty rates per 100,000 for Russia in the Ukraine war.

“These are some of Russia’s poorest regions: places where many young men see the army as their only chance to earn a decent living. And it’s these places that are now paying a disproportionately high price as Russian war casualties continue to rise.”

Please see: Free Buryatia Foundation, Buryat Liberation Movement, Mass Deportation and Ethnic cleansing of Kalmykia, The Kalmyk Deportations of 1943. Ukraine war: Tuva and Buryatia pay the highest price, but latest BBC Russian casualty figures show poverty not ethnicity the key factor.

Free Palestine, Congo, Sudan, Kurdistan, Armenia, Haiti, Yemen, Tigray, Syria, Afghanistan, Myanmar, Arakan, Tamil, Eelam, Western Sahara, West Papua, Kashmir, Canary Islands, & everyone undergoing genocide / colonialism.

Spread awareness about the femicides in Kazakhstan:

The Rise of Non-Consensual Bride Kidnapping in Kazakhstan: Developing a Culturally-Informed and Gender-Sensitive Response

Kazakh Activists Urge Authorities To Toughen Punishment For Domestic Violence

Can An Ex-Minister's Arrest In His Wife's Brutal Killing Finally Bring Protections To Kazakh Women?

EurasiaChat: Gender-based violence rears its ugly head again

YOU DON'T NEED TO GO OUT AND PROTEST, SIMPLY REBLOGING, LIKING, SPREADING AWARENESS, AND REPLYING HELPS AS WELL!!!

[starkskeep]

From amongst the clouds came the flames (r. stark)

From amongst the clouds came the flames r. stark imagine

Pairings - Robb Stark x Targaryen!Reader

Word Count - 2,307 words

Warnings - Brief mention of assault (non-descriptive), arranged marriage

A/N - A lot of the thoughts of the reader in this imagine, I do not agree with. I wanted to experiment with an unreliable narrator, and thus, mc's experiences will alter how they see the world around them.

Request - don’t know if you still accept requests but could you please write an imagine with Robb and a Targaryen reader who have agreed to an alliance in order to conquer against the lannisters but they always butt heads and she always goes against his words until one night he kind of admits his feelings for her mid argument and they kind of… you know.

You had never expected to be where you were now. As the only living child of Elia Martell and Rhaegar Targaryen, you knew that it was your blood right to sit upon the Iron Throne. The gods had spared you when Tywin Lannister’s Mad Dog stormed the Red Keep and brutally murdered your mother and siblings. A childhood illness had kept you in the arms of your nursemaid that night the woman was quick thinking enough to sneak out through the servant’s quarters amidst the chaos. Pretending you were her child until you were well enough to sail, the faithful servant brought you to Dorne where you were raised by your mother’s family. Treasured by the Martells as the last living connection to Elia, you grew up wanting for nothing. Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken. There was never anything that stood in the way of you getting what you wanted.

That is why it was so surprising, as you stood in Oberyn’s chambers at Sunspear, that you heard of how Oberyn was planning to take you far north. He planned to align with the self-proclaimed King of the North and the Trident. “Doran should have never agreed to take Myrcella Baratheon as a ward, much less give her a place in our family. Accepting a Lannister’s deal? It is an insult to Elia’s memory.” Your favorite uncle spits out. He stops pacing and whips around to face you, looking like his moniker amongst the flickering candles. “Dearest niece. I have arranged an alliance in order to combat my brother’s moronic decisions. Tomorrow morning, you will board a ship that will take you to the Riverlands.”

You stare at your uncle in shock. “The Riverlands? But that is where…You are giving me to the Starks? Selling me off to the boy king? I thought I meant more to you than that. I thought the memory of my mother meant more to you than that.” All your life, you had been told of how your father abandoned your mother for Lyanna Stark. He left your family—his wife and children—to die in the Red Keep in the most horrific of ways because he wanted to pursue the Northern woman. You do not fully blame Lyanna. She was a young girl and Rhaegar was the crown prince of the Seven Kingdoms; it would have been hard for her to deny your father. Yet, you do not hold much kindness in your heart for the Starks. From their blood came the final thread to unravel the tapestry of House Targaryen.

