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colouredbyd · 22 days ago

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Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy!

cowboy!remus lupin x fem!reader

synopsis : a sunshine-soft baker moves to town, all ribbons, sweet talk, and a habit of staring a little too long at the cowboy next door. remus lupin tries to focus on his chores, but it’s hard when she keeps calling him remmy and baking him sweets. neither mean to flirt—but the heat’s been rising like bread in an oven, and something’s bound to give

warnings: NSFW, explicit sexual content, graphic language, strong sexual themes, dirty talk, sexual tension, suggestive themes, public or semi-public sexual encounters, alot of dirty thoughts, implied exhibitionism, explicit scenes of desire, lots of cum, eating out, oral sex, no penetrative sex, getting caught dry humping, spitting, fingering, eating out, panty sniffing?, making out, grinding, kinda riding? porn but with plot.

w/c: 5.8k

a/n: 100% inspired by this, all i can say is i should be ashamed for writing this...(to anyone who knows me: im sorry about the horse scene I COULDNT HELP IT)

part two masterlist

Remus Lupin swears he’s got self-control, the kind that’s been hammered into him by years of quiet mornings and grueling afternoons.

He wakes with the sun, hands steady and weathered, working the land like clockwork—feeding cattle, fixing fences, cleaning stalls, the rhythm of routine keeping the ache at bay.

Black coffee steams beside him, boots lined neatly by the door, shirts buttoned up and clean, a man shaped by order and slow, simple needs.

Not much stirs him anymore. Not since the war carved its scars deep into his bones, the kind of ache that settles like rain-soaked dust, dull and constant.

But then, you open your bakery—just two weeks ago—and suddenly, the world shifts beneath his boots.

The last thing Remus Lupin wants to do is lay blame—he’s a grown man, weathered by war and wind, with the calluses to prove it—but in a way, you’re the reason why.

The mere thought of you is enough to make this cowboy go buckwild.

It starts innocent, if only in theory.

He’s out in the field at dawn, meant to be feeding the cattle, fixing the fence, maybe even—God willing—cleaning the horse stalls. But the second your name crosses his mind, he’s gone. Useless.

He stands there with hay in his hands and a slack-jawed expression like he’s been shot in the chest with a buttercream bullet. Doesn’t even notice when the old barn cat winds around his boots or when the horses whinny for their breakfast. He just thinks about you.

And it’s always you.

You, with your little bakery nestled on the corner of Main and Maple, a bright splash of life in the dusty town.

You, wrapped in sundresses kissed by morning light, apron smudged with flour, humming soft songs as you tuck wildflowers into window boxes like secrets meant only for the breeze.

You, waving at every passerby like you’ve belonged here forever—even though you just arrived two weeks ago—and smiling at him like he’s the only thing worth pausing the world for.

It’s almost cruel, the way you’ve shattered him with nothing but kindness and sunlight.

Remus had rules once—wake before dawn, work hard, want less than a man can bear—but you slipped in with your sugar-dusted hands and your laugh like a promise, and now his quiet world is a storm. Because he can’t stop watching you.

Can’t stop craving the curve of your smile, the way flour dusts your cheek like a trace of sin, the softness in your voice when you greet him with that simple, “Morning, cowboy,” like you know exactly how those words strip him bare inside.

And what it does to him—God, it’s sinful, a temptation he’s only just learning how to fight.

You make his hands tremble, his mind stray into wicked places, and his mouth go dry with need. He’s stumbled over his own damn boots more times this week than he has in years, and every misstep is because of you.

The way you lean over that counter, offering him a piece of warm apple pie “on the house,” your scent mingling with the sweetness, setting his skin on fire.

The way you hum, soft and low, like a secret lullaby meant just to tease him. The way your dress sways around your knees, like you’ve never known a single touch that wasn’t hungry, like every inch of you is aching to be claimed.

Today, you slide a wrapped croissant into his palm—blueberry, he guesses, but all he can taste is the ghost of your fingers pressed to his skin, and he nearly drops it, heat pooling low and thick in his gut.

“Thanks,” he manages, voice rough like gravel scraped raw and worn down by too many restless nights and secret pains you can almost taste in the air between you.

You smile at him, warm and bright, like the sun itself had carved that grin just for him, a gentle blaze cutting through the cold edges of his quiet world.

“See you next Sunday?” you ask, voice soft but threaded with a promise that feels like it could burn through stone.

He tips his hat, trying to hide the way his ears bloom a shy, stubborn pink beneath the fabric, but you see it all—the way he’s unraveling just a little, like he’s been waiting for this moment more than he’d ever admit.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” he says, voice low and steady but soaked in something fierce and fragile all at once.

And you know, with every fiber of yourself, he won’t. Even if it kills him.

Because Remus Lupin may be a man of quiet restraint, of slow mornings stretched thin with hesitation and a heart bruised and battered far beyond what any soul should carry—but for you?

For you, he’s already halfway gone, swallowed whole by the gravity of your presence, lost somewhere between the ache and the hope you stir deep inside him.

You don’t see him turn back after he walks away, but he does—just for a heartbeat, a breath stolen in the quiet chaos of his own racing heart.

Remus glances over his shoulder, jaw clenched tight, eyes sharp but soft all at once, catching one last fleeting glimpse of your silhouette framed in the window’s fading light.

You’re already moving, already weaving through the room with that effortless grace, already smiling at the next stranger who crosses your path, slipping away from him like the fragile morning light that dances through the leaves—too quick, too fleeting to hold onto.

He tells himself to stop thinking about the ghost of your fingers brushing his skin, the way your voice hums in his ears even now, a sacred hymn that refuses to fade.

He tells himself to forget it, to shove it deep beneath the weight of reason and restraint, but you linger in his blood like a whispered curse he can’t shake.

Meanwhile, miles away, before the sun even has the courage to rise, you’re waking with the world still wrapped in a lavender yawn.

The air holds that delicate chill of dawn, the kind that promises something new and untouched, and you slip on your short linen sundress, the fabric light as a sigh against your skin. A soft pink ribbon finds its way into your hair, tied just so, fluttering like a secret only you know.

You step out into the cool hush of morning, breath mingling with the mist that clings to the lake behind your cottage, where the world feels paused, sacred, and waiting.

The geese shuffle towards you, their honks soft and shy, and you coo at them with a sweetness that drips like honey from your lips—tossing cracked corn from your palm, murmuring, “You handsome little gentlemen,” and teasing, “Don’t be mean, Harold, everyone gets breakfast.”

In this stillness, this fragile quiet, you hold the whole world in your hands.

You like this moment—the solitude, the gentle promise it carries—because here, just here, you are the only girl in the world.

After the geese are fed and the lake has kissed your ankles like a shy hello, you follow the winding road into town, the sun barely half past seven but already spilling warmth across your skin, filling your chest with a sweetness that feels like it could burst.

“Morning, Miss Lily!” you call, your voice bright and light as you wave to the florist tending dahlias on her porch.

Her eyes crinkle with a smile, and she teases, “Well, don’t you look like a postcard—off to steal some hearts today?”

You laugh, adjusting the basket perched on your hip, “Just flour, I promise.”

She shoots back with a knowing grin, “Flour and trouble, more like.”

You wink and keep moving, bare feet gliding over the cobblestones like a secret only the earth knows — light, quiet, familiar.

The morning sun is already warm on your skin, and your soles are still damp from the pond, where you’d been feeding the geese just minutes earlier, ankles muddy, bread crusts tucked in your apron pocket. You’d kicked off your shoes to keep them clean and never quite bothered putting them back on.

Children dart past, chasing laughter through the square, their shrieks bright and wild.

You crouch without thinking, catching the youngest boy by the elbow before he trips on his own shoelaces. “Whoa, careful there, darling,” you murmur, fingers working fast to tie a double knot as he steadies against your shoulder.

He nods solemnly, wide-eyed, before beaming when you press a lollipop into his palm from your apron’s front pocket. “You’ll have to tell me if it’s too sour,” you tease, tapping his nose.

He scampers off with a sticky grin, and you turn just in time to see a little girl hovering near your skirts, shy fingers twisting in her dress.

You kneel again and offer her a warm smile, pulling from your apron a carefully wrapped chocolate chip cookie — tied with red ribbon, baked fresh last night, soft in the center just the way she likes.

“There you go, Hazel,” you whisper, smoothing her curls from her forehead. “It’s the last one, so guard it with your life.”

She giggles, cheeks pink, and runs to show her mother, cookie clutched in both hands like treasure.

Then it’s onward to the bakery—your pride wrapped in pink walls nestled between the apothecary and the old bookshop, ivy crawling up the windows like whispered promises.

Rose-gold lettering gleams softly above the door, lace curtains framing the scent of vanilla, sugar, and warm peaches that wraps around you like a hug.

The bell chimes as you step inside, the shelves half-full from yesterday’s labor: lemon loaves, rosewater scones, lavender honey buns waiting to be kissed by morning light.

You hum quietly, lighting candles and watering the violets on the windowsill, feeling the quiet pulse of this place you built with your hands and your heart.

And then—just like that, as if summoned straight from the reckless corners of your mind—he’s there.

Remus Lupin.

Striding through the dusty street like a dangerous fantasy you never dared dream. His boots scuffed and weathered from god knows what, the worn denim of his jeans stretched tight over hips that speak of muscle and sin, every damn curve making your blood race and your mind spiral.

His shirt hangs half-open, teasing the sharp angles of his collarbone, the warm, rough skin beneath dusted with dirt and sweat, as if he’s just come from wrestling something wild and primal.

His hat is tipped low, but when his eyes lift and catch yours through the glass, everything inside you snaps taut and wild.

You try to hide it—pretending to wipe the counter, fingers trembling and heat burning your cheeks—but it’s a poor disguise.

“Morning, sweetheart,” his voice drips with honey and something darker, low and smooth, and it hits you right in the gut like a shot of whiskey.

“Good morning, Lupin” you breathe back, syrupy sweet, though your body is humming with a different kind of hunger, the kind that curls in your stomach and drips heat between your thighs.

His ears flush pink, and you swear it makes him ten times hotter, the shy confidence battling with the raw, untamed man beneath.

He shifts the bag of apples in his hands, eyes flickering up to yours like he’s trying to read a secret only you hold.

“Brought you something,” he mutters, voice low and rough, like the words taste damn good on his tongue. “Apples. From the orchard.”

You tilt your head, smile teasing, “That’s sweet of you, Remus. What, trying to win me over with fruit now?”

He chuckles, a deep, gravelly sound that makes your skin prickle. “Maybe. Or maybe I just wanted an excuse to come see you. You know, without looking like a damn fool just standing outside your bakery all day.”

Your breath catches. “Oh, so you’ve been watching, huh?”

He runs a hand through his hair, voice rougher now, like he’s barely holding himself together. “God, I—I don’t know how you do it, but you’ve got me—fuck, you’ve got me all tangled up.”

But all you can think about is the way those hands must grip—rough and sure—how they’d feel pressed against your skin, tracing the lines of your body as if memorizing every inch, every shiver, every desperate need.

How close he could get before the ache inside you explodes. The wild scent of earth and sweat and something raw and hungry clings to him like a second skin, and it wraps around you like a promise of sin.

Your smile is all sunshine and soft wickedness. “You keep doing this and I’m going to start thinking you like me.”

He pauses, blinking. “I—I mean”

You giggle and take the bag from his hands, fingers brushing once more.

“I’m just teasing,” you say, even though you're not, not entirely.

He nods, flustered, already backing toward the door like a man escaping a wildfire.

“Have a good day,” he manages.

“You too, handsome.”

You catch the way his shoulders stiffen, how he trips just slightly on the step.

And gods, it’s almost unfair—the effect you have.

But then again, you saw the way Miss Dervish from the tailor’s shop stared at him like she was ready to mount him like a broomstick right there on Main Street.

Remus Lupin really has all the ladies in town ovulating at the mere sight of him.

Truth is: the whole damn town is in love with Remus Lupin.

But only you get to see the way he looks at your mouth when you laugh. Only you get to make him blush like a boy.

And if he keeps showing up in those jeans, with that voice and that jaw and those hands that look like they could ruin and worship all at once—you’re going to forget how to bake entirely.

By midday, the bakery hums with warmth and chatter, full to the brim with townsfolk craving something sweet.

Your apron is dusted in flour and your lips are berry-stained from tasting jam. The sun outside is golden and bold, filtering through the windows like it’s falling in love with everything it touches—especially you.

You hum as you knead dough, hips swaying gently to the old French jazz playing on the radio.

There’s strawberry juice on your wrists and sugar under your nails. A tray of pies is cooling by the window, their scent thick and syrupy, while rows of rose-shaped butter cookies wait to be iced.

But something’s missing.

Chocolate.

And not just any chocolate—your favorite dark cocoa from the little cupboard at the Lupin farm, the one you tucked away weeks ago when Remus helped carry crates after the harvest fair. He’d told you to stop by for it anytime. So you do.

Not because of the chocolate, though. Not really.

You wipe your hands, untie your apron, and slip out the back door into the sun, your ribbon fluttering in the breeze.

The road to his farm is all wildflowers and bees, the kind of walk that makes you hum to yourself and twirl your skirt, completely unaware of what exactly you're walking into.

You spot him before he sees you.

Remus Lupin. On horseback.

And everything in you goes quiet.

He’s riding slow through the lower pasture, one hand on the reins, the other lifting his hat just enough to rake his fingers through his tousled hair before setting it back in place.

His shirt is undone even more now, clinging with sweat to the sharp slope of his chest, sleeves rolled to reveal those tanned, veined forearms that belong in sin. The muscles in his thighs flex under worn denim as he guides the horse in a slow, powerful trot, hips rising and falling with maddening ease.

You freeze, caught like a deer in the fading light.

His every move is a slow burn—the way he eases off that horse, boots landing heavy on the ground, the muscles in his arms flexing just enough to make your pulse slam against your ribs.

God, he knows exactly what he’s doing, and you’re helpless to look away, your mouth suddenly too dry to form the words you want to say.

Your thoughts spiral, filthy and urgent—how those hands might grip your waist, rough and possessive, pulling you flush against him so close you’d feel every breath, every beat of that steady heart beneath calloused skin.

You imagine the low growl in his voice if he ever lost control, thick and desperate, the kind that shreds all your carefully built walls down to nothing.

And then there’s that hat—the stupid, perfect thing perched on his head, begging to be yanked off like a silent challenge.

You want to reach out, fingers trembling, to drag it free and whisper the words you’d never dare speak aloud: fuck me, Remus.

But you don’t. You can’t. You just watch, helpless and aching.

His gaze locks on you, slow and deliberate, and your breath stutters, caught on the razor’s edge of something fierce and unspoken.

He steps closer, the scent of leather and sweat wrapping around you like a promise, shirt clinging to the lines of his back like a second skin, each movement designed to make your heart race and your mind spiral into sin.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says, voice low and honeyed, amused like he’s got some wicked secret only you’re about to discover. “Didn’t see you there.”

You force a smile, too sweet, heart already stammering like a busted engine. “Didn’t mean to interrupt. Just came by for the cocoa.”

He nods, eyes drifting to the horse beside him, and then his hand lifts slow and sure, stroking the mare’s neck with a touch so gentle it makes your skin itch in all the wrong places.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” he murmurs, voice dipping lower, thick and warm, like a promise you’re not sure you want but can’t resist.

“Was out riding my favorite girl Dai.” His palm slides along the mare’s side, fingers curling like he’s tracing a secret, a sacred line.

“Weren’t you such a good girl, huh?”

And damn, the way he says it—“good girl”—it’s filthy, all slick sin wrapped in a whisper.

The way his fingers trail over Dai’s bridle, so soft, like he’s touching something precious, something he wants to own, to protect.

You try not to squirm, but your legs suddenly wobble, knees weak like you’re caught in a heatwave you didn’t see coming, and there’s this fire burning low between your thighs that has absolutely nothing to do with flour or sugar or any damn thing you should be thinking about right now.

His eyes flicker back to you, catching the blush flaming across your cheeks, and that twitch at the corner of his mouth tells you he knows exactly the kind of mess he’s making you into—helpless, hot, aching for a touch that hasn’t even happened yet.

“You alright?” he asks, voice teasing but laced with something deeper, something that makes your breath hitch.

You nod, way too fast, words catching on a tremor you can’t hide. “Fine. Just… warm.”

“Mm,” he says. “Bet you are.”

He chuckles, the sound low and rough, like a rumble that shakes your bones. “That’s my favorite girl,” he says, patting Dai’s neck again, “and I reckon you’re my favorite baker.”

You have never in your life wished more to be a goddamn horse than right now.

Because the way he says it, the slow slide of his gaze over you—like he’s already imagining running those rough hands down your back, the heat of his breath ghosting over your skin, whispering all the things he’d do if you let him—makes your insides twist and writhe in delicious agony, caught between wanting and knowing you probably shouldn’t.

But fuck, you want it. You want him. Every filthy, sinful inch of him.

And when he turns toward the farmhouse, his voice is casual, almost teasing.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Let’s go get you that cocoa. Unless you forgot what you came for.”

You definitely did.

But you follow him anyway, biting your tongue, wondering if you can survive five more minutes with this man in his boots and half-unbuttoned shirt and sinful drawl calling anything a good girl.

He walks ahead a few paces, and even from behind, he’s maddening—long legs, golden shoulders beneath that half-undone shirt, a slow, easy swagger that feels like temptation incarnate.

You try not to watch him. You try not to think about what his hands would feel like if they weren’t holding reins or flour sacks. You try not to imagine what his voice might sound like pressed right against your ear.

You fail. Miserably.

The air is warmer inside the farmhouse, thick with the scent of pinewood and tobacco, and your eyes need a second to adjust as you step through the door behind him.

But you don’t get far.

Your toe catches on something—maybe the edge of the rug, maybe a boot left by the door—and your balance tilts out from under you in one horrible, slow-motion stumble.

“Oh—!”

But he’s there.

In an instant, large hands catch you by the waist, grounding you before you even fall.

One arm wraps behind your back, steady and sure, and suddenly you’re pressed flush against him, breath caught between your teeth and heart thundering in your ears.

“Careful there, sweetheart,” he says, voice gentle, eyes flicking down to check you over. “Would’ve hated to see you hurt yourself.”

You laugh a little too quickly, palms resting on his chest for balance. “I—I’m okay. Just clumsy.”

He doesn’t let go right away.

His thumb brushes your waist without thinking, and it sends a spark right through you.

Your body is burning where he’s touching you. And his eyes—soft brown, full of quiet amusement—study your face like you’re some kind of puzzle he wouldn’t mind spending a few lifetimes figuring out.

Then, slowly, he lets go.

“Chocolate, wasn’t it?” he murmurs, stepping back and guiding you with a light hand on your lower back. “Think I’ve got just the kind you like.”

You nod, heart in your throat. “Y-yeah. The one with the orange peel in it.”

He smiles. “Knew it. Sweet with a little bite.”

You try not to read into that. You really try.

He leads you to a wooden shelf near the back of the kitchen, cluttered with old jars, dried herbs hanging in bunches, tins of tea, and a few blocks of dark chocolate wrapped in paper and tied with string.

He crouches to rummage through the lower shelf, muttering softly under his breath.

Meanwhile, your gaze wanders again. The way his fingers handle everything with such care.

And—damn it—the way the back of his shirt clings to his waist, damp with sweat, tucked just loosely enough into those low-hung jeans.

You’re not sure how long you’re standing there trying not to ogle him when he straightens up and hands you two wrapped bars.

“Right here,” he says, tapping one. “One with orange, one with cinnamon. Just in case.”

You beam, holding both to your chest. “You’re a lifesaver.”

He shrugs, easy. “Wouldn’t want you runnin’ out mid-pie. That’d be a tragedy.”

You turn to leave, already backing toward the door, your heart full and fluttering.

But before you go, you glance back over your shoulder.

“Thanks, Remmy,” you say softly, voice light and sweet, ribbon swaying behind you as you walk away, leaving him standing there with a tent in his pants.

Remus Lupin is a patient man.

But you’ve gone and made a mess of all that.

He hasn’t been able to sit still since.

The moment you left, the house felt too empty. The kitchen too quiet. Only the faint scent of orange and cinnamon lingered in the air—sweet, stubborn reminders of you—and Remus couldn’t stop staring at the counter where your fingers had just been.

He drags a hand over the back of his neck, pacing slow in his kitchen, heart pounding like he’s fresh out of a goddamn rodeo.

It’s the way you said Remmy again, all soft and sweet like the syllables were something you wanted to wrap in lace.

