#swift wind x star wind

[cosmos-coma]

My Sun, My Star

A/N: I'm so weak for Winter soldier Bucky. I cant wait to write more of him, I love this sad guilt ridden man.

Pairing: Winter Soldier!Bucky x Reader

Words: 6756

Warnings: Breaking and entering, Minor violence, Injury and Blood, Winter soldier Bucky, GN reader but also Pregnant reader, mild language, I'm not sure if this is fluff or angst or both??

Summary: You wait up late for your boyfriend Bucky to return from his mission, but it isn't Bucky who finds you.

Part 2 | Part 3 | Epilogue | Bucky Masterlist

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Your eyes blinked slowly, heavier with each passing second, yet you still managed to open them once again. Glancing at the bright white numbers of the digital clock you watched it change to 1:46 AM, causing a groan to pull from your lips. Bucky was supposed to be back tonight (yesterday technically) from his latest mission, but he still had yet to show up at your shared flat. 

You checked your phone again, the lack of notifications mocking your tired eyes. You let out one more sigh before you turned off the mindless babbling of the TV and stood up to get ready for bed. You were sure Bucky wouldn’t want you waiting up so late in your current condition anyway, he had been harping you about getting enough sleep and water and everything in between.

“I’m only four months pregnant, Bucky. I’m fully capable of staying up late” You had said to him. 

“Five months, Doll, and it’s about your cortisol levels. It’s not good for you or the baby, and it could lead to them being underweight” he said, reciting exactly what the doctor had told him during your last checkup. 

“Four and a half,” you argued as you stuck your tongue out at him, “and she was talking about getting chased by a bear kind of stress, not staying up to watch Bake Off.” 

You snorted at the memory of just earlier that week, a small smile coming to your face as you went through your nightly routine. You continued to check your phone here and there as you went, “Did you get back safe? How’d your mission go?” you had texted two hours ago, yet it still remained unread and unanswered.  

‘Maybe one more quick text wouldn’t hurt,’  you thought to yourself as you typed out the simple message and hit send. 

“Stay safe, okay? I love you.”

You sighed as you set the phone down, “it’s okay, everything is okay,” you assured yourself as you pulled one of his large hoodies over your head, enjoying the way the hem brushed against your bare thighs and the sleeves threatened to swallow your hands. “He’s a former assassin and a super soldier! Nothing is going to happen that he can’t handle,” You stated firmly to your reflection in the mirror. Your eyes remained unsure despite your voice’s conviction, but you did your best to ignore it, focusing instead on the achingly tired look they held. 

“Yes, I know. It’s finally time for bed, little one,” you mumbled sleepily as you felt your baby kick against the walls of your protruding belly, being quick to climb between the layers of blankets and lonesome sheets. “Fuck, that's cold…!” you swore quietly as your bare legs hit the icy fabric- having gone unwarmed by your personal space heater and super soldier.

Thankfully sleep came easily, the thought of waking up to Bucky’s sleepy, scruffy face only further urged your body to wind down so the moment would come sooner. 

----

Bucky’s phone buzzed again in his bag, lighting up with your smiling face as your text displayed on the screen, but nobody reached down to check it, as everyone found themselves in a far more urgent situation. 

“Keep him busy, Rodgers! I just need one more minute!” Tony yelled as he dug through the equipment in the quinjet, “For fuck’s sake, who organized this last?” 

“What do you think I’m doing…!” The blond grunted with a justified hint of frustration,” Sam? Any help??” He shouted with a pointed look, telling more than asking as he struggled to restrain his thrashing friend. A swift metal fist flew toward his already battered face, barely giving him time to duck out of the way and attempt to restrain it again. 

“Honestly? Seems like you’ve got this one,” Sam said, holding up his hands.

“SAM.” 

“I’m coming..! God, can’t either of you old men take a joke?”

No one knew exactly what happened, Bucky had gone off on his own in the Hydra base they were exploring. It was supposed to have been recently abandoned, something about the agents leaving in an urgent rush that left files upon files sitting out in the open. It was supposed to be a simple mission; everyone goes off in teams, gathers what they can, and makes sure there are no surprises. But Bucky assured them that he would be fine to go on his own, he hadn’t had a sign of relapse in over a year, and he would only be picking up what looked important. A simple job.

He should’ve listened. 

It was when he didn’t return to the jet with the rest of them that they started to get worried. 

“So, where’s the Manchurian candidate?” Tony jested, looking at his watch. They were supposed to leave maybe 10 minutes ago, not terribly late by any means, but enough to start getting worried about Bucky’s quietness over the coms.  

“Man, come on.. ” Sam sighed at Tony’s joke as he crossed his arms. 

“Bucky?” Steve tried calling over the coms, ignoring both of his teammates, but the line remained all too quiet. 

They found him finally in the basement level of the office building, old discarded computers lining the walls along with cabinets upon cabinets of old files and other equipment. He hadn’t even realized it was a trap until he stepped right into it, triggering a switch that had the computers and hidden speakers flashing images and sounds that assaulted his senses with fragmented memories long forgotten. 

He should have listened. 

Sam had found him first, on his knees in the middle of the floor with hands desperately covering his ears, trying to block out the incessant noise. Hauling his teammate to his feet, he rushed back to the jet, calling everyone off from their search before anything else could be sprung. 

At first, they thought he might be fine- quiet, but fine. He had given them a small smile and a wave of his hand as everyone tried to check in with him, taking a seat as the jet took off to go home. It had all seemed relatively normal until they were halfway back and the unseen battle inside him must have taken a turn. 

“Got it!” Tony yelled as he pulled out the dart gun, aiming quickly as he fired two shots into Bucky’s chest, readying a third as he waited and watched for the tranquilizers to finally take effect. It was slow as Bucky continued to struggle against the drug’s drain, his body and mind turning into slow-moving molasses. Low grunts emanated from his throat as the last of his strength ebbed away, leaving nothing but forced sleep in its wake. 

“Was two really necessary?” Steve asked as his shoulders finally relaxed, the strain and worry now temporarily over. 

Together they dragged the drugged-up assassin into the jet’s small quarantine area for the remainder of the trip, satisfied only when they heard the mechanical locks slide into place. It wasn’t much, and they knew that and if he really wanted to there would be no stopping him from getting out, but it was something- enough to give them a few seconds of preparation if nothing else.  

“I’m not giving a super soldier only a single dose, you two metabolize things like this way too fast and I’m not taking any chances with the Tin man over there.”

Bucky- no, the Winter Soldier, seemed to still be out of it when they finally landed, sat up and leaning against the wall, head slumped forward just as they had left him. 

“Alright, let's just get him into one of the holding rooms for the night. We’ll work on resetting him-” Tony lifted his hands as the two men glared in his direction, “- on ‘fixing him up’ as soon as he’s been secured.” 

Sam shook his head as Tony corrected himself, taking notice of the lit-up phone in Bucky’s bag, buzzing with an only recently delivered message. Sam had quickly become one of your closest friends after you were introduced to the team. He was one of the few people Bucky trusted with his life and between his sarcastic jokes, his incredibly loyal nature, and his willingness to give Bucky shit whenever he deserved it, you knew very quickly how great a friend he would be. 

But now his stomach twisted as he saw your name flash across the screen, the alert quickly minimizing itself as it joined the other messages you had sent that night. How was he gonna break this to you? The last thing you needed was a bunch of unnecessary stress on your shoulders, but it’s obvious you were beginning to worry over their late return. Sliding the phone back into its rightful place Sam told himself that he’d call you once they had things more figured out.

“Heart rate still seems to be resting. With any luck, he’ll remain knocked out until we get inside,” Tony relayed as he monitored the Soldier’s vitals and pressed the button to open the heavy quarantine doors.

The doors slid into their resting positions with a soft click. 

As soon as that click landed on sensitive ears, vibrant blue eyes shot open. Sparing not even a second, the Winter Soldier surged forward from his seat, not nearly as far gone as he left them to believe. With the element of surprise, the Soldier easily knocked past his teammates, throwing his body weight against them and knocking Sam and Steve off balance, leaving him a good headstart as he dashed out the jet’s open door.

“Fuck, Bucky- Wait!,” Steve swore as he stumbled out behind him, having to use his super soldier speed just to keep pace. But between the settled darkness of the night, and the winding alleyways the brunette stuck to, Steve was left falling behind in no time. “Shit,” Steve swore as he slowed to a stop, looking around for any sign of his compromised friend. 

However, the streets lay barren, the fluttering of moths in the streetlights the only sign of life on the entire block.

---

The heavy thud of his boots echoed against the alleyway’s pavement. He wasn't sure where exactly he was headed as his silhouette slunk between the warm light of the streetlamps, but part of him- a currently repressed part of him- knew that safety was bound to be just ahead. 

His heart beat smoothly as he kept his pace, every other step falling in time as he rounded the corner. Blindly, he let himself be led by instinct and his feet maneuvered the city’s countless paths with a mind of their own. They slowed before a little apartment building and as those emotionless eyes looked up, he knew this was it.

The lateness of the hour had almost assured that no one was around as he slipped inside, footsteps padding up the stairs before stopping at the third floor. His heavy boots left nothing but wet prints in their wake as he wandered down the hall, impossibly silent, as even the notoriously creaky boards dared not announce his presence. 

The closer he got, the more the back of his mind itched, as if something- someone- was begging him not to go any further, but he refused to listen; he knew this was where he was meant to be and where he would find what his body was so inexplicably drawn to.

With each step his head turned on a swivel, looking for the sense of safety and familiarity that the other half of him seemed to find here- and desperately wished he wouldn’t discover. Just as his foot was about to take another step he stopped. ‘No. Here.’ His gut told him, turning to the door. 

His door.

Your door.

The former assassin bypassed the lock with ease, quickly slipping in before shutting the door behind him. A dim light illuminated the living room, the little lamp you left on for him casting its orange glow over his surroundings as he surveyed them.

A few mugs stand beside the sink, framed photos dot the wall and side tables, and a veritable nest of blankets lay across the couch. It was obvious someone had been here, and recently. A deep breath pulled into his lungs, causing his head to tilt to the side in contemplation as an unfamiliar scent hit his nose, something just as earthy as it was sweet and speckled with distant notes of… him?

“Hmmph”  

His sensitive ears picked up the soft grunt from down the hall immediately. His shoulders squared and tensed as his body leaned into a defensive position. Cautious fingers pulled the knife from his boot, ready for whatever may come at him as he approached. 

The sounds of soft breaths lead him to a door left ajar. Light just slipped past the curtains into the darkened room. Badum… Badum… Badum… a heartbeat pulsed in his ears as he took a step closer, leaving the door open and letting further light fall onto the source of the noise. 

His wolfish gaze ran down your form as you lay there on your back, swallowed in the extra fabric of the old sweatshirt. Your hand rested casually over your stomach as your other one squished gently against your cheek. Your legs lay bare to the world after having kicked the overbearing sheets away, leaving just a glance of your underwear for him to take in.  

“Mmph” You grunted again as you shifted, your face now turned to him as that earthy scent of yours gripped him like a vice and refused to let go.

Your sweet sleep became interrupted though- much to his dismay- as the phone on your nightstand began to light up and buzz incessantly. Still, as a statue he watched as you groaned, propping yourself up on your elbows as you went to check what your device could possibly want at this ungodly hour. 

With one loose fist, you rubbed the sleep from your eyes away, blinking consciousness back into them until you saw Bucky’s illuminated figure before you, standing tall and quiet as he watched you intently. 

“Bucky..?” You couldn’t hide the grin that spread across your face as you saw the familiar face of your lover lit up by the bright light of your phone screen. But the longer you looked the more you noticed.

His eyes were all wrong, his gaze was devoid, that’s the only way you could put it. Devoid of meaning and humanity, it seemed every gaze- every movement- was a means to an end. Empty… save for a flicker of fear; It was probably the only thing in those eyes right now that registered as human. The fear of someone who was lost, unknowing of their purpose, and confused as to why your gaze was made his cold heart falter.

His expression was flat and stoic, save for the knit of confusion that pulled his brows together. His stance was tense and prepared, the discrete knife still glittering in his hands as he took another step forward, his head slowly shaking in response to your question. 

A gasp caught in your throat as you finally understood. Glancing at your phone you saw it was Sam who was calling, undoubtedly trying to tell you what you now already knew.

“Soldat…” You whispered, trying to hide the way his name sent shivers across your skin. Your phone went black then, as you didn’t pick up in time and you were left blind by the sudden darkness.

 You and Bucky had talked about what to do if you found him like this, “You call Sam and Steve, Okay? You find a place to hide and you stay far away, no matter what you hear. There’s no reasoning with him,” He had told you.

So much for that

Your phone lit up again with Sam’s urgent call, its revealing light sending ice down your spine as you saw the man nearly standing over you now, just a hair’s breadth away.

Your hand rose slowly, shaking as you tested a reach for your phone, stopping dead in your tracks as he let out a disapproving grunt. Your head nodded slowly as you gulped, returning your hand to your stomach as you watched his gaze finally shift away. 

With unbothered calmness, he looked toward your phone to see Sam’s face and name scrawled across your screen. Wordlessly he reached over and pressed the ‘decline call’ button, cutting the call short and leaving you two in perfect silence once more. 

Panic began to rise in your throat as his gaze turned back toward you, darkened now only by the lack of light. With slow movements the Winter Soldier reached out, putting the knife away as he crouched down, as if trying to attract a skittish animal. 

Your whole body tensed as his reach came closer, eyes screwing shut as you waited for the worst, “Please… Just don’t hurt her…” You whispered, fear and desperation rattling your voice, just as it did your anxiety-filled body. 

But the pain never came. Instead, the cool touch of metal fingers ran down your cheek, barely denting your flesh as he relished in its softness. Your eyes peeked open cautiously, as his fingers moved along the slope of your jaw, tilting your head up as he came to your chin. 

His eyes had changed, you noticed, instead of being a harsh blizzard, they had now settled into something more human, something warmer and… yearning? 

“Soldat..?” You questioned as you watched his lips part, his senses focused only on the way your body reacted to his touch. You were sure he could hear the rapid pattering of your heart beneath your ribs, its pace only increasing as his fingers moved down your neck and to the exposed collarbone in your loose neckline.

“Красивый [Beautiful]...,” was all he could reply. It came out so soft you weren’t sure you heard it at first, it’s quiet reverence meant for your ears and your ears only. “Из-за тебя он чувствует себя здесь в безопасности...? Замки дерьмовые, видимость слишком высокая, но ты… [Are you why he feels safe here…? The locks are shit, the visibility is too high, but you…]” He continued, quiet and unbothered as if he assumed you couldn’t understand him. 

“He’s been bugging me to get better locks all week…” you replied with a huff, quickly shutting up as his stare found your eyes again. Between Bucky’s ramblings in the night and Natasha’s tendency to only gossip in Russian, you had made an effort to learn it; You were still learning, and your pronunciation was shit, but your understanding had gotten far better. 

“And you have a good ear…” He spoke in English this time, the vague hint of an amused smile pulling at the assassin’s stern lips. You couldn’t help but wonder if he’d ever done that before. If that odd little smile had been seen by anyone else- anyone still living that is.

A breath of relief left you as your lips stretched to mimic his, the tension easing out of your body a little by little.

His metallic touch continued to linger, running down your covered chest until it settled on the waistband of your underwear, the cool metal trailing across your ticklish skin. 

“Ah, wait, Sol-” You jumped at his touch, grabbing his wrist, despite knowing you wouldn’t have the strength to stop him if it’s what he wanted.

But instead of dipping his fingers lower, he simply tugged the oversized hoodie up, gathering it over your chest and exposing the firm baby bump concealed below. His head tilted to the side as he listened to the tiny heartbeat that fluttered in your belly as well as the thuds of its little movements against your skin. Slowly, still with that inkling of a smile, he turned to look at you, his hand hovering just above your vulnerable midsection as if awaiting permission. 

Heat rose to your cheeks as you hesitated. On one hand, you felt a surprising amount of calm under the assassin's touch, his need for your approval only increasing your sense of security. But on the other hand, Bucky would never be able to live with himself if something happened to you or the baby, accident or not. 

“Oh. I-” 

CRASH.

You nearly jumped out of your skin as were cut short by the loud noise. The door to your apartment slammed open, surely breaking the hinges with the sheer force of it. Over a dozen heavy boots stormed into your apartment as the lights turned on, flooding your senses and forcing the Soldier’s attention elsewhere. 

Your hand found his instantly, the heat of his calloused skin a comfort to you just the way Bucky’s was, especially as it squeezed around yours just the same. Sitting up properly now your sweatshirt swallowed your pregnant form once again and you peeked out to see just what was going on. 

Through The Winter Soldier’s defensive stance in front of you, his knife is now drawn once more, you watched a small armed group, covered in black tactical gear raid your home, all guns pointing towards you- or more accurately- the former assassin attempting to shield you. You recognized the symbols on their vests as the team’s secondary security force, having even met a few of them over the years. But where was the rest of the team? Where was Sam, and Steve, and Tony?

“Step away from the civilian!” “Put your hands in the air!” “Sir, drop the knife!” They all shouted, overlapping with each other as each of them rushed out their demands. 

“Don't shoot! It’s okay! It’s okay!” You rushed.

You tried to slip your hand from his, but he only held fast, “Soldat, please… It’s okay, just do what they say… They don’t want to hurt us. Please,” You urged, giving his hand a gentle squeeze, 

His defenses faltered as he listened to you beg him to stand down. It wasn’t the usual begging he heard in his line of work, and coming from your lips had his walls cracking in an unprecedented way. 

He shouldn’t have looked back at your eyes, wide and pleading, as they shook his walls further. Moving slowly he turned, kneeling before you despite the way the armed group yelled at him not to. You just held up your hand to them, pleading for them to be as gentle with him as he was with you. 

“Мое солнце [My Sun]...” The warm flesh of his hand came up easily to cradle your face and a small smile pulled at him again as you leaned into his large palm. “Я только что нашел тебя. Я не потеряю тебя снова так быстро[I’ve only just found you. I will not lose you again so quickly]. ”

Your heart both swelled and pained for your Soldier. You looked into his eyes and saw a sense of certainty, a sense of knowing, you hadn’t seen from him earlier. “Oh… my soldier, my star,” Your fingers entwined with the hand holding your cheek, ”You can not lose me in any way that would last…” You whispered to him past the shouts, the commotion, and the tension, like you were the only two in the room. 

“Sir, put the knife down!” A young squad member called again, his voice far more concerned than his superiors. You didn’t recognize him or his number and you figured he must’ve been new. His gun trembled in his hands as he shouted again, but as the Soldier failed to move and the kid’s finger unexpectedly twitched, there came a sudden- 

BANG.

“Ah-!” Your face twisted with pain as you pulled away, “Fuck…!” Your hands instinctively grabbed your leg, clamping over the shooting pain in your calf that hit you- well- like a bullet. 

You winced again as you pulled one of your hands back, the raw skin of your leg angrily letting you know that it did not like being brushed against. Warm, wet crimson covered your fingers as you looked down, becoming slightly dizzy at how much had already covered your palm. You were thankful it only seemed to be a graze, but the burn you already felt and knowing you were losing blood had your stomach lurching in uncomfortable ways. 

Concern painted the assassin’s expression as you recoiled away from his doting touch, but as the unmistakable warm, metallic smell curled into his nose, his expression darkened dramatically. What was once kind, curious blue eyes now saw nothing but red as he caught sight of the wound slashing across your skin. His jaw set firmly, almost audibly grinding his teeth as he stood and turned to the young kid. 

You looked back at the newcomer as you tried to breathe through the pain, the horrified look on his face telling you that he knew he was a dead man walking. His face went ghost white as the super soldier stalked toward him and through even worse trembling hands he raised his gun to shoot again. 

“No…!”

A sickening thud rang out as the bullet hit the assassin square in his good shoulder, getting lodged in the muscly flesh. His shoulder jerked back at the force, but it wouldn’t stop his stride as he closed the gap. Another shot rang out, but with the solid vibranium arm now covering the barrel it did little to help this poor dumb kid. Snatching him by the neck, you watched as your assassin held him up until his feet kicked uselessly in the air. 

Every gun immediately trained on him and with their proximity you knew they wouldn’t miss a fatal shot if it came to it.

“Stop! Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot! Soldier, put him down!” You yelled as you maneuvered towards the edge of the bed. “Please, don't shoot, I can fix this!” you continued, trying to convince yourself as much as you convinced them. Familiar voices joined in on your plea as Sam and Steve finally entered the picture, urgently trying to talk down both the Winter Soldier and the secondary security team. 

“Bucky, It’s okay... Just put the kid down, alright?” Steve tried to reason with him, “He’s new, he doesn’t know what he’s doing yet.” Steve tried his best to stay calm and patient, but the young man was beginning to change colors now. “Bucky, put him down before you do something you can’t come back from.” But Bucky’s ears were deaf to the outside pleas and the Winter soldier refused to listen.

“Ah..!” You whimpered as you tried to stand and approach the commotion. The pain in your leg reached new heights as you tried to put weight on it, causing you to tumble to your knees almost immediately. You clutched your belly, hoping the sudden jostle wouldn’t upset the baby too much as you tried to get up again. 

“Hold on, Y/n. Stay down for a minute so we can wrap your leg…” Sam asked of you, moving over to help as soon as he saw the blood on your hands, “You’re losing plenty already.”

“No, I have to…. I can’t let him get hurt,” you argued, pushing away his helpful hands as you tried to stand again. You heard the crashing thud and rushed voices as you shakily got to your feet, leaning all your weight on your good leg. As you looked up again you came eye to eye with worry-filled icy blues.

“Sol-”

“Мое солнце  [My Sun]...” He interrupted, his metal arm snaking around your waist to pull you in possessively and away from those who threatened your safety. On the other side of the room, the nervous kid now coughed and wheezed for breath, but you were just happy to see he was still alive. 

“Please just listen to them. You’re already hurt, don’t get yourself killed…” you pleaded, your hand barely brushing over his bleeding wound before pulling his hand to your rounded belly. He tried to keep his expression steady, but you saw the way his eyes widened slightly as he looked down. “She needs someone looking out for her and I can’t do this on my own. I can’t keep away all the dangers of the world…” Your forehead rested against his as you tried to shift your weight, whining as you gave up and moved back. You couldn’t deny that this part of Bucky was her father too, even if he had been hidden away for ages, she was still his too. Whether Bucky would see it the same way you weren’t sure, but right now you were just concerned with making sure he got out of this alive. 

“I can’t do this without you…” 

The silence felt deafening as he considered. He never had to think about other people relying on him, not like this. His orders had always been to leave no threats, to finish his job and move on, no matter the cost to him. But the pain in his soft, fleshy shoulder was getting harder to ignore. The way his blood-soaked shirt clung to his arm now climbed to the forefront of his mind as he watched your big eyes stare back at him, desperate to understand. He was between a rock and a hard place. 

“I’ll be right beside you the whole time..” You assured him, “We both will, but please let everyone get us some help.” 

A gentle nudge pushed against his palm as his thoughts swirled around him, snapping him back to a single line of thought and he knew then. Defeat laid heavy on his shoulders as they slumped, accepting what must be done., “Мое солнц [My Sun] …”, He said, “Если вы так хотите, то я не буду жаловаться [If it is what you wish, then I will not complain].” 

You couldn’t tell just how long you had been holding the breath you let out, your muscles relaxing as he finally held his hands up. The security squad began coming forward with an array of cuffs, but it was Sam who stopped them this time, glancing back at you for confirmation as he assured them that they could take it from here. Despite the arguing and the hesitation, they seemed to relent, shifting their focus now to their injured colleague. 

Both Sam and Steve looked tired but relieved as they turned to the two of you, bloody and pained in your current state. Though they weren’t quite better; both of them looked like they had been the unfortunate punching bag of a certain super soldier mere hours before. Sam had bruises lining his arms from where he was surely blocking blow after blow and Steve smiled a bit with his busted lip, dried blood still stuck in the corner of his mouth.

“Let’s get you two to the tower…” 

----

The journey to the tower was quiet, your soldier never letting you out of arms reach as you all boarded the armored truck, and made your way up the tower and to the lab. 

Doctors tried to treat the both of you, but as soon as anyone dared to come close your assassin was right there to growl them back. They’d hardly be able to get past his possessive hands even if they could manage to get close, his touch keeping you pulled beside him at all times.

“Soldat…” you warned him, but he was too preoccupied gathering the medical bag they had been dropped. Coming over to you, there was no warning as he scooped you up from the ground and set you on a table to get to work. 

“Oh-!” You exclaimed as you held onto his strong shoulder, quickly getting plopped back down on the corner of the cold metal table. A shiver ran down your skin as you shifted against the sleek table, watching as practiced hands scoured through the medical bag, producing everything he needed as he went about fixing up your leg wordlessly. 

You were beyond thankful for the haze of the (baby-safe) painkillers as his fingers slid over the raw flesh. Despite the gentle numbing of the painkiller your fingers still lay tangled in his hair as he worked, only tugging in discomfort as the gauze wrapped tightly around your leg.

"Thank you..” You said when he finally finished, moving back to appreciate his work before giving it a satisfactory nod. His eyes had grown distant again, bits of confusion and uncertainty swirling in the storm of his eyes, and you reached out to stroke your thumb across his cheek. His stony cool expression remained as you touched him, his mouth staying a firm line as he instinctively leaned into your palm. You watched him for a moment before you continued, knowing that his thoughts must be far away.

“It's your turn now, big guy.... your shoulder is still seeping and you can’t keep losing blood like this," You urged him just as you had on the ride to the tower. He had refused to listen then, letting nothing else occupy his mind until he knew you were fully taken care of. But now as you sit safely before him, the only looming threats being Sam and Steve who seem to haunt the hallway outside, he finally relented.

You moved to stand, needing the angle to effectively dig out the bullet still lodged in his muscles, but he held you still with a single large hand on your shoulder, "Stay," he urged you with that low rumble of his. His eyes lingered on yours, ensuring you would do as he asked before he began to move again, gathering the supplies you would need.

He slid his bloody shirt off, revealing the weeping wound beneath and the scars of many wounds past. You expected him to stand in front of you, maybe sit so you could take care of him, but that didn’t seem to be the important thing right now.

He climbed up onto the cold table where you sat, curling onto his side with his back facing the door so his wounded shoulder sat closest to you. His head lay in your lap with a look of unmatched serenity as he pressed his forehead against your rounded belly. And there he rested, quiet and unmoving as he took his quiet moment. But he was far too exposed like this, far too trusting of “threats” lurking outside, and he almost reminded you of Bucky again. Was Bucky fighting to come back…? Was the Winter Soldier trusting you to watch his back? … or was he accepting of something you weren't sure he knew yet?

"Are you sure? It's going to be harder to take the bullet out this way. I don’t want to hurt you more than I have to," you tried to explain as you pulled out the forceps.

