#THREAD. with regards to the light

[limayde]

89. Regarding Saeki Sayaka (Volume 2)

It took me a very long time to finish this book, and I think I figured out why. This novel is telling us all stuff we had already known from the manga series. It's basically just Sayaka's retelling of what happened before the events of Bloom Into You. It really is just kind of Sayaka going "woe is me, take pity on what I had to go through." And it didn't even include the part of the manga I was hoping to see the most—Sayaka's encounter with her ex, Yuzuki. Overall this novel was just very unfortunate, since I did quite enjoy the first volume a lot. I'm still holding out hope though, the final volume covers completely new material and it was the one I was itching to read from the get-go.

[deathdxnces]

i wrote about it before extensively tbh, but i do think irelia's views on noxians are extremely dehumanizing and ruthless and not likely to change (not unless she's forced to interact with them and see them as people, i think, and even then it's difficult to say if she wouldn't just deem someone an Exception rather than question how correct her views had been). she doesn't feel any guilt or any sort of remorse for all the noxians she killed. her in game lines suggest to some extent she enjoys killing them (killing you won't bring them back… but it still felt good). i mentioned it a bunch of times before and even wrote a post connected to that, but the i've never killed a person… just a lot of noxians line makes it obvious they're not even human beings to her. as i wrote in another post, you could put their grieving families in front of her and they could scream someone was only a soldier out of need, and still she'd be utterly unmoved.

there's definitely the point also discussed in one of those posts that this isn't about someone being born in noxus necessarily, but rather what the empire shapes them to be. in her eyes, she isn't the one stripping them of humanity; noxus already did that. and i don't think anything anyone can say would move her or make her look at it differently at all. and as i also discussed here, i don't think she'll eventually feel guilty for killing noxians. it just won't happen.

this is definitely when her worst side comes to light, because it isn't just self-defense, it hasn't been for a long time. it's pure hatred, and treating people as less than people, guilty or not. even if she's not downright cruel and doesn't try to make them suffer, she takes their lives easily and enjoys it to some extent. and i don't even think irelia is often openly as bloodthirsty as she feels, because i do think she fully expects other people to not see it the same way and to condemn her stance, but that's never enough for her to change or consider changing. at most, it holds her back from acting on it at times.

the only way all of it elicits guilt on her isn't for the deeds themselves but due to the very fact she enjoys it. i've also said that a thousand times before, but she was raised under a spiritual dogmatic belief violence is never justified, not even as a way of answering to violence suffered. to not only strike back, but to enjoy it? i think that's the greatest reason irelia tries to repress those feelings. if anything, it's more religious guilt than guilt for what she does. and as a result there's a lot of self-inflicted suffering she continues to agonize over, but that doesn't come from guilt over the lives she took at all. even though she is certain it disappoints her family and stains their name, a fact she also punishes herself with (though i don't think she'd ever follow the same ritual of asking for her father's forgiveness as she does when she kills other ionians), it's the disappointment that troubles her. it's the not fitting in the ideal of good she was taught. the noxians themselves? she really doesn't care, they had it coming.

which is also to say, even with the guilt holding her back somewhat, it's obvious how much she hates noxians and how easily she'll cut them down and how remorseless she is about it. without that. well. maybe then she would indeed consider striking back at noxus and making sure the empire would never be a threat again.

[dragetunge]

I am also going forward until further notice putting a halt on an entire verse

[sarishim]

rudimentary tag drop, i'll add more as i think of them!

— the man dressed in linen‚ who was standing above the river; visage. — hebrew nonsense (affectionate); ooc / jewish stuff. — always some kind of fucking temperature; ooc / misc. — how will you hear my words and pleas; ooc / psa. — the current hyperfixation; ooc / research. — adinah's ramblings; ooc / tbd. — my sword has been sharpened since the sixth day of creation; muse study. — i have stretched out my hand‚ and no one regards; psyche. — from endless lights‚ I come back to thee; dash games. — i was born to pave the way‚ to let the masses hear; prompts / memes. — i am the spark that sets the flame of truth alight; prompts / opens. — i am the prince of fire‚ i will perform a miracle within a miracle; musings. — through fire and water‚ i shall walk with thee; aesthetics. — i shall be with thee through good and bad; verse / main. — g-d grant me the serenity to know i had to do it to 'em; pinned / DNI. — on all levels except physical‚ i am hugging you / promos. — take my hand and let us walk for miles / playlist. — the golden wine follows through my veins‚ i know the holy words; threads. — thy empty words shall avail thee not; headcanons.

[luveline]

bombshell finds tickets to a russian movie thing sitting in spencer’s desk at work and they’re about to like run out (?) so she presents them to spencer and asks him on a date and pretends that she didn’t just pull them out of spencers desk in that bombshell way

You’re looking for gum. If Spencer were at his desk, you’d politely beg for a stick and he’d give it to you, but he’s not here, so you must search. 

You sit in his seat, slinking down as he does with poor posture, your kitten heels hitting the spine of a book kept under the desk. Your dress’ skirt rises up your thighs, the fabric at your neck pulls, but you have bigger problems. You’re feeling the weird franticness of unspent energy and only a stick of gum is gonna fix you. 

He has a drawer full of things, neatness traded for space. Blue and pink paper clips in an arrowhead shaped box. Push pins of all colours, their box more ordinary. He has a travel book on indigenous North American birds with stamps held between the pages, a plastic bottle cap, train stubs from Quantico to the station outside of his apartment and a bottle of ibuprofen missing half of its contents. 

Your fingers dig around for the familiar shape of a packet of gum, hesitating thoughtfully against the thread of a thicker cardstock. 

You pull a cream envelope from the desk and, perhaps wrongfully, unveil the contents: two tickets to see any Russian flick at the foreign language theatre free of charge (if you buy a large drink). They expire tonight. 

You press them to your chest and spin in Spencer’s chair without any regard for whoever might see you slouching. Across the office with his hair out of his face and a smile bordering lackadaisical stands your favourite. He even has a pencil in hand. He likes to underline things in the books he reads for your benefit. It’s the pencil that decides your next move. 

You stand up, brushing down your nice dress that he seems to like, a black cotton with thin pinstripes settling nicely just above your knees. You check your lipstick in the black reflection of his sleeping monitor, buzzing. 

He’s watching you when you turn back. You hide the tickets behind your hip and begin a light walk to his side, the chug of the printer a constant hum you can feel in your shoes. 

“What’s up?” he asks. 

You tilt your head toward your shoulder ever so slightly. “Can I ask you something?” 

“Sure.” He squints. “You’re acting strange.” 

“Suspicious,” you correct. 

“That, too.” 

“How come you let me hold your hand?” 

Spencer doesn’t hide his surprise at your question very well. His eyes turn deer in the headlights, then down to the printer. “What do you mean?” he asks. 

“When we first met, you wouldn’t shake my hand. And that’s okay,” —your smile is loving in the hope that he finds your question as the curiosity it is and not an interrogation— “I’m just wondering what changed.” 

“I was distracted.” He’s talking about the first time you took his hand, the two of you on the way to the office. “You stopped me from being late.” 

“Right, but I should’ve asked and I didn’t. And now we hold hands all the time.” You take a half step back. “I’m not trying to embarrass you, I’m just wondering.”

“Nobody’s held my hand in a really long time. And you’re mostly clean.” 

“Mostly!” you laugh, giving him a guilty smile. “I’m super clean, I just forget how gross door handles are sometimes.”

You have embarrassed him, in a way. It’s really not what you meant to do, not when you’re about to ask him on a date. 

Ever since you started your official position at the BAU, you and Spencer have grown closer, but there’s a difference between flirting because he’s lovely and flirting because you want him to be your boyfriend. (Not that he knows what you want.) You shouldn’t have started with the hand holding thing. 

“Spencer.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Will you go on a date with me?” You present him with the movie tickets. “Got these, they expire tonight…”

“Are those from my desk?” he asks, taking the tickets from you to look over closely. 

“I’d love to go with you, unless you’re gonna take someone else, which is fine.” You embarrass yourself a little, even though you’re not, hoping it makes up for the hand-holding investigation. “Yeah, they’re from your desk. Sorry. I really wanted a stick of gum, my– my nervous energy is through the roof today.” 

Spencer frowns at you again. “How come?” he asks softly. 

“I don’t know. It just happens sometimes.” 

And that’s nothing you’ve ever admitted to him. Your perfect mask is broken, and Spencer doesn’t look at you any differently. “Do you actually wanna go to the movies?” he asks. 

“Only if I’m not stealing you away from somebody else.” 

“There’s no one else.”

Spencer abruptly turns his attention to the printer, where he collects his copies and shuffles them into a straight, neat pile. 

You recover quickly, though inside your heart is a stuttering mess. “I should hope not,” you say. “Okay. Awesome. I’ll bring hand sanitiser and you can hold my hand through the previews.” 

[jarofstyles]

Bad Idea, Right?

Obviously inspired by Miss Olivia Rodrigo’s song, here is a one shot I loved writing :) a bit of angst, a bit of a fluff, a lot of smut, a little bit of everything!

Check out our Patreon for early access and 160+ exclusive writings!

WC- 6.2k

Warnings- toxic relationship, kinda asshole h, angst, crying, slight degradation, spitting, impact play (light), sex tape filming, daddy kink (light), use of Mama 🤭

—-

Y/N knew this was a very bad idea. She knew she was going to regret this in the morning, as she usually did when Harry texted her to show up somewhere, but here she was. 

Her best black dress in the most soft fabric, the one he had complimented her on endlessly before peeling it off when they had still been together, was glued to her body, Hair curled and falling down her shoulders. If she was going to show up at a houseparty that her ex boyfriend was throwing, she may as well go all out and wear something that she knew he liked. 

Internally, she tried to talk herself out of it as she approached the open door, ignoring the people making out on his lawn. The thump of the bass was audible outside, a deep sigh being let out as she tossed her phone in her clutch after texting him a simple ‘here.’ The shot she had taken before had done next to nothing to calm her nerves, her red lipstick meticulously touched up in the back of the uber as she squirmed in the seat surely getting fucked up as she bit down on her bottom lip, venturing into the home that used to be so familiar to her. 

It had been 5 months since they’d broken up, but it had barely seemed like it. Harry had a way of getting into her head and driving her absolutely fucking mad. Their back and forth seemed neverending, their text threads updating every few days. A fight, a makeup, a request to see one another. As much as she wanted to claim it was all him, she knew she was equally as bad. It wasn’t like she hadn’t tried to find someone else- but no one else could get her off like him.

Harry knew her body better than anyone else, every curve and mark, where to touch and stroke. Where to stroke, where to lick, where to bite. He was an expert on how to get her off in just minutes, her cunt completely dedicated to him as much as she wished it wasn’t. Her brain and pussy had no communication in the information regarding the fact they were broken up, much to her dismay. The only thing saving her ego was that she knew that she had the same effect on Harry. There was no way she didn’t. Harry could very well fuck anyone he wanted to, more than capable to pull. Y/N had been overly jealous as a girlfriend and she knew that, but people were drawn to her boyfriend despite the fact it was well known he was taken. While he didn’t seem to take them up on it- he ate up the attention and preened over it, much to her irritation. It caused fights upon fights, her going out of her way to make him jealous- which worked. They both seemed to get off on pissing each other off. 

Breaking up was supposed to stop the cycle, but it seemed to only string it out further.

There had been so many times she deleted his number but when he pulled up on her notifications again, she recognized the number and his attitude and couldn’t resist temptation. No one had ever made Y/N feel so many emotions in her life. Being around Harry was like a live wire, electric and hot, dangerous and potentially harmful, but the benefits sometimes outweighed the risks. 

Her nose crinkled as she felt the floor stick under her shoe, knowing he would be pissed about that tomorrow. Whatever spiked punch was all over the floor and that would take some elbow grease to get out. Navigating through the entryway, she made her way into the living room. It was dark, flimsy lighting had been put up to make colorful strobes go around the room, the room far too filled for comfort. It was stupidly warm, regret crawling up her neck as she looked around to find anyone familiar. 

“There she is!” The voice was unmistakable. Niall, arms tugging her in for a hug and pulling her into the kitchen where it was a bit quieter, the main group she was familiar with strung about along with a few strangers. “Harry’s girl is here, everyone! Y/N herself.” He chirped, making her give him a confused look until she followed his gaze to see Harry standing stiffly, a girl too close for comfort. Her eyes narrowed, taking in how the girl angled her body, hand resting on Harry’s arm, looking at her with a scowl. 

It was an ugly feeling to see someone else around her man. Well- he wasn’t her man, but it was another miscommunication between her heart and brain. She hated seeing him around someone else, the mere idea of him being with someone that wasn’t her made her stomach turn. It wasn’t right. Yes, she knew it was a toxic cycle but it was one she didn’t know how to break. She knew this was bad, but she didn’t want anyone else having him the way she did. 

The only saving grace was the fact that Harry looked uncomfortable, immediately peeling himself away from the other girl and coming straight over to Y/N.. Her face must have shown her irritation, mouth opening and arm resting on her hip as she went to give him a bit of hell but was cut off by his mouth. 

And Y/N’s body, she was a fucking traitor. Feeling his arms wrap around her and push her against the counter, his tongue pressing into her mouth and tasting the cinnamon from the alcohol and sticky remnants of Coca Cola on his lips made her brain go numb. She always did love how strong he was, how safe she used to feel wrapped up in his arms. There were a few wolf whistles surrounding them, but Y/N had been taken aback from the heat of it so early on, hand slipping between her and the counter to grab at her ass. A surprised moan left her mouth before Niall let out a laugh. 

“Alright, alright. Stop eating her, Harry.” Niall smacked his back, making Harry pull back with a hazy smirk. Almost dopy, making her blink up at him with her eyes narrowing again. His eyes were dark, lips wet now and that dark pink she liked so, so much. He hadn’t shaved today, leaving a bit of stubble around his face, a backwards hat combing his hair back to keep it out of his face. The nose piercing was swapped from a stud to a hoop, making her a bit surprised. Had he done that for her? He knew she liked it….

“You can take your hand off my ass now.” Her sassy tone didn’t match how her eyes looked, secretly loving that he had so publicly claimed her in front of a girl they both knew wanted him. It was a sick feeling, the victory even though she knew it was wrong to feel that way. It was a constant fight with herself. Knowing she should most definitely not be feeling so happy that her ex had just kissed her dumb in front of all his friends, but still liking that she had a claim on him. 

“I could.” He retorted. “But it feels so nice in my palm, and we both know how much you like it.” A squeeze was given, Y/N scowling back up at him but not making any attempt to move. If she wanted to, he would get out of the way- but they both knew how this went. She pretended she didn’t liked his hands on her, he taunted her, they would glare and play fight before it got a little real, and they’d fuck. A circle they’d swung around plenty of times. His lips lowered to her ear, ignoring the chatter around them. “You’re wearing my dress, hm?” 

“Yours? M’sorry, did you want to wear it?” She rose her eyebrow that she definitely hadn’t laid to perfection before she came here. “I forgot you even liked this one. It was the first thing I could reach in my closet.” Her nose was turned up, this time pushing past him to go over to the drinks. She looked down to see a cup with his name scribbled on it with a sharpie, lifting it up for confirmation before throwing it back.

Regretted immediately.

“Ugh- Harry, what the fuck?” She gagged, nose wrinkled as she opened his fridge to grab a bottle of water. “I forgot how disgusting your drinks are. God, how do you even have a stomach?” She gave him a horrified look, swishing the water in her mouth.’

“No one told you to fuckin’ take mine!” He grumbled, taking the cup to find it empty. “Fucks sake, Y/N. Taking my drink and then bitching about it. As usual.” He came up behind her to grab the bottle over the fridge, his ‘good stuff’ or whatever. It was already that time of night? 

Where they started poking at each other to cause a fight. To have an excuse to wander off and to strip down to nothing. 

“Excuse me?” Y/N grit her teeth, turning to look at him as he poured into his recently emptied cup. He was trying to get a rise out of her. 

“You heard me, princess. Know those ears work, considering you’re an eavesdropper.” 

Oh, he was going low. She crinkled the water bottle in her hands, shoulders tending as she exhaled sharply through her nose. “Well I wouldn’t have had to if you didn’t get so fucking weird with your phone. You were the one hiding a ‘project partner’ from me.” Her fingers did air quotes around that, showing that she didn’t believe his excuse. 

“Oh, for fucks sake.” Harry hissed, his own jaw setting. “I told you that she was just a partner for my paper. I didn’t tell you at first because I know you’d overreact and go all insane on me for daring to interact with another woman.” He snarled back, knowing where to hit where it hurt. 