The way your fingers brushed his when you took the chocolate.

The way you stumbled and he caught you, hands on your waist for one second too long—and how he’s still not sure if that flutter in your chest was nerves or something else.

Something hopeful.

Something dangerous.

He leans against the doorframe, staring out across the sunlit fields, pretending like the quiet out there might calm the storm in here. It doesn’t.

He can still see you standing in the road, squinting up at him on horseback like you were about to fall on your knees.

Can still hear the breath you took when he slid off Dai and murmured good girl to the horse, his hand smoothing over her mane—and how your eyes never left his mouth.

He tells himself he’s imagining it.

He tells himself it’s the heat, the dust, the soft haze of summer playing tricks.

But his hands still ache from where they steadied your fall. His chest still burns from the way you smiled, like he’d given you the whole damn world for the price of chocolate.

And his thoughts—his thoughts are filthy, honey-thick, clinging.

You’re too sweet. Too soft. Too kind for the way he wants you.

He wants to press you up against the counter of that bakery, sugar and flour in your hair.

He wants to take that sundress off slow, like he’s unwrapping something too delicate for a man like him.

He wants to kiss your throat, taste your laugh, ruin your lip gloss.

And worst of all—he wants to hold your hand after.

Remus Lupin is a patient man.

But for you, he’s starting to lose the only good sense he has left.

Which is why, only a few hours after you left, Remus Lupin found himself walking into town like a man possessed.

He told himself it was nothing. Just a visit. Just being polite.

But his boots hit the pavement harder than they should, dust kicking up behind him as he strode past Mrs. Macmillan’s garden and the old chapel, not sparing a single glance for the women who giggled behind parasols or the way someone’s daughter nearly walked into a fence watching him go by.

He didn’t notice them. Not their perfume, not their waves, not their sun-warmed stares.

His eyes were fixed ahead—on the pink-tinged little building with ivy creeping up the sides and a wooden sign that read The Wildflower Oven. On you.

The bell above the door rang softly when he stepped inside, and he nearly forgot how to breathe.

There you were.

Bent slightly over the counter, piping delicate swirls of icing onto golden vanilla muffins, ribbons tied in your hair like you were spun from sugar yourself.

You were humming something soft, something dreamy and old, and when you glanced up—when your eyes landed on him, bright as sunlight through a summer orchard—you smiled.

“Hi, Rem,” you said, warm and easy.

Rem.

It hit him like a punch to the gut.

That little nickname, all familiar and fond and sinful in the way it curled off your tongue.

His heart gave a desperate lurch in his chest, and he felt—viscerally—the tight pull of desire low in his stomach. His belt was suddenly too snug.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he managed, stepping toward the counter as you finished your muffin with a final flourish.

“Didn’t expect to see you again today,” you said, licking a bit of frosting off your finger. “What brings you here? Another chocolate craving?”

He watched your tongue flick over the tip of your finger like you didn’t even know what you were doing. Or maybe you did.

Maybe you knew exactly how you looked, sunlight on your skin and icing on your lips, a walking fever dream of every soft thing he’s ever wanted.

“Couldn’t stay away,” he said, voice thick.

You laughed, and he knew he was done for.

You moved to grab a towel, but he caught your wrist before you could, gentle but firm, eyes locked to yours.

“I shouldn’t,” he murmured. “I know I shouldn’t.”

But you tilted your head, curious. “Shouldn’t what?”

“This,” he said—and then he pulled you in.

His mouth met yours like he’d waited a lifetime. It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t polite.

It was needy, hot, his hands gripping your waist and pulling you flush against him as he pressed you back into the counter, scattering a few napkins and flour-dusted tins.

You gasped into the kiss, your hands gripping his shoulders, and he groaned when your hips shifted against his.

The friction nearly undid him.

You were so soft, so warm, and he wanted all of you. Every kiss, every sigh, every inch of skin under that sundress he’d memorized with his eyes.

You whimpered when he kissed down your neck, when his hand slid beneath your apron and gripped your hip hard enough to leave heat in its wake.

“Remus,” you whispered, breathless.

He pulled back for half a second, just to see you—flushed cheeks, kiss-swollen lips, eyes wide and shining.

“I’ve been thinking about this all damn day,” he confessed, his voice rough with restraint he no longer had. “You’ve been driving me wild, honey. You walk around this town looking like that and expect me to act right?”

Your fingers slid beneath the hem of his shirt, making him hiss through clenched teeth. “Maybe I don’t want you to act right.”

That was all it took.

A deep, guttural groan tore from his throat as his mouth slammed back onto yours, hips thrusting forward on pure instinct.

The counter shook beneath the weight of your desperate bodies. The kiss deepened, savage and hungry. You clung to him like you’d shatter without his touch—maybe you would.

Slowly, deliberately, you lifted a leg and wrapped it tight around his waist, lowering yourself onto his rock-hard cock.

A guttural groan spilled from his lips as his hands crushed your waist, pulling you harder against him, grinding you with agonizing slowness.

“Shit, baby, can’t do that to me,” Remus groaned, voice thick and ragged against your mouth.

“I really fucking need you.” His hands tore at your dress, breaking the kiss to rip it off, then devoured your breasts with greedy fingers and mouth. He sucked your nipples hard, tugging like he needed to mark you as his.

You peeled your legs free and steadied yourself on the counter, tossing the dress aside. Remus freed his cock, rock-hard and leaking slick precum onto his jeans. Shameless, he stroked himself slow and steady.

“Keep ‘em on.” His voice was low, rough with need as he didn’t let you slide your panties off. Instead, he wrapped his arms tight around your hips and pulled you down so your back pressed flush against his broad chest.

With an effortless lift, he hoisted you up, spreading your thighs just enough with his free hand, pressing his aching cock right between them.

“Remmy…” you breathed out, tilting your head back to kiss along his sharp jawline, soft and slow.

His cowboy hat sat slightly crooked on his head, the worn brim shadowing his dark eyes—an irresistible invitation. Your fingers reached up, bold and trembling, and slowly you pulled the hat off his head, letting it slip free like a promise.

You lifted it carefully, the faint scent of leather and sun-soaked days lingering in the fabric, and slipped it over your own hair, the brim dipping low over your eyes, hiding your flushed cheeks.

Remus’s breath hitched, his eyes darkening with need as he stared at you—his hat on your head like a secret you were daring him to unravel.

You were officially trying to kill him. Remus Lupin—death by pussy. A noble death, really.

His hands clenched your waist tighter, hips pressing harder against yours. “Gods, you in my hat…” His voice was low, rough with want, “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

You moaned softly, heat pooling deep and thick between your legs, your voice barely more than a whisper, “You’re so big.”

“Shit, y-you’re squeezing,” he murmured, voice ragged as he looked down. Your hips moved gently, rocking back and forth, thighs curling tenderly around his cock that throbbed hard against your thin fabric.

You both gasped sharply the moment his cock brushed against your soaked, sensitive clit.

Remus couldn’t stop touching you, not if he tried. One hand toyed with the frilly hem of your panties, teasing and pulling, while the other wrapped snug around your heaving chest, fingers kneading and claiming.

“Spit on it, baby,” he growled low, heat dripping from every word.

You leaned your head down, eyes locked on the slick glistening wetness smearing your inner thighs, and without hesitation, spit right on the tip of his cock—just like he wanted—earning a deep, guttural moan vibrating straight through you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” he cursed, pressing your thighs tighter together, trapping his twitching cock between them, moving just enough to drive you wild.

When he finally came, the bite he left on your shoulder was painful and possessive, hot and rough as he spilled his release all over the front of your panties.

He dragged the tip of his cock through the slick mess, spreading it, marking you thoroughly.

“What are you doing?” you blinked down at him, breath hitching. Remus knelt on the floor, hands sliding your legs apart and resting them gently on his broad shoulders.

“Cleanin’ you up.” His lips burned against the soft skin of your inner thigh, tongue flat and warm as it licked away every trace of his mess, slick and sticky.

His dark brown eyes, shadowed beneath furrowed brows and heavy lashes glistening with moisture, lifted to meet yours just as he reached your center.

Your chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, heart pounding in the quiet tension.

Remus wrapped his mouth around the stained front of your panties, sucking them clean with a slow, deliberate hunger.

His fingers trembled as they slid the fabric aside, revealing slick heat slicked with his cum underneath. He swallowed hard, lips curving into a satisfied grin pressed against your stomach.

“Can I touch your pretty pussy?” His voice was rough, desperate, a shiver running down your spine.

You nodded quickly, breath catching as his cold fingertips ghosted over your swollen clit.

A thick bead of spit fell from his mouth, slick and wet, coating your slick folds before he replaced his fingers with his tongue, warm and insistent.

Your hand dove into his hair, gripping tight as you pulled him closer, needing every inch of him against your burning heat.

His low moan vibrated against your skin, lips and nose grazing your clit, and damn—he could smell you, raw and intoxicating, making him lose himself completely.

“You taste so fuckin’ good,” he breathed, pulling away just long enough to praise you, hand already palming that aching, swollen cock again.

The pain only made him harder, the desperate urge to touch himself uncontrollable.

With a wicked glint in his eye, he snapped the elastic against your sensitive skin drawing a startled whimper from your throat.

“Rem, I’m gonna come!” you whimpered, that tight knot in your stomach about to unravel.

If his mouth wasn’t still buried between your thighs, you’d have caught the smug smirk spreading across his face.

With a slow, deliberate motion, he hooked a finger into the waistband and pushed your panties to the side, exposing you to the cool air—and to him.

His palm pressed firmly against your lower stomach, moving in slow, possessive circles until you cried out his name, the sound raw and needy.

“Sensitive, yeah?” he murmured, lips trailing soft kisses over your clit, making you jerk and shiver.

You tried squeezing your legs shut, but Remus was relentless—elbow hooking under your thighs to pry them open wide, resting your legs on his shoulders as he dove back into your slick heat.

“Please, Rem, someone could come in!” you gasped, attempting to push him away.

“Just a little more, baby,” he slurred, tongue flicking expertly around your trembling hole.

“Gotta come,” he muttered, sharpening the tip of his tongue and plunging it deep inside you, making you gasp and tremble with pure, desperate need.

He curled his tongue inside you before pulling back and spitting wetly inside, the slick fabric pressed against your pussy.

Your eyes snapped open as his fingers slid in alongside the soaked cloth, stretching you deliciously.

“Fuck, you’re sweeter than any damn pie,” he groaned, voice thick with need as he pushed himself up.

“Gonna cum all over this cunt.”

Hovering over you, your legs wrapped instinctively around his torso, clutching him tight. His cock slapped hard against your clit before he began grinding the swollen tip back and forth, moaning deep and loud.

Breath ragged, he sighed softly as hot spurts of cum dripped slick between your folds, the bunch of fabric trapped inside catching most of the mess.

“Fuck, fuck, such a good girl f’me.”

He let his whole weight collapse onto you, hands bracing on your shoulders to pull you impossibly close.

“So fuckin’ good, baby, best damn pussy in this town.” he muttered, words thick with filthy adoration, peppered with profanity.

Sliding down, he planted soft, worshipful kisses on your collarbone, trailing lower to your chest and stomach.

You grabbed your dress off the counter and fumbled to pull it back on, fingers trembling as you tried to find the sleeves.

“Here—c’mere, baby,” Remus murmured, stepping in to help, his hands steady where yours shook. He took his hat and put it back on his head and then guided the fabric up over your shoulders, smoothing it down gently before reaching for the ribbon that had slipped loose in your hair.

“Hold still, love,” he said, voice soft, almost fond, as he tied it back into place. Then he leaned in, pressing a kiss to your lips—slow, sweet, grounding.

Before you could turn away, his arms snaked around your waist, pulling you flush against him. He caged you gently between his chest and the counter, forehead dropping to yours. “You know,” he whispered, breath warm against your lips, “you’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

Your smile curved wicked. “Even right now?”

“Especially right now.”

You reached down, curling your fingers through his until his hand was yours again. Slowly, deliberately, you brought it to your mouth—and licked the remaining mess from his fingers, eyes never leaving his.

Remus Lupin was, quite officially, dead and gone for—completely wiped out at the sight of you licking his own cum off his fingers, the sweet angel baker of the town now standing before him as the most gloriously obscene vision he’d ever laid eyes on.

Yeah, Remus was absolutely, undeniably done for.

But then—

CRASH.

The bakery door slammed open with the force of a thunderclap, bell jangling like an alarm.

A deep roar of an engine echoed behind it, followed by the unmistakable snarl of tires on pavement and the lingering scent of leather and smoke.

And standing in the doorway, sunglasses low on his nose, helmet under one arm and a slow smirk tugging at his mouth—

Was Sirius Black.

“Am I interrupting?” he drawled, voice like trouble and sin.

#colouredbyd #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x reader smut #remus lupin smut #remus lupin x fem!reader #remus lupin oneshot #remus x reader smut #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin drabble #remus lupin hc #remus lupin fic #remus lupin headcanon #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin angst #cowboy!remus

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bunny-jpeg · 7 months ago

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toto the terror

toto wolff

tags: smut/pwp, driver!reader, spanking/punishments, team prinicpal!toto, age gap (20s/50s), teasing, dirty talk/degrading language, rough sex, mean!toto, collars, dom/sub behaviors, power dynamic, kinky

a/n: like the fic? suggest your own! really like the fic, leave a comment!

you should've known what was coming next when you saw you results of the weekend. you got p16, you were basically in last. and you boss didn't like being at the bottom of the grid. he paid you a lot of money to win, so do to so horribly was unacceptable. toto wouldn't allow this.

when you got yo your hotel room with your metaphorical tail between your legs. you saw a familiar box on your bed. made of sturdy wood with the mercedes logo painted on the top. as much as you belonged to the team.

you belonged to toto even more.

you swallowed as you opened the box. you gazed inside its padded interior. a black leather collar with a gold tag glared back at you. you expected it to be there just as you expected to be punished for the infraction of the weekend. you'd have to learn for the next race.

toto was an interesting man. he could be so stoic, but also abrasively passionate. his anger could be felt through any room if someone caught him in the wrong mood. and while the anger was something to avoid, especially in the tension of racing. there was nothing worse than the silent disappointment. there was a tension in the air of his own room as you knelt in front of him while he fastened the collar around your throat.

despite it being an act of punishment, this was also an act of trust.

"i'm sorry, sir."

"apologies won't save you now. if you were truly sorry you would've done better this weekend." his tone was flat while he tugged on the collar to make sure that it was securely on you.

you whined and toto patted your head, you tried to go for the belt around his waist but he stopped you. you looked up at him with a sad expression and he laughed.

"the puppy dog eyes won't work on me, you know that." he said sternly, "not tonight. you need to learn and i'm afraid i have been lacking in my lessons with you."

you whined when he patted your cheek with a little more force than normal. he'd never hit you with a closed fist, but he'd leave another pair of cheeks bruised. you swallowed then said, "please."

"no." he said lowly as he got you across his lap. there wasn't a stitch on you except for the collar around your throat. a symbol of toto's ownership over you. he squeezed the roundness of one of your ass cheeks and you moaned. he gave it a rough rub before he laid a smack across the skin.

your back arched as you hissed through your teeth. you held onto a pillow on the couch . your jaw tensed when he laid another smack across your skin. it made you buck against him.

"don't make me pin you down, slut. you know i will tie you up like a hog and tease you until you cry." his words were a promise as he continued to land smacks across your ass.

his hand covered a lot of surface across your skin. you hissed when three more slaps cam down. but he kept you down against him.

you weren't going anywhere toto didn't want you to go.

"you are so useless to me. useless on the track. i can't believe they allowed you get a license. you don't belong anywhere near a car or a track, my little failure of a driver." his voice was tense and it made your bottom lip wobble. he laid down more smacks across your behind. you knew it would be purple come morning.

maybe being unable to sit properly for a while would do you some good. maybe the sting of it would linger until you won another championship.

he grasped your cheek once more and the pain made your toes curl. he heard your groan and it made him chuckle. your curse words in your first language made him laugh.

"you'll behave now? you'll finally understand how much i've invested in you. you are my most expensive purchase. and i expect returns. either with your wins or your body."

you swallowed before you said meekly, "i'm sorry, sir. i won't fail you again." your hips rolled when you felt another painful smack.

when he was finished giving you your punishment, he pushed you onto the carpeted floor of the hotel room. you fumbled and whined when you got carpet burn on your knees from the impact.

"don't cry over that. i've done worse to you than a little carpet burn and you moaned." he said as he took off his branded button up and got his cock out of his slacks. he remained mostly clothed in a white undershirt in his slacks. no need for a messy girl like you to ruin his work shit. (someone had to work around here).

toto wolff was a man who loved control. while he usually kept his drivers on a loose leash, not you. he needed total control over you. he needed you on a leash that nearly choked you.

so when he kept you on the floor by the couch, your knees bruised like your ass. you felt the heat in your core. you felt the fire in your gut from the power he held over you.

he rubbed his cock up against you. he briefly teased your cunt before he sank himself into you. you tried to find support from something, but the rough carpet just hurt your fingers while your boss fucked you. "you're no good. only good with your mouth. maybe if you didn't run it so much for the press, you could actually use it for it's real purpose. getting me off. being my stress relief. you being in a car is a mercy i could take away. you're a seat warmer when you should be my bed warmer."

it made your toes curl. his words burned in your brain and you heavily panted against the rough carpet. your heart raced as he had you almost bouncing on his cock.

"you need to learn to behave, you need to learn to win. you need to be the best. if you're not the best, then you're nothing to me." he groaned.

the movements were rough and you felt the pleasure between you two. your short nails dug into the carpet, unable to grab leverage of anything. you were at the mercy of your lover.

your boss.

the movement continued and you felt all rationality leave your head. there was little left in terms of thoughts as toto made sure to push you further into the carpet. he pressed your head into the carpet. he shifted his knees to go at a quicker pace. he noticed the shake of your ass with each heavy movement. he curled over you as he hit against the right areas.

"please sir, i'll win the next one. i'll win all of them!" yur back arched. you felt the rush in your system. your head felt a buz while he remained balls deep inside of you.

"promises, promises." he grunted.

you were at your lover's mercy. you were under him and it made you core swim. you eventually pressed your cheek against the carpet, you accepted the carpet burn across your skin. you were pushed further into it with each hard thrust.

you whined, "i mean it! i'll make you proud!" your bottom lip wobbled more as he continued to roughly fuck you.

he shook his head and clicked his tongue, "i hear the words, but i've yet to see the action, you know i'm a man of results."

you knew that, you knew that painfully well. toto expected the best out of you. that was why he collared and spanked you. he said things that often made you ears burn

the pace was rapid and rough. he didn't stagger despite his age. he didn't pull his cock fully out, he made sure that every inch was shoved inside of you. that you were familiar with him, that you could taste him in the back of your throat due to how hard he was fucking you.

"you feel so good. taking my cock is more nature to you than driving. maybe it's time for a new career path."

"no, please sir! i want to drive I want to win it all! i want to be your champion!" your mouth hung open for a moment as you felt the inferno in your guy.

toto muttered something in german and you felt the pleasure flood your head and with a few more thrusts, you finished around him. you clawed at the carpet and arched your back. your noises were tight as you came.

toto muttered something against your heated flesh as he continued. he fucked you roughly against the carpet, he left you needy. he left you wanting more. you were greedy for him. he let himself fully take you, he heated noises grew before he slammed his cock as deep as it would go as he finished inside of you.

you panted heavily as you tried to come back to reality. toto came out and admired his work as he got his sticky cock back into his slacks. your bruised behind with cum dripped out of you achy cunt. he rubbed you behind and you whimpered.

"now, you'll be good, right? next week will be better?"

you croaked, "yes, sir."

"you've done it! first place yours!" you heard toto's voice over the radio. you cheered as you drove the car back to the garage. you beyond happy, this put you back in the league to get the wdc.

"let's go! let's go!" you cheered.