But he simply shook his head, "I know my time here is short, my Sun..." he said with an even tone, no semblance of fear to shake his voice, "Please let me enjoy it like this…."

Your voice caught in your throat as he answered, his blunt acceptance and knowing catching you off guard. You wished beyond anything that you could soothe him, to tell him no one was going to hurt him or take him away again. But you wouldn’t lie to him, so instead you said nothing, Your words rasping as you replied, "Of course, My star…."

The room was quiet as you worked, the only noise the sweet mumblings from your boyfriend's lips as he filled your baby’s ears with loving promises. His body let out a grunt and a soft squelch as you finally tugged the crushed bullet out. Pain creased his brow but his words never faltered and neither did the nudges or kicks he got in reply.

Carefully you cleaned up the blood, packing the wound as best you could, but you were sure Tony and his team would be redoing it soon nonetheless.

A sigh escaped him as he heard you putting away your tools, "My Sun?" he asked.

"Yes?"

“Is it time…?”

You cast your eyes downward, looking into those confused and swirling blues as they watched you with unbridled hope.

You nodded, wiping away the tears that welled in your eyes, “It’s time…” you whispered.

He nodded, thinking quietly as he looked down at your belly again, his hand smoothing over the skin he’s exposed, “Will I see you two again…?” 

Your heart broke at the slight waver in his voice, “Oh, my star…” you said, resting your palm against his cheek, “It’s just like I said, ‘you can not lose me in any way that would last’. I’ll see you again and again, in this life and the next,” you assured as you leaned down to kiss his temple, a small smile forming at the corners of his lips. Tears blinked from your eyes as you continued, “I don’t know when, or for how long, but you will see us again. You can always come home to me, and I will always be there to welcome you.” You leaned, slow as not to scare him, and kissed him gently as he turned again to look at you.

 It was awkward at first, but you didn’t mind, you couldn’t imagine the last time the Winter Soldier had felt such gentleness, let alone a kiss. 

But the moment was ripped away as the door opened, Steve, Sam, and Tony all standing in the doorway. “We’re ready for him,” Tony said simply, “Let's get this started so my lab techs can go home….” 

-----

You watched behind thick glass as Tony and his team of technicians attached various wires and machinery to Bucky’s body. Sam and Steve’s hands lie on your shoulders, trying to comfort you as you watch them finish tuning and placing everything. You watched as his blue eyes stared vacantly at the ceiling, as still as a statue as he let them do their work.

“I’m sorry, you shouldn’t have to watch this…” Steve tried to comfort you, but you only shook your head. 

“No… I promised I’d see him off,” you replied, then thought with a pause, “Despite all the warnings Bucky gave me I’m happy I got to see him face to face…” 

“Well, it helps that he wasn’t trying to beat the shit out of you…” Sam mumbled, getting an immediate nudge from you right in one of his bruises, “ Ow…okay, point taken.”

You smiled and shook your head. It was true though; despite the fear, blood, and death that dripped from his moniker, despite the pain you endured in his presence, you would do it all again. Bucky had hidden this part of him from you for so long, only ever showing you half of his face. And though you know he wouldn’t like it, you’re happy to finally see him in full light- to know and love him completely as he’s meant to be.

Tony says something that’s hard to make out through the glass, but you see him give a thumbs up to you all so he must have been ready. He moved to the switch, hesitating for a moment to let you say a quick goodbye. 

Your Soldier’s eyes found yours right away, but there was no trace of sorrow for you to see, no discomfort or fear. In fact, he seemed almost excited; excited and hopeful that when he saw you next he’d have a bundle of joy to look forward to as well. 

“Мое солнце [My Sun]...” you watched him say beyond the glass.

“I’ll see you again, My stars. I’m sure of it…” You replied with a soft smile.

He had just enough time to smile softly back at you, an image now pleasantly etched in your brain before Tony flipped the switch and the reset procedure began. 

You covered your eyes quickly as Bucky’s body began to convulse, his strained grunts and shouts breaching containment despite the way he tried to hold it all back. The sounds of pain continued for minutes, but it felt far longer. Though, it wasn’t until it got quiet that you began to worry. 

“Is it done? Is it over...?” You asked the men on either side of you, afraid to peek past your hands for fear of the worst.

“Doll…?” you heard the familiar voice call, gritty and rough from its recent use but still carrying that same soft tone he used with you.

Your heart swelled, “Bucky...?”

_____________

Taglist: @writingmysanity @simpxinnie (sorry I forgot to tag!)

It's been a while since I've written for our favorite sad man, so if I've missed you/you want to be added to the taglist, DM me to let me know!

[ichorai]

little dragon ; aemond targaryen. (m)

part two ; water dragon.

pairing ; aemond targaryen x tully!f!reader

synopsis ; he was your fire, and you were his sea, willing to push and pull the tides at his behest.

words ; 5.8k

themes ; fluff, smut (minors dni!), fantasy, established relationship (married), pregnant au

warnings / includes ; unprotected sex, tiny bit of oral (f recieving), breeding and praise kink, pregnancy/childbirth, vhagar cameo, aegon being a menace, foul language, aemond being a good husband/dad unlike his own father, so sorry if the valyrian grammar isn't completely correct ;-; if anyone gets the bert & ernie tully reference you deserve a million dollars

main masterlist.

It happened in the dead of night. When the winds quietened to but a feathery whisper, when the moon shone white and gold and silver, when the fires in the hearth of your chambers had waned to a soft orange glow.

“Ñuha jorrāelagon,” he whispered against the flushed skin of your neck, traveling downwards to softly kiss along your clavicle. His voice was gravely and rich, soaked with honey and ocean salt. The sapphire within his eye glinted with the dim lighting of the sparse candles scattered around your chambers, and you craned your head to press a kiss upon his scar, your nose slotted against his cheekbone. 

My love was what he’d said—you didn’t know much Valyrian, still trying your best to study during your free hours, but your husband called you that often enough for you to recognize the affectionate words. 

One of your hands was buried within his silken silver hair, tugging in tandem with his swift, fluid motions. The other clawed down his toned back, leaving angry red trails in its wake. A strained cry fell from your kiss-swollen lips as you rocked your hips against his. 

Aemond held your waist in a tight grip, thumbs brushing against the sides of your ribs with every stroke of his throbbing cock within your slick, heated cunt. His lips, his tongue, his teeth—all blistering, scorching, searing with need. 

“Sīr sȳz syt nyke, ñuha embar.” So good for me, my sea. He was your fire, and you were his sea, willing to push and pull the tides at his behest. A guttural groan tapered his voice to a close when you clenched around him, his susurrating praises mumbled against your breast sending jolts of arousal straight to your core. His rapid, desperate string of Valyrian fell upon deaf ears, buzzing with pleasure. Stars colored your vision a blinding white when one of his hands relinquished his hold on you to snake down your abdomen, pressing his long fingers against your clit.

“Aemond!” you just about sobbed, legs curling around his waist to pull him closer. You were insatiable, cracking your eyes open once more, a thin film of tears warbling over your widened gaze. “Oh, please, please—!”

A gasp caught in your throat as he thrust into you with more power than before, but froze once he was completely sheathed within your throbbing cunt. “Please, what? Have I fucked you stupid already, jorrāelagon, hm? Dragon got your tongue?” he hummed in mild amusement, regarding your beautiful, sweaty form with a hungry, lustful expression, eyebrows cocked as he waited for your answer. 

Part of you wanted to snarl at him, tell him to keep moving, but the other half of you wanted to cry and plead and beg for his cock.

Knowing your husband, he would’ve been quite pleased with either. 

“I want you to finish inside me,” you breathed out, lips brushing the shell of his ear, eyes half-hooded with want. “Fuck me full of your cum, valzȳrys.”

His cock grew impossibly harder within you, throbbing almost painfully—whether it was because of you calling him husband in his native language, or because of your devilish tongue laving upon a sensitive spot on his neck, he couldn’t quite tell. Expression hardening, he grabbed at your hips and yanked himself out of you, before flipping you onto your stomach and swiftly breaching your entrance in no less than three seconds, earning him a shriek of surprise which winded into a litany of breathless moans and blubbering pleas. 

And yet, he remained still, cock stretching you out so deliciously well—but he wasn’t moving. You sobbed with frustration, burying your face into the feather-pillow in front of you, muffling your desperate cries. Aemond’s growl thundered through his throat, and he slid his hand into your hair and tugged you up flush against his chest, so he could hear your obscene noises loud and clear. His free hand creeped down between your trembling thighs, where his middle finger only barely grazed over your clit, despite your fruitless attempts to buck your hips up to meet his touch.

“Ask me again nicely, ñuha embar,” he whispered, placing a loving kiss to the side of your temple. “In my mother tongue—you remember all those lessons I gave you, no?”

You wanted to curse at him. Your Valyrian lessons with him were the very last thing on your mind at the moment. Thoughts hazy, you murmured out a bit shakily, “Kostilus, qogralbar nyke, Aemond. Ta… Tatagon iemnȳ, kostilus.” 

Please, fuck me, Aemond. Finish inside, please.

He hummed in satisfaction as he pressed sweet kisses along the curve of your shoulder. He gently pulled out and began to roughly thrust back up into you as soon as you moaned out, “Nyke jorrāelagon ao!”

I need you!

A broken sigh tumbled from your throat when he finally began to fuck you just the way you wanted, knowing that your climax was drawing near. You had no chance of lasting when he began to circle the pads of his fingers against your clit. 

“Iksā sīr sȳz. Sīr, sīr sȳz, ñuha embar,” he said, chest rumbling with each word. You feel so good. So, so good, my sea. “Avy jorrāelan, avy jorrāelan, dōna ābrazȳrys.” I love you, I love you, sweet wife.

You preened with his praise, arching your spine and pushing your hips back to match his quick pace. The sound of skin slapping against skin, of your arousal rang loud and true throughout your chambers, bouncing off the stone walls and ricocheting back to you, heat spidering over your skin upon hearing your own lust. 

“Tatagon syt nyke,” he growled, motions growing erratic and hurried. Cum for me.

With one final moan, you collapsed against him, cunt spasming tightly around his dick as you toppled down from the edge, pushing Aemond over the brink as well, spurts of warm cum painting your cunt. Despite the both of you already coming down from your highs, Aemond rocked into you a couple more times, kissing your sweaty hairline over and over again as he showered you with muted praise. The sticky substance dripped down the insides of your legs once he gingerly pulled out of you with a low sigh. He reached down to collect it and abruptly stuffed his cum-slickened fingers back into your cunt, wrangling a sharp intake of breath from you.

He chuckled lightly, pulling his hand back out and dragging his tongue over his finger to taste the filthy mix of your essence with his seed, before winding his arm around you to allow you to do the same. You whimpered around his fingers, sucking on the digits slowly—Aemond could feel his cock growing hard again. 

With a pleased hum, he languidly set you back down on the bed so he could lay beside you, pulling his hand away from your mouth with a lewdly wet pop. 

“I love you,” you croaked, throat parched and voice hoarse from all your moaning, an utterly blissful grin stretching your swollen lips.

Aemond cupped your face within his palms and pressed a chaste kiss to your damp forehead. “And I you, my dear sea.”

MOON ONE.

“It’s been a moon since you’ve bled, my lady,” your handmaiden, Lailena, commented, a knowing excitement to her gaze. “Could that mean…?”

In truth, you haven't told anyone about your pregnancy just yet. Nobody knew except you and the maester, who’d sworn himself to secrecy with a kind, understanding smile. It’d been a couple days since you found out, and you were still trying to find a way to tell your beloved husband. In the meantime, you were enjoying the peaceful privacy of knowing that it was only you who knew of the babe growing within you. No doubt when the news would inevitably break out, Alicent and Aemond would be hovering over you like overprotective hawks. 

Not being able to contain your smile, you grasped your handmaiden’s hands within yours. “You’re not to tell a soul, Lailena. I still have yet to inform the prince.”

Your handmaiden mimicked locking her lips shut, a beautiful smile etching across her features. “I am so happy for you, my lady. If you need anything—anything at all, please do not hesitate to let me know.”

“Oh, you’re too kind, my dear,” you hummed, patting her cheek affectionately. You had a soft spot for your young handmaiden—having stopped her from being sold into a whorehouse against her will at the ripe age of ten-and-two. “Will you please draw me a bath? I’d like to wash the day’s labor off of me.”

Not ten minutes later, you were sighing in relief as you sank into a tub of warm water, the heat a relief for your tense muscles. You let your eyelids slide shut, lolling your head against the bath’s edge. 

A familiar pair of hands settled upon your bare shoulders, and you didn’t have to look to know that it was your husband coming to check in on you.

“Rytsas, ñuha jorrāelagon,” he hummed, kneeling by the gilded tub’s edge and pressing a swift kiss to your cheek. Hello, my love.

“Aemond.” You shifted so you could face him, the water sloshing about with your movements. Nervousness was eating away at your insides, and you thought that no time would be better than now, where nobody else would bother you. “My darling husband, I have something to tell you.”

For a brief moment, worry flashed across Aemond’s expression, afraid something was wrong. “What is it?”

“It’s nothing bad,” you reassured him, a soft smile hanging onto the corner of your lips when he leaned forward to rest his forehead over yours. “At least, I hope it’s not.”

He remained mute, wordlessly urging you to continue. 

“I am with child.”

There were exactly three seconds of silence, presumably Aemond taking time to fully comprehend what you’d just told him. And then, a rare, beautiful smile overtook his usually impartial expression, his heart skipping over several beats with the realization that he was going to be a father. 

“You’re not jesting, embar?” he whispered, nose nudging yours. “Because this would surely be a cruel joke.”

Mirroring his growing elation, you let yourself beam brightly, craning your neck to kiss him properly. “I’m not jesting, Aemond,” you murmured, trailing your lips up to freckle kisses over the marred skin of his scar, and around his eyepatch, which you itched to yank off. 

“My love,” he said, struggling to find words for how he was feeling. Overjoyed? Shocked? Scared? “This is… you’re so… wonderful. This is wonderful. Avy jorrāelan. I love you, more than anything—and our little dragon.”

You scoffed, pulling away from him with raised brows. “Dragon? You forget I am a Tully, dear husband—they will be half my blood.”

With an affectionate roll of his eye, Aemond lifted his hand to tuck a stray strand of your hair behind your ear. “Alright, alright. Half-dragon, half-trout, then.”

“Fire and water.” You nodded in satisfaction at the compromise, your jubilated smile stolen away with a kiss from your sweet husband.

MOON TWO.

Aemond felt the bed shift as you sat up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes and swinging your legs over the edge of the mattress. A small noise of discontent rumbled in his throat as he propped himself onto his elbow, vision still adjusting to the darkness. 

“Where are you going?” he whispered, voice still gravely with slumber, twinged with confusion. “The hour is still early, my love. The sun has yet to rise.”

You hummed, leaning down to kiss his cheek, before rising onto your feet, shrugging on a silken green robe. “I have a sudden craving for honey cakes. I’m going down to the kitchens to see if they have any left from yesterday’s supper.”

“Now?” queried your husband, seeming partially miffed, and partially amused. He roused from the bed himself, sliding on a loose tunic so his chest wasn’t bare, and followed you out of your shared chambers and into the hall. “What brings about such a queer craving? You’ve never been particularly fond of honey cakes before.”

Subconsciously, you rested a hand on your stomach. “It must be the babe. I’ve been having the strangest cravings the past few days. Around a fortnight ago, I wanted to have nothing but apple fritters—those ones with cinnamon glaze, you know? For a while, everything else made me feel sick.”

A ghost of a smile graced Aemond’s lips. “I remember—mother said you were looking rather green at the mess table.”

You scowled at the memory, which spurred Aemond to huff out a laugh and tug you closer into his side. 

“My little dragon is a picky one,” he murmured, glancing down to where your hand hovered over your belly, still having yet to show physical signs of the pregnancy. “This is a good thing, ñuha dōna embar. They must already know their worth.”

Once in the kitchens, a part of the castle neither of you had ever ventured in before, Aemond scoured around for the blasted honey cakes you craved for so badly, and found them in a small container on the highest shelf. He pulled them down and handed one to you, grinning ever so softly when you didn’t even give yourself time to properly thank him before shoving one into your mouth and moaning around the pastry. 

Aemond kissed your temple and took a bite of his own piece of honey cake to appease your pleading urges for him to try it, even though it was far too sweet for his taste.

MOON THREE.

 You were beginning to show, and Aemond couldn’t be happier.

“Our dragon is growing,” he’d say every morning without fail, a prideful gleam to his eyes. “And you have never been more beautiful, dōna ābrazȳrys.” Sweet wife. 

That afternoon, he brought you down to the dragonpit where Vhagar was nesting with her brand new clutch of eggs, wanting to introduce his little dragon to his much larger one. You watched with wide eyes as her bronze, spiny tail curled around four scaled eggs, each a different shade of copper. It was a miracle that a dragon of her old age laid a clutch of eggs at all, much less four of them. 

“Do not be afraid, embar,” he whispered, noticing your stiff movements and your hesitant steps, despite the brave facade you tried to hold on. “Vhagar will not hurt you.”

At the sound of her name, the dragon lifted her head, bright green eyes shifting to her master, then to you. She huffed out a small plume of warm smoke in greeting.

“Lykirī, Vhagar,” commanded Aemond, placing a hand on her snout and gently urging you to come closer. “It’s alright, love. She can sense the dragon inside you.”

Still a bit tentative, you shakily lifted a hand and laid it beside Aemond’s, stroking the warm scales of her large nose. Emerald eyes shining, Vhagar’s chest rumbled, and she dipped forward ever so slightly, slotting her hot muzzle against your belly, as if acknowledging the babe inside you. 

Aemond smiled, his one eye creasing at the corners. “She likes you.”

“Though I have never been more petrified in my life…” you began softly, patting Vhagar’s snout and grinning widely, “I like her, too.”

“What do you say we pick an egg for our little dragon, hm?” asked your husband, commanding Vhagar to stay as Aemond led you to the beautiful quartet of shiny eggs. 

MOON FOUR.

You leaned against the intricate stone railing of the balcony attached to your chambers, breathing in the fresh morning air. You had woken up early—much earlier than you usually did, unable to fall back asleep because of the baby constantly moving inside you. 

Not too long after, your husband stepped out onto the balcony as well, wrapping his arms around you from behind and pressing a sweet kiss to your cheek. Neither of you said anything, perfectly content on basking in each other’s comfortable silence. 

His hand laid upon your slightly rounded stomach, rubbing gentle circles over the thin fabric of your sleeping shift. The first birds of the day chirped as the sun rose, spilling golden light over the two of you. 

You leaned back into him with a pleased sigh. “Helaena has asked me to come watch the twins today. I’m rather excited for them to meet the babe.”

Humming, Aemond nuzzled his nose into your cheek. “I’m excited to meet my little dragon, as well.”

MOON FIVE.

Since you’d been having trouble sleeping as of late, Aemond found that fucking you to exhaustion was one of the few ways to get you to sleep soundly throughout the night. It was either that, or he could read philosophical books to you in Valyrian. 

And though he quite enjoyed reading to you, the prince much preferred the former option.

“Ñuha gevie ābrazȳrys,” he hummed deeply, bordering on a growl, thrusting back into your sensitive, slick cunt. My beautiful wife. “I’ve fucked you full hundreds of times and yet you always want more. I’ll give it to you, I’ll give you everything, sweet embar.”

A low moan slipped from your throat and you desperately pulled his face to you, your lips meeting in a feverish manner. He grunted into your mouth when you clenched around his lengthy girth, nails raking angry red lines down his shoulders to the middle of his back. 

“Aemond!” you cried, bucking your hips up to meet his, lips parting in a tantalizing manner. 

Your eyes slipped shut with the overwhelming pleasure, but Aemond grasped your chin, softly grunting out, “Keep them open, love. I want to see you when you come all over my cock.”

The intense eye contact made your body flush with a certain heat, hurtling you ever so close to your climax. Your husband snuck a hand between you to draw slow circles on your aching clit, and you were abruptly slammed into your third orgasm, the first two stolen from Aemond’s silver tongue and long fingers, respectively. 

Utterly spent, you trailed kisses over Aemond’s cheek, up to his scarred eye. He had slowed down to a gentle rock, cock still stiff and aching within you. “You can move, Aem,” you whispered, placing a tender kiss to the very tip of his nose. “I want you to cum inside—I want my cunt to be dripping with your seed.”

And he groaned at your lewd words, dipping back down to meet your lips once more, all teeth and tongue. His breath hitched as he began moving once more, your soaked core feeling like absolute heaven. 

“Mmh, fuck!” he growled, emptying inside you, catching himself with his elbow when he collapsed, thankfully before he could crush you or the babe. “So good for me, dōna embar.” 

A low whine emitted from your lungs when he slowly pulled out, holding your legs apart to observe his spend leaking out of your fluttering cunt. 

Much to your simultaneous dismay and pleasure, Aemond just couldn’t resist, swiftly moving down to drag his tongue from your cunt up to your clit, grumbling an expletive at your taste. 

“Aemond!” you yelped, flinching away with overstimulation, lightly swatting at his shoulders with a laugh. “Gods, you’re going to be the death of me,” you said, grinning when he moved back up with an apologetic smile, dark sapphire glinting with the flickering candles lit about your chambers.

“Sorry, I just couldn’t resist. You taste heavenly.” Finally, he settled back onto the bed behind you, pulling you flush against his chest. “Get some rest, Y/N. I plan on tasting you on the morrow. Perhaps you can ride my face again.”

“Sounds wonderful,” you murmured in response, not having listened to anything he’d said, already drifting halfway into sleep. 

You slipped into a deep slumber with Aemond’s arm protectively slung over your baby bump.

MOON SIX.

You were grateful that you no longer grew sick at the sight of a regular supper. You weren’t quite sure how long you would’ve lasted on honey cakes and apple slices alone. 

Dinner that night was a warm, peppered vegetable stew with loaves of steaming bread to mop it up with. There were other courses, such as honey-glazed venison, and slow-roasted pork belly—the latter of which Aemond avoided entirely despite Lucerys’ hushed giggling from across the table. Initially, he’d wanted to stride across the room and strangle the smug expression off the younger boy’s face, but one look at your stern, disapproving countenance made him hesitate, before begrudgingly digging back into his food.

He was to be a father soon. What example would he set for his child if he were to go about beating his nephews every other minute?

Lucerys was not the only one who stirred trouble at the table that evening. 

Rhaenyra and Helaena were pleasant for the most part, querying about your pregnancy and giving their own advice from their previous experiences. Baela and Rhaena were also kind to you, eagerly asking if you had any names picked out for the babe. You told them that you haven’t yet thought about it, sheepishly smiling. “If you have any ideas, I’m more than willing to listen,” you told the younger girls, which made them beam brightly with excitement. You didn’t know the two nearly as much as you wished to, but you were willing to try and build bridges between the steadily distancing sides—bridges that Aemond, as much as you loved your husband, was keen on burning. 

Alicent was silent for most of the time, only pitching in every so often to make passive-aggressive remarks to Rhaenyra, and occasionally trying to compliment you with a strained smile. As Aemond was her most beloved child, she’d always wanted to be closer to his dear wife, but found it troublesome to bond with you when you were so very fond of Rhaenyra. 

The men at the table, on the other hand, were an entirely different story. Jacaerys and Daemon quietly spoke to one another, but were rudely interrupted by Aegon spilling wine all over Jace’s lap. He drunkenly proclaimed it to be a slip of his hand, a mere accident—but everyone at the table knew he’d done it on purpose. Jacaerys was visibly stiff, but held his tongue, fist clenching and unclenching around a silver fork. 

“I pity your betrothed, I really do,” simpered Aegon to his nephew, hiccupping as he downed some more wine. The rest of the chatter at the table halted to watch the drunken Prince blubber on further. “How will you please her in bed if you haven’t the faintest clue where to put your cock?”

“Aegon!” Alicent admonished sharply, eyes wide and jaw set.

The eldest Prince waved his mother away, standing up abruptly, brandishing another chalice full to the brim with alcohol. You briefly wondered where all these cups were coming from. Then, Aegon rounded his gaze on you and Aemond at the other end of the table. “See, my dearest brother has figured out how to do it! Look, his wife is all round with his first child—perhaps the next could be mine. It matters not which Targaryen fucks you, it’s not like you can tell the difference when the babe comes out. Your Tully whore of a wife probably wouldn’t even mind, brother! I’d bet all my coin every guard in this room has sullied her already!” 

In a blink of an eye, Aemond was on his feet, lips curled into a snarl. Alicent also stood up, glancing between her two boys worriedly, afraid a fight would break out. 

You were the last one to rise, placing a hand on Aemond’s arm. He seemed to soften beneath your touch, glancing back to look at you briefly, nonverbally making sure that you were alright.

You shook your head, glaring harshly at Aegon, before turning on your heel and marching out of the mess hall, leaving a portion of your dinner largely untouched. 

It took everything within Aemond not to clamber onto the table and throw his fist into his older brother’s arrogant, drunken face. He longed to resort to physical violence—after all, Aemond was taller and stronger and quicker than him, and would easily best his brother in a fight. But his urge to be by your side was far greater, so he settled with scathing words and a lingering threat.

“You are a foul excuse of a brother, Aegon. If you ever dare to insult my wife again, I will carve out your tongue myself and feed it to my dragon.”

With that, Aemond stormed out of the hall, strides quickening so he could catch up with you. On his way out, he faintly heard his mother trying her best to patch up the situation, rambling in a panicked fashion, “Aemond doesn’t mean it, Aegon. Sit down and finish your supper, will you?”

Aemond rolled his one eye. He’d meant every last word of what he said. 

When he finally caught up to you, you were already in your chambers, gently wiping the dampness of your frustrated tears from your cheeks.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he whispered, tugging you into his chest and stroking the back of your head. “My brother is a drunken fool. Do not take his crude words to heart. He is not worth your tears.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, Aemond,” you murmured into the fabric of his tunic, blowing out a calming sigh. “You didn’t have to follow me, though… you didn’t get to finish your supper.”

He blew out a mildly amused huff. “Neither did you, dōna embar.” Sweet sea. How you adored the affectionate nickname he called you. “I love you. And I would follow you to the ends of this world if I had to—even if it meant missing a bit of supper.”

It felt as if your heart was melting through the confines of your ribs, and you could only lean forward to press a chaste kiss to his lips. “You are everything to me, my darling Aemond. I love you, too.”

MOON SEVEN.

The baby was kicking again. Nonstop, for the past three hours.

You glared down at your swollen belly, before uncomfortably shifting on the bed until you were sitting upright. The babe kicked once more, as if sensing your annoyance. You couldn’t help but huff out a small laugh. 

From beside you, Aemond looked away from the thick history tome he was reading and tilted his head. He’d thought you were already asleep. “The hour grows late, ñuha jorrāelagon. What troubles you so?”

With an exhausted sigh, you laid your head upon his shoulder, and Aemond immediately shut the book and placed it off to the side. 

