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thewulf · 11 months ago

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Soothing Shadows || Azriel

Summary: Request - Can I request some fluffy angst with Azriel? She’s usually soft, sweet and shy but she’s suddenly moody and snapping trying to seem tough from a REALLY bad period?

A/N: Well I got way too carried away on the intro but I love it. Love this one. ACOTAR is just so much fun to write. the characters are just... perfect. I hope you all enjoy :)

Pairing: Azriel x Female Reader (Day Court Reader)

Word Count: 6.7k +

TW: Yelling, frustration, crying

The Meeting

In the golden light of the Day Court's grand hall the sunlight danced playfully across the marble floors. It was an atmosphere thick with the potential of new alliances that buzzed through the air. Azriel was enveloped in his characteristic shadows despite the overwhelming brightness. He entered the hall alongside Rhysand and Cassian looking rather unimpressed. Day Court was never his favorite. Their steps were confident yet cautious, reflective of the gravity of their mission.

The room was populated with dignitaries and advisors. It seemed to pause momentarily as their attention was drawn to the Night Court's formidable high fae. But for Azriel it wasn’t the opulent surroundings nor the stares of the courtiers that unsettled him—it was you.

Standing among the Day Court's delegation, you were pointing to a map seemingly unfazed by their arrival. Your aura shone more brilliantly than anything else he’d ever seen. You were a strategist he concluded as you kept pointing and offering up solutions. Your attire was remarkably vibrant and expressive even for a Day Court fae. It contrasted starkly with his dark, subdued tones. Yet the garments mirrored the radiant environment of your home or what he assumed was your home. It wasn’t until Rhysand cleared is through that your eyes, keen and perceptive, swept over the newcomers. They paused just a touch longer on him than on the others. And he’d be lying if he didn’t say that your piercing eyes didn’t unsettle him a touch further.

Azriel’s heart was usually so stead but that looked you gave him made it skip unevenly beneath his armor. He meant to greet you with his customary reserve, but his voice caught still in his throat. Instead, the words stumbled over themselves like his shadows at noon. Cassian’s barely concealed smirk did little to soothe his discomfort. Rhysand’s knowing glance only deepened the flush that dared to climb Azriel’s neck.

You cocked an eyebrow in surprise at the new comers. The High Lord of the Night Court and his Inner Circle. You were expecting Night Court emissaries not the High Lord himself. And certainly not flanked by the Shadowsinger and General you’d heard so much about. The war was brutal, but they seemingly made themselves known through their selfless actions. "Welcome to the Day Court High Lord," you said with a hit of a smile on your lips. Your voice was clear and melodious, and it sliced through his momentary lapse with ease. He noticed how you bowed reverently to Rhysand and nobody else. "We hope our discussions today will strengthen the ties between our courts during these challenging times. High Lord Helion will be joining us shortly. He ran into a minor hiccup with High Lord Kallias.” You smirked looking directly at Rhysand after your gaze had settled on Azriel for a beat too long. “You know how those seasonal courts are, fickle is as fickle does.”

Your smile was warm and inviting as it clashed with the cool, calculated persona he had anticipated. As you extended your hand in greeting to the three of them Azriel’s shadows flickered uncertainly around him. Taking a deep breath, he managed to gather his composure, his hand meeting yours first. The contact sent a jolt of unexpected warmth coursing up his arm and settling deep within his chest. Rhysand’s low chuckle was barely audible and hinted that he found the situation amusing. He was already piecing together the reason behind Azriel’s sudden awkwardness

The High Lord’s response was a measured one. His expression unfaltering as he took in your words and the underlying tone. The faintest smile touched his lips, a gleam of amusement—or perhaps appreciation—flickering in the depths of his blue violet eyes. He was no stranger to the complexities and occasional theatrics of court relations and your comment about the seasonal courts didn't go unnoticed. "Thank you for your kind welcome," Rhysand replied. His voice was smooth and commanding yet carrying an undercurrent of warmth that he reserved for those he deemed worth his genuine attention. "It is always enlightening to visit the Day Court. The light here is quite invigorating," he continued, his gaze briefly sweeping the sunlit hall before settling back on you and giving your own hand a shake after Azriel.

He stepped forward slightly, around you, closing some of the formal distance that the court protocol initially demanded. "Indeed though, the fickleness of the seasonal courts can often be... challenging. But it’s the steadfast nature of courts like yours and mine that often brings balance," he added. The slight emphasis on 'steadfast' subtly acknowledged both the compliment and the jest you had woven into your very own greeting.

Rhysand's demeanor remained composed but there was a keen sharpness to his observation. It was indicative of his role not just as a leader but as a tactician. He was always reading between the lines, always ready to engage on more than just the surface level. "We look forward to discussing ways our courts might work together more closely," he concluded. His tone implying that your directness and evident acumen had not only been noted but were also appreciated. His response set the stage for a dialogue that promised to be as engaging and sharp as the participants involved.

You smile brightly at his calculated response. You’d heard many stories of Rhysand and his cleverness. "Then by all means, please have a seat and we will get started once High Lord Helion arrives shortly." You motion to the golden table behind you.

Rhysand nodded at your invitation with the hint of a strategic mind playing behind his affable smile. He gestured gracefully to his companions indicating they should take their seats in preparation for the meeting. As Cassian moved to take a spot near the end of the table, Rhysand placed a hand on Azriel's shoulder, his voice just loud enough for those nearby to catch, "Azriel, why don’t you take the seat next to our esteemed strategist from the Day Court? It might be beneficial for our discussions."

Azriel cast a brief, slightly questioning glance at Rhysand but there was an unspoken understanding in the exchange. With a barely perceptible nod Azriel complied moving smoothly to the indicated chair beside you. His presence was quiet and unobtrusive, yet you couldn’t help but feel the weight of his gaze as he settled next to you. The Shadowsinger’s famed subtlety making him a curious, albeit intriguing, neighbor.

As he took his seat next to you his voice was a low murmur just for you, "I hope my presence here serves to facilitate a fruitful dialogue between our courts," Azriel said. His tone earnest yet carrying an edge of his characteristic reserve.

Rhysand watched this arrangement unfold, a barely there smile playing on his lips, clearly pleased with his own maneuvering. His eyes met yours for a moment and the look was both a challenge and a promise—the proceedings today would be anything but mundane.

With Azriel now seated beside you, his presence both imposing and intriguing, you turned to him with a playful glint in your eye. "I'm sure your presence will not only facilitate but enhance our discussions," you replied. Your voice tinged with a hint of flirtation. "After all, it's not every day we get graced by the infamous Shadowsinger." Your words hung lightly between you as an invitation to a more relaxed interaction despite the formal setting. Azriel's expression which was usually so guarded softened slightly at your approach. A faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he acknowledged the compliment mixed with your light jest.

"Infamous, is it?" Azriel responded. The undertone of his voice suggesting he was both amused and intrigued by your characterization. "I suppose there are worse reputations to have." The subtle exchange, though brief, set a tone of ease and mild flirtation, hinting at the potential for not only diplomatic success but personal connection as well.

Just as you were about to deliver a witty retort to Azriel's comment the grand doors to the meeting hall swung open. Your High Lord strode in with his characteristic regal poise but an apologetic smile. As Helion settled into his chair with his characteristic regal ease he apologized for his tardiness. His eyes twinkling slightly with humor. "My apologies for the delay," Helion announced. The resonant timbre of his voice filling the room. "It seems that even the best of us are not immune to the whims of weather and politics. Kallias can be rather persuasive in his timing."

Before you could respond though Rhysand chimed in. A slight smirk playing on his lips as he glanced at you. "No worries, Helion. Your strategist here has been more than welcoming," he said while nodding towards you with a hint of playfulness in his tone. "It seems the Day Court excels not only in strategy but also in hospitality."

You smiled, catching Rhysand's eye with a look that matched his own amusement. "We do our best to keep our guests comfortable, High Lord Rhysand. It helps to ensure a more productive discussion," you replied smoothly. Your words subtly acknowledging his compliment while keeping the tone light and engaging.

Helion chuckled at the exchange, clearly pleased with the rapport between his strategist and the Night Court's leader. The room relaxed into a more congenial atmosphere setting a positive tone for the serious diplomatic discussions that were about to unfold.

As the meeting unfolded Azriel found himself repeatedly glancing at you. You were unfailingly professional. Your insights sharp and your arguments compelling. Yet, there was an undercurrent of gentleness in your approach. A lightness that seemed to permeate the very air around you. It was in stark contrast to the shadows that clung to him. A poignant irony not lost on him. The shadowsinger drawn inexplicably towards a child of daylight. Despite the limited words exchanged between you two each interaction left Azriel more intrigued. He was increasingly ensnared by the bright strategist whose presence seemed to challenge the depths of his shadows.

The Panic

Back in the Night Court within the familiar shadows of their favored lounge, Azriel faced the relentless teasing of his closest friends. Cassian was lounging on an oversized chair with that irrepressible grin. He watched Azriel with an amused twinkle in his eye. "You know, I've seen you calm in the face of Hybern's armies yet a few sweet words from a lady of the Day Court and you're more tangled than your shadows in sunlight." He snickered knowing it was getting under his brothers skin.

Rhysand was always one for teasing and couldn't resist joining in. His voice laced with laughter. "Truly, it's a sight. Our master of stealth and subtlety was undone by a pretty smile and a strategic mind. Tell us, Az, what exactly did she say to fluster the great Shadowsinger?"

Azriel, whose usual composure was as solid as the mountains surrounding Velaris, felt an unusual heat creeping up his neck for the second time that day. Each jab from his friends pricked at him. It was stirring a whirlpool of thoughts and emotions he was usually so adept at managing. "It’s not just her words," he began. His voice defensive, but as their teasing continued his defenses began to thin.

"Come on, spill it then, Az. Did she outmaneuver you with her wit or was it the sunlight in her hair?" Cassian quipped not missing the slight shift in Azriel’s stance.

The shadows around Azriel deepened, reacting to his rising frustration and embarrassment. Unable to hold back the truth from his brothers relentless teasing he blurted out, "She's my mate, alright? The shadows... they whispered it to me as soon as I saw her standing there." Cassian’s laughter halted abruptly. His expression shifting to shock while Rhysand paused. His own smirk fading into a more thoughtful gaze.

Azriel's admission hung heavily in the air. His heart pounding as he faced the reality he had only dared to acknowledge in the darkest corners of his mind. She’s my mate. How? Why her? Why now? His thoughts raced, chaotic and overwhelming. The concept of having a mate had always been distant, abstract. It was something meant for others. Not for him, cloaked as he was in secrecy and shadows. He didn’t even think Shadowsinger’s could have mates until his shadows confirmed it.

As the initial shock of his declaration settled Rhysand’s features softened. "Az, this... this is significant. But think about it. The Cauldron knows what it’s doing. She brings light where you bring shadow. Balance, in its purest form."

As the shadows around Azriel grew more restless so did his thoughts. His words spilled out in an uncharacteristic torrent. "It doesn't make sense," he started. His words rushing out as if he was trying to keep pace with the whirlwind inside him. "Why her? Why now? She's light and life, and I'm... I'm the opposite. I live in the shadows, in the secrets and silence. How can I bring someone like her into that world? It's not just about balance or opposites attracting. It's about her world and mine, and they just don't... they don't align."

He paused only to draw a shallow breath, hardly noticing Cassian and Rhysand exchanging worried glances. "And what about what she needs? She thrives in the sun, in the warmth. I can offer her none of that. My world is night and cold and hidden things. What if I'm not what she needs? What if I'm just... just another shadow in her bright world?"

Rhysand tried to interject, "Az..."

But Azriel pressed on, relentless. "And the Cauldron, why would it choose this? Why would it choose now to tell me she's my mate? I’ve managed this long on my own, kept to myself. Why throw this... this chaos into my life? It’s like it’s testing me, pushing me to my limits. She deserves someone who can walk in the light with her. Someone who doesn't hide from the world."

His voice was a mix of disbelief and desperation. His words tumbling faster as his anxiety peaked. "And what am I supposed to do? Just walk up to her and say, 'Here I am, your mate, doomed to live in the dark'? How is that fair to her? She has her life, her court. I can’t ask her to leave that behind. I can’t ask her to adjust to the night. It’s not fair. It’s just not fair to her."

Cassian finally stood, grasping Azriel's shoulders to stop his pacing, forcing him to meet his gaze. "Azriel, breathe, brother. You’re spiraling. You’re thinking about all the ways it can go wrong instead of how it could go right. You’re not considering that maybe she’s been waiting for someone who can appreciate her brightness because he understands the dark."