The blood rushing past your ears limits how much you actually hear from your uncle, but you know the words that made it pass ring true. “This is a marriage that you are talking about. You know that they will not agree to an alliance unless it is bound by an oath. The Starks believe Lyanna to have been stolen away by my father. They sided against the Targaryens in Robert’s Rebellion. An alliance with them will have to be ironclad for them to even begin to think about helping me. They are not like us. They despise the Dornish tendencies. I will be trapped in a marriage with a man that I do not even know, much less love, unable to find comfort outside of it.” There is pain lingering in the shadows of your words. Dorne is the only home you have known and now you are being forced out of it by your very family. Being sent into the cave of the wolves nestled in an environment very different from the one you grew up in.  

Oberyn looks at you with pity. He wishes that there was another course of action that he could have taken in order to give you the Iron Throne on a golden platter. “Yes. It will be a marriage. I will not deny that. It is what Catelyn Stark and I have arranged. She has assured me that her son will not harm you. That is the only thing I can promise you from it. You will have your power. You will have your revenge. In that, you will find your happiness.” Your uncle walks over to you and draws your shaking form into his arms, trying to bring you comfort after his words took it from you. “You will sail to Riverrun in the morning. I have ensured that you will be allowed to bring your dragon. Nym, Obara, and Tyene will join you. They will serve as your companions and as your protectors.” A kiss is placed on the crown of your head. “You will not be alone. I swear to you.”

The journey from Dorne to Riverrrun was long. Made longer by a route carefully constructed in order to avoid detection. Extended even more by the events that will occur once you reach your destination. You are not someone who appreciates being married off. As you exit the ship, swallowing the rising bile in your throat, you spit the bonfires burning in the wolf king’s war camp. Though you do not want to admit it, the army that fights for him seems quite large and will likely fit your needs quite well. 

Your small retinue is met by one in turn. A woman you infer to be Lady Catelyn Stark greets you with pity in her eyes. She sees her daughters in you. A young woman suffering from the actions of her parents and their cruel world. The others that join her are most definitely not pitying you. Their eyes are hardened. The Northmen do not trust Targaryens or the Dornish and your hair and features certainly mark you as the blood of both. You are led into the castle of Riverrun and then escorted into the makeshift war council room. Your cousins are forced to wait outside, not allowed inside, and not trusted enough to be privy to the inner workings of the Northern Army. Silencing what you know are protests brewing with one glare, you step inside. Robb Stark and his closest advisors are huddled around a table. Tension fills every crevice of the room. It suffocates you.

Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken. The words of your mother’s house ring in your head as you curtsy. You may show deference to your future husband at the moment but you will never be something to be controlled. “Greetings, Your Grace. It is an honor to be welcomed here in Riverrun.” The words are like poison on your tongue. They taste vile. It is a miracle that you are able to keep your voice and your expression from betraying your true feelings.

Robb looks you up and down. He observes the way you stand, your facial ticks, and the controlled lilt of your voice. You are pretty. The proof of the stories told about House Targaryen’s beauty stands in front of him. With the looks of a queen and pure ambition burning in your violet eyes, there is no doubt that you will make a powerful ally. A true leader fit to rule beside him as long as his people can overcome their historic distrust of your ancestors. You are the blood of the dragon. To Robb, you are an enigma that can never be tamed. “Aye. We have prepared what we had for your arrival.” The Northern king eyes those that surround him, judging their reaction to you before continuing to address you. “I did not want to be a king that had his wife chosen for him. I was raised as a lord with the promise to marry for love. It seems like we are both being forced into this marriage. I do not want to meet you in the Godswood full of false hope. This will be a transactional marriage only. The buildup to this will not be extended. You and I will marry tonight once you have bathed and rested. Do you have any objections to this?”

There are no objections from you nor from anyone else in the room. They all know why this marriage is occurring. You will being Dorne into an alliance with them. Though Robb has expressed no desire for the Iron Throne, those on his council that do believe that you will provide legitimacy for him in the eyes of the people. A Targaryen returned to power by a Stark that rules beside her. The ceremony is rushed. You are wedded and bedded before the sun rises the next morning. A new era begins as the first rays shine over the lands of Westeros. 