“The babe,” you said, threading your hand with one of his and tracing shapes along the back of his palm. “They haven’t stopped kicking since I got out of my bath and I can hardly sleep more than a few winks. Though, I can’t say I can complain—Lailena says the ones who kick more will grow to be strong warriors.”

A small, satisfied smirk flitted over your husband’s sharp features. “Of course they’re kicking around—they’re a dragon after all.”

“Trout-dragon,” you reminded him, a soft smile to your lips. 

Aemond barked out a laugh. “Dragon-trout.” His free hand came around to place it on the center of your belly, and he sucked in an astonished breath when he felt the baby moving around beneath his palm. He met your eyes, shining with pride and adoration—for both you and the babe within you. “They’re a true Targaryen. We’ve never been too keen on sitting still.”

“So this is your fault,” you bit out, drawing yourself away from his shoulder to narrow your tired eyes at your husband. “I just want to sleep!”

His purple iris glinted salaciously. The hand on your belly began inching further down between your legs. “Maybe I just need to tire you out, hm?”

“No, I’m already so very tired,” you murmured, melting beneath his touch. Immediately, Aemond retracted his fingers, cupping your face and pressing sweet kisses over your heavy eyelids. 

“I’m sorry, love. What can I do?”

With a grateful slant of your lips, you settled yourself into his side once again. “Read to me, please. You have a very beautiful voice—it’s especially soothing in Valyrian.”

Humming, Aemond reached over to grab the history tome once more, flicking it open to where he’d left off. 

The Prince began reading the tale of Aegon’s Conquest out loud for you, his Valyrian effortlessly smooth, like pure honey to your ears. Not even three pages deep, you had already given into the alluring promise of sleep, cheek smushed against his shoulder. Aemond kept reading anyway, placing a hand on your belly, certain that his child could hear his low voice.

“One day you and I will be in one of these books,” he told the babe, a wistful smile on his face. “And our great, great, grandchildren will be reading about us and the many adventures we’ll go on.”

MOON EIGHT.

The fire crackled hungrily as Aemond kindled the greedy flames with a fresh wedge of wood. 

“What do you think of Jacaelar?” your husband asked. “It’s a fine name for a son.”

You wrinkled your nose. “I don’t know—their nickname would be Jace, and you’re not particularly fond of the Jace we already know. What about a Tully name? How does Bert sound for a boy?”

“No.”

“Ooh, what about Ernie?”

Aemond grimaced. With a laugh, you playfully rolled your eyes. “Alright, alright. We’ll stick to Valyrian names.”

After a moment’s silence, Aemond suggested, “Vaeron?”

“Yes, I rather like that one.” You grinned. “Do you like Daera for a girl?”

Your husband sat down on the plush chaise beside you, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “That’s a good name—though my younger brother Daeron might think we named our child after him, and I’d really rather not inflate his ego. I like the name Visera. There’s also Rhaelor, Jahaela, Haerys, Saelyra—”

“Oh, it’s just too many to choose from!” you exclaimed, cutting his extensive list off and sinking further into your seat. “We can just call the babe Aemond the Second and be done with it.”

With a chortle of laughter, Aemond shook his head, fine silver strands of hair tickling your cheek when he drew you close into his side. “And what if our little dragon is a girl?”

“Then we call her Aemonda. I don’t know,” you harrumphed, crossing your arms. Aemond lightly pinched your thigh. After another second, you gently proposed, “... Syraena sounds lovely. Don’t you think so?”

Humming, Aemond bowed his head. “Syraena. It is a lovely name.”

You rubbed your hands over your distended stomach. “Do you know if you’d rather have a son or a daughter?”

He took a moment to consider your question before quietly replying, “I care naught for the babe’s sex—they will be my blood, regardless. My little dragon.” Before you could correct him, he hastily added, “Trout. Dragon-trout.”

The two of you began cracking up with silent laughter, and you turned to watch the fire burn away, small golden embers floating up from the hearth. 

You heard your husband murmur Syraena beneath his breath once more, clearly content with the name. A glowing beam graced your expression. 

NINE MOONS.

The birthing was the most painful experience you’d ever gone through. There were tears streaming down your face, and your hair was damp with sweat. Aemond was by your side, loyal as ever, clutching your hand and murmuring sweet words of encouragement, uncaring of the impropriety of a man in the birthing room. He’d gone so far as to threaten the guards when they first told him that he should be waiting outside, enjoying the celebration being held in your and the babe’s name. 

“Try to keep me from my wife and I will decorate the floor with your guts,” he growled, his single eye burning with a thirsty flame.

The guards didn’t bother him after that.

“Oh, it hurts! Aemond, Aemond, please, it hurts,” you sobbed, another wave of pain washing over your body. “I need the baby out! Come out, come out, come out!” you screamed, skin burning hotly as more sweltering tears meandered down your perspiring face.

“It’ll be over soon, embar, you’re doing so well,” assured your husband, even though he looked every bit as terrified as you did, perhaps even more so. Gods forbid such a thing to happen, but if Aemond were to lose you to the perilous task of childbirth, he didn’t think he could ever live with himself afterwards. 

The midwives began telling you to push, and you happily obliged, eager to get the labor over and done with. 

It was said that your screams shook the very ground, but that might’ve just been Aemond exaggerating the truth out of proportion. 

“Congratulations, my Prince,” said one of the midwives once you’d pushed and pushed and pushed until you nearly passed out from the strain, the babe finally coming out of you with a shrill cry. Aemond could feel his heart lurch at the sound. “You have a beautiful, healthy girl.”

“Do not congratulate me, it is Y/N that did all the work,” muttered your husband, kissing the back of your clammy hand and sweeping the hair sticking to your face aside. “You were wonderful, jorrāelagon.” His face bore nothing but radiant pride, a rare beam stretching his lips wide. 

He stood up, turning to the midwife to look upon his small, screaming daughter, who was quickly bound in a red woolen blanket. She handed him the babe, and Aemond gently situated her into his arms.

“You have the lungs of a dragon, little one,” he crooned, expression bearing little else than raw love and adoration for the tiny thing. With fluid movements, he kneeled down beside the birthing bed once more, easing the baby into your awaiting arms. 

An exhausted smile made its way onto your face when you took the baby, cooing, “Oh, so you’re the one always kicking around during the night. It’s nice to meet you… Syraena.”

The baby—your daughter—sported thin wisps of silvery hair, much like her father and her grandsire. Targaryen blood ran thick, after all.

You turned to grin at Aemond. “She has your nose,” you murmured, voice thick with emotion and love.

Little Syraena’s wailing began to wane away as you bounced her, and she cracked open her tiny eyes for a brief moment, blinking up at the two of you with a wide gaze.

“And she shares the color of your beautiful eyes, embar. Rytsas, Syraena,” greeted Aemond, expression soft and ever so tender. One of his fingers reached out to gently stroke her soft, chubby cheek. For several moons, he’d read to her when she was still in the womb, and he wondered if she could recognize the sound of his voice. 

“My little dragon…” Aemond murmured. “My sea dragon.”

[chronicdisasterwrites]

death is pretty but his eyes are prettier

pairing: gojo satoru x reader (gojo’s past arc)

genre + warnings: - blood, injuries, mentions of death, passing out and intestines spilling out of the body (it's a bit gory but nothing crazy), swearing, reader is shorter than satoru but other than that it's gender-neutral (i'm pretty sure), shoko smoking, protective satoru and suguru.

a bit angsty but definitely FLUFF !!

word count: 3,191 (yikes lmao)

authors note: okaaay, so i was inspired by taylor swift saying "you drew stars around my scars", and also i love slow burns and two idiots silently but obviously pining for each other; SO satoru and reader aren't dating here yet. but they very much do like each other.

also apologies in advance if i messed up any location descriptions :')

enjoy this chaos lol <3

I’m an idiot. 

The curse was dead. The special grade curse you were assigned to kill was dead and you were almost dead. 

As the dissipating remains of the curse mixed with the wind and faded away, you heaved as the blood from the gash across your stomach soaked your dark blue uniform and colored it an even darker shade. Taking a few steps towards the nearest wall, you lean against it, legs buckling and gasping for breath. The light-headedness was growing exponentially and you had to force your eyes to stay open and your legs to stay upright. Blinking rapidly and trying to regain focus, you press one hand to the gaping wound on your abdomen. Red bleeds through your fingers and you feel like you might just pass out. Or die. Or both. 

Feeling liquid drip down your chin, you lift your other hand to the right side of your cheek to assess the source of what you assumed had to be blood. Sure enough, your previously bloodless hand was now stained with sticky crimson. Slowly moving your finger on your cheek to figure out where the blood was coming from you felt a sharp pain when your hand made contact with what seemed to be a pretty large cut. 

Shit. That’s gonna leave a scar.

Your scythe was broken so you had no weapons to worry about carrying back to Jujutsu High. Sluggishly taking your phone out of your uniform pocket you pray to every force you know to let your phone be okay. The black cracked screen stares back at you and the reflection of your worn out, disappointed, and bloodied face is all you see.

Oh, you have got to be kidding me. 

Now the question is whether to go to a hospital and get questioned by non-sorcerers about the horrendous wounds covering your entire body or, to go to Shoko and get patched up and hopefully not get asked too many questions and look like an absolute idiot. 

Shoko will ask questions and she’ll obviously be concerned. If Shoko knows, Satoru and Suguru are bound to find out and they won’t be happy with the higher-ups about this… misjudgment.

So, the hospital sounds better. But the nearest hospital is further from my current location than jujutsu high. 

Your breathing is getting shallower and your head feels so light you feel like it’ll just fall off. Closing your eyes and taking the deepest breath you could take without feeling like your stomach will tear open from the searing pain, you decide.

Fuck it. Shoko it is.

Pushing yourself off the wall with one hand still clutched to your bleeding stomach you start moving towards Jujutsu High. You control your breathing and use every last bit of cursed energy you have left to staunch the bleeding and somewhat ease your pain. With that, you urge your legs to move as fast as physically possible without breaking down.

---

You don’t know how you made it without bleeding out in the middle of the road, but the gates of Jujutsu High have never looked prettier. But, the sight of the stairs was enough to make bile rise to your throat. Swallowing it down and heaving some more, you make your way up the neverending steps of your inevitable doom.

Upon reaching the final step, your legs give out and you fall, wounded cheek first onto the stoned pavement. The pain was like nothing you’ve ever felt before; shooting upwards to your neurons and all the way down your body, right to the tips of your fingers and toes. 

It feels so nice to lie down. No no, get the hell up and go to Shoko. Or all this damn walking would’ve been for absolutely nothing.

Hours was it? Or minutes? You’re not sure but you managed to get back up. After first turning from your side to your back and then bending one leg and then using one hand to help your body up and then finally sitting up. Then at a snail’s pace, managing to stand up on your two feet you start moving towards the morgue, where Shoko spends most of her time anyways. That was your best bet. And if she wasn’t there, well then death seemed like the next best option. 

Slugging your way to the morgue, one hand still clutched to your stomach, you aggressively slap your free hand on the doorknob and turn it with your full body weight on the door. The door swings open and unable to keep your balance, you fall again, right cheek hitting the cold floor for the second time that day. 

All you remember hearing before your eyes finally shut is the sound of a chair screeching on the floor followed by the sound of rapid footsteps and a string of unintelligible words you assumed belonged to Shoko.

---

Darkness. More darkness. Muted voices. Yelling. Some more darkness. Pain.

When you finally open your eyes, everything is a blur. You blink a few times and look around until your eyes find something to focus on. The white walls, the green curtains, and the smell of antiseptic chemicals all lead you to believe you are in the infirmary. Flexing your hands one, two, three times before slowly lifting your right hand up to gently caress your right cheek, you feel the soft cloth of a bandage taped to your skin. Bringing the same hand down to lay it flat upon the blanket covering your abdomen, you apply the slightest bit of pressure down until you feel a slight prick of pain. Lifting the blanket up you tilt your head down to check the situation. You’re wearing a flowy hospital gown and your stomach looks a bit bulky. Feeling around the wound site you realize there’s a bandage there too. Laying your hand back down by your side, you stare up at the ceiling, wondering how you were even alive.

The creaking of the door opening breaks you from your stupor. 

“That was fast. Thought you’d be out for longer,” comes the smooth voice, the smell of cigarettes and that familiar sandalwood sweet perfume you know only belongs to Shoko.

Turning your head to the side you watch her sit down on the chair next to you fiddling with an unlit cigarette and crossing her legs. Her bangs almost cover her left eye and you notice how tired she looks. She sighs and looks at you with a lazy smile, fingers still twirling the cigarette with ease, she asks, “How you feeling?”

You shift and push yourself up to lean your back against the headrest of the bed. With a loud exhale you look back at her with a half-assed smile, “I’m great actually. Good job, doc.” You give her a thumbs up and hope it’ll be enough to squash any more questions she might have.

With her smile still on her face, she looks down at the cigarette and hums, “You know, Gojo was about to unleash hell on the higher-ups for giving you that mission.”

Your smile is immediately replaced with a frown and you feel unbelievably small upon hearing this. With a scowl you ask, “I mean, the mission was a success, wasn’t it?" You shrug, "And I’m fine too so win-win.”

Finally, her smile fades as she stares straight at you; and you think this is the most serious you have ever seen Shoko look, “You could’ve died. That doesn’t seem like “fine” to me. For once I actually agree with Gojo. It wasn’t right of them to assign you on that mission, especially without warning.”

“I’m feeling unbelievably underestimated right now, Shoko,” your voice is small as you fiddle with the seams of the blanket covering the lower half of your body.

Shoko sighs and shakes her head, short hair swishing as she leans forward with her arms on her legs, “I’m not doubting your abilities. No one is doubting your skills. But your wounds were really bad, you know that as well as I do.”

It’s quiet for a bit before you speak again. You look at her downturned head as you reach out your hand to hold hers. Your voice is demure.

“I know. I’m sorry for worrying you, Shoko. But I promise I’m fine. And that’s all thanks to you.” You smile at her as she lifts her head enough to lock her eyes with yours. A smile she doesn’t return but her hand holds yours back and you know she believes you now.

“Yeah well try not to pass out with your intestines all over the floor next time, thanks.”

You laugh. “I promise. I hope you’re joking about the intestines though.”

Shoko huffs a short laugh and lets go of your hand. Bringing the cigarette to her mouth as she stands up she says, “Your cursed energy is the reason that’s a joke. It’s amazing you held out for that long. But don’t get too used to that luck.”

Bringing your hand back to your lap, you watch as she makes her way out and shuts the door. 

Immediately after leaving she pokes her head in again and says one thing before leaving again without waiting for your reply, “Please talk to Gojo and Geto. Go now actually.” 

You sigh and bring down one foot then the other. The light-headedness returns once you stand up but it’s manageable, so you look around for a change of clothes when you find a new uniform folded neatly on the side table next to your bed.

Changing into the new uniform, you make your way out to look for either Satoru or Suguru or if you’re lucky (more so unlucky) both of them.

---

Jujutsu High really is beautiful this time of the season. The cherry blossoms are in full bloom and the campus looks downright ethereal. You think while walking the halls how this place would feel if it were just an ordinary high school and not a place teaching kids how to wield weapons and slay curses. The classrooms would be filled with boisterous students and teachers talking in the courtyard. Canteens with flirting couples and students playing football outside. The gymnasium would hold basketball games with students wearing the school jersey and cheering for the school team. It would be different. It wouldn’t be Jujutsu High, you think.

“Well well, look who’s up and walking already,” the loud, smug voice you know only belongs to one white-haired, blue-eyed boy.

Stopping in your tracks you turn around and stand face to face with Satoru. You give him a sheepish smile and with the sweetest voice you can muster you say, “Hey there Satoru! I was just looking for you!”

Satoru scoffs and walks closer to you. 

"Drop the crap."

Oh shit.

Once close enough to touch you he waits for a few beats staring at your face, eyes locked with yours as he occasionally looks at the bandage on your cheek. He breathes your name.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he seethes.

You groan, exasperated but expecting this reaction. 

“I’m okay, Satoru. I don’t get why this is such a big deal honestly.”

You can see his eyes widen behind his sunglasses with pure rage as he scoffs yet again. His voice gets louder and his arms flail around trying to prove his point, 

“Oh, you don’t get why this is a big deal? Well for starters, you could have died. You’re a semi-first grade, why the hell would you even accept a job to kill a special grade curse?” 

“Okay, I didn’t know it was a special grade. And I killed it, didn’t I? Have some faith in me,” your tone matches his and you glower as you cross your hands across your chest.

He starts pacing back and forth, facepalming himself to oblivion as he goes on a rant,

“Oh my- that’s not the point! It’s not about having faith. You were all messed up and half dead and you could’ve been fully dead and we were almost about to kill those stupid old geezers but then Shoko stopped us and I swear if she didn’t we would’ve actually gone through with it. I mean seriously what the hell-“

You stomp forward mid-rant and grab him by the shoulders, forcing him to stop. Your voice is soft but steady like you’re comforting a child in distress.

“Satoru calm down. I’m okay. The curse is dead. It’s fine. Now please breathe.”

He stares at you through his sunglasses. His chest is heaving and fists are clenched by his sides, not trying to move at all even though he could easily shove you away and continue pacing and ranting.

He dips his head down and exhales deeply, shoulders slanted downwards and breathing slowing down. He moves forward as his arms encircle your body and his head rests on top of yours. Your nose is squished against his chest and you can smell his scent; a mix of sweets, laundry detergent, and his signature scent; the smell of dewdrops and what you assume would probably be some expensive brand of perfume. You relax against him as you breathe him in and your arms move to hug him back. Shifting your head to rest your cheek on his chest you hear his heart beat steadily. You close your eyes and get lost in the feeling of Satoru. 

Neither of you say anything, but say everything at the same time. All his thoughts poured into that one hug, and you silently hear them all as you hug him a bit tighter.

You can feel him gulp as his Adam's apple moves against your forehead. His voice is small and honest as he says, “I would kill them all. If you didn’t wake up, I wouldn’t hesitate to kill them all.”

You know he would, so it’s not really a confession. But it feels like a confession. Satoru would turn the world upside down for the people he loves. You know that too well. 

“I know,” your voice is quiet. You feel so safe in Satoru’s arms. You think it’s so embarrassing how safe you feel whenever you’re with him. You feel like a baby; guard down and vulnerable. You’re sure Satoru feels the same way. You’ve never once seen him keep his Infinity on when he’s with you. 

He hugs you tighter and you can feel his heart rate quicken. He takes a deep breath and exhales as he lets you go and looks at you. You tilt your head up and try to find those cerulean blues hidden behind the shade of his sunglasses. Lifting your hand up to push his glasses up to his head you finally look right into the swirling blues of his eyes. They’re like the ocean. Calm, but with an unmistakable power surging within them. Like the energy you feel in the water right before a wave is formed, the blues in his eyes seem to pulse and flow with power. But they’re also still and serene, and filled with so much emotion. His eyes hold so much more than just power. 

His hand comes up to your bandaged cheek and he slowly takes off one side of the tape and then another until the bandage flaps open. You suddenly feel smaller and even more vulnerable. You haven’t even seen your face with the scar yet (you’re positive there’s a scar). His eyes zone in on the cut as he traces the raised flesh lining the center of your cheek. As his finger runs down the scar, you envision just how large the cut really is; about 3 inches vertical. It didn’t hurt anymore. Shoko really is a fantastic sorcerer, you think. Not moving your eyes from Satoru’s even once, you see the whirlpool of emotions swirl around in those crystal blues. Anger, sadness, worry, relief, adoration, hope.

His jaw clenches as he furrows his brows ever so slightly, fingers moving across your scar with featherlight pressure. Moving his gaze to your eyes, he rests his entire palm against your wounded cheek. Adjusting his hand to hold the side of your face perfectly like two pieces of the same puzzle, his thumb lays on the scar with a gentleness you didn’t know Satoru had. 

It’s so quiet, you can hear your heart pounding in your chest. The occasional breeze and the mellow chirping of birds bring you back to the world, otherwise, you’re positive you’d forget all about the outside world and be content standing in the middle of the hall in Jujutsu High wrapped in Gojo Satoru’s arms. 

You and Satoru were friends. Of course, you loved him, but that love is no different from the love you have for Shoko and Suguru. They’re your home. You’re a family. You know they love you too. 

But right now, it feels different than all the other times Satoru has held you. Held your hand, held your face, hugged you, clumsily threw his lanky arms over your shoulders, ran his fingers through your hair, wiped the blood off your face, flicked you on the forehead, patted you on the head, messed up your hair, rested his head on top of yours. This particular instance feels different. More intimate, perhaps. 

Maybe because you really could’ve died. Your life was hanging by a thread and you don’t seem to understand that. You were so prepared to die, that such a close brush with death’s scythe didn’t affect you in the slightest. This job comes with a guarantee of death. Even though that is life in general; being a jujutsu sorcerer means your days are already numbered. Anytime you embark on a mission, your chances of dying are much higher than your chances of survival. So you always went out on the field with the thought of dying. Knowing you could die and leave everything and everyone behind. But this was the first time you felt you were one step through death’s door. 

You can feel Satoru’s breath on your face, and you think he might kiss you. You keep one hand on his back as you lift the other to hold his wrist near your jaw. As he leans forward you close your eyes bracing for the kiss to reach your lips. But it doesn’t reach the place you were expecting. Instead, the lightest kiss touches your forehead, almost chaste; as he lingers there for a moment and then moves back. 

By now, your heart is racing and you think you’re dreaming. Only when his hands leave you, do you open your eyes and realize this isn’t a dream. 

He exhales as he stands straight, with both hands by his side. Bringing his sunglasses back down, perched on the bridge of his nose, he gives you a small smile, “I’ll see you later, yeah?”

You try to mask your stunned expression with a smile and nod. 

As he turns to leave he says, “Suguru’s at the gymnasium, probably.”

You release the breath you didn’t realize you were holding, “Alright.”

He walks away and you go in the other direction.

part 2

[silkjade]

SPARKS AMIDST THE SNOW

scaramouche x reader ⤀ warnings: gn!reader, second chance romance ⤀ synopsis: he meets you again for the first time since erasing himself from irminsul, and new hope flickers in the barren cold. a/n: for the best reading experience, pls think of the outro to all too well (10 min version) while u read this !

when scaramouche inevitably accompanies the golden haired traveller on their journey to snezhnaya, the last thing he expected was a pit stop in your little village on the outskirts of the capital. and although his puppet body does not shrink in the face of this nation's biting cold, his skin burns under the curious, yet cautious, gaze of those once familiar to him.

he keeps his head down, dipping his hat so that its large brim might hide his visage, eager to avoid any unwarranted attention. still, his eyes cannot help but wander and his heart, imaginary as it may be, cannot help but wonder.

were you well? the last he'd seen of you, he had promised to return a god��one who would whisk you away from the barren cold of snezhnaya to live out your days in glory as his mortal consort. but for all that had transpired, and then that fateful traipse beneath the irminsul, he's now no more than just another stranger passing through—fleeting as the falling snow, just another memory to be buried in the desolate stillness of winter.

he cares not for the stars in the sky, yet somehow they still dictate that his traveling companions would task him with purchasing commodities, of course from your family's stall. he's long grown out of his naivety; knows that in this infinite realm of possibilities, there’d always be the chance of meeting you again, slim as it may be. if it really came to, he had been prepared to let you live your life, free of him this time around, but it seems this world has its own twisted sense of humor, for he cannot tear his eyes from the ring that sits upon your finger.

"that ring. where did you get it?" he's never been one for small talk, but the biting curiosity rivals that of the wind, as it chips away at his exterior. he keeps his tone even, ignoring the multitude of emotions whirring in his head, though irritation clearly seems to buzz the loudest.

it should have been impossible that a ring he'd forged with his own hands should still exist, but as the fate of this world has yet to reflect that… if he hadn't given you the ring, then how? or perhaps even who... the cold, gunmetal glint laughs in his face as your swift fingers wrap up his purchase.

the stranger's question takes you by surprise, and you look up, taken aback by the intensity of his indigo gaze—beautiful, and bitter, and so blatantly familiar, yet you cannot quite figure out why.

your village is nowhere near the main road, so it isn't often that you'd host any foreign guests; even if you did, you're sure you'd remember if someone like that were to ever have passed through. nevertheless, you flex your fingers, pulled out of your thoughts by his impatient sigh.

"I'm not sure. I've had it ever since I could remember."

you're the same as he remembers, he thinks. a rose amidst the snow, with frost resting in your hair and on the curls of your lashes. out of habit, he takes your hand, inspecting the ring at a closer proximity.

'how rude,' you think. and yet your hand in his, feels comfortable, and warm, and right. like an electric charge drawing two magnets home to the other. it’d be blasphemy to pull away, but you manage to do so anyway, furrowing your brows at his boldness, the frown on your lips more so a reflection of your confusion, rather than displeasure.

“if you wanted to look, you could’ve just asked,” you mumble, as you slip the ring off your finger, offering it to him in the palm of your hand.

the detailed metalwork, the particular branding imprinted in the iron… there’s no denying the influence of the raiden gokaden, though it was perhaps, a subconscious decision made from muscle memory. in hindsight, he thinks that, in the moment, he must have felt—still feels—that same overwhelming affection that came as second nature to kabukimono. after all, it was forged as a promise of his love, and there’s no question about it when, hidden beneath his clothes, its pair hangs on a chain around his neck.

"it’s made with excellent craftsmanship," he boasts, "any merchant worth their weight, would give you a good price for it." he figures you might as well get something out of it, and a piece like this, though meaningless now, is still sure to last you until at least the next winter.

but a stubborn pout is painted across your snow-kissed features. "absolutely not! it’s actually quite dear to me, you know..."

scaramouche scoffs at the irony. ‘why?’ he wants to ask. he is not foolish enough to believe himself an exception from the rules of this world; not when he's already convinced himself to give up on chasing the impossible. still, here you are, turning destiny on its head—his heart, right within reach.

“it can’t be that dear, if you’d so willingly hand it off to a stranger.” his face reveals nothing, though he cannot say the same for the bile that rises in his throat. he crosses his arms, a brow raised in skepticism. "how do you know I won't run off with it right now?"

“I don’t,” you start, “so I suppose you could call it a leap of faith.”

“or a doomed attempt at flight,” he counters. “you’d leave something so precious up to fate?”

you ponder for a moment as to why you feel so drawn to this stranger, why this back and forth comes so easily, why you seem to somehow just trust him.