“I wouldn’t have had to be paranoid if you’d respected me to stop flirting and entertaining girls who disrespected our relationship by hitting on you in front of me! You literally encouraged it!” She was trying to keep her voice down, but it was hard. This was an especially sore spot. 

“So replying with a thank you is encouraging it? Sue me for liking that someone complimented me on something!” He raised an arm up, running fingers through his hair in frustration before he turned away to lean on the counter with his arms crossed, cup in hand. “God, you do this every fucking time. We aren’t fucking together anymore, that’s your fault. Why do you continue to harrass me about this? Even if I did encourage it, I never went for it did I?” A cruel smirk emerged. “Though I’m a free agent now, yeah? Could go take Josslyn or Heather up on their offers?

Harry knew he had taken it a bit too far when her breathing caught for real, watching as he froze and her bottom lip trembled. That wasn’t a part of their regular script to wind each other up before hot sex. It was a bit of the real hurt that has blossomed through, but he hadn’t meant to let it out. Her eyes turned glassy, her hand snatching his drink and throwing it at his shirt. 

“Fuck you.” 

Harry felt the cold liquid hit him, hissing as he stood in slight shock as he watched her turn to leave. He had really fucked up. His stomach dropped as he tried to gather his bearings, cursing under his breath before going after her. 

“Y/N! Fuck, don’t go.” He yelled after her, making his way through the throngs of people in his living room, eyes watching her back go towards the door. While he had definitely said fucked up things before, this had been designed to hit where it really hurt. 

Y/N stomped through the living room, ignoring his calls for her as she got closer to the door- closer to escape- when she was caught. Arms wrapping around her waist as he pulled her into the bathroom next to the stairs and turning so he was against the door. Y/N kept her back towards him but yanked herself free from his grip, irritated that she was crying. That it still hurts. He knew it would and that’s partially what made it worse. He had been out to hurt her and she had known it was a bad idea to show up tonight but somewhere in her heart she had this tiny, tiny hidden hope that maybe tonight would be a night they could finally get over their differences. She missed him so much it ached if she allowed herself to feel it, but she had tried to refuse her feelings. 

It had boiled over now, though.

Harry swallowed thickly as he heard the sniffle. Y/N wasn’t one to cry about a lot. She hadn’t shed a lot of tears in the time they’d been together, emotionally iron clad as it seemed. When she did? It was unnerving. Heartbreaking. It was one of his least favorite things ever, seeing her crumble. While he may have enjoyed getting her angry and irritated, maybe a little jealous, he never liked hurting her. He gained no pleasure from that. 

“Baby…” He spoke softly, trying to turn her around, hands pulling at her shoulders. He was bigger than her and could definitely turn her around if he wanted to, but he wouldn’t ever touch her in a way she didn’t want. 

“No. You can’t- you can’t call me that anymore. I am not your baby.” She hissed, keeping herself turned from him. Harry winced. She hadn’t said that before, not seriously, but the venom in her voice had shown how upset she was. It was laced with the hoarse blanket that coated her voice when she cried, making it even worse. “You can go call Josslyn or Heather. I’m sure they’d love to be your b-baby.” The end of the sentence was joined with a little sob, effectively breaking his heart further. 

“No. No, I’m not… I didn’t mean it, Y/N. I promise. I was just upset and I didn’t mean for it to come out, I just wanted you to feel-”

“What?” Whipping around, Y/N’s mascara streaked cheeks were a blow to the chest. Her vulnerability was something he used to crave, to be the one she confided in or let herself break with. He wanted to be there for her. Not be the cause of her tears. “You wanted me to feel hurt, like you did? Do you not think I don’t hurt every fucking day?” 

“You broke up with me!” Harry tried, her glare making him stop talking quickly after. 

“I broke up with you because you didn’t take me seriously. How could you go from telling me you can’t wait to put a ring on my finger, can’t wait to have a family with me, to flirting with girls the same night? Do you know how humiliating it is to have your friends tell you that they heard so and so say they were going to try something because it ‘obviously isn’t serious with Y/N?” The incredulous look on her face made him shrink back a bit. 

“I didn’t know that! It was never real flirting, Y/N. I liked to get my ego stroked, the attention felt nice, but I would never, ever step out on you. I love you, for fucks sake!” He went to reach for her but she backed up, flinching slightly. Another dagger to the chest. He had really, really fucked up. She never denied his touch.

“You love me?” A humorless laugh escaped her swollen lips. “Is that how you love people, Harry? Make them feel disposable and humiliated because you can’t be happy with one girl telling you that she loves you back? My compliments weren’t enough?” Arms crossed defensively over her chest. “Give me a fucking break. Telling me that as if you didn’t just say moments ago that you should take up girls who actively disrespected our relationship on their offers to fuck you while you were dating me? Yeah, that’s definitely something someone who loved me would do.” She wanted to stay angry but she was hurt. Hurt so bad, the full weight of their breakup actually hitting her as she felt the sob crawl up her throat and hurried to cover her eyes as she began to cry. It couldn’t be held back. She was at her breaking point.

Harry wanted to throw up. He hadn’t thought of it that way, and honestly? He had never expected this. Sometimes Y/N had acted as if she didn’t have a lot of emotion, reserved and a bit quiet when she expressed herself. The one time he had gotten her to let go was during sex, where he truly felt her desire. That was maybe why he liked the attention from other people. She wasn’t very forthcoming with praise or overly lovey with him, and it had hurt a little. But he could deal with that later, because his poor fucking girl was sobbing in front of him.

“No, no… sweet girl. Please.” He watched as she dropped down to sit on the floor, gathering her knees to her chest as he followed after her. “Hey- M’so sorry. I didn’t think about it like that. I really didn’t. I was just talking out of my ass because I was hurt we’re still broken up a-and I shouldn’t have said anything but….” He sat down fully next to her, pulling her body on to his lap. She tried to squirm at first but he could tell it was half hearted as she settled down a moment later, the sobs wracking her body as his arms wrapped around her and his lips went to her ear. 

“M’so sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t ever want to make you feel that way. You’ve always been so important to me and this is breaking my heart.” He whispered. “Hate that you’re crying because of me. I hate that I ever made you doubt that you were important to me, or that I respect you. I do. I promise you, I do.” He whimpered slightly, desperate to get her to believe him. “I’m an ass, I know. But you have to know I do, I love you so much. I’m so fucking sorry for throwing that in your face.” 

In the grand scheme of things, he knew that some people would think she was overreacting- but he understood now. He hadn’t truly meant to take it that far, hadn’t even stopped to think that those exact women had been sources of insecurity. They were the first to pop into his head because he had rejected them again tonight, waiting for Y/N to arrive. 

He never wanted to be broken up with. He had planned on being with her forever, and he had fucked it up. 

Her cries started to fade, sniffles taking the place of sobs as he whispered soft words, consoling her. He knew he’d fucked up tonight, in their relationship. He hadn’t communicated the way he needed to and he played games, but he thought that it would get a different reaction. His intentions weren’t to hurt her. Selfishly, stupidly, he assumed it hadn’t phased her. That she was just angry and not upset. 

If she’d give him another chance he’d fix it. He’d make sure to open her up a little more, make her feel more safe. Reign in his flirting, make sure he was just polite instead. He’d never put their relationship in jeopardy again. “C’mon. Come with me, to my room.” Standing up, he pulled her along with her. It said a lot about her right now that she wasn’t fighting, letting him lead her to his room with her hand tucked in his own. Her face was downcast, making sure no one could see that she’d cried as Harry took the key from his pocket and undid the lock. He really didn’t want strangers in his room.

It was still the same. His navy bedspread and Nirvana posters on the side of his wall, his desk slightly messy with a leftover fast food cup sitting next to his water bottle on his night stand. He’s gotten it for her, because she got thirsty in the middle of the night. 

What really got her attention was the framed photo of them that was right next to it. Her soft smile and his wide one, teeth out as he held her in his lap. His flannel was around her and his hat was backwards as he snuggled her. It had been cool that night but there was a bonfire, not enough seats and a handsy Harry ready to make his lap her throne. Her throat tightened as she looked at the photo, dropping his hand and wrapping her arms around her body to self soothe before she walked up to it. 

“Why do you still have this up?” Her voice was shaky still, looking down at the happy memory. 

“Because I still love you. I told you.” Hands were placed on her hips as she was brought into him, hugging her from behind as he unwrapped her arms and threaded their fingers together. “I know I’ve been shit. I’ve been… impatient, an attention whore, all of the insults you’ve said. But I love you. I have since day one. I’d have never cheated on you, regardless of what you may believe.” The idea of it made him feel ill. 

“Then why?” Her wavering voice made him frown. “Why did you keep flirting with people in my face? I know you said it was cause I wasn’t giving you enough compliments but I didn’t know you thought that.” His heart nearly snapped in two when her voice broke. “I thought the world of you. I was so proud to be with you and then… I thought you just didn’t like me anymore. I know…” A deep inhale was felt as her tummy lifted both of their arms. “I know I can be a little cold or quiet, but I had no idea you felt neglected. I pulled back because you kept talking to other girls how you used to talk to me and… I didn’t feel like it was okay to.”

It made him feel worse. Hearing this now. Y/N had broken up with him and he’d been hurt, his pride making him sneer at her and the nastiness was even more uncalled for now that he knew. Y/N wasn’t a bitch, she wasn’t unfeeling- she didn’t feel safe. He’d done that to her because he was the little bitch here, not giving her the safety she needed in order to open up. While they should’ve been continuing growing, he got his feelings hurt and made it impossible for her to feel like she could give those things to him. 

“I’m sorry.” His voice was weak. “I’m sorry. I’ll keep saying it. I didn’t mean it. I promise, nothing I've said is true. I wanted to wind you up, I wanted to fuck you because it was the only way you’d get close to me again. I never intended on making you feel unsafe with me, fuck. That’s the last thing I ever wanted. Makes me feel sick to hear that.” He nuzzled against her neck, placing a kiss there before pulling away, unwrapping them and sitting on the edge of his bed. Y/N wasn’t fighting him, so he gently tugged her to sit on his lap, this time facing him. “There she is.” A sad smile lifted his lips, thumb wiping away the streaks of mascara that had flaked off with her tears. “Still so pretty when you cry, even if it breaks m’heart.” 

It was worse than a kicked puppy. Y/N wasn’t a huge emoter so knowing that he’d done this had made him wonder what she did alone. How many other times he’d made her cry but she wasn’t solid enough around him to do it in front of him. 

“You broke mine.” She whispered, looking down at his shirt. “I don’t mean to be a bitch. I was just scared.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” He swallowed the lump in his throat. “Let me fix it. Please?” Holding her face in his hands, he got her eyes back on his. “Let me make it better. I won’t do any of that ever again, I’ll communicate better… Just let me make your heart feel safe again.”

Y/N knew she was a sucker for this. She shouldn’t say yes. Every part of her except her brain was screaming to stay, though. While her head was telling her to run away as fast as she could, her heart thudded in her chest and her body wanted closer to his own. It was a decision she may come to regret, maybe she’d hate herself for it, but she couldn’t let go. “O-Okay.” She whispered, feeling his head fall against hers. “Please don’t break my heart again, H. I can’t do that again.” 

“I’d rather die.” 

His lips were pressed against hers, and moved quickly from there. 

One of the things that never lacked with them as a couple was sexual chemsitry. It’s what had them so obsessed with each other at first. The best way to get Y/N to express herself was when she was full of cock or close to the edge of orgasm, which was why Harry had no problem saying his apologies between her legs. 

“M’sorry, baby.” He crooned, licking over her drippy slit. “So, so sorry. M’gonna take care of you.” Lips pressed kisses to her clit, a keening whine leaving her lips as fingers clutched his hair and brought him closer to her. His mouth had always been his greatest gift and biggest curse. Somehow he knew all the right things to say, all the right things to do to pleasure her but always stuck his goddamn foot in his mouth. He was going to change that now. 

Dark green gazed into hers as he took another broad lick, the tip of his nose brushing over her clit. Large hands with chipped polish wrapped around her thighs and kept them spread, his hair a mess from her hands carding through it with their hot makeout and now his time spent working on her pussy. This was undoubtable a perk of being with the man, knowing how much he genuinely loved to eat pussy. He’d spend hours licking and sucking on her, making her sensitive and cum over and over again whenever he had the chance. For his birthday he’d genuinely wanted a day inside with her where he spent the majority of his morning eating her for breakfast, her thighs his perfect earmuffs from the snow that happened to fall on the day. 

Whenever they spent time apart he missed this desperately. He’d not even tried to find someone to replace this because he knew the feeling wouldn’t ever be the same. Sure, he’d loved eating pussy before Y/N but it had turned into a full on obsession with her. No one had ever tasted as good, made as many cute noises, squealed when his mouth latched on her clit and his finger curled just right- like he was doing now, holding her bucking hips down. 

“Oh, I know, Mama, I know.” He cooed against her. “Feels so fucking good, doesn’t it? Needed my mouth on this greedy fucking pussy…” Pursing his lips, he spit over her slit and watched it drip with a hiss before usng his tongue to spread it, digits dripping down to his wrist before his tongue trilled over the swollen bud. It didn’t take much to push her over, but a well timed smack against her thigh to get her to stop squirming had done the job. A wet gasp tore from her mouth as she squeale his name, simultaneously pulling his mouth against her and trying to push him away. Using his strength against her, he made sure to lick up a bit before spitting again, leaving her pussy wet and messy as he climbed up her body and kissed her hard. 

His chin was wet and she knew he was a fucking mess but her tongue delved into his mouth, tasting herself on him. She could hear the tug down of his zipper, felt him moving and wiggling his pants down but she was too busy sucking on his tongue and reveling in his moans against her to think twice before she felt the tip of his cock smack against her cunt. 

“I’m clean, baby. No one but you, never need anyone but you.” His grip on her chin was tight as he rutted himself against her cunt. “Even when you were being a miserable bitch t’me, all I wanted to do was love on you. M’gonna make sure you never fucking doubt how much you own me again. This is the only cunt I need.” 

There was sick satisfaction that rolled through him as he slid into her and felt the stretch, watching her mouth fall open as she was filled. It only confirmed what he had hoped- she hadn’t been fucking around much, if at all. Granted, he was thick and long and it would be hard to beat him, but he knew what she felt like when she was well fucked. “Oh, look at that…” He whispered, angling her head down to look at where her pussy lips clung to his cock as he pulled out a bit. “She missed me, didn’t she, baby? Sweet pussy missed my cock so fucking much, doesn’t want me to pull away.” 

Harry was by far the filthiest man she’d ever experienced but that’s part of the appeal. He may be a bit of an asshole, but god, he knew how to fuck. How to kiss. How to make her feel special when he wasn’t being a dickhead. Moments like this always wiped that shit clean, the slate cleared and her head foggy as all she could focus on was how right he was. “Yeah- yeah, don’t take it from me again.” She growled, digging her nails into his skin. “Don’t fucking take my cock from me again, don’t make me walk away. This is mine.” 

Harry hissed, loving the sting on his skin and how she spoke. Y/N could be a fierce little bitch and he loved that about her. She hadn’t been pleased tonight and he’d taken it too far, but she was going to have no doubt how much he had been missing her. Their hate sex had been good, but their makeup sex was even better. “Never, Mama. Never, it’s all yours. You’re right.” His voice soothed, pushing back into her and reveling in how hot she was. Tight. Everything he could possibly need. “It’s yours always, and I don’t want anyone else. Jus’ want you to let me love on you, make you feel good. Be my girl again. He had everything else he wanted, but Y/N was the missing link. He’d fucked up with her, but he wouldn’t do it again. Not when this was how explosive it was between them. 

“You better fucking treat me right.” Her hand held his face now. “Better be so nice to me, buy me f-flowers and hold my hand… Fuck me good, make sure all the other b-bitches know that you’re taken.” Her legs wound around him and he felt a heel surely to bruise his ass, but he didn’t care. “Don’t let them think you’re available because you’re an attention whore.”

Harry moaned at the degrading words, because they were true. He was indeed an attention whore and he’d never deny it. “Only for you, baby. Want all your fucking attention… fuck.” He hissed, thrusting slower as he looked at where they joined. “Creaming on my cock already, really must have missed me.” Noses brushed before he fucked harder into her, trying to bring her to the edge. “Fingers didn’t cut it, did they? No toy can make you feel as good as his. Know that you needed Daddy t’fuck you right.” 

Y/N let out a wail as he tugged her hips up, his face leaving hers to sit on his knees while he fucked her. He was getting the spot she needed, saying the words she wanted and she felt hot all over. Syrupy, sticky hot as she dripped down her ass as the sound of their sex filled his room. The music muffled behind the door didn’t matter, all she wanted to hear was his dirty talk and the sound of their skin. “Yes, I needed it Daddy- Fuck me, fuck me right. You always make me cum over and over…” her head rolled back on the mattress as her fingers found his wrists, grounding herself as he fucked her steady and hard. 