A marriage of equals proves to be much more butting heads rather than intriguing conversations. There are very few conversations between you and Robb that end in anything other than an argument. How you should act, how you should speak, how Robb should address you etc. The previous argument was about how the food being served at Riverrun was too bland for your taste. You and your cousins were used to the flavorful spices of your home’s dishes. You won that argument and watched on in barely concealed glee as the faces of Robb’s men reddened as their palates were introduced to new tastes. The argument before that was about how the dragon has taken to antagonizing Robb’s men. You explained that your dragon was bored. You were not being allowed to take it on flights as you were in Dorne for fear of your safety. Robb won that argument and your dragon was moved to a field a good distance away from the war camp.

“My queen, you cannot expect a man to be comfortable with sending his wife onto the battlefield.” Robb looks you dead in the eyes as he speaks. He is in total disbelief that his wife wants to join him in the march south. He was raised by his mother and Lady Catelyn is a proper lady. The only girls Robb knows who would willingly ride into battle is the Mormonts of Bear Island and his little sister. 

“Me aiding your army with my dragon is one of the reasons we were married. You need me and my beast just as much as you need the Dornish men.”

“I do not care if it is for a second or for a week. A battlefield is not a place for a noblewoman, especially if that woman is my wife and the queen of my people. You will not be put in harm’s way. I have already made up my mind. I will not have my queen join me in battle. This decision is final.”

“I have brought you my dragon and my uncles’ armies yet you still deny me a place beside you. I cannot believe this!”

Authority seeps into Robb’s voice as he responds once more, frustrated with your lack of understanding. “My queen you do not—cannot—understand where I am coming from because you never lived in war. Your entire existence has been one of privilege and freedom. You have never been denied a meal. You have never had to lose a friend to war. You have never had to deliver news of a son’s death to a weeping mother.” Robb shakes his head. “I will not risk the safety of my wife, not while I still draw my breath.”

“I lost my entire family to war and the Lannisters when I was just a babe. It was pure luck that I was able to escape. My mother was brutally assaulted and killed by the Mountain when Tywin Lannister seized the capital. Because of them, I had to grow up without my parents and my siblings. Do not lecture me like I am one of your men.” You spit out. Indignant fury coats every word.

“I am sympathetic but it will not change my decision. Bringing you into battle with me would put everything and everyone at risk. The Lannisters will want your head even more than they want mine. You are the greatest threat to their reign.”

You know you will not be able to win this argument nor will you be able to convince Robb to let you join him in the march. Instead, you turn to leave with a plan already forming deviously in your mind. When you reach the doorway, you turn to have the last word. “I shall sleep in my own chambers tonight. Do not expect me in your bed tonight, Your Grace.” The title is sneered mockingly upon your departure. 

A/N - I'm sorry this took so long to post. My life was consumed by schoolwork. I wanted to get this out for the anon who requested it. There will be a second part that reveals MC's plan and it will include the requested smut. It wasn't meant to be two parts but the imagine was already quite long by the time I reached this end. It would be far too much if I were to include the plan and the smut in one part.

[saber-slutt]

It Just Makes Sense (Cad Bane x F!reader) 18+

Hey gang! A fic with smut! Who cheered!

Anyways, 18+. I’ve decided that my whole blog will be 18+, so please block me if you’re a minor, thanks!

≽^•⩊•^≼ Warnings: Smut, m receiving (f receiving in next chapter), female reader, dirty talk, mating cycles, Cad Bane

≽^•⩊•^≼ Please leave criticism! I’ll take anything, I just want to improve at writing

Cad Bane liked to consider himself above the primal instincts that resided in the core of every being. He was a hunter, of course, but a sophisticated one. That’s why this time of year, in the weeks leading up to his mating period, he was rather irritable. Quick to snap at Todo, reserved towards you, and overall angrier. It sucked. For you, specifically. You had only known Bane for a few rotations. You met him as you held a lot of information on one of his bounties, and you helped him catch the guy (rather gleefully, too, that man had stolen many credits from you). Bane took some pity on you, as your life resembled a lot of his youth, and invited you to work aboard his ship for a while. Your smarts and beauty would surely come in handy in trapping and luring potential bounties. And it had. But maker, you were wishing you could go back in time and not take this job. Credits be damned. Looking at his beautiful face be damned. Bane was being a dick. And he was getting worse everyday.