Rhysand nodded, his voice calm and steady. "Cassian’s right. And remember, the Cauldron doesn’t make these decisions lightly. There’s a reason you’re drawn to each other, a reason beyond what we can see. Maybe it’s not about what you think you can or can’t give her. Maybe it’s about what you can create together." The room fell silent as Azriel's breaths slowly evened out. The words of his brothers began to sink in as he processed what they said. The shadows around him calmed, settling as he considered their words. The frenzy of his thoughts gradually giving way to a cautious hope.

Azriel stood there with the weight of his friends’ hands on his shoulders grounding him. Slowly, their words began to penetrate the chaos in his mind, like light piercing through the shadows. Rhysand’s calm assurance and Cassian’s steadfast support made him realize something important: he wasn’t alone in this. He had his brothers. And maybe, just maybe, he could have you too.

He took a deep breath after finally stilling his frantic thoughts. "Maybe you’re right," he said quietly. The tension in his voice easing. "Maybe... maybe there’s a reason for this. I just have to find it."

With his brothers’ encouragement and their unwavering belief in the bond the Cauldron had forged, Azriel decided to give it a chance. He started visiting the Day Court more frequently. He found reasons to see you and to learn more about you. Each visit was a step closer. Each conversation a bridge over the chasm of his doubts.

At first the visits were all business—discussing strategies, alliances, the future of their courts. But quickly thereafter the conversations turned more personal. You talked about your dreams, your fears, and the way the sun felt on your skin. He shared pieces of himself he had kept hidden for so long. He talked of the shadows that lingered in his past, the secrets he carried. He was encouraged when you didn’t recoil away from the conversation but asked more. Wanted to see more.

You began to spend time in Velaris as well. You were invited by Azriel to see the beauty of his world. You wandered the streets together. Explored the hidden corners of the city and discovered the charm of the Night Court. The contrast between the bright, open spaces of the Day Court and the intimate, star-lit beauty of Velaris fascinated you. You found yourself growing to love Velaris as much as he did.

Months passed and the bond between you deepened. Azriel’s initial fears slowly melted away as he realized that the light and shadow within your relationship didn’t clash. Instead, they complemented each other just as Rhysand suggested. You brought warmth to his life, and he brought a depth of understanding to yours. It wasn’t about changing each other but about creating something new together.

Finally, after months of Azriel seeming to court you he told you of what he’d known for a long while now. It was a sunny afternoon in the Day Court as you both stood in the garden where you had first met. He wasn’t planning on telling you that day but the way the sun cast delicate shadows over your frame he knew it was time. The flowers bloomed brightly around you making you as ethereal as ever. He took your hands in his, the shadows curling gently around your fingers.

His heart was steady as he looked into your eyes, filled with the certainty that had eluded him for so long. He told you everything—the whispers of his shadows, the bond he had felt from the start, and the journey he had taken to accept it. And when he finally said it out loud, that you were his mate, the joy that spread across your face was more beautiful than any sunlight or shadow he had known.

You had suspected, had even felt the bond too, but had waited for him to come to you in his own time. And now that he had the happiness between you was undeniable. Together you would embrace the future. You knew you would find the perfect balance of light and shadow. You were more than ready to face whatever came next.

The Decision

A few more days had passed and the question of where the two of you would live rang heavily in his head. He didn’t want to bombard you, but he couldn’t let his mind rest until he knew what was going to happen. You’d told him you would move to Velaris to be with him, but the conversation seemed so long ago now. Like maybe he was dreaming it himself.

In a quiet corner of the Day Court gardens you and Azriel sat on a bench beneath a canopy of blooming flowers. The gentle hum of life around you contrasted with the serious conversation at hand. Azriel’s eyes that were normally so composed were filled with a mix of concern and determination.

"I need to ask you something," he began. His voice steady but his hands fidgeting slightly. "Are you truly ready to leave the Day Court and move to Velaris? To take on a new role and a new life there? I don’t want you to feel like you have to sacrifice everything for me." He admitted in earnest.

You reached out taking his hands in yours, feeling the comforting weight of his touch. "Yes. Azriel, this feels right. I’ve come to love Velaris, its people, and its beauty. Being with you has shown me a world I never knew I could belong to. It’s not a sacrifice. It’s a new beginning." Your smile was genuine, but he felt uneasy. He didn’t want you to resent him for your leaving of your home court. The only court you’d ever known.

Azriel’s brow furrowed slightly, the shadows around him flickering with his unease. "But what about your responsibilities here? Your role in the Day Court? Your family? I don’t want you to feel like you’re abandoning your life for me."

You smiled with your heart swelling with affection for this man who cared so deeply for your well-being. "I’m not abandoning anything. We can find a way to maintain my connection to the Day Court. Rhysand and Helion can work out an arrangement where I can serve both courts, acting as a bridge between them. It’s a role I believe I’m meant to play. My family will understand. They just want me to be happy. And you make me happy. Velaris will make me happy." You gave his hands a squeeze in yours

He sighed. His shoulders relaxing slightly as he absorbed your words. "And you’re sure? You’re truly sure this is what you want?"

You leaned in closer. Your voice filled with conviction. "I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. Being with you, in Velaris, feels like coming home. It’s where I want to be, with you. We can make this work together."

Azriel nodded. A smile slowly spreading across his face. "Then let’s do it. We’ll talk to Rhysand and Helion and make this official. We’ll find a way for you to fulfill your duties to both courts while being together."

The conversation with Rhysand and Helion was productive and filled with mutual respect. Rhysand’s approval and Helion’s support solidified the plan for you to become an ambassador between the Day and Night Courts. This arrangement ensured that you could maintain your influence in the Day Court while building a new life in Velaris with your mate. For even High Lord’s would never come between a fae and their mate.

The Cycle

The streets of Velaris hummed with the gentle bustle of evening activity as the city welcomed Azriel back into its embrace. His shadowed silhouette moved effortlessly through the crowd, a figure of quiet strength returning from a covert mission. By his side, you walked with a smile, your presence a bright counter to his darker aura. The bond between you, still fresh and filled with the thrill of discovery, seemed to deepen with every step you took together.

Despite the jovial atmosphere of the city, a ripple of discomfort threaded through you. The onset of your cycle beginning just as Azriel returned. The timing was far from ideal, and you decided to keep the discomfort to yourself. You did not want to cloud his homecoming with the burden of your pain.

"Azriel, it seems Velaris hasn’t slept a wink since you left," you remarked lightly trying to steer clear of your discomfort by engaging him with the vibrancy of the city.

He chuckled a soft, melodious sound that easily blended with the evening air. "Or perhaps it’s just waking up now that I’m back." His eyes that were especially dark and perceptive tonight, flicked to yours with a smile tugging at his lips. Despite the playfulness of his words, his gaze was probing, always searching beneath the surface even if he didn't yet know what he was looking for.

As you approached the quieter lamp-lit streets near your home the pain discreetly intensified. Each step became a little more measured though you masked it well with practiced ease. Azriel was caught up in recounting the details of his mission. He didn’t immediately notice the subtle shifts in your demeanor. The slightly too-long pauses, the faint grimaces quickly smoothed into neutral expressions.

Once home you busied yourself with preparing a late dinner by moving around the kitchen with a grace that belied the growing ache. Azriel was unpacking and settling back into the space. He watched you from the corner of his eye. Something in your movement, perhaps a stiffness you hadn’t possessed before, hinted at an unspoken truth.

Dinner passed with light conversation and shared laughter. You asked about his travels, the people he met, the sights he saw, all while carefully balancing your own discomfort on a tightrope of normalcy. Azriel responded with stories and light-hearted comments, but his observant eyes missed little. He noted each careful movement and each strained smile.

Later though, as you both settled into the quiet comfort of the living room with the flickering candles casting soft shadows across the walls, Azriel’s concern finally found its voice. “You know you can talk to me, right? About anything,” he said softly, his voice a gentle nudge in the quiet room. It wasn’t an accusation, nor a confrontation. It was just an offer hanging softly between you.

You met his gaze with a soft smile. His warmth and worry there evident. You hesitated. A part of you, the part woven tightly to him through the bond, yearned to share the burden, to lean on him as you had promised each other. But another part, the part steeled by independence and not wanting to cast a shadow over his return, held back.

“I know,” you replied. Your voice softer than intended, a smile attempting to mask your discomfort. “I’m just glad you’re home, Azriel. Really, I’m fine.”

Azriel nodded, accepting your words for now but not deceived by them. His offer stood. A silent vow reflected in the steadiness of his gaze ready for when you chose to accept it. And as the evening wore on the unspoken understanding deepened. The assurance that when you were ready, he would be there, just as the city’s lights would always return with the stars.

The next morning in Velaris began with the soft glow of the rising sun streaming through the windows, bathing the kitchen in warm light. It was usually a welcome sight, but today, as the rays hit your eyes it sparked an unexpected irritation. You squinted sharply, shielding your face with your hand. "Why is the sun so bright this morning?" you grumbled more to yourself than to Azriel.

Azriel, standing nearby and preparing breakfast, glanced over with a mixture of concern and a slight smile noting the irony of a Day Court Fae being annoyed by the sun. "Would you like me to close the curtains?" he offered, his voice gentle, recognizing your discomfort as more than just a complaint about the light.

"Yes, please," you sighed before rubbing your temples as he moved to adjust the drapes, softening the room's brightness. Your mood felt as fragile as glass, each sensory input amplified.

Throughout the morning these small irritations bubbled up unexpectedly. When the kettle whistled loudly as it reached a boil, you winced. The sound slicing through the quiet like a siren. "Does it always need to be that loud?" you muttered. The frustration edging your words.

Azriel turned off the stove. His movements calm and deliberate, designed not to provoke your sensitivities further. "It's done now," he said soothingly, pouring the hot water into a teapot with practiced care.

As you both sat to eat, the scraping of your chair against the floor made you cringe. You held your head in your hands for a moment, feeling overwhelmed. "Sorry, everything just feels a bit much this morning," you apologized. Your voice muffled by your hands.

Azriel’s response was filled with an empathetic patience. "It’s okay. We all have those days. Is there anything else I can do to make the morning easier for you my love?"

You shook your head instead managing a small smile as you looked up at him. "Just having you here helps."

He returned your smile with a nod. His presence a quiet reassurance. Azriel continued to navigate the morning with a considerate grace by turning down the volume on the music player that usually filled your mornings with lively tunes. He replaced it instead with the soft, soothing sounds of a gentle instrumental.

Later, as you prepared to leave the kitchen, a sharp pain from your cycle struck drawing a hiss of pain from your lips. Azriel was at your side in an instant, his concern deepening. "Is everything alright?" he asked. His voice laced with worry.

You nodded your head not wanting to worry him with the details just yet. "Just a bit of a headache," you lied, not ready to divulge the true cause of your discomfort.

Azriel didn't press further, respecting your space, but his offer was clear. "If you need anything—anything at all, just let me know." His assurance was comforting. He was a steady anchor in the choppy waters of your morning. As you leaned into his support, appreciating the depth of his patience, you realized how much it meant to have someone who could weather your storm without taking it personally. Azriel's understanding allowed you to face the more challenging days with a sense of security knowing that even when you couldn't control the storm within you weren't alone in navigating it.

Later that evening, as the city of Velaris began to quiet down under the night sky, the calm in your shared home was punctuated by the subtle but persistent struggles of your condition. After a day fraught with sensitivity and muted pain you had finally found a moment of respite by drifting into a light sleep.

Azriel, ever so cautious, tried to maintain the tranquility of your environment. However, as he moved around the bedroom preparing for his own rest a book slipped from his grasp. The soft thud it made as it hit the floor seemed deafening in the quiet room. Startled from your shallow slumber you snapped awake with irritation flaring immediately. "Can you just be quiet for once?" you lashed out. Your voice sharp and louder than intended. The darkness of the room seemed to swell with the tension of your words.

Azriel froze, the book forgotten at his feet. He turned towards you. His face a mask of surprise and hurt. The room was thick with your frustration and his growing concern. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, his voice steady despite the emotion you could hear just under the surface. "I didn’t mean to wake you."

You sighed, pressing the heels of your hands against your eyes, frustration at yourself now mingling with the physical pain. "No, I’m the one who should be sorry. I... I just fell asleep, and I’m so tired, Az. I didn’t mean to snap."

There was a moment of silence as Azriel digested your words. The gentle shifting of his stance indicating his internal debate on how to proceed. Finally, he spoke, his words careful but filled with the need to understand. "This isn’t like you love. You’re not just tired. Please, talk to me. What’s really going on?"