His eyes took in the view of bouncing tits and a messy cock pistoning in and out of her creamy cunt, breathing heavy while he felt her tighten up on him. His goal was always to make sure she came over and over, a generous lover being one of his positive attributes. “Mhm… It’s never changed, Mama. M’gonna give it to you just like that. God, you look so fucking pretty on my dick, baby. Need to capture it.” He adjusted slightly as he took his phone out, thankful his pants had only been down a few inches as he pressed record. A breathy laugh left him as he fucked into her willing body, aiming the camera down at her face. “Say hi to the camera, pretty girl.” He crooned. 

“H-Hi Daddy.” She mewled, preening under the attention. It was a guilty pleasure of hers, knowing he had the filthy images and videos on his phone. It was even better to watch it back and see just how wrecked she got from him. “You’re gonna be nice to me so you- so you don’t have to delete these, right?” He’d had to delete all the videos when they broke up, but she hoped this time they’d get to stick around forever. 

“Of course, my sweet girl. Never gonna fuck this up again… Not when we look so fucking good together. Feel so fucking good together…. Fuck, look at that…” He got a close up of her cunt as it stretched to fit him, clinging to his length. “You’re gonna cum, I can feel it.” His eyes met hers as he started to get her to the edge, her face glistening and eyes hazy. “Go on, baby. Do it. Cum on my cock, make a fucking mess.” 

Harry could feel it as she did, the high pitched whine of his name and the bite of her nails as she writhed on his cock, the camera capturing her face as she did so. Mouth open and eyes rolled back, the blissed out smile following as he fucked her through it. He didn’t stop, tossing the phone to the side as he kissed her again as his cock pulsed, trying to hold back his own orgasm. “Mmm… fuck. I love when you cum on me. So gorgeous, all mine.” He rubbed their noses together again while humping into her, her impossibly hot cunt clinging to him as he peppered kisses to her face. “But I’m not done with you yet.” 

“No?” She grinned, feeling drunk. “Should have known, you sex maniac- fuck.” She pushed his hand away from her cunt. “Give a girl a minute, fucks sake.” 

“Just got you back, can you blame me?” He smiled against her mouth, sucking her lower lip into his mouth and grazing it with his teeth. He wanted her to look freshly fucked and glowing tomorrow when she had to meet up with her friends for brunch, sure to piss them off with the news that they’re back together. “Mean it, I’m not letting you go this time. Never again.” His smirk got bigger. “Pussy’s too fucking good.” 

“Shut up, slut.” She pushed his face away playfully. You’ve got more than one orgasm to go until I think about taking you back. Prove your worth to me.” His cock could be felt twitching inside her yet again. 

“Whatever you say, Mama.” He cooed, pulling out of her regretfully. “Now, get on your knees. I’ve got to say sorry to your pretty ass.”

[baelarys]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞

Aemond targaryen X reader niece

word count : 2887

Warning : Incest , smut

Your entire body itched, feeling the corset squeeze your ribcage to the point of almost fainting. Your ladies hurriedly arranged your hair, while two others smoothed the blue and silver silk dress you had chosen for the ceremony.

You wondered if a wedding dress really needed to look so impeccable, feeling the weight of expectation and tradition. You were about to marry, and to your dismay, a man as callous as your uncle Aemond. You knew this moment would come, but still, the surprise hit you hard. You had been engaged since childhood, but you hadn't believed the proposal would still stand after the accident at your aunt's funeral.

Your mother and siblings would not attend. Your mother had recently given birth to your two new younger brothers, and Jace and Luke were still too young to travel alone. So, you found yourself alone in the Red Keep, the ancient castle you once considered home.

As you prepared, a feeling of loneliness enveloped you. The absence of your family weighed on your spirit, making the moment feel even more difficult to face.

Your ladies continued to work diligently, trying to make every detail perfect. Her skillful hands masterfully braided your hair, adorning it with fine silver threads. The blue and silver silk dress fell elegantly, reflecting the light of the candles that illuminated the room.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm your mind and heart. Then, you heard a knock on the door. It was time, you thought. One of your ladies opened the door, letting in Queen Alicent, who would escort you to your future husband. You would have preferred it to be your grandfather instead of her, but dear King Viserys was in a deplorable situation regarding his health.

Alicent looked at you for a few seconds, perhaps remembering a similar moment from her own youth. “You look beautiful,” she said, trying to make you feel better.

You nodded gratefully, although the anxiety was still present. The queen offered you her arm and, with one last look in the mirror, you headed towards the destiny that awaited you. It was a small celebration, but without taking away from the prestige of a royal wedding. Lords from all over the kingdom were present.

The great hall was adorned with banners and flowers, the glow of the candelabras illuminating the faces of the guests. As you walked down the hallway, the murmurs faded, leaving only the echo of your footsteps and the rapid beat of your heart.

Aemond was waiting for you at the end of the hallway, his expression as impenetrable as ever. His violet eyes watched you with a mixture of intensity and coldness. Beside him, the septon waited, ready to officiate the ceremony. Alicent led you to your spot, and then discreetly retreated, letting the solemnity of the moment take over.

The septon began to recite the ritual words, and although your thoughts wandered between anxiety and resignation, you maintained your composure. Aemond took your hand firmly, his grip a reminder of both the strength and severity of your future husband.

When it was time to exchange vows, the words left your lips almost mechanically. You promised fidelity and loyalty, although inside you, a voice whispered doubts and fears. Aemond, for his part, pronounced his vows with the same determination he used on the battlefield.

It was time for the banquet, an event filled with flowers and music designed to liven up the festive atmosphere. You responded with a courteous smile to the lords and ladies who approached your table to shower you with gifts and congratulations.

The large banquet table was adorned with exquisite floral arrangements and silver candelabras, illuminating the opulence of the hall. You and Aemond presided over the head table, and although music and the hum of conversation filled the air, a feeling of unreality enveloped you.

Lord Tyrell's son approached the table, a charming young man who had caught the attention of many ladies at court. His distinguished bearing and easy smile made him a welcome guest at any social event.

You bowed slightly in respect as he approached, returning his smile with a courtesy befitting your status. "Princess," he began with an elegant bow, "allow me to congratulate you on your marriage. The beauty of this celebration is surpassed only by yours."

"Lord Tyrell," you replied with a smile, "I appreciate your kind words. The presence of your house is always an honor to our family."

"It's a pleasure to be here," he said, his eyes shining with an interest that went beyond mere politeness. "I must confess that I have been waiting for an opportunity to speak with you. Stories about your grace and charm do not do the reality justice."

You laughed softly, grateful for the distraction his gallantry offered. "I thank you, my lord. However, I do not believe I am worthy of such praise."

"Not at all, my lady, I am being completely honest." Your smile spread wider, feeling a light blush on your cheeks. The young Tyrell then looked at Aemond. "The prince is lucky to now have a lady as beautiful as you."

Before you could respond, you felt a strong squeeze on your thigh that made you stop. Aemond, who until then had watched the interaction with an impassive expression, clenched his jaw at Tyrell's words. "Lord Tyrell," he interrupted, his voice firm and cold, "I appreciate your congratulations, but I would like to remember that my wife is not a possession, but a companion worthy of respect."

The young Tyrell, without losing his composure, bowed his head slightly. "Of course, Prince Aemond. My apologies if my words have been misinterpreted. I only intended to express my admiration."

Aemond gave a brief, strained smile. "Your admiration is noted, but I would appreciate it if you expressed it with greater caution."

"I understand," the young Tyrell replied before returning to his table. Aemond hadn't taken his hand off your thigh since then, and you could feel his nails slowly digging into your skin.

"What is your problem?" you said with an annoyed tone, trying to remain discreet in the curious eyes of the court. You tried to push his hand away, but you felt him move it higher, sending a shiver through your body.

Aemond leaned his head towards you, whispering in your ear with a voice thick with possessiveness. "My problem, dear wife, is seeing other men thinking they can approach you so blatantly."

"It's just courtesy," you responded defensively, feeling Aemond's hand move up and down your thigh, brushing carelessly near that area. "And stop doing that."

Aemond, with an expression of apparent innocence, raised an eyebrow. "Do what?"

“That,” you replied, trying to stay calm as the chill continued to run through you. "Your hand is too close."

Finally, Aemond withdrew his hand with an expression of disdain. "Very well," he said with a tone that obscured the brightness of his gaze. "If this makes you uncomfortable, I will stop."

It was almost midnight, and the reality of the wedding night was beginning to weigh on you. It was mandatory that the marriage be consummated that same night, and although you knew that this moment was imminent, you couldn't help but feel a knot in your stomach.

Alicent, with her usual foresight, had advised you to retire to your room first to prepare. Following his recommendations, you headed to your chambers, where the ladies-in-waiting were waiting for you with the usual diligence. With speed and precision, they stripped away your dress, letting the intricate layers of silk and lace fall to the floor. Then, they let down your hair, which fell in loose waves around your figure. Finally, they wrapped you in a thin robe that covered your body, trying to offer you as much comfort as possible in that tense moment.

You walked over to the table to pour yourself some wine, hoping the drink would calm your nerves. As you raised the glass, the ruby liquid reflected the dim light of the candles, and you took a sip, feeling the warm relief it provided. As you savored the wine, you heard the door open. You froze, too embarrassed to turn around and look.

The sounds of Aemond removing his suit filled the room. The rustle of the fabric sliding over his body and the soft jingling of the clasps on his vest mixed with the rapid beat of your heart. You tried to focus on the wine, but your husband's presence behind you was impossible to ignore.

Aemond approached you, grabbing you by the waist and forcing you to turn around. You were now face to face, and you noticed that the patch he always wore to cover his eye was no longer there. In its place, a beautiful sapphire shined in the hole where he had lost his eye. His appearance was intimidating and fascinating at the same time.

He caressed your cheek with a gentleness so unlike him, his touch was surprisingly soft and comforting. "Fear not," he murmured, his voice low and reassuring.

Before you could respond, Aemond planted a kiss on your lips. A new feeling blossomed in your stomach, a whirlwind of nervousness and anticipation. Guiding your inexperienced lips, he led you to explore the rhythm and flavor of his own. Deftly, he gently bit your bottom lip, silently asking you to make way for him.

Your heart was pounding as you felt the caress of his tongue, exploring firmly but slowly. You responded timidly at first, but little by little, you began to reciprocate with more confidence. His hands, strong but tender, held you carefully, slowly tracing lines of fire on your skin.

They broke apart, You took a deep breath, trying to calm the whirlwind of emotions inside you. Aemond slowly guided you towards the bed.

Aemond took a seat first, gently pulling you to sit on his lap. Your cheeks were adorned with a deep red color, a mix of shyness and anticipation. Wasting no time, he captured your lips again, this time with more urgency and desire.

He laid you down slowly, making you lie on your back on the mattress. His body hovered over yours, creating a feeling of warmth and security. His lips moved in a passionate dance with yours.

With fluid movements, Aemond began to leave a trail of kisses from your cheek to your neck. His lips lingered there, sucking gently and leaving little marks of love. The touch of his lips and teeth against your skin sent waves of pleasure through your body, and you couldn't help but let out small sounds of satisfaction.

Aemond carefully stripped you of the thin robe that still covered your body, taking a moment to admire your figure. His eyes roamed every line and curve, filled with a mix of wonder and desire. The intensity of his gaze made your cheeks blush even more, a warm current of anticipation running through your body.

With unexpected softness, he approached again, his lips tracing a path of wet, burning kisses from your neck to your collarbone. Each kiss was a point of fire that lit your skin, creating a path of pleasure that spread with each caress.

His hands, strong and sure, explored your body with an expert touch, discovering your every reaction. "You're beautiful," he murmured against your skin, his voice husky and heavy with desire. "Every part of you."

Suddenly, Aemond cupped one of your breasts in his hand, squeezing it with a firmness that drew a small gasp from you. He played with your sensitive nipple, his skillful fingers causing waves of pleasure that made you arch your back.

Without warning, he lowered his head and devoured the other breast with his mouth, sucking and nibbling with overwhelming passion. You felt like you were in heaven, each touch and kiss lifting you to new heights of pleasure. You thrashed around on the bed, your hands gripping the sheets as you tried to take in the intensity of the sensations.

He continued his attention, alternating between his hands and his mouth, making sure every part of you received his devotion. His lips moved with precision, tracing circles around your nipple before sucking it hard. At the same time, his other hand massaged your other breast, his fingers causing spasms of pleasure with each touch.

Aemond continued his descent, his lips leaving a trail of burning kisses along your stomach and belly. He stopped for a moment, admiring your intimacy already wet from his previous caresses. The vulnerability of the moment made you try to close your legs, a gesture of modesty that Aemond gently prevented.

“Let me show you how much I want you,” he murmured hoarsely, his words sending a new wave of pleasure through your body.

You nodded, feeling the heat inside you intensify. Aemond settled between your legs, his solid, confident presence providing you with a strange mix of calm. With slow deliberation, he left a long lick over your lower lips, eliciting an involuntary moan from your lips.

His hands rested on your thighs, holding them open while his lips and tongue continued to explore your intimacy with a skill and attention that left you breathless. Every caress, every lick, seemed designed to take you to new heights of pleasure. You felt the tension inside you growing, a delicious pressure that threatened to overflow at any moment.

He didn't stop, his tongue moving with a precision that made you arch your back and clutch the sheets. His fingers joined the dance, exploring and teasing, taking you beyond your limits. The mix of his mouth and hands was almost too much, every movement a promise of ecstasy.

Aemond introduced another finger inside you, eliciting a deeper, pleasure-laden moan from you. His movements were slow and deliberate, moving in and out with a precision that seemed designed to explore every corner of your being. The sensation was overwhelming, each thrust of his fingers sending waves of heat through your body.

Your moans intensified, and your body instinctively responded to his attentions, arching into him in a desperate search for more contact. Aemond increased the speed of his movements, his fingers delving deeper, exploring and teasing with a skill that left you breathless.

Aemond withdrew his fingers suddenly, drawing a moan of protest from you at the abrupt absence of his touch. He leaned over you, capturing your lips in a deep, passionate kiss as he expertly removed his pants. You felt the warmth and firmness of his erection brush against your entrance, eliciting an involuntary moan of anticipation.

Aemond eased into you slowly, his erection pushing through with deliberate precision. A burning sensation washed over you, and you tensed at the invasion, but he stayed still for a moment, allowing you to get used to the new sensation. You breathed deeply, trying to relax as your body adjusted to his presence inside you.

After a few moments, he began to move with slow, measured thrusts. Every movement was calculated, designed to maximize pleasure while minimizing pain. The intensity of the sensation increased with each thrust, and soon, the initial burning transformed into a wave of pleasure that ran through you from head to toe.

Your moans joined his, a chorus of sounds that filled the room. Your throbbing insides clenched around him, each contraction eliciting moans of pleasure from both of you. Aemond gradually increased the pace, his thrusts becoming faster and deeper.

You felt the tension inside you grow, a delicious pressure that built with each movement. Your moans became louder, and your body arched towards him, seeking more contact, more intensity. A knot was forming in your belly, a buildup of pleasure that grew with each thrust. Finally, Aemond reached a specific spot inside you, causing you to come immediately.

Your muscles clenched and you overflowed, the overwhelming pleasure enveloping your body. Aemond continued to move inside you, his own moans of pleasure echoing through the room. A few seconds later, he reached his own climax, spilling his seed inside you.

Both were left breathing heavily, their bodies intertwined as the intensity of the moment began to dissipate. Carefully, Aemond eased himself out of you and settled next to you, wrapping his arms around you in a protective gesture.

You laid your head on his chest, feeling how tiredness gradually invaded you. Aemond covered you both with a soft blanket, his large hands running over your back in a calming and protective gesture. The warmth of his body and the constant rhythm of his breathing provided a feeling of security that enveloped you completely.

"Rest, my love," he said softly, his voice filled with an unexpected tenderness. You let sleep guide you, your heavy eyelids closing as you snuggled closer to him. In the tranquility of that moment, with the sound of his heart beating beneath your ear, you fell into a deep, restful sleep.

[andy-15-07]

can you do a fic with Paul Atreides, where Y/n is a bene gesserit and they find he is the One

Our love is powerful

masterlist ! pairing: Paul Atreides x reader

Dune Masterlist

In the mystical world of Arrakis, where sand dunes whispered ancient secrets, Paul Atreides and you, a Bene Gesserit, found yourselves entwined in a destiny written in the sands of time. The air in the Sietch was charged with anticipation as the Bene Gesserit sisterhood, with their millennia-old knowledge, discerned a truth that transcended the ordinary.