You had sympathy at first. You knew Duros mating periods were rough. You couldn’t imagine what it would be like to not feel like yourself, and giving into something that wasn’t you, but still, somehow was. But right now, Bane was taking it too far. He acted as if you couldn’t do anything right. Ship maintenance, cleaning, cooking, it was all wrong to him. And he brutally vocalized his displeasure. Your patience was wearing thin. Just one more week, you thought as you bit back your tongue from his recent snap, (“I don’t know why ah’ took you aboard, you can’t even clean a damn window right!”) just one more week until he’ll be down for a week in a pheromone crazed episode. Then I’ll be free from him, and he’ll come back normal.

You sighed as you sat back in the copilots seat, hesitantly turning to Bane. “Listen, your mating period is coming soon. Do you have any plans? Where are we gonna stop and wait, while you, y’know?” you began.

“Shuddup. Ah don’t wanna talk bout it with you.”

“Come on, please? It’s getting close now. You’re not the only one this affects. I really know nothing, and I need to make some plans. Do you need help with arrangements?”

“Ah don’t need your damn help! Jus’ stay out of the way and stop bein’ an idiot,” he shouted, before stalking out of the cockpit to his quarters.

You turned to Todo, whispering, “Is he always this much of an asshole before his mating period?”

Loud footsteps charged back into the cockpit. Oops. Not whispering quietly enough. You couldn’t even react before long fingers wrapped around your throat and lifted you from the copilots chair to standing on your tip-toes.

You gasped, while he growled, “You have no idea what this is like. I’ve handled it for almost thirty years before you, and I will handle it after you. Unless you want me to fuck you for a week straight, I suggest you be silent and stay out of the way.”

You only stared back with wide eyes.

He dropped you back into the seat and stalked off again. You didn’t dare to breathe.

Four days had passed since that incident. You hadn’t spoken to him. You knew he would never force you into anything, but he had also never been physical with you. He had scared you, plain and simple. You sighed as you sat on your bed in your quarters, fiddling with a sweater you were knitting, feeling rather bored. One of your favorite pastimes was annoying Cad Bane. But now, you were confined to isolation. Worse yet, you still had no idea what his plans were to take care of his mating period. Which was a problem, considering it was three days away. He was also becoming antsy (sexually). You had never heard him take care of himself before; he once joked that jacking off requires more effort than just walking into the nearest bar and finding someone to suck him off. You had heard him a few times at night in the past week, groaning and growling through the walls. You felt a wetness between your thighs at the memory. Maker, you wished you could hear him groan and growl in your ear, hands wrapping around your thighs as he spread you wider, pounding into you at a merciless pace as you could only whimper-

“Hey, lil’ lady,” Cad Bane interrupted your thoughts, standing in your doorway. You jumped out of your skin. “There’s a brothel on Nar Shaddaa that caters to species mating periods. We’re going there soon. You can just lay low on the ship for the week.”

You didn’t say anything, a look of fear etched on your face. You prayed that he didn’t suspect what was just running through your mind. Hopefully, he would leave soon, before his olfactory organs could pick up on your pooling wetness.

He sat down on the edge of your bed.

Shit.

He raised his head to the air, eyes closing, and basking in the scent of the room for a moment. “Doll, you can’t do this so close to. . . it’s unfair.”

You stayed quiet and wide-eyed, truly not knowing what to say next.

“Ah’ could really go for a lil’ taste, right now.”

You sucked in a breath, “Bane.”

He moves closer, taking your face in his fingers and forcing you took look at him, “It’s takin’ everything in me not to jump you right now, and pin you down while I fuck you so hard you can’t stop screaming,” he growls, before backing off as quickly as he had started toward you, “Course, then I wouldn’t let you leave, and you’d be stuck with me for a week.”

You were breathing heavy now. Lust clouded eyes meeting Banes’ own. His self control was truly impeccable. Three days, give or take, before he would enter a pheromone-filled, sex-crazed episode, and he was restraining himself.

“I’m setting a course for Nar Shaddaa,” he growled, standing, leaving your room and slamming your door.