"we don’t get many visitors here,” you start, “and as fate should have it, the day we do, it happens to be someone as interesting as you. that must count for something, no?”

the realist he’s learned to embody rolls his eyes at such ridiculous notions: your blind optimism… putting such faith in these false stars…. but the tenderness he had buried begs to differ, planting roots between the cavities of his chest, sprouting until it breaks through the surface.

he takes a further study of the intricate details, the careful inazuman script engraved on its body. ‘my heart,’ he had wrote.

scaramouche dips his head as his fingers close a fist around the piece, the large brim of his hat hiding the fondness glimmering in his eyes, and the ghostly smile settling on his lips. he does not cringe as he recalls the lingering remnants of kabukimono's innocence: stubbornly deluding himself to believe that his hollowed chest was naught for his natural lack of a heart, but because fate had dictated you to be its keeper.

perhaps the warmth of sumeru had indeed rubbed off on him—melted the frost that crawled upon and tore his skin, whilst teaching him to hope again, not for anyone else’s sake, but for his own. what was that vahumana saying? it’s difficult for people to truly understand themselves—and as much as he’d like to disagree, judging by his current predicament, he knows he cannot.

“have you ever considered that this ring might be one half of a pair?” he tosses it in the air, nonchalantly, as if he were merely flipping a coin, catching it mid-way before you have the chance to swipe it back.

“what do you suppose fate would have to say about that?”

it’s almost impossible to tell whether he’s truly genuine in his queries, but the mischievous gleam in his bright eyes, and the smug look on his face, seem to nullify any regards you may have had. your brows twitch in vexation. was he not just here to buy provisions? and yet he toys with you so…

“well if that were the case, then it would be between me and whoever owns the other half,” you huff, reaching over once again in an attempt to snatch back your belonging, only to miss by mere seconds thanks to a quick slight of his hand.

breathing out something between a chuckle and a scoff, scaramouche tugs at the thin chain around his neck, hard enough for it to snap right off, and toss in your direction.

"a leap of faith," he says plainly. it lands in the palms of your hands: a ring, near identical. 'my soul' it reads. if he lacked a heart, then it could only have been forged from his soul.

a flurry of questions swarm in your head, as you stare at his ring. you want to ask him why and how, but he's already pivoted away, the tassels of his hat barely missing you by inches, as he quickly grabs his purchase.

“who are you,” you manage to blurt out, calling out to him, and asking him to wait, so he might answer these questions he’s planted in your heart, but he only bids you farewell with a lazy wave of his hand.

though there's nothing he'd like more than to hear the sweet song of his name falling from your lips, he's learned it best to leave the past where it belongs. once he's settled his scores... then he'll get his second chance with you—he'll make sure of it, vowing to come back for you, not as kunikuzushi who you had once known him, but he hopes you might one day be able to love him as he is, as well.

‘my soul.’ your new ring reads. you shake your head, pursing your lips at the mysterious wanderer, wondering if you’d ever see him again, but a gust of wind blows your way—not a prickling cold as you’re used to, but a warm summer breeze that seems to caress your cheeks oh so sweetly.

perhaps it's only in your head, but you swear the wind seems to carry the whisper of a name in its flurry. 'and don't you forget it,' it seems to say.

a/n2: pleaseeee associate this with the outro of all too well (10 min version) like imagine the camera slow panning out amidst the falling snow, to the hopes of another chance together (⸝⸝o̴̶̷᷄‸o̴̶̷̥᷅⸝⸝) anyways, tysm for reading, reblogs/feedback vry much appreciated ♡

© silkjade — do not steal, plagiarize, translate or repost any content onto any other platform

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

What is Broken I (Aemond Targaryen x Pregnant Wife!Reader)

The war, the "Dance of the Dragons," as they have come to call it, is over. And yet, you are not celebrating. You have just learned that your husband, Prince Aemond, spent the last months of the war with another woman in his bed. Not only that, but his mistress is pregnant. Just like you...

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (third person, no use of Y/N), side Aemond Targaryen x Alys Rivers

Warnings: Angst, pregnancy and related symptoms, infidelity, some pushing and hitting

Author's Note: It's finally here! Sorry y'all, this month a) I found out my dog has terminal cancer, b) I got covid, and c) my laptop randomly went kaput in the middle of an episode of the West Wing. But it's finally here! As it says on the taglist, this will be a three-part series.

Taglist is done via reblogs

What is Broken

It was a lovely night in King’s Landing.

There was not a cloud to be seen for miles, and the stars were bright and twinkling. The waters of Blackwater Bay were calm and reflected the full moon as clearly as a freshly polished mirror. Even the wind seemed in a pleasant mood, carrying the sweet scent of spring on its back as it drifted lazily through the windows of the Red Keep.

Every bit of it grated on her heart like a whetstone across dull steel.

The worst night of one’s life should not be so lovely, she thought. It should be terrible. With storms and an angry sea, and perhaps even a raging fire somewhere in the distance.

If the night had been so, she would not have seen it when, only a few moments ago, a massive winged form landed in the fields just outside the city with a lowing wail, the last person she wanted to see strapped to its back. Thankfully, Aemond was far enough away that she could not make him out against the mass of his mount.

The people would cheer him in the streets as he rode toward the castle. The victorious Prince, returning after long months at war, having not only ended the war itself but avenged the deaths of his eldest sister, brother, and his little nieces and nephews.

Daemon Targaryen and his dragon had perished above the God’s Eye, the waters below boiling when their bodies fell into its depths.

With the Rogue Prince gone, the war was swiftly over. Rhaenyra was killed, her last remaining son taken as King Aegon’s ward, and the royal host returned to King’s Landing victorious. Even Cregan Stark had agreed to halt his advance South, redirecting to Harrenhal for peace talks.

Harrenhal. A cursed place, now to be the site of great diplomacy.

Even thinking about the horrible castle was enough to turn her stomach.

A letter detailing exactly what had occurred within those melted stone halls during the war, written by the late Prince Daemon himself, sat on her vanity. A final act of retribution against his soon-to-be killer.

She knew that her husband was only returning home because of the letter.

My dear Princess, Despite the conflict between our sides of the family, I have always thought you a rather sweet girl. Therefore, it is with the deepest regret that I must now shoulder the burden of informing you of your beloved husband’s improper conduct during this awful conflict…

A pang of nausea shot through her stomach as she remembered the words.

A mistress… some Strong bastard… called Alys, my spies tell me… every night, without fail… from the very first week… another bastard babe in the whore’s witchly womb…

There was a pounding from within her, soft thumps and kicks as the life inside her own womb became unsettled by its mother’s roiling emotions. She laid a hand over her belly, whispering soothing words she did not believe to try and calm it – and herself.

Once, she would never have believed Daemon’s stories. But then word came that, after the final battle, Aemond returned to Harrenhal for less than an hour before he again mounted Vhagar and flew for King’s Landing. It was not like Aemond to make such swift decisions. Nor did it strike her as the action of an innocent man.

When she called for Ser Willis Fell, her heart had been filled with hope that the new Lord Commander of the Kingsguard would dispel her worries. That she had only allowed herself to consider the possibility of Aemond’s infidelity because her mind was addled by her delicate condition.

“My princess, I cannot, in good conscience, tell you a lie…”

She had screamed then. And cried. And possibly thrown things at the Kingsguard, but she couldn’t entirely remember.

All she could remember was how Aemond kissed her on the day he left for Harrenhal. Deeply and passionately. Until she could feel his love for her as clearly as her own heartbeat. Then he knelt before her and placed a single, tender kiss to her belly, to where they had only just learned that their babe grew.

Less than a moon’s turn later, he had taken another woman to his bed, and seeded her, too.

Now he was returning home – in haste.

He knew, then. That Daemon had let slip his secret. Perhaps it had even been the Rogue Prince’s last words. Spat in Aemond’s face in the seconds before his body tumbled into the lake below. Had she not been caught in the crossfire, she might have admired it for the masterful manipulation it was.

But in seeking to destroy Aemond, Daemon had destroyed her as well.

She was broken from her thoughts by the distant sound of people cheering. Aemond was making his way through the city more quickly than she thought. The streets weren’t as crowded as she hoped they would be this late at night.

It was late. Far later than she had become accustomed to. These days, she was often in bed and asleep not long after the sun had set, hoping that she would somehow find a full night’s sleep. Never to any avail.

For a moment, she thought of slipping beneath the blankets and pretending to be asleep so she would not have to speak to Aemond until the morning. But he would only crawl into bed with her, and then he would see when she inevitably woke…

That was not a conversation she wanted to have today. Really, there was no conversation she wanted to have with Aemond, only that which must be had.

She was resolved that Aemond would not find her weeping or stewing in heartbreak. No, she would not let him think he held such power over her, even if he did. He always had, even when they were young children.

So, she resumed her nightly routine as though nothing was wrong, as if she was entirely unaffected by his betrayal. Sitting at her vanity, she began to unbraid her hair. Her maids usually did it for her, but she had dismissed them the moment she read Daemon’s letter, not wanting to see their pitying faces for longer than she had to.

Since learning she was with child, everyone – including her maids – fussed over her constantly. It was not without reason, she knew. There was indeed very good reason why everyone was so concerned about her. But after six months, she was tired of it.

Just the simple act of taking her braids out and brushing through her loose hair by herself brought a welcome feeling of independence that she had not felt in some time. Perhaps ever.

That feeling slowly faded away as the cheering and celebration from the city came closer and closer, until she could hear gauntleted hands clapping in the castle courtyard below.

Aemond was here.

Her hand fell to cradle her stomach and was immediately met by three quick thumps against her palm. She knew the child did not understand what was happening and was only responding to the touch itself, much in the same way a cat arches its back when petted.

Still, it comforted her. It made her feel like she was not alone.

“Kirimvossi, rūhossas,” she whispered with a smile before resuming brushing her hair.

Her smile did not last.

Sooner than she had hoped, she heard the clanking of armor as the guards outside her door straightened, bowed, then retreated.

A shiver went through her, stealing the air from her chest while cold gathered in her heart and began sinking to her stomach. Dragging her brush through her hair suddenly took great effort, as did every breath.

Yet it was surprisingly easy to banish the tears forming in her eyes and school her face into tired neutrality. To glance only once at the figure now lingering in the doorway before turning away without acknowledging him.

She did not know if it was strength or cowardice.

He called her name, his voice rasping and low – desperate. “We must speak.”

She did not respond. She didn’t even look at him.

Aemond sighed, calling her name again. “Please, my love. Look at me.”

Still, she did not move.

“Ābrazȳrītsos,” he said, a hint of command slipping into his plea. Little wife.

He had always loved calling her little. According to their mother, the first thing Aemond did when he saw her as a babe was exclaim, “She’s so little!”

Ever since, he’d been calling her little.

First, she was simply hāedus. Little sister.

Whenever she tried to follow Aemond when he went somewhere she wasn’t allowed or did something she wasn’t allowed to do, he would gently scold her, “Haedus, you’re too little.” Inevitably, she would cry. About half the time, her crying was enough to sway him.

Then, she became zaldrīzītsos. Little dragon.

“You’re my zaldrīzītsos,” he would say when she hugged him tightly after Aegon or one of the Strong boys mocked him for not having a dragon. She didn’t have one either, but she never felt she needed one, for she had Aemond.

For a time, she was maegītsos. Little witch.

Aemond had dubbed her so when she came to visit him in the Maester’s tower while he recovered from the loss of his eye. The Maester would give her some “special leaves” so she could brew a “magic potion” to help Aemond get better. In truth, the potion was simply tea. But Aemond always pretended that the potion had indeed worked miracles, just to make her happy.

Once he was healed, she was again zaldrīzītsos.

Since he finally had a true dragon, she worried that he would not want her anymore. When she came to him in tears one day as he was leaving the Keep to see Vhagar, he hugged her tightly and told her, “You will always be my zaldrīzītsos.” Then he brought her with him to ride Vhagar. It was the best day of her life.

Or it was, until the day they were officially betrothed, and she became raqiarzītsos. Little darling.

It was what he would call her every morning when he greeted her with a chaste kiss on the cheek. How he would summon her to his side at court events. What he moaned when they kissed unchastely each evening before saying goodnight.  

She had been so excited when she became his ‘ābrazȳrītsos.’ The first time he had whispered it in her ear at the wedding feast, she’d blushed so brightly that their grandsire inquired about her health. The next time he said it, Aemond made sure they were alone.

Little sister. Little dragon. Little witch. Little darling. Little wife.

Always little.

Once, the names had made her heart flutter with delight. Now, they only prompted another wave of nausea.

Aemond was everything to her – he always had been. She thought he felt the same way, but it seemed she was wrong. To him, she was just “little.”

She flinched at the sound of his voice, of that word. How he spoke to her like she was some frightened animal poised to lash out.

Yet at the same time, her heart melted to hear the voice she loved so dearly after so long an absence. Merely the sight of him in the mirror sent a feeling of warmth and belonging flooding through her.

She hated him.

She loved him.

She was angrier at him than she had ever been in her life.

She wanted nothing more than to run into his arms.

She could do nothing but continue to brush her hair and stare into her reflection.

Aemond sighed, finally stepping into the room and shutting the door behind him. “You won’t even look at me, ābrazȳrītsos?”

She gave no answer.

He whispered her name again, “Abrazȳrītsos, please,” Aemond’s voice turned quiet as he reached her and set a hand on her shoulder as if to turn her around by force, but she wrenched herself out of his grip, staring down at the floor. Though she did not look at him, she could almost feel the misery on his face. “Please look at me.”

“If I look at you, I fear I will be sick,” she explained weakly. “I don’t want to harm the babe.”

His irritation began to surge, she knew it even without seeing him. His breathing quickened slightly, and she could hear the creaking of leather as he rolled his shoulders and balled his hands into fists – he had been so hurried he had not yet taken off his riding gloves.

“You are my wife,” he huffed. She could hear him attempt to contain the sharp edge of barely contained anger in his soft voice. At least he was considerate enough to hide it. “You are my sister – my blood. You love me as I love you, and you carry my child within you. Yet you cannot even look at me?”

Fury roared to life like a surging flame within her. How dare he be angry with her when he is the one who ruined everything?

“Why did you come back?” she spat back, quietly yet viciously.

His stare continued to weigh on her through the mirror. “I promised you the day I left that I would return to you when the war was done,” he said, half-smiling at the memory. “The war is over, so here I am.”

She shook her head. “The war is not over.”

“Of course, it is. Daemon and Rhaenyra are dead, and – ”

“The fighting is over,” she corrected. “But the war is not finished. Peace must still be brokered. As Prince Regent, that is your responsibility. Yet you are here rather than with the rest of the soldiers and politicians at Harrenhal. Why?”

She wanted him to be the one to say it.

Aemond sighed, raising a hand to touch her, then pulling away. “Is it so hard to believe that I missed you and simply couldn’t stand to stay away a moment longer?”

She was moving before she could process what she was doing, standing from the vanity and turning to face Aemond, her hand raised and ready to strike.

But he caught her arm by the wrist, stopping her moments before her palm could impact his cheek – his scarred cheek. His eye was wide, filled with sadness and shock in equal measure. He turned to look at her hand as if it was some kind of curiosity he had never seen before, like he couldn’t understand how it could ever be raised against him.

Tears were spilling down her cheeks when he turned back to her, and his expression gave over entirely to despair. Aemond opened his mouth, but words failed him.

He lowered her hand gently, bowing his head slightly to the right to give her an easier target.

It broke something within her.

She dove toward him, wrapping her arms around him as she cried into his chest, clinging to him as if he were her the only thing keeping her anchored to the ground.

But the moment Aemond moved to return the embrace, she shoved him away. It only moved him a step back, still within her reach. He did not move closer, and when she began to pound her fists furiously against his chest, he didn’t try to stop her.

“Why did you come back?” she demanded as she pushed him once more. “Why did you not just stay in Harrenhal with your whore and leave us alone?”

Aemond did not respond. His mouth hung open, but he said nothing. He could do nothing but stare at her, his eye flitting between her belly, where his child had grown –so much he could hardly believe it – in his absence, to her eyes.

Those eyes. A warm, rich brown that shone with gold in the firelight. It was Aemond’s favorite color. For whenever he saw it, in her eyes or their mother’s, he knew he was home.

But now those eyes he loved so dearly were filled with tears of his own making. He wanted nothing more than to see them dry and sparkling with love once more.

“Abrazȳrītsos, you must know I will always return to you,” he begged, stepping forward and cautiously placing a hand on her belly. Almost immediately, he felt a stirring within her, and a weak pushing against him.

His child.

Was it reaching for him, or pushing him away?

Before he could truly ponder either answer, his wife pulled away from him, her arms curling protectively around her abdomen.

He had to say something. Something to take her pain away, to make everything well again so he would have the chance to hold her and the babe. Even if it was a lie, he would say it if it made her forgive him.

“Raqiarzītsos,” he started, only for her to take another step away and scowl at him. He sighed as the realization of how deeply had hurt her truly sunk in. He softly called her name, “My love, it was one mistake. One moment of weakness, I swear –”

“Liar!” Her voice had grown rough with her fury, and Aemond flinched at the sound. He had never heard her shout like that, not even when she was a babe herself.

She saw his discomfort and reveled in it. Seeing him suffer a fraction of what she felt gave her a sinful spark of joy, one that she felt no need to beg forgiveness from the Seven for. She turned away from him and retrieved the letter from Daemon, panting as she looked over the words once more.

“A mistress now lies in your husband’s bed. She was a wetnurse at Harrenhal, some Strong bastard. She must be something truly special, for she is the only Strong – trueborn or bastard – to have survived Aemond’s rather thorough purging of the bloodline. I suppose it is now clear why. I have not been able to learn much about her. She is called Alys, my spies tell me.”

With smoldering eyes, she turned to Aemond and began to read aloud. “She reports to your husband’s chambers every night without fail, as she has done from the very first week he arrived at that cursed place. One of my spies even reported that he calls her to him after each battle or razing of some poor Riverlanders, as well as anytime he feels frustrated. It is no surprise, then, that there is another bastard babe in the whore’s witchly womb. Your brothers do have a fondness for seeding unsuitable women, don’t they?”

When she looked up from the letter, she found Aemond’s face set in anger, his fingers curled as though they were aching to grip his sword and run someone through. His eye flew from the letter to her face, the rage burning there only softening for a moment.

The left corner of Aemond’s mouth twitched upward involuntarily, and he jerked his head to the side to try and hide it. “You would believe Daemon’s word over mine, abrazȳrītsos? After all he has done?”

She let the letter drift back to the table. “If all I had was his word, I would not have believed it,” she explained. “But it is not only his word.”

Aemond exhaled slowly, looking away from her. Incensed as he was, he would not make her the target of his ire. Never her.  “Will you tell me who else?”

“No,” she answered, shaking her head slightly. There was a dark glint in his eye that promised violent retribution upon whoever she would name. No one deserved torture, or perhaps even death, for telling the truth.

With a nod, Aemond closed his eyes and bowed his head. He would not press her further, though she knew he would likely still try to find out who it was by other means. But in that moment, she could not bring herself to care.

She was so tired.

She had anticipated a long fight, and thought she was ready for it. In the hours she waited for Aemond’s return, she had carefully tended the spark of her anger so it would burn only when she commanded. But the moment she saw him, it escaped her grasp and became a wildfire in a dry grassland. It was fierce, quick, and lethal. In an instant, it had consumed every bit of her strength, leaving only the barest smoldering remains in its wake.

After a few more silent moments, Aemond again opened his eyes and looked down at his wife.

“I will not insult your intelligence by trying to deny it any further,” he said, clenching his fist to stop himself from reaching for her, “and I know there is nothing I can say to excuse what I have done. But my love, I truly am sorry. For what I did, and for the hurt I have caused you.”

She stared at him, trying to detect and hint of insincerity. She found none.

“I love you. I know I have given you ample reason to doubt that but…” he swallowed thickly. “I do love you, abrazȳrītsos. I always have and I always will. I know in my heart that the gods made us for each other. And if they had fated us to others, I swear I would have defied their will and ripped them from the heavens so that I could love you.”

He licked his lips and removed his gloves before offering her his shaking hand.

Perhaps it was the result of the weariness pervading her entire being. Perhaps it was the tug of an unborn babe reaching out, somehow knowing its father was near. Perhaps it was the sliver of her soul that had always belonged to Aemond beckoning her to rejoin him and become whole again.

Whatever the reason, despite the protestations of her aching heart and her rational mind, she put her hand in his.

It did not fit as well as it used to.

If Aemond noticed, he did not acknowledge it. He raised their joined hands to his lips to kiss before resuming his plea. “I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, and I will understand if you do not give it, but for the sake of my heart and the love we share, I must ask it. Abrazȳrītsos, can you ever forgive me?”

The world fell silent, and so did she.

If she focused, she could hear her heartbeat, along with two others, thumping out three different rhythms. It was discordant, yet somehow comforting. She listened to it for a moment, trying to hear a melody within it. But there was nothing.

She turned her attention to her hand in Aemond’s grasp. There was a welcome heat where his skin touched hers, but also a tingling numbness. A slight discomfort, akin to wearing new gloves before they had softened and molded to her hands.  

Then, she looked at Aemond. At the face that was more familiar to her than her own. It had changed in the last six months – more so than she would have expected. The color of his skin had deepened from so many days spent in the sun, and there were new blemishes that had not been there before. The shadows under his eyes, the roughness where it once was smooth, and the new smudge of a scar above the corner of his right brow.

All of it was strange. Known, yet unknown. Question, but no answer.

“I don’t know,” she whispered.

“What…” Aemond’s lip quirked again as he cupped her cheek with his free hand. “I don’t understand, what don’t you know, my love?”

She winced slightly at the foreign sensation of his hand against her skin. He had callouses now he didn’t have before. “I don’t know how to forgive you, or if I even want to. I just feel… tired.”

Aemond nodded, bowing his head once more to hide the disappointment he could not keep from his face, and looked at her belly. “Of course, you are tired,” he said, “I am sorry, I did not consider how late it was.”

She caught his eye flicking towards the bed – their bed, or at least, it used to be. A cold coil of panic began to wrap itself around her heart. He could not sleep here. He could not see…

“I would prefer if you slept elsewhere,” she said hastily before he could ask otherwise. “For tonight, I would like to be alone.”

Tears shone in Aemond’s eye for a moment, but he did not let them fall. He gave her a tight smile and again kissed her hand. “If that is what you wish, I will obey, but may I ask one thing?”

It would be foolish to say yes. Foolish to give him the opportunity to persuade her at all when she knew how easily he had always been able to sway her with his sweet words. Foolish to do anything but send him away immediately.

And yet…

“What would you ask?” she whispered, betrayed by the foolish little part of her heart and soul that was still and would always be his ‘hāedus.’

“I ask only for a few moments, and then I will leave, as you wish. But it has been half a year, abrazȳrītsos, since I have seen you, or heard your voice, or held you in my arms.” He squeezed her hand, drawing her attention to his face, open and earnest and pleading. “So for only a few moments, please, allow me to hold you again.”

His softly spoken words were like a siren’s song, and she began to feel faint as she struggled to resist falling under its spell. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, begging her mind to calm and think clearly.

“I promise, I will do nothing more than hold you,” he said, running his hand delicately over her cheek. “I just want to hold my wife.”

He did not deserve it, she knew. Nor did he deserve to be touching her as he did now, though she did not push him away. He did not even deserve her consideration of his request.

But it had been half a year for her, too.

Half a year with no one to kiss her good morning or good night. No one to carry her to bed when her legs and back ached. No one to hold her hair and whisper soothing words when she was sick.

She’d had her mother, her sister, and her maids. Even a Maester, at one very low point. But that was not the same. It was not the touch of a beloved husband.

Despite her anger, she was aching to be held by him.

“Just for a few moments,” she whispered through trembling lips. “Then you must leave.”

She did not have time to regret her decision before Aemond pulled her forward and wrapped his arms around her, kissing her forehead as he thanked her. And before she could pull away, he was turning her slowly, so her back was pressed flush against his chest.

“It’s alright,” he assured her when she made a soft noise of confusion. “Trust me, abrazȳrītsos.”

His hands skated down her arms, his touch featherlight and yet searing. She gasped as he began to cradle her belly, her head lolling back into his shoulder. If given one more breath, she would have pushed him away, but then…

He laced his fingers together and took the weight of her belly into his own arms.

It was a rapturous feeling, to have the burden of it lifted from her and her eternally aching spine, even for a moment. She sighed in relief and leaned back further into her husband. Gratitude flooded through her, and her hands flew to rest over his.

“Oh, Aemond,” she breathed into his neck.

Gods, she had missed him so much. Everything would have been so much easier if he’d been here to hold her like this. He had always known been able to help her, she should have known that even with their first child, he would somehow know what to do…

Her eyes snapped open, and her blood ran cold.

This was their first child, but it was not Aemond’s only child.

He had another, far away, within a different mother. A mother whom he had been there for as she grew, Who, thanks to her role as a wetnurse, would be able to teach him exactly how to help.

“Did you hold Alys like this?”

Aemond stiffened behind her, and his grip tightened. “Abrazȳrītsos…”

“Don’t lie to me, Aemond. Not anymore.”

Silence, then…

“Yes, I did.”

She seized his hands and ripped them apart, tearing herself out of his grasp as quickly as she could, heedless of him reaching for her. Stumbling, she crossed the room before turning back to him, eyes blazing through new tears.

“Do not ever touch me like you touched her,” she spat. Her rage had reignited, the barren grassland now an endless field of flame.

Aemond’s mouth hung open as he looked to her in despair, his arms held helplessly in front of him. His voice broke as he said her name – a plea. “I just wanted to hold you. To help you.”

“And you did. For a few moments, just as you asked. Now leave, as you promised.”

He was looking at her like she was a wild beast, primed to lash out should he make one wrong move. But she didn’t mind, for that was exactly what she felt like. He had made her feel that way, and she hated him for it.

Aemond just stood there, and she could see his mind working desperately to figure out what to say to placate her. She would not give him the chance.

“Leave!” she screamed, her voice ripping its way out of her throat, burning as it went. She could not help but wonder if that was what dragons felt when they breathed fire.

Lowering his arms, Aemond nodded. “I will leave, abrazȳrītsos. Just as I promised. I am sorry.”

“I don’t care.” She meant it. His apology meant absolutely nothing to her raging, broken heart.

She watched him carefully as he turned and walked through the door, ready to rage at him again if she needed to. Perhaps she would actually breathe fire the next time.

Aemond did not try anything to soothe her or convince her to change her mind. The warrior prince knew when a battle was lost. But she knew he had not yet ceded the war.

That much was clear when he paused in the doorway, looking back at her in determination. “I love you, abrazȳrītsos, and nothing will ever change that.”

Then he closed the door, and was gone.

But she could not stop crying, for she knew he would return.

Worse, she knew that as angry as she was, she loved him, too. And nothing would ever change that, either.

-

[phfenomena]

❝i think there’s been a glitch.❞ || tom blyth x f!reader

| request - glitch by taylor swift would be so perfect for tom

| A/N - 1989 aesthetic with a midnights song?? let me cook. just let me cook. 1989 is both beach and city so you know i’m grilling up some shit that will have you kicking your feet.