"careful now." toto said, "remember the rules. don't want community service after your win!"

you laughed, "of course, sir, of course!" you couldn't contain yourself. you believed this was the start of a winning streak. toto gave you a good luck charm before the race. his cum inside of your slick pussy after he fucked you in the driver's room. you believed that your boss' training would make you a true winner. <3

#bunny writes #reader insert #formula 1 #formula one imagine #formula one smut #formula one fanfiction #f1 smut #f1 x reader #torger toto wolff #toto wolff smut #toto wolff x reader #toto wolff fanfiction #toto wolff #toto wolff fanfic

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tls12lessthan3 · 7 months ago

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never before has this type of self-insert fantasy ever sold me on a main character's powers like omniscient reader's viewpoint does. normally when the main character recieves some kind of insanely powerful skill due to their previously useless/cringe/lame/etc hobby or career i have a reaction of like. ok sure. yoo joonghyuk was a pro gamer so now in the star stream he has a pro gamer attribute that lets him fight like he's playing a video game. ok sure! not exactly difficult to grasp.

but kim dokja's skills are so clearly not just based in his favourite hobby but like. reflective of his entrenched ideas about himself and the world. there's a moment in chapter 2 where yoo sangah sees that kim dokja is feeling down about not getting his contract renewed (unlike her, who as a Heroine would obviously be better than him and be recognized for her talents), so she offers to send him a link to her language learning app in an attempt to connect with him and cheer him up. and this immediately sends kim dokja into intense dissasociation because he interprets it as her trying to make him like her - a protagonist, a hard worker, someone of value, all of which can be summed up in this case as an active 'Character' and all of which kim dokja has strictly barred himself from. he sees it as yoo sangah trying to pull him from his place in the story as just a reader who lets things happen to him into a proper character role and this is something his mind rejects almost violently. and its like oh! hello fourth wall! i see you! cause thats exactly what the fourth wall does! it protects him from becoming a 'Character' and therefore having to get hurt as characters (people who try hard, interact with the world, and thereby impact it) do by rejecting any notion of him being an actual part of the story, rather than the useless bystander he's always characterised himself as. which is what he's doing here. this dissasociation and that dissasociation are so clearly linked.

and its just one example i can see of how kim dokjas neuroses and issues are so clearly displayed to the reader (disguised as the typical eye-rolling self-deprecation we expect from these sort of self-inserts, almost on par with isekai fl's who proclaim they will never attract the attention of the ml). and then they go on to so clearly build his skills in a way that makes you go oh yeah i guess i get it on a first read and make you want to chew glass on a second. the way his abilities aren't just deus ex machinas he gets as a reader and instead so clearly foreshadowed in and influenced by his psyche........ough. did you guys know this book is good actually.

#orv #victor's liveblog two: electric boogaloo

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 1 month ago

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The Keys Of Heaven [Chapter 4: The Giver Of Life]

Series summary: Three years ago, Father Aemond Targaryen performed a miracle. Now he is a cardinal, a media sensation, and a frontrunner to be elected pope. You are a nun who has been brought to Vatican City to assist with the papal conclave. But when your paths cross by happenstance, you must both reckon with your decision to join the Catholic Church…and what you want from the future.

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), references to abuse and violence, volcanoes, bodily injury, death, peril, scheming, pining, some drugs/alcohol/smoking, Catholic trivia you never asked to learn, kangaroos!

Word count: 6.6k

🦘 A very special thanks to my Aussie slang consultant @bearwithegg and also her mum (any mistakes are mine) 🦘

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Tagging: @mrs-starkgaryen @chattylurker @lauraneedstochill @ecstaticactus @neithriddle, more in comments! 🥰

🗝️ Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🗝️

Boats speed past him as he approaches Nea Kameni, fishing vessels, sailboats, small yachts weighed down with tourists and celebrities and business tycoons, and even if they were to turn back towards the erupting volcano—which none of them are—they wouldn’t be able to carry all the people stranded there to safety without going under themselves. This is why when Aemond commandeered a boat from the Old Port of Fira, he chose the largest one, a Grand Banks trawler that can withstand the burden of fifty desperate souls clawing their way abroad. The owner, a man in a suit who looks like he could afford the $2,000,000 price tag, had just been coming down from the cockpit and immediately handed over the keys when Aemond demanded them. Who could mistrust a priest?

“What will you do, Father?” the man had asked in a thick Greek accent, and then, when he saw Aemond’s pale blue eyes flick to the rupturing volcano: “No, you can’t, it’s suicide.”

But it’s not: it’s a resurrection, a chance to be born again. Aemond’s cassock is a humble and undistinguished black, the color of mourning, the death of his old life, the promise of something brand new. Why should people worship Mother Teresa or Joan of Arc or Thomas Aquinas and not him? It is not talent that he lacks. It is only their attention; it is only a miracle.

Now asteroids of pumice and scoria and basalt and obsidian are raining down into the waves thrashing around him, sea spray swashing up over the deck, and the sky is dark with ash and noxious lung-searing fumes, afternoon turned to nightfall. Red veins of lava are snaking down Nea Kameni, and the tourists trapped there are like specks of ants as they flee across the island, their own boat buried in a landslide and useless. And it is not just thankless obscurity that Aemond is leaving behind. It is the person he was when he left Nisyros as a teenager, escaping things he does not think about if he can help it, and most of the time he succeeds.

The ocean is sloshing, swirling, steaming where lava spills into the waves and makes them boil, and to leap into the currents would be certain death. He knows he won’t have long once he docks; even in the shelter of the tiny crescent-moon harbor, the boat will soon be ripped from its moorings by the fury of the sea, and then he will be trapped too and perish in the cinders and the heat and the suffocating toxins that have replaced the oxygen in the air. So he climbs over the deck railing and ropes the vessel to one of the piers that is still standing, and by the time he turns to wave to the castaways they have spotted him and are flocking to his boat in the same way thousands of believers once received the loaves and fishes from Christ.

“Father! Father!” they are screaming in the apocalyptic gloom, the earth quaking and the air like acid, and as they sprint down the embankment he points to warn them: a lava flow that is pouring from the exploded crater, a red-glowing river that will consume them. The tourists look back and see the molten cascade and shriek hysterically, pleading, praying, knowing they cannot outrun it, feeling the lethal heat of it already, blisters bubbling up on their exposed skin.

And then—as Aemond’s hands are still raised in warning, as the tourists have their back to the lava flow as they race for the boat—a new fissure opens up in the earth and Aemond watches as the lava floods down into it, and the besieged visitors to the island are spared. Then they are swarming the boat and Aemond is helping them aboard—Thank you Father, bless you Father—and already he can hear them repeating a lie he does not correct: Did you see that he stopped the lava? It was there and then it was gone, a godsend, a miracle.

It’s almost too dark to see, but Aemond steers the boat out of the harbor and begins crossing the narrow strait of the Mediterranean Sea back to Fira on Santorini. As his passengers cling to each other and meteors of volcanic rock pummel the vessel and splash into the waves, he reaches into one of the pockets of his black cassock—one day red, one day white, he cannot stop himself from thinking—and finds there the rosary that a girl once gave him on a beach in Sydney, Australia. He thinks of her sometimes, but not in a way he could explain to anyone else. She is a ghost, a whisper, far more than a friend, far less than a lover, and yet a ricochet that he hears again and again in moments when he thinks he has forgotten her.

What if I never met her on that beach? What if we had never left?

There is a blinding pain and then the impact of his body hitting the deck and then nothing, and later Aemond will learn that a piece of pumice struck his left eye and fractured his skull. Blood flashes red across the white paint, hemorrhaging like the poisons from the earth. His ash-soiled collar turns crimson and sopping. As the boat is tossed by rough waves and the sky grows ever-darker, the afternoon sun eclipsed, Aemond’s devotees staunch the bleeding and keep him safely aboard, and one of them takes the helm and manages to guide the vessel safely back to Santorini.

And when Aemond wakes up three days later—missing an eye, gaining immortality—the first thing he does is fumble for the remote so he can turn on the television and see witnesses acclaiming his miracle on Alpha TV: Father Targaryen saved us, Father Targaryen made me believe again.

~~~~~~~~~~

“What’s going on between you and the nun?” Lucky asks.

He and Aemond are standing beside the koi pond in the Vatican Gardens. It’s early, and the older cardinals are still scraping their arthritic bones together as they crawl out of their beds. The December morning is grey and dull like iron. Near the bottom of the pond, comets of gold and white and red and black scales travel unhurriedly through rippling water like the darkness of the night sky.

Aemond, preoccupied, puffs on a Karelia cigarette. “I told you. We met when we were children.”

Lucky lights a cigar and takes an impatient drag. That’s not what he meant, and they both know it. “Who is she to you now?”

“Nothing. We’re friends.”

“Not a good enough answer.” Lucky flicks ashes onto the sand-colored tuff pebbles, damp with daybreak mist. “Auclair is running around saying you have an improper attachment to her. Kazi told me there was candle wax all over her face. How did that get there, I wonder? Par hasard?”

Aemond hesitates. His cigarette smolders between two fingers of his right hand, a tiny pinpoint of pulsing red light. “I was consoling her. Auclair...in the chapel, she accidentally dropped a candle on his cassock, and he grabbed her arm.”

Lucky’s brow furrows, incredulous. “He struck her?”

“He startled her.”

Lucky doesn’t understand. “And this compelled you to...lose your composure entirely, risk everything we’ve worked for? Auclair startling a nun?”

Aemond shrugs, peering into the koi pond. “It’s difficult to explain.”

“Aemo, are you serious about this?” About being the next pope.

“Yes,” Aemond replies immediately.

“Because...you know...it would not be the worst thing in the world if Jake got it. Or another moderate, an obscure consensus candidate we could dig up, some old unassuming Italian, the conclave is full of them. And if we pivot now, we might be able to box out Jahoda, even without you.”

“But that’s not what you want.”

Lucky smiles and opens his hands. “I am of the conviction that your gifts are too extraordinary to waste. I think you’re the best of us.”

Aemond averts his gaze as he takes a drag on his cigarette. “I’m not without flaws.”

“Oh, you have them, I’m sure. Pride, wrath, envy, lust.”

“A multitude of earthly motivations.”

Lucky chuckles, a gruff baritone rumble. “And who among us is selfless? Kazi joined the Church because in Poland in 1985, his job options were soldier, coal miner, or priest, and priest was the clear winner. Cam wanted his parents to be proud of him, I wanted a better life in Haiti. And Lando…well…I’m not sure, perhaps that was genuine.” Lucky exhales a plume of smoke and looks at Aemond. “I won’t pretend to know your ignoble reasons for joining the Church, but I’m certain you had them. Mortals don’t often do things out of pure altruism, we are imperfect by design. But that doesn’t mean we can’t still try to make the world better.”

“And you believe my elevation will facilitate that.”

“I do,” Lucky says honestly, then his expression turns fierce. “But you must either commit or get out of the way. You cannot sabotage this conclave and give the Chair of Saint Peter to someone like Jahoda, and you cannot be the pope if you intend to continue indulging your temptations. It is not just a sin, it is murder. When you hurt the Church, you are hurting everyone who might have been saved by it.”

Aemond nods, but he is still distracted. He finishes his cigarette and tosses the end of it into a row of laurel hedges slick with dew. Then he gazes across the gardens at the stone statue of Saint Agatha, eternally young, sinless, vulnerable. He says softly: “I just never thought I’d see her again. I couldn’t remember her name or her hometown, but I knew she wasn’t from Sydney, so how would I ever find her? Then to cross paths with her here...it’s an almost impossible coincidence. And to let her go for the second time seems so wrong. Painful. Intolerable.”

“Do you think I don’t know what it feels like to care for a woman? To love one, even?”

Aemond is stunned; he’s never heard this before. He waits for Lucky to continue like a priest listens silently in the confessional booth.

“I had a girlfriend when I was young,” Lucky says after a while. He kicks away some of the tuff pebbles, drops the end of his cigar in the trough, buries it in the shards of volcanic rock. “And she got pregnant. I couldn’t marry her, I was already planning to join the Church. But I promised that I would provide for her and the baby to the best of my ability. It would have been like Auclair’s situation, you know? Rumors, sure, but that’s all. Visits a few times a week. A child with my face. She took it better than I thought she would, honestly. She understood why I wanted to be a priest, and she knew we would all benefit from my position. She was pragmatic, even at eighteen.”

He has a child? Aemond thinks, astonished. He understands what that’s like?

But no: It would have been like Auclair’s situation, Lucky said. Not it is, not it was.

“She was living with her parents because she couldn’t live with me,” Lucky continues. “And one night when no one else was home, men broke in to rob the house thinking it was empty. They found her, and they killed her, slit her throat down to the vertebrae of her spine. There was no reason for it. She wasn’t trying to stop them or anything. She was hiding in a closet, six months pregnant, just waiting for them to leave. And if she and I had been living together in our own home, she wouldn’t have been there when those men shattered the window and climbed inside. I think about that all the time. It never goes away. Forty years later, and I’m still picking up the phone every day, hearing her father’s voice tell me what happened over and over again.”

The burning in Aemond’s throat makes him think of embers, lava, the gridiron Saint Lawrence was roasted alive on. He lays a gentle palm on his friend’s shoulder. “Lucky, I’m so sorry.”

“There have been times when God spoke to me so clearly it was like He was standing in the same room. And then there were other times...” Lucky closes his eyes for a moment, breathes deeply and unsteadily, shakes his head. “Many, many others, when I heard nothing, and my doubts filled me from my heart all the way down to my fingertips, and it was so heavy and so dark, and it’s contagious, you see, that sort of faithlessness. Contagious and unbearable.” Then, miraculously, he smiles. “But when I saw the news reports about what you did on that island, all those people you saved...parents, children, lovers, friends...all the sudden, it was so much easier to believe. How can one deny the existence of God when a miracle worker walks among us? Fifty witnesses, fifty lives spared, there’s been nothing like it since the ancient times, if you even give credence to those accounts. God has blessed you so abundantly, Aemo. How can we ignore that?”

Aemond lifts his hand from Lucky’s shoulder. What did God have to do with it? “I think I understand,” he says instead.

“In my good moments, I remember the suffering of Christ and all those martyred saints, souls who were so pure and so loved by God, and who were welcomed home by Him when their time came, and who will live on eternally. I have to believe that, Aemo. That we aren’t forsaken, that we aren’t alone, that death isn’t the end. All people have to believe that.”

“Then I’ll do everything I can to win,” Aemond says. When he looks down at the pond again, he sees a dead koi floating there, its scales a vibrant glittering gold. Another one? He gestures to the fish. “Help me bury it.”

Lucky is mystified. “Why?”

So she won’t get in trouble. So they won’t send her away.

“Just help me,” Aemond insists, and Lucky does.

~~~~~~~~~~

“It’s like Whac-A-Mole with all these Italians,” Kazi says over lunch, miming smacking them with a mallet. He means the three candidates that have rapidly surged and then fallen again when it became clear they didn’t have the votes: Cardinal Edoardo Rossi, Cardinal Davide Marino, Cardinal Frederico Abatantuono. The frontrunners remain unchanged; but in the last ballot, only a single vote separated Aemond from Jake, and they both lagged conspicuously behind Jahoda. Lando, now with five silent, anonymous supporters, is clearly stymied.

Outside, it has been drizzling. You and the other nuns are delivering baskets of bread and bowls of Sicilian-style fish stew to the cardinals: garlic and herbs and vegetables and sea bass, capers, golden raisins, a steaming broth of white wine and blood red tomatoes. Across the dining hall, the nonagenarian Cardinal Bogdi Marcu of Romania has spilled soup on himself and Sister Nuru is helping to clean him up. The lean, white-haired Cardinal Auclair is stalking between the tables, pausing to whisper to other cardinals, who frown and nod at whatever he is telling them. You feel your stomach drop, but try not to appear nervous.

He’s duplicitous, and everybody knows it. He’s a sinner, he’s a liar. And he doesn’t have proof of anything.

“How’s it going?” you ask brightly as you set a bowl of stew down in front of Aemond. “I didn’t get to say hi at brekkie.”

You certainly didn’t; he was absorbed in conversations with his companions and had barely looked at you. Now he is still evasive, sipping his glass of water and pretending to brush bread crumbs from the sleeve of his red cassock. Randomly, you wonder what he is wearing under it. Beneath your white wool habit, you have on a simple navy blue cotton skirt and a light jumper, striped with black and white. “Hello, Sister,” Aemond says flatly, fidgeting with the large gold cross that hangs from his neck.

Kazi gives you a brief smile but then resumes his commentary on the revolving door of Italian candidates. Lucky and Cam don’t acknowledge you, in the same way so many cardinals treat the nuns as invisible. You are perplexed; your heartbeat is thudding, hot and ashamed.

What do they know?

“Thank you, Sister,” Lando says quietly as you serve him his stew.

“Everything alright?” you ask Aemond, trying to sound cavalier.

Please don’t ignore me. Please don’t decide this is over.

“I think it’s best to keep some distance for now,” Aemond replies, a low murmur without eye contact.

“Sure.” You steel yourself, keep your expression impassive like a statue’s, then hurry back to the bowls of stew that are still waiting to be delivered. Your white runners squeak against the tile floor. The thin iron chain of your medallion is cold against your throat. Your composure must waver once you’ve turned away from the cardinals; Rhaena is concerned when she sees you.

“Are you good, mate?” she asks.

You force a smile. “Yeah, just a bit knackered.”

“Have a snooze this arvo?”

Before you can reply, there is a loud voice from across the dining hall, Kazi cackling as he points to one of the windows: “Oh look, there is a rainbow outside. No one tell Jahoda, he will spend all afternoon lecturing it about how it is destined for Hell.”

Cardinal Auclair leaps up from where he was hissing to a group of cardinals from Ireland. “Brother, can we desist with this slander? In his work on the Dicastery for the Doctrine of the Faith, Cardinal Jahoda played a pivotal role in the drafting of the Dignitas Infinita of 2024, which condemned violence and discrimination against homosexuals—”

“While the Church itself remains prejudiced against them. How many stones can we hurl from our glass house?”

Auclair smiles patiently, as if he is speaking to a child. “Cardinal Jahoda has unfailingly advocated for the dignity and salvation of every person, no matter how imperfect. Perhaps if you read more, you would know that.”

“I read about how he spoke out against the distribution of condoms, even in the midst of HIV outbreaks,” Kazi flings back.

Jahoda stands, his chair screeching against the floor as he pushes it out. All gazes snap to him. Cardinal Auclair looks on with eyes that flash like silver coins, grinning. “You progressives, you visionaries,” Jahoda growls, his voice deep and commanding. “You will take a system that works for ninety out of a hundred people and burn it to the ground until we can all suffer together. The Bolsheviks promised liberation. The Soviets promised equality. The Enemy wraps sin and chaos in beautiful words and thus we are seduced, but Brothers, we must resist this temptation. Our Faith has endured for two thousand years, but what is the Church without traditions? What should we ask the over one billion Catholics on the planet to believe in if we do not know ourselves, if we are forever redacting and revising and daring to place our weak mortal judgment over God’s?”

Throughout the dining hall cardinals are muttering, some in disapproval, more in concurrence. Kazi rises to his feet. “But the Church is always changing, Brother. Should we never have permitted Mass to be held in local languages, or moved away from our teachings on the divine right of kings, or improved our working relationships with other faiths—?”

“And yet it is this tolerance of other faiths and doctrines that so often imperils the most vulnerable!” Jahoda says, and now some of the cardinals are applauding. “I still remember that summer when Brezhnev’s tanks rolled into my country. I remember helping my neighbors paint over all the road signs so there were none left except those that pointed the way back to Moscow, I remember giving the soldiers wrong directions as they threatened us with their guns, we who were children, we who were having our innocence destroyed before our own eyes.”

Kazi sighs; he’s heard this so many times. “Yes, yes, Brother, we all know you were there in Prague championing democracy—”

“And my father took a bullet for it!” Jahoda thunders, and no one has anything to respond with except hushed awe or reflection or shame, and after a moment Kazi sits down and gives Aemond an apologetic glance like he knows he’s made a mistake.

Maybe Aemond won’t win, you think, and what you feel in your ribcage glowing warm and low like embers might be hope.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Sister!” you hear someone shout frantically, and here comes Sister Penny hurtling out of the Domus Sanctae Marthae just as you are headed there to tend to the washing. There were two more ballots in the afternoon, two clouds of black smoke loosed from the chimney of the Sistine Chapel, and so there is no new Holy Father yet. Dinner is in a few hours. You are ravenous to see Aemond again and yet dreading it; he fills your skull like sea water, stormy, swirling, full of riptides.

What is happening to me? Where can this lead?

“Sister Penny?” you answer. She is characteristically frazzled, strands of unruly red hair escaping from under her veil, her pale freckled face flushed. She canters to you, huffing from the exertion.

“Would you do me a favor, Sister? I’m so sorry to spring it on you like this.”

“No wukkas, mate.”