Maybe a few months earlier, you would’ve left it at that. But you had grown closer to Bane, and you trusted him. And truth was, you were worried about him. Unlike Cad Bane himself, you were open with your emotions, and you wanted him in good hands during what you knew was a difficult time for him (also, the prospect of him undressed and wrapped up with someone else send jealous pangs through you). You maybe, possibly, had a tiny, itsy-bitsy crush on the Duros. The moment you laid eyes on him, you were down bad. And spending a few months in close proximity with him did not alleviate these feelings. You decided that you would proposition him for his cycle. It just makes sense.

You walked nervously into the cockpit. Cad Bane was sitting straight as a board in the captains chair, staring out at the hyperspace blue illuminating the front windows.

“Cad,” you started, the name foreign on your tongue. You didn’t call him by his given name, out of an unspoken sort of respect, but now you needed to truly, truly, speak with him.

“Go to your room. Now.”

You let out a shaky breath, “Listen-“

“If ya stay here any longer I can’t be held responsible for what happens to ya. It’s here earlier than I thought,” he drawled. “I want ya to go to your room and lock the door. Don’t let me in no matter what I say. We won’t make it to Nar Shaddaa in time, because I’ll be fully under in a few hours.”

“And what? You’ll go through it alone?”

“Yep. Grab some food and water for the week.”

“Wait, just wait, what if I do it?” you questioned, a bit frantically.

He said nothing, scoffing at your hasty proposition.

“I’m serious! Everyone knows how bad Duros breeding cycles can be. If you don’t have someone, you’ll be in hell. I don’t want that,” you pouted.

Internally, Cad Bane didn’t want to argue. The image of you under him, face twisted up in pleasure and completely at his mercy was difficult to pass up. But it’s a lot to ask of someone. You’d be exhausted by the end of it, bruised and busted. He’d get to reap all the benefits from it; a week of pleasure with a pretty person. Not to mention the possibility you could get pregnant, which neither of you could handle. But still, you were offering, and he’d be in hell otherwise.

“You understand what that entails?” he queried.

“Yes, sir,” you spoke softly. He shifted.

“Still, der are some things you gotta be clear with.”

You were feeling brave now. “Okay, but, what if we take the edge off first? Before we go through the details” you questioned, eyes gesturing to the bulge in his pants. He straightened up again, silent as all hell but letting out a curt nod, signaling his approval.

You lowered yourself to your knees. He watched you intensely, but remained unmoving and stiff. Gingerly, you undid his fly and pulled him out, already hard. You looked up at him with doe eyes, before kitten-licking his tip. He shifted and lightly hissed at the contact, bucking slightly. You licked again, and again, gradually licking longer stripes, as Bane’s resolve dissipated.

He growled, “Put me in your mouth. Stop teasin’ me.”

You complied. You were unfamiliar with Duros anatomy. His cock was long and ridged, and almost indigo in color. Maker, was he long. You felt a gush of liquid between your thighs at the fact. Surely, you’d see the bulge in your stomach when he split you open.

You worked Bane’s cock like your life depended on it. You bobbed your head up and down, hollowing out your cheeks and applying slick pressure with your hands where you just couldn’t reach. Filthy, wet sounds filled the room as you occasionally let him hit the back of your throat, tears welling in your eyes. You let out a couple of whimpers, which based on the way he growled and bucked in return, he greatly appreciated.

“It’s gettin’ close doll,” he let out in a strained voice, “swallow all of it.”

You whimpered in response. Cad Bane’s self-control snapped. He grabbed the back of your head, fingers wrapped up in strands of your hair, and forcefully guided you up and down his cock, moving you so fast you didn’t have time to breathe. Tears fell from your eyes. With barely a grunt as warning, he came, spilling past your tongue and down your throat. He held your head on his cock and didn’t allow you to move, forcing you to drink every last drop, moaning before each time you swallowed. And maker, was there a lot of his cum, and you knew it would definitely spill out of you in the future. Finally, your mouth slid off Bane’s cock, a strand of spit connecting your lip to his to his tip. Panting, you look up at him. Expecting to see a sated Bane, instead you were met with an even more lustful stare. You felt heat rise in your cheeks.

“Not bad, lil’ lady,” he began. “But I’m still hoping for that taste I was talkin’ about earlier.”

[diabolik-art-blog]

The shelter of the future [ Part 01 ]

AO3: Part 01

Admin: A short one-shot based on Ruki's DF route. It has 3 parts and I will post next part tomorrow. I present this to my girl Afra @afra-blueraz . We miss you girlie. Please get better soon. We all love you :3. This was requested by @its-irsaa-fyp 😘.