The concern in his voice, the genuine worry for your well-being, broke through the last of your defenses. The dam built around your emotions and the pain you had been trying to hide all day finally burst. Tears started to gather in your eyes, blurring your vision as you faced not just the physical pain but also the emotional strain of keeping it hidden. "It’s my cycle, Az. It’s really painful this time and I didn’t want to make a fuss about it, especially today. But I’ve gone and made a fuss about it by being mean to you."

Azriel's reaction was immediate and intense. His eyes widened in alarm. "Your cycle? Is it supposed to hurt this much? Should I call a healer? Maybe there’s something wrong. We should do something. What can I do? Tell me how to help you." His questions tumbled out in a hurried stream; his usual calm demeanor replaced by a flustered, almost panicked response.

You couldn’t help but let out a small giggle despite your discomfort. You were struck by how uncharacteristically panicked he was. The sight of Azriel, always so in control, now scrambling to figure out how to deal with a normal albeit painful part of your life, was oddly endearing. "Really, Az, I don’t need a healer," you reassured him by still chuckling a little. "It’s not unusual, just uncomfortable. Maybe just some warmth and quiet would help."

Seeing you laugh, Azriel took a deep breath, attempting to calm his racing thoughts. "Okay, warmth, I can manage that," he muttered to himself almost as if making a mental checklist. "And quiet. Right. I’ll get you a heating pad and some tea. Does chamomile sound good? I read somewhere once that it’s supposed to be soothing." Watching him take determined strides toward the kitchen you felt a mix of gratitude and amusement. His earnestness and sudden eagerness to do anything to make you feel better warmed your heart and eased some of your discomfort.

Azriel carefully placed the heating pad and tea on the bedside table then hesitantly perched on the very edge of the bed. He maintained a noticeable distance between you. His eyes flickered with concern and an unusual hint of hesitance as he watched you curl up under the blankets, seeking comfort and warmth. Noticing the space he'd kept away from you, you pouted slightly, feeling the chill of his absence more acutely than the air around you. "Why are you all the way over there?" you asked him. Your voice carrying a soft note of longing and a touch of playful reproach.

He looked at you, a wry smile touching his lips. He held up his hands "I’m cold, always cold. My hands are freezing. ," he replied. His voice tinged with a half-hearted jest. "And you need warmth."

You rolled your eyes affectionately before extending your hand towards him. "I don’t care. Come here," you insisted. Your tone gentle yet firm.

Without missing a beat, Azriel moved closer to you. His earlier hesitation vanishing as he lay down next to you. However, ever considerate, he strategically placed a soft blanket between you and him just in case his cooler, shadow-clad nature made you uncomfortable. Then with a tender smile he pulled you into his embrace ensuring that the blanket acted as a warm buffer. Making sure to keep any chill his presence might hold at bay.

Azriel's embrace enveloped you, the blanket between you two a considerate barrier to his naturally cool presence. He held you close, his voice a soft murmur near your ear, "I’m here, no matter what. Always.”

As you nestled against him feeling the warmth of his care seep through the fabric, he chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through his chest. "You know," he started, a playful twinkle lighting up his eyes, "I’ve heard that certain... activities can be quite beneficial for soothing cycles. Something about natural pain relief?" His tone was teasing, deliberately light to coax a smile from you.

Azriel's playful suggestion hung in the air, wrapped in the warmth and the soft chuckle that followed. You raised an eyebrow. Your laughter still echoing softly in the room. Leaning in a little closer you matched his mischievous gaze with one of your own. "What certain activities are you alluding to, Azriel?" you teased. Your voice dripping with feigned innocence. "You'll have to be more specific. I'm not sure I follow."

The twinkle in Azriel’s eyes brightened, amused, and slightly challenged by your seemingly innocent response. "Oh, you know," he replied, his voice lowering into a suggestive murmur, "activities that involve being very... close and unclothed. I've heard they can be quite therapeutic."

Your laughter filled the room again, lighter, and more carefree than it had been all day. "Therapeutic, huh? That sounds like a very scientific approach," you quipped back. The banter easing the remnants of your earlier discomfort.

Azriel nodded solemnly but his eyes betrayed his mirth. "Absolutely. It’s all in the name of health," he assured you, drawing you even closer within the safe harbor of his arms. The proximity was charged with your shared jest. It softened the edges of the day’s pain and discomfort, replacing it with a comforting intimacy.

Wrapped in the warmth of Azriel's embrace you couldn't help but play along with his cheeky suggestion. Your tone light but laced with mock consideration. "Well, if it’s for health reasons," you mused before giving him a playful look, "then I suppose we should probably follow doctor’s orders, shouldn’t we?"

Azriel's smile widened. His eyes alight with amusement and a hint of mischief. "Correct," he replied, his voice low and teasing. "It’s important to take health matters very seriously."

The playful banter and light-hearted mood set a comforting ease between you two and as you both settled in closer the earlier discomforts seemed to melt away. Instead replaced by a shared anticipation and warmth. Your laughter and his soft chuckles filled the room, creating a bubble of joy and closeness that made the rest of the world fade away. You leaned closer to him whispering conspiratorially, "Then let’s not waste any more time on formalities." Azriel's response was a gentle squeeze at your hip before pulling you even closer. As you both prepared to follow through on the playful prescription, keeping the mood light and deeply connected. This tender moment was filled with laughter and soft promises. It was a perfect, shared escape from the day's earlier challenges.

The next morning sunlight streamed softly through the curtains casting a gentle glow across the room where you and Azriel lay tangled in the sheets. The peaceful air was filled with the quiet sounds of Velaris awakening outside. Azriel was already awake and watching the light play across your face. He brushed a loose strand of hair from your eyes.

"Good morning," he murmured, his voice soft with affection. The events of the previous night had not only brought relief but had also woven a deeper layer of intimacy and trust between you.

"How are you feeling today?" he asked with a hint of a cheeky smile playing at the corners of his lips. The playful twinkle in his eyes was unmistakable clearly alluding to the 'therapeutic activities' from the night before. "Did the... treatment help?"

You couldn't help but laugh at his antics. The sound of your laughter was light and clear, a stark contrast to the discomfort of the previous day. "Yes, I believe it did," you replied as you matched his playful tone. "Doctor’s orders might just be the best medicine."

Azriel's laugh joined yours, the sound warm and comforting. As the laughter faded he shifted to a more serious tone, though his eyes still held a gentle warmth. "I mean it, though," he said earnestly. "I’m here for you, whatever you need. If there’s anything else that can help or something different you want to try next time, just tell me."

You reached out, tracing a line along his jaw with your fingers, moved by his sincerity and openness. "Thank you, Az. It means everything to me that you’re here and so willing to help. We'll just keep adjusting and figuring it out. And I promise I won’t be so… bitchy next time."

Azriel nodded with a smirk forming across his face at your words. His hand covering yours. "Absolutely," he agreed. There was a gentle determination in his tone. "Whatever comes, we face it."

The moment was simple yet profound, affirming the depth of your connection. It was these instances—of laughter, shared vulnerability, and light planning for the future—that deepened your bond, making it stronger with each challenge faced and each joy shared. As you both lay there, the morning light seemed to promise new beginnings and the assurance that no matter what challenges awaited you would meet them with love and a bit of humor always at hand.

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 4 years ago

Text

semicolon, m | myg

pairing(s): yoongi x reader

summary: He knew you. You knew him. Or rather, you both had an idea of the other, only to find that perhaps you connected on a much more carnal, animalistic level. It only took a hotel bar, New Year’s Eve, and the words, “Nice tattoo.”

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; alludes to attempted suicide; intense smut (fem reader, BDSM themes, semi-public exposure, restraints, nipple play, tit slapping, m-receiving oral, pussy spanking, doggy); non-idol!AU; rich heir, dom!Yoongi x tattooed, sub!reader; shifts back and forth between Yoongi’s POV and your POV

–

He was sure it was you.

You had tattoos now. A geometric lotus in your right inner forearm and a filled-in circle with a four-sided starburst around it on your inner left forearm. He observed you turning your head and there was a semicolon tattoo under your left ear. You moved your hair to cover it and nursed your rum and coke, alone. The tight black dress you were wearing was sinful at best. Closer to positively illegal with the way it clung to your breasts and squeezed them together. No one was approaching your table in this hotel bar. It was impossible to approach you when you looked that good.

You tapped at your phone, frowning.

He picked up his glass of whiskey and glided to you.

“Nice tattoo.”

You froze. Your eyes followed his finger, to your left forearm.

“It’s the symbol of the Sith Order,” you replied coolly.

“Star Wars?”

You lifted your head, raising an eyebrow. Beautiful makeup. Smokey eyes, red lips, your beauty marks visible. You hadn’t hidden them with foundation. He appreciated that.

“Yes.”

He set his glass on your table and slid into a chair. “Aren’t the Sith evil?”

You didn’t respond to that. Merely smiled at him, eyes sparkling with amusement.

“Do I know you?” you asked, tapping your nails on your glass. Matte black. Interesting.

To be honest, he wasn’t sure. You had attended to the same university. He could guess why you had the semicolon tattoo, because he had been in the hallway, witnessing the event when the ambulance took you to the hospital. He had been sleeping with a girl on your dorm floor.

Admittedly, not one of his proudest moments.

He cocked his chin to your right forearm. “And the lotus tattoo?”

You shrugged. “Just a recommendation from my tattoo artist.”

He took a slow, even sip of his whiskey. “Any more?”

You rested your chin on your fingers, placing your elbow on the table.

“You’d have to take me home to find out.”

Somehow, he did not think you were referring to your under-ear tattoo. He raised an eyebrow. “A woman like you, unclaimed? I can’t imagine why.”

You chuckled, lowering your hand to sip your rum and coke. “Perhaps it’s just personal preference.” You frowned, wincing, as if you remembered something unpleasant. “And perhaps it’s society who doesn’t like women who have their tattoos exposed.”

He thought about his fair skin. The many times he had thought about getting inked, but chickening out because he couldn’t think of committing to one specific image or words for that long. Perhaps he was fickle in that sense.

“Min Yoongi.”

He didn’t extend his hand, just stated his name. You paused, holding your glass over your cleavage, blocking it from his view. A moment of silence, a beat passing between your eyes. And then you gave him your name. Yes, it was you. The name had seen in the school newspaper the next day. The name that left the school, disappearing after the incident. He often wondered if you were okay. You seemed okay, looking at him with discerning eyes.

“You are the son of the owner of this hotel.”

Yoongi paused. He placed his glass on the table.

“Something like that.”

You raised a brow and placed your drink on your table. Expression pensive for a moment before you spoke again, tone light and playful.

“Well, perhaps you’ll be interested to know I just had a very unsatisfying one-night stand on the fifteenth floor, so I’ve come to drink the memory away.”

His lips curled into an entertained smile. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

You sighed and licked your teeth sharply. “On New Year’s Eve, too, no less.” You tapped your cheek with your index finger. “I suppose that means this year is off to a bad start.”

He looked at his Rolex watch. And then at you and your cleavage, breasts violently pushed together by your tight black dress. His eyes flickered back to yours. You were watching him carefully, aware of his traveling gaze. He smirked.

“There’s still time to remedy that.”

There was something about those eyes that haunted you.

You weren’t sure why, because you were quite sure you had never meant this man before. But maybe in a haze, in a dream? You tilted your head. Black hair, half-pushed back to reveal his forehead, dark eyes, pale skin. The kind of handsome that reminded you of midnights and moonlight, with a raspy voice to match. Expensive black suit with ironed lapels, black silk handkerchief in his breast pocket, patterned with the logo of a high-end fashion designer. Crisp white dress shirt, with a platinum tie clip on his slim black tie.

Well-dressed. Sophisticated. Dangerous.

You did not know Min Yoongi, but it felt like you knew him.

The entire time he was talking, you were watching his movements. For some reason, the heir to this hotel chain was speaking to you. You weren’t that special. That’s how you wanted it. The more anonymous you were, the less people questioned your actions. There’s no way Min Yoongi would know you. And why wasn’t he in the hotel club instead of this quieter, more low-profile hotel bar? Most people wanted to party on New Year’s Eve. The hotel was hosting a huge one at the moment.

You?

You just wanted a good fuck, honestly.

So when he offered, it surprised you. A lot of people would tell you that it was dangerous to have sex with a stranger. A rich man, no less.

But you were also the one with the Sith Order symbol tattooed to your arm.

Your lips curved to match his smirk.

“You got a room?”

He licked his lips.

“They’re all my rooms.”