As you and Paul stood in the sacred chambers of the Bene Gesserit, the reverence in the air hinted at the gravity of the moment. The sisterhood, with their eyes that held the wisdom of countless generations, regarded Paul with a mix of expectation and acknowledgment.

"Y/N," one of the elder Bene Gesserit addressed you, "the threads of fate have woven a tapestry that binds your path with that of Paul Atreides. He is the One—the Kwisatz Haderach."

The realization hung in the air, a moment that echoed through the corridors of time. Paul, with his piercing blue eyes and a destiny that weighed heavily on his shoulders, looked at you with a mix of curiosity and acceptance.

"What does this mean?" Paul inquired, the weight of the prophecy settling on his young shoulders.

The elder Bene Gesserit stepped forward, her voice a melodic resonance that carried the echoes of ancient wisdom. "The Kwisatz Haderach—the One who can bridge space and time, unlocking the secrets of the universe. He who possesses both male and female ancestral memories, breaking the limitations that have bound humanity."

You, a Bene Gesserit bound by duty and destiny, met Paul's gaze with a depth of understanding. "Paul, you are the culmination of a plan set in motion by the Bene Gesserit sisterhood. The threads of our bloodlines converge in you."

The gravity of the revelation seemed to settle in the room. Paul, born into a lineage of political intrigue and ancient prophecy, found himself at the crossroads of destiny.

As you and Paul retreated from the sacred chambers, the Sietch buzzed with a mix of anticipation and uncertainty. The sands of Arrakis seemed to echo the whispers of the prophecy that had been unveiled.

"Y/N," Paul began, his voice a quiet contemplation, "what does it mean for us? For our relationship?"

You turned to him, your eyes reflecting the weight of the truth. "Paul, our connection goes beyond the prophecy. The Bene Gesserit may have seen the threads of fate, but our love is a force that transcends destiny. Together, we navigate the path that unfolds before us."

The days that followed were filled with the intensity of preparation, as Paul embraced the training and revelations that came with being the Kwisatz Haderach. The Bene Gesserit sisterhood, with their watchful eyes, guided him through the intricacies of their ancient knowledge.

Amidst the trials and tribulations, your connection with Paul deepened. As he grappled with the weight of his destiny, your presence became a source of solace and understanding. Late nights were spent beneath the stars, the two of you seeking refuge in each other's arms.

One evening, as the desert winds whispered tales of destiny, Paul looked at you with a mix of vulnerability and determination. "Y/N, I may be the Kwisatz Haderach, but my heart belongs to you. Our love will be the anchor as I navigate the complexities of this path."

You smiled, a reassurance that transcended words. "Paul, no prophecy can diminish the love we share. The threads of fate may guide your journey, but our connection is a beacon that lights the way."

As Paul embraced his destiny, the sands of Arrakis witnessed a love story that defied the limitations of prophecy. Together, you and Paul Atreides forged a path that merged ancient wisdom with the unwavering power of love—a journey that echoed through the sands of time, leaving an indelible mark on the destiny of Arrakis.

[ghost-proofbaby]

too sweet (astarion ancunin x reader)

"you know, you're bright as the morning, as soft as the rain. pretty as a vine, as sweet as a grape. [...] you're too sweet for me."

summary: astarion realizes you're too sweet for him, and he probably shouldn't let this go further than necessary. but, oh, he's going to. isn't he? (based on this request and the song 'too sweet' by hozier <3)

pairing: astarion ancunin x gn!reader

warnings: spoilers for games regarding camp dialogue with astarion, discussion of astarion's past trauma, talks of self-loathing/disgust with sex, vague mentions & allusions to sex having been had, manipulation at it's finest! minors dni.

wc: 2k+

a/n: i just wanted to get inside this man's mind when he drops that fucking line the second time he tries to sleep with us/tav. why does his face fall like that? why?

divider by @firefly-graphics <3

As Astarion observes the rise and fall of your chest in the soft morning light, he can only think one thing: shit. He fucked up. 

And he had spent most of the early hours trying to retrace his steps, trying to decipher exactly where his monumental mistake had begun, but it seemed useless. 

It could have been somewhere between the first and third bottle of wine shared with you last night during festivities, where he’d sweet-talked you to the high Hells until you’d agreed to return to his bedroll in the dead of night. Where he’d made the joke that wasn’t all that funny – the joke that he loved you. Three pretty words tried out on his tongue, and they hadn’t been nearly as light-hearted as he’d wanted them to be. More of an experiment, a quick sip to see if he liked the taste. And he had fucked up, because he did like the taste. He liked the sweetness that stuck to every corner of his mouth as he delivered the sugar-coated lie to you, his entire face falling as a new weight appeared in his chest. 

But perhaps it had been the first night he tasted you – well, your blood, that is. The night he’d awoken from a nightmare of Cazador and in his vulnerability, had chosen you as his victim of yet another experiment. A test to see if he was truly free. One drop of a thinking creature’s blood, that was all he needed. But you’d given more than he’d bargained for, and your cloy ichor had coated his taste buds so addictively, and he had just known that night was only the beginning. It was the first time, but certainly not the last. 

He thinks he could drink in whatever you offered him, and only that, for the rest of his days while still finding some sickly, twisted version of reprieve regardless. Not a drop more than he needed, always vying for more. 

He’d be okay with that type of hunger, that type of yearning, and that might have been his first real mistake. 

Or maybe, just possibly, it had been that very first meeting. Maybe he had doomed himself from the moment he’d pressed a blade to your neck, when he had dragged you to the ground with him and felt all that warmth, all that fear, radiating off of you. So frightful, and you still had offered your help to him when it was all said and done. Perhaps that was when he had well and truly screwed himself over. One simple introduction, void of his usual wine and flowers, and he’d locked himself in for pure trouble. 

Not even the fun kind, at that. What a shame. 

At the end of the day, or rather the beginning of the day as it is now, it doesn’t matter where his threads had started to unravel. All that matters is that they were – every carefully thought out line of his plans had all frayed, all detangled from the bigger picture, all because of you. 

Heart of gold, blood of honey. You were far too sweet for him, and he knew it. 

“Having fun, are you?” 

“I am, it’s hard not to with you.”

You’d taken each of his tactics in stride, hadn’t you? Whereas his face had nearly crumbled beneath the weight of that beautiful lie, insides twisting uncomfortable as the humor had slipped through his fingers, your eyes had only glittered as you bit back a smirk. To so lightly tease him, to banter right back with him, instead of see the truth behind it all. He didn’t know if you were simply that naive or if you were another kindred soul – Perhaps you were finding just as much safety, just as much sanctuary, in whatever dance he’d dragged you into. An entanglement of lies, a blithe facade, a daring smile that whispers come now, play with me. 

And play with him, you had. 

You’d played with him, you’d drank with him, and you’d now slept with him. Twice. 

“You’re up early,” your voice murmurs, silken tone cutting through all his racing thoughts. 

He hadn’t even noticed you had stirred, rousing yourself out from underneath his stolen blankets to peer at him curiously as he perched on the edge of the bedroll. As far from you, and as far from your sweetness, as possible. 

“Oh, you know what they say, my dear,” he chirps, rolling his shoulders as the act wraps him back up. The charismatic charmer. The illusive rogue, trained impeccably to coax you in and secure his safety, “No rest for the wicked.” 

He’d awoken before you last time, too. Had watched the sun rise and enjoyed the warmth of it plastering across his skin long before you’d ever woken up. He half-hopes you’ll be less talkative this time; he half-hopes you’ll try to rope him into whatever discussion you can, if only for a few extra seconds of your attention. 

You were too sweet. Too sugary on his tongue, too soothing in his chest. He shouldn’t entertain you – he shouldn’t let this go further than necessary. 

You hum thoughtfully, the blanket slipping and exposing more of your chest. With the light flickering in from his tent’s entrance, he can easily spot those two scarring dots along your jugular where his fangs fit perfectly, “I don’t know if I’d describe you as wicked, lover.” 

“No?” Roped into discussion, it is. “How would you describe me then?” 

He’s not comfortable in this lighting. He feels feverish beneath your steady stare, the way your eyes take their time as you look over every inch of him. The languid observation has him convinced you’re seeing right through him – your glance can pierce right through all his armor and expose every flaw. You see him for the monster he is, you see him for the bitter soul he’s become, you see him as the unworthy spawn he believes himself to be. 

He almost swears that you even see right through his nice, simple plan at hand, not so easily fooled as he had believed you to be. 

“Charming, certainly,” you suddenly sigh, sitting up and keeping your body mostly covered still with that knitted blanket. He’d only snagged it because the shade of the wool nearly matched your eyes – not that he was paying attention to your eyes, of course, “But then again, you’d have to be to have bedded me twice now, wouldn’t you?” 

“We can always make it thrice,” he banters back, ignoring the bile that builds at the insinuation. But if that’s what it takes – laying on his back over and over again – to guarantee your protection, he’ll do it. He’d do it a thousand times over to keep himself as far away from Cazador’s chokehold as possible, “Does that entice you, love?”

When he turns his body fully, beginning a carefully and calculated crawl up the bed roll, ready to slot his body back between your thighs and encourage you to have his way with him, you stop him. The heel of your foot delicately presses against his chest, your head tilted curiously before you shake it. 

“Who’s the eager pup now, Astarion?” 

He likes the way his name drips off your tongue. Almost as if he might be made of the same sugar and spice as you, the same pure honey flowing through your veins also inhabiting his. You say it like a song, articulate it like the sweetest fruit. 

He shouldn’t like it. It shouldn’t be able to overpower his lingering disgust with himself so easily. 

“It’s hard not to be eager when it comes to you,” he says the line with good practice, beckoning a purr to his tone that had always won over the victims he’d entrap in dark taverns back in the city, “I said the Gods had made you just to ruin me, and I meant it.”

He’d meant it more than he’d realized. It wasn’t just your body that had been sculpted to draw him in – it was everything. Your entire aura, your entire glacé demeanor. All that innocence and all that geniality enticed him more than he could ever admit. You were certainly going to ruin him, so wholly and so entirely. You’d already started to, really. 

You don’t respond at first, and he swears he has you. You’re locked in on his distraction, caught up in his web, just as he needs you to be. One lithe hand lifts to your ankle, cool fingers wrapping around your warm skin as he begins to lower his lips, ready to pepper kisses up your leg. Prepared to offer you his mouth, his body, in return for the one thing he needs. Self-loathing be damned. 

Old habits die hard, right along with pride, and he’s not quite ready to bury either at your grave yet. 

But just as he presses the first chaste kiss to your skin, nearly taken back by how your sweetness still breaks through the salty surface, you’re pulling the limb away from him. Your knee draws back and a disarming smile has risen on your cheeks, eyes glittering at him just as they had the night before. 

“I suppose I’ll have to come find you when everyone is asleep, then.” 

“I’ll be waiting.” 

What exactly had he been waiting for? You, of course. But had he been waiting for you to find him solely for what had transpired? To explore your portfolios of talents once more, as he had put it? Or had it been for something more… precarious? 

Was he nothing more than a prey, waiting for you to be his demise? 

Had he actually been waiting for this? 

The challenging look in your eyes as they reflected back stars, the warmth of your skin so close to him he nearly melts into you. The upturn of the corners of your mouth, outlining the way you certainly know something that he doesn’t. A look you wear well, a look that shakes his foundations and rattles his bones. 

“As tempting as you are, I’ll have to decline. Duty calls, as they say.” 

Can you see right through him? 

He should be more deflated when you start going through the motions; he should be pouting or overthinking it all as he watches you gather your clothes once more, covering up the few bite marks of his that litter your skin. Every moment you prepare to leave his tent should be one spent overthinking where he’d gone wrong – why didn’t you want him? Was his plan even going to work? 

Were you truly too sweet for him? Would he have been better off trying to romance the likes of Gale for the safety just shy of his grasp now?

He doesn’t, though. For once, his mind is quiet as he watches you patter about. The bile retreats, the disgust fades. For the first time in a very long time, Astarion is leaving this interaction not feeling used. 

Maybe it’s in the way you cheekily snatch one of his shirts as you both pretend he doesn’t notice it, or maybe it’s in the gentle caress of your fingers through his hair as you pass him to pick back up your discarded weapon. Maybe it’s in every shy glance you offer him, or maybe it’s in your ever present grin. 

Watching you leave should worry him, but it only feels like a breath of fresh air. A wind that comes sweeping in with the promise of next time just as you pull back the flap to his tent. 

And he hadn’t realized he’d been waiting patiently for you to turn back to him until you do just this, offering him one final glance that sets him aflame, “Oh, and before I forget – you can feed on me tonight, if you need to.” 

Heart of gold, blood of honey. He couldn’t say no even if he wanted to.

“Then I’ll see your delicious self tonight,” he takes a pause, one big and unnecessary breath filling his chest alongside that warmth you bring to him. The fearless leader, the kindest soul. His most apt nickname for you yet falls off his lips in a content sigh, “My sweet.”

He shouldn’t entertain you – he shouldn’t let this go further than necessary. 

But he’s going to. Gods, he is going to. 

After all, the sweetest fruits always fall from the most forbidden branches, do they not?

[fwibblefwobble]

a/n: repost from a deleted side blog!! wanted to make a new account but got confused.

“Jay?”

Jason perks up to the sound of your voice.

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“Do you mind helping me get the back?”

He turns in your direction and his breath hitches. You’re studying yourself in the vanity, frowning slightly at your reflection. The back of your dress hangs open, framing the slope of your spine and the gleam of soft skin under the bathroom light. He walks towards you, slowly and reverently. One strong hand steadies itself softly against the small of your back, the other pulling up the zipper carefully. The silken fabric rests snug against your back and he exhales, breathless.

“Thanks, babe.”

He kisses your cheek, threading his arms around your waist and meeting your gaze in the mirror. You worry your lip mindlessly between your teeth.

“Do you think it’s okay?” He considers your reflection, eyes soft and hazy with affection. “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs.

Your cheeks warm at his answer, simple and honest. The intensity of his gaze is almost overwhelming with its intent to commit you to memory. He always regards you like you’re not quite real, too good to be true. Your hand cups his face as you press a kiss to his cheek, gentle and grounding.

I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.

[limayde]

1. Regarding Saeki Sayaka (Volume 3)

While not nearly as nuanced as the main series of Bloom Into You, I feel like that fits Sayaka's character? She falls in love at the drop of a hat and someone like Haru, who speeds through life and acts on a whim compliments that aspect of her perfectly. There are some fun callbacks to the manga and even the earliest pages of the first novel too. However, I will say that it did feel like somewhat...rushed? Like even if we're comparing her relationship with Suzuki, which didn't even take up an entire novel's worth of content, that one still felt better paced. Her relationship with Haru was the sole focus of this volume and it felt like it went by lightning fast. I'm not saying every romance needs to be a slowburn, but maybe taking a step back and really getting into the nitty gritty of their relationship would've been nice? If I had been in charge of writing these novels I think I would've skipped the second one entirely and just made two volumes about Haru. That probably would've given them the time to fully flesh out the characters. Anyway, despite my complaints, I did think this novel was cute and I'm glad Sayaka got the happiness she deserved. Just don't go into these novels expecting the same level of nuanced storytelling that Bloom Into You did. Think of them more as a deep dive into Sayaka's psyche, you'll get a lot more out of series that way. Also skip the second volume. You've already read Bloom Into You, you don't need Sayaka to tell you what happened a second time.

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

OH BIG BRAIN IDEA-

Reverse Puss In Boots panic attack scene with Reader calming Dogday down from a panic attack, 'cause this case it's the dog that needs comforting-

"[Y/n]! Come quickly! Something's wrong with Dogday!"

Pausing in your repairs of Kissy's arm, you made sure to cut the thread before giving her an apologetic look. Fortunately, she seemed to understand that you needed to heed Poppy's call right away, and so you followed the little doll into the next room over.

There, Dogday was resting...although at this moment he was very much doing the opposite.

He was slumped against the wall, out of the makeshift dogbed you and Kissy put together for him, a hand clutching his chest--but it kept heaving, rapidly rising and falling with each labored breath.

His white pupils were completely gone, not a shred of light to be found within his sockets, and that was very alarming.

Did he see something?

Did an intruder try to get in?

While Poppy couldn't guarantee any place in the factory was safe, she did mention this area was a good place to hunker down, rest, and plan your next move against the Prototype.

But if that's the case...then what was going on with him?

You needed to find out fast.

"Dogday...what's wrong..??!"

Even though he could hear you and see you kneeling in front of him, concern written all over your face, he simply couldn't answer. He couldn't even keep his focus on you, as a whirlwind of terror and panic clouded his mind.