The weather was cold and dark and the rain was getting heavier and heavier every moment. All the people were wearing warm clothes and jackets made of leather and warm wools and continued on their way. Most of the couples used a common umbrella and their hands were tied in each other's hands.

In the middle of a merciless storm and heavy rain, a thin and pale girl was standing next to a shop. Her clothes did not look very warm. The body and all the clothes were wet because of the rain and she was hugging her arms to get a little warm. Her wet hair was falling on her face and water was dripping from the corner of her hair. In the darkness of the night, her face could not be seen well, but if someone looked at her carefully, they would realize that she was crying.

Yui: (Ruki-kun, please hurry. I'm scared. I don't want to be alone. Please come back faster. What will happen if they find us?)

Ruki had stolen the person he loved the most from the Tsukinami mansion and now he wanted to run away with her. Yui had been imprisoned by the Tsukinami brothers for months. Shin had brutally tortured her and her whole body was scarred. Yui had become very mentally unstable and was very scared.

*flashback*

Shin approaches Yui and he slaps Yui so hard that Yui falls on the ground and blood comes from the corner of her mouth. Tears in her eyes and she can't even breathe regularly.

Shin: Do what I said or I will kill you.

Yui could not speak a single word. She had endured all of Shin's tortures and knew how cruel he was and would really kill her if she disobeyed him.

Shin approached Yui with slow steps and while Yui tried to get up from the ground with her weak arms, he pushed her to the ground again. He wrapped his arms around Yui's slender neck and began to squeeze with all his might, but was careful not to break her neck.

Shin: You will do what I said right now or you will never be able to breathe again.

Yui's eyes turned black and she struggled for her life.

Yui: O... O... Okay...

As soon as the word left Yui's mouth, Shin let go of her neck and Yui was panting frantically.

Yui: *cough* *cough*...

When Yui caught her breath, Shin was looking at her expectantly with an evil grin on his face. She stood up with tears in her eyes. Her hands and feet were shaking. She slowly raised her delicate hands and started taking off her clothes. Until she felt the caress of a hand on her bare skin.

Shin: Good girl... let me help you take off the rest.

*End of flashback*

Yui had tears in her eyes as she remembered the bitter memories. She was immersed in her own thoughts and did not notice that people were looking at her. To the lonely girl who is wet and shivering in the rain.

Yui felt the caress of one hand on her shoulders again. But this caress was not familiar. She turned to see a strange man looking at her with concern.

Man: Young lady, is something wrong? Let me help you.

Yui was horrified to see the strange man. She stepped back to defend herself.

Yui: Don't come near me. Do not touch me.

Man: I want to help you.

Yui was scared and didn't know how to react. Without being able to think straight, she started running even though Ruki had told her to wait for him. She ran as fast as she could and cried until she reached a dead end.

Yui sat next to the garbage and hugged her knees. Tears flowed from her eyes and wet her innocent face. She was shaking and crying because of the cold and fear. Her pained face showed that she had suffered a lot.

Yui: Ruki-kun... please... come back...

While she was crying in the dark alley, a man approached her and held an umbrella over her head to protect her from the rain. He slowly began to caress her head and though Yui's attention was drawn to her. Yui looked up and saw Ruki.

Ruki: Yui... I told you to wait for me.

Seeing Ruki, she jumped into his arms without any hesitation and started crying again. She was hugging Ruki with all her heart. It was as if she was drowning and Ruki was her lifeguard.

Yui: Ruki-kun.... *Sob* ... Ruki-kun.... *Sniff* ... Please.... *Sob* ... Don't leave me alone...

Seeing how scared and cold Yui was, Ruki frowned. He considered himself guilty of these events. He should never have left Yui alone in that hellish mansion. He should have gone earlier to save her.

Ruki took off his jacket and threw it over Yui's shoulders and hugged her tightly. He pressed Yui's head to his chest and gently caressed her and kissed her wet hair.

Ruki: Don't worry, Yui. We are not apart. No one can separate us anymore.

Yui relaxed in Ruki's arms and took a deep breath. Ruki looked at the tickets he had prepared. They didn't have much time, they had to leave this city faster. To be with each other and stay together forever.