It started the instant the two of you stepped into the elevator. Your long black fur coat was around your arms, shoulders exposed. No purse, because you had sewed pockets into the coat for your belongings. Less to lose this way. Yoongi had taken you to the back of the hotel, through dark hallways and shadows.

“Service elevator. Less people.”

You cocked your head as he pressed the up button, speaking again.

“Less paparazzi.”

You shrugged. “Someone has probably already caught you and posted it on Twitter.”

The elevator pinged and the doors slid open. You stepped inside and he shoved you into the wall, pressing his expensive suit into your body as the doors slid closed. Eyes on yours, hot breath in your face.

“No cameras,” he growled softly.

The numbers were climbing up, up.

Your tongue slid out as you tilted your head. You pressed it against his lower lip. His eyes were so dark they looked black in this lighting. So close to him that you were breathing in his exhale mixed with his pine-scented cologne.

“What are you waiting for?” you whispered. “Give me a taste of your power.”

Should you have provoked Min Yoongi? Maybe not, because his kiss sucked your breath away, his large hands coming up and holding you in place as he teased your lips, nipping at the thin skin, making you gasp into his mouth. He had you pressed into the metal wall of the elevator, one of his legs slipping between yours, thigh pressed into the hem of your short dress. Lips to lips, working you, teasing you with his tongue, not giving it to you.

He backed up a little, breathing down on you and your panting mouth.

“You bought this dress for someone else to take off, hm?” he purred, lips dark pink from kissing you.

“I brought it for the sole purpose of being taken off.” Your chest was heaving, ribcage constricted by the boning of your dress. “It’s not attached to a particular person.”

His hands slid down your head, trailing on your bare shoulders. Sliding into the fur, staring at your face the entire time. Drumming against the slinky fabric of your tight dress as if you were the grand piano and he was the pianist.

“It could be.”

Yoongi tilted his head, lips brushing against yours.

“It could be for me.”

One by one, his fingertips hooked under the hem of your dress, nails pressed against your bare thighs. His hands were cold, sending tingling shivers all over your nerves. Eyes half-lidded, smokey orbs locked with yours. Your lips curved into a succubus’s smile.

“It’s yours now.”

He chuckled, yanking the hem up and over your ass. Chilled air rushed to your naked thighs, your black lace, French-cut panties out in the open. He looked down at your quivering legs and then his eyes immediately fixated onto it. Another tattoo. You watched as Yoongi took it in, able to see it because the boldly printed script was on the space were your right leg and crotch connected, that dip of flesh right above your pussy. His eyes flickered back to you.

He raised his eyebrows.

“’Good luck’, huh?”

You grinned.

“Good luck.”

The elevator dinged.

A housekeeping worker with their cart craned above the supplies to look at you two and then immediately looked away, closing their eyes. Unmoving like a statue. Didn’t try to roll the cart into the elevator, didn’t say anything. They knew exactly who Yoongi was and it seemed like they knew exactly why you were there.

“Come.”

He didn’t take your hand. He simply removed his heat from you and glided through the doors like an elegant ghost. You followed, heels clicking on the floor before touching the carpet. Like your dress, your slim heels were the slightest bit uncomfortable. It kept you at attention and highly aware of your surroundings, even though you had a few drinks.

Your eyes traveled over the lavish wallpaper, the plush red carpet. Over-the-top intricate and extravagant that bordered on gaudy. This was the top floor. The penthouse. You didn’t have to go far. The entire wing was the room.

You wondered why he took you here just for a simple fuck.

Yoongi unlocked the door.

“There’s only one stipulation.”

“Tell me.”

You held up the condoms from your pocket.

Yoongi smiled.

He was going to tie you up.

You watched as he pressed a button and the metal bar descended from the ceiling, complete with leather straps. You raised your eyebrows. Yoongi watched your expression carefully. The bedroom was dark, only lit by moody red LED lights from behind the bed and low sconces. The color reflected off his pale skin, casting half of his face in shadow.

The button had been behind a locked panel. He was probably the sole owner of that key.

“You are welcome to leave at any time.”

He said the words without emotion. You removed your fur coat, placing it on the oversized black velvet armchair. Everything in the room was in various shades of black and navy, in plush fabrics or luxurious leather.

“You spend a lot on your hobbies,” you commented.

Yoongi smirked.

“Sex is a performance.”

Your eyes connected. He removed his blazer. Like all of his movements, it was a swift and practiced manner, with two fingers hooked around the collar as he walked towards you. He tossed it on top of your coat. Now Yoongi was right next to you, your black dress still bunched around your waist. He did not have a particularly oppressive presence, but it was more like the company of the ocean. Expansive with unreachable depth, strikingly beautiful, and would have absolutely no qualms in drowning you.

Yoongi made sure your eyes were on him.

His long fingers deftly removed his cufflinks, sliding them into his pants pocket before slowly rolling up his sleeves. He was wearing multiple silver bracelets on each wrist, no rings. He folded the crisp white fabric up to his elbows, revealing his lean forearms. He had nice hands. Pampered ones.

“Scared?” he asked casually.

You reached up to the hook-and-eyes at the front of your dress. His eyes followed your movement. One. Two. Your words complimenting the removal of each one. Your breasts slowly relaxed from their prison, held in place by your free hand holding the top of your dress so you could travel downwards.

“Fear is natural,” you whispered quietly. “It is merely a tool in the realm of the strong.”

Yoongi’s lips curved into a slow smile. “Do you intend to speak like that the entire time?”

You chuckled as the last one was undone. “No. I’m only informing you I’m a bit of a masochist.”

And then you released your hand holding up the dress, causing it to unfurl and slide down, stopping at your hips and flaring out like a flower.

Yoongi wondered if you did this all the time.

He wondered if this was a product of your life experiences or your instinctual nature. He watched as you slid the dress down your thighs, letting it fall to the floor. You stepped out of it, only in your heels and panties. His teeth sunk into his lower lip.

Yoongi had taken a lot of people to this room. All strangers. Never one he knew from the past, no matter how insignificant. That made you the exception, even if you didn’t remember. His memory was still so vivid to this day.

He let his eyes roam over your body. As he predicted, you had great tits. The dress accentuated them after all. There was another tattoo. Script on the left side of your ribcage. You noticed him looking and turned slightly so he could read it. He had to think. It was in English, like your crotch tattoo, although that one was easier to translate.

“’The world is quiet here’?” he echoed.

the world was written so it was only visible from the front, is visible from the side, and quiet here visible from the back. Printed a typewriter’s font, no punctuation, the placement deliberate and thought-out.

You smiled. “Book quote.”

Yoongi liked it when you smiled. He reminded him of his own, a little hesitant but self-aware of your own quiet confidence. He lifted his hand and placed it behind your head, guiding you to him.

“You are very interesting,” he murmured into your mouth before he kissed you again. Tasting like rum and coke mixed with oceanic blackberry. He had smelled that scent before, although not on skin. He recalled the counter of cologne, the glass bottles with the unisex design. High-end.

On your skin, it smelled like sex itself.

He slid his tongue in between your soft lips, running it over your teeth. Drinking in your gasps, taking it all. He liked it when you breathed into his mouth too. You let it out like smoke, drifting into him. Your hands came up to hold onto his upper arms, steadying yourself. He liked the feeling of your hands as well, the way each finger curled around to grip him tightly. His thrust his tongue in and out, slowly, each moan chaining to the last. His hands in your hair, tangling it up, making a mess.

Yoongi opened his eyes just a crack. They landed on the tattoo in your left forearm, the filled-in circle with the four-sided starburst.

What had made you get a symbol like that tattooed to you?

He pulled you along, still kissing you, towards the metal bar. Turned you around, kissing down your jaw to the back of your neck. His hands slid down your hair, tracing your spine. Fuck. Such a beautiful back, with a lovely curve, so perfect to bend over. He dug his nails into it and you whined under him.

Yoongi didn’t bother asking you if you wanted it. You had a mouth; you could use it.

And you were grinding your ass into his crotch so, clearly, he didn’t have to ask.

He folded your arms behind you, forearm above forearm, tying you to the metal bar with the leather straps. One on each of your wrists, one tucked in the inside your elbows, binding them to each other and then all to the metal. He did not want to cover your tattoos but he had to. The position had you bent over, ass sticking out, tits hanging down, back slightly arched.

“Do I need to secure your waist or can you hold it?”

You turned your head back and raised an eyebrow. The curve of your profile, so perfect against the red light.

“What you need to do is fuck me already.”

He grinned.

Yoongi pulled up a chair and sat down right in the front of you.

You gave him a slightly annoyed expression. He smirked at you, placing his fingers on your chin, lifting it slightly.

“I thought you wanted a satisfying fuck?” he drawled.

“And yet nothing is happening.”

“Foreplay is just as important as pounding your pussy.”

You suddenly felt his other hand ghost under your nipple, palm barely grazing it. You tried to drop your body into it but were stopped by your restraints. Yoongi cocked an eyebrow amusedly. You narrowed your eyes at him.

“What are you waiting for?”

His thumb slid up your chin. He pressed it into your lips, forcing it open, rubbing your tongue with the pad of his finger. You made a disgruntled noise, saliva collecting where he touched you. You tried to close your lips but he held your jaw down, grip strong and immovable. Spit was trickling down your chin, covering his fingers and dripping onto the floor.

“Waiting for you to give in to me,” Yoongi murmured huskily.

Your heartrate accelerated disconcertingly in your chest. His dark eyes on yours, consuming you, keeping you in this slightly uncomfortable position. And you wanted it. You could feel it, the heat inside you, stroked from embers to full-blown fire, because somehow Min Yoongi could see right through you and knew you wanted what he was composing.

This midnight was his.

He seemed to know that you came to this conclusion. Maybe your pupils were dilated. Maybe it was your shallowed breathing. Maybe it was your trembling body, shaking at his touch. He removed his wet finger and slid it down your collarbones, smearing your own spit on you, before cupping your breast, squeezing it. You sucked in a breath, moaning his name softly as his other hand matched the first, kneading your breasts, rubbing your nipples with his palms.

“Y-Yoongi…”

You gasped as you felt his wrists slide up and the chains of his bracelets scrape your sensitive nipples, blooming pinpricks of pain over your chest. His palms came back, soothing you, his dark eyes intensely focused on your face, not looking away. His fingers pressed into your skin and he closed them in on your nipples, pinching them hard enough so that you could feel it, but not so hard that it was unbearable. He held you there like that. Seconds ticked past. Long, grueling seconds that felt like hours.

Yoongi was very calm about it as you slowly unraveled in his hands.

You body began to move involuntarily, raising your chest so his fingers pulled on your nipples a little. He still did not move his hands. You couldn’t go far with the metal bar digging into your back. He watched you try different things to get more stimulation, fingers motionless. If you moved too much, you were afraid he was going to let go and not give you more. You craved more. Needed it.

“Yoongi, please… Harder…”

His dark eyes were hypnotizing you.

The position of his fingers changed. He clamped your nipples between the joints of his index and middle fingers. You yelped, back banging against the metal. He pressed his thumbs against the hardened nubs, rubbing them harshly. Expression unchanging, forever on you.

“I thought you wanted it harder.”

His voice was deep, calm, with a hint of raspy delight. The sensation was a stark contrast to what he was doing before, shooting sparks of pleasure through your body. You shuddered, bucking into it, knees collapsing a bit as he stimulated your nipples.

“Hold.”

A single command and your knees locked to obey, entire body shaking. Yoongi pulled your nipples towards him, pushing your breasts together as he did so. Your back had to curve abruptly against the cold metal bar at his action. He lowered his head, trailing kisses along your collarbone. You whined, his touch hard and lips soft, eyelids fluttering as your nipples slipped out from his fingers. His large hands quickly twisted to cup your tits, keeping them up and pushed together as he kissed down the curve, nipping sharply at your skin. Leaving small red marks all over, sucking at some points to bruise you.

He didn’t need to speak. His lips told you everything, travelling all over your breasts hungrily, your swollen and abused nipples waiting, patterning your skin before his tongue snaked out.

“F-fuck, Yoongi…”

The pink tip pressed against the inflamed nub, pushing it around delicately. Strands of black hair framed his sculpted brows and those dark eyes were on you again. He closed his lips around it. Your eyelids slid closed, feeling the softness of his mouth and his tongue swiping all over, swift circles.

Then he sucked, hard.

Your eyes flew open, jutting your chest into his face. Yoongi chuckled in his throat and continued to suck, pulsating around your nipple, scraping his teeth against it. One of his hands came up and matched the rhythm of his mouth, tweaking and assaulting your other nipple forcefully. Your core throbbed with need, soaking your panties so much that they stuck to your folds. The scent of your arousal was getting stronger and stronger, a heavy sweetness.