The only thing he could do was paw at his chest, unable to make sense of why his heart refused to stop pounding, as though it was trying to break free.

Or maybe..

It was a little Smiling Critter who stowed away inside him, trying to get out....

The more he thought about it, the worse he felt.

"I don't know what happened.." Poppy murmured to you, shaking her head. "I swear he was fine a second ago! Y-You think his organs might be shutting down? Or his hunger is-?"

"No, I know exactly what's wrong." You calmly answered, much to her bewilderment.

But before she could question you further, you moved over to Dogday's side before hugging him around the torso, squishing your cheek against his chest the moment he took his paws off of it.

And you simply waited.

The little doll had no idea how this was helping him, although she soon realized his breaths were finally starting to slow. His white pupils flickered back to life, looking down and seeing you embrace him without any regard to your own safety.

Somehow..you provided him with such a comforting weight that drowned out his panicked thoughts.

One of his trembling paws eventually came to rest atop your head, and he slowly began to pet you much like a human would pet a dog: gentle, ensuring he wasn't too rough.

After a few more moments passed, you felt his breaths even out to the point where his chest wasn't heaving like before, and he placed his paw on your back.

Finally, he spoke.

"A-Angel...thank you..I..don't know what happened.."

"It's okay." You sat up to look at him, seeing the tears threatening to spill from his sockets. "You were just having a panic attack. But it's over..you did great."

"Is..that what it was?" He murmured, confused.

"That's all it was. Do you remember what led to it?"

"...'m not sure. I was..just thinking about Catnap, and the Prototype, and suddenly I felt this strange tightness in my chest. Thought somethin' was wrong with my lungs...a-and then the room just started spinning. Next thing I knew, I...I-I couldn't breathe. I couldn't talk to Poppy or you, angel. Thought one of those wretched things was trying to eat me from the inside out. B-But..that was just all in my head, right? I'm not...nothing was-?"

"I made sure none snuck inside when I was fixing you up. You're safe from them." Taking one of his paws into your hands, you smiled, seeing Kissy walk into the room. "Catnap and the Prototype have been on all of our minds lately, and it's been...a stressful few hours."

"...I didn't mean to scare you all..usually it's me who calms people down, ya know?" He sighed quietly, still feeling guilty. "You sure I'm not going to slow you down? Because if I have another attack...i-it could be at the worst time, and then-"

"Then I'll help you through it. I made a promise to get you all out of here, and I'm sticking by that." You reassured.

Dogday looked surprised, but he relaxed his shoulders in relief, tail wagging along the floor. "Thank you, angel.."

He had his doubts before, about whether saving him from the Playhouse was more trouble than it's worth.

But now he knows you're in this for the long run, ready to help guide him out of the darkness.

[whiskeyskin]

Praise You

Premise: Thaniel and Oliver are reunited and Halsin's feeling a bit aimless, a head massage is just what Silvanus ordered. Not that kind.. well, maybe that kind too 😏🍆💦

• Halsin x gn!tav • M rating • Religious themes •

Cleric Gn!tav, religious experience but it's sexy?, Silvanus take the wheel, m!masturbation, hair braiding, massages, taking care of Halsin, kissing, confessions, revelations, deliciously wet Halsin, horny, connection, divine threesome if you squint?

5.4k words

Gods bless @naariel for these beautiful shots of this delicious man 😚👌✨ Get The Full Picture

(Just imagine Tav is the bedroll 😏)

_____________________________

•°•°•

It was a particularly jovial time in camp this evening, despite the grim surroundings, however they seemed a little less bleak now that Thaniel and Oliver were together again.

From inside the protection of the Moondome, they sat together with many bottles of wine, as so generously provided by the Last Light's cellar.

They still had Ketheric Thorm to deal with but that was tomorrow's problem. Tonight, they drank.

Halsin had been carrying the weight of the Shadowcurse for over a century, now he'd finally been able to lessen it's hold and rescue his childhood friend from a terrible fate. There was almost a glow about him as he sat nursing his only glass.

He looked a little lost at times, almost in mild shock. As though he couldn't quite believe what had happened.

Tav smiled warmly, they wondered what was in store for Halsin Silverbough.

They'd been brushing out Shadowheart's hair for 45 minutes to redo her hair ready for tomorrow's foray into Shar's Gauntlet, down to find the Nightsong.

Finally, the brush glided through her long raven locks with ease.

"There, that's half the battle won already. Ketheric will be a walk in the park after dealing with your tenday's long hair." Tav jested, brushing her hair up into a ponytail.

"Oh, shut up you," she threw with failed derision, "I would have done it myself, but you offered." She shrugged, taking a sip of wine.

"Oh, yes. Forlornly calling out that you wanted to gussy yourself for Shar, only.. alas! You can't remember how to do your hair. The pinnacle of passive aggressive whinging." Astarion threw across the fire, nursing his own goblet.

"Well, you're the expert." Shadowheart countered, illiciting a jeering reaction from the group.

"Ooh, she's got you there Fangs!" Karlach nudged his shoulder with her elbow, a little too forcefully. Astarion rubbed yelped and rubbed his shoulder.

"What do you mean? When I'm unhappy, I come right out and say it. I don't waste time beating around the bush."

"Correct, but your continued and incessant complaints regarding self-cleanliness in this wilderness are tiresome." Lae'zel sneered.

"Not to play devil's advocate, Lae'zel but I have to agree with Astarion on this one. Trying to maintain any kind of a bathing routine whilst braving these perilous lands is a task most impossible to undertake." Gale retorted, holding his hands up in gesture.

"Well, now that Thaniel and Oliver are restored, these lands will flourish once more when nature takes it's course. Oakfather willing." Halsin did his customary gesture.

"I don't really mind, and you've been a very good model sitting here without whining." Tav stated, tying off her hair and pulling it tight but comfortable, "it reminds me of my childhood, we'd spend hours brushing and braiding each other's hair. It was practice for when we'd be braiding those in ceremony."

"Ah yes, the braids of your people are intricate indeed." Wyll nodded, "I've met a few with the most complicated of braidwork, it's very impressive."

"Well, I was never good enough to braid those. It's more about the smaller victories that I specialise in. Smaller and more personal to the individual." They explained, twisting her hair to make it more manageable to thread through her hair adornment.

"Smaller victories?" Lae'zel narrowed her eyes with a curious tilt.

Shadowheart handed Tav her silver adornment, "Yes, they can be anything really. Anything that the person overcame; hardships, trials, successes, even failures."

"Your people celebrate failure? Bah. Mediocrity must be cleansed-"

"-Cleansed, yes we know what the Gith think about all of that. Despite this apparently fatal flaw, my people are great warriors, Lae'zel." Tav interceded, threading Shadowheart's hair through the chains to secure the hair piece.

"I know this. You have shown yourself distinguished in battle many times." Lae'zel insisted, frowning in the way she did.

"And yet, I'm not your 'typical' warrior. I'm valued because of the strengths I do have, not shunned for the ones I don't. My people embrace failure without shame, or repulsion because it takes more from a person to admit their mistakes, than to admit their success."

A hush fell over the group as Tav's words sank in. A few uncomfortable shuffles echoed around the group.

"I feel like there was more I could do to help the Tiefling refugees. I should have done more." Wyll said, breaking the silence.

"That's not a failure, that's a regret. Regrets are useless, Wyll. They keep us from seeing the good. You taught those children enough to survive that attack. You told Umi it's about giving him enough time to escape and they did. So, I'd count that as a success." Tav replied, smiling. Wyll took a stuttered inhale, surprised by their perspective.

"I failed to stop the Shadowcurse, it shouldn't have come to this." Halsin admitted, a pained expression on his face.

"You failed to kill Ketheric Thorm but so did many others that day. But you, my friend," Tav leaned to rest a firm hand on his muscular shoulder, "are the only reason it's ended now."

"If it had not been for you-"

"-Then you would have found a way. Your failure, is now your triumph, Halsin. This pain that has clouded you for a century, is finally done." Tav jolted him hard to emphasise their point, then scanned his hair, "I need to give you a new braid."

His head jerked to look up, hazel green eyes wide, "I did not think-"

"You need two; one for your failing, one for your victory. We are defined by both and must wear them proudly. If you'll permit me?" Tav paused, seeking consent.

They allowed the revelation to seep inward. The tenants of their people were often the cause of deep realisations regarding the self. Even when those people were as wise as Halsin.

"You would honour me." His warm, kind eyes brimmed with the threat of tears but he stoically swallowed them down.

~~~

The evening passed in reflective revelry, the gang admitted many deep seated secrets that had shamed them. It bonded them further, in a way that was Tadpole-free. By the end, Tav would need to braid all of their friends.

Lae'zel touched the fresh re-plaiting Tav had done for her, adding another to symbolise her small achievement of befriending Istiki. She seemed pleased.

Halsin had peeled away from the fire a short while ago but hadn't returned. Tav hoped that they hadn't caused him hurt by what they had said.

After such a long time of carrying this burden, taking a step back and looking at the situation in it's entirety after being so intrinsically entwined with it.. blinded within it.. would take time.

But they'd meant every word. He was an incredible man. And they hoped he saw that in himself.

Eventually, everyone resigned to their bedrolls. A goodnight hug from Karlach, Wyll, Gale and surprisingly Shadowheart, a pat on the shoulder from Astarion, and the usual nod from Lae'zel, imparted with more warmth than before.

"You can feed on me again tonight, let me just go check on where Halsin's got to." Tav gently patted Astarion's arm.

"I appreciate that. Unless I want to eat cow, there's nothing around here."

"Cow can be delicious but not in the way you experience taste, I'll bet."

"Ugh, no. Livestock taste - ugh - well, you can imagine." He curled his lip in disgust.

Tav laughed, "If they taste as bad as they smell, I think I can."

~~~

After very little searching, Tav found Halsin by the lakeside, just inside Isobel's protection. There seemed to be a large, silver basin in front of him.

He was naked from the waist up, revealing his impossibly muscled physique. Tav gasped. They'd obviously seen his barely contained body in his Druidic armour, but laid bare in front of them like this, their mouth had suddenly run dry, yet salivated hungrily simultaneously.

His hair looked longer, almost freer, as he took the basin over his head with ease and poured it over his hair.

Again, Tav gasped and a pooling of lust hit low in their belly watching this mountain of an Elf drench himself in water.

Halsin placed the basin back on the rock and pinched the water out of his eyes. He shook with an exhale, squeezing out the excess water from his hair and caught Tav's gaze.

Immediately feeling foolish, Tav jerked themselves out of their stupor and waved nonchalantly, making their way down to him. Halsin returned with a half wave as he wiped his face down with his hand.

"I didn't see you there, didn't realise anyone else was awake." He smiled brightly, towering half naked and beautiful.

Tav returned the smile, "I just wanted to make sure you were alright."

"You were concerned for me?" He sounded surprised.

"Of course, I understand that what I said might have been quite a lot to digest before one sleeps. I wanted to see that you were well, and rested."

Halsin's brows pulsed together but his expression remained warm, "It has been quite some time since someone checked to make sure I was rested but I promise you, I'm perfectly fine."

"I didn't mean to offend, or speak out of turn. The Shadowcurse has superceded everything else in your life and having that finally lifted from your burdens-"

Halsin held up a large paw to silence them, "Hush now, you did not speak out of turn. In fact, you spoke more truth than I've heard in a long time. A redeeming quality of yours.." he trailed off, with an intense stare.

"I'm glad to not offend, because I don't regret what I said. What you've achieved today will change the course of this land forever, for good this time."

"I must admit, it is a strange feeling to see hope sprout anew in these lands, after so much darkness." He mused, looking to the spot he'd brought Thaniel through from the Shadowfell.

Tav thought on the fierce battle for the portal, the desperate need to keep Halsin safe. The sheer relief that flooded them when they saw him return with Thaniel unconscious in his strong arms.

They stole a glance at him while he looked out towards the water. He truly was beautiful.

The strong line of his scarred jaw, the definition of his muscles, the uncharacteristic growth of chest hair dark against his sun-kissed skin. The lingering droplets of water chasing each other down the contours of his torso and into the damp waistband of his camp clothes.

Tav swallowed. Halsin was obviously a stunningly attractive man, but the energy and presence that exuded from his very soul was intoxicating; His strength, his compassion, his bravery and his boundless capacity for goodness and hope-

He'd taken out his braids.

Tav blinked twice, then glanced down to the empty silver basin and now what they saw to be soaps, glass bottles and tubs.

"What are you doing down here, Halsin?" They asked, plainly.

He blinked, returning his gaze to them, "Well, I had hoped to commemorate this occasion, as you suggested. That you would honour me with a new braid. However, my cleanliness has not been the top priority these last days and my hair is seldom touched by anyone but me. It required some attending to." He chose his words delicately. It made Tav laugh.

"Would you like some help?"

"I think I have imposed enough on your good will for one day. Although, I must admit, I do not know anything about hair care." He admitted with a chuckle.

"Well, I see you come fully stocked." They motioned to the jars, picking them up to read the labels.

"I spoke to Isobel about blessing some water so that I may bathe, one of the Harpers kindly gave me some of their own poltices and potions to use."

Tav opened a container to gauge the consistency, Halsin also reaching for a bottle. They took a sniff of the thick, white poltice and found it to be coconut.

"Ah, this is to soften and strengthen hair. Plus it smells divine." They offered Halsin to smell the balm, to which he let out a hum of agreement.

"This is an oil. To help with hair?" He said shrugging his shoulders and unstoppering it, the scent of lavender and rosemary strong on the air.

Tav nodded in agreement, "That's for the scalp as well as the hair. A scalp massage is unlike anything else for relaxation."

"Is that so?" Halsin asked with a playful lilt.

"It is so. Would you like a scalp massage? I am very proficient in them." Tav boasted, taking the oil bottle Halsin offered.

"Another of your many talents." He admired in a low register. Another intense gaze burned them in place.

"Well, in order for me to braid you, your hair must be in a good condition. If you'll allow me?" They gestured for him to sit.

"Now? Here?" He asked.

"Where else could be better than at the site of your achievement?" Tav posited, gesturing to the jutting rock.

Halsin turned down his lips and nodded in agreement, "I can't argue with that."

They both settled on the rocks, Halsin sat lower down in front of Tav's crossed legs. Tav rolled his camp shirt to place against the rock to afford Halsin more comfort, to which he rewarded them with another warm smile.

Once they were both in position, Tav pushed their sleeves up, "Tilt your head back for me." Halsin dutifully acquiesced, and they poured a good helping of the rosemary and lavender oil, assuring that it didn't drip.

"That smells wonderful." Halsin said through a smile.

"That it does," Tav agreed, flexing their fingers against Halsin's scalp in small circles, "It should feel even better." They returned with a smirk.

"Ooh, that it does." He mimicked, after a few moments of groans.

Tav proceeded with the scalp massage, fingers practised and strong, offering healing and relaxation.

They saw the tension in his shoulders ripple away and he sank lower into the feeling, "You can rest your head against my legs if you'd like." They offered. A normal suggestion in these circumstances but this time it felt far more loaded.

They'd given hundreds of these kinds of treatments but this time felt different, important.. charged.

Wordlessly, Halsin sank back into them. The back of his neck resting on their crossed calves, as they continued their practice. His handsome face was contented.. at peace, as he gently lay on them.

Tav watched the small changes in his expression as their fingers worked their magic. His brows would flex, his closed eyelids would stretch as though his eyes were rolling back in his head.

Tav employed the subtle use of their nails to awaken the scalp for regeneration, raking them across his head. Halsin's jaw tensed and he let out a low rumble that sounded not quite human but it made their stomach tumble over uncomfortably.

"Apologies," Halsin's voice came out slightly breathlessly, "This is feeling quite good, and my grip over the animal within can be tenuous at times. I hope it doesn't frighten you." He opened his eyes to look up at them, his incomparable green hazel eyes shadowed with lashes and uncertainty.

"You could never frighten me, Halsin. You make me feel safe, protected. Never afraid." Tav spoke in a hushed tone and moved their thumbs to massage the worry lines that appeared there, "You are immense and powerful and you deserve to feel good."

"Mm, you make me feel good. Very good." Halsin licked his bottom lip and took a shaky breath.

Tav paused to add more oil to their hands, rubbing them together and gliding their full width to smooth his hair down. Then tossing his hair from side to side to work their way to the underside to massage the back of his neck.

Halsin groaned at the force of their fingers, "Tav, that feels quite extraordinary. You have a real talent for this." He let out a breathy chuckle.