“Would you please ride with Cardinal Marcu to the airport?” Sister Penny says. You envision him: slow and stooped and shaky, wrinkled, archaic, a relic of a far older Church, here only as an advisor to the cardinals, over eighty and therefore ineligible to vote in the conclave. “He has an urgent medical appointment he can’t reschedule, a CAT scan or something. Sister Augustina had arranged for him to travel home to Romania today, and she promised she’d accompany him to the airport, but obviously she’s not here anymore and I just found out about all of this when I saw Cardinal Marcu in his room packing his suitcase. He’s expecting a chaperone, and I have to supervise the dinner preparations.”

You study the brick wall that surrounds Vatican City. “But I’ll be allowed in again, right?”

“Of course,” Sister Penny assures you. “We have a driver, you’ll stay in the car the whole time. As long as you don’t speak to anyone outside, you haven’t violated your oath of secrecy.”

You smile, relieved. “Beautiful.” No one assisting with the conclave can contact the world beyond the Vatican for any reason aside from an absolute emergency, not even greeting the crowds gathered in Saint Peter’s Square, not even a phone call or a text. To break seclusion is to risk not just expulsion from the conclave but excommunication from the Church, lifelong banishment, perpetual dishonor.

“Assistants from Cardinal Marcu’s parish have flown in and will be there to meet him at the airport and escort him the rest of the way. You’ll just keep him company in the meantime.”

“Schmick.”

“What?”

“Cool, I got it.”

Sister Penny exhales, mollified, and pats your shoulder gratefully. Behind her, you see Cardinal Marcu shuffling out of the Domus Sanctae Marthae with one of the other Romanian cardinals, who is carrying Marcu’s suitcase for him and soaking in those last convoluted ramblings of wisdom. “Thank you so much for your flexibility.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” you say cheerfully. “To help.” And as far as Sister Penny knows, that’s true.

Soon a Vatican employee arrives, sitting grim-faced behind the wheel of one of the tiny white Fiat Pandas in a black suit and sunnies. He is heaving Cardinal Marcu’s suitcase into the boot and Sister Penny is wishing the elderly cardinal farewell when you notice Aemond watching from a side street, one of the narrow snaking paved paths draped in the shadows of the buildings. You wander over to meet him when it becomes clear he’s waiting for you to.

Aemond says uncertainly, looking at the gate and then back to you: “You’re breaking seclusion?”

“I’m not breaking anything.”

“But you’re leaving.”

“I’ve been asked to accompany Cardinal Marcu to the airport. I’m not stepping foot outside the car or speaking to anyone else. No phone, no radio, I won’t even roll the windows down. I’m not being unduly influenced. I’m not violating any rules. It’s cruisy, I’ll be back in an hour.”

Aemond glances uneasily at the gate again. “Tell them to send someone else.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t have the authority to refuse Sister Penny’s requests. But you do.”

But of course he won’t say anything; he can’t be perceived as interfering on your behalf, he can’t fuel the rumors. And so Aemond only frowns, vexed, conflicted, powerless in a way he so rarely is now.

“Goodbye, Cardinal Targaryen,” you quip as you turn away.

But he’s not done yet. “What if something happens and they won’t let you back into Vatican City?”

“You can’t talk to me anyway, so why do you care?”

Aemond doesn’t reply. He only watches you leave, his remaining blue eye fixed and brooding.

You spin around and walk backwards a few steps. “See you at dinner,” you say with a smirk. “From a distance, of course.” Then you whirl towards the car, your white habit gusting in the brisk December wind. On the periphery of your vision, the red pillar that is Aemond stalls a moment longer and then strides off in the direction of the Domus Sanctae Marthae. From the other side of the brick wall, you can hear that the crowds gathered in Saint Peter’s Square with their signs and their prayers and their candles are singing Joy To The World.

You climb into the back seat of the Fiat, and there the prehistoric Cardinal Bogdi Marcu is eagerly awaiting you. You have the sense he would be just as pleased to see Sister Rhaena, or Sister Penny, or Sister Nuru, or Sister Helvi, or anyone else, really; he just doesn’t want to be alone. This is one of the great triumphs of the Church, however marred it may be by the inexhaustible failings of mankind. You get a family for life, and it is over a billion souls strong.

As the driver exits Vatican City via a skinny paved street—passing through a gate monitored by the Swiss Guard—and follows the perimeter of Saint Peter’s Square, Cardinal Marcu points with gnarled arthritic hands and describes the features to you: nearly three hundred marble columns encircling the piazza, cobblestones made of volcanic basalt, two fountains, an ancient Egyptian obelisk that has stood at the center since the 1500s. Then he begins yammering about the horribly sinful shows he’s stumbled across recently while home in Romania—Big Brother, Survivor, Love Island—and how there’s been no decency on television since that shameless American president spoke about his affair with a White House intern, something Cardinal Marcu seems to think transpired just a few years ago. You smile and nod along politely.

Ordinarily, the ride to Leonardo da Vinci International Airport would only take half an hour, but traffic is bad and many of the roads near the Vatican are closed or altered to accommodate the tens of thousands of tourists who have made the pilgrimage here to witness the ascension of the next pope. From the back seat, you watch Cardinal Marcu toddle out of the Fiat and into the waiting arms of two assistants, and by the time you’ve returned to Saint Peter’s Square, dusk is descending and the sky is pink and gold. The driver sighs as he waits in a long line of taxis, the route blocked by a tour bus that took a wrong turn and is now being directed by a fleet of police officers to spin around on the narrow street. Your driver, avoiding the radio, turns up the volume as he listens to an Andrea Bocelli CD. You have the ludicrous temptation to ask: Can you play some Bruce Springsteen? Can you play Atlantic City?

From the far end of the piazza, you gaze at the façade of Saint Peter’s Basilica, where statues of Christ and his apostles preside over the sea of congregants with their flickering candles and their handwritten signs. You see supporters of Cardinal Jahoda waving miniature flags of the Czech Republic and Hungary and Germany, Jake’s followers from Lebanon and Jordan and Syria and Cyprus, Aemond’s devotees from Greece and Italy and the United States. One woman’s poster reads, alongside a newspaper article about what happened on Nea Kameni framed in blue glitter glue: I believe in miracles!

As car horns blare and the driver mutters in Italian, your eyes trace the perimeter of the square. Perched atop the marble columns like benevolent gargoyles are the statues of over a hundred saints: Saint Lawrence who was roasted alive on a gridiron, Saint Sebastian who was pierced by arrows, Saint Lucy whose eyes were gouged out, Saint Thomas Aquinas who died comfortable and revered. Absentmindedly, you touch the plain iron medallion that hangs from your neck. You wonder which of the statues is Saint Agatha.

A small, flimsy-looking metal fence separates the road from the entrance to the pedestrian area. The Fiat rolls forward a few sluggish meters, then stops again. The driver groans. You have to get all the way around the piazza before you can enter Vatican City via one of the stone gates manned by the Swiss Guard. You imagine—against your will, and yet undeniably—that Aemond is waiting there, anxious to ensure that you are granted reentry and thus your stolen time together is not yet over.

“I can walk from here,” you offer, before you remember that isn’t allowed.

“Stay in the car, Sister,” the driver barks in a thick Italian accent, then he gets out and slams the door shut behind him. Through the windshield, you watch him jog over to where the tour bus is still blocking the road and start shouting at the police officers. At first they yell back, then the driver shows them a badge identifying him as a Vatican employee and the police officers are suddenly much more accommodating, pointing him towards a side street that is blocked off by orange traffic barrels but will presumably be opened for him.

As you wait for the driver to return to the Fiat, you peer through the window at the crowd again. It is beginning to thin out, now that today’s ballots are past and twilight is approaching. The sky is turning fiery, blood orange and incandescent amber. The driver is walking back to the car and the traffic barrels are being moved aside. Your eyes catch on a group of Filipino tourists carrying massive cardboard cutouts with Lando’s face on them, and they are laughing as they chat with each other and share a package of Sky Flakes, and you smile and then—

There is a vicious jolt, the shriek of metal on metal, and the Fiat is spinning as it crashes through the metal barrier and into Saint Peter’s Square. Pedestrians are screaming and running; your head whips around and cracks against the window, and for a few seconds the pain is blinding, your vision black and your hands flying up to cushion your skull, and when you start getting glimpses of the world again you see just enough to realize what has happened: a lost tour bus has rocketed out of the side street and collided with the car, and as the bus squeals to a stop near the edge of the piazza, the whirling Fiat smashes sideways into one of the massive marble columns. The door you’ve been pinned against by the centrifugal force caves in; you are thrown from your seat and then yanked back by the seatbelt so forcefully the air is wrenched out of your lungs. You gasp for breath, letting your head rest against the cool window.

You think nonsensically, your skull hammering: I’m just going to have a quick snooze.

Your eyes dip shut for what could only be a minute or two. Muffled through the mangled car, there is the distorted, dreamlike warbling of voices: Italian, English, other languages too. You don’t want to wake up; being conscious is where the pain is, and the weights dragging you down into the darkness are overwhelming, intoxicating.

It’s too hot. Why is it so hot?

Your eyes flutter open, and what you see through the car window is rising threads of black smoke and the dusk-colored radiance of flames. Pedestrians from the square are pounding on the doors and shouting that there is a nun trapped inside.

That nun is me, you think dazedly, and then you lurch into full and horrifying alertness.

You click off your seatbelt and bolt across the back seat; both doors on your side of the Fiat are barred by the marble column. You unlock the door from the inside and then yank the handle...but the door remains closed. You try again, and again, and the car is getting hotter. It’s no use. The impact of the bus warped the door somehow and now it’s stuck, and you can’t get free. Pedestrians are pulling on the outside handle and trying to bust out the window, some are attempting to roll the car away from the marble column to unblock the other doors. The flames are growing taller, and now there is so much smoke the faces of the people trying to save you are obscured.

You scramble over the center console and into the passenger’s seat, where you tug franticly on the handle. This door won’t open either; you are imprisoned, you are entombed. The people outside are backing away as the heat becomes unbearable. They are calling for firefighters who will be able to extinguish the flames or pry a door open or break a window, but by then it will be too late.

“No!” you scream, pounding your fists on the window. “No, don’t leave! Don’t give up yet! I’m still alive in here, please help me!”

But the fire is scorching, the fire is lethal; the metal inside the car is hot enough to scald you when you touch it. You are in an oven. You are dying. You are Saint Joan of Arc tied to the stake; you are Saint Lawrence being roasted alive.

“Help me!” you sob, beating your hands against the window. Sweat is slick on your palms and pouring down your face. Your skin is flushed and burning. The rubber soles of your runners are melting into the floor. “Help! Someone help, please!”

But your would-be rescuers are gone. No one can withstand the flames. You can just barely decipher their silhouettes through the wall of thick, churning grey.

You curl up against the window, fumble your rosary out of the pocket of your habit, and clasp the white pearl beads, taking deep trembling breaths into your lungs. Dark acrid smoke sears your trachea and capillary beds. Sweat stings when it streams down into your eyes.

“I’m not ready to go,” you tell God in a choked, terrified whisper. “Please don’t abandon me. I’m not ready, I’m not ready. There are too many things I haven’t done yet.”

And then you see him cut through the smoke like a red blade, undaunted by the inferno, moving swiftly so he won’t be consumed by it, won’t be claimed, won’t be incinerated. The fire glows on his face; the flames are reflected in the blue of his eye. Aemond rips his gold cross off his neck and then there is a clang and a snapping sound; later, you will learn that he shoved the cross into the door gap and struck it with the heel of his hand so hard he split his palm to the bone. The car door pops open, and you collapse into his arms.

You try to flee from the blaze with Aemond, but you can’t walk; your knees and ankles buckle, your skull is throbbing and the world spiraling. You stumble and Aemond grabs you, drags you, pulls you singlehandedly back from the brink of oblivion.

He’s on fire, you think dizzily as the smoke begins to clear and the clamoring pedestrians reappear, shouting in relief and astonishment.

“That’s him!” you can hear people saying. “That’s Cardinal Aemond Targaryen!”

Aemond feels the heat of the flames licking on his shoulders and rips off his cassock, and it billows in the wind like a red sail. Underneath he has on black trousers and a white dress shirt, the top few buttons torn open in the turmoil, a small gold medallion glinting against his bare chest. You’ve never seen this before. Through the haze of shock and smoke and pain, you wonder who he is wearing.

Aemond realizes before you do that the wool of your white habit has caught fire, and in seconds he has tugged it off of you; but underneath your navy blue cotton skirt and light jumper are smoldering too.

Is he going to strip me? you think, disoriented. Here in front of everybody?

But no, Aemond has other ideas; he hauls you into the cold pattering water of one of the fountains and splashes into the pool with you, cradling you as you sputter and shake violently, the adrenaline evaporating, the agony in your skull and spine all-consuming. You are crying as you cling to him. Your rosary is still tangled in your fingers. By the marble column, the Fiat is now entirely engulfed in flames. The sirens of firetrucks are approaching.

I almost died. And if that was the very end, what regrets would I have?

“I’m here, I’m here,” Aemond is saying, taking the pins out so he can remove your veil, smoothing back your hair with the hand he’s not yet aware he is hemorrhaging from, blood pouring from his palm like a stigmata. “You’re safe now. Shh, you’re alright. Nobody will hurt you. I’ll never let anything hurt you.”

Cardinal Seaborn appears, panting from his sprint across the piazza. His crimson cassock is rumpled and his zucchetto blown away, his face furious. Behind him, the metallic shell of the Fiat burns luminously. “You broke seclusion!” he booms at Aemond. “You could be disqualified! You could be excommunicated!”

“Then do it!” Aemond roars back, his blood running down your face, copper on your lips, scarlet salt on your tongue.

But of course, Cardinal Seaborn cannot dismiss him, this man who has just performed his second miracle and will so effortlessly be declared a saint upon his death. Pedestrians have gathered around the fountain like pilgrims to a holy site and are taking photos and video clips, they are cheering, they are praying, and they are chanting loudly enough that even the cardinals inhumed within the walls of Vatican City must be able to hear: “Targaryen, Targaryen, Targaryen!”

You murmur to Aemond as he holds you, icy water lapping at your charred jumper, your skirt fanning out like a koi fish’s tail: “Well, you’re defo going to win now.”

And then there in the fountain, as the dusk sky spins high above, you black out and sink into an infinite, starless sea of silence.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x you #aemond x reader #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond fanfiction #aemond one eye #hotd fic #hotd fanfic

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b0xerdancer-writes · 1 year ago

Text

Baring Teeth

Azriel x Archeron!Reader

Summary: Azriel and reader are mates, after what has felt like a lifetime to them with how fast life has seemed to move Azriel finds himself wanting what his brothers have, his mate having been through hell and back is willing to give him whatever she can.

Warnings: Some smut scenes, death, violence, war, torture, blood, inappropriate language and jokes, this is entirely an 18+ work.

Word Count: 14,099

Notes: This was meant to be that Azriel baby fever fic from the get-go, but I got sidetracked, it gets there eventually. Lemme know if you would like to see a part 2!

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If you asked Azriel he was anything but a jealous male, if you asked his mate however she would tell you it was circumstantial at best.

It had been only a handful of years since my sisters had destroyed the cauldron and the king of Hybern but life seemed to want to fasten its pace. I couldn’t say I didn't blame it for wanting too either. Being born between Nesta and Elain always had its challenges, my mother favored Nesta as the first born and both of my parents always doted on Elain for her sweet, caring, and gentle nature; I had always just been there neither parent cared what I did and that was amplified when Feyre was born. I used the opportunity to learn something unique for my family, how to wield a sword, to fight, to kill. I used the opportunity to learn from guards, sell swords, mercenaries, and what teachers were available to me.

So when my family lost all of their money I announced I’d be working as a sellsword, Nesta had thrown a fit about it but at this point she threw a fit about everything. I had a small amount of gold stashed for myself so when my parents finally decided to marry me off I’d run and buy all the things I needed to start my career as a sellsword, or mercenary, or just whatever I ended up becoming; I’d announced I was going into town and slipped out the door with the bag of coins strapped to my waist. I had bought a few furs, a good quality sword that would get me through till I could buy a better one, some bags I was able to strap across my body, and some easy traveling clothes, and some small pieces of leather. I knew if I was going to be gone they would need some way to be able to get food; I split my coin down the middle and used half of what I had left to buy them food, the other half I’d save for travel expenses.

I dropped the food off with my sisters and father, then slipped back out the door after a quick goodbye and made my way towards one of the nobles' nearest estates. One of my teachers had written to me when he found out about my family's misfortune and told me he was stationed there and would recommend me to the lord he worked for, all I had to do was show up. I Showed up like he said, not to the front door but to the side door, the servants quarters and there I was greeted by my teacher and some other for hire guards who all coaxed me in with pats on my back and one went to fetch the head of staffing. It was an easily acquired job with a recommendation from my teacher and the other guards that had greeted me at the door, an even easier job to perform with good pay; simple patrols and hunting shifts at 50 gold a day.

While I was there the barracks became my home, the other sellswords and mercs became family and before I knew it I was going out with them on the days we were released and getting drinks and celebrating. I had a pretty good stash of gold saved up, kept it in a nice bag that my belt strapped through and kept it firmly against my hip, I would write to my sisters and send them 10 gold once a week to help keep them fed. If I sent more I knew Nesta or Elain would commandeer it and use it on useless things, they could at least stock up on a good amount of fillers like rice or barley with 10 gold.

They never wrote back, it was probably a good thing in hindsight. Had any of them mentioned Feyre being taken by the fae I would have gone right after her, but there was no mention of it to me until I got a letter from Nesta one day saying they had been moved into a new estate and father’s fortune had been restored by some sheer dumb luck. I wrote back congratulating them but making them aware I had no intention of giving up my post; then the next letter came written by Nesta again it had said something was wrong with feyre, telling the story of what had actually happened while I was gone. It had told me that Feyre had been taken by some fae monster that then she had returned after that first letter had been sent to me but had to leave again to go after some male she loved, but that this time she called the same male she left for the first time a monster and had appeared at the estates doorstep with three males on her heels and asked for us to hear them out. I didn’t bother writing back, Nesta had sent that letter the same day. If I took a horse I’d be at where they mentioned their estate was within two hours, so I stepped down from my post and was told if I ever needed it to come right on back to them; I set out towards my family's estate with a large fur on my back to battle the chill winds, when I arrived a staff member took the horse and showed me inside.

Nesta was the first to greet me, pulling me in for a hug and telling me how proud she was that I made something of myself; she told me how tense the atmosphere had been since Feyre showed up with the males, that feyre was now a member of the fae and she had somehow been changed into one of them. I had nothing against the civil fae but we were close enough to the wall some strays would slip through and tear apart weaker humans, I had helped the barracks crew take down some rogues that slipped past the wall on a few occasions; nothing big, nagas as I had been told were the most common ones we faced.

Stepping into the room elain squealed and buried herself into my side and the fur I wore, I heard Feyre call out to me with hesitancy as her eyes raked over the small scars the littered my exposed skin from the fights in the woods or sparring accidents; I motioned her over and pulled her into a hug, fae or not she was still my family and still my baby sister. The fae behind her had introduced themselves and their positions, they seemed to have no qualm with me but with Nesta and Elain. One wrong comment sent Elain into tears while she profusely apologized to Feyre, the two had their moment but it didn’t set right with me; yes they were in the wrong for doing nothing while Feyre hunted almost daily for them and I was off working, but they very obviously realized they had fucked up and were in the wrong. It did not mean they got to insult my family and I made sure they knew that, one of the males the tallest with the biggest wings there that I would later come to know as Azriel, seemed amused with my wild and protective temper and applauded me for it.

They later left with promise to come back soon, I busied myself with the guards and servants we had around the estate by leading patrols and hunting parties myself; I stayed out of most of their business so the next time I saw them I had just returned from a hunting party, dragging a decent sized deer to the kitchen. The tall male found me there in the kitchen caught off guard when he found me there, sleeves rolled up and cloak tossed to the size with a butcher knife in my hand while dismembering the deer; he had introduced himself to me then, as Azriel, and offered to help. I tossed him the hide and asked him to bring it out back, string it up on the dry rack. He agreed, I’d get around to curing the skin of the hide after I finished drying and preparing the rest of the meat; when he returned I had already stored all the meat away and was by the sink basin washing the deers dark blood from off my hands, I looked up at him from the corner of my eye and watched as his breath hitched and he quickly excused himself from the room.