He released your nipples abruptly and you gasped, feeling him lick a fat stripe possessively over your tits. Saliva dripping down, coating them all over. He removed his hand. You panted, trying to catch your breath.

“What’s my name?” he whispered quietly.

You lifted your trembling head, hair covering half your face. Your knees felt like jelly.

“Y-Yoongi.”

He slapped your tits.

You yelped, his open palm creating hot friction on your abused nipples. It wasn’t a hard hit, but an expansive one that covered a lot of surface area. It was obvious he knew what he was doing. Pain trickled throughout your body, pussy throbbing with need.

“Again.”

“Yoongi.”

He slapped you again, from the other side. You shuddered, sucking in your stomach at the sudden pain that seemed to swallow you up, but somehow it didn’t really hurt, instantly morphing into tinges of arousal. It was probably the way he was looking at you. His appearance was bored, but his eyes were trained onto your body, ink-black pupils shimmering with power in his dark brown irises.

“Again.”

Your eyes dropped down. He spread his legs. It was like he knew what you wanted. His erection strained against his tailored black slacks. It was impossible to hide with how closely fitted they were to his body. Your eyes went back up to his face. His expression was still unbothered.

“Yoongi,” you breathed, the clearest you’ve sounded yet.

Smack! You whined at the force, back against the cold metal. Smack! A half-moan, a half-sob as you felt his bracelets scrape against your skin. Smack! Your breasts banged together, softness against stinging softness, and it just felt so good as the pain crawled through your nervous system, devastating you. Your head was arched back, staring at the ceiling, mouth open and panting.

Yoongi reached up and pushed your head back down. He used his other hand to trace your lips, smeared with lipstick and saliva.

“I’m going to fuck this hole now.”

There was a short silence. He was waiting for you to say no.

You didn’t say anything.

Yoongi stood up and unbuttoned his pants right in front of your face. Your eyes followed his fingers as he unzipped them. The flaps opened and his cock fought against the smooth fabric of his boxer briefs, swelling as it was released from the confines of his pants. He pressed it into your nose and you inhaled his scent, oppressive and erotic, making you moan hotly against it.

You wanted it in you so bad that your juices were leaking down your thighs.

You felt his palm caress your head, smoothing your hair. He rocked his hips into your face, humping your open mouth. You pressed your tongue against his clothed cock, whimpering at how close it was and yet so far. His words drifted down to you in a low growl, teasing and domineering.

“Good luck.”

He removed his hardness from your face. Your eyes flickered up to him, a smirk on your lips. Yoongi matched your devious expression, pushing down his underwear. His cock sprung up into your vision, overtaking it. Oh, fuck. The head already dark red, leaking pre-cum. Veins standing out along the length, waiting to be stroked by your tongue. It was the hottest image you had ever seen, Yoongi’s smug face above you, his stiff cock so close to your lips that you could feel the heat. And fuck, he smelled so good, as if his pine cologne, his skin, and his arousal made an unholy pheromone combination that made you open your mouth, exhaling hotly over the glistening head.

Yoongi shoved it into your lips with one swift stroke.

You reeled, expanding your throat as he buried himself into it, sucking in a tight breath. It was a skillful, deliberate movement, one that didn’t jar your gag reflex immediately. You had plenty of practice from former encounters to not gag at first instinct, but Yoongi also seemed practiced, as if he had shoved his dick down many throats before.

His large hand fitted around the back of your head. Not moving.

His taste overwhelmed your mouth. Your tongue slid around expertly, running down the length, moaning around him. His eyes were closed but you could see his pink lips curve upward. You closed your own eyes, squeezing him in your throat as your tongue rubbed along the veins, pressing him into the roof of your mouth.

“You do not disappoint,” Yoongi sighed in satisfaction.

He pulled out a little and your tongue instantly went to the head, licking slow circles all over, teasing the opening with your tongue, spreading it out before sliding under to stimulate the thin skin between the head and length. Yoongi moaned above you, your name finally falling from his lips. You did not realize it would have such an effect on you until he said it. It made your thighs clench and pussy throb, agonizingly forced to wait until he was done with your mouth.

He began to thrust into your face, slow but forceful, tipping your head back a little so the head stroked against the roof of your mouth before hitting the back of your throat. You took it, helpless, bent over, knees aching as he fucked your mouth, almost lazily. His hand had a firm grip on your head, pushing himself in over and over.

“Keep it tight for me,” he murmured. “You’re doing so good.”

You closed your lips around him, meeting the base of his cock, your cries muffled and vibrating along his hard length, adding stimulation. You looked up, seeing his tensed jaw, pleasure painting his features, eyes closed. Yoongi wasn’t trying to get off fast; he was trying to build it to a crescendo, and your mouth was his tool to do it. In, out, in, out, each time a little rougher, a little more force. Rubbing your throat raw, jaw aching, but you were so focused on the soft pants coming from his lips that you didn’t notice.

“Your mouth is so perfect,” Yoongi gritted out, rocking his hips a little faster. “So soft and tight.”

His eyes opened halfway and he noticed you staring at him as he fucked your mouth. He inhaled sharply at the sight.

“So fucking sexy,” he mumbled. “You want to swallow me?”

You hummed needily in response, gazing imploringly at him. He smirked.

“That’s what I like to hear.”

He rolled his hips, faster, harder. You noticed the muscles in his neck tense, his hand gripping you tighter as he chased his release, fingers digging into your scalp, his cock trembling in your wetness as you sucked your cheeks in. Yoongi clenched his jaw, eyes closing again. His hips smacked into your face repeatedly, your name a low hiss as he thrust particularly roughly into your throat, the head being choked by your wet vise.

“Fuck...”

Sudden, jerking strings of cum shot down your throat, painting it white, pumping straight into your mouth. You swallowed hard, barely able to take a breath before his cock violently shuddered, filling you up with more of his salty, thick taste. He held your head as you gulped around him, groaning as he felt your throat close in on the sensitive head continually.

“That’s it…”

His fingers curled into your hair, lifting it away from your neck and collecting it behind you so he could look down at you drinking his orgasm.

“What a pretty picture and all for me.”

His eyes honed in on the semicolon tattoo under your left ear.

It flexed and moved as you swallowed, flickering in and out of vision as the small dangling black gems on your ear hid it. His eyes slid back to your fucked-out face, struggling for breath but being denied by his hold on you.

You might have a personal preference when it came to being single, but Yoongi was a rapacious man, and he wanted to own your mouth. He doubted he could buy it with money, but perhaps he could make you addicted to him. He pulled out of your lips and you whined deliciously.

Inwardly, he grinned like a devil.

Yoongi leaned down and lifted your head, kissing your swollen lips. You kissed him back, starved and hungry for his softness, his gentle touches that were matched by his roughness. Did you always look this good? He wanted you beside him so he could study you, so he could push you to your knees whenever he wanted, so you could resist him and so he could teach you a lesson.

But you deserved the fuck you had asked for. He could smell how turned on you were and he had promised after all. His tongue slid into your mouth and he tasted himself, a familiar taste that somehow tasted better when it was mixed with your saliva.

Yoongi did not think he was going to invite any more strangers into this room after this.

He broke the kiss. Your eyes on him, burning him to the core. He removed his shoes and socks, standing up. Stepped out of his pants, still wearing his shirt and tie. He kept them on as a sign of his power over you. You looked so perfectly submissive, just like this. He had to move out of your line of vision.

There was no way you knew what he was thinking, but he still didn’t trust himself. He did not want to get carried away. He had a job to do.

And that was to fuck you.

He moved around to your quivering legs, seeing your soaked panties. Not commenting, but his cock twitched seeing it, knowing it was him that made you this way. His fingers closed in on the top of them, yanking up. You jerked you head back, moaning hotly at the action. The black lace dug into your skin, seeping into your slick folds. He kept his voice measured despite his desperate need to shove himself into you right now.

“Count to four.”

He dug your panties into you as he spoke and made you whine as he pulled from side to side. The delicate fabric was ripping a little.

“One.”

He spanked your pussy with his large palm. The sound was loud and wet, traveling throughout the entire wing, along with your scream of pleasure. Yoongi was getting hard already listening to you. Even in the low light, he could tell your pussy lips were becoming puffy, reddening. His hand was smeared with your juices and he resisted the urge to lick it.

“Keep going,” he nudged gently.

He heard you panting. “Two.”

Smack! The sound, the sound, it turned him on so much as the lustful moan was torn out of you, your raw throat turning it almost feral. He twisted your panties in your slit, watching the fabric tear slowly against your inflamed skin, drinking in your squeals and whines as he tortured you.

“T-three.”

Slap! His fingers were coated in slickness, watching the wetness splatter between your legs as he hit you. Your ass was backing up into your panties, trying to get more, stopped by the metal bar. If you wanted him to stop, you wouldn’t have uttered the final number, gasping it out hurriedly.

“Four.”

Smack! Yoongi slapped the hardest yet and your knees buckled, almost sobbing. He shoved your kneecaps with his, locking them back in place. Your legs were shuddering hard, barely holding up, but your mouth was telling him a different story, choked gasps of pleasure.

“Fuck, Yoongi, yes…”

He pulled your panties down. They were practically ruined by his grip. That was too bad; they were quite beautiful. He intended on buying you new ones. Perhaps he could come with you to select them.

He paused for a moment to grab a condom, holding it in his hand before returning to you.

“Yoongi, p-please fuck me…”

You craned your head to look at him, the perfect profile. He raised an eyebrow.

“Fuck me with your pretty cock, p-please…”

He stared down at your gorgeous back, the peeks of your tattoos in his restraints, your ass stuck up in the air, pussy lips swollen and leaking from his spanking. He couldn’t see it right now, but he knew the ‘GOOD LUCK’ tattoo was there, right next to your pussy. Yoongi wondered who the artist was.

Perhaps they had been lucky like him.

He felt a surge of annoyance.

Yoongi stepped up to your ass, lifting his cock and pressing the length against your wetness. You started, almost moving away.

“It’s not in you.” He kept his voice even. “You will know if it was in you.”

He exhaled quietly as he rubbed his length and his balls against your wet slit, keeping the head away from you. You were warm, soft, and so, so slick. He was semi-hard, but he could feel himself getting harder as he pressed your ass around his cock, fucking the crevice between your cheeks. He knew it would be better inside you, but for some reason he needed to punish you a little. Needed to let you know that he was irate that there were others before him, that somehow fate cheated him by not having your paths cross sooner.

There was nothing you could do about that, but Yoongi didn’t care.

You were moaning under him, hips pushing back to meet his thrusts, your pussy smacking his balls, coating them with your lubrication. He closed his eyes, letting himself enjoy it. Fuck, you had a nice ass, malleable and lush in his hands. He wanted to own this ass too. You mouth, your tits, your ass.

He knew he would want your pussy too once he was in it.

“Yoongi, please…”

He pressed his fingers into your skin, sliding them inward. Held his cock carefully so it wouldn’t leak on you as he retreated.

“Ah, you’re right,” he purred. “You’ve earned it.”

He opened the condom, sliding it on. His cock jerked in his hands, already desperate for what was to come. He was the kind of man who lived under so much discipline that he knew nothing else. Although life could not be controlled, he could control himself and his emotions.

Yoongi pressed the head against your entrance. Sucked in a breath.

Sank in slowly.

Oh.

God.

Yoongi was not religious, but he swore he saw glimpses of heaven the second his cock was fully enveloped by your pussy. It was tight, it was soft, and each ridge clenched around him, roughly stimulating the head after he had mildly edged himself with your ass moments earlier. You pulsed around him, constricting him inside you as the base of his crotch touched your abused pussy lips.

“Fuck,” he breathed.

He needed to own this pussy.

Yoongi pulled back and shoved himself back in, gasping at the tightness. It was not because you weren’t turned on. It was because you were clenching around him, pressing your walls inward to choke his cock and, if possible, his cock became harder knowing this, harder as he heard you cry out in satisfaction.

“Yes, Yoongi, yes…”

He began to fuck you, rolling his hips into yours, trying to keep it slow and steady to drive you crazy, but to be honest, he was done for, because Yoongi had never experienced such power, never had a body fuck him back with such force, never heard such delicious, desperate mewls of need as he thrusted into you, slamming your hips together with loud squelches. It was probably a lot, his cock hitting you deep and your pussy already sensitive from his spanking, and yet you told him to hold you tighter, fuck you harder.