(divider by @dvluc)

the sun was boiling every inch residing below it, and you were included. rachel, being the saint she is, conjured up the idea of having a beach day while you were all still in L.A.

the car was full of laughter and loud music. you had rented a jeep and were more than happy to take the top off. you were never able to drive a convertible in new york, it always rains. the wind was whipping your hair all around the air but you found it hard to care. you were driving while tom had called shotgun and fought josh for it. he was fiddling with the volume and bass while rachel was trying to convince josh to not stand up and stick his head out of the vehicle.

"i vote that josh stands up and gets his head chopped off, final destination style." you yelled over the wind and music. josh nods at rachel and she covers her face turning away from him. he begrudgingly stayed in his seat as you were trying to convince tom to stand up.

"it'll be fun! i can't do it, i'm driving. let me live vicariously through you." the music had been turned down and tom was smiling and shaking his head at you.

you were all racing down to the beach, josh obviously winning. as everyone was accusing him of cheating because he got a head start, tom took his shirt off. you fell silent as he was walking to the water and you suddenly felt as if the sun was hugging the earth. you slowly pulled your dress over your head and trailed behind of josh and rachel, still arguing over how josh cheated.

the ocean was cold and it cooled the heat in your cheeks instantly. you spun around looking for tom but couldn't see him above water, suddenly you felt a hand wrap around your ankle and you were engulfed by the water.

you came back to the surface coughing and yearning for revenge while tom was laughing so hard he couldn't breathe. "what if i drowned and died? you wouldn't be laughing very hard then."

we were supposed to be just friends. you don't live in my part of town, but maybe i'll see you out some weekend.

the bass was shaking the ground and the lights were almost disorientating. your friends had managed to pull you out to a club in brooklyn. the pregame shots already kicking in as you felt yourself loosening up and your friend pulled you toward the sea of bodies. some overly-produced pop song was flowing out of the loud speakers as your body collided with the surrounding people.

a hand was placed on your waist and you whipped around to see who was violating you. you met the eyes of your offender and smiled. "tom! i haven't seen you in weeks! how was berlin?" you scream over the music and he pulls you in for a hug, leading you away from the people. you blow a kiss to your friend but they don't even notice you leaving.

your feet swung as you were sitting in a barstool next to tom, chatting about what he's been up to. "yeah, we're finally done with all the promos and interviews." you're nursing your third drink of the night, mixed with your previous shots, your blood alcohol level was too high. "that's so cool! i knew rachel and josh were back but i didn't know you were back in brooklyn." he smiles and nods. "what're you doing in brooklyn anyway? don't you live an hour away?" he asks and you laugh. "my friends really wanted to go here and they yanked me out of bed."

depending on what kind of mood and situation-ship i'm in, and whats in my system.

you answer your buzzing phone and greet rachel, asking if you'd like to go out to dinner with them. "yeah, i'd love to! i'm with paul right now, is it alright if he comes along?" paul was your latest kind-of-boyfriend that you'd met at an award show.

paul and josh were conversing about star wars while you were talking with some of the other girls before rachel tapped your arm. you turned your head to her and she asked quietly "so are you guys dating? meeting your friends is a pretty big step.". you shot an unamused look at her and shook your head. "no, he said that he doesn't want anything serious. i honestly have zero clue if he even likes me, he's really weird about talking about it. but i don't even wanna date him." you whispered back, your attention pulled from her to tom who just sat down and was greeting everyone.

"hey, i'm tom." he extended his hand for paul to shake and you grew nervous. you see paul point at you and tom turns his head and smiles at you, you manage a tight-lipped smile back and lean your head on rachel's shoulder. "this is actually horrible, i wish you said to not bring him." you confess to her as she tilts her head towards yours. "why? he seems nice. he's getting along with everyone." you lift your head up and furrow your eyebrows. "i think he told tom he came with me. and i've literally had a small crush on tom since you introduced us." you whisper quickly to her and her mouth falls open. she smiles mischievously at you and calls tom over.

"do you think we could switch seats? i really want to sit with josh." he nods and takes her seat. he turns to you and you stare straight a head, trying to ignore the abundance of butterflies inhabiting your stomach. you hear your name fall from his lips and you finally turn to face him. "paul seems nice, i'm really happy for you," you try your hardest to not slip under the table in dispair but you end up offering your thanks and talking about your recent work.

i think there's been a glitch. five seconds later i'm fastening myself to you with a stitch, and i'm not even sorry.

your three friends had one last premiere in california, and you were coincidentally filming for your latest show in hollywood. your arm was wrapped around tom's as you were posing for the press, the blinding flashing of the cameras leaving dark spots in your vision. tom's hand rubbed circles on your lower back as you smiled for the pictures and quickly exited the carpet.

you took a deep breath and sat down next to rachel. "thanks for coming with me." tom whispered in your ear and you smiled at him. "of course, i'd do anything you asked me to." you internally punch yourself and turn your attention back to the screen.

you hadn't left toms side the entire night until you were back at his hotel room and you learned you were staying in the same hotel. he offered a glass of wine to you as you both sat on the floor, leaning against his bed. "yeah, paul and i didn't last very long, he had no personality it was so hard trying to talk to him." tom laughs and his head leans against his shoulder. "i was wondering about that, i just thought you liked really bland guys."

i was supposed to sweat you out. in search of glorious happenings of happenstance on someone else's playground. i think there's been a glitch.

a comfortable layer of silence laid on top of you both as the air was filled with the quiet sound of taylor swift. "i really like hanging out with you." you whisper and set your phone down. tom raises his eyebrows and stutters out "oh,um, t-thank you. i also really like hanging out with you. it always feels really easy." you smile and focus your eyes on a patch of carpet below you. "do you have a girlfriend, tom?" he shakes his head slowly, watching your every move.

"then, would you mind if i kissed you? it's totally okay if you say no, why did i even ask that? that was really-" your ranting had been cut short by tom linking your lips together. "jus' stop talking." he muttered against your lips, you turned your body towards his and felt yourself slowly getting lowered onto the ground. you definitely spilled wine on the carpet but that all seemed so irrelevant now.

nights are so starry, blood moonlit. it must be counterfeit.

[angelshadowsinger]

Supposed to Be Together {part 1}

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Azriel x f!reader 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 8.2k 𝐂𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐠𝐨𝐫𝐲: angst, smut 𝐊𝐞𝐲𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: drinking, Az being dumb & in denial, drunk sex, unprotected sex 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲:

𝘍𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘻𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 . 𝘈𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘢 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘴, 𝘢 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘶𝘱 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞:

𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯 𝘈𝘊𝘖𝘛𝘈𝘙 𝘦𝘹𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘭𝘺. 𝘐𝘧 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘧𝘧, 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘺 & 𝘐 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘨𝘯𝘪𝘻𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘧𝘪𝘵 100% 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘳𝘶𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘔𝘢𝘢𝘴’ 𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯 𝘱𝘭𝘰𝘵. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘰𝘤𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘕𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘢 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘊𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥, 𝘴𝘰 𝘢 𝘣𝘪𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦. 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘴 𝘔𝘢𝘥𝘫𝘢'𝘴 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘦. 𝘈𝘭𝘴𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘴 𝘶𝘯𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘥 (𝘪'𝘭𝘭 𝘨𝘰 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘪𝘹 𝘪𝘵 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳)

ɴᴏᴛɪᴄᴇ: ʙʏ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴘᴀꜱᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇʟᴏᴡ ꜱɪᴘʜᴏɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴇʀᴛɪꜰʏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴏᴠᴇʀ 18 ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀ ᴍɪɴᴏʀ. ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ʙᴇʏᴏɴᴅ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴘᴏɪɴᴛ ᴍᴀʏ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀɪɴ ɴꜱꜰᴡ ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇꜱ. ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴅɪꜱᴄʀᴇᴛɪᴏɴ.

The view from the House of Wind never failed to leave you breathless. 

Velaris twinkled brightly below, city lights reflecting off the Sidra as the warm summer wind tickling at your exposed skin. The sun was dipping below the horizon now, only a thin trail of scarlet bleeding into the indigo of the Night Court sky. Above, stars already blinked and glimmered, a crescent moon hung proudly above. 

The strong, swift beat of wings neared, and suddenly Mor and Nesta appeared above the wall of the balcony, each snug against Cassian’s absurdly broad chest. The two women were already donning their evening attire, jewels sparkling both their decolletages, looking near reminiscent of the stars that you had just been studying. 

Mor set sight on you immediately, skipping out of the war general’s grasp and pouncing on you. Her hair was curled in pretty waves and her lips painted a bright red that complimented the fiery orange dress snug on her hips. “Hello my sweetest,” she greeted, almost planting a kiss on you but you swerved back with a stifled laugh, pointing to her lips. She laughed, sending an air-kiss your way instead.

“Hi Mor. You look beautiful as always,” you said honestly. You’d known the female for quite some time now and it was only once you’d seen her looking worse for wear– the night she had tried to conquer a foreign green alcohol that burned your nose with but a tentative sniff. 

Turning to the other blonde, you did not fail to notice the slight flush in her cheeks as her eyes flitted away from Cassian’s, clearly amused by something her mate had communicated to her. It was only fair, given that the event that had the Inner Circle going out for the evening was their anniversary after all. The Illyrian gave you a friendly wave and shouted hello, which you returned. 

A navy dress hugged his mate’s figure and a long slit ran up her toned leg, gold jewelry spindling around her wrists and pointed ears. “Nesta, the lady of the night,” you acknowledged, “You look incredible.”

She gave a small smile at your appraisal. “Thank you, Y/N. You look nice, too.” 

It wasn’t the most amazing compliment, but you’d take it. Especially seeing as it had come from Nesta, the viper. She had calmed down since mating her male years ago, but the nickname still stuck, and you didn’t doubt that her bite could still be just as wounding as it once was. 

It was then that Mor’s fingers trailed down your forearm, sending a shiver through you and making you turn to look at her. Her gaze was currently running over the ensemble you were sporting, shining with approval at the deep violet gown that delicately draped off your shoulders and the pink sapphire necklace that followed the dip into your exposed cleavage. “Mmm, mmm. Drunk me is going to have a hard time resisting such a snack later. You know I get the drunchies,” she said, a hint of mischief in her tawny orbs. Then adding in a lower voice, “And I doubt I’ll be the only one having a hard time controlling themselves…”

She coughed as your elbow immediately jabbed her ribs. Mor was the only one that you had actually told about your relation to the mysterious spymaster of the Inner Circle. 

Ever since your apprenticeship with the renowned healer Madja had started, the higher-ups of the Night Court who so often required her services had taken keen interest in you. All of them were much friendlier than you had expected– almost more of a surprise to you than the carefree, blossoming city of Velaris. You were not of the Night Court lands, but now they felt like home to you. 

The Morrigan was the fastest friend you made, her honest nature pacifying the wariness that clung to you upon your arrival. Rhysand had attempted to befriend you first, but the sheer promise of power rippling off of him had you shrinking at the sight of him, so he allowed his friends to win you over first. Cassian was crucial in showing you that the High Lord was no threat to you, his chipper outlook wearing down the half-hearted walls you had built around yourself. Feyre also helped, who you grew closer with when you were sent to shadow her pregnancy check-ups with Madja. Many hours filled with warm vulnerability melted your frosty facade, and you bonded over the knowledge that you both had scars from your trauma, even if that acknowledgement was unspoken between the pair of you. She had even offered you a permanent position in the city, if you so desired it after your learnings with the sage healer were at a close. Once you were comfortable with her, Rhysand made your good list– if he was her mate, and if he treated her so lovingly, then surely he was not to be feared after all. Amren was… still a bit scary to you, but she was never malicious or meaning ill-will. Just unsettling. 

Last was Azriel. 

He was not present when you first arrived, and remained away during the first week of the Inner Circle’s efforts to woo you. But when he did finally arrive… you nearly swooned at first sight of him; the most handsome male you had ever laid eyes upon. It only got better when he opened his mouth, and his gentle, kind welcome pushed you off the cliff- falling, you began falling for him then. After that, he continued to treat you with such respect, and quiet thoughtfulness, that before you knew it, he was the one you began choosing to spend your free time with. One on one, he was still just as sweet, but he also showed you that he could tease, and jest, and he could be downright hilarious when he wanted to be.

It was only two weeks ago that your newest discovery had occurred. 

You had been walking through the gardens with him, a common occurrence for the two of you when he was home and off-duty, when he had flown up to the top of your favorite magnolia tree, and plucked the fattest, most beautiful blossom from the highest branch. He landed gracefully in front of you, leaning down and wordlessly offering it to you, a soft smile gracing his lips, eyes warm, and maybe even the tiniest bit of pink tinging his cheeks. It was then that the bond snapped into place. 

For you, anyway.

While you had nearly fallen on your ass in shock, disbelief– elation– he merely caught you and looked at you with concern. You hadn’t been able to form words to explain what had just happened to you, wide eyes taking in the male before you– the strong, observant, mild-mannered protector of the court– your male. Your male, with Illyrian tight leathers flush against his firm body, scarred hands holding you so softly, yet you knew his grip would never falter if he believed you not well enough to stand on your own. He would take care of you, he would treat you so well, he would…. He would, once he knew of the bond. Once the bond presented it to himself, then you’d see. Because, there was no way you were going to tell him what had just happened to you, not really. Not when he had become your closest friend, and all your hopes and dreams were suddenly pinned to him. That was just too much to put on him, not then… So you waited. Told yourself you would tell him soon, just not yet… And suddenly two weeks had gone by, and you still had yet to breach the subject.

Mor looked at you with a gentler gaze, sensing your frayed emotions and swiftly connecting the dots. Obviously you were conflicted on the subject, and she chose to dismiss it instead of prying. “Sorry,” she apologized, whispering almost. “First drink on me, okay?” 

Immediately you shut out the thoughts of your bond, nodding and putting a smile on. “It’s okay. But I will definitely take you up on that.” You winked at her and she grinned, taking your arm and leading you from the balcony into the common area.

Cassian and Nesta had already meandered inside, now standing by the grand table in the center of the space. The sconces were lit, the glimmer of magic filling the warm space and inviting you inside further. A fire crackled in the hearth, the scent of a meat-pie that must have been dinner lingering in the air, laden with foreign spices that made your nose tingle. 

“Glad you ladies could join us,” Cassian said, brows high as he gestured to the tray in the middle of the dining table. There were five shot glasses there, two empty already. The other three were filled to the brim with a clear liquid which you could only guess would surely taste terrible on your sober tongue. Beside it, a crystal container filled with more, ready for refills. 

You glanced around as Mor strode forth, unnerved. Nesta had an uncharacteristically amused smile on her pretty lips, her face relaxed as she took a sip from the half-empty glass she held. Amren was nowhere to be seen, and Rhys and Feyre were absent as well– nothing uncommon these days since they did have a small child after all, and another on the way. 

But it was always him, the subdued spymaster who now rose from his seat beside the hearth, who you were hoping to see. Azriel looked especially mouth-watering tonight, his dark hair freshly cut and kissing the tops of his ears, dark navy shirt tight across his firm chest, tattoos peeking from the collar and the sleeves rolled halfway up his strong forearms. You tried to look away, feeling like you had become engulfed by the flames licking the iron gate at the edge of the hearth as his hazel eyes raked up and down, and then back up your visage. 

The only clue to his approval was a slight twitch of the long, sleek wings behind him, and that could’ve meant anything. Though you had thought you looked good, so obviously he had to like the sight… right?

He walked toward you and smiled just a little, head bowing slightly. His shadows slowly curled toward you in greeting as well, a dark train behind him. “Hello Y/N,” he stated, then nodding to Mor. “Mor.” Deft fingers latched onto one of the remaining shots and he threw it back with ease, not even wincing as the alcohol was instantly drained. 

Cassian eyed him with some sort of emotion you couldn’t quite decipher before it was gone. Then he was refilling his and Azriel’s cup. “And what are you two waiting for, then?” He barked, amusement abundant in his strong voice. 

Mor and your eyes met, she rolled hers to the heavens, and then shrugged, grabbing her shot as well. You sighed, wondering why these ancient relics always had to go straight for the liquor, not even a chaser present for your poor taste buds. This night would surely be anything but dull.

⸻

There had been multiple rounds of shots before your small party of five left the House of Wind, and though the two men had definitely had more, you, Mor, and Nesta had all sufficiently been toasty as you made your way through the threshold of the bar. 

Rita’s was, once again, the place to be on a weekend evening in Velaris. 

Mor was already flirting with the bartender within two minutes of entry, getting that drink she had promised you as you wandered through the throng of partiers, toward the elevated side of the venue where the reserved tables stood. Rhys had long ago reserved a table for his Inner Circle on any given day of the week, and the bouncer nodded at the four of you as you made your way to it. Azriel kept a subtle arm out, ghosting behind your waist as club-goers pressed just a bit too close for his liking. 

Cassian slid into a wide stool on the other side of the booth first, allowing you and Nesta to take the booth. Azriel contemplated fitting into the booth, but ultimately chose to sit beside his brother in favor of not crushing his wings. Just as the usual containers of various juices and little water bottles appeared in the center of the table, Mor slid into the booth beside you and shoved a top-heavy glass into your hand. She gave a taller, wider glass filled with a sparkling dark red concoction to Nesta who thanked her, keeping the other glass of fizzy yellow to herself.

“None for us?” Cassian hit the table, the ice in the bucket rattling. 

Azriel frowned, waving a hand over the space before him and summoning more shot glasses, another pitcher of liquor appearing adjacent to it. Nimble hands made quick work of the shots, passing one to his brother before that striking gaze met yours and he clinked his glass against the one in your hand. He sent it back, and you couldn’t help but watch the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed, his sharp jaw pronounced in the flashing colored lights of the club. 

It didn’t take long for you to start feeling borderline drunk. Whatever was in the swirling purple cocktail Mor had handed you was packing a punch– either that or the four shots you downed before the flight over here were settling in. You drained the rest of your glass. A drop escaped the corner of your lip and ran down your chin, splattering onto the soft swell of your breast, a torrid hazel gaze following the movement with scrutiny. Catching the look, your body moved on its own volition, and you stood abruptly, the tops of your thighs skimming the edge of the table.

All eyes shot to you as you proclaimed, “So who wants to dance?”

You couldn't manage to look at Azriel again, so you turned to Mor instead, who was looking up at you with nothing but pure amusement. But it was actually Nesta, on your other side, who piped up that she would love to. If your decree had been a surprise, Nesta’s was the shock of the century. But you wouldn’t let it go to waste, and Mor was on the same page as you, the three of you hurrying off to find a spot on the dancefloor. 

The club-goers parted as they welcomed you– parting for the three beautiful women entering the center of the room as the bass blasted and upbeat melodies thrummed through your bones. You swore you could feel its return, his hot gaze slinking all around your body, but you forced him out of your mind, not wanting to dampen your mood with the premise of your upcoming responsibilities nor your potential delusions. The shadowsinger could have absolutely anyone he wanted in Velaris– actually, it had been hinted he had already had quite a few in the city, though he’d looked outright deadly at the mention of that from his brothers’ lips. So why were you fated for him? There was surely some other person who could better suit him. The notion irked you and you let out a snarl that turned more into a war-cry for your dancing. 

Mor was flipping her hair and moving her arms around herself sensually beside you. Nesta had actually gone so far as to throw her hips into circles right before yours, almost grinding onto your lap. You took it upon yourself to sway and let your fingers run through your hair, showing off your smooth skin and letting your head fall back as you felt the music call to you. 

It was quite a show the three of you were putting on, song after song your trio swirled and traded places with each other, staving off any males who attempted approach.

Cassian was not disturbed by the number of lustful gazes his mate was collecting, eyes gleaming with pride and possession as he studied Nesta’s body from afar. But Azriel was quietly fuming beside him, his shadows screeching with fury as a fae male eventually managed to reach your side, sliding a hand around your waist. His gaze was daggers on the suitor, who seemed unphased by the brooding Illyrian in the distance. Nesta moved over to Mor then, observantly giving him space to slide into when you didn’t immediately reject him. 

Without taking his glare off the male, Azriel messily poured another shot for himself, threw it back, and then immediately filled another. Finally his brother’s attention snuck over to him, warily monitoring as the shadowsinger tossed back yet another drink. He eyed the shadows, which were bunching and flicking with displeasure around the perimeter of him, then warned, “Az, maybe you should slow down.”

Azriel grimaced, ice cold as he watched you press a palm to the male’s chest, leaning in to whisper something in his ear. “Why ever should I, brother? Does your mating not call for celebration?” His grip was so tight he nearly shattered the glass, but then your suitor’s eyes widened comically, and he scampered away into the crowd, leaving you alone. He felt like he could breathe again, and he sat back slightly, ruffling his wings as if shaking off the tension that saddled them just moments ago. 

Cassian watched his brother, noted the gaze that was zeroed in on you, on your every move. He had an inkling for a while before now, but it was hard for him to watch Azriel pretend like he didn’t want to be anything more with you when you looked at him the same way. Before he could impart any words of advice, you were slinking up to the table, glazed eyes magnetized on the spymaster. Cassian wondered if you even knew he was sitting there as well.

“Az, will you dance with me?” you asked, hands behind your back, it made your curves look absolutely irresistible in that violet number. 

Cassian was shocked, sure his mouth had fallen on the floor, interest piqued. This was one of the best anniversary presents he ever could’ve asked for, second only to Nesta’s gown strewn on the floor of their room in just a few hours. On one hand, his brother never danced. Maybe only a handful of times had he witnessed such a sight, and that had only been bits and pieces, from nights he barely remembered. On the other, he was sure that you had an absolute hold on the spymaster– if you so much as batted your eyelashes and asked for him to fetch the stars for you, he certainly would.

He had to reign in his scream of glee when Azriel responded, “Of course.” 

Even drunk, the shadowsinger was adept. He weaved through the crowd, following you and pointedly ignoring the lingering glances of the crowd, glances that wandered from your elegant radiance onto him– at the powerful aura and ominous shadows rolling off his broad shoulders, his stunning face, or the daunting wings that loomed behind him. 

When you found a spot with ample space, your hips started moving on their own accord, and Azriel’s followed suit. Not touching, the two of you filled the space and watched each other, eyes wandering around each other’s bodies unabashedly. Azriel couldn’t help but puff his chest up at the desire that swirled in your glossy orbs, the approval shining from you as you took in the way his body moved before you, his cool cedar scent luring you closer. The alcohol that coursed in his blood allowed him to be bold, and he carefully placed a hand at the bottom of your spine, pulling you into him. The action was welcomed and he tried not to be too excited about your proximity, how the sweet smell of you twirled into his nose and made his brain become a puddle around his feet. 

He had never been so close to you– not like this– and never with his guard so low, nearing absent. Never had the marred skin of his palms held your hips, the curve of your ass brushed his thigh, never had you given him that sultry gaze beneath kohl-coated lashes, never had he been so damn hard in a public space like this. 

“You look so beautiful tonight.” It slipped out of him like he was possessed, unaware the words had even left him along with the husky whisper of your name. 

But that made you smile at him, near bashful at his compliment, your heart slamming in your chest, begging, aching for more of his praise. 

It was as if he could hear what your body so desperately desired, for Azriel then murmured, “You are beautiful every night. Every day… agonizingly so.” 

His grasp on you was gentle, and suddenly it was all you could feel– he was all you could feel, the music and the crowd blurring around you. He was looking at you with such intensity that your body was singing, your lips parted but no words able to leave you. All you wanted to do in that moment was bridge the gap between his mouth and yours. It took all the willpower in your being to stop yourself from doing so, your mate’s gaze piercing you to the dancefloor while the two of you stood still, just looking at each other. 

“Thank you, Azriel.”

Those meager words were all you could get out, too paralyzed to come up with anything better. Honestly, you were surprised you even said anything at all, for fear of confessing your love and your bond right here to him and everyone in the room, drunk and breathless in the middle of Rita’s. 

Azriel seemed to snap out of whatever trance he was in at the sound of his name on your tongue, blinking and grip loosening on you. His cheeks turned the slightest shade of pink before his shadows came to cover him, and he coughed awkwardly. “I, um…” he mumbled, stepping back from you and the obvious shock painted on your face, “I’ll get us some more drinks.”

Just like that, he was gone, and the crowd surrounding you seemed to come back into your awareness. You noticed the gazes of Cassian and Nesta settled on you from across the room then, one of befuddlement and the other displeasure. But you didn’t even have a second for the mortification to wash over you, as Mor materialized before you instantly, grabbing your hand and leading you deeper in the crowd. She gave you an inquisitive look once the pair of you had found shelter behind the masses, but didn’t push it, noting the confusion that settled your features even as your body moved to the rhythm once more. 

⸻

For the next hour or so, you danced with Mor, and Nesta and Cassian came to join you at some point as well. The Illyrian looked like he wanted to say something to you, but was rendered unable both from the noise of the club and also his mate who had positioned herself between you two. You knew Azriel was stationed at the table, but couldn’t bring yourself to look over at him, even though you were becoming thirstier by the minute and knew he had a drink awaiting you. At some point Mor had wandered back over to the bartender, now with her full rack resting atop the bar and in deep, seemingly-seductive conversation by the way she was looking at them. And even if the couple beside you were well-intentioned, you refused to burden them with your loneliness, finally wishing them congratulations on their anniversary and excusing yourself.

The shadowsinger sat up slightly as you came closer, the evidence of his drinking overt; two crystal carafes stood empty beside a third that was half-full, tiny pools glistening on the tabletop where they missed his glass. 

“Is that for me?” you asked as you slid into the seat opposite of him, nodding to the bright cocktail that stood alone at the booth side of the table.

He nodded in return, fingertip tracing the edge of his tiny cup, silky hair slightly disheveled and his eyes not quite as critical as usual. You thanked him quietly, taking a sip before a modest smile bloomed on your lips in unspoken appreciation at the familiar flavor of your favorite drink. The club was slightly spinning by the time the glass was drained, a drunken giggle escaping you at the light feeling that filled you. 

Azriel smiled at you, your eyes closed and slowly swaying like grass in sweet summer wind. He did not regret his admission on the dancefloor, for it had been the truth. He just wished he was brave enough to tell you that without taking twenty shots– or however many he’d had– he’d stopped counting after twelve. Even though he was not at all sober himself, he could sense that it was time to get you home. It wasn’t unusual for him to bring you back to the House of Wind; night outings like this usually did end up the two of you as everyone else paired off. Yet for some reason, it felt different tonight. He couldn’t wait to scoop you in his arms and zip through the sky. 

“Would you like to go home?” he said, watching amusedly when you opened your eyes and sent him a dazzling grin. 

You agreed, “You always read my mind, Az.” 

The tall male led you out to the front of Rita’s, catching his brother’s eye and nodding in farewell. A few other drunkards sat on the curb and passed something smoky between them, their low cackles echoing down the otherwise-quiet stone alleyway. The cool crisp smell of the night air washed over the pair of you, the stars still dangling high in the indigo sky. You inhaled deeply, Azriel doing the same as he walked you into the center of the street, wings growing and stretching. You watched as those wings shook the sleep from themselves, swelling the street with silky shadows as they unfurled, as if he had been keeping those at bay just as much. It was a gorgeous sight as he unfastened the top button of his shirt, another ring of tattoos peeking out at the middle of his chest. You could stare at him for ages. 