"I'm not even started yet, Bear man." They teased, "You'll be practically unconscious by the time I'm finished with you." The tinge of unintentional sexual energy peppered their words, as they pushed the muscles of his neck under their hands.

"Bear man?" He shot out a laugh, "We shall both be exhausted after this, I'll wager."

"I've been doing this for many years, I could do this for hours." They braced into their strength and worked the heel of their palms hard, down into the extremely tight musculature of his shoulders.

Halsin let out a shuddering yelp, then a rumble paired with a gasp, "That.. was unfair."

"You're wound tighter than a Patrirar's arse, Halsin. You need to relax."

He sat up a little, pushing against the force.

"Oh, and how would you suggest I do that, when you're burying your fingers into my shoulders? Gods." He strained through gritted teeth.

"Besides a massage? A bath, masturbation, meditation, booze? There are lots of fun ways to unwind." Tav smirked, thumbs working over his wound muscles.

"All sound suggestions, apart from masturbation. That would be a tad inappropriate, don't you agree?" His tone was light and dark at the same time, it curled a devious smile to Tav's lips.

Their eyes flitted down to Halsin's crotch subconsciousally, only to almost choke at the sight of the thick snake straining against the fabric.

The aroma of arousal suffused around them, now turned to a thick smog, covering them unabashedly.

It gripped Tav low in their belly and held them by the throat, their own desire throbbing between their legs.

They folded themselves over him and leaned to whisper in his ear, their firm hands gliding down the strong plains of his chest.

They had never been good at being coy.

"Halsin. I would love you to touch yourself while I massage you. I would love to hear the sweet sounds of your pleasure and satisfaction, as we celebrate this together. To see you, to hear you. To bless this with an act of self love." Their lips caught on the hard edges of his Elvish ears, and he shuddered beneath them, his muscles bunching under their palms.

"You would?" He muttered, swallowing thickly.

"To see your beauty laid bare to me in such an intimate and scared act, yes I would.." They hummed into the shell of his ear.

He stretched his head back, pulling his lips back and baring fangs for a split second.

"Show that you're free of this regret, that it holds you no longer. Own this. Take this moment as yours. Praise the Gods with your surrender and pleasure."

Halsin huffed out an unsteady breath and began unfastening his trousers until his large, thick erection jutted free, sprouting from dark hair.

Tav eyed his cock hungrily with trepidation and intrigue, the image of Halsin buried deep inside them flashing before their eyes. The ghost of the stretch around him clenched their sex, filling their mouth saliva.

"Is this truly what you want?" Halsin asked, his large hand waiting in a fist on his toned thigh.

"If you mean to ask; is this an appropriate scenario for two friends to participate in, then no, it's probably not."

His fist squeezed tightly in frustration, as he sighed.

"I thought not." He said bitterly through tight lips.

"However, I was never one to follow rules." They moaned through a grin, as they flicked the tip of their tongue across his earlobe, nipping lightly with their teeth.

The air from Halsin's lungs whooshed out, as he slammed his to grip the back of their head, the other placed on their's across his heart. He fisted their hair, as he writhed against their suckling of his sensitive ears.

He pulled on their thickest braid, desire tugged them deeper with every follicle. Tav's eyes rolled back as they moaned, open-mouthed. Halsin trembled out a repressed groan, biting down on his lip and closing his eyes.

"Silvanus forgive me." He whined, sliding his hand from their hair, finally allowing himself the freedom to touch his twitching, weeping cock.

"No, 'Silvanus bless me'," Tav corrected, as they slid their oiled hand from under his grasp and held his forearm across his chest. They looked up, passed the moon barrier, to the sky, "Silvanus, bare witness to your faithful servant. Bless this act of devotion."

"Yes.. yes." He uttered, head sliding to their shoulder, cradled into their embrace. His huffed, hot breath jagged against their jaw.

Tav looked down to watch him pump his cock mercilessly, the beading precum that had leaked coating the blows. They swallowed his gasps and moans as he pushed against them.

Suddenly, the cold night of the shadows were ushered away, replaced by the sensation of sunlight and the smell of the trees and fresh earth. Tav could taste the juice of the fruits bore and the brilliance of light shining.

Tav smiled joyfully, bathed in the light of Halsin's God.

The All-Father was here with them.

"Do you feel-" He barely managed through gasps. They nodded against the sweat of his skin.

"Silvanus sees you, Halsin," they breathed, an irreverent smile across their face.

They heard words that had no source booming through their mind, they knew the meaning and listened.

"He has felt your faith and love. Your devotion and dedication to him and to the task of freeing these lands. He has found you deserving of his blessings. He granted you passage to retrieve Thaniel because he knew that you are worthy."

The divine words came out without thought, as tears slid down their cheeks.

"Thank you, Oakfather.. but.. none of this.. would have been possible.. without Tav." He keened, grip on his throbbing cock intensifying, "Bless them, Silvanus. Bless them."

The swell of the divine enhanced tenfold. Tav wept at the radiance coursing through them. The heat, the force.. it was indescribable. Incomparable.

"We would have been lost without you. All would have been lost without you." A low whimper rang from the back of his throat, as they kissed his markings.

The voice thundered inside their head once more, words of affirmation and benevolent boon. Tav gasped, their vision blinded by light, their lips rounded into a serene smile.

"You are the catalyst, Halsin. You are the might that wrenches away the rot, you are the sunlight and water to feed the earth.. Yours is the seed that brings new life."

Their other hand came down to grasp at his forearm, feeling the furious movement of Halsin's joy. Halsin yelped, gulping moans as he pumped his massive cock in abandon, thumping his strong hips to meet every stroke.

"I'm-I'm.." He choked, his jaw clenching, rhythm erratic.

"Yes, Halsin. Spread your fertile seed upon this land.." The feeling of the divine power crescendoing in their head.

"Silvanus.. Silvanus.." He struggled, "Bless me.."

Halsin convulsed and spasmed, roaring as he climaxed in hard, thick shoots of cum, spilling over the cold, grey earth beneath him. He jerked and strained, as he spurted thick and full, spattering the grass.

Tav held him close, guiding him through his orgasm, soothing him with sweet words, until his white seed wept down the sides of his softening member.

Still panting heavily, he licked his dry lips and removed his grip from his trembling cock; the remnants of his elation coating his fingers.

Tav's hand slid up his forearm in delicious abandon, bringing his hand to their mouth and greedily licking his cum off his fingers. Halsin hummed in appreciation of their enthusiasm.

Suddenly, the night was cold again, the warmth of divine embrace ended. However, heat rolled of Halsin in waves, chasing away the chill.

Several moments stretched between them, their breath still calming; both needing a moment to recompose. Tav moved their fingers to his temples and wound them in strong circles, Halsin exhaled long and slow.

Tav was reeling. Their body wrung out, their ears ringing. It had not been the first time a God had spoken to them but it was certainly the first time they acted as messenger for a God, especially for one that wasn't their own. They weren't even sure it had ever happened before, and especially not during such a sexual explicit act.

It was incredible.

"That was.." Halsin eventually began.

"..I know." Tav finished, as they carded their hands through his hair.

"What do we do now?" He asked, cock large and limp against his taut belly. An uncomfortable air of something akin to shame tinged his voice.

"We continue the celebration." Tav smiled, picking up the poultice beside them, smoothing it into Halsin's semi-dry, oiled mane of hair.

Wordlessly time spanned before them, as Tav slowly worked through his tangled hair. The coconut poultice soaked into the mess and loosened the knots, the scents of lavender, rosemary and coconut dancing together on the silent air.

Nothing stirred, apart from Halsin's soothed groans and the sounds of the brush through untangling hair.

"Did you feel it too?" He asked, uncertainly.

"Silvanus?" Tav clarified.

"Yes. I've heard his words before but that was.. different." He said, gravely. He sat taller removing himself from their touch, "I took advantage of the situation. I have been without the touch of another for some time now and I sullied this act of friendship with my own desires-"

"-Hush now," Tav murmured, gently pulling back into their chest, "You did not sully anything, nor take advantage of anyone." They kneaded their cheek into his to offer comfort.

"Silvanus was able to speak through me because I opened myself to you and by extension, to him. Put aside these fears. I wanted this too." Tav reassured him, grazing his cheek with the back of their hand. Halsin turned his head, nuzzling slightly and rested his hand on theirs, with another warm smile.

"That is good to hear. Thank you, my friend."

Tav laid their chin upon his head and pressed a small kiss there. A happy moment surrounded them both.

Conversation flowed easily between the two, now that the air had been cleared.

Tav brushed his hair through, with a modicum of difficulty, then sectioned his hair and retied the braids that had previously existed with Halsin's guidance. While he regaled the story of how the Shadowlands had come to be, Ketheric Thorm, Shar, the Harpers and Druids coming together. Fierce battles, death, terror, success, hubris and finally how he'd dedicated his life to the eradication of this curse.

Tav was just finishing the last braid, the one commorating his achievement.

"I've spent this last hundred years of my life in persuit of this goal, forsaking most everything else. Now that it's nearly done, I do not know. I-I feel.. hollowed.. aimless. Like I am without purpose. Apart from helping you with your tadpole, of course." He added with a incline of his head.

"Is that why you're helping us? To feel like you still have a mission?" Tav asked, curious.

The only reason he'd come to Moonrise with them in the first place was to get closer to the Curse. It would make sense that he would return to the Grove, now that that part was complete.

"Gods no, never think that. I'm here with you till the end, regardless of what comes next. You have aided me in ways I could never repay, there's not a chance I'll abandon you now." He said firmly.

"But you mustn't need to feel like you owe us anything, there's no-"

Halsin reached across himself to grab their arm, and with a fluidity becoming of an Elf, he slowly turned to face them.

His earthen eyes looked up at them with a fierceness and urgency that stopped their thoughts.

"My friend, I have lived a very long time. Many lifetimes of others. But I have never met anyone quite like you before. Your bravery, your warmth, your valour. You are unique," his big, warm hands covered theirs with ease as he edged closer, "and I am yours, for as long as you need me. Against Ketheric, against the Absolute.. everything."

Tav swallowed. The radiant energy flowing from his heart was almost unbearable to withstand. They felt themselves drawn to him, leaning in. Halsin followed.

The distance between them seemed miles and nothing at all, as they were pulled together. His eyes focused on their lips, head tilting to accommodate their impending meeting.

The air was hot and doused with lavender and clean soap; the energy palpable. Tav closed their eyes to let it overtake them.

"Ahem." Came a voice far too close, "Not to break up this lovely little moment, but that strange ox is looking more appetising by the second." Astarion drawled with a sass that was entirely his alone, "Any chance of wrapping this up?"

Tav opened their eyes to see Halsin looking irritated but resigned to the intrusion.

They laughed between themselves; the bubble of their celebration had clearly clouded their awareness for intruders.

"I'll be back up shortly." Tav said, tight lipped, their focus still on Halsin.

"I told you to leave it." Came angry, hushed chiding from Shadowheart. Tav heard a small scuffle of clothes being wrenched and Astarion being dragged away, bickering following their leave.

"Reality beckons it seems." Halsin said with a small smile.

"It seems so." Tav breathed out, disappointed.

They pressed their foreheads together, chuckling lightly. A moment shared between them, connecting them.

They both took cleansing breaths and Halsin kneeled up to stand. He took a little time to familiarise himself with his new braids, while they gathered the various glass containers, soap and brush, placing them gently within the silver basin for ease.

Tav had chosen one above either ear, pulling them up into his half-do, to help secure it.

He gave a murmur of agreement, "I will wear them with pride. Thank you for honouring me."

"Thank you for trusting me to do so." They leaned up and pulled out his usual loose curls around his ears to frame his handsome face.

Their eyes met and air around them stilled, cloaked in coconut and lavender.

Halsin quickly grasped them into a desperate kiss, wrapping his strong arms under them and pulling them into him.

Tav's arms wrapped around his neck, pulling in closer, willingly losing themself in him.

Halsin's heat flooded into them; his desire, his adoration, his need.. and into him they poured their reverence, their respect and loyalty, their awe and their unyielding desire.

They felt is arousal pressed flush against their own, and Halsin huffed out air.

He broke the kiss, breathing heavily, "My heart. If I could, I would take you as many times as you would allow. I would caress your skin and fill my mouth with your taste until you could bare it no longer," he licked his lips with the ghosting thought of your essence on his tongue.

"I would bury myself slowly inside you, feel you gloriously stretch around me. Gently make love to you underneath the light of the moon again and again until we are both spent.."

There was a pregnant pause.

"But?" Tav asked, eventually. Halsin gave a long, frustrated sigh.

"But.. tonight is not that night. Not here." Halsin looked disappointed but sure in his judgement. Tav brought a hand to cup his face, pulling their lips into a side smile.

"I know, I agree," Barely nodding, Tav looked into Halsin's gorgeous face, "But know that every fantasy that keeps me awake at night, has your name falling from my lips."

Halsin's eyes darkened, then softened with a sheepish grin.

"Those are unfair words spoken to a man so close to giving in." He teased, still grinning, "I would like to at least repay you for your efforts. It seems a travesty that I should reach orgasm and you should not."

"Dear one, I had Silvanus' light coarsing through me. Trust me when I say that is more than enough excitement," They paused for a moment, "I do believe you're the only man to have actually made me 'see the Gods'." They laughed, quoting previous, over-confident lovers. Halsin joined them, his chuckle warming through the night.

They kissed again, softly this time. Several slow, peppered kisses. Each one reaching new depths in their desire for him.

"We'll have to continue the celebration another time." Tav licked their bottom lip and gently sucked it between their teeth, trying to contain more words, that could potentially leave them delightfully bruised and aching the next day.

"I will sorrowfully count the hours until that moment comes." His loving gaze pouring over their face.

"I will gladly kill anyone who tries to stop it."

Halsin gave a short, breathy chuckle, "I'll take care of this, you have another waiting for you." He swallowed, beginning to pull away but stopped. His eyes narrowed in confusion and he looked to the ground.

Tav turned to see what he was concentrating on, to see a tree sapling unfurling out of lush greenery, on the spot where he had spilled himself.

Their mouth gawped open, eyes wide.

"That's an oak sapling." He breathed in shock.

Tav blinked hard twice, "Well. Silvanus did say that you were the seed to fertilise the land. Apparently that wasn't an aphorism." They returned their gaze to him, expression almost identical.

Halsin shot out a laugh, "Praise Silvanus. Praise you, my heart." He chorused, pulling them close, cupping their jaw.

"Praise you, my love."

•°•°•

Mmhm, that's some good eatin'.. want some more? 👀😏

[novaursa]

A Dragon's Claim

- Summary: Daemon returns from his exile during the celebrations of Rhaenyra’s and Leanor’s wedding, with only one thing in mind: to claim you.

- Paring: niece!reader/Daemon Targaryen

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is younger sister of Rhaenyra and is bonded with Grey Ghost. These events happen before and lead to The Blood of the Dragon. The list of all my works in chronological order is on my blog, pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mature 16+ (there is no adult content in this one)

- Word count: 4 538

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

The air in the great hall is thick with tension and mirth as lords and ladies gather beneath the towering pillars of the Red Keep. The glow of a thousand candles casts a golden hue over the faces of the realm’s most powerful, yet the flickering light cannot reach the shadows where whispers thrive.

You sit at the high table, a smile frozen on your lips as you watch Rhaenyra and Laenor share a dance, their steps polished but strained. Your elder sister’s gown is woven with gold and red thread, a stark contrast to Laenor’s pale silks. The match is political, a necessity, and everyone knows it. But the feast continues on, with music and wine flowing freely to disguise the uneasy undercurrents.

Your father, King Viserys, is content for now, raising his cup with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. You know how deeply he misses your mother, and how hard he’s tried to keep the family together since her death. Beside him, Queen Alicent's gaze flickers between you and your siblings, always watchful, as if measuring the distance between you all.

Yet the evening shifts suddenly when a presence enters the hall, one that sends a murmur rippling through the gathered guests. Heads turn, voices hush. You feel the change in the air before you even see him.

Daemon.

Your Uncle strides in as if the years and the disgrace of his exile mean nothing. His long silver hair is swept back, and his black leather doublet clings to him like shadow. The greenish glow of dragon glass at his throat only sharpens the edges of his smile. He's dressed in dark finery, as if mourning—and you recall, with a bitter twist in your gut, that Lady Rhea Royce has just died. A hunting accident, they say. But few believe it was an accident at all.

Your breath catches as his violet eyes sweep across the hall before landing on you. There's a dangerous glint there, something raw and unsettling, something that reminds you why you’ve kept him at arm’s length all these years. You feel it like a caress, lingering too long, too close.

He moves with purpose, winding through the throng of courtiers until he’s at your side. Your fingers tighten around your goblet as he dips into an elegant bow, just deep enough to mock propriety. The room buzzes with speculation, but Daemon pays it no mind. His attention is wholly on you.