“Use me, Yoongi,” you gasped. “You feel so good, fuck, Yoongi, your cock is so fucking good…”

How did you know all the words that made him weak? How did you know exactly how to sound to make him want you more? And you took it all despite your shivering legs, despite your tits violently bouncing with every thrust, despite him pressing down on your lower back to hit you deeper. He watched you throw your head back, a long sinful wail slipping from your lips, hair flaring out like fire and you came all over his cock, pussy spasming and clenching around him.

Yoongi’s eyes widened, hips ramming into you. The head smacked against your tightest spot and he saw stars, the pleasure hitting its peak and plummeting into him, taking his breath away. He shot aggressively into the condom, pumped out by your pussy clamping down around his length, sucking it all out. His eyes rolled back into his head with how good it felt. This had never happened to him before. The moans of his name rang in his ears, encompassing him as his cock twitched inside you, the perfect combination of sound and sensation.

If Yoongi ever heard your voice again, it would be synesthetic experience for him, because he would remember this sound and this feeling for the rest of his life.

Outside, the clock stuck midnight, and fireworks overtook the sky in thundering booms.

“Was that a satisfying fuck?”

“Very.”

Yoongi reached over and tucked a spare strand of hair behind your left ear. You sat in his lap, in the armchair with the windows wide open, revealing a perfect view of all the fireworks overtaking the moonlight. It was a bit wasteful for your taste. Not that good for the environment. Yoongi informed you that he would look into more sustainable alternatives.

He pressed his lips into your neck.

��The next time you want to stay at one of my hotels, I will make myself available.”

You chuckled. “Can you afford a pause in your schedule?”

You could feel him sucking a red mark into your skin.

“What else can I do when a member of the Sith Order visits?”

You laughed and he smirked against your newly-made hickey.

same au as exclamation mark !

punctuation au dom!myg and jjk | period . | comma , | question mark ? | apostrophe ‘

masterpost

#yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #yoongi smut #bts smut #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi x you #min yoongi smut

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inforapound · 5 years ago

Text

Ease The Dawn Pt.2 Ch.8

A/N - Thank you for reading and for all of your encouragement.

Pairing - Ivar and Aethelswith Words - 2,300

Warnings - Explicit sexual content, historically inaccurate, trope heavy

The water had lost it's steam and yet she lingered in the wooden tub that sat in the corner of their chamber. Turning over, she rested her chin on the outer rim extending her arm over the edge and watched the drops of water trickle off her fingers. Looking up, she stared at the back of Ivar's chair. Slouched over his worktable, he studied papers filled with figures and had been since after the evening meal.

The recent events seemed to pull his eye back to center and over the last week, he had waived off his usual late-night cups of ale with his brother and other men in the hall. Instead, he waited until the visiting king returned to his lodgings before withdrawing and making his way back to her.

Knowing the agreement between Ivar and Harald, she understood why Ivar would not dare leave the king alone with his men. People were fickle and in Kattegat, like any other place, alliances could shift with the wind. None the less, Aethelswith was happy to have him back, sharing her space each night, though, she was yet to reap all the benefits of his return.

"Would you care to join me?" she asked the back of his head. His hair freshly plated in one braid over his crown and down the back of his neck.

"Would you care to be my wife?" he replied in a disinterested tone.

Rolling her eyes, she pushed herself to stand and grabbed the drying towel that had been left beside the tub on her stool. The latest gift from Ivar to prevent any further falls climbing from the tub. It was made with rich coloured wood and had a carved heart in the center. Each time she placed her foot down, she was reminded of the small decorative box of charcoal he had gifted her while in the camp.

Patting the water off her body, she wrapped her robe around her shoulders, leaving the front open with the ties dangling at her sides. Noticing Ivar had not lifted his head to catch a glimpse as she walked passed, she swiped a little brown bottle off the table in her dressing area and climbed onto their bed.

Sitting straight against the headboard she drew up her knees and began pouring small drops of oil out of the bottle onto the skin of her legs. With small circles starting at her ankles, she worked it in all the way up to just below her groin.

"What are you doing?" Ivar asked from the table which sat facing the bed. His eyes staying fixed on the rows of tallies.

"You know my skin gets dry when the weather starts to shift." Opening the robe wider, she spread the oil over the side of her hip. "The cold comes so much earlier here than at home."

Lifting his eyes to her, he appeared to scowl, visibly straining to hold his stern demeanour. "Is this not your home?" his eyebrows lifted.

"You are my home. Wherever you are. I would live with you in a kindling box. In fact," she looked up and smiled, "I have!" Parting her knees just enough, she ran the oil up her inner thigh. "And...you know what I meant when I said home."

"And...I know what you are doing now." Clearing his throat, he forced a cough, looking back down to his work.

"I have no idea what you are talking about." She bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from smiling.

Opening the front of her robe, she shimmied her shoulders free, letting it slip behind, exposing her body entirely. Pouring droplets of oil into her hands, she rubbed them together to warm the slick liquid before smoothing it down each arm.

"You started bathing in the evenings and you dismiss that slave of yours as soon as I return for the night."

"She is terrified of you."

"She should be," he scoffed. "What is that?" he asked, finally returning his eyes to her. Despite his cool tone, his bright eyes burned into her, raking over her round breasts and soft pink nipples, her smooth legs and delicious thighs, all shining warmly in the light from the candles. Narrowing his eyes at her disguised nothing.

"Skin oil. Brana and I each bought a bottle at the market today. It has the scent of jasmine. Would you like to smell?

"Would you like to marry me?" he crooned sarcastically.

Not responding, she looked up to find his expression darkened, his severe eyes still blazing over her skin.

"You think I became the leader of the Great Army and King of Kattegat because I am weak, Aethelswith?" Clucking his tongue, he shook his head and shot her one of his wicked smiles. "No, my sweet. I did not."

Undeterred, she began to spread the oil onto her breasts. A hand on each side, smoothing and tugging the already supple flesh. Her nipples responded to the cool air and her slow touch and, of course, his vehement stare.

Grunting lowly, Ivar cleared his throat again. Shifting in his chair, he attempted to adjust the front of his leathers, beginning to constrict his growing erection.

"I can look," he ribbed, "you are still my woman. But I will not touch until you agree to my terms."

"I agree to nothing," she replied, not looking up. His tone reminding her how he addressed his men.

Parting her legs further, she dropped oil onto her belly. The amber coloured droplets ran down to her small mound of hair.

Pushing the table forward, Ivar dropped from his seat to the floor and, with a huff, crawled towards her. Heaving himself up onto the large trunk at the base of their bed, he dropped to his tummy, resting on the intricately carved wooden lid.

"Stop it, Aethelswith," he warned.

"Or what, my love?" she replied sweetly, glancing up to his riled face and stiff jaw, nostrils flaring wide. "You said yourself that you can look. So....look."

Unable to stop himself, he was mesmerized by her body. Her slender shoulders and bare chest, flat tummy and round hips, smooth thighs and the utter gold that lay between. Gods, he missed her taste and smell, how her wetness felt when he was buried deep. His face looked pained and the sound of air sucking in through his nose nearly pushed Aethelswith to laugh.

Looking up at the same time, their eyes met, and she dropped her knees even wider, pouring the oil directly onto her core. Snarling, he gritted his teeth, his hardness jutting into the side of the trunk. His mind was flooded with thoughts of him on top of her, sucking her tits and shoving his tongue into her mouth.

"Gods!" he exclaimed out loud, with her legs bared wide, watching her rub her breasts and quietly whine. How he had missed her perfect face beaming up at him while he called her his queen, and the Goddess of his dreams as he withdrew only to fill her warm, tight womb again.

Wetting her lips with her tongue, she languidly leaned back against the pillows, sliding her hands down the tops of her legs, then back up the inside of her thighs. The pads of her fingers beginning to gently smooth the oil over her silken folds. Keeping her eyes on him, she tipped up her chin and moaned.

Unable to break his trance, Ivar's mouth fell open and with hooded eyes, he rutted his groin hard against the side of the wooden chest.

"Aethelswith! Stop this right now!" he scolded watching her relish his hunger; her hands touching the tender parts of her body that belonged to him.

"This feels lovely," she breathed out, gently moving her hips. "I have been so dry lately."

Letting her knees fall completely open flat to the bed, she pushed her hips up, letting out a soft whimper before sliding her finger right inside.

"Fuck!" Ivar roared.

Withdrawing, she swirled her wetness up encircling her sensitive nub. Whimpering again, she closed her eyes and gently bucked her hips.

"Aethelswith!" Ivar shouted loud enough for the guards in the corridor to glance at one another.

"My king," she spoke not opening her eyes, continuing to knead her own breast. "Do you not wish to remind me that I am yours?"

A bestial growl rang out through their room as Ivar leaned to one side and unbuckled his top leathers. Bracing himself on the chest with his other arm, he dropped the heavy jacket onto the floor, awkwardly pulling his green tunic off his shoulders. Not once lifting his threatening eyes from her exquisite form.

Increasing her pace, Aethelswith rocked her hips and ran her finger back and forth along her slippery slit. Breathing faster, she stopped only to bring her fingers to her mouth and lick her own wetness off.

"It is so unfortunate, my beloved Ivar, that you choose to ride that piece of furniture stead of this," dropping her hands to her womanhood, she spread her folds apart, showing him her shining pink hole. Flexing her hip, she pushed her wide-open sex forward.

With the scream of death, Ivar launched himself forward. Dragging himself between her legs, he looked like a lion ready to rip meat from her ribs. Slamming his mouth into her stretched apart cunt, he drove his tongue deep inside her. Digging hard, he growled, unlike any man but a demon possessed. Aethelswith squealed with elation. Pushing her pelvis up into his face, she held his braid, lifting her chin to the ceiling in both ecstasy and relief.

"Yes, my warrior," she cried out.

Snapping his head up, his face was glistening with her desire and his eyes were wild as if he had just feasted on her blood.

"You will pay for this," he sneered.

Rolling onto his back, he grunted, frantically ripping open and pulling down the front of his pants. His painful erecting slapped his stomach, the tip nearly purple and aching.

"Yes, punish me," she rushed, needy for his touch. "Please, my king, fuck me."

Like in a rage, he climbed back between her legs, leaning on a forearm and grabbed the base of his shaft slamming into her hard. Freezing, they both gasped from the sensation after the agonizing months without. Looking down, his mouth fell slack and his eyes began to soften, filling with emotion but within an instant, the monster within returned. His eyes grew dark and his lips curled back, exposing his sharp teeth. Digging his hand under her shoulder, he pushed his palm up to her head and yanked back a fistful of her hair. Gasping again, her eyes shot wide as she stared back at his savage expression. Hovering above and perilously slow, he ran his long tongue from her chin, across her mouth and up to her forehead. "You are mine!" he roared, thrusting his hips forward. "You. Are. Mine!" he bellowed, driving into her in time with each pronounced word.

Raising her hands above the pillows, she pressed, bracing herself against the bed.

"Is this what you wanted? Hmm?" he growled. "My cock as punishment?" He drove her harder and harder, pausing only to withdraw enough to bring his tip to her entrance before thrusting back in.

"Yes," she choked out, struggling to swallow with her head being pinned back.

"How dare you tease me!" he slammed into her roughly. "Tease me with your pretty, pink cunt. Your sweet little hole. I'm going to fuck it until my seed spills out." Rutting faster, the frame of the bed began to slam against the wall. Leaning down, he pressed his bared teeth against her cheek fighting the urge to rip into her face and thrash. "You are mine! Mine!" he shouted over and over, pounding into her as if he wanted to break her.

Her incoherent cries mixed with her frantic breath, ceased suddenly as her finish exploded. Dropping her hands to his shoulders, she pushed against him, rigid, her eyes squeezing closed as her womanhood clenched and pulsed.

Growing frenzied his movements became heavy, his arms shook from the weight of his body. His peak hit with the strength of a battle ram. Back stiffening, his cock speared her one last time before he shot his milt deep inside, collapsing forward, his broad chest pressing her into the mattress.

Laying there, out of breath, with closed eyes and tingling hands, he was lulled to near unconsciousness by the sound of his own heart racing.

The distant sound of men yelling skoll drew Ivar back from the void. With effort, he pulled out and rolled off, slumping onto his back beside.Both looked up at the ceiling with their bodies still thrumming, unable to string words together.

"Did I hurt you?" he whispered after some time.

Glancing over, she smiled. "No, I am well. Very well." She smiled again, her fingers latching onto his hand.

The sound of a pained sob snapped her attention back to him. Contorted in sorrow, his chin trembled as tears spilled down the sides of his eyes streaming toward his temples. Clambering up onto her knees, she crawled atop him and straddle his waist. Searching his face, her own face, mirrored his anguish.