Nesta was the one who collected me when the queens were on their way, a new member had joined us in the living room that I had not recognized but she introduced herself as Mor; I stood silently like a guard myself when the human guards joined us, silently judging them as my sister and ‘her mate’ as she had called him explained to the queens what they needed. The meeting was surprisingly quick, the queens leaving just as quickly as they had arrived. We ate dinner together like a family that night, Azriel made small talk with me about my skills and training; I had to admit to myself that I found it endearing no one else even my sisters cared or dared, I wasn’t sure which it exactly was with them, to ask me about it.

They left the next morning, and life returned to normal once the servants themselves returned; Oftentimes I got incredulous looks for being in the back working on my pelts or sparring with the dummy I had ordered set up when I returned to the estate, other times the children of the servants were more than ecstatic to ask me of tales I had experienced within the woods. I had ended up using that deer hide in my cloaks, something about it was sentimental to me, though I couldn’t quite place why.

A few weeks later, my nerves were on end, like the times when the entire barracks would ride out together hunting a naga or other rogue beast and we weren’t quite sure where they were lurking. I didn’t bother changing out of my armor and cloak. I should’ve trusted my gut that night, as I was unable to find sleep easily and only able to fall asleep with my blade at my side and a dagger under my pillow. I awoke to screaming from down the hall, Elain’s scream, I burst out of my room blade in hand knocking a few of them off their feet as the door collided with them.

One thing that had been instilled into me over the time with my teachers was the fact the bigger you looked the more intimidating you could be, my piled furs and cloak were an extension of that teaching; a large black wolf pelt was my crowning piece on my shoulders the, the deer hanging over my shoulders under that like a shawl.

The fae turned to look at me in the faint light and darkness of our home, needless to say the illusion I was aiming for had worked on them as I heard several yell, “Beast!”, in alarm at me. And beast I was, I had taken down and decapitated several of them before they finally apprehended me in my war path to get to Elain and Nesta, the latter I realized had been gagged and I saw blood on her face; ever the fighter she was I had seen one of them holding her nursing one of his hands over the other and had surmised she had bitten him, and taken a chunk from his hand. I’d have to applaud her eventually for that, it was genius thinking and she was always so much smarter than she let on. They doused us with some sort of potion or substance that swept Elain under immediately, Nesta fought off the sleep as much as she could but after a few seconds went under herself; I fought against them straining and struggling, teeth bared, fighting off the sleep that coaxed me at the edges of my mind till they had to use another dose to put me under.

I awoke to chaos. So much was happening. Azriel and Cassian were insanely injured but still trying to fight the bane in their systems to crawl to us. Feyre bawling. Two males and a female I didn’t recognize beside her. The male I had been introduced to as Rhysand was in pain himself. A large male in the center of the room. Two guards either side of Elain hauling her up. A large thing that didn't seem natural in the center of the room. Nesta had three guards around her. I had seven. The seven I realized were on edge around me, made uneasy by me. Made uneasy even though I was restrained in any way they could think of. I felt like a beast surveying its options of prey to hunt.

The large male in the center, realizing all of us were finally awake, finally introduced himself as the King of Hybern, a name I recognized Azriel’s family talking about at the meeting. The King introduced the strange object as ‘The Cauldron’, Azriel had mentioned it was something akin to a god to them. Not natural indeed. He motioned for the guards to bring Elain forward as he explained his plan, the guards raised her over the large pot; she screamed and thrashed in their grip, red marks and bruises already appearing on her skin. I saw red. I shot forward, catching all the guards around me by surprise as they scrambled to get ahold of my restraints and chains; they stopped me just as Elain went under, my arms were pinned behind my back by a chain and I snarled, insults and threats falling from my mouth. I heard Nesta react similarly yet not as violently as I was, seemingly stunned by everything going on, or maybe it was just her cold mask refusing to let the King and our enemies see how much she was fazed.

The king simply let out a dark laugh. “The feral beast bares her teeth.” It was meant as a condescending remark.

They pulled Elain out of the cauldron and I jolted forward towards her again, catching the ones holding my chains off guard and several of them fell to the floor from the sudden jerk forward that caused them to lose their footing. One of the males at Feyre’s side mumbled something I didn’t catch thanks to the blood pounding in my ears, and my attention caught on him and the blondes beside him; he straightened eyes, or eye, wide and he stumbled back. I turned my attention back to the so-called ‘King’, promises of death dripping like venom from my teeth; I barely caught the fact Rhys or maybe it was Mor had pulled Elain to their side of the room.

The King tilted his head at me, an amused smile on his face as he spoke to me. “You want to behave like a beast? So be it.” He turned his attention to the seven around me. “Get her in that cauldron I don’t care how.”

A chorus of yes sirs surrounded me and the chains began to dig into my skin as they tried to pull me towards the over-sized cooking pot. I had just started to lose my footing when a weak call came from my right, giving me just enough motivation to regain it.

“Fight them! You’ve taken down worse things than them! They are nothing compared to those Nagas in the woods! Come on! I believe in you! Show them those techniques you told me about!” Azriel had braced himself on one elbow wincing against the fae bane in his system.

I nodded and braced myself the best I could, the guards stood on the other side of the pot as me and I turned slightly as I let out a snarl like smile. They looked between each other in worry as I dug my boots into the ground and hauled ass the other direction, dragging one of them too close to the cauldron they tripped, losing control of the chain and fell in screaming himself. One of the others dropped a chain to the floor, giving me more breathing room, to help the screaming male out of the pot; he trashed on the floor ripping his armor off exposing his skin that had begun boiling and simply falling off.

The others tightened their grip on my chains but were distracted by the horror of the scene, the one that had helped him out screamed and began throwing up. I heard Nesta cheer behind me, and I turned my attention to what seemed like the now weakest guard holding my chains; I charged forward, the male screamed in horror as I caught him off guard and took a page out of Nestas book and sunk my teeth into his throat. Just as I was expecting the guards on the opposite side pulled violently and assisted me in pulling his throat out, I wasn’t going to go down easy, and by whatever gods did exist it was going to be violent and bloody. He grasped his hollowed throat and tried to scream as he collapsed and I spit the wad of torn flesh towards the King’s feet; I was down to four guards , but what I didn’t account for was the backwards motion created by the other 3 guards.

I had collided with the side of the cauldron and howled out in pain, the guards took the opportunity to haul me up; I tried thrashing but every time I moved pain shot through my body. Unable to struggle against the water as it pulled me in I snapped at the guard trying to push my head under’s hand, taking a few fingers with me as I finally submerged.

It was dark for a moment, then I was in an open room able to stand on my feet and move without pain. I heard shuffling somewhere opposite me, the more I moved forward so did it; till I was face to face with a giant beast, black and golden brown, eyes that seemed to look into my soul, and grand antlers with flesh hanging from them. The sickening feeling like I was looking in a mirror sunk into my chest, when I moved the beast moved.

Then it finally spoke, yet it didn’t at the same time. Something ancient I couldn't understand or speak. Yet intrinsically I knew what it was asking me. That if my true nature was like that of the beast itself, that I should just give in. That if I did I would bring all my enemies to their knees, take them all to their graves. It asked if I would accept that part of me, asked if I would accept its offer of power. I nodded, and it stepped forward lowering its head to my level. I stepped forward meeting it there in the middle of the never ending, ethereal space. It pressed its head against me, and then I was taking a large gasping breath as I felt my bones break and reforge, a blinding pain before I could see detail so much sharper then I had been able to, could hear everything as every sense in me heightened. I felt stronger, felt faster, like one of the beasts I hunted in the woods with my friends in the barracks. Then I felt the inky thickness of the Cauldrons water again, I could see my own hands and claws as I reached out and felt the cool metal; I felt the chains around me tighten again ever so slightly before they fell away as I began to haul myself from the black water. It sloshed and spilled over onto the floor as I emerged, blacker than the depths of the shadows that followed me through the woods in the late hours of the night.

I swallowed a breath as I hauled myself over the edge of the cauldron and finally collapsed on the floor; I used my hands to keep me from fully collapsing as I kneeled there and looked up at the King, a deadly promise in my eyes as I snarled a simple “Your head will be mine and I’ll enjoy every minute of it.”

My hair hung in my face, droplets of black water slowly fading to a normal color as I dried, and he smiled in amusement. “Once a beast always a beast.”

I took a breath and looked down at the puddle on the floor, my firs were still wrapped around me though sopping wet but it wasn’t my obviously messed up appearance that shocked me, but the eyes that looked back at me that did. Thin slits like the beast I had seen within those waters stared back, the color still my own but so much different. I heard Azriel call out for me in a strangled noise, I turned my attention sharply towards him to find him looking devastated; I wanted to comfort him, he was such a good male and I was in so much pain I was exhausted, I hauled myself shakily to my feet barely able to make it to him as I collapsed at his side. Nesta called out to me as my vision began to fade, and I saw Cassian lurch forward despite the threat to his life as he screamed for her. I lost my vision just ;as she was going under’ the simple threat to the king, so much calmer than my own, made me smile before I passed out.

I had despised waking up in places I was unfamiliar with, I shot up with a growl before wincing and clutching my side. A small female attempted to calm me down to no avail, till I heard Azriel’s weak voice through the haze.

“Hey Wildling, woah, woah, they are just trying to help. They’re our healers. You're in the Night Court, remember me telling you about this place?” He was on a cot in just his leather pants, a large white bandage around his waist, chest, over one shoulder, and around his massive wings.

I nodded and looked around slowly, all the fae were looking at me terrified and on edge, like they would run from the room at the slightest growl from me.

“Sorry, just caught by surprise.” I mumbled and looked down at the bandages around my own waist, they covered my chest and entire torso.

I didn’t really care about modesty, you live with men for long enough especially mercs and sellsword men that you stop caring, and they stop caring about your own body. Many times I hade changed into my uniform or hunting clothes in front of them while we were all getting ready for the day's assignments. I scanned over the bandages no blood leaked through but everytime I moved It hurt, everytime I took too deep a breath it hurt.

“I’m sure from your experience you can gather what happened?” Azriel’s voice was soft, and a comfort. I wouldn’t admit it, yet anyways until I found out everything that was going on, but I had started to consider him a friend or maybe something even more; I mean those wings were fascinating and from the time we aparred in the back he had experience and when my knee had met his crotch in a low blow, after all who fought fair anymore, he was well endowed.

“I’m one of you now, aren’t I? Elain and Nesta too, just like Feyre.” I quirked a brow at him and he nodded.

“And as for your injuries, what do you assume happened?” He quirked a brow right back at me, a test of my knowledge like we had done with sparring.

“Broken ribs? That pull back had to have enough force to break them, especially when I collided with the cauldron. Severe bruising and maybe even some large gashes? Those chains were tight enough there had to be at least major bruising.” I winced as I adjusted how I was seated.

He nodded with a smile. “Correct to an extent, good job wildling.” His wings flared as he adjusted himself, and I wanted to move forward and help him adjust slow enough he wouldn't hurt himself.

He smiled when I extended my hand to stop him. “Hey im okay, i'm more worried about you right now, I’ve been shot down from the sky with fae bane arrows and survived it. I'll be fine. You however are the one I’m worried about, those chains were tugged back tight enough it had shattered your ribcage and popped at least one of your lungs. Thankfully the fae healing kicked in for you fast enough to keep you alive.”

I nodded in stunned silence. “Just sore and it hurts to move i. Sone directions, I'm breathing fine now.”

“Good! Madja, shes our lead healer here, was worried your healing wouldnt work fast enough since you were freshly made.” Azriel told me in a worried tone, but I could feel it in my chest, feel just how worried he was in my heart; could feel his emotions as well as my own.

I tilted my head in confusion and reached for where I felt him in my chest, my brows furrowed and he straightened.

“Are you okay?” He looked anxious like he was about to call for one of the nurses to help me.

“Im fine just confused? You told me all that information in a worried tone but I felt it here,” I motioned to my chest, “Like it was my own emotion.”

Small gasps echoed across the room and the small nurses fled. Azriel rose from his bed slowly and came to sit at the edge of mine.

“You feel it too then.” He spoke softly to me like he was calming a storm. “I wasnt going to mention it to you right away, both Nesta and Elain didn’t have the best reactions to suddenly having mates.”

“Mates?” I tilted my head quizzically at him. “I’ve heard the word, though I’m not a hundred percent sure what that means or what is expected of me.”

He placed his hand on mine. “Like Feyre and Rhys right?” I nodded. “The Mother, you remember her right? I mentioned she was another one of our ‘gods’ as well.” I nodded again, listening intently.

“Well,” he hummed trying to consider how to word something.”She blesses some fae with mates, or whats called ‘the mating bond’ its a soulbond between two people normally between two fae. Though admittedly both Rhys and I felt it with you and Feyre while you were still humans.”

I moved to squeeze his hand softly with my own. “So, our souls are intertwined with the others?”

He nodded. “That's one way to put it,while you didnt feel it snap till you were turned most likely, i felt it that day I walked into the kitchen to find you washing the blood off your arms and hands. You were just, how do I put it into words, Ethereally beautiful? Darkly enchanting? I don’t know how to word it but you get the picture. I felt the bond snap in my chest and I almost lost myself to the emotions when you looked up at me the way you did, like a flirtatious taunt.”

A blush crept up his face and I felt it creep up my own. I felt his adoration seep into my own chest again and I looked up at him in pure adoration back. “How do you do that?”

“Do what?” He smiled.

“Make me feel what you’re feeling?” I furrowed my brows for a second as I tried to send my emotions to him, to show him how I’ve felt about him for a while now without realizing it.

He moved his hand to his own chest, and tears welled in his eyes. “I didn’t even have to explain it to you, see? You’ve already picked it up. All the love you're pushing through to me. Good Job wildling.”

I smiled but then frowned. “I get the physical connection of it now but what is expected of me?”

He smiled and caressed my face gently, thumb running over my cheek bone. “As of right now? Nothing. But if you decide you want to accept it or reject it, then we will have more to discuss.”

I nodded and went to open my mouth but he interrupted me first. “I don’t want you to make a decision right now. Think on it for awhile, process all the changes to your life first okay wildling?”

He smiled sadly and I nodded. I could feel his sadness through the bond though I could tell he wasn't trying to make me feel it, I just could, probably easier than most I assumed since every other sense of mine was heightened. A soft knock rasped against the door and my attention shot to it, Azriel called for whoever it was to come in. Rhys had pushed his head in followed by his entire body.

He nodded at the two of us. “I see you’re both doing well, I owe the both of you an explanation and update on everything.”

So we sat, we sat and listened as Rhys gave us the rundown. How and why Feyre was in the spring court, how she was our inside girl, how eventually she would return. Explained to us Cassian was still out, having experienced a higher dose of fae bane than Azriel, but while he was healing slowly he was still healing and would be okay. Then he finally turned his attention solely on me and gave me a rundown on Nesta and Elain’s health. I must have pushed my grief down the bond to Azriel before the tears had even reached my eyes, because he was already comforting me when the dam burst. Rhys stood silent in front of us, before he congratulated us on our bond and offered me any assistance I would need in adjusting or helping my sisters adjust to the massive change in our lives. Eventually he left ,after some small talk with Azriel, to check on Cassian.

Then it was just me and Azriel again, for the next few weeks it stayed just me and Azriel in our small medical room with check ins from Rhys and Madja. We eventually got the clear and along with that cane the announcement Cassian was awake, we beelined it to his room; he was still on bed rest and would be for the next handful of days as they double checked everything had healed properly and assessed the damage. I was shown to my room right next door to Azriel’s, inside a neatly wrapped box in a blue bow sat on the foot of my bed.

“I asked Rhys to pick it up for me.” He smiled and sent a wave of adoration into my chest.

Opening the box I found a set of folded clothing black pants and a flowy comfy dark blue shirt. I sent a wave of appreciation his way and fingered the silky fabric. “Thank you Az, this is… probably the nicest set of clothing I’ve ever had.”

“Your welcome wildling.” He leaned down to press his forehead to my shoulder. His actions caught me by surprise and nearly had me crying, it was such a pure act of surrender and love; my breath caught in my throat and I had to swallow back sobs as I moved one hand to caress what I could reach for the male.

I had made up my mind then and there what my answer to the bond would be, if anyone could guide me and my ways through the sudden changes it was him. I stepped forward and he furrowed his brows but I turned and planted a kiss on his lips. He let out a mixture of a cry and a whimper when I pulled away, his eyes wide and watery; I turned back towards the clothes, not thinking about the implications as I stripped from my current ones and bandages but was stopped before I could step into the new ones laid out in front of me.

Azriel’s breath caught in his throat as he ran a light touch across a lingering bruise on my skin, goosebumps shot up my skin in a wave of chills that caused me to flinch and wince. Azriel growled softly at the thought of me in pain, or at least that's the impression I got from his side of the bond.

He wrapped himself around me, his hands finding purchase on my chest, causing me to swat at him with a light hearted hiss.

He grumbled back at me, rubbing his hand where I had smacked him in mock defeat. “You shouldn’t be so casual about stripping then. Especially being as hurt as you are, the urge to just protect you and curl up around you is a bit overwhelming right now.”

I rolled my eyes and turned back to my clothes, finally stepping into the new ones. “This is nothing compared to what it used to be like in the barracks.”

“What do you mean?” It was slightly growled out, the tiniest wave of jealousy seeping from his soul to mine.

Without thinking about what he meant or the new emotions in my chest I responded to him. “There were maybe 10-15 of us in the barracks total, I was the only female. Not necessarily common amongst sellswords, yet I kept up with all of them. You all become close like family; I'm sure you get how that feels, I mean you, Cass, and Rhys are like that. But after a point you all just change infront of each other and no one really looks or cares anymore, it just becomes natural, part of the routine in the morning.”

I shrugged it off as I shrugged my shirt over my shoulders, still slightly sore when I stretched my arms above my head. Azriel growled but tried to stop himself, an attempt to remember I hadn’t accepted the bond yet so he had no reason to be feeling jealous and territorial. “Ah, I see, I get what you’re saying though I admit I am a bit envious that 10 or 15 males have seen you shirtless before I did.”

I tried, I really did, to prevent the chuckle that fell from my lips. Azriel growled playfully in response. It was comfortable whatever we had, between all their meetings at the house and the now formed bond between us, I felt safe around him. Behind him neatly hung my cloak and furs, sparkling and pristine as the days I had cured them; yet somehow bigger, I understood with a simple what had happened: they had changed with me.

He caught where my eyes had fallen and smiled at me brightly. “Oh! Rhys said he would bring them to your room, I noticed they were different too. You went into the cauldron small yet ferocious enough you unsettled them, they couldn’t figure out how you were outsmarting them or how you had already killed so many of their comrades. But when you came out, they understood how and why. The cauldron however it forged your body anew, decided that for however ferocious and ambitious you were, you would need a bigger vessel to do it in.”

I hadn’t realized it yet but I only stood a few inches shorter than Azriel did now, eye level with his chin and throat; when before I was much shorter, level to his chest at most. It was then that I caught my reflection in the mirror, my features had indeed sharpened or elongated in spots and I gave off a predatory air about myself without even trying; Azriel stood behind me as I took the sight in. While I knew he was no high lord, the way in which he carried himself said otherwise, in the mirror, I realized we looked like the Lord of shadow and the beast that lurked just within it. A display I noted, however beautiful it was just between us, would have horrified onlookers if it was meant to intimidate. A thought I found quite pleasing.

He rested his head on my shoulder and I let out a low purr in response to the imagery in the mirror. “So. Let's say if I were to accept this bond.” He perked up. “What would be expected or asked of me? What would the process of accepting it be?”

His eyes met mine in the mirror, the smallest change in his scent had alerted me to what affect my questions had on him. A small enough change that if my senses hadn’t heightened more than even Azriel or Rhys’s that I wouldn’t have caught it.

“If you were to accept it,” he crooned, “then my answer would stay the same, I expect nothing of you except to accept my love for you and for you to return it back to me. I have waited centuries to find my mate, and you are so new to the world of the fae I want you to be able to explore it but I also want to be a guiding hand for you to do so. As you know I’m Rhys’s spymaster. I may be gone on missions for up to a week at a time, if you wish I can train you even more and you can eventually join me on them.” His shadows swirled at my feet, I had learned to accept them as an extension of himself from the first time we met, where he went they followed. “Is that acceptable?”

I nodded, a warmth in my chest. “And how would consummating the bond work?” A low purr rumbled from my own chest that ended in his own.