Azriel reached out for you, his wings flapping a couple times to warm up. His gaze was bright, as if the incident inside hadn’t even occurred. But you were eager to feel his touch on you once more, so you skipped over to him instantly, practically jumping in his arms. You’d once worried that you were too heavy to do such things, but after flying with the Illyrian so many times now, you knew you were nowhere near his carrying capacity. He was absurdly strong, just like his brothers– seven siphons adorning his body and channeling the brunt of his power. For him, bringing you to the House of Wind was probably akin to the amount of energy you’d expend skipping a small rock across a placid stream, the whole ordeal over in three seconds.

Little did you know he planned to take the scenic route, if not just to feel you clutching onto him for a few moments longer.

The ground sucked out from underneath you as he sprang up into the night, and you stifled the excitable scream that always tried to escape. He only laughed as he found his place in the sky, the powerful beat of his wings seamlessly blending with the low moan of the wind. Once you had a better grip on him, and his arms secured around you tighter, you adjusted and laughed too– excitement coursing through you. It was such a rare sight, seeing the reticent shadowsinger smile at you unrestrained like that, carefree. All you could do was mirror him before he dove the two of you into the night. 

Stars whipped past as he danced through the skies; black, fuschia, violet, and navy all swirling together above you. His shadows tickled at you gently, leaving a cool wake where they touched. Cerulean and cyan gleamed from the siphons on the backs of the hands that clutched onto you, and you catapulted forward suddenly. All you could do was latch onto the hard muscles that secured you as Azriel took you for a roller coaster ride. 

He dove and looped and held onto you, relishing the feeling of your skin touching his, the smell of your hair that whipped around him– the feeling of you gripping him so hard– hard enough that maybe it would be enough for him to leave you alone once you arrived at the house instead of pressing you up into the balcony pillars and pleasuring you until you passed out, like he so deeply wanted to do. 

The joyride could only go on for so long before it had to end; the two of you were still considerably drunk and only able to handle a few loop-de-loops on the journey. Azriel had managed to sneak in an extra minute or two of air-time, not wanting to risk your suspicion nor take advantage of you. The liquor was beginning to really hit him at full effect now, stumbling a bit as he landed on your balcony. It was only two extra steps, nothing major. But Azriel always flew with such precision that you knew you weren’t the only one feeling the alcohol.

Now that you were looking at him again, you found yourself mesmerized by his ethereal beauty. Long lashes pointed down to you as he continued to hold you, despite him now standing firmly in the middle of your balcony. Hazel eyes flicked over your face and he smiled just a little for you. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking, you never really could– but he definitely had a great many thoughts flickering behind his gentle gaze. 

You peeped as your back touched something, and you realized he had walked over to the chaise-lounge perched under the bow of your balcony– trying to set you down. You looked back at the chair and then at him. Dark brows knitted beneath his tousled hair as he loosened his grip, but you remained clinging to him. 

Azriel murmured your name when he tried to deposit you there and you refused, again. 

“Can you…” you whispered, reluctant to leave his embrace. It felt so good to have him touching you, and your inhibitions were at an all time low as your mate held you so dearly, his eyes filled with concern. “Can you put me on my bed, Az?” 

The Illyrian blinked, wings ruffling before quickly tucking in. He pulled you up again and carried you inside your room, princess-style. It was how he always held you during flight, but somehow when his feet were on the ground it felt completely different… not quite as innocent. 

Your room was lit with beams of moonlight pouring through the arched windows and sheer curtains, yet the male’s shadows flicked over the tips of the candles by your bed and they lit as he willed them to. It was spacious enough inside that your medicinal books and tomes spread out all over the area, along with your trinkets and clothes. The strong smell of you clung to the walls, the sofa, the bed. He had never been this deep into your room for this long before, and he was sure the alcohol wasn’t the only substance he was drunk on. 

You savored the sight of him while he wandered toward your bed. You allowed yourself to dream of the day your male would know just what you were to him, and imagined he was about to ravage you instead of dump you and leave you in your big bed all alone. Your hips moved slightly against his front, and you closed your eyes in embarrassment as heat began to rush in between your legs. It wasn’t really wrong of you to be turned on by your mate, especially after drinking so much and dancing with him the way you had. But the bond was still your secret, and you didn’t know if Azriel even felt anything slightly like how you felt for him; if he had any inkling that you were made to be together. 

You chanced one more look at him as he set you atop the soft duvet, fluffy pillows plush against your back. His inky hair fell between his eyes as he leaned forward and laid you down fully, sitting on the very edge of the bed and turning to draw the blanket at your feet up and over you before he left. His back muscles rippled through his shirt, pumped after flying for just a few minutes. Another tattoo teased you from the side of his neck, and at the muscled sight of him, you wondered if he knew that he was the sexiest male to ever exist. 

He turned to you, leaving the fuzzy throw halfway up your exposed legs, a dark blush staining his cheeks as he looked at you incredulously. You blinked at him, not comprehending that you had just said that last thought aloud. He looked so incredibly flustered that it only took you a moment to realize your mistake, a hand slapping over your mouth as if that would somehow make him unhear your profession.

“I– I meant,” you gasped as you sat up on your elbows, breasts bouncing and sitting heavily on your chest at the sudden movement. Azriel glanced down at the action, the emotion wiping off his face and instantly an interested mask of cool was in its place. “I…” you stopped breathing as he leaned closer to you, his breath fanning your neck and his shadows curling around your ankles. 

Azriel’s eyes were searing into you, burning the shape of your body into the covers you laid upon. The alcohol was giving him too much confidence, your praise soaking his bones with white-hot desire as he appraised your figure that was pressed between his hard body and the soft mattress. “Is that really what you think of me?” he inquired, the words tight, restrained. Are you sure, his eyes seemed to ask.

“Yes,” you answered immediately, the word rushing out of you before you could think to lie. Maybe that was how the victims of his spymaster tactics felt, too, under the scrutiny in his never-ending hazel gaze. But you couldn’t think about that now– couldn’t think about anyone else, because then Azriel was kissing you. 

He crawled over you, caging your body under his large frame as his lips conquered yours. You were in too much shock, and too much bliss to refuse– moaning as his tongue wandered into your mouth, a rough hand gripping your waist as the other gripped onto the bend of your headboard, hard. 

This was wrong.

Both of you knew it, deep down, but neither wanted to stop, and neither of you cared now. Your bodies were strung out, needing to be connected so terribly after spending so much time together with not so much as a single kiss. Now that you had had just a tiny taste of it, you couldn't control yourself any more. And Azriel wanted you, the evidence of it pressing into you through his pants and your dress. 

On the same page, he groaned as he sat up, pulling you with him and his hands squeezing the plush of your thighs, shoving your dress up over your hips. You frantically unbuttoned his top, and he ripped the cloth off of him in impatience, cupping your ass and lifting you in one arm as he got rid of his pants with his free hand. You slipped forward so that your hips slotted over his, your slick panties rubbing against the thick, exposed length of him. The both of you gasped at the contact, and he quickly unzipped your gown and threw it over your shoulders into the darkness of your room. 

Your tits spilled out against his broad, inked chest and he growled, hips bucking against yours and sliding his hard cock against your core. Your head tossed back and his mouth was instantly claiming the skin of your neck, licking there and teeth sinking in just hard enough for you to cry out. The liquor only made everything more intense, your skin exploding wherever he touched, kissed, sucked. 

“Please Az,” you pleaded, desperate for more of him. He kissed you again, laying you back onto the pillows once more before he sunk down and sucked a nipple into his mouth. Your body writhed in his arms, pleasure shooting through you. His other hand wandered up the inside of your thigh, trailing closer to where you needed him. 

He let out a delectable sound when the heel of his palm pushed into your clit through your panties, his fingers digging into the soft skin of your ass cheeks. He snarled as your wetness soaked his hand, your body ready for him to take you and claim you as his. Before you could beg again, his fingers slipped under the lace and he ripped the garment into shreds, exposing your dripping pussy to his greedy stare. All you could do was moan and arch your back, nipples stiff and body flushed, bare before your male. 

Azriel dragged you to the bottom of the mattress, then sinking to his knees before you. He spread you before his face, inspecting the most intimate part of you that glistened just for him. The way he was looking at you made a new wave of embarrassment wash over you, but before you could complain, he was leaning into you.

“So perfect,” he said sincerely, not seeming to care as he took a deep breath of your arousal, eyes filled with a wicked glint. Tattooed arms slithered up under your thighs and scarred hands cupped your hips as his tongue roved over your pussy. 

You were moaning unashamedly as he licked at you, kissing your clit and closing his eyes to savor the taste of you, recording each spot that had you crying out and giving them extra attention. Your body was shaking in his grasp, and you keened when his rough fingertips prodded your sopping hole. They slipped in, thrusting a few times before you were cumming, squirming and eyes rolling back. Those fingers retreated and rubbed the fresh slick along your slit, ensuring everything was nice and wet.

He stood then, cock tall and thick at the dip of the V between his hips. You tried to sit up to get a better look at it, eyes widening at the size of him and then realizing his wings had spread out behind him. Maybe that thing they said about wingspan was true after all.

“Come here,” he ordered and you shuffled down to the edge of the bed to meet him. 

You got onto your hands and knees before him, and he raised a brow as he watched your hand wrap around him. His hips thrust forward and he sucked in a breath as you took him into your mouth. He was too big to fit all the way so you went down as far as you could, tongue caressing behind your lips as you pushed him in and out of your throat. Once enough saliva had gathered in your mouth you spat into your hands and twirled them around the base of him, ample length for them to jerk over. Syncing the churn of your hands with your mouth, Azriel began panting, hands tucking your hair back so he could watch your pretty lips slide over him. He only allowed you a minute before he tore you off of him, refusing to finish without feeling the heaven your sweet cunt had promised him as he tasted it earlier. 

Desire pulsed through you as he tossed you onto your back and grasped your ankles, pulling you down so your core rested at the end of the bed, just inches away from his cock. He grabbed himself at the base, pointing the tip onto your hole and sliding the underside of it up and down your slit. Your body was tensing, twitching and trying to pull him inside you, where he was meant to be. “Az… Azriel I need you,” you sobbed, delirious. 

Azriel complied with your wishes, pushing the tip of himself inside your wet pussy before gently thrusting in. Each measured swing of his hips buried him deeper inside of you and you were thrust into another dimension as he hit those sacred, secret spots deep within you. You began clawing at his back as your legs folded on either side of him, submissive to the onslaught of pleasure he was showering you in. You couldn’t think, could barely breathe as he pumped into you, your walls hugging tight around him, begging he never leave, trying to convince him to stay here forever. He was moaning into your clavicle, wings fluttering as he fucked you deep, sweat beginning to dribble down the black designs carved into his firm torso. 

You couldn’t stop calling his name out, panting in his ear as your core took the shape of him. He was shuddering in pleasure, one hand cupping both your tits together and the other coming to curl around your back, hand supporting the back of your neck, pressing you closer to him. His tongue wrestled with yours again, thrusts becoming deeper, harder. Inked hips slapped against yours, the sound of your skin smacking mingling with both your ragged moans. You were close again, the passion in his gaze and his body’s pure intent surging with every thrust. 

Suddenly his shadows joined, slithering onto the bed around you and securing your limbs to the blankets. They flicked over every inch of your skin, tasting you, as if committing the sight and the feel of you to memory. They swirled over your hips, the promise of pleasure whispering in your ears as they crawled toward your nipples and your clit. You cried when they stimulated you, Azriel’s gaze bright as he watched them ravish you, just as he’d always imagined. They intensified everything, and it only took a few more pumps of his throbbing cock inside of you to make you unravel. Your cunt squeezed him ruthlessly, crying as your orgasm surged through your body. 

Azriel took in the sight of you, riding the ecstasy he had provided you with, and his own release came closer. He kept pushing into your slippery core, deep and hard now as his body begged him to finish inside you, for him to fill you up with his seed. He toed over the cusp of his climax, pressing his lips to yours as he uttered, “I love you,” and shot his load as deep as he could into you. His wings flapped a few times as he came, taut body shaking with euphoria.

Your heart swelled at his confession and you smiled, reaching for him to join you on the bed. He took you into his arms, holding you tightly against himself as he picked you up. His shadows brought forth a small, soft cloth and he held it underneath you as he pulled out of you, his essence dribbling out. You whimpered at the sensation, not wanting him to leave you just yet. But he set you back against the pillows once more, tucking your naked form under the covers and joining you there. He scooped your back into his chest, taking a deep breath of your scent from behind your ear. His wings hung off the side of your mattress slightly, his shadows forming a ring around the bed to guard your resting figures. 

He fell asleep quickly, the scarred fingers trailing along your forearm falling slack as his breaths deepened. You savored every second you could, fighting your exhaustion until you had no strength left and peaceful slumber took hold of you. 

“I love you too, Az…”

⸻

The chirp of sparrows on the balcony awoke you the next morning. Your head was pounding, your mouth parched and eyes bleary. Sun shone brightly into your room from the open curtains at the balcony, and you groaned, wondering if your magic could shoot the damn birds just so they’d shut up. Your stomach did not feel good either, an acidic burn at the bottom of your throat. You shifted, a hand coming to press at your forehead. Only you couldn’t– your arm was tucked under something warm and heavy. 

Your eyes flew open. 

Beside you was your mate, his naked chest on display as he laid asleep in your bed. His mouth was open just a crack, and his silky black hair was messy, his arm secure around you. Your heart shot into your mouth and you almost threw up in astonishment. You had spent the night together? 

Oh god. 

You had spent the night together.

Heat blazed your cheeks as you recalled last night’s events, recognizing the dull ache between your legs. Light bruises littered your curves, fingers wandering over a particularly tender spot in the dip between your neck and shoulder. The ghost of his touch still lingered on your skin, and it took you a moment to realize his shadows had come to say good morning to you, caressing your skin. 

You glanced over at him, but he was still asleep. It was only once a shadow trailed off your arm onto his neck and up to his ear that he opened his eyes, gaze meeting yours instantly. 

You pulled the sheet up over your cleavage a little better, wondering if there was any decency left for you to hide from him. “Good morning,” you blurted out, not sure what to say.

Azriel sat up swiftly, groaning as a hand flew to his forehead and he cradled it, obviously hungover just as you were. His wings stretched behind him and he dragged his palms down his face, swearing quietly.

You tried to calm down, your heart beating faster as the moment neared. You would have to talk about it now, right? Now that you had mated, didn’t he feel the bond in place? You didn’t remember what exactly had transpired last night, but surely he had to have discovered your bond. How could he fuck you and not have it snap into place for him?

“How do you feel?” you asked, watchful as you gripped the sheets with clammy hands. 

The shadowsinger sighed, one of his shadows running up his palm and over his shoulders. “Like shit, to be honest,” he replied, and you couldn’t hide the disappointment in your eyes. He looked at you then, eyes dropping to your chest and then the sheet you were holding, then to his own body. He picked up the sheet and looked at his lap, eyes going wide as he glanced over at you again. “Y/N, we…” 

You nodded slowly, watching his every move to figure out what he was feeling exactly.

Pink dusted his high cheekbones, gaze becoming apologetic. “I’m so sorry Y/N,” he started.

Suddenly your headache didn’t hurt so bad, and the nausea in your stomach heightened. “Why are you sorry?” You whispered, begging for him to be joking. He couldn't still not know… 

Azriel frowned at your emotional gaze. “I… I don’t want to give you the wrong idea,” he continued, and it felt like he had just stabbed your heart. “I never should have touched you last night. We were drunk, it wasn’t right. I’m sorry.” 

Rejection. 

It was excruciating, as if Truth-Teller was carving your insides out. 

“I see.” Your words were hollow now, but you couldn’t stop the words from falling from your lips. “Do you regret it?” You hated that it had slipped out, because you knew his reply would only hurt you even more. 

The shadows around your hips dragged at you, crying as they were pulled away from you, their master slipping from the sheets, pulling on his pants. Azriel couldn’t look at you, avoiding your gaze as he fumbled around for his shirt. 

“Did you mean it?” You asked quietly, so quiet Azriel almost didn’t hear it. You didn’t know if he knew what you were referring to, if he knew you were asking him if he loved you. 

It didn’t matter, because he chose not to reply, slipping out of your door and leaving you to drown in melancholy. You had your answer.

𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘱. 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 8𝘬 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘦. 𝘢𝘭𝘴𝘰 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘦 𝘢𝘙𝘌. 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 & 𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥~ 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬𝘴 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨!!^^

next part

[magiccath]

A very Noble Christmas

tenth doctor x GN!reader

Summary: In which Donna is really fed up with her love-sick best friends and calls in Wilf for backup

A/N: if you're looking for a Christmas song to go with this I suggest "Christmas Tree Farm" by Taylor Swift and a steaming cup of cocoa. Happy holidays! xx

“It’s so frustrating, Grandad,” Donna groaned, sandwiching her mobile phone between her shoulder and cheek so she could use both hands to fold laundry. 

“They’re not even subtle about it! They’re so thick they can’t even tell the other one has feelings for them.” she folded a shirt in one swift movement, placing it with the others in her laundry basket. She truly loved her best friends, but this was getting ridiculous. Having to deal with your level of obliviousness every day was starting to frustrate her.

“Have you done anything about it, darling?” Wilfred asked. Donna could hear a slight breeze over the phone. He was probably sitting outside, looking up at the stars. 

“That’s the thing,” she groaned, “I've done all kinds of things to push them together.” She finished folding her things and closed the dryer with her hip. She repositioned her phone to hold it with one hand and the basket in the other. 

“None of it has worked. Not even in the slightest,” she continued as she made her way through the winding halls of the TARDIS back to her room.

“Have you tried a romantic candlelight dinner?” he suggested. 

“That was one of the first things I tried. I made a reservation at a fancy Italian place so they could eat pasta and look into each other’s eyes lovingly.” 

“And?” 

“Aliens blew it up on the way over.” Donna rolled her eyes, even if Wilf couldn’t see it.

“It’s like I’m living in a horrible slow-burn rom-com,” she grumbled in exasperation. “I’ve done everything, Grandad. I don’t know how to get their thick heads to see it.” 

“Perhaps it’s time for my expertise…” Wilf whispered, deep in thought. 

“Huh?” Donna asked, frowning. 

“Christmas is next week. Bring them over for dinner, I can handle the rest.” Donna could hear the mischievous smile in his voice. Before she could respond or protest he had hung up. She pulled her phone away from her face slowly, staring at the blank screen before letting out a small laugh. 

She shook her head, there was no point in telling Grandad “no”. Plus, she really wanted to see you two together and her efforts hadn’t done much.  

Christmas might be a week away for Wilf, but Donna could just ask the Doctor to take you there now. There were some benefits of living in a time machine. Decidedly, she made her way out to the TARDIS control room. 

The Doctor was hunched over the console, fiddling with some buttons and switches. You were a little farther down the console, leaning against it. Your hands gestured wildly as you talked excitedly to him. The Doctor snuck small glances at you every now and then, a subtle smile taking over his face. It still baffled Donna that you failed to notice this, he was hardly incognito about it. The poor guy practically had heart eyes bursting out of his head.

“Can we go back to my place?” Donna asked, moving further into the room. “Grandad has invited us for Christmas dinner.” 

“You hate Christmas,” you pointed out with a frown. The Doctor nodded in agreement, both of you confused. Normally, you had to coerce Donna into Christmas dinner. 

“I like Grandad,” Donna shrugged casually. She hadn’t really thought about her distaste for Christmas when Wilf made the plans. She had figured that her biggest hurdle would be convincing the two of you to celebrate Christmas a week early, even if you both loved Wilf dearly. But, then again, the Doctor had no concept of when Christmas actually was. Hopefully, you wouldn’t see past her thinly veiled lie. 

You exchanged a suspicious look with the Doctor, determining whether you should trust her. Donna was known to get you all into trouble, even if she meant well. Silently deciding there was no harm in a Christmas dinner, the Doctor agreed. He’d been meaning to check up on the old man anyway.

“Alright,” he drawled, moving to flick some switches on the console. You watched him move about, your eyes following him as he rushed around the room. 

Donna really hoped that Wilf’s plan worked, she wasn’t sure she could handle another minute of this. It was like perpetually third-wheeling but so much worse.

The Doctor landed the ship with his usual flourish, turning to look at you with a wide smile, “The Noble residence, Christmas day,” he said dramatically.

He held his hand out for you and you took it without pause. Donna sighed before following behind you as the Doctor led the way out into the snow. 

The streets were dusted with a coating of stark white powder, a few boot tracks the only indicator that anyone was around. The snow was still falling, a gentle and soft flurry floating down to the ground. You smiled brightly and started to spin around in the falling snow, catching stray flakes on your outstretched tongue. 

Donna noticed the Doctor was watching you with an equally excited smile plastered on his face. He had a certain kind of smile that he only ever wore when looking at you. The best way Donna could describe it was lovesick, and it was starting to get pathetic. 

“Let’s go in before I freeze,” Donna urged, tilting her head in the direction of the door. 

The Doctor nodded, his brow suddenly furrowing. He moved closer to you, tugging the neck of your coat so it wrapped around you tighter. 

“Don’t want you to catch frostbite,” he whispered, adjusting your scarf as well. He stopped for a moment to look at you, your face flushed from the cold. A small smile tugged on your lips and he felt his hearts skip a few beats.

“We should go in,” the Doctor finally said, pulling back from you. His hand rested gently on the small of your back reassuringly, guiding you towards Donna’s house.

Wilf greeted you all at the door, a childish grin plastered on his face. A pair of reindeer antlers perched on this head, the small bells attached jingling quietly when he moved. He pulled each of you into an excited hug, squeezing tightly. 

“How have things been, Wilf?” the Doctor asked, instantly following him through the foyer. 

You hung back with Donna for a moment, putting your coats on the hangers and shaking out the small flecks of snow that had stuck to you. You slipped your boots off before padding down the hall after Wilf and the Doctor.

In the dining room, the table was set with nice plates and Sylvia was busy setting numerous steaming dishes on the table. You smiled and sat down in front of a bowl of potatoes, inhaling their scent with a small but satisfied smile. You loved Sylvia’s Christmas dinners and couldn’t wait to eat this one. The Doctor took a seat next to you, still deep in his conversation with Wilf.

Slowly, the rest of the food came out while the traditional Christmas crackers were opened. Wilf wasted no time perching the paper crown atop his antlers with a big, silly smile. On the other hand, Sylvia deemed them childish, and Donna didn’t want to mess up her hair. Still, you and the Doctor put your crowns on proudly. Once you had placed the brightly colored paper on your head you turned to the Doctor for approval.

“It’s a bit lopsided,” the Doctor commented, gently shifting the crown on top of your head. You felt a flush creep across your face at the contact, but the Doctor didn’t seem to notice. 

“Much better,” he grinned, leaning back to admire his work.

Donna cast a wide-eyed and frustrated glance over at Wilf with an exasperated sigh. Surely he could see how ridiculous this was. Wilf nodded in acknowledgment but didn’t do much else to ease her frustrations.

Dinner went by in a blur of smiles, laughter, and lingering touches between you and the Doctor. His hand would brush against yours slightly and hang there for a moment. You could even swear that the Doctor’s fingers brushed against the back of your hand in a comforting motion.

At one point, you even used your napkin to wipe a bit of sauce off of the Doctor. Donna practically got up and left the table at that. It was as if you were already a lovey-dovey couple!

Once more she looked over at her grandad, wide-eyed and aggravated. How could the two of you not realize?!

“Are you seeing this?” she whispered to him, gesturing aggressively over at the two of you. Somehow, you remained blissfully unaware of Donna’s angry whispers.

Donna could feel herself going more and more insane as the minutes crept by, and the two of you continued your usual longing glances. She looked over at Wilf numerous times for assistance or even reassurance, but he just nodded knowingly. As much as she loved her grandad, she was starting to lose faith in his matchmaking abilities. Perhaps it was a dauntless task after all. 

When dinner was through, you and the Doctor helped clean up the dishes on the table. You stacked the dirty plates and bowls, all the while happily whispering and laughing to each other.

You carried the stack to the kitchen with the intent to help with dishes before Sylvia yelled at you to get out. The last time the two of you had done the dishes there were soapy bubbles everywhere and only a fraction of the dishes actually got done. She learned her lesson long ago to not trust the pair of you with important tasks. 

As you sulked out of the kitchen and into the hallway, the Doctor paused slightly. 

“What’s up?” you asked, noticing that something had caught his eye.

His eyes drifted up to the ceiling, and you followed his gaze. There was a small bough of mistletoe tied with a brilliant red bow hanging above your heads. 

“Huh, I wonder why they put that up,” you questioned. Considering there were no couples in the house it felt a little silly. Still, you felt a thrill rush through you at the implications of the small herb.

“I believe the tradition is to kiss…?” The Doctor asked bashfully, a blush creeping across his cheeks. He could be quite bad at remembering Earth traditions, but he was fairly certain about this one. Honestly, he really just wanted an excuse to kiss you.

“I do think that is proper,” you flushed, averting your gaze. You would never admit it, but you wanted an excuse to kiss him too.

The holiday music drifted in from the other room, the soft and familiar tunes filling the silence between you. The twinkle lights in the hall cast a soft glow over the Doctor, making his handsome features more prominent. As far as mistletoe kisses go, it truly was the perfect setting.

The Doctor moved closer to you slowly, his lips hoving over yours while still giving you space to pull away. Gently, he pressed his mouth to yours lovingly. The kiss was short and sweet, over far before you wanted it to be. 

“That was-” you gasped, your fingers drifting up to your lips subconsciously. 

The Doctor looked at you worriedly, suddenly concerned he had done the wrong thing. Maybe he should have asked your permission before kissing you. Waves of anxiety crashed over him, his woes written all over his face.  

You took in his pained expression and furrowed brows and shook your head quickly, cradling his hand in yours softly. You smiled brightly, halting his worried thoughts. 

“Amazing,” you finished with a grin. The Doctor smiled back at you, a twinkle in his eye. It all felt like a Hallmark movie. The sort of scene that could only ever occur if it had been masterminded. It was almost better not knowing that it had been.

With a sly smile, you grabbed his tie to pull him in for another kiss, this one longer than the last. His hands wrapped around you, pulling you closer to him. You could have stayed there forever if it hadn’t been for Donna’s sudden appearance. 

“Bloody finally!” she cried out. 

You turned around in shock, the Doctor’s hands still resting firmly on your waist.

“Wha-?” you gasped, slightly embarrassed to be caught in the act. “What are you yelling about?” 

“I’ve been waiting forever for you two idiots to kiss!”