"Please Aethelswith, marry me. I love you so much. Be my queen," he choked. "I am hurting. You have to figure out a way," he bawled, "I feel like my heart is breaking apart." Shaking his head, his wide eyes looking up at her, showed the depth of his torment.

"I will find a way," she nodded frantically, her own tears burning down her face. "We will figure out a way," she cried, wanting so desperately to ease his hurt. Bending forward, she pressed her lips to his, feeling every bit of his suffering. Lowering her mouth to his ear, she whispered, "It is not about if I will marry you, only when and remember what you said, my love, nothing can part us ever. Not even death."

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voidiots · 5 years ago

Note

(Tarot: Celtic Cross) A pale Xaela wearing a pale face scarf wanders up, cards stashed at her side, her hands raised to sign; it appears this Xaela did not talk. “Hello, Una’to. We have not met before, but...well...” A soft laugh followed by a bow. “I’m Shieda, pointed to your path by the thespian and the shadowdancer. To you, I extend a question, for my path is unclear: what should I do next, for too many storms have crashed to simply just be bad luck. And in return, I offer my own cards.”

It takes a long moment for Una’to to parse what Shieda is conveying to him, he’s never been particularly apt at reading sign. Never mind using it himself when his way of words is that of circles spoken aloud. A curious hum leaves him as he ponders how many people Frey has told about him in some capacity. “Seems I’ve a reputation should you have heard of me from both parties in some capacity. And what luck to find me when I’m due to leave this city soon. Perhaps less luck and other factors. I’ll gladly read your cards in exchange for a reading from you and yours”. With that he unwraps his deck from it’s cloth, places the cloth before him, and starts to shuffle. Hiding some measure of minor discomfort with Shieda, something instinctual or subconsciously learned making him wary of her. No matter though.

Some moments later, that feel like they stretch on for an eternity, Una’to lays the ten cards out, their faces all skyward, and pours over them briefly. The eye under his hair flicking about as he reads. “First, the main issue that is at hand that plays into all the other cards. Rather than ill luck it seems that there are issues stemming from manipulation, moodiness, and trickery. While emotions in others are understood by this character they are being used to cause strife or the control upon them is slipping away allowing for conflicts that throw you off course to arise, even if unknown to you. The waters in the rulers cup are dark, and their depth unknown. An ocean of emotions as a microcosm,” he starts, tapping the vertically aligned card of the cross in the center of the spread, buried under another laying horizontally.

He then moves to tap the card resting over the heart. “This is the challenge you are facing specifically that don’t allow for a resolution at present. Until this is resolved you will not see the heart of the issue as being passed. In this place is fulfillment, harmony, and completion. The perfect end of a cycle that marks a great change in the direction of your roads. Life changing in it’s path. The inner and outer realms will need to attain harmony, bringing you understanding. Something must be completed here, that is joyous and celebrated. Perhaps in a simpler reading the emotions that are being used to sew discontent would be to blame, as holding on to them would slow your progress to this resolution. Emotions are fickle and hard to control though. Either way, something is meant to be brought to it’s happy end, and it very well may lie within you”. The words leave him in a near sigh with a wistful smile.

With care, he moves to the card below the center cross, and closest to him, tapping it’s face. “Your unconscious. How you feel about the that which causes you so much issue. The hidden emotions. Perhaps the ones hidden in that cup that allow for conflict to breed. In this place is a card with the meanings of action, adventure, and fearlessness. The archetype here is one of action that manifests an idea in passionate pursuit of a vision you carry. This focus makes you single minded and thus brash and impulsive, overall unrealistic. There is a need here to stop for a moment, reign the passion in and think clearly on what may arise from your actions and is actually doable”.

Without waiting he taps the next card, up to his left diagonally. “The past then comes in to play. What you are carrying with you from it that have created the current turbulent situation you are in at present. There is victory, success, and public reward from your past that seems to impact the present. A passionate battle that was tough, but met with a well deserved celebration of your victory. It brought you recognition. Which can of course cause issues. Others may know of you by this deed and thus it attracts trouble to you, making your emotions overflow with dark waters and stealing balance from you. On the other hand perhaps you expect the current situations to be much more like those of the past that you overcame. You overcame hard times before, and now should be no different, but maybe it’s not and their is frustration in not meeting your expectations set by the past and it’s accolades,” he says with a small shrug. He only has intuition to go off of with Shieda after all. No clues to tie the messy threads of fate together in a neat story.

He moves once more tapping the top most card of the circle. “This is your conscious, a partner to the heart of the issue with the card drawn here. This place is how you see the situation. Your convictions and thoughts on it bleeding over into what your beliefs in this reading. In this place is compassion, calm, and comfort. There is a nurturing nature that grows from compassion, allowing you to understand the emotions of others. Perhaps it’s that understanding that allows the problem to continue should you also be prone to moments of cruelty and manipulation as our first card implies. Though this card says that you are usually prone to generosity and kindness. It may not always be wanted by the receiving party however. Otherwise these are the things you expect from this reading rather than how you see the situation. I can’t say as you have far more pieces than I and I am but a hapless messenger of the roads”. A wistful smile graces his features for just a moment before shifting back to his normal sly and curious mask.

Tapping the last card of the circle he hums out curiously. “In stark contrast the future shoots down the conscious. These are the influences to come that will change how you see the situation, and developing concerns you are having. This card, like what you must overcome is of a road changing importance. Another way marker at a fork or perilous bend. Judgement is lacking here. Self-awareness no where to be found, rising doubt, and self-loathing found. Upon self reflection you may find you don’t see the whole of the picture, or the issues at present that seem more than bad luck stemming from those dark waters in the cup rising. In their reflection, you, but something you dislike. But not reality as the waters are warped, making you far too harsh on yourself. Remember your worth, who you really are, and perhaps you can avoid this future as things stand. Given your conscious at present, I think it safe to say something rather unpleasant is on the way to make you think this but remember, the reflection in the dark waters lie like pretty silver tongues akin to knives that cut you,” he says cryptically, if not dramatically, that smile still plastered on his features.

“We are now down to the more personal final four of this reading”. He taps the closest card to him that makes up the row on the side. “This is you, to put it simply. How you are approaching the heart of the problem. How your beliefs and fears are impacting the outcome approaching from the horizon. Your methods are complex, and seem to be founded in the belief of being perceptive and clear minded. Wit as sharp as a sword. However, this approach can be more cold-hearted than it is compassionate. Despite your unconcious being passionate and head strong it seems you think yourself organized and analytical. Think hard on this I think, as there constant messages in the greater reading that conflict with one another regarding you. Look inside for the conflicts of self”. The reading is starting to feel easier, more like performing as a mouth piece for the roads than anything else. He mentally shrugs it off as being out of practice with larger readings.

“Next is the environment you have to operate within as you navigate this problem,” he starts, moving up the row with his revealed eye. “You need to work around emotional baggage, either that which is your own or from others, I can’t say. In these bags are unresolved issues and resisting transition or changes that are truly necessary for things to be resolved. The bags are in the way of moving forward from something truly damaging, what or who these bags are I know not. There is no kindness in the place you are leaving, the past environment perhaps or the issue you are trying to move from, but you are finding it difficult to part ways with them yet. A tough situation indeed, there’s work to be done to reach your exit so you don’t drown,” he hums out with a small pout, finally breaking that smile. His face goes neutral as he moves to the second to last card.

“Your hopes and fears. What you expect to come from your situation. In some cases the hopes or fears you have most regarding this reading. Work life imbalance and smothering are represented here. The former creates friction between what work demands of you and the needs you have outside of it. Rather than work in a literal sense, I think it may mean the work you may need to put in for a resolution that’s agreeable to you. So much so that this work is never met in a way that completes it as you have to also focus on your needs outside the problem. Neither receive the attention they need in turn. Thus the card implores you to look and re-balance things so you do not drown”. He stretches slightly then. The reading is almost over but he can feel his muscles starting to lock up from pouring over the cards so intently, picking out every meaning he can see to throw to Shieda.

Finally, he picks up the last card, showing it to her. A single skull cup full and overflowing with flowers. “The outcome. Where this road ends after all pieces of this map I have given you come into play. The card here is one of new love, not of a person strictly speaking of course. Overflowing feelings, as has been the focus of this reading in many aspects, and the rise of creativity. It is a new beginning should you escape that which drags you down, those bags blocking your way and the emotions that do you no good give birth to new ones. Emotional fulfillment comes with this new perspective born of love and creativity. There is joy to be found in sharing these emotions, and receiving them in return”.

With that he collapses the spread on itself, returning all the cards back into his deck with an unreadable smile. “There’s quite a lot that was said, but I feel like the thread of your map tied off rather nicely with a complete story to follow. The map is of course yours to do with as you please now, so you may change the story to come however you see fit. Rather apt there was so much water when you called what has passed storms. Humor me if you will, did that help you at all?”

Thank you for the ask @woaowcat! I generally avoided describing all the cards since I knew this would end up much longer if I did, but I got a picture of the spread if you would like me to send it your way!

#woaowcat #thank you so much for the wait #once I'm not a space cadet I'll make a tag for these two interacting #my brain is mush

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x-sparker · 8 years ago

Text

Fate

Akihika Reboot special [0/11] | contains OC-ish characters | inspired by this, this, and this

In the latter Heian Period, just before the start of the events that would bring this era to an end, there was a Go instructor in Emperor Konoe’s court by the name of Touya Sadakichi (刀禰貞吉). He was a young man with excellent skill and promising potential, but he was often shy. He was quiet, sometimes unsure of himself, and spent most of his time indoors. He did not make friends or seek to socialize with those around him, instead remaining a lonely presence among the court attendants.

Until one year, among the newly admitted Go instructors, came Shindou Uemon (神道右衛門). If Touya was one end of a spectrum, then one could only describe Shindou as the other end. He was bright, cheerful, and full of life. His voice could often be heard from behind the closed doors of the emperor’s chamber, as he and the other instructors talk and laugh. He had a pure heart, and approached everyone equally with his generous spirit. Many loved his banter, and Touya found himself attracted to Shindou’s laughter, his eyes always wandering, searching for Shindou.

At first Shindou did not notice Touya. He befriended other instructors who were more outgoing, and had not had a chance to see Touya’s skill until the summer when the Emperor played against him. The next time they met each other one on one was when they bumped into each other in the corridor by the inner garden.

“Touya-sama!” Shindou exclaimed with a huge smile on his face. “Your match with Emperor Konoe last time - it was awesome!”

“O-oh, really?” Touya stuttered, blushing slightly. “T-Thanks…”

“It was the first time I’ve seen such kind of Go!” Shindou said, his eyes gleaming with awe. “You’re so good! How long have you been playing Go?”

“Since… Since I was a child.” Touya answered, his blush getting deeper.

“Wow! You’re a genius!” Shindou grabbed Touya’s arms, his eyes wide like a child. “That’s so cool!”

“U-um… Shindou…” Touya said, not used to so much contact all at once. “I mean… Shindou-sama…”

“You can just call me Uemon!” Shindou said, smiling so widely that you couldn’t see his eyes.

“Oh, okay…” Touya said, his heart jumping fast. “Uemon…”

And so the two befriended each other, and became inseparable. Shindou tried to bring Touya into his social circle, always dragging Touya by his hand to their study sessions. But some days Touya would rather be with Shindou alone, so they’d sneak off to the river and sit next to each other side by side, sometimes chatting, sometimes in silence. Again and again Shindou manages to do things that make Touya’s heart jump. It was clear to Touya himself that he was falling for Shindou hard and fast, but he dared not speak of it.

“Sadakichi!” Shindou called. Presently they were at the river; it was a warm day and the water in the river was cool and refreshing. Shindou was standing ankles-deep in the water, his robe trunks pulled up and tied around his knees. He had removed his large bulky upper gown, a cobalt blue kariginu sewn with golden silk emblems, and threw it haphazardly beside Touya for him to keep watch, as Shindou wanted to move freely in his inner gown while in the river. He was trying to catch a fish.

“Yes?” Touya asked from where he sat on the bank, Shindou’s robe hanging over his arms.

“Why are the fishes running away from me?!” Shindou asked, irritated as he missed another.

Touya chuckled. “That’s because you’re trying to catch them!”

“Oh, that’s right.” Shindou said, as though that had only just become obvious to him. Touya laughed, holding a hand up to cover his lips. “Aah! I got it!” Shindou exclaimed, surprising Touya. “Sadakichi, look!” He held up the jumping fish in his hands, showing it to Touya from the river. He had the most excited, innocent and childlike smile on his face. Touya felt his breathing stop for a moment.