“It's a real simple process, a simple ritual, only differing slightly from the human tradition of marriage. Same significance just without rings.” He placed a kiss on my neck before continuing. “One of us cooks for the other, and presents it to the other to eat. Normally it’s something simple, seeing as the hormones and instincts start to affect us from the first bite we normally can’t scarf a whole meal down. Feyre made Rhys soup. Once the food has been consumed, like I said instincts and hormones take us over, reverting us to nothing more than feral creatures intent on fucking our mates till we collapse. That phase normally takes about a week, then it's a phase of adjusting to life together, heightened emotions, territorial instincts, and being inseparable till the bond calms. That phase however differs between mates.” His eyes bore into me in the mirror, the gold flecks in his hazel eyes sparkled in a feral amusement at my reactions as he spoke.

“So all I’d have to do is cook you something?”I tilted my head giving him more access to my neck as he slowly dragged his lips across the open space, in slow tension filled kisses.

“It depends,” He smirked at me, his canine digging ever so slightly into my skin. “On if you had the intention of accepting the bond or not. You have to make and serve me the food with the intention of accepting the bond.”

I shuddered under him. “I take it Rhys has given you some time off from work, to recover and until Feyre updates us on the situation?”

“Possibly.” He nipped at my neck trying to elicit the same shudder as earlier. “Why do you ask?”

I wanted to groan at him. “Maybe I was considering consummating it. But since you won’t give me a straight answer we will have to wait and see.”

I offered him a smirk back only for it to die on my face quickly, between the heat in his eyes and the growl that rose from his chest.

“Wildling.” He warned, “Do not toy with me, if you have the intent to accept the bond, tell me here and now. If you intend to cook for me I will march you straight to the kitchen and barge into Rhys’s office right now to tell him I’ll be taking the week off entirely.”

I swallowed a shaky breath at the pure power and intimidation he oozed when growling like that, his nose twitched and I assumed he picked up the shift in my scent. “So tell me wildling, do you intend to accept it?”

I swallowed and nodded. “Yes, I do.” It was shaky and broken up as I tried to regain my composure.

“Good” That same growl again, had my knees weakening. “Then I’ll show you to the kitchen.”

And so he did, he led me through the winding halls of the house till we were in the large kitchen and he dismissed himself quickly with a kiss lingering on my forehead. I shuffled through the cabinets noting ingredients as I went, trying to figure out something I could make. Meat, I knew how to cook different meats, had hunted and cooked several different kinds of it, whatever I made him I decided I wanted to have meat in it. Beef I thought or some chicken, I jumped out of my boots when a bundle wrapped in brown butcher paper appeared on the counter in front of me; the house was sentient Azriel had told me but I didn’t think it meant like this.

I unwrapped the bundle, white meat and from the looks of it chicken. Easy to cook, easy to pair with any ingredients I found lying around; my attention was drawn towards a fruit bowl, a lemon topping the pile of fruits. How amusing I thought, for the fae to have fruits from the human lands; only when I had pulled a knife from the wooden block and had split the lemon in half did I realize it wasn’t just a lemon, the taste and smell of it were both much sweeter and stronger yet still held a sour note. I found the spice cabinet and went through it, pulling everything I wanted out; a lemon pepper chicken I decided, simple yet enough to keep his energy up.

I had a tendency to keep my guard up unless I was in a place I ultimately felt safe and with Azriel just down the hall I felt safe enough to lose myself in cooking, it was something I had learned I had enjoyed when I was working in the barracks; I’d hunt down whatever tomorrow’s dinner would be then help the chefs prepare it for storage, then take the hides to be cured and turned into blankets for the barracks or depending on the quality of the pelt. Then when I returned to the kitchen the chef would have the night's dinner out and ready to begin preparing. The chef there was an older gentleman with blonde hair that had turned mostly white by the time I met him; he walked me through everything he did, explaining why and answering any questions he had. However, due to my love for the craft I found it easy to lose focus of the world around me and let my guard down; which was fine, until it wasn’t.

I had been so distracted pan searing the chicken that even with my heightened hearing I had not heard Azriel’s approaching footsteps, he leaned against the archway the led into the kitchen from the dining room silently as I hummed and began plating the chicken; I had been cutting the lemon into a smaller sections to drizzle it over the chicken, knife in hand I turned around to drizzle it on the plate when I heard the smallest of noises from the male. I jumped and spun towards the noise, the knife in my hand thunked into the wall an inch from where Azriel had just been leaning his head as I threw it.

His eyes widened as he jumped away from the wall. “Mother, save me, efficiently deadly even when off guard.”

I clasped at my chest as I panted loudly trying to catch my breath after being startled. “Fuck me! Azriel! Warn a lady!”

He mumbled “I'm trying.” Before actually apologizing for scaring me.

He slid his way onto a barstool and I pushed the plate towards him, he looked between the plate and me before he cut a small piece of the chicken off. He stared at the small piece of chicken and then looked back up to me, with a small nod from me he swallowed the small piece and I could see all the emotions cross his face as he began to scarf down the rest of the small piece. His wings flared ever so slightly as he bit into the last piece on his plate and I rounded the small island, pressing myself between his massive wings, a gesture to sooth him as I felt the cooling air he normally gave off grow in temperature and sweat began to form on his brow line. Then he had finally swallowed the last piece and chugged the small glass of water I had set out to accompany his meal, I had ran my hands over his shoulders and wrapped them loosely around his neck; His hand reached up and grabbed mine before he was pulling me off him and spinning around, capturing me in a tight hug as he pressed his lips to mine. With a growl he was pulling me down the maze of halls and then we had finally reached the set of familiar large grand doors with swirls and lines that reminded me of his shadows carved into them, the small royal blue rug he used as a welcome mat slid under our feet as he pulled me into another kiss while pressing me against the door.

He had managed to pull away enough to fumble with the door knob and finally open the door, his room greeted me with the gorgeous ash colored wooden decor accented in that same blue that matched his siphons. I took a few steps inside, he followed right behind, his shadows closing the door behind us with a click; he wrapped himself around me and his lips found purchase on my neck. I could feel everything coursing through him down the bond, my own emotions, hormones, and instincts beginning to scream louder and louder over any clear thoughts I was having. His scarred hands ,that I had found as a beautiful testament to all he had been through, ran under the soft material of the blue shirt and left goosebumps in its path.

He slipped the shirt off over my head and spun me to face him as he dropped to his knees, pressing several open mouthed kisses to the spattering of scars that adorned my skin. The last coherent thought I had before I lost myself to the haze of the bond was that one day I would kiss over every scar that littered his own skin like he had done with mine, I’d do it as an act of devotion when he thought he wasn’t deserving of anything good in his life.

He pushed me towards his bed, bedecked in blue silk sheets, till I finally fell back on it and he was right there at the foot of it slipping my boots off. He threw them somewhere across the room and then turned back to me with lust blown eyes, I ran my hand across his jaw line and leaned down to press a kiss against his lips; he replied with a soft moan and as he pulled away he began slipping the pants down my legs, ripping the only covering left on my body like the feral beast he currently was. His fingertips dug into the skin of my thighs as he held them apart, licking his lips with a smirk as he lapped from me like a stray hound. I can’t remember how long we were there but he repeatedly brought me crashing down over the edge on his tongue and fingers, the haze cleared ever so slightly as he threw me further up his bed and settled himself between my hips; my legs wrapped around his hips as he nipped at my neck and throat, a moan fell from my lips as he came to rest the head of his cock against my opening.

My mouth fell open as he sheathed himself inside me, capturing my lips in his as the moan I screamed echoed off the walls of his room. My legs tightened around his hips holding him close to me as I adjusted to his size, I wasn’t a lady by any means, I had fooled around with the males in the barracks occasionally when tensions were running high after some stressful patrol or hunt but they were all nothing in comparison to the sheer mix of Azriel’s girth and length. While with my newfound growth spurt the stretch didn’t particularly hurt it was still an adjustment, my mind wandered to those nights my mind had drifted to imagining him between my legs instead of my own hand. Azriel’s name was like a prayer falling from my lips as he slammed himself into me, our moans and pants mixing together as we called out each other's names. We were there, slotted together for what felt like ages until his hips stuttered and his wings flared, finally coming undone inside of me after he had brought me repeatedly to the edge and past it.

As he finally released inside of me, I felt the bond in our chest sing as it solidified and could then feel every ounce of pleasure he had received, if the growl that escaped his throat was any indication of him being able to feel my own, the pride he sent my way was. He finally pulled himself away from me and moved to stand, placing a kiss to my lips that I returned eagerly as he stepped into the attached bathroom. Exhaustion slowly started to come over me as I awaited the male, he returned to me and I couldn't help myself but to pull him back on top of me with another heated kiss.

He let out a mix of a growl and a laugh. “Look if we keep going down this track the bath I just drew for us will be cold by the time we are actually able to return to it.”

I sighed and relented, letting him carry me to the bathroom where with his help we both sunk into the warm clear water. He held me against his chest and began to run his fingers through my hair as he hummed a soft melody, I started to drift off with my head on his shoulder and he happily let me. He woke me when the water started to get cold, stepping out before me he wrapped a towel around his waist then helping me out and wrapping my own towel around me. My legs were still semi-shaky so he happily elected to carry me back to the bed, dropping both towels at the foot of the bed; he pulled back the sheets letting me crawl under them he followed behind me, pulling me to his chest we managed to get a few hours of sleep before he was slotting himself back between my legs and my hands found purchase at the spot where the membrane of his wings met his skin. The moan that left his mouth as he shuddered above me would never leave my thoughts, neither would the sensitivity of his wings.

It took us about two weeks before we were able to leave the confines of his room, finally going back to training was a relief especially after we had moved my belongings into his room earlier that morning. However Azriel was still overly territorial of me so Cassian found himself pouting as he sparred with Rhys. We had kept that routine until Azriel’s territorial behavior had lessened as long as I was within eyesight, Rhys was finally able to teach me how to control my mental shield and prevent daemati attacks. I had become a natural quickly between training with Rhys and sparring with Azriel as he furthered my teachings on fighting, we were in the middle of sparring when Rhys announced the boys would need to fetch Feyre and the friend that was accompanying her out of Spring Court. I had kissed Azriel goodbye and wished him well as he and Cassian took to the sky, I had decided to take the opportunity to fully explore the house; I had either been too entertained in Azriel, injured, or busy to fully explore it earlier.

I pushed a semi-large door open to be greeted with isles of bookshelves, a hearth that wasn’t lit, a long table with many chairs, and a few small loveseats in front of the hearth with a small coffee table and rug. Inside sat Nesta, who scowled at me, a handful of books whose genre matched what she and Elain enjoyed reading; I had no doubt she was reading them to Elain, Rhys had kept me updated on my sister's conditions.

“Sister…” A half-hearted acknowledgement as she turned back to the isles picking another book out.

“Nes! You look good! You could eat a bit more but-”I happily circled her taking her in before she cut me off.

“You look like you’ve adjusted to this life well.” It was a bitter acknowledgement that I did indeed look and act better than both her and Elain did right now.

“Well, Yes I have, Azriel has been a great help with everything-” She started towards the exit and I followed behind her.

“Well, you were always the wild one, I suppose it's fitting for the beast to feel at home amongst them.” I stopped in my tracks and she pushed her way out of the library.

“Nes..” I reached out for her but the door shut without her even looking back.

I tried to block my emotions from flooding Azriel while he was on the mission, simply sighing and turning back to the shelves around me; I plucked a random book from a shelf and made my way back to Azriel and I’s room, our room. The comforting shadows carved into his door were a happy sight as I oh so elegantly threw myself onto the black loveseat he had moved from my room into here, grabbing a fur blanket I made myself at home on the small couch with my book and some tea graciously provided to me by the house. Maybe once Feyre was back it would knock some sense into Nesta and Elain, I could hope at least.

I felt a calling from the bond an hour later, Azriel had made it back with Cassian, Feyre, and that red-headed male that had stepped towards Elain. I bounded up the stairs, racing through the halls and then finally slid into the living room. Feyre was wrapped in Rhys’s arms and I threw myself into Azriel’s welcoming him back with a kiss, Feyre whipped her head around to look at us; Rhys hadn’t told her we had accepted the bond yet, so when she found out she happily congratulated us. I pulled her into a crushing hug, which she tapped out of just as Rhys had called a meeting that had the entire inner circle making their way into the sitting room with us.

Mor happily smiled and waved at me, she had watched me spar with Az and train with Rhys and when the boys just needed to absolutely deck each other she would lead me up one balcony to where her and Amren set up a small little tanning spot. Amren, while Azriel had described her as this terrifying creature based on the energy she gave off, had only ever seemed as an equal to me. I had never felt that overwhelming power like the boys had described to me, she gave me a small smile and sat on the other side of me. While tucked into Azriel’s side with Amren’s foot touching my own in a comfortable silence, Nesta and Elain finally entered the room. It was a long night but eventually after a heated argument between my sisters everyone was dismissed, my sisters being allowed to keep to their own devices.

Azriel was sparring with Cassian and I had found myself holed up in Amren’s apartment with her doing puzzles when we had gotten an emergency call from Rhys. Amren and I both sped out of her apartment and we were off towards the mountain house, Azriel and Cassian picking us up and bringing us up the stairs to save us some time. We had been informed of the break in to the library, Amren and I were both on edge this understanding between us, when one was on edge then the other was too. Rhysand had asked her to comb through the rest of Velaris that night to see if any other uninvited guests were hidden amongst us, Amren invited me with her and I happily agreed. Azriel covered me with my furs and cloak and kissed my forehead as I set off to join Amren in this makeshift hunt.

It seemed like a back to back eventful week, I had crawled back into bed beside Azriel extremely late at night or extremely early in the morning depending on how you looked at it and it felt like I had just fallen asleep when Azriel awoke me in an emergency. Azriel had hurriedly told me Adriata was under attack and I slipped into the leathers Azriel had made for me adding my furs and cloak back onto my shoulder, next thing I know I’m in the bloodied streets of Adriata beside Mor and Feyre, Azriel and Cassian somewhere in the skies with whatever other forces Rhys had scrounge together on such short notice. I had been pulled into a hallway by someone whose armor I recognized as the enemy held me in a chokehold and I couldn’t get a grip on them due to how they had my arms restrained, an idea graced me as their arm rubbed against my face in my struggle. I growled before opening my mouth and latching my sharpened teeth into their arm, they screamed and relaxed their grip; it was enough of a give I was able to tear my mouth away from their arm and turn on them before tearing their head from their shoulders, a trick Amren had taught me. I rejoined their side and they both gave me a look that questioned if I was okay without the words leaving their mouth.

Then we were back home, and I was more than thankful to rinse the blood from my face. Nesta seemed to be coming around slowly as she worked with Amren, Elian was still pale and distant but was slowly coming around with Nuala and Cerridwen. Everything had seemed like it was going okay when Rhys and my sister finally announced the meeting with the rest of the high lords. I stayed beside Azriel the entire time we were there, it had seemed like negotiations were going fairly okay, yes there was people acting suspicious of others but with a war on the horizon who wouldn’t be suspicious of others, until Eris had opened his mouth about what had happened to Mor; she had confided in me what had happened one day when I had seen the scars while we were tanning, Eris’s words had enraged me and Azriel as well. If I hadn’t been enraged I was sure Azriel could have kept his composure if it wasn’t for my added emotions screaming down the bond.

Azriel reached across the table and had decked Eris, I stood from my own chair when Eris had landed a hit against Azriel’s cheek; a growl had ust echoed from my chest when the fight was called off. That had been the start of the downwards spiral of the first day of the meeting, Tamlin showing up and portraying my sister the way he did was enough for Azriel to defend her and when Azriel was dismissed out of hand it took everything I had in me to not rip Tamlin’s throat out; thankfully I was still able to threaten to do it. With tensions so high the first day of the meeting was called, the rest of the circle retired to our quarters with Helion in tow.

The second day started out alright, we all thought all tensions or issues had been aired, by the mother were we wrong. Interrupting us in the middle of a thought Nesta had screamed while the hairs on the back of my neck raised and we heard a loud crackle and roar, the color had drained from everyone’s faces as we realized what that had meant, the wall had fallen.

It had been months of war, fight after fight had everyone exhausted, and we all knew the last leg of the fight was nearing. Elain had been kidnapped by the cauldron, Nesta felt like she was guilty for opening the bridge that had let that happen; Azriel had calmed me while I destroyed the inside of the tent we all stood in at the news she had been taken, had let me get the anger that I failed to protect both of my younger sisters now. Then Feyre was concocting a plan and going into the enemy camp as Ianthe, Feyre was rescuing Elain while also rescuing an additional person with the help of Tamlin and Jurian. It was only after this we had found out Juriuan was a spy and was actually on our side, but they wouldn’t make it out with the naga-hounds on their tails and Azriel had to help rescue them. I had been panicked enough at the thought of my sisters in danger but from across the hills I watched as a naga-hound had sunk its fangs into Azriel’s wings, the scream that left me was gut wrenching as I felt the pure pain my mate was in.

Finally everyone was back in the camp, Azriel in the med-tent being cared for by Madja the thought of losing his ability to fly due to permanent damage to his wings looming over both of our heads. I knew how much flying meant to him, but the final day of the fight was upon us and I wasn’t going to let my sisters be on that field without me. I had come face to face with the weaver while I was out on the field, she had stopped and acknowledged me with a small smirk before she continued on her bloody rampage. Bryaxis and the Carver were there as well, I had crossed paths with them once or twice, and we had covered each other's back, why they had done it? I haven't a clue, but I assumed they recognized the rage beginning to boil under my skin, that had finally started to rear its head as I ripped those that opposed me apart. Whatever it was that lurked under my skin snapped as I heard Nesta scream, my vision blurred and I felt that terrible snap of my bones as I blindly ran towards my sisters.

It was as my vision cleared that I truly recognized what my gift from the cauldron was, what I had agreed to in the depths of the cauldron when faced with the beast that lurked there. I loomed over the fae scattered about the grounds around me, some shrieked in horror others stood stunned, I felt something thrashing against my mouth and gritted my teeth, biting down i felt the familiar crunch of bones yet it was all so different as a scream erupted and the taste of blood filled my mouth. I had become the same beast I faced inside the cauldron, I felt the energy that thrummed through me as I raced towards where I felt my sisters. As I reached the top of the hill I saw our father there, when had he joined the battle? How long had I been enraged?

Cassian was there too, Nesta covering his body wit her own, and the King had a sickening smirk on his face. My father stood between Nesta and the King, a pit formed in my stomach as read filled me, one paw in front of the other I tried to force my body forward. Before I can blink the King has my father’s head in his grasp, a sickening snap has me charging forward as our father slumps to the floor. A blur of movement, as my vision begins to blur again, then I’m towering over the King. I hear Elain scream as they snap closed around the King and his headless body slumps to the ground beside our fathers, his blood tasted bitter and I feel the crunch of his skull collapsing in on itself within my mouth. I let it fall from my mouth and watch as it awkwardly rolls a few inches from where it had hit the ground. Elain has a bag of medical supplies and moves to stand by Nesta and Elain, our eyes catch on eachother and there's an understanding there, they recognize me.

“Sister…’Elain barely mumbles it.

I stand in shock before I feel the bones in my body cracking again, exhaustion crashes into me and I’m back in my fae body. I can’t even take a step before I’m collapsing and hearing yet another heartbroken scream from across the field, my vision blurs like that time back in the throne room after the cauldron.

I hear murmuring when I finally come back too, based on the smell and colors I’m able to figure out I’m in the med tent. Azriel is in the bed to my left, still healing from his wounds the hounds caused. He looks like he's been crying and I try to push myself up to comfort him, all the voices silence all at once; the rest of the circle stands around me and Azriel, Madja helps me sit up and it's only then I realize it's not only me and Azriel there, Cassian is in a cot across from Azriel and Amren in one across from me and Rhys is being looked over while he sits on a stool in the center of the four of us.

It's Azriel’s voice that finds its way to me first. “Hey Wildling, good to see you awake, take it easy. You overdid it out there, but you still did it, you took the king down. According to Cass, you ripped his head straight off his body. Good job Love.”

It's a bitter smile in his voice. “I remember that, what happened after? It's all a blur.”

Cassian's astonished laugh is my answer “You ripped his head off, ended the whole thing, then you changed back from whatever that huge creature version of you was and passed out.”

“It's what I saw when I went under in the cauldron. That beast is my gift, I guess.” I dryly answered back, still sore from the pain in my bones.

It was then after we had cleared up what had happened with me, with the king did Feyre, Rhys, and Amren tell us what all else happened. Rhys had died, Feyre had felt the bond break and begged the lords to give him his life back. Amren had sacrificed herself for us too, she technically had died, sacrificed the ancient part of herself and was now just a regular high fae. Our father was dead, and the war was over. Life could somewhat return to normal, and I was grateful.