You and the Doctor turned a deep shade of scarlet and instantly avoided your friend’s gaze. The Doctor’s hands slipped away from you and you took a small step back from him. You stared at the floor, flustered. Next to you, the Doctor fiddled anxiously. 

Donna rolled her eyes in exasperation, of course, the two of you were still going to deny your feelings for each other. 

“I give up,” she groaned, throwing her hands in the air before stomping off in frustration.

You turned to the Doctor with a knowing smile before the two of you burst into bouts of hearty laughter. His hands naturally made their way back to your waist, pulling you into him. 

“How much longer do you think it will take her to find out we’re dating?” He whispered into your ear with a grin.

[shirefantasies]

Hello. Could you do a slightly suggestive physical touch x reader thing like you did with the company but with the fellowship instead. If you don’t want to that’s okay. Thank youuuu

Sure 😊 Warnings: well duh 😜 but relatively minor as always

LoTR Characters + Physical Affection (Suggestive Version)

Aragorn

✧ Gives the most amazing massages that have you begging him not to stop, especially when you are on the road.

✧ Catches your hand as it roams over his chest, taking it in his and pressing kisses to it.

✧ You slipped some tongue into the last kiss, so it is only fair for him to be doing the same, no?

✧ He knows you love sitting on his lap, yes, but still you are not expecting the way he takes hold of you and sweeps you up onto it with one swift motion…

✧ His hands may be rough, but gentle are they every time they brush and cup your cheeks, tracing their outline.

Legolas

✧ Does not always realize the effect he has. Swipes his thumb across your lips to keep you clean, brows raising and smile creeping onto his face at your resulting expression.

✧ Shivers at the way your nails ghost down his spine, dragging just enough for him to feel each point.

✧ Leans back to meet you in a kiss when you find yourself running your hands over his shoulders.

✧ As if to memorize your form or write it in the very stars, Legolas is slow, intent with his motions as he traces every dip and curve of your body, eyes awed and focused.

✧ Pulls you back from harm by your waist, but cannot resist capturing your lips when he sees the grateful shine of your eyes, so innocent and yet so amorous.

Boromir

✧ Knowing of your love for physical affection gives him so many opportunities to tease you, most of all indulging his love of surprising you from behind, arms winding about you and breath warm in your ear.

✧ When he picks you up and spins you around, his hand may just find its way to give your rear end a playful squeeze as you are lowered.

✧ Training is more fun with you around- suddenly Boromir has all the motivation in the world to do push-ups... on top of you, of course, finding a new spot to kiss each time he comes down.

✧ Playfully and of course lightly sits on you to pin you down, only offering your release in exchange for a kiss.

✧ Boromir indulges your love- if you take him by the side of his face and pepper it with kisses, he will tilt his head and take you for a more passionate one.

Gimli

✧ Spins word upon word of your beauty, yet his voice is stolen completely at the teasing kisses you sneak upon him.

✧ If you’re alone, he has been known to teasingly smack your arse. Just every now and again…

✧ Pulls you down suddenly, almost roughly, to meet his height, noses and foreheads brushing before Gimli is kissing you passionately.

✧ Makes it your problem when his hands get cold, sliding them up your top to startle you!

✧ Tough as he acts, he loves your predisposition to hold him as well, allowing him to nuzzle against your chest and place kisses against anything exposed there. Possibly a nip or two or three...

Frodo

✧ It sends shivers down your spine the way Frodo’s eyes track your every movement, the small action alone feeling a bit like a dare.

✧ A habit of his upon feeling emboldened is placing kisses from the back of your hand up your arm before finally giving your lips a peck.

✧ Of course you know the effect it has on him when you wrap your legs around him- why else would you keep doing it?

✧ You almost think he is about to protest when you tuck your joined hands into the folds of your clothing, but the shy smile Frodo gives you is encouragement enough.

✧ His whole body relaxes when you rub his back, doing anything in your power to comfort him from the ring’s weight, but at times the look in his eyes tells you he is seeking more than comfort…

Sam

✧ Little does he know his flustered expression when your hands roam only encourages you to continue…

✧ Flusters you back by unexpectedly kissing smears of food off your lips, his tongue swiping out to catch anything he’s missed.

✧ He's nearly always holding your hands, whether it's when you're walking or even sitting, then he rests your joined hands upon his lap, sometimes even pulling yours over to him.

✧ If he isn't holding your hand, then his is resting upon your knee or thigh, roaming ever so slightly especially if you are beneath cover of a table.

✧ Jokes that if you don't keep your hands off him, he'll have to feed you by hand, only to realize that's exactly what you want and give in.

Merry

✧ Comes undone at the way you run your hand down his chest, his breath hitching.

✧ Often walks or stands with a hand upon the small of your back, keeping protective but also the optimal position to give your rear end the occasional squeeze!

✧ Buries his face in your neck when you run your fingers through his hair, distracting you with all the kisses he places there.

✧ Comfortable enough to just reach a hand into your pocket for things, maybe keep it there for a bit, too.

✧ Watch out, he often turns pecks on the cheek into full kisses, turning and taking hold of your cheek at the last minute!

Pippin

✧ Grins wider than anything when you pull him into your chest, especially if the height difference is just the right amount.

✧ Takes you to a meadow where you can lay and laugh and roll around to your heart's content; naturally he ends up on top of you, straddling you and gulping as he glances down, tentatively smiling...

✧ Always happy to coat you with kisses- any inch of bare skin he is granted access to is fair game!

✧ Loves the way you keep your bodies casually intertwined, throwing your legs over his or snuggling into him when you lie together, tangling them completely.

✧ Yet another benefit of wearing a scarf? The way you yank him against your body or into kisses by it, always with great fire and fervor.

Faramir

✧ Develops a little habit of slipping his hands into your sleeves, stroking your arm or simply sharing your warmth in a small intertwined moment.

✧ Eyes you with surprise when you pull his head into your chest, but never shall you hear Faramir complain.

✧ His every touch is reverent, grateful at your trust in him and awed at the beautiful dream that is your body before him.

✧ You will know what touches of yours Faramir appreciates most not only by the hitching of his breath, but by the way his hand will capture yours and hold it where it has made its home.

✧ A flush rises to his cheeks when he is laying there sprawled upon his bed with a book and he feels the weight of your body draping atop his and a lazy kiss to his cheek.

Eomer

✧ Makes his home in the hollow between your shoulder and neck, resting his head and pressing his lips against the crook.

✧ Turns instantly to capture your lips passionately the moment you emerge at his side, breath warm upon the shell of his ear.

✧ If you wear a skirt, watch out for Eomer teasingly lifting up the hem with his foot when only he can see, running it up your leg for good measure.

✧ Wide-eyed the first time you tug on his hair as your lips meet, but the look quickly melts into a smirk.

✧ Given your habit of throwing your legs over Eomer’s lap, the marshal has grown used to the weight upon his body, taking the opportunity to show you a bit of love as he caresses your legs.

Eowyn

✧ The way you two teasingly shove and butt at each other sometimes melts seamlessly into makeouts. Neither of you are quite sure how, it just seems to happen.

✧ Relaxes visibly when you run your hand through her golden hair, sending you the most delicious look of pleasure as your hand combs through her tresses and roams to her neck.

✧ Swept up in it the joy of it all, sometimes you’ll catch Eowyn biting your lip gently as you kiss her.

✧ As you tend to walk with your arms linked, every now and again the fancy will take her to fun her hand up and down yours, bringing her nails gently down.

✧ Always tilts her head to give you greater access when you take to kissing her neck.

Haldir

✧ Shoots you the occasional warning look when your hands roam beneath the potential eye of others, but well aware are you that that is simply the manifestation of how flustered you make him. Not above retaliation, Haldir teases you endlessly in your later time away from those prying gazes when he has you all to himself.

✧ Learns your sweet spot, exactly the spot to kiss, and commits it forever to memory.

✧ One of his favorite things about you is the way you seem to seek him, him of all lucky people, for as much as he teases you he cannot deny he loves the way your hands are always darting toward him.

✧ Spreads his legs when he sits, inviting you to rest between them, your head falling against his chest in surrender to his presence.

✧ Having the cover of trees is truly a blessing, for then Haldir can take you on a 'quick patrol' and make out with you behind a massive trunk unseen.

Galadriel

✧ Smirks mischievously, blue eyes glinting, at the way your hand travels up and down her leg.

✧ Takes your hand sometimes only to draw it closer, bring it to a part of her body in silent, awaiting signal.

✧ Like liquid her body melts into yours when you drape your form atop her, feeling her give into you immediately.

✧ You may initiate the kiss, but with a deep chuckle the Lady of Lórien makes quick work of taking control, her tongue dominating yours.

✧ Great is her happiness upon your habitual reach for her arm to walk side by side with her, bringing her hand, wrist, up to your lips.

Elrond

✧ Never fails to show surprise when you yank him in for yet another kiss, hands falling to his chest. Likes to rest his hands over yours in such moments.

✧ Always helps you undress at the end of the day, motions slow and intent as he unlaces and works, eyes boring into yours.

✧ Presses lingering kisses to your bare shoulders.

✧ Always do his lips brush the shell of your ear when Lord Elrond leans in for a private message, especially if it is one to hold onto for the eventide.

✧ Smiles into every kiss you deepen, grip upon your back tightening as he grants you entry, his tongue welcoming yours into a dance.

Arwen

✧ Gets bolder with your encouragement, laying adjacent to you with her head upon your thighs, her favorite cushion of all.

✧ Leans down to place kisses upon them, sometimes traveling up and down as she goes.

✧ Looks up at you with a mix of love and challenge in her eyes when you hover over her lain form, teasing kiss after kiss from you with a single look.

✧ You can't help but let her run her hands down your chest, not when it brings such a smile of satisfaction to her face.

✧ Adoring the way your hands tend to wrap around her, Arwen nuzzles into your cheek, gently rubbing against yours as she enjoys the contact.

Taglist: @lokilover476 @fuckyoumakeart @kilibaggins @mossthebogwitch @ibabblealot @stormchaser819 @pirate-lord-of-narnia @datglutengoblin @letmelickyoureyeballs | Reply/Ask/Message to join!

[heavenlylie]

lover

pairing: tara carpenter x fem!reader (could be gn!reader too)

summary: you and tara shared enchanted nights under christmas lights, intertwining your hearts in a destined love story. your love became a symphony, echoing through years, forever harmonizing your souls.

warnings: none

word count: 1.4k

a/n: this was based on the song Lover by Taylor Swift. i'm a huge swiftie and this just felt right, it was literally so heartwarming to write this with lover on repeat. also let's pretend i did not just disappear for 6 months! anyway enjoyyy!

The winter winds whispered through the streets of New York City, carrying with them a promise of enchantment. Amid the soft glow of Christmas lights that adorned the city, Tara and you found yourselves entwined in a story that seemed to be written in the stars.

The snowflakes danced around the two of you like tiny white fairies, punctuating the silence of the night with a magical sparkle. Tara's cheeks were rosy, her eyes bright with joy. You smiled at her, and she laughed, the sound echoing through the air as if it were the only thing in the world that mattered.

You reached for her hand, your fingers intertwining as you looked up into the sky, searching for the stars in the night. You both paused, taking in the beauty of the city and the warmth of the moment. Then, you turned to each other and, without a word, stepped forward, deeper into the embrace of the night.

Your hearts connected in those moments, and you both knew that this was something special that would last forever. You were finally in the place you'd been dreaming of - together, in love, and at home. The city was your canvas, and together you created a living masterpiece that you would never forget.

The night was alive with promise, and every step you took together revealed a new layer of excitement. You stopped to admire the holiday decorations that adorned shop windows, and you couldn't help but share secret glances as you laughed at your own stories and memories. A feeling of contentment filled your heart as you held hands and looked into one another's eyes, feeling as if the world was just right this very moment.

You eventually reached an open-air cafe, its tables lit only by the stars in the sky. After ordering drinks, you moved to one of the tables furthest from the city's hustle and bustle.

Comfort feeling your heart knowing that Tara would always save a seat for you, her lover. The sound of laughter around you lingered in the air like soft music, fuelling a shared sense of peace and joy between yourselves.

You began talking about everything - life, love, dreams - until finally there were no more words to be said; just silence that spoke volumes through comfortable silences. The night gradually faded away into morning light without either of you noticing as you stroll through Central Park, time felt irrelevant when it came to your connection.

As dawn arrived, so did an awareness that this night would remain forever etched in both your hearts and minds as something special beyond compare. With one last lingering glance at each other over steaming cups of coffee, Tara smiled softly at you before taking your hand once again and leading both back home.

You stepped through the door of your apartment, a cozy retreat that you had created with Tara. As soon as you crossed the threshold, the outside world melted away and it felt as if nothing else existed but the two of you. This was your kingdom, a safe space filled with laughter and love where no one else could enter.

Here, there were no rules or expectations; just comfort and contentment in each other's presence. In the evenings, you cuddled up on the couch in front of a crackling fire, sipping hot chocolate and talking about your days.

You shared stories and secrets, little moments of joy that had occurred throughout the day — experiences that only you two could understand. As time passed, your conversations slowly transformed into stargazing sessions; mugs in hand, you marvelled at the night sky in amazement.

During wintertime especially, these moments became sacred rituals. The warmth of your connection melted away any chill outside as cuddles replaced blankets and cups of tea replaced mugs of hot chocolate.

As time moved forward so did both your hearts - protecting all the memories made within those walls - so much so that it seemed impossible for anything to break them apart ever again. These were special days that neither one of you would ever forget because here in this little apartment was where two hearts entwined forever made a home.

The apartment began to feel like a canvas for your love, painted with the hues of shared meals, tangled limbs, and whispered secrets. You created your own little world inside those walls, a place where nothing else mattered but the two of you. It was here that your souls connected and intertwined in an indescribable dance.

Time no longer seemed to exist as minutes turned into hours and days fading away into weeks without either one of you noticing. Your connection was more than just physical; it was an intangible bond that neither of you could explain but both knew existed nonetheless.

Even in the midst of friends filling the space with laughter and chatter, your connection remained the heart of it all — unbreakable and unwavering in spite of any outside forces.

As months flew by, so did the moments shared within those four walls, each new experience bringing even deeper understanding and appreciation for one another.

It seemed impossible for anything to ever break apart this bond between you two - not distance or time or anything else this world throws at you - for within these walls, a love had been forged that would remain forever etched in both your hearts and minds as something special beyond compare.

The seasons marched on, leaving footprints in the sands of your relationship. As three summers came and went, your love deepened with every passing day. The passage of time only seemed to enhance the resonance of your emotions, each moment engraving itself into your hearts. In the midst of these fleeting yet timeless moments, you knew that a lifetime would not be enough for either one of you to express the depth of your love for one another.

As autumn arrived bringing it's crisp air and colourful foliage, you decided to make a promise of forever; a promise to stand by each other no matter what life had in store. So on an early Saturday morning in October, with friends and family gathered around you two, right where it all began; you exchanged vows of eternal love and commitment.

In the presence of those who have known and loved you both since the beginning, you stood as a testament to the enduring power of love. The vows you exchanged held the weight of promises to cherish and support one another, no matter what the future held.

As you looked into each other's eyes, you knew that your hearts were forever intertwined; here was a beautiful moment that neither one could put into words - but instead celebrated with tears of joy and elation for this was exactly where they wanted to be for eternity.

Years unfolded like the enchanting notes of a beautiful symphony, delicately weaving together into a melody of love that grew stronger with every passing moment. With each year that passed, your love story blossomed into something even more extraordinary, like a flower opening its petals to the sun's gentle caress.

The warmth and tenderness between you radiated like the soft glow of Christmas lights, illuminating not only the city's streets but also the depths of your souls. And just like those lights that danced through the winter nights until the dawn of January, your love continued to shine brilliantly in every season of your journey.

The memories of your first winter together hold a special place in your hearts, like a treasured memento hidden amongst the pages of a favorite book. The laughter that echoed through your private universe created a symphony of joy that resounded with warmth and comfort. It was a time of shared whispers, stolen glances, and stolen kisses, as the promises exchanged on that momentous day bound your souls together in an unbreakable bond.

These precious memories, like delicate threads, were etched in the tapestry of your love, weaving a story that would be cherished for eternity.

As you reflect upon the chapters of your love story, you realize that your journey together can be likened to a symphony — a beautiful composition that evokes emotions and stirs the deepest parts of your being.

The enchanting melody of your love resonates within your hearts, forever playing in perfect harmony. It is a symphony that is timeless and everlasting, destined to echo throughout the annals of your love story, for it is a melody that will endure. Tara would be your lover, forever and ever.

[asumofwords]

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. Flashbacks of assault, thoughts of helplessness, blood, depression and suicidal thoughts.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: Thank you all for the love, the last chapter was a heavy one, and just wanted to reiterate that you should be kind to yourself. I think there is a union of therapists ready to barge down my door and beat me to a pulp at this point. A longer chapter because I really didn't want to split it up. <3

Chapter 75: Blood Spilt

The sun rose and fell twice, the moon chasing after them. A never ending cycle of the lover who longed for its other half, never truly being able to reach them.

Destined to seek out the unattainable forever more. Until that time when all things stop, and the stars collide.

And all things that were, were now gone. 

Then, and only then, could the moon go to the sun and become one.

You did not move from your position on your side on the bed, nor did you sleep, nor eat, nor bathe. 

You simply were not there. 

Your body perhaps, but your mind? It had gone with the wind, gentle ashes floating away, and a quiet hopefulness that it would return.

It was an interesting thing, to not feel. 

The only constant was your head on the pillow, and your body on its side.

The cold numbness continued to curl its tight hands around you, holding you down beneath the depths that continued to drag you deeper, and deeper, down under its smothering darkness, until you came to rest along its oceans bed. 

And so you laid there, not feeling, not moving, not being.

Just there.

The maids had been frantic when they discovered you that morning, desperately trying to pull you from the bed, yet each time their hands had touched you, you would shake amongst the sheets and whimper. 

They were at a loss of what to do, and so in their desperation, sought out assistance where they could. 

Alicent Hightower had entered the chambers with an annoyed air around her, expecting to see the room in a disarray, wine and food thrown to the ground in a heated tantrum. The maids only words to her was that the Princess was unwell. 

She had expected to see you screaming, eyes ablaze looking every inch your mothers fury, cursing and threatening each and every one of them as she or the Rogue Prince would have done, their fire coursing through your veins. But when the older woman entered through the large doors, Aemond’s two maids were nervously wringing their hands as they looked to the bed, where a mound sat atop the sheets.

Alicent had not expected to see you, curled in a ball, unmoving, unblinking, and covered in blood. She had moved swiftly across the chambers, fear rising in her throat at the thought of you being dead. 

What had happened?

Who had done this?

What would happen when Rhaenyra got word?

But Alicent knew what would happen. The treaty would end, and the Seven Hells would rain upon them all. Daemon would leave not one person or being alive in King’s Landing, or any lands that sided with the Hightower's.

With swift steps, Alicent came to your side dread racing through her body, images of dragons and fire fleeting through her mind. She saw the blood, she saw the bruises, and then she saw your face. The Dowager Queen sighed a breath of relief, seeing your chest rise and fall and eyes twitch. 

You were alive. 

She thanked the Seven.

Alicent's gaze swept over your body, taking in the bruises upon your throat and arms, large imprints of fingers purpling across the flesh, and then back down to the blood upon your chemise and the bed below you. 

Bile rose in the Dowager Queen’s throat. 

What had he done?

What had he done?

She knew it had been her son. She knew the way a mother knows her children intimately, instinctually, almost like a second sight. Anger rose to replace her fear.

Did he wish to have them all killed?

“What has happened?” She hissed at the maids, who shifted on their feet as they looked at you.

Alicent reared back away from you and stormed out of the chambers, fingers finding each other in her hands as she moved through the corridors to fetch the Maester. Her nails picked and pulled at the skin on her fingertips, ripping it away from the nail, blood rising to the surface.

When the Dowager Queen found the old man, he had been bent over a tome in his chambers, reading and writing upon parchment with his quill. He turned to look at the Queen, and she had commanded him to bring Moon Tea to the Princesses chambers immediately.

Without another word she left.

You were where she had last seen you, still on your side, staring at the wall in front of you. The maids had laid a thick blanket over you, tucking it up to your shoulders, and watched from beside the bed anxiously. They whispered to each other lowly on what they should do.

When the Dowager Queen had entered, the girls had snapped their heads, quietened, and not relaxed upon seeing her. 

The Maester brought the tea, and Alicent commanded the two maids to sit you up so that you may drink it. Amala and Joanna had moved to your side slowly, whispering to you that it was them, that they were going to touch you. That they needed to sit you up, but all that you did was blink, and let them move you.

As the girls pulled you up, dull pain rocked through your body, and a lone tear fell down your cheek. 

Why Gods, Why?

You continued to stare into nothing as they held you upright by your shoulders, and the world came back around you. You crashed down to earth, plummeting into the circumstances you so desperately wished to escape.

A tide of grief washed over you with the pain that returned to your body. Tears fell down your cheeks and neck in fat drops as you blinked, breathing becoming jagged.

The grunts of Aegon echoed in your mind.

A blur of green caught your eye and you flinched, shoulders rising as you turned your head. Alicent had moved to come closer, her auburn brows drawn tightly on her face. 

She looked horrified. 

She looked sad.

She looked remorseful.

Rhaenyra's childhood companion came closer, arm stretched out as she moved to comfort you, hand hovering just out of reach of your shoulder. 

You looked so much like your mother.

She wished to try and soothe you. 

Because despite her reservations about you, despite the hatred of your family, despite her loyalty to her son, despite the war, and your hand in her youngest sons death, she still felt the pull of her heart, that this was not right. That no one deserved such a thing to happen to them. That even you had not deserved such a thing. That women and girls should never experience such a horror. 

For all of her faults, Alicent could see that this was wrong. That it was a crime. An act of depravity.

A sin.

She prayed in her head to the Mother and Crone for guidance. She prayed for strength, for healing, for wellbeing. She prayed that the force of the Blacks would not come to call.

But as her hand came to touch your shoulder, fear and nausea rippled through you, you had jerked away from her, and screamed. 

“Get away from me!”

“Please Princess, you must drink the tea.” She had said quietly, the Maester beside you looking with clinical eyes, the colour from them seemingly gone, and nothing but a blank mask upon his face. 

You sobbed and wrapped your arms around yourself, fingers pressing into the bruised flesh to ground yourself as he stepped forward, tea in hand.

The maids came to stand on the other side of you for support, and your shoulders relaxed, their presence soothing you, even if only slightly. 

The tea had been pressed to your lips, and you drank roughly as you continued to cry. Your throat felt raw as you swallowed, as though it was cut apart from the inside.

The familiar tart, minty tea coated your mouth as it moved down into your empty stomach. You could not stop the tide that overflowed as you finished the brew, your sobs filling the air as the pressure on your core caused pain to ebb up your abdomen. 

Please Gods, bring him back to me.

Please, do not let me suffer this pain any longer.

The maids had stayed at your side as the Maester left, empty cup in his hands. Alicent had stopped him on his way out and commanded him, “Not a word to anyone of this.” The old man had bowed his head, and uttered a quiet, “Your Grace” in acquiescence. 

The Lady Hightower stood at the doors of the chambers, unsure of what to do, watching as you cried and let the two maids put their small hands on your shoulders as you sobbed forward on the edge of the bed. 

She was at a loss.

Alicent’s own daughter had shied away from her touch, and now you, a young woman with nothing, had too. Alicent left the chambers with a bitter taste on her tongue, and an anger that burned towards her eldest son.

As the door had shut closed behind her, you gasped, your chest feeling tight and raw, body aching and throat throbbing. The maids had stood on the side of the bed, cooing you, stroking your shoulders which brought you tiny comfort.

Have I not given enough?

What did I do, Gods?

You let the maids see you as you were.

Broken. 

As the night slowly crept upon you, and you had barely moved from your place on the bed. Amala and Joanna had laid you down in the sheets after your refusal to bathe, and promised to stay in the chambers with you, one sitting on the chaise, the other on Aemond’s arm chair as they tried to get you to sleep. 

They stayed awake the entire evening.

But sleep evaded you, no matter how exhausted you were, you would fall beneath a shallow surface of sleep and rise back to the top as if drowning, the feeling of Aegon upon you and his voice in your head preventing you from rest.

Helaena and Lucerys stood beside the fire, in the foreground with the two maids as you looked at them, the chambers darkening.

And in the space where you could scarcely sleep and only think, you came to a horrifying realisation that you did not feel safe in your chambers without him.

You did not feel safe without Aemond. 

“Aemond.”

-

What little sleep you managed to get was disturbed by the whispers of the maids in the early morning. Amala left the chambers first, leaving you with Joanna, who promised not to leave you alone, your heart beating painfully in your chest.

When Amala returned, she told you that she had called for a bath to be brought to the chambers, and that they would need to bathe you. Anxiety at the thought of being touched again moved through you, and tears welled in your eyes.

“Fuck, your little cunt is so tight for me. Are you sure you’re not a maiden? You’re bleeding on my cock like one.” He huffed, continuing to slowly push himself back inside of you, each and every inch of his cock sending agony racing up and down your spine as your legs were forced open beneath him.

You blinked rapidly, and a broken sob past through your dry and crackled lips. Joanna came to your side and helped you sit up, she wrapped the large blanket around your shoulders, covering every inch of your body except of your head and told you to take deep breaths as she held you. 

You breathed with her, hiccuping as other maids entered the chambers, head down, carrying the large bath and buckets of steaming hot water. You felt yourself slipping back into that comfortable numbness as you stared at the buckets be poured into the tub.

How much more were you expected to take?

You knew that you could not.

You would not.

You could not do it.

Not for yourself.

Not for your mother.

Not for your father.

Not for your brothers, or sisters.

The ask was too much, the stakes were too high. 

The pain was too much to bear.

When the last of the maids had left the room, and you were left with your own, Joanna helped you to stand, brittleness from exhaustion whittling in your bones as you took shaky steps across the cold stone floors towards the bath. 

You shivered as you stood in front of it, knuckles white as you gripped the blanket, before you took a steeling breath and dropped it to the floor. You lifted your arms, ignoring the pain that sparked through them and your core as you pulled your soiled chemise off of your body. 

The maids had stood, ready to catch you, ready for anything, by the side of the tub as you stepped one foot in, and then the other. The water steamed thickly into the air, and its heat stung your skin. But you relished in the pain within your control and concentrated on it. 

Sinking into its heat, you sat, knees against your chest as you kept your eyes on the fireplace, watching the flames flicker and dance atop the logs that they consumed. Lucerys and Helaena stood beside it, watching you quietly. Their presence mere shadows in your periphery.

“Don’t cry,” The King cooed, thrusting harder into you, “It is an honour to have my seed inside of you.”

A warm trail of tears dripped from your cheeks and down into the milky water of your bath.

Endure.

Endure.

Endure.

The rattling of the doors caused your heart to leap into your throat as your head snapped behind you, arms flying out to grasp the edge of the tub.