"Little Niece," he purrs, voice smooth as silk, yet laced with something darker. "It’s been too long."

You tilt your head, eyes narrowing as you regard him. "Not long enough," you reply, keeping your tone cool, distant.

He laughs—a low, rich sound that curls in your stomach, unsettling in its familiarity. "Such sharp words. You wound me, Y/N."

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, instead taking a sip from your cup. "What do you want, Uncle? Surely you did not come all this way just to attend a wedding."

"Why would I not?" He shifts closer, the scent of leather, smoke, and something distinctly Daemon filling the air around you. "After all, it’s a family affair. And I’ve missed our little talks."

You can feel the heat of his gaze, the way it lingers on your face before dipping lower, as if taking you in inch by inch. It’s almost predatory. You’ve seen how other women melt under that stare, but it’s never had that effect on you. If anything, it’s only ever put you on edge.

"Missed?" you echo with a scoff. "You were banished, or did you forget?"

Daemon’s smile doesn’t falter, but it sharpens. "Exile is a state of mind, Niece. It changes nothing of who I am—or what I want."

Your jaw tightens. He’s always been this way—playing at power, testing limits. When you were younger, you found it thrilling, the way he flirted with danger, the way he seemed to live without consequence. But now, all you see is a man who’s always hungered for more than what is his.

"And what is it that you want now, Daemon?" you ask, holding his gaze. You don’t flinch, even when his smile widens.

His voice drops, low and intimate, a whisper meant for your ears alone. "The same thing I’ve always wanted. You."

The words are a knife, sharp and precise. They cut through the haze of laughter and music that surrounds you. You know what he’s asking, what he’s offering—and you also know you’d be a fool to accept.

You set down your goblet with deliberate care, your expression hardening. "You’re wasting your time. Whatever game you’re playing, find another piece for it."

His amusement doesn’t fade, but there’s a flicker of something else in his eyes—something darker, more frustrated. For a moment, the mask slips, and you see the hunger beneath, the yearning he’s kept at bay since you last rejected him.

"You think you’re above this, above me," he murmurs, his voice laced with challenge. "But we’re more alike than you care to admit, Y/N. Fire runs in our veins, and it will burn until we claim what’s ours."

You feel a shiver crawl up your spine, but you refuse to let it show. "Perhaps," you say coolly, standing from your seat and stepping back, putting distance between you. "But that fire will not consume me. Not for you. Not ever."

His gaze follows you as you move away, back into the crowd where the music drowns out the tension of your exchange. You feel his eyes on you, a burning brand that lingers even when you force yourself to focus on the dancing couples and the revelry. But Daemon Targaryen is not so easily dismissed.

You know this won’t be the last time he tries. He’s always been relentless in his pursuits. But you’ve held him off before—and you’ll do it again, no matter how many times he attempts to draw you into his web.

Yet in the depths of your mind, a small voice wonders how long you can keep resisting before the fire spreads.

The hall is alive with music and movement, swirling skirts and polished boots creating a dance of color and grace. You find yourself swept into the rhythm, partnered with Lord Tyland Lannister—a golden lion of the Westerlands, resplendent in his crimson and gold. He’s handsome enough, with a confident smile and courteous manners, but he lacks the edge of danger that seems to follow Targaryens like a shadow. 

Still, you laugh politely as he makes some jest about the boisterous nature of the court. Tyland is careful, measured in his charm, his hand respectfully placed at your waist as you twirl together across the floor. Yet your mind is only half on the conversation, aware that a pair of intense violet eyes is tracking your every move.

Daemon watches from where he leans against a pillar, his posture deceptively relaxed. He appears disinterested to those who don’t know him well, one hand holding a goblet of wine, the other idly tapping against his leg. But beneath that mask of ease is a tightly coiled tension, a hungry beast waiting for the right moment to strike. His gaze is riveted to you, sharp and possessive, a wolf studying its prey from afar.

Beside him, King Viserys attempts to draw his brother into conversation, oblivious to Daemon’s distraction. 

“It’s good to see you back, brother,” Viserys begins, his tone amiable as he turns to face Daemon. “We’ve missed you here. It’s been far too long since the family was whole.”

Daemon barely acknowledges the words, his focus entirely elsewhere. His eyes flick over the way you laugh at something Tyland says, the way your lips curve in amusement. A flicker of annoyance passes through him, a subtle tightening of his jaw. He’s always despised the Lannisters—their arrogance, their ambition, their sense of entitlement. And seeing you in Tyland’s arms only fuels the simmering irritation.

Viserys, oblivious to his brother’s dark thoughts, continues, raising his goblet to Daemon. “Rhaenyra is happy tonight, isn’t she? It’s a good match for her, one that will strengthen the realm. Laenor is—”

“A distraction,” Daemon mutters, cutting him off, his tone sharp enough to draw Viserys’ attention.

Viserys frowns, looking at him more closely. “What’s on your mind, Daemon? You’ve barely said a word since you arrived. If it’s about Rhea—”

Daemon lets out a dry chuckle, finally turning his gaze to Viserys, but it’s laced with disdain. “Rhea is long dead, brother. Her bones are cold and buried. Let us not pretend we mourn her now.”

Viserys shifts uncomfortably, clearly unsure of how to respond. “Still, it’s no easy thing to lose a wife, even one you didn’t—”

Daemon cuts him off again, this time with a flick of his hand. “Enough, Viserys. I didn’t come here to talk about the past.”

“What did you come here for, then?” Viserys asks, voice softening as he tries to reach out to his brother. “We can put things right between us. There’s no need for more distance. We’re family—”

Daemon’s gaze snaps back to you, watching as you spin gracefully in Tyland’s arms, your dress swirling around you like flames licking at the air. His lips curve into a faint, humorless smile. “Family…” he repeats, the word bitter on his tongue. “Yes, it’s always about family.”

He doesn’t bother hiding the way his eyes track your every movement. Viserys follows his line of sight, finally understanding where Daemon’s attention lies. He clears his throat, his expression hardening. “Y/N is not for you, Daemon. She’s my daughter, and I’ll not have her tangled in whatever schemes you’re plotting.”

Daemon’s smile widens, but there’s no warmth in it. “Schemes? You wound me, brother. I only have your daughter’s best interests at heart.”

“Do you?” Viserys’ voice takes on a warning edge. “You’ve already caused enough trouble tonight with your sudden appearance. If you truly care for her, you’ll leave her be.”

But Daemon doesn’t answer. His thoughts are locked elsewhere, watching how you move with such effortless grace, the way your eyes spark with life as you dance, seemingly carefree. He knows you’re aware of his presence, can sense it in the way you avoid looking in his direction, how you keep Tyland between you and the shadows where Daemon lurks. It’s a clever tactic—one that both frustrates and excites him.

“She’s stubborn,” he murmurs, almost to himself, as his eyes narrow. “But that’s what makes the chase worthwhile.”

Viserys stiffens, his grip tightening around his cup. “I’m warning you, Daemon. You’ll not drag her into your games. If you truly have any regard for her, you’ll stop this.”

Daemon turns to face his brother fully now, his expression unreadable, but his tone is laced with cold mockery. “And what if she doesn’t want your protection, Viserys? What if she wants something… else?”

“That’s enough.” The king’s voice is steel now, but it wavers slightly, betraying the deep undercurrent of worry. “I won’t allow it. You’ll stay away from her.”

Daemon holds his brother’s gaze for a long, tense moment before he breaks into a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Of course, brother. I live to serve.”

But as Viserys takes his words at face value and turns away, relief evident in his posture, Daemon’s eyes drift back to you. A storm brews within them, filled with unresolved hunger and an unyielding determination. He watches as you end the dance with a gracious curtsy, Lord Tyland offering a courtly bow in return, and his fingers curl tighter around his goblet.

You may think you’ve pushed him away, that you’ve built walls high enough to keep him out. But Daemon Targaryen has never been one to accept defeat—not when there’s something he desires as fiercely as he desires you.

No, the game is far from over. If anything, it’s only just begun. And as you catch his gaze from across the hall, your eyes locking for the briefest of moments before you look away, you feel it too—the inevitability of the fire that threatens to consume you both.

For now, you dance with Lannisters and play your part as the dutiful daughter. But Daemon’s patience, like all things about him, is dangerous. And sooner or later, he knows, you’ll find yourself face-to-face with the truth neither of you can deny—no matter how much you might try to resist it.

The music softens, allowing the hum of conversation to fill the hall. You’re surrounded by a cluster of courtiers, each eager to share a word or a compliment with the princess of the realm. They shower you with flowery flattery, and you respond with practiced grace, a polite smile that never quite reaches your eyes. 

You’re keenly aware of Daemon lurking at the edge of your periphery, a shadow just waiting to slip into the light. He’s watching, waiting for an opening—and when your father becomes occupied by the arrival of Lord Beesbury, Daemon seizes his chance.

The courtiers around you stiffen as Daemon approaches, the atmosphere shifting subtly as they sense the tension that follows him. He cuts through the crowd with the grace of a dragon circling its prey, a dark smile curling on his lips as he stops just beside you. The air crackles with his presence, drawing every eye in the circle toward him.

“Y/N,” he says smoothly, his voice warm honey over cold steel. “I hope you’re not allowing these dullards to bore you.” There’s an undercurrent of possessiveness in the way he says your name, a familiar, disconcerting tone that sends a shiver down your spine.

You keep your expression composed, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of seeing any discomfort. The eyes of the court are upon you, watching for any reaction, any hint of scandal. You cannot afford to make a scene—not tonight, not at Rhaenyra’s wedding. So you take a slow breath and incline your head, allowing him to join the conversation if only to avoid drawing unwanted attention.

“Uncle,” you greet him, your tone carefully neutral. “I find the company quite agreeable, actually.”

A flicker of amusement dances in his eyes as he takes a step closer, deliberately brushing the edge of your skirts with his boot. “Do you? Well, perhaps it’s simply my own poor luck that I’ve yet to find anyone in this hall nearly as fascinating as you.”

The compliment is a blade, sharp and glittering with intent. The courtiers exchange nervous glances, unsure of where to place themselves in this verbal dance between the two of you. They sense the tension, the unspoken challenge in Daemon’s words, but they dare not intervene. Instead, they hang back, listening closely while pretending otherwise.

You give a tight smile, deflecting his advance with ease. “How fortunate for you, then, to have found me amidst so many ‘dullards,’ as you so kindly put it.”

He laughs, a low, throaty sound that sends gooseflesh prickling across your skin. “Indeed. But then, I’ve always known where to find the rarest of treasures.”

His eyes lock onto yours, the weight of his gaze heavy with suggestion. You feel the noose of his presence tightening around you, making it harder to keep up the pretense of polite conversation. Every word he speaks is laced with a deeper meaning, a challenge you’re unwilling to meet, yet can’t entirely ignore.

One of the courtiers, a nervous young man from House Florent, clears his throat and tries to steer the conversation back to safer waters. “Princess Y/N, Lord Daemon, I heard the finest fabrics for tonight’s event were imported directly from Qarth. Perhaps you’d care to share your thoughts on—”

Daemon silences him with a glance, his attention never fully leaving you. “I think the princess and I have far more interesting matters to discuss, don’t we, Niece?” He leans in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, just loud enough for the others to hear the edge in it. “Or perhaps you’d prefer we step outside, where we might speak more privately?”

You stiffen slightly at his audacity, feeling your control slipping under the intensity of his advance. But you refuse to let him see how he rattles you. “That won’t be necessary,” you reply, your voice steady despite the tightness in your chest. “We’re perfectly fine where we are.”

Daemon’s smile widens, but it’s not the charming smile of a courtier. It’s something darker, edged with hunger and frustration. He’s testing your boundaries, trying to see how far he can push before you break. And you know that refusing him outright, especially in public, might only embolden him further.

He takes another step closer, his arm brushing against yours as he speaks in a tone meant for your ears alone. “You’ve always been so careful, Y/N. So proper, so well-behaved. But there’s fire in you—I’ve seen it. You can pretend all you like, but you can’t deny what’s in our blood, what we’re meant for.”

You force yourself to meet his gaze, your heart thudding in your chest. “You mistake me, Daemon. Whatever you think we share, you’re wrong. I am not like you.”

“Not yet, perhaps,” he murmurs, his lips barely moving as his breath ghosts across your ear. “But you will be, in time. The fire consumes us all eventually. Why fight what you can’t escape?”

Before you can answer, one of the other courtiers—a lady from House Frey—interjects with a forced laugh, clearly sensing the rising tension. “Lord Daemon, you speak of fire as though it’s something to be embraced. But surely even dragons know better than to be burned alive.”

Daemon doesn’t bother responding to her, his gaze still locked on you. “Perhaps some of us would rather burn than live half-alive.”

The weight of his words lingers in the air, a challenge wrapped in seduction. You can feel the eyes of everyone around you, waiting to see how you’ll respond. Every nerve in your body screams at you to walk away, to extricate yourself from this perilous game he’s playing, but the chains of decorum hold you in place.

“Not everyone fears the flame,” you reply, your voice a delicate balance between defiance and diplomacy. “But not everyone is foolish enough to be consumed by it either.”

For a moment, Daemon’s expression softens, a flicker of admiration passing through his eyes. He’s always liked your spirit, the way you push back when others would cower. It’s one of the reasons he’s so drawn to you—you’re a challenge, not easily won. But that only makes him more determined.

He steps back slightly, giving you room to breathe, though his presence still lingers like smoke in the air. “We shall see, Niece,” he says, his tone softer now, but no less intense. “We shall see.”

The conversation shifts awkwardly back to safer topics as the courtiers nervously chatter to fill the silence, but the damage is done. The undercurrents of tension remain, swirling just beneath the surface, unseen by most but keenly felt by you.

You make your excuses and step away from the circle, moving toward the safety of the crowd. But you can feel Daemon’s eyes on you, tracking your every movement, a predator biding its time.

You take a deep breath, willing yourself to focus on the revelry, the laughter, the music. But no matter how hard you try, you can’t shake the feeling that tonight was only the beginning. Daemon has set his sights on you once more, and though you’ve pushed him away before, you know this time he’s more determined than ever.

The fire is closing in, and you’re not sure how much longer you can keep it at bay.

The days in King’s Landing have grown longer, shadows stretching thin as the sun’s heat begins to wane with autumn’s approach. It has been weeks since the feast, since Daemon first rekindled his pursuit of you, and those weeks have been filled with nothing but frustration. You’ve become as elusive as a wisp of smoke, always slipping from his grasp just when he thinks he’s closed the distance.

He’s been searching for you throughout the Red Keep, stalking through the corridors like a restless lion. Servants avert their eyes when he passes, knowing better than to cross him when his temper is barely leashed. He checks the gardens where you sometimes take afternoon strolls, the library where you immerse yourself in history, even the secluded balcony where you once sat to watch the sun dip beneath the horizon. But you’re nowhere to be found.

His patience, already thin, frays with each passing moment. Where are you?

Eventually, he strides into the inner courtyard, his boots striking the cobblestones with purpose. He spots Rhaenyra, her golden hair spilling like liquid sunlight as she leans casually against a column. She’s watching a pair of knights spar in the yard, but when she catches sight of Daemon, she lifts a brow in amusement.

“Uncle,” she greets, her tone warm but laced with curiosity. “You seem troubled. Should I be concerned for my safety?”

Daemon barely slows his approach, his eyes narrowed and searching. “Where is she, Rhaenyra?”

Rhaenyra’s smirk widens, enjoying the tension radiating from him. She has always seen through him, understood the games he plays. But right now, her amusement only fuels his growing irritation.

“She?” she asks, feigning ignorance. “You’ll have to be more specific, Uncle. There are quite a few women within the Keep.”

“Don’t play coy with me,” he snaps, his voice a low growl. “You know who I mean. Where is Y/N?”

Rhaenyra’s amusement falters slightly as she studies him more closely. She sees the fire in his eyes, the barely contained storm that brews beneath his calm exterior. She knows Daemon well enough to recognize when he’s truly agitated.

“And why would you assume I’d know her whereabouts?” she asks, though her tone is more measured now, less teasing. “She doesn’t confide everything in me.”

Daemon steps closer, his frustration bleeding into impatience. “She’s your sister. You know where she’s gone. Stop wasting time and tell me.”

Rhaenyra’s gaze flickers with something unreadable before she sighs, realizing he won’t relent. “You’re relentless, aren’t you?” She shakes her head as if in disbelief, then lowers her voice conspiratorially. “Fine. I’ll tell you, but only because it’ll keep you from stalking around the Keep like a shadowed ghost.”