Finally Solstice was rolling around and everyone could breath somewhat normally, Azriel and Cassian had both healed nicely. Azriel and I had grown even closer and stronger, we had thrown around the idea that sometime after the solstice we would do an actual ceremony that mated fae did when they decided to marry. I had been ecstatic, we had cried the night he suggested it and had made love for hours, staying in bed the next day till well after the sun was over the mountain.

I had managed to get some time to do solstice shopping today since Azriel was out on a mission from Rhys, he said he would be back before dinner tonight. It had felt like I had searched every shop, yet I still couldn't find something for Azriel. Everyone else I had gotten something, even Nesta though I knew it was unlikely she'd be there with her current habits; she had asked to be left alone so I left her alone.

For Mor I had found a pretty red night dress that was incredibly thin and strappy with a slit that easily would’ve reached her navel, for Amren a pair of sapphire earrings with a matching bracelet set, for Cassian a set of training wraps for his hands as he had taken to complaining about the new scars there bugging him, for Rhys a set of small purple cufflinks, Elain a book I had found talking about gardens and plant life throughout the courts, Feyre I had got a set of canvases made from incredibly nice materials and the stuff to make your own p[aint like she had when we were younger, Nesta a collectors set of books she had often read as a child i had to admit I asked Rhysand to get them from the human lands for me, but Azriel? I was clueless. When asked he said he wanted nothing, but by the mother I was going to get him something. It was only after I turned into another shop that I spied the smallest thing in a glass case out of the corner of my eyes.

Elain had asked if a tonic for his headaches from Madja would be a good gift, as the male did often battle headaches from his terrible sleep regime. There was one thing he complained about, especially more often now that the colder months were approaching; the scars on his hands would often become sore, sometimes they would become so painful he couldn’t spar or even write. In a small glass case I spied a silk pair of gloves, I knew there was an enchanter in Velaris and was quick to purchase the soft gloves. I wanted to get him soft gloves so they wouldn’t catch on the scars, a bell ringed above me as I pushed the door to the enchanter open. An older male greeted me, and I passed him the gloves explaining what kind of enchantment I wanted to put on them; he nodded knowingly and brought them into the back to get to work, he returned them to me half an hour later folded and wrapped in blue tissue paper. I thanked him cheerily and paid him generously for his work.

Back at home I sat criss-cross on the floor, wrapping the gifts in shimmery black paper and wrapping them with blue bows. Eventually calling Rhys to hide them away with the rest of the presents like Azriel had told me to do. I decided to take a nap on the couch and Azriel had returned right on cue, well before dinner was to start. We made our way to the townhouse for dinner that was beginning to be decorated for solstice, after everyone had ate and said their goodnights Azriel swept me into the air; a tradition we had started after family dinners was to go on a flight across Velaris, I’d be clutched tight against Azriel’s chest as we soared above the city and finally back to the house on top of the mountain. I had happily curled up on his side that night as the solstice crept closer.

When finally the day of solstice had come around, Azriel had brought me down to the town house, kissed me goodbye, and informed me he would be back before dinner. The other two illyrian males disappeared with him, and I helped my sisters with preparations. Mor and Feyre disappeared together for a few hours, it was well after noon when everyone had finally returned from their little snowball fight; Rhys and Cassian were pouting as they kicked the snow off their boots upon entering the town house. My mate proudly walked in behind them, head held high, very obviously the winner. I pressed a kiss to his lips and congratulated him and in response he deepened it, slipping his tongue into his my mouth for a second before Rhys and Cassian were faking gagging noises.

Eventually the time for presents rolled around and everyone had started exchanging gifts, then Nesta had showed up in a pretty rough condition. I hugged her and pulled her to sit beside me, pressing the boxes from Elain and I into her hands; tears had welled in her eyes when she saw what I had gotten her but she caught herself before they fell and simply thanked me with a hug. Everyone else exchanged presents, save for a few of us mates, Rhys and Feyre hadnt publicly exchanged gifts and neither had Az and I. We celebrated Feyre’s birthday and then Az and I went out to Elain’s gardens, which had been decorated with strings of faelights. I asked Az if I could give him my gift first, to which he easily agreed and I presented him with the gloves. He slipped them on over his hands and tears found themselves in his eyes as he thanked me and peppered me with kisses, eventually he composed himself and asked me to close my eyes to which I agreed.

I heard a crunch as he shifted around in his spot, “Alright, open them.”

Tears filled my eyes at the sight in front of me, Azriel was kneeled in front of me, a ring box presented out to me.

“I know we already discussed this and both agreed to it, but I hadn’t got you a ring to symbolize it yet.Happy Solstice my wildling.” He stood and slipped the ring onto my finger.

We had returned inside to find everyone else passed out or in their room,we slipped into ours just like everyone else.

A few months later Feyre was announcing her pregnancy, we had all celebrated together and that night had flipped a switch in Azriel, neither of us had really known the male had a thing for breeding until the thought of us being in Feyre and Rhys’ position had crossed his thoughts, that night was filled with breathy moans and the sound of skin pounding against skin. Yet the simple act was enough to satiate Azriel’s hunger, to satiate us both really.

Feyre had a difficult pregnancy but pulled through, Nesta sacrificed her powers to save Feyre’s life and before we knew it. Feyre was pregnant with her second and Azriel became hungrier and more feral when he fucked me, claiming his instincts were screaming at him to repeatedly fill me.

It had all been okay until Nesta and Casssian had their first born, a whole new side to Azriel unlocked. I had never seen Azriel as jealous as he was the day we all sat around the living room, the infant in Nesta’s arms and Cassian leaning over her shoulder to wiggle his finger at the small girl whose wings flapped happily. Nyx was six at the time and had eagerly climbed into my head to hug me, ever the affectionate child unlike his sister who wanted nothing to do with anyone since her birth. Azriel’s eyes caught on me holding and rocking the six year old and I felt the pride roll down the bond from him, I sent him a joyous wave back.

It was only when Cassian and Nesta passed me their daughter did I really feel how jealous Azriel had become of the little families his brothers had crafted. As the small girl placed her tiny hand around my own an dI began to tear up as she smiled happily at me with the biggest grin on her face, I looked over to Az and saw the emotion in his eyes, a mix of lust, jealousy, and pride. I offered the small babe to him and he took her in his massive hands, adorned with the silk gloves I had bought him all those years ago. She wrapped her hand around one of his fingers and he looked up at me with massive puppy dog eyes.

Azriel’s birthday approached quickly, and I knew above all else there was thing he wanted for his birthday. I had felt it enough through the bond, every time he would see his brothers with their small families a small wave of jealousy and want would be sent through to me. Cassian’s daughter had just started walking, took her first steps today because she had wanted her father and he was just out of her reach on the couch, Azriel had been witness as she threw herself in Cassian’s arms; he had come down to our room that night upset, had cried in my arms how he had wanted what they have. It wasn’t that we were doing anything to prevent a pregnancy but when both of my sisters had conceived they had taken potions to boost their fertility. Which led me to Azriel’s birthday gift and the current appointment I had with Madja.

With the potion secured the day of his birthday, thanks to Rhys’s wonderful distraction, I was able to wrap it in a small box and hide it within our room. After hiding it I had made it back to the kitchens just as Rhys and Azriel had returned, Azriel pressed a kiss to my lips and Nyx had run in and threw himself onto Az in a bear hug. It was an endearing sight that had me hoping that with the addition of the potion Madja had made me soon enough our own son would be doing that to his father.

Dinner had gone off without a hitch, Nyx and his 4 year old sister Aurora lit up the table with their argument over whether or not Helion’s pegasi hatched from eggs like birds or were live births like horses. Nyx was getting fed up with Aurora's egg theory since he had asked ‘Grandpa Helion’ himself last time they had gone there, Arora was 2 and he had been 6 so of course he knew what he was talking about. Rhysand was rubbing his temples in agony, apparently the children had been having this argument all day, and wouldn’t let any adult butt in and settle it.

Eventually all the kids tired themselves out and everyone started toting them to their rooms, Rhys had hugged AZriel wishing him a goodnight, Feyre taking the chance to whisper to me a goodluck with a wink her mate not far behind her with a smirk and a nod in my direction as they headed off for their wing of the manor. Cassian and Neesta had left almost right after cake due to their daughter completely crashing and passing out at the table in her high chair.

Azriel smiled and let out a soft sigh. “Thank you for planning this love, it was a nice night.” he placed a kiss to my temple with a small content hum.

“It only gets better from here Az.” I smirked and he wiggled his brows in response.

“Oh yeah?” a smirk flitted onto his features.

“Yep. Still have to give you your present.” I nodded smugly and started pulling him towards our chambers.

He followed , curiosity evident as he tried to repeatedly guess what I had gotten him, guess after guess fell from his lips. Before Madja would give me the potion she had to check and make sure that if I managed to conceive it wouldn’t be a risk to my health since I didn’t have the magical benefit from Nesta’s powers that my sisters did, but thank the cauldron literally, because when it gave me my gift the growth spurt affected all of my bones including my hips so I was safe to carry his child. We made it into our room, my furs hung up on a coat rack beside the wing-suited coat I had got him last solstice and beside them a end table we used as a catch-all. I had hidden it here in the drawer because we always just threw stuff on top of it and went on collapsing into bed at night after rough missions.

He furrowed his brow as I pulled the box out and handed it to him, I gestured for him to open the small box and he stilled when he saw the small vial.

His eyes darted between me and the vial, tears began to well in his eyes. “Is this…”

He had to bite back a sob so I finished the thought for him. “The fertility boost both my sisters used when they conceived? Yeah it is, I finally got approved by Madja for it.”

He dropped to his knees holding the vial and sobbing. “Thank you, my wildling, thank you.”

I took a few steps towards him prompting him to stand up and pulled him into a deep hug, until he composed himself and stopped crying.

He handed me and the vial with a pleading look on his face. “Can we use it tonight?”

I took it from him and popped the cork out of the small bottle, shooting the terrible tasting liquid into my mouth. I wiped my mouth as I smirked back at him. “That's the plan shadowsinger.”

His shadows curled happily around my feet as I pulled him into a deep kiss, slowly coaxing him farther and farther into our room as I managed to strip his clothes from him. Then when we had finally gotten close enough to the bed, I pulled him down on top of me while I nipped at his jawline. I could feel the effects of the potion slowly start taking effect, I had been told it would increase the amount of lubricant my body produced as well as a dull throbbing ache within my ovaries and uterus.

Azriel realized fairly quickly he was the only naked one and ripped my clothes from my body, his head dropped to my core and he buried his tongue inside of, bringing me to orgasm a handful of times. Eventually satisfied with the taste of me on his tongue, he buried himself to the hilt inside of me and I could feel the tip of him kiss my cervix. I screamed his name until my throat was hoarse that night, only soothed when he had spilled a handful of times into me and finally pulled out only to replace my dripping cunt with my mouth instead.

We slept in the entirety of the next day, either wrapped up in each other as the potion boosted fertility for 48 hours, or sleeping and recovering some energy; though there had been many times we had fallen asleep together with him still buried deep inside of me so as not to waste anything. I had made a promise with Madja that I'd start checking in with her weekly after the potion was consumed and the effects had come and gone, so if I was to get pregnant from this night, we would catch it as early as possible to start me on the correct vitamins and set up a care plan immediately.

As I laid there in Azriel’s arms I could only hope that thanks to the potions help his seed would take root and I would be able to grant him this one small thing he so desperately deserved. His snores lulled me into my own sleep and in my heart were that bond sung and glowed brightly I had a feeling the intended result would in fact take root.

#acotar x reader #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fanfiction #azriel acotar #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger x reader #azriel shadowsinger

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jinkiezzsstuff · 1 year ago

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Alastor watching the princess and the frog by Disney ? It’s in lousiana in the 1920s so it would be perfect for him

absolutelyyyyyyy the princess and the frog is one of my fav disney movies from characters to soundtrack, so this one’s a bit longer. also kind of a part two but also not exactly

history ramble below

also i did some light research on new orleans history because if im gonna write alastor i should know. doggy i love me some history and this history is rich, depressing at times but also rich and meanful to know so i thought id share a little. from talking about the free the peoples movement, to the way women got their rights to their hair back that they didn’t have when enslaved only to have a law banning natural hair and hair wraps and so they decorated the wraps and used coloured fabrics effectively rendering the law useless, to the wealthiest black man of the 1870s for being a prospering business owner, the origins of how voodoo and other spiritual practices mingled perfectly with the pre established voodoo and how voodoo was predominantly black women who were highly respected, the first black man to be govoner in the united states in only 1871, a black woman named Rose Nicaud who opened the first coffee stand in 1800 and made enough to escape being ensalved. then there’s lighter topics like some of the jazz history and how it made various black stars like louie armstrong, and also how the language mingled to make the cajun french that’s sadly dying out, to the architecture that flourished through the varying clashes in culture between african, european, native and haitian peoples. if it’s not too upsetting to read i definitely suggest this page to have an insight on some of the quick history on new orleans, i enjoyed learning about the strength that many had during this time.

United teachers of new orleans < page i was reading

Warnings: jealous Al teehee, reader crushes on naveen and dr facilier (don’t mind me just projecting), cuddling, swearing, alastor doesn’t really know emotions good, fluffy banter, just some ushy gushy mushy tushy

Word count: 2k

The movie Bambi didn't even finish playing before the patrons started to filter out of the room heading to bed. First to go was Vaggie carrying a sleeping Charlie, Sir pentious promptly following along telling his fussy egg boys it was long past their bed time. Then it was Niftys turn to disappear, however she never said a goodnight only sped off leaving behind her vacant swishing rocking chair.

Then once Angel and Husk left, you had decided to just call it quits on Bambi, Alastor hadn't moved much or objected to you turning off the movie, only watching the projector as you scrolled through the app.

You stopped on the princess and the frog, grinning toward Alastor he sighed, getting a glimpse of your mischief from the corner of his eye. "Now what's this about darling?" Turning your body towards his fully facing him, you waited for his gaze to finally meet yours, and reluctantly it did. "Allow me to introduce you to one of, if not, thee best disney movies of all time; the princess and the frog," Alastor's finger rose as he took a breath to speak, but before he could say a word you interrupted him.

"Yes I know princess yuck, whatever Al. It takes place in New Orleans, its main focus is actually in the poorer area with the shotgun houses, and throughout the movie Tiana, the princess, travels through the bayou, oh! With Naveen one of the hottest princes, also it takes place in the twenties, oh!-" Before you could continue Alastor gently gripped your cheeks, your lips puckering involuntarily as he did so."What did you just?"

"Takes place in the nineteen twenties?" You asked, voice muffled from Alastors grip on your cheeks. "Before that dear." Your eyebrows raised looking at Alastor not trying to hide your confusion. "Naveen? One of the hottest princes?" Alastor hummed, booping your nose. "Yes dear, that."

"Yeah. duh dude he's one of the few princes that deserve the princess, he changes for Tiana, he's charismatic, funny, but nevermind that back to what i was saying. There's varying New Orleans culture littered through that might make you feel closer to home, all the music is jazz obviously." Opening your mouth readying to rant on about the Voodoo man that you adored, Alastor hushed you with his finger up to your lips.

"My sweet dear, I will watch this silly picture show so long as you stop rambling about it." Alastor wasn't truly done with hearing your rambling, he was enjoying hearing that you were such a fan of something that centred so close to home when it came to him however if he was going to watch it he rather not have it spoiled.

Giddily you clasped your hands together and hit play, your love for the film and excitement to see Alastors reaction may have made you slightly over enthusiastic just a bit. As the movie began you curled your feet up onto the couch, inching yourself closer to Alastor looking up to his face and back to the movie.

When Naveen got introduced on screen you accidentally gripped Alastors arm tightly shaking him. "My mannn~" You squealed happily, letting go of Alastor once you heard the unmistakable rattle come from him, a growl sounding out of his chest. You didn't pay much attention to him though, instead turning back to the projector and backing off Al. However Alastor wasn't too frustrated with the fact you touched him, but because you were being so ushy gushy over some fake man.

He was easily the same if not better than Naveen. Alastor was charismatic, charming, he could sing, play instruments, he didn't quite understand why you were so particularly interested in this Naveen. Hell, even Alastor had a similar outfit back when he was alive, he could've been Naveen when he was alive.

You didn’t notice Alastor having a mini tantrum in his own world, you were too engrossed in the movie. Suddenly you’ve gripped him again, pointing at the screen. "The shadow man, Al this is your kin!" You egged laughing maniacally at your own words.

Alastor’s face however brightened at the display of the voodoo man. "One of my fav songs." You whispered as Dr. Facilier began singing on screen. Cocking his head to the side Alastor looked down to you bouncing along to the song. "This fellow sounds similar to Husk." Alastor mentioned, watching intently at the shadows that crawled around Dr. Faciliers room, much like Alastors own shadows. "Yeah it really does sound like Husk. Strange, anyways, Dr. Voodoos hot too." Alastors static buzzed around the room and you had to hold back a giggle at the frustrated look on his face, despite the smile it was obvious he wasn't too happy.

"What's up Al, not liking the movie?" Static crackled around the two of you as you questioned him a little slyly as you could tell he wasn’t hating the movie. “No dear, it’s pleasant in comparison to some things i’ve grit myself through, however,” He paused watching you ogle at both the Dr and Naveen. “I can’t understand what’s so great about this Naveen you like. He’s a fool,” You scoffed at Alastors distaste for Naveen, you didn’t mean to make him feel frustrated at your adoration for the characters but it was endearing to see.

“What’s not to like about the man?” You state confidently but Alastor simply shrugged while humming indifferently. A beat of silence passed, the ending of the song playing out of the projector. “It’s just that,” Alastor started up again after a moment of silence, turning his body to face you hands folded in his lap politely. “You clearly have the odd reaction towards these gentlemen and I can't see why,” To give him credit he did look genuinely confused, and just as you were going to speak up he interrupted.

“And please do not say it’s because he is funny, charismatic, musically talented or sweet because I happen to hold all those same qualities!” He finished, hands thrown in the air like he said something especially spectacular. You had a soft smile present on your face watching him work through the sentence theatrically. “Well, Al you are, maybe i think the same about you?” Record scratch.

You cackled at his frozen state, patting his arm gently, cooing that you were only kidding, you turned back to the TV and the two of you decided to leave it at that.

Later on in the movie, when Tiana and Naveen are with the alligator going down the bayou singing about being human, you stared over at Alastor, your heart thumping at the sight of him. His arms were resting along the back of the couch, legs splayed out comfortably, posture sunken in, and his eyes lidded with a closed calm smile. His ear twitched and soon his eyes moved from the movie to you, quirking a questionable eyebrow at you.

Feeling slightly embarrassed for eyeing him up you tried to play it off by asking him a question. “Is there bayous in New Orleans, is that real?” You ask kinda dumbly, of course they were, you scolded yourself. Alastor didn’t seem to mind though he smiled widely, a chuckle reverberating out of him. “Why yes dear! Of course, I personally never lived close to the bayou, but it surrounds New Orleans, and I have been. It’s quite beautiful during a sunset but there’s tons of alligators.”

You leaned forward interested, but it seemed he’d stopped to refocus on the screen which you wouldn’t complain about. You not so discreetly leaned into his torso, arm still on the back of the sofa behind you, and thankfully he didn’t move when you leaned your body into him, instantly decompressing into his side.

They got to the scene where the gang is on the boat going through the bayou, the crocodile fitting in and playing jazz, when you turned to look up at Alastor seeing him already looking down at you. “What’s up?” You asked, watching as he scanned your face. “Well dear you’re just reminding me of home tonight, it would’ve been interesting to be able to show you where I lived, where I worked. Y’know when i did radio, most people didn’t know what I looked like so it came as quite a shock to some that I wasn’t what they imagined. Some were cruel, but my mother always taught me to be respectable if not respectful, so I managed to keep my grace.”

You giggle at his explanation watching him move his hand in all different directions, the radio host coming into play just at the mention of his job. “I’m flattered you would’ve wanted to show me your home n stuff, i wish it were possible.”

On the projector in front of you two, was the scene between Naveen and Tiana’s first date, where Naveen was going to propose. “They always get married so fast in these movies, you spend three days as a frog and suddenly it’s eternity!” You exclaimed humorously, Alastor scoffed an array of instrumental sounds electronically sounding out from him. “My dear it was common back in the day to get married quick, none of this lollygagging.”