After Yui calmed down, Ruki gently wiped the tears from her face and kissed her cheek. He helped Yui put on his jacket. And while holding her delicate hand, he held the umbrella over her head and they started to move to escape from this hell together.

[reaper2187]

Amber freeman x reader

In the desolate and rain-drenched town of Woodsboro, where the legacy of fear still lingered, you haunted the shadows as a spectral embodiment of vengeance. Your ethereal form, concealed beneath the iconic Ghostface mask, dripped with a sinister energy.

Amber Freeman, the once-vibrant high schooler, succumbed to a twisted fate, her body lifeless and her spirit shattered. As you witnessed her brutal demise, a profound sense of kinship stirred within you. Both outcasts, consumed by a thirst for retribution, you shared an unbreakable bond forged in the depths of darkness.

Driven by an insatiable desire for justice, you vowed to avenge Amber's untimely end. Donning her Ghostface persona, you stalked the streets, meting out swift and merciless punishment to those who wronged her. Each kill was a symbolic act of validation, a testament to the pain and anguish inflicted upon your kindred spirit.

One fateful night, as you hovered above the wreckage of a bloody crime scene, a flicker of familiarity caught your ethereal gaze. A single strand of hair, twisted and stained with crimson, clung to the debris. It was a strand of Amber's black hair.

A wave of nostalgia washed over you, mingling with the bitter taste of vengeance. In that single moment, you realized that your connection to Amber extended beyond your shared destiny. She had become a part of your being, a constant companion in your haunting existence.

As twilight descended upon Woodsboro, you retreated to the abandoned warehouse where Amber's lifeless body had once been found. The building creaked and groaned beneath the weight of your sorrow as memories flooded your incorporeal mind.

You could hear Amber's laughter echoing through the desolate halls, her vibrant voice a poignant reminder of the life stolen from her. Tears of ether flowed down your spectral cheeks as you mourned the loss of a fellow outcast.

Suddenly, the warehouse walls seemed to ripple and shimmer. A faint outline emerged from the darkness, taking shape as Amber's ethereal form. Her eyes, once filled with terror, now bore a serene and compassionate gaze.

'You have fought for me, my kindred,' she whispered, her voice barely above a murmur. 'Your vengeance has been heard. Now, it is time for me to rest.'

A gentle glow enveloped Amber's spectral form as it slowly dissolved into the shadows. With a heavy heart, you watched as your companion vanished into the ether.

In that moment of somber farewell, you realized that your thirst for retribution had faded. Amber's spirit had guided you through the darkness, and her unwavering belief in justice had kindled a flame within your ethereal existence.

As the dawn broke over Woodsboro, casting a pale light upon the sleepy town, you disappeared into the shadows. The Ghostface mantle, once a symbol of terror, now signified a promise fulfilled. Amber Freeman's legacy would live on, not as a tale of despair, but as a testament to the indomitable spirit that even in the depths of darkness, the pursuit of justice can prevail.

[satancopilotsmytardis]

Tomura: "I want to spend more time with you"

Dabi: "Ah yes, he wants to keep an eye on me during battle. That's nice of him."

Dabi. Dabi you are such a dumbass. Oh my God. I can only imagine how fondly annoyed Tomura will be once he figures out that Dabi did not, in fact, understand what he meant (and scared, at forst. Because what if he read everything wrong and Dabi doesn't want to be around him anymore?)

Also, the demon/post-apocalyse au sounds cool. Tomura steps forward and everyone expects him to demand another brutal sacrifice, and then he points at Dabi and says "I want one year to court you and after that we either marry or you will be forever protected from any demons, me included". What a rollercoaster of emotions for Dabi, lol.

Literally, just oblivious dumbass Dabi has me bewitched and has stolen my heart ❤️ Shigaraki would be so confused after they finally fuck for the first time and Dabi is like 'what the fuck I didn't even think you liked me that much' and goes through all 5 stages of grief as he realizes this is the man he wants to spend the rest of his life with

And yeeeesssss the poor boy would go from preparing himself to die to being proposed to in front of everyone he knows in .5 seconds. He would not know what to do with himself, especially when Shig starts showing up with presents and asking to take him out on dates