She pauses, savoring the way Daemon’s impatience makes him lean in closer. “She’s gone to ride Grey Ghost.”

Daemon’s reaction is instant. The blood drains from his face as his eyes sharpen, and without another word, he turns on his heel, already planning his next move. The mention of the dragon’s name—Grey Ghost, the elusive and wild creature—ignites something dangerous within him.

Rhaenyra watches with a slight frown, sensing his sudden intensity. “Daemon—wait. She knows what she’s doing; she’s always had a bond with that dragon—”

But he’s not listening. His mind is racing, the image of you alone on the back of such a wild, unpredictable creature flashing before his eyes. Grey Ghost is no docile mount like Syrax or Caraxes. The dragon is known for being elusive, rarely seen and even more rarely approached. For you to go after such a beast alone—Daemon feels a surge of possessive protectiveness he can’t tamp down.

He strides swiftly toward the stables, barking orders at the stablehands to ready his horse. The urgency in his tone leaves no room for argument. “Saddle it quickly!” he snaps, every muscle tense with the need to move, to reach the Dragonpit before it’s too late.

In the back of his mind, he knows he’s not only worried about your safety. This chase, this pursuit, has become something more to him—an obsession, a need to prove that you can’t slip away from him, not when he’s decided you’re his. And riding Grey Ghost? That’s an act of defiance, a clear signal that you’re not afraid to dance on the edge of danger.

He mounts his horse in one smooth motion and urges the animal into a gallop. The wind rushes past him as he rides through the streets of King’s Landing, his mind singularly focused on getting to the Dragonpit. He doesn’t care who watches or what whispers will follow in the wake of his urgency. Let them talk; let them wonder. All that matters is reaching you.

By the time he arrives at the Dragonpit, he’s barely winded, though his blood roars in his veins like wildfire. The keepers bow hastily as he storms past them, heading straight for the chamber where Caraxes, his own dragon, resides. The Blood Wyrm growls low as Daemon approaches, sensing the tension in his rider.

Daemon doesn’t waste a moment, clambering onto Caraxes’ back with practiced ease. The bond between dragon and rider is instinctual, and with a sharp command, Caraxes unfurls his wings and takes to the skies with a powerful beat. They soar upward, climbing higher into the heavens as Daemon scans the horizon, searching for the faint silhouette of a dragon in flight.

He knows the general area where Grey Ghost roams—often among the mist-shrouded cliffs near the coast, far from the reach of men. If you’ve truly gone there alone, then you’ve either misjudged your own courage or you’re challenging him in your own quiet, stubborn way.

Either way, he intends to catch you.

The thrill of the chase pulses through him, his heart racing as Caraxes cuts through the clouds, flying faster and faster toward where he hopes to find you. There’s a primal satisfaction in the pursuit, the idea of tracking you down, claiming what he believes should be his. He imagines what you’ll say when he catches you, what you’ll do—if you’ll continue to resist, or if you’ll finally realize there’s no escaping the inevitable.

As they fly over the rugged cliffs, he finally spots a shadow moving below—grey scales glinting in the fading light. There you are, astride Grey Ghost, your figure small but unmistakable. The sight sends a surge of possessive relief through him. You’re safe, unharmed, but you’ve ventured too far for his liking.

He urges Caraxes lower, drawing closer until the two dragons are flying side by side, their wings slicing through the air in tandem. The sound of Caraxes’ approach makes you turn, your eyes widening as you realize who’s followed you. Even from a distance, Daemon can see the defiance in your gaze, the way you straighten your back and tighten your grip on the reins.

You’re not pleased to see him. But that’s too bad.

Daemon grins, his eyes flashing with determination as he closes the distance, ready to confront you, to remind you that running—or flying—won’t keep him at bay. He’s always known where to find you, and now that he’s caught up, he has no intention of letting you slip away again.

The chase may be thrilling, but Daemon Targaryen has never been content to chase forever. At some point, even the most elusive prey must be caught. And when he finally corners you in the sky, he’ll make sure you know exactly what it means to be his.

[sparrowlucero]

Even if a creator is a bad person it's still okay to like their work. People need to mind their own business.

Honestly it's not really that sort of situation. I'll actively defend Steven Moffat here.

There was a huge hate movement for him back in the early 2010s - which, in retrospect, formed largely because he was running 2 of the superwholock shows at once, one of which went through extremely long hiatuses* and the other of which was functionally an adaptation of an already well regarded show**, making him subject to a sort of double ire in the eyes of a lot of fandom people. Notably, his co-showrunner, Mark Gatiss, is rarely mentioned and much of his work is still attributed to Moffat (and yes, this includes that Hbomberguy video. Several of "Steven Moffat's bad writing choices" were not actually written by him, they were Gatiss.)

People caricatured the dude into a sort of malicious, arrogant figure who hated women and was deliberately mismanaging these shows to spite fans, to the point where people who never watched them believe this via cultural osmosis. It became very common to take quotes from him out of context to make them look bad***, to cite him as an example of a showrunner who hated his fans, someone who sabotaged his own work just to get at said fans, someone who was too arrogant to take criticism, despite all of this being basically a collective "headcanon" about the guy formed on tumblr. Some if it got especially terrible, like lying about sexual assault (I don't mean people accused him of sexual assault and I think they're making it up, I mean people would say things like "many of his actresses have accused him of sexual assault on set" when no such accusations exist in the first place. This gets passed around en masse and is, in my opinion, absolutely rancid.)

On top of that a ton of the criticism directed at the shows themselves is, personally, just terrible media criticism. So much of it came from assuming a very hostile intent from the writer and just refusing to engage with the text at all past that.

Like some really common threads you see with critique of this writer's work, especially in regards to Doctor Who since that's the one I'm most familiar with:

A general belief that his lead characters were meant to be ever perfect self inserts, and so therefore when they act shitty or arrogant or flawed in any way, that's both reflective of the author and something the show wants you to view as positive or aspirational.

An overarching thesis that his characters are "too important" in the narrative due to the writer's arrogance and self obsession (even though this is a very deliberate theme that's stated several times)

A lot of focus on the writer personally "attacking" the fans or making choices primarily out of spite.

A tendency to treat the show being different to what it's adapting as inherently bad and hostile towards the original.

Just generally very little consideration and engagement with the themes, intent, etc. of the shows

This one's a little more nebulous and doesn't apply to all critique but a lot of it, especially recently, is clearly by people who haven't seen the show in like 10 years and their opinion is largely formed secondhand through like, "discourse nostalgia". Which. you know. bad.

I think these are just weird and nonsensical ways to engage with a work of fiction. I also think it's really sad to see the show boiled down to this because that era of who is, in my opinion, very thematically rich and unique among similar shows, and I'm disappointed that it's often dismissed in such a paltry way.

This isn't to say people aren't allowed to critique Steven Moffat or anything, but the context in which he basically became The Devil™ to a large portion of fandom and is still remembered in a poor light is very tied to this perfect storm of fan culture and I just don't agree with a ton of it.

* I'm sure most people have seen the way long running shows and hiatuses will cause people to fall out with a show, with some former fans turning around and joining a sort of "anti fandom" for it while it's still airing. That happened with both these shows. ** Doctor Who will change it's entire writing staff, crew, and cast every few years, and with that comes a change in style, tone, theme - the old show basically ends and is replaced by a new show under the same title. As Steven Moffat's era was the first of these handovers for the majority of audiences, you can imagine this wasn't a well loved move for many fans. *** I know for a fact most people have not sought out the sources for a lot of these quotes to check that they read the same in context because 1) most of them were deleted years ago and are very difficult to find now and 2) many of them do actually make sense in the context of their respective interviews

[azrielandhisshadows]

winter's kiss (3)

pairing: azriel x reader

word count: 1.9k

summary: Azriel comes to your room and finds you in the midst of your doubt regarding the mating bond. Azriel opens up to you in hopes that you start to trust him

a/n: right now, I think this series will be 5 parts. I hope you enjoy!

part 1 part 2

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your heart pounded as you looked at your mate standing outside your door. His hair was disheveled, evidence that he’d been running his fingers through. You sensed the weight of concern in his eyes, and the depth of worry that etched itself into every line in his face. The golden thread tying you together made your heart pound as you studied every detail of him. Despite the horrors Kallias told you clouding your emotions, there was an innate part of you that longed to reach out to him – to hold him.

“Y/N,” Azriel said, his voice a small whisper. “Can I come in?”

His words broke you from your trance as you nodded and stepped aside, allowing him to follow you into your room. You sat at the edge of your bed and watched as he sat in a chair across from you. Azriel settled into the seat, his posture tense, but the demeanor gentle as he looked around the room. His eyes landed on the ice that remained near your bed, a remnant of your earlier turmoil. 

“I wanted to speak to you after the meeting, but Kallias made you leave so quickly.” You slowly nodded to Azriel’s words, taking slow deep breaths to control the storm beginning to rage within you. Azriel’s eyes met yours as he took a similar controlled breath, “I know this is overwhelming, Y/N. I’m overwhelmed too, but I would be lying if I denied how excited I am. I’ve been waiting for my mate for a long time.”

A wave of warmth flooded your bond at Azriel’s confession, a warmth that started to melt the ice between you. “Growing up, I read stories of great loves that lasted centuries. Mates that chased after each other despite the odds that came against them. They fought for each other, damning the consequences of their actions. I see that type of love in Kallias and Viviane and I couldn’t help but be envious of them. I never imagined finding that type of love from the confines of the Winter Court.”

Azriel’s eyes softened at your confession, his own emotions stirred by your words. You inhaled deeply before continuing, “Azriel, the innate part of me longs for you, which is crazy because I just met you; however, Kallias and Viviane told me things about you. Kallias shared rumors of a darkness that follows you. Death and destruction that follows you,” Azriel’s posture tightened, showing his fear of your next words. “Viviane, on the other hand, told me stories of a man who loves deeply and will protect those of importance to him. Quite frankly, I don’t know what to believe. Help me understand, Azriel – help me understand you.” 

You focused your attention on him, watching as a tear fell onto his scarred hands. His leg bounced up and down, nervousness flowing from the calm and stoic man you met hours ago. Azriel’s gaze remained locked on his hands as more tears fell, and he took a moment to compose himself. The vulnerability in his eyes was stark against the hardened exterior he often displayed. When he finally looked up, his eyes met yours with a mixture of sorrow and determination.

“Darkness has seemed to always follow me, ever since I was young. My father was an Illyrian lord. I lived with him, my stepmother, and two half-brothers. My stepmother and half-brothers didn’t like my presence and kept me locked away in a cell with no windows and light. They kept me as a prisoner, only giving me one hour outside everyday. They didn’t let me fly and I grew up fighting against every instinct in my body that begged me to get away. One day, my brothers decided to see how quickly Illyrian healing could take place,” his voice broke as he paused, searching for the strength to continue. “They poured oil on my hands and set them on fire. Some of my father’s warriors heard my screams and cries for help, but by the time they reached me, the damage had been done. That is why my hands are this way,” he said, lifting his hands for you to see.

Your heart ached as Azriel shared his painful past, each word carried the weight of his suffering. “Then, my powers came in. My shadows only grew in the darkness of my cell. Eventually, my father decided to send me to an Illyrian camp, so I could start training and honing my powers. That’s where I met Rhys and Cassian. We didn’t always get along,” Azriel chuckled as he remembered the beginning of his deepest friendships. “But we grew together and we became each other’s family. I would do anything for them and the rest of our court.”

You listened intently, absorbing the depth of Azriel’s past, the pain he had endured, and the fierce loyalty he felt toward his friends and his court. The revelation of his past brought a swell of compassion and a desire to comfort him.

“I can’t even begin to imagine the pain you went through,” you said softly, reaching out to gently touch his hand, the warmth of your skin contrasting with the coolness of his scars. “It’s hard to reconcile the darkness you’ve faced with the person sitting here before me.”

Azriel’s eyes met yours with a mix of gratitude and vulnerability. “The darkness is a part of me, Y/N. It’s shaped who I am, but it doesn’t define me. I’ve learned to use it as a strength rather than letting it consume me. I’ve fought hard to protect those I love and to ensure that no one else has to endure what I did.”

He took a deep breath, his voice steadying. “As for the rumors—there’s truth to the darkness. I’ve been involved in situations that required me to make difficult choices, choices that sometimes led to pain and destruction. But that’s not all there is to me. I strive to balance that with the love and loyalty I feel for my friends, my court, and now, you.”

You nodded, absorbing his words. “I want to believe in the male Viviane described—the one who loves deeply and protects fiercely, but I’ve been trapped for so long. I know I’m naive and I often believe in fantasies that my mind makes up. There have been males in the past that have taken advantage of that and I’ve been left hurting. Kallias was always there to pick up my broken pieces. Kallias has always been my protector and I can’t go by and disregard his concern for a male I’ve just met.”

Azriel’s gaze remained steady, despite the sadness that grew in them. “Y/N, I understand your hesitations. I would be weary if I were in your place. I want to build a relationship with you based on trust and understanding. I don’t share my past with everyone, but I want you to know me beyond my dark reputation. Please, if you give me a chance, I will show you that I’m worthy of your trust.”

You felt a deep sigh of relief at his words. “I want to believe that, Azriel. I want to see the person beyond the rumors and the pain. Let’s take the time we have here to get to know each other, to understand each other better. We have until we leave the Dawn Court.”

Azriel’s expression softened, a faint smile breaking through. “I’d like that. I want us to build something real, something lasting. I know it won’t be easy, but I’m willing to try.”

You reached out and took his hand, your heart swelling with a cautious hope. “Let’s start with that. Let’s see where this path takes us.”

Azriel squeezed your hand gently, a promise of his commitment and sincerity. “Thank you, Y/N. I won’t let you down.” Azriel brought your hand to his lips and placed a soft kiss on your palm. He rose from his chair and watched as you laid on your once frozen bed. The warmth from his gaze moved to your lips and you felt a blush take over your cheeks. 

You looked at the handsome male standing at your bedside and your gaze shifted to his lips as he licked them. 

“Can I kiss you?” 

The room was bathed in a soft glow from the moonlight that creeped in. His gaze didn’t leave you, both of you filled with sudden anticipation and need. As he held your hand, the warmth of his touch seemed to melt away any lingering doubt and fear you harbored. His delicate plea hung in the air and tugged at your heart. His eyes filled with sincerity and a raw honesty that made it difficult to look away. A breath caught in your throat as you nodded, giving him the silent permission he sought. 

Azriel’s expression softened further, his eyes filled with a mixture of hope and longing. Slowly, he leaned in, his movements deliberate and tender. The space between you shrank until you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. He paused for a heartbeat, giving you the chance you back away.

You didn’t move. Instead, you tilted your head slightly, meeting him halfway. When his lips finally brushed against yours, it was a gentle, exploratory touch—a whisper of a kiss that spoke of all the emotions neither of you had yet fully expressed. His lips were warm and surprisingly soft, contrasting with the cold of his scars, and the sensation sent a shiver down your spine.

The kiss deepened as you both surrendered to the moment. Azriel’s hand moved to your cheek, his touch gentle as he cradled your face. His lips molded to yours with a tenderness that made you feel cherished and safe. It was as if the kiss was a promise, a vow to navigate the uncertainty together and build something meaningful out of the chaos.

You responded with equal tenderness, your hand still resting in his, your other hand rising to touch his face. The kiss was a dance of exploration, a slow, deliberate melding of two souls finding their way to each other. Time seemed to stretch, and in that moment, the world outside ceased to exist.

Azriel pulled away, his smile portraying the same hope that your kiss shared. The room transitioned into a serene quiet, disturbed only by the soft breeze whistling through the windows. He looked at you and you could tell he was weighing his next words carefully. 

“I’ll let you rest now,” Azriel’s voice, a soft murmur in the serenity. “I’d like to have breakfast with you in the morning, if that’s alright with you.”

Your face broke into a soft, yet tired, smile, “I’d like that.” 

Azriel stood, his tall presence acting as a comforting shadow over you. He reached for your hand once more, giving it a gentle squeeze before letting go. He turned to leave, his smile full of hope and gratitude for the moment you shared. As he reached the door, he looked back at you and paused.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he said softly.

His eyes lingered on your tired form as you looked to him, “Goodnight, Azriel.”

Azriel permitted himself one more soft look filled with admiration at you before he stepped out of the room. The soft click of the door closing behind him acted as a gentle reminder of the moment you two had shared.

As you settled back onto your bed, the warmth of the kiss still lingering on your lips, you felt a sense of peace that had eluded you for so long. You gazed out the window at the stars over the Dawn Court, the night embracing you as you dreamed of the days ahead.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

taglist: @marvelsmylife @darlingoftheshadowss @scatteredstardustt