They took the fish back to the palace secretly, and had it cooked by one of the attendants. They spent the night eating together, then playing Go with each other. Touya asked Shindou to stay the night in his room, and Shindou happily agreed. Touya felt a little guilty; he was certain Shindou had no idea that he asked because he didn’t want to separate from Shindou. His friend is too pure and innocent to understand that what Touya felt towards Shindou was not platonic.

The next morning, Touya took his chance. He woke up first, beside a lightly snoring Shindou. Quietly he pushed himself up, and turned to look at his friend. Shindou’s hair was a little messy, his left arm extended outward on the tatami. Touya touched Shindou’s bangs softly, brushing the hair out of his face. His heart was beating fast in his chest as he lowered his face closer to the soft skin of Shindou’s cheek.

“Uemon…” Touya whispered quietly before closing the gap between their lips in a feather-light kiss. When he pulled away, blood rushed to his head as he realized what he had just done. His feelings for Shindou was tearing his heart apart, and it was difficult to bear.

From then on, Touya would subtly avoid being alone with Shindou. He went to the study sessions with the other instructors, and played the Emperor in one-on-one games, but never again did he want to be in the same room with Shindou alone, because he wasn’t sure what he might do, and didn’t trust that he could stop himself. Shindou felt the growing gap, and asked Touya what was wrong. Had he done something to make Touya angry? Is there something about himself that Touya wanted him to fix?

“It’s not you.” Touya said, refusing to look Shindou in the eyes. “It’s me. I’m sorry, Uemon.” He lowered his gaze at Shindou’s hand, at the hand that held the fan. “It… hurts to be with you.”

Shindou was floored. He watched Touya’s back as the latter walked away, red maple leaves falling around them in the breeze of autumn. Touya’s white robe over his inner gown was dyed an orange color by the dusk light. That would be the last time they spoke to each other, before Shindou left.

Shindou was chosen by the Emperor to be part of an entourage that would travel to the east. Missionaries sent out by the Emperor to the Great Sina have returned, and the Emperor wanted to host a reception over several days. It was to be an event full of scholarly exchanges in the fine arts and literature. When Touya heard of the news, he asked the Emperor directly to be included in the roster. However, Emperor Konoe refused, saying that it was imperative for those he had selected to go.

Touya couldn’t understand why; when it comes to skills in Go, he could learn just as much as those on the roster. Shindou’s Go was inconsistent: though he has many moments of brilliance, his game was often fickle and whimsical, much like his personality. Touya was worried for Shindou, both for leaving the palace to a place far away, and for his learning. He found that he couldn’t bear the idea of Shindou going somewhere he couldn’t follow. Even in spite of the Emperor’s decision, Touya could not stop worrying.

“Please tell me, Morishita-sama.” Touya asked. “Why would the Emperor send Shindou on this mission?”

“Yes, why indeed.” Morishita smiled thoughtfully. “It’s always been a mystery among us senior Go advisors as to why Emperor Konoe decided to admit Shindou into his court. His Go is hardly enough justification for the decision. There is something else that Shindou holds that the Emperor has set his sights on.”

“And what… might that be?”

“Luck, Touya.” Morishita smiled at the young man. “It is luck. The force that follows that boy’s destiny is far deeper and more powerful than any of us can even fathom.”

Luck…? Touya mused in concentration as he made his way back. Up ahead, he heard that familiar voice, exclaiming something incoherent, too far for Touya to make out the words. Shindou was running towards the rest of the entourage, looking excited and giddy.

“Uemon!” Touya called out before he could stop himself. Shindou turned around at the sound of his name. When he saw Touya, his excitement about the journey to the east suddenly turned into sadness. He excused himself from his colleagues, and ran towards Touya.

“Sadakichi.” Shindou said. They both looked sad, their eyes downcast and away from each other. “What’s up?”

“I…” Touya started, then paused. What should he say? “You’re… leaving?”

“Yeah, we’re heading out first to the town by the end of the river. The attendants will follow tomorrow morning.” Shindou said. “…Sadakichi, I… I’ll be back, soon. We are scheduled to be there for a week only.”

“But it takes three days to travel there…” Touya said. He gripped his fan tighter. Why didn’t he try to spend more time with Shindou before he left? He shouldn’t have let his feelings get in the way!

“I’m sorry…” Shindou said. He understood that it would be more than two weeks that they won’t see each other again. He missed Touya long before that, and he hoped Touya felt the same way too.

“Come back.” Touya said. From his sleeve he took out a good luck charm, one that was given to him long ago by his mother when he was admitted into the court while still young. He took Shindou’s hand and put it in his palm. “Make sure you come back…”

“Hm, I will.” Shindou squeezed the charm tightly, smiling at Touya. Once again Touya found himself staring at Shindou’s back. He was always doing that, from the moment he started noticing Shindou. Shindou was always running ahead of him, towards the others, towards the Emperor, towards the river, and now to the east. Touya was always following behind, and it was fine when it’s Shindou who was dragging him forward by his hand, but this time… Uemon… Don’t go where I can’t follow.

Touya counted the days. He waited with patience and anticipation for the day Shindou would be back. This time, this time for sure he would no longer run away from Shindou. This time he would face his feelings, and treasure the little opportunities he could share with him. On the day of the entourage’s return, Touya waited all morning on the watch tower, looking far into the distance at the bend of the road where the first coaches ought to appear when they arrive.

He rushed downstairs when he saw the front coachmen. Several denizens of the palace had come out to welcome their return as well. Touya pushed past a few people to get to the front. There was the roster of Go masters filing in in a line, but Shindou was nowhere to be found.

“Uemon?” Touya called, walking down the file of his colleagues. Something was amiss - they looked solemn, unlike the masters of other arts who were enjoying the homecoming cheers. “Honda-sama, where’s Shindou?”

“Touya.” Honda greeted. “He’s in the coach.” He gestured to the bamboo coach a few steps behind him. That wasn’t right - it was the coach for the top Go master, Ogata; why would Shindou be in it? “I’ll tell you the details later.” He said, and continued walking with the parade.

Hours later, Touya finally found the roster of Go masters gathered in a chamber. They were huddled in the center of the room, and Touya approached them.

“Ah, Touya-sama.” One of the instructors said after noticing Touya’s presence.

“What’s going on? Where’s Uemon?” asked Touya. Just as he finished asking, the instructors moved apart to clear a view to what they were huddling over; or rather, who they were huddling over. There among their faces lied Uemon, sweat covering his skin with a look of pain on his face. “Uemon!” Touya rushed to his side, and the others made room.

“He started having a high fever on the last day of traveling.” Honda said. “We don’t know what it is; we’ve called for the doctors and they’re coming, but…”

“But what?!” Touya yelled, unable to withhold his panic.

“He’s not looking very well, is he?” Someone said. No indeed, Shindou’s lips were pale, and he was shaking, his lips quivering. His skin was hot to the touch, soaked with sweat. Touya felt helpless; seeing Shindou suffering was the last thing he’d thought of for his homecoming. The doctors arrived later that evening to diagnose Shindou’s sickness. They said it was ague, which Touya had never heard of, and it would be a difficult disease to manage. They couldn’t give a clear answer as to whether Shindou would survive it, just that they would do what they can.

From then on, all Touya did was stay by Shindou’s side. He refused to leave and had to be reminded to eat. He stopped playing Go because he spent all day caring for Shindou, wiping down his sweat, feeding him water, feeding him his medicine. For a few days, Shindou seemed to be doing better. He was able to get up and talk to Touya. He got a bit mad at Touya for stopping Go. He said he wasn’t worth the missed games, which Touya tearfully rejected. It was the first time Touya had seen Shindou get angry, and they argued until Shindou started coughing heavily, and then Touya was worried all over again.

The next day, things got worse. Shindou’s headache kept him in bed, constantly suffering in pain. It was just as much torture for Touya to watch him like this, but still Touya refused to leave his side. He repeated the same tasks: wipe him down, feed him water, talk to him, keep him awake. That was all Touya did; that was all he could do. Somehow he found strength to stay, even as he watched his best friend, his soul mate, getting thinner and paler each day.

Shindou’s eyes were losing their shine; instead, Touya’s eyes gained a sharp glint. They scared the other court attendants, and only ever softened when he saw Shindou smile. This morning the headaches seemed to have subsided temporarily, and Shindou was well enough to stay conscious. But that was all he could do - he couldn’t talk, his pale lips quivering without control. And upon seeing this, even Touya couldn’t keep up his talking. Anguish came over his face, and he closed his eyes, tears rolling down his cheek. Please, don’t go where I can’t follow.

Then Shindou’s hand reached out and cupped Touya’s cheek, his thumb gently wiping away the tears under Touya’s eye. His hand was too warm because of his fever.

“Sadakichi…” Shindou said with a cracked voice, a sad smile on his face. “Don’t… stop playing…” Because Touya’s Go was his favorite thing in the world. He loved watching Sadakichi play more than anything else.

Touya took Shindou’s hand in his, nodding. “I won’t… I promise.”

Shindou didn’t say anything back, but simply smiled wider, the same smile that Touya always loved to see, the kind of smile where you couldn’t see his eyes.

“Uemon?” Touya asked, panicking, feeling the strength leaving from Shindou’s hand.

Shindou’s eyes widened upon hearing his name, as though he was being woken up from sleepy lethargy. Touya lowered Shindou’s hand and put it back inside the futon. He picked up the Go game record anthology he’d brought with him, and said, “I’ll read to you.”

Shindou nodded ever so slightly with a smile. He could no longer play Go himself, so Touya had been reading Go game records to him to pass the time.

“First hand, 4-4, upper right star.” Touya began. That was how he read to Shindou - simply reciting each hand in order, so Shindou could see the game in his head. The room was quiet as he read on, his voice calm and his eyes concentrated on the book. He flipped the pages through the game, until he got to the last move. “4-13, lower left kiri. Black wins by six points.”

There was no response. Shindou was asleep. Touya smiled and put down the book. He leaned in to tuck Shindou in better, only to be met with cold skin.

“Uemon…?”

Shindou had ague, and his skin is cold.

A tear found its way down Touya’s face.

After the burial, Touya spent many days standing in front of Shindou’s grave. He was sad, but his eyes hadn’t lost their glint.

“Uemon…” He whispered. “I’ve been looking at your back the whole time… I’ve been following you, always… You were ahead of me, so…” Touya lowered his gaze further, something resembling determination forming in his eyes. “Next time, it’s your turn to chase after me, okay?”

It is 3am in the morning, and Touya Akira found himself jerked awake by his dream. It was a strange dream… He sighed, pushing himself up from his futon. A sense of panic seized his heart and he whipped his head around, searching for Shindou… who was snoring, loudly, next to him. Akira sighed again as he felt relief wash over him.

“Mm… Touya?” Hikaru’s voice was heavy with sleep. He shuffled under the blanket, rubbing his eyes and blinking them open. He looked at Akira. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing; I just saw a dream… I feel like I saw an ancient you.”

“What? What the heck is that?” Hikaru yawned ungracefully.

“I don’t know…” Already Akira was starting to forget the details. “I just know that it was a long, and sad dream…”

“Touya… Are you okay?” Hikaru got up as well, looking at his husband worriedly. Akira eyed him in the dark; his hair was disheveled from sleep and his white shirt was creased. Then suddenly he leaned in, snuggling into Hikaru’s arms. This worried Hikaru even more, since normally Akira never initiated a hug (even though it is super adorable).

“Why do I get this feeling that I’ve finally caught you?” Akira asked, face buried into Hikaru’s neck.

“Pffft, come on, that’s my line!” Hikaru said, encircling his arms around Akira’s shoulders. “I’m the one who keeps having to chase after you!”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Akira laughed, another rarity. “Sorry.”

Hikaru had one eyebrow raised suspiciously as he tightened his arms around Akira, rubbing his shoulders gently. What’s gotten into him tonight? After another moment or two, Akira sighed and pulled away, settling back into the comfort of his futon. Hikaru did the same, but then reached his hand out to hold Akira’s face. He touched his cheek softly, his thumb caressing a spot under the right eye. They spent a long time laying there wordlessly like that, looking deeply into each other. In Akira’s sturdy eyes Hikaru saw an ageless soul. It was shining at him like a bright star, until Akira’s eyelids slowly drooped to a close, falling fast asleep under the security of Hikaru’s hand, seeing no more dreams tonight.

#sleep peacefully akira #akihika #akihika reboot #hikaru no go

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