You rolled your eyes blowing out air. “Would you get married to someone you knew for three days?” Alastor hummed, tapping his finger against his chin in exaggerated thought. “If it were you, perhaps, otherwise i’d attempt to lengthen it just a bit.” He reviled in the sight of you bashfully turning your head away, shy at his broad flirt. “You’d marry me, after only three days?” You questioned in disbelief, he hummed wrapping the arm he once had behind you, around you pulling you into him.

“Well I found you to be quite a treat the first day i met you, and decided i wanted to be around you for many days on. Is that not marriage worthy?” This confession shocked you slightly. You never expected him to say that he preemptively planned your blooming friendship nevermind that he equated that to being worth marriage. The movie played on in the background as you both watched each other’s faces.

“To me, dear,” Alastor started a smug smile stretching across his cheeks replacing the calm smile that stayed for so long. “It seems like you may unconsciously feel something towards me too.” Jaw dropping you stared at him confused. “What?” You scoff but Alastor only looked smugger.

“Come now, New Orleans centred movie? Jazz, cooking, even that dumbo man Naveen speaks french loves jazz music and dancing, oh and of course the ever so obvious voodoo, it’s almost like this movie is me, haha.” He laughed manically, eyes crossing as his body shook. It was quite the egotistical assumption on his part, but he wasn’t wrong.

You put it on for him but it seems for you too, you paid more attention to him half the movie, and you’ve been more interested in knowing real life facts about his home during his time then what story the movie was trying to tell. Maybe he was right, but even so what did him pointing it out accomplish? “Well that’s why i wanted to show you it, it’s got many aspects you’re involved with in it.”

You mentally gave yourself a pat on the back for such a good save, however Alastor was keen and knew you long enough to catch your lies. “Sure dear, sure.” Al gave you a condescending pat on the head and you speedily swatted at him. The movie played on you once more captivated by Alastor’s reactions more than the movie itself, you’ve already watched it enough to know.

Tucked under Alastor’s arm, warm and comfy, you barely caught the sound of Alastor huffing out chuckles, gazing up towards the projection you playfully hit him. “Don’t laugh at his death!” That only made Alastor properly laugh, dropping his head back, neck cracking grossly. “My dear it was a lightning bug in love with a star! He got stepped on that was hilarious!”

Sounds of prerecorded laughter sounded out with his natural laugh, you didn’t actually care that he found it funny, only pretended too as you gave him a disapproving glare. As the movie closed in you felt a weird gloom wash over you, it was nice being alone with him by his side while you two relaxed. You didn’t want it ending, but alas Tiana and Naveen kissed turning them human, with the reveal that with marrying Naveen, she became a princess effectively breaking the curse, and the movie started with the end song.

“Well dear I did enjoy that, the voodoo was pretty boringly unrealistic, but it’s for children. I did enjoy the mentioning of foods, very common dishes even I enjoy, like gumbo. But alas it was still a pathetic little movie about mortal love.” Standing to his feet when he finished speaking, Alastor dusted himself off and snapped his fingers making all around you revert to what it was before movie night.

“Do you not want to be in love?” You ask softly partly hoping he didn’t hear you as by the time you stood from your spot, you regret saying it. “Well I certainly haven’t looked. Why disappointed?” Alastor bent himself backwards to look at you since you stood behind him readying to exit. Looking down into his eyes you felt hazy, maybe a little drunk on desire as you gently caressed his cheek. “Maybe I am,”

“Darling.” Alastor said sternly as he cracked himself upward, he bent down facing you this time and before he could talk you once again interrupted. “Can’t blame me can you?” Alastor seemed momentarily taken aback, gazing around lazily trying to collect his thoughts. “My dear, I'm uncertain with emotions like this as well as expressing them, love is foolish, however… if you were to tell me ‘i love you’ i would say it back.”

It confused you, what Alastor said, you couldn’t tell if he was mocking you and telling you he was going to lie about his emotions to spare you, or if he was egging you on attempting to get you to tell him your true feelings. Regardless you swallowed down any worries for the future instead focusing only on the now, and looked deeply into the soft red glow of his eyes.

“I love you Al,” With a cheeky smile you watched him stutter, the visible shock was clear, and you wondered if he actually expected you to say that. Just as you began to worry you fucked up, he bent down to your height. “I love you too my dear,” And with that he gave you the chastised kiss on the lips, before standing to his full height materialising his microphone. “Got to go dear! Duty calls!” And with that he seemingly disappeared into the shadows, leaving you to waddle tiredly to your room. Little did you know that Alastor whisked himself away to have a minor panic attack in the safety of his radio tower, not believing himself and his broad actions, nor could he believe the pounding in his chest and flutter in his heart.

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel oneshots #alastor hazbin x reader #alastor x reader #alastor hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x you #hazbin hotel alastor x reader #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor x reader fluff #alastor the radio demon

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sukunas-wife · 1 year ago

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Can we get a longer fit on meeting Sukuna's dad🥹

I tried 🤍🤍

“No,” he was judging the woman tying the obi on your waist, “No no no, you’re doing this all wrong woman, move..” You wanted to laugh at the situation, especially when she started talking to him in her mother tongue and he answered back just as snappy leaving her speechless.

You smiled looking down, shaking your head, “I didn’t know you knew more than one language Sukuna.” You looked in the mirror, he was focused, face angled down, you could feel his hands moving, the rustling of the fabric was soft. It was a small shop that hadn’t changed much, its traditional sliding shoji doors, the classic wooden and simple decor, the snappy lady at the front desk scribbling away in her book. All the fabric that was on display or folded away in their respective boxes. Oddly enough it felt like you belonged here in this moment, you looked over your shoulder, Sukuna had stepped back looking at you through the mirror, his eyes fell and met your eyes over your shoulder as you smiled at him. There was a faint tug at his lips, “charming.” You broke out into a grin at his single word before he settled your debt much to your dismay and pleasure as soon as you learned how much the fancy fabrics would’ve cost.

He helped you into his car, a classic black Mercedes S-class, it wasn’t his first choice but his mom beat his safety into him, snapping that if he wanted to risk his life in a flattened down Italian sports car or some useless motorbike he would have to buy it himself. When he had saved up the money to buy his motorbike on his own, his father had sat him down, “Ryomen, listen to me. I would never try to control your life, but I will tell you this, your life is not always lived for just you. On your little bike you could risk your life all you want, but think of the day you meet a fine young lady and want to take her out. It takes one rain, one slide, one bad driver to not only hurt you, but someone you care about deeply.” He smacked his boys back with a heavy hand, “Now, save your money, I’ll let you think about your choices a little longer, don’t tell your mother I’m doing this but considering you have worked hard enough to prove your dedication to this dream of yours.” He gave Sukuna the keys to one of the Sedans, “Don’t tell your mother.” He gave Sukuna a serious look, “I’m serious, you know how she gets it.” Sukuna smiled with a nod, “I really appreciate this, I’ll take the time to think over what you said.”

Of course the first thing he did was go see you in his car, the thought always lingered in the back of his head when you awed over his car. Would he ever put your life at risk for one of his dreams?

“You okay?” Your hand covered his fingers that were tapping away on the middle console, he looked over at you before looking at the road, he nodded, “‘m alright.” His hand stilled under yours turning to hold your fingers in his hand. In his head he was thinking of those American cars where the front seat was built as a single row, he would’ve pulled you into his side if he could’ve. “Ready?” You looked up at him with a small smile, “I’m ready.” It was a lie, you were nervous and it only got worse when he pulled into the Shinden-Zukuri.

He sat you in his room throwing his shirt over your face as he changed so you wouldn’t see him. You sat there nervous but with a small smile on your lips wanting to giggle at his little “Give me some privacy pervert.” When he was the one that brought you into his room after you had said you could wait outside his room.

It all played out well, he brought you to the room where his dad could usually be found drinking tea and unwinding after a long day.

When the doors opened and you saw a larger more profound version of Sukuna you froze. He was a handsome man, square jaw, cold calculating eyes, his hair was a paler pink thanks to the greying hairs. He had a bit of scruff, his eyes were a bit paler with age, his brows dropped in judgement, the choko in his hand was minuscule, his robe was partly open exposing more chest, as he sat there. The thought passed through your head, ‘if that’s what Sukuna was born to be, I WILL marry him..’ it took less than 10 seconds for you to grow a little girl crush on his dad, until Sukuna cleared his throat. Signalling you as he said he would, you snapped back to reality bowing and introducing yourself in the most respectful and put together way you could, your inner child was squealing in delight but you were nervous now. You didn’t see the exchanged looks between Sukuna and his father, until the elder let out a rumble of laughter, “Stand up girl, and then sit. You are an interesting character.” Sukuna wanted to laugh, your practice had flown out the window, at least you had remembered enough to not insult his father.

The three of you sat there, “Well then Y/n,” He looked down at you, a smug look on his face, “I must say you must be quite the character to catch this young man’s attention, I’m interested in how you became involved with him, of course that’s a story my wife would like to hear also I’m sure.” Your eyes widened, “I-“ you swallowed as you looked at Sukuna who looked blankly at the table, “It’s an interesting story so I'd love to share with both you and your wife Sukuna-san.” He smiled bigger, “Sukuna-san? I’m sure if my son is presenting to you he must have other intentions so get comfortable, call me Ryomen.” You looked at Sukuna almost in disbelief, “You have the same..?” The elder laughed, “He’s my only son, of course he’d have my name. Branded him the day he was born, that’s my boy and everyone needs to know it.” You smiled at how his dad seemed to be enjoying himself so openly, you were more confused than ever still when Sukuna spoke with a smile and sigh as he nodded, “My father Sukuna Ryomen, The Man of two faces.”

Soon conversation fell into Ryomen Senior telling you stories of how his little Ryo was a destructive boy. Going as far as to send one of the servants to bring a book which made Sukuna sulk and frown slightly. It was a large leather album, the elder opened the book showing you realistic hand painted pictures and photos of Sukuna as a child, more often than not with bandaids and scrapes, “His mother never liked to put her hands on him, so she found another form of discipline. He loathed standing still considering he was an active child. So when he would cause trouble or get himself hurt with his actions, even getting into fights. She would bring him home, stand him right outside in the garden and have someone come and paint his picture forcing him to stand there scowling for hours.” You were flipping through the book Aawwing and cooing, his father watched proud when you’d ask about certain pictures that had no caption. His answers were lively and entertaining, voice getting louder when he’d begin his stories leaving Sukuna slightly embarrassed at his past. “Look at that boy, embarrassed, it just means it worked to break his bad habits.” He laughed and quickly stopped when he heard the door behind him open. He sat up cleaning his throat. “Oh? We have a guest?” Your eyes moved up the lady's beautiful kimono, she was more filled out in a beautiful manner, her hair was long and dark, her eyes a vibrant red. She was beautiful, you looked at his father thinking in the war of genes he proved to be dominant. “Mom.” Sukuna locked eyes with her as he moved to sit by her husband who was now sitting in a more appropriate manner pulling his robes a little tiger, “This is L/n Y/n.” She looked away from him, staring at you intently, you locked eyes with her you almost felt vulnerable under her stare until she closed her eyes with a soft smile, “It is very nice to me the young lady that has my son huffing at his phone when he gets no messages.” You broke into a grin turning to look at Sukuna who was giving his mom a look and you started to laugh, “Here I thought you didn’t like when I bothered you so much.” “I-“ hsi mom cut him off, “I’ll tell you a story, there was a week during the summer when we left for Kyoto. That poor boy was constantly laid over the table or floor just staring at his phone tapping it off and on to see if anything happened. He even persisted in checking to make sure we had paid for cell service many times. I had become worried he became involved with drugs or something worse until I peeked over his shoulder one day and saw he was continuously refreshing a conversation with a girl” she gave you a look of disbelief, “a girl! Do you know how much disbelief I was in to see my little Ryo was talking to a girl and more importantly patiently waiting for a message? I was astounded, I tried to see a name or picture but he locked his phone, sighed and laid his he’d on the table and scared me, with his little ‘I know you're looking. It wa just something I couldn’t believe, so I knew he either had to bring someone home, or he was just going to leave one day in the middle of the night and I’d have to track him and his little loose woman down and beat the sense into the both of them before dragging him home weather he liked it or not.” Your smile was there but the blank look in your eyes was fear, “ah, I understand entirely, my father is the same way.” She smiled again, “Well, I’m glad you’re the former and not the latter, you seem like a very lovely girl y/n. You can call me Akira, there are too many Sukuna’s here as it is.”

She turned to look at her husband who had an elbow propped on the table, chin resting on his fist while he stared at her, there was a small smug smile on his face, his eyes were lidded, that’s the same look you’d caught on your Sukuna’s face on occasion. You turned to look at him. He was making a face at his parents when his mom brought her hand to hold his dads face. That face was the same face one of your friends had made when the both of you had unintentionally recreated the scene once. You smiled nudging his hand under the table was yours, he looked at you with that same face before he shook his head, his fingers slowly taking yours in a soft hold, his thumb ran over your knuckles and you did your nest to squeeze your hands, oblivious to the way his dad’s eye brows rose motioning to the both of you with his eyes, his wife turned her head slightly. The serene smile on your face was rare for a lady to have around her son considering how much of a brute or cold he could be, what pulled their attention more was the soft look in their son's eyes matching the small smile pulling at his lips. They looked at each other, the silent conversation between the two in an exchange of looks and small head tilts, until his mother let out a hushed laugh. Your both turned to her becoming flustered when you had seen both of his parents were staring at the both of you, “oh-I’m sorry-“ you were about to apologise for falling silent until she waved you off mid sentence, “It’s alright, but my husband here was telling me before I walked in you were going to share the story of how the two you became involved.”

You looked at Sukuna with a grin, “It’s simple really, It was our last year of junior high and during the end of the school year festival, some of the students were running booths to raise money for a school trip before we were let out for break. My friend's father runs a small pet store so we set up a goldfish toss, and everything was going great, kids, adults, couples, everyone loved being able to win a prize to take home.” You sighed, eyes looking away “Then came Satoru Gojo. He's not troubled, just spoiled in my opinion. My dad says the same, he says no one corrected that boy or put hands on him when he was growing up and it shows.” Sukuna’s dad chuckled, “I agree.” You smiled at him, “Well he came along with his friends, his friends were polite when they took their turns, but Gojo,” you made a face staring down at the table, and empty cup, “He kept leaning over the counter and I kept telling him to lean back because it was literally a flimsy folding table, and he didn’t listen and kept leaning further trying to score a fish bowl to take one home but he’s as coordinated as a bat in broad daylight. Just as my friend signalled a teacher the table flipped he tumbled over and knocked into me, we both fell into the table where the fish bowls were and everything came crashing down,” his mother gave a sympathetic look and his father was looking at him pick pick at his nails, “My friend and I rushed to find a decent broken bowl and try to get as many fish as we could back into the water Gojo and his friends ran off when the teacher didn’t do anything because he’s SaToRu GoJo” you shook your head in a sassy way, “It was Terrible and my dads a modest man so I kinda grew up wearing longer skirts and it was a struggle trying to not get wet and save fish and my friend turned to me “Maybe we should just leave them? It might not be too bad?” I wanted to cry because I don’t like the thought of someone or something losing its life as the consequence of some idiots actions, then came Sukuna jumping over the table mumbling something and picking up gold fish left and right throwing them into the bowl we managed to find and I was so grateful, I offered him any of the prizes or fish prizes ended up taking all 13 fish and paid as if he played 13 times even though I persisted it was enough that he had helped but he walked off fish in hand. Just waving me off.” You missed the way his parents shared a look, “Since our booth was broken we just cleaned up and went off to enjoy the rest of the festival. Until the end of the day when I had to take the folding table back to the teachers who had let us use it. I came across Gojo and Sukuna in a standoff in the shoe locker room and I turned a deaf ear to convo after some things were said I kept walking after seeing Sukuna land a punch right on Gojo’s face, I was satisfied seeing it happen and told myself “I won't say anything, that priss deserves what he got.” I turned in the table and made my way out of School just to see Sukuna walking down the school path and I screamed “Hey!” I didn’t know his name, he was kinda scary, and he just stopped. It’s funny because I could physically see him sigh before he half turned to look back, and asked “WHat” kinda intimidating but I managed to catch up and thank him for his help and he just shrugged, and we kinda walked- no I walked you followed me.” Sukuna cut you off, “fine fine he walked and I followed him to the bus stop and we waited for the last bus in silence, I asked what he was gonna do with thirteen goldfish, he stayed quiet, then the bus came. I got on first and he didn’t, I turned around to ask him and he had a stupid smirk on his face, “I’m gonna feed them to the Koi.” The bus door closed, I felt my face drop, and he just started laughing. Anyways, after that, I kinda just kept pestering him, saying hi and trying to talk to him after that day to the point he just accepted I wasn’t leaving him alone. Now that I think about it, he never actually asked me to be his significant other, it just kinda fell into place.”

You finally looked up at his parents, they were nodding, his mom staring at you with a soft smile, his dad more curious “So, how hard did you punch him?” He turned to his son who cracked a smile. “He had a bruise for the next week and a half.” His dad laughed, clapping his hands, stopping and clearing his throat when his wife gave him a look. “Ryo, I’ll leave you to talk to your boy, Y/n will you accompany me?” She stood and you rushed to stand, “I will.” You looked at Sukuna who rolled his eyes letting his head fall to the side with a lopsided smile, before he locked eyes with you, you could almost hear him say “go, you’ll be alright.” So you went, following his mother out onto the engawa into the cool air. You both walked in silence as the crickets and frogs started their symphony. You looked over the garden, zen ponds, zen gardens, lush greenery and plants. You stepped down following her through the zen garden to a red bridge. There were three Islands in the large pond connected by bridges, “My Sukuna…” She trailed off, “He has strong character and a difficult heart, he’s complex in ways no one is able to understand, a bundle of twine no one has found the patience to untangle. Somehow you managed to find a single end and pull it free to see he’s not the bundle of twine, but a gold thread.” You were nodding along, not entirely sure until you made it to one of the islands. “We have a koi pond, but this isn’t it. Take a look.” In your head as you knelt to look closer your brain screamed, ‘She’s gonna PUSH US IN AND KILL US.’ Still you looked at your reflection, it was hard to see without the sun's light, so you pulled out your phone and turned on your flashlight. Looking harder until you saw the flash of colour. “I thought it wasn’t a koi pond?” You asked and she hummed, “It’s not.” You watched as she knelt beside you, she pulled a sleeve up moving her hand into the water and you watched as a light lit up, the bundle of Gold moving in the water caught you by surprise, “Those are-“ she cut you off, “The goldfish he brought home that day. He didn’t tell us where he got them from, or why, he only showed up and asked if he could use the empty pond. Of course we allowed it, it was interesting to watch him empty the fish into the pond, watching him struggle to find a decent food, putting lights into the pond and planting this tree to keep the birds from so easily diving into the water to snatch them up. They’re the original thirteen you know, the others he freely released into the bigger pond.”

You looked up at his mother with a soft smile, she smiled at you, the crinkles by her eyes made it genuine. “GET OFF OF ME OLD MAN!” You heard the struggle behind you and you both turned back to look, there was the elder Ryomen hugging his son in a bone crushing hug, the younger trying to escape, “Let! Me! Go!” You watched as he squirmed with every word until you heard “Alright squirt.” Your Sukuna tumbled unto the water while his dad stood taller, arms crossed over his chest with a burly laugh. You watched as Sukuna sat up in the water, dripping sleeve smacking him in the face as he tried to push his hair back. You laughed with his mom as you both approached. She moved to her husband's side, smacking his chest and scolding him. They watched how you kicked off your shoes getting ankle deep in the water to help Sukuna stand despite his protests and telling you to stay out of the water. How you took his face in one hand pulling him closer when he leaned unto your hand, taking the handkerchief tucked between your body and obi before gently wiping his face, “Ryomen Sukuna you are one of the most complex men I’ve ever met.” A grin grew on his face as his hands came up to grab your wrists, “You love it.”

“RYOMEN.” You flinched at Sukuna’s dads voice, Sukuna tensed up and smiled at you, “You got me into a lot of trouble you know.” You tilted your head, “Yeah?” He leaned in close whispering, “he got onto my ass about never asking you to actually be mine.” You smiled and laughed, “So will you?” You hummed, the smile on your face made your eyes squinty, “I dunno, not to sure I wanna be Y/n Sukuna.” He gave you a look and you closed your eyes shaking your head with a smile, “You’re such a brat.” You pulled him closer and kissed his cheek, “You love it, but yes, I will.”

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