Leather riding gear, a mess of long silver hair, and a singular violet eye that widened at your appearance stood by the doors. His chest rose as fell, and sweat dotted his brow as he stood rooted to the ground beside the door.

He had been running.

Aemond was back. 

“Kepus.” The sob fell from your lips, and he sped to your side, dropping to his knees as he looked over you, hands coming out to hold your cheeks.

You flinched at his hands as they came to touch you, and another sob broke free, yet you let him hold you. You let him touch your cheeks as he looked you over, eyes pausing on the dark bruises around your neck. 

His gaze darkened and the grip on your cheeks tightened.

Tears continued to fall into the water.

“You left me with him.” You cried, watching as Aemond’s face morphed into knowing, horror, disgust and then rage. All flickering through his eye.

“You knew what he would do. You know what he does.” You continued, hands wrapping around yourself as the maids left the chambers, closing the door behind you.

Aemond’s chest rose and fell shallowly as he held your cheeks, nose flaring, and lips twitching as you cried brokenly in his hold.

Broken.

“You let him. He was inside me.” You hissed, anger bubbling up through you.

“Where were you? Where were you? Where were you?” You voice crackled and broke, pain overtaking your senses. 

You had no-one else to confide in. 

No-one else in the Gods forsaken Keep, but your Kinslaying uncle.

Aemond's thumbs brushed against your cheeks, wiping the tears that fell away. But the movement was stiff, and his presses too rough, as though he was barely keeping his composure. As though he was ready to launch himself from beside the tub. As if he was fighting flames that licked at him hotly.

“You left me, Aem.” You hiccuped, one hand coming to hold onto his wrist, using every ounce of strength that you had, “Why did you leave me?”

“Zaldristos.”

Nausea curled inside of you as he whispered, hands still rubbing unsoothing swipes into your cheeks. Stiff swipes of a repetitive nature, an autopilot as his brow continued to furrow as he looked at you.

“He was inside me, and you were gone with your whore.” You spat, fire crackling higher within you, “You left me with him whilst you went back to your Alys.”

Aemond swallowed thickly as he looked at you, hands stilling on your cheeks. Your chest heaved as you cried, angry and horrified tears that fell from your cheeks.

"Dracarys.”

“Pretty petals.”

“A crown for-“

“Shut. Up.” You growled at the fireplace, your shoulders shaking.

“Y/n…I came back for you.” Aemond uttered.

“You’re too late. What's done is done. Aegon has had me.”

Silence curled around the both of you, and you turned your head, shaking Aemond’s hands from your face as you looked into the flames. 

He did this.

He left you.

He left you with him, for her.

He let Aegon have you.

He d-

“Ābrazȳrys, ivestragī nyke dohaeragon ao.” Wife, let me help you, Aemond cooed.

Another tear slid down your cheek as you dug your fingers into the bruises of your arms. In your periphery you saw Aemond pick up the wash cloth from the edge of the tub and dip it into the water. 

With gentle fingers, he grasped your chin and turned your head back to him, your eyes glossy with tears and his eye hooded in an emotion you couldn’t pin point. He squeezed the cloth of its steaming water and brought it up to your face, pausing before he touched you, watching as your eyes flinched.

“Iksan jāre naejot rāenābagon ao.” I'm going to wash you.

You let out a shuddering breath. 

The One-Eyed Prince moved with a gentleness you did not know he possessed. He wiped the tracks of tears away with the damp cloth first, before washing the rest of your face with a patience he had not shown. As he moved downwards to your neck, you had whimpered, hands flying to grasp his wrists, your nails digging into him as pain bloomed where he had irritated the skin.

Your uncle had hushed you, and dipped the cloth back into the water before coming back up, not squeezing the water from it, and instead resting the cloth against your chin and squeezing there, letting the water run down your neck in a way of contactless cleansing.

It was thoughtful.

It was caring.

It was-

You continued to cry as he hushed and cooed you, cleaning every inch of your body slowly and gently, taking his time, his singular eye looking to yours for consent before he moved to the next part of your body. 

It had broken you further. 

It had crumbled your heart.

The kindness.

The gentleness.

It was all too much, and so you sobbed loudly in the chambers as he continued, focused on getting you clean and washing his brother from your body.

You had noticed, that with every dip of the cloth back into the bath, and back up to your arms, that his hands shook, and the skin of his knuckles were white as he gripped the cloth with all his might.

He was grounding himself too.

Collecting a small bowl from beside the tub, he dipped it into the water and began to wet your hair, washing it gently, and scrubbing cautious hands through the strands, untangling them with his fingers as he went.

It was so quiet in the chambers.

Aemond was silent as he washed you, and did not comment about how you flinched at times, or sobbed louder. He only stayed patient and slow as you allowed him to bathe you. As you allowed him to care for you.

As you allowed him to offer this small piece of comfort to you.

When Aemond had reached to clean between your thighs, he had stopped himself, and his palm had opened, turning upwards, revealing the soaked cloth to your eyes.

He was offering you the cloth to do it yourself.

And yet in that moment, you couldn’t bare to bring yourself to touch yourself with your own hands. You had sucked in a sharp breath, and Aemond had waited for you to take the cloth, hand still open. 

When moments had passed, and you had not reached out for it, you listened to Aemond blow a shaky breath through his lips as he moved the cloth to your inner thighs. You had flinched when he came into contact with the tender flesh, and you had whimpered, eyes shutting tightly. Aemond paused and gave you time to adjust or tell him to stop before he began to clean the blood and seed from your thighs that had dried there. 

It stung.

It ached.

It hurt to be touched, it struck fear to be touched.

And yet when Aemond had finished, you cried in relief that it was over.

It was over.

It was over.

“It’s over.” He had murmured, placing the cloth back on the edge of the tub.

The water had begun to grow cold, and the goosebumps that spread across your skin was not just due to the cold, but from the unfurling conditions your brain was yet to wrap itself around.

Aemond stood, the leather of his riding gear creasing as he moved to collect your robe and brought it over to you. He laid it over his arm and reached to help you to stand on shaky legs, your tears having subsided and your body softly shaking.

He would see what Aegon had done.

He would see what he did to you.

He would see.

One leg after the other, you stepped out of the tub, holding your breath as Aemond slowly helped to thread your arms through the robe, careful to not touch you.

Unbeknownst to you, the maids had returned and stripped the bed of the bloodied sheets, and replaced them with fresh ones.

Aemond stood beside you, watching your face as you stared into the flames, clutching yourself for dear life. Trying to make yourself smaller, trying to hide yourself. Trying to protect yourself.

“Y/n.” Aemond whispered, and you turned to look at him.

The Prince towered over you and a shadow settled across his face, but you held no fear as you looked at him. The anger that he held, the pain that he too experienced, was not aimed at you. As you looked at the man who had become foreign to you, you did not feel fear.

Only anguish. 

His hand reached forward and touched your shoulder, and the dam inside of you broke. You stepped forward and collapsed into his chest, sobbing as his arms wrapped around you softly, pulling you against his chest as he let you cry. 

The sandalwood, leather, and the faint smell of dragon curled around you, and you breathed deeply, burying your head further into his chest. He hummed softly, and rubbed a gentle unsure hand through your hair, stilling when you stiffened. 

Leaning his head down, Aemond pressed his lips to the top of your head and breathed, inhaling your essence before he pulled backwards.

“Come.” He offered quietly, and turned to lead you towards the bed.

But fear shot through you as you looked at the bed, memories of Aegon, the sounds of his grunts, the feel of his-

You pulled away from him, eyes widened in fright and breath caught in your throat, “No. No. Please.” You cried, and Aemond stepped forward again, hushing you. 

“Shh, shh, shh. Okay. Okay. No bed. Let’s sit you down, hm?”

The One-Eyed Prince led you to the chaise, sitting you down with care and pulled a blanket to drape over you, wrapping it tightly against you.

The tide within did not settle, nor did it rise again, instead the waves crashed against you in the same familiar way they had not too long ago. When you had first returned to the Keep, with lip cut and palm bleeding. When he had made you bleed just the same.

When he-

“Why did you leave me?” You muttered.

Your question went unanswered as Aemond moved to go towards the chamber doors. Fear rose inside of you at the thought of beign left alone in the chambers again. he would come again. he could always come again. He would-

You hand struck out and you snatched his, gripping him and pulling him back.

“Stay.” You whispered.

Aemond looked to the door and back to you, jaw tightening and his lips twitching in thought. But the Prince had made up his mind, and nodded, sitting down beside you.

There was no one else you could turn to.

No one else you could confide in.

No one.

You curled your legs beneath you and shifted, resting your head in his lap. He smelt familiar. He smelt safe. He smelt like him. He didn't smell like wine, or sweat or-

Immediately, Aemond began to swipe a gentle hand through your hair as you tried to blink away your tears, and steady your breathing.

Stay.

Don’t leave me.

Don’t leave me to him.

Please.

The hands combed through your hair, the movement tugging the strands at the root in a steady rhythm that you could count out. 

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

The longer your uncle did it, the more you sunk into the rhythym of counting and not thinking.

Five.

Six.

Seven.

The day passed, and the chambers had darkened, and all the while you kept your eyes on Aemond's face above you, who sat stiffly with your head in his lap, one hand in your hair, and the other clenched on the arm of the chaise.

His lone eye, his singular violet eye that clouded with storms, a soft lavender in spring, eyes you had loved as a child, and grew to fear as an adult, stared straight at the chamber doors.

Waiting.

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

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[moth-mimic]

Hazy Memories

‣ pairing: Legolas x reader

‣ words: 950+

‣ content: fluff, human reader, gn!reader

──────────────────

summary: after the Fellowship settles down for the night, you find that the cold leaves you unable to fall asleep. A walk in the woods ends in a moment more touching than you could have imagined.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The terrain you— along with the rest of the Fellowship— trekked along was undeniably a difficult route to take. The temperature had plummeted significantly before the group had even reached the mountain of Caradhras, which led to the decision to make camp before nightfall would bring even deadlier weather.

Now you tossed and turned in your sleeping bag, your thoughts constantly lingering on the persistent, icy wind that was currently nipping at your skin. Most of your companions had somehow already found their way to hazy dreams: the hobbits were huddled together and sharing each other’s warmth; Aragorn, Gimli, and Boromir had each found their own place to rest; and Gandalf was off meditating somewhere, you were sure. The only one who was wide awake was Legolas, who was currently on watch due to his lack of need for sleep.

But through the fog the cold had brought upon your mind, you could still make out the memories of the past evening. Although the long stories of the mountain that Gandalf had told the group were already lost to you, the interactions you had with the blond elf were clear as a sunny day. The thought of him brought an unexplainable warmth throughout your chest before you urged it away. Your feelings for him were based purely on admiration, that was all.

You had always worried about him, which was why you had immediately offered him your cloak once the temperature had began to lower. You felt bad for him, seeing him in simple layers compared to the others. He had given you a curious look at first before a small, warm smile made its way to his face.

“I am alright, thank you.”

“But aren’t you cold?” You continued, the crease in your expression making it seem as if the mere thought of him being cold horrified you.

He shook his head softly, pressing your cloak back towards you. “Not necessarily, although I do appreciate your offer.”

And before you could protest he was already in front of the group again. You watched him gingerly step upon the snowy ground each time he moved, his grace leaving barely a trace. You sighed, the warmth of your breath drifting from your lips. Only when one of the hobbits pushed you forward did you snap out of your trance.

Tonight you were in that same trance again, your restlessness guiding you from your sleeping bag and towards the dense woodland. You weren’t sure where you were headed, if you were headed anywhere, but hopefully your movement would be enough to grant you a bit of warmth. You found your way to a relatively clear path between the trees before your eyes caught sight of a light trail of footsteps. You followed them, wishing for the elf to still be there, yet the trail stopped at a deep decline in the ground. You looked past the cliffside and to the star-speckled sky as if you were waiting for something. After a moment you eventually sighed and intended to turn back around, yet something stirred from the leaves overhead.

With one swift movement you grabbed the pocket knife on your waistband, ready to fight whatever was there— or rather, whoever. When your eyes opened again you were met with ones of sapphire-blue, paired with an amused grin framed by strands of smooth, delicate hair.

“Y/N.”

“I- Legolas!” You stammer, quickly withdrawing the weapon you had faced him with.

He looks you up and down with one swift glance, clearly not affected. “You’re awake. Why?”

“I just can’t sleep. Too cold, I guess.” You answer, not mentioning the fact that you were too busy thinking of how graceful he is. Or that you purposefully followed his footsteps here. He nods.

“Your cheeks are horribly red.” His response makes your eyes widen before you try to relax again, hoping the action was subtle enough that he didn’t notice. He continues as his gaze travels along your face, almost as if he’s analyzing each feature. As he does so, the back of his hands lift to lightly stroke your cheek. Heat blooms under his touch. “You’re not familiar with the cold, are you?”

“And I’m guessing you’re so warm with your… what, only two layers?” You scoff, taking a small step back and turning your head nervously. He looks as if he’s about to respond somehow, yet he cuts himself short. His line of sight travels down to his feet as if he’s nervous.

“Well, I suppose I haven’t been thinking about it. I am very cold, to tell the truth. Freezing, even.” As he confesses this, he glances at you from the corner of his eye as if he’s expecting something.

“I was right!” You exclaim with victory before settling down and providing your care. You join hands with him to share your warmth. “Here, take my cloak. I can do without a layer.”

“No, no, I can’t have you be even colder—“

“I insist! I’m sure you’ve been barely surviving with those mere layers.” You quickly take off your outermost layer, settling it onto his shoulders. You don’t notice the shade of soft pink on his cheeks. “There we go.”

You both stand there for a moment, Legolas looking like he’s still missing something. “I don’t think it’s enough.”

You raise your eyebrow. “Really? Well, if you want another—“

Before you can finish your sentence, the cloak envelopes your upper body, the elf using his arm to support you as he pulls you towards him. You instinctively stiffen before his voice washes over you, calm and easy like a stream. “I think this is perfect.” The tension leaves you at once, instead replaced with the warmth of his body, nurturing like rays of sun. For a moment you believe you’re back home.

Huddled within your cloak, the two of you settle down at the foot of a tree. Your hands wrap around to warm his back as his fingers run gently through your hair, lulling you to sleep. As you fade into unconsciousness, he speaks to you of the old forest at his own home: the towering trees, the soothing melodies of birds, the vibrant green of flora. Your dreams consist of a realm you have never set foot on.

When Aragorn finds the two of you next morning, he doesn’t dare tell you that elves do not get cold.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

[rustedhearts]

hocus pocus (dad!boxer!steve x fem!librarian reader)

summary: a five year old jane harrington is obsessed with her new witch costume and refuses to take it off. oh no! catastrophe strikes when she tears a hole in her cape. can steve fix it before she has a meltdown?

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

✶ the king of the ring (miscellaneous) ✶ main masterlist

tags: fluff; dad!steve; mention of head trauma; a cape catastrophe!

buy me a ko-fi! ♡

october 24th, 2002.

"Abracadabra!"

Steve lazily slumped his head aside and played dead for the seventh time in the past half an hour, killed by his daughter's sparkly, ribboned purple wand. She giggled with giddy glee at his weak performance, covering her mouth with a tiny hand to stifle delight from her victim. But Steve still caught it, heart fluttering with pride at the sound—his favorite pastime in the world these days was making Jane laugh.

Peeking one eye open, Steve watched her twirl in her satin cape, bedazzled with jewels and shiny gold stars. She was somewhere between a princess and a witch. Jane’s indecisiveness led to Halloween costumes you could never quite decipher. One thing about the littlest Harrington was she refused to be confined to just one thing.

“Is that laughter I hear?”

“Daddy, you’re not supposda talk! You’re dead!”

Steve waited a moment for Jane’s momentary irritation to pass before jolting upright with a quiet roar. She squealed, jumping on her toes clad in little pink socks, given a fright by her father. He scooped her up in one swift pull, hoisting her into the air over his shoulder before spinning around the center of the living room.

“It’s alive, it’s alive!” Steve bellowed theatrically.

Jane was a mess of laughter and hiccups, dangling over his back. He loved her belly laughs—the ones that brought her back to infancy, when the sound of Steve dropping a pen and dramatically groaning about it had her squealing in her highchair. She was continuously enamored by her father and his otherworldly presence. In little Jane’s eyes, Steve was the sun and the moon.

Steve hauled her onto the couch, sharing in her breathless laughter as it faded to huffs. He collapsed beside her, feigning exhaustion from his rise from the dead. She instantly perked up and climbed into his lap, her rebound from play much quicker then Steve’s these days. Being out of the ring for so long had taken its toll on him.

“Oof—Jane, no climbing.”

Jane scrambled over the back of the couch, hurtling toward the carpet with a thud. Steve rubbed his temples, praying the dull ache of an oncoming headache would fade with care. He always felt terrible when a migraine immobilized him in a dark room away from you and Jane, though even his doctor said after a head injury like his, there was no avoiding them. If he didn’t look after himself, he’d stumble backward.

But Steve always put himself on the back burner when it came to Jane.

“Can we go outside and play in the leaves?” Jane asked, skipping her way around the couch in clumsy steps.

Steve glanced through the living room window, overlooking the gated yard. The sky was a dull, pale blue, and the trees rattled with an angry wind. The leaves Jane spoke of, crisp and brightly-colored, swirled around the yard.

“I don’t know, Janey…”

“Please, please, please?”

Jane put on her best weepy-eyed pout (one she inherited from her mother), and gazed up at her father with tightly-clasped hands. Her wand stuck out between her fingers, ribbons tangled together. The cape she’d been wearing for days, tied loosely around her neck in a rumpled bow over a purple tulle dress, was wrinkled from crumpling and folding and play. She refused to take it off, despite your pleas for her to do so.

“Please,” Jane added, feet stomping impatiently.

Steve rubbed his temple harder, wincing and grimacing. “Honey, you know Mommy doesn’t want you goin’ out when it’s cold like—“

“I’ll wear a scarf! C’mon, Dad!”

And it was the affection oozed in a title he earned in a ten hour labor spent squeezing your hand and coaxing you through trembling wailing and grievous pain—Dad. His little girl that had grown so big, sprouted from a wriggling little thing that cried and gurgled all day, to a child incapable of wrangling for more than a few minutes—all within a matter of moments in Steve’s mind. There were moments when Steve believed he would no longer have the privilege of being Dad; when his mind was black and numb and nothing, and his hands didn’t work for themselves.

So ‘Dad’ was an utterance never ignored. Never, not once. ‘Dad’ was a cry always given into.

Leaning forward, Steve tossed Jane a playful grin. They always shared smiles like telling secrets. “Alright. But you’ll wear a coat, too.”

✶ ✶

“Dad, Dad, look at me! Wee!”

“Not too high, Janey,” Steve called, easing into the cushion of a wicker chair in the stone area of the backyard, where he lit the fireplace in case she came running with a shiver.

Jane, however, was busy swinging on her bright yellow swing-set, careening into the air with propelling legs and a toothy grin—wand tucked snugly beneath her arm, of course. Steve waved, sharing another smile. With Jane, Steve always smiled with his teeth. You thought he looked handsomest like that.

Steve absently drummed his fingers on his thighs as he watched Jane swing and sing to herself, wanting nothing more than to smoke a cigarette. Trips outside, especially in the cold, always came with the old, familiar craving for a Marlboro Red. But alas, his days of shriveling his lungs were over—pity.

“I’m gonna jump!” Jane bellowed, feet pointed toward the grass littered with goldenrod leaves in front of the swings.

Steve jolted up, jerking into Dad-Mode. “Jane, don’t you dare—“

And then she was soaring toward the dirt, a pile of pink fabrics and a puffy purple coat. As though in slow motion, she lowered to the ground—where she landed with a thud. Steve instantly leapt to his feet, taking off with a speed he didn’t know he was capable of to reach her.

“Jane—Janey, look at me, are you hurt?” He grabbed her with the insistence of emergency, hoisting her into his lap and scanning for injuries.

Though her eyes pinkened with tears, mouth opening with an anguished cry, it was not a broken bone nor bumped head she was crying for—but her cape, wrinkled and rumpled, now torn at the ruffled seam.

“Janey, what hurts?” Steve hounded, trying to catch his own breath. His heart was in his mouth and it tasted like vinegar.

“N-nothing,” she hiccuped, slurping snot through a tiny nose.

“Then why are you cryin’?” He swept a big palm gently over her sticky cheeks as he spoke.

Moved to hysterics from the pain of ruin of such a cherished token, Jane only lifted her torn cape at her side and pointed.

“Look!” she wailed with the ache of mourning. “It’s ruined!”

Steve tried not to smile, though it would have only been out of pure fondness. Jane’s heart was bigger than most at her age, and the intimacy she shared with her “things” never failed to amuse him. How she treated her stuffed animals, letting them take turns in her bed so they wouldn’t “feel left out.” How she stopped to pet earth worms and wave to squirrels, how she tried her damnedest to pet every stray cat. How she had collections of acorn tops and rocks on her bookshelf from walks in the park, each with an origin story and a name and a place in her heart.

“Oh, boy,” Steve sighed, gently pushing her hand down to rest. He pulled her a little tighter against his chest. “Alright, it’s alright. Deep breaths, Janey, it’s okay.”

As she hiccuped and soaked his sweatshirt, Steve wracked his brain for any sort of solution that didn’t involve bothering you. All you asked for was an afternoon to yourself, a few hours for a latte and a book on a park bench alone after errands, free momentarily of needing to have eyes on every inch of your head and a hand always at the ready. And Steve promised you could have it.

He couldn’t ruin it over a ripped cape and some backyard tears.

Scooping her up, Steve carried Jane back into the house, where he placed her on the couch and clicked on the tv for a hopeful distraction. He plucked a VHS from the shelf, popping in something colorful and guaranteed to entertain her wandering mind. A hurried trip to the kitchen came with a bowl of animal crackers and a juice box, all placed in her lap with a kiss to the head.

“Alright, kid, this is what we’re gonna do,” Steve announced, stepping back to place his hands on his hips with sincerity. “I’ll take the cape just for a few minutes, okay? And I’m gonna do my best to fix it.”

Jane blinked up at him, pushing crackers individually into her mouth. “Like Mommy does?”

Steve tried not to wince. “…Yeah…yeah, like Mommy does. So, I just need the cape for a little bit, okay? Just so it can go get a check up and…maybe a bath.”

Jane looked less than pleased, and he could practically see the gears turning in her head, an overthought contemplation brewing in her brows. God, she took so much after Steve.

“Does that sounds okay?” Steve pressed.

Jane slowly nodded. “Okay.”

Once the cape was in his possession, Steve rushed to the laundry room, keeping the door propped open to listen for anything alarming. He paused every few moments to peek his head out and look around the corner, though only ever caught the back of Jane’s head as it bored into the tv.

“Fuck,” he muttered to himself, gazing around for tools.

Laundry detergent, fabric softener, ironing board, iron—Christ, what the hell was he supposed to do? He’d seen you sew before, knew you’d taken care of mending shorts and sweaters and tears in dresses—but how was he supposed to know how to do it himself? Hell, he didn’t even know where you kept the sewing supplies.

“Daddy, is my cape all better yet?”

Steve jumped, wiping sweat from his head as he paced the room. “Uh, yeah, sweetheart! Just a second!”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” came much quieter and under his breath.

Steve glared at the cape lying on the washing machine. At this point, he’d just have to go out and buy a new one, and hope he could come up with some sort of lie fantastical enough to keep Jane from crying in the meantime.

“I’m home!”

And there came your voice, pinging through the house as you clicked down the foyer. Jane’s little feet pattered hurriedly your way, and a cold sweat dripped down his back when Steve heard your excited squeals for the hug Jane no doubt collected you in.

“Oh, I missed you! What’ve you been up to, chick? And where’s Daddy?”

“He’s givin’ my cape a check up.”

Steve rolled his eyes, waiting for your giggle. It was still adorable when he heard it, no matter how emasculated he felt by the whole predicament.

“Oh, is he? Well, what happened to it?”

“She ripped it throwin’ herself off the swings.”

You looked up from Jane to see your husband shuffling into the room, holding a frilly, sparkly purple cape limply in his hand. Your lips pressed into a smile, adjusting Jane on your hip when she wiggled. But that smile faded when you processed your daughter’s antics, and you turned to her with a sterner face.

“Jane, we’ve talked about those swings. You remember how to stop swinging? You gotta catch your feet on the ground—no jumping off the swings. That’s how you get hurt.”

Jane pushed her hair away from her eyes with her palms. “But I didn’t get hurt! Jus’ my cape got hurt!” She pointed toward it for proof.

You swallowed your next smile. “I know, but what if it had been you? Mommy and Daddy would be so sad if you got hurt, Janey.”

She blinked, pondering this a moment. “Really?”

Steve stepped in, coming to stand behind you and look over your shoulder sincerely at Jane. “Very sad.”

She pursed her lips, a telltale sign of guilt. She tended to cry if she knew she upset anyone. “Well…okay.”

The pair of you sandwiched her with a kiss, one on each cheek, and swiftly swept her frown away with a tickle to her tummy. Steve blew a raspberry on her cheek and chuckled when she scrunched up her nose and wiped it off her skin. You placed her on the ground, and she tugged on the end of your coat.

“But what about my cape? Daddy didn’t do the check up right.”

You turned to Steve, holding out your hand. “Looks like this is a job for Mom, then, huh?”

Steve handed it over, kissing your cheek this time. “Yep.”

Jane was back in her cape by dinner time, using her fork to cast spells on a bowl of peas to turn them into ice cream while her wand sat in dinner-time-out on the top of the fridge.

[mylove-iv]

❝a waning goddess’s plight.❞

ʚ aged up, botw! link x goddess reincarnate, fem! reader ɞ

synopsis: star-crossed lovers whose duties were put forth foremost; you, a Hylian whose body held the soul of the very first goddess and the one who held his heart, and he, another holder of the soul of courage whose destiny always entailed danger and the one who you loved dearly.

genres: angst, romance | set during the calamity.

content warnings: active depictions of death (suicide), implied manipulation/corruption, a (tiny) spoiler, implications of Link despising Hylia and the royal family (mainly Hylia slander haha).

word count: 1.4k words.

―originally posted on @mydarling-iv, dec. 20, 2022.

ʚ masterlist ɞ

Link enters the great hall, memories of him and you within the said building flying in his mind, acting as a great comfort to the champion causing the corners of his lips to twitch into a small smile.

There’s a soft rustle and his body moves languidly, hand gripping the handle of the Master sword as his left arm readied his shield.

His eyes dart around the large piles of aged stone, light slowly filtering in the ruined hall before the moonlight fully paints the being who created the noise.

Link’s heart nearly stops and a pained, melancholy wraps tightly around his heart as his electric blue eyes land on your form.

Everything clicks into place and the anguish, pain, and sorrow winds itself so tightly around his soul that Link thinks the emotions he’s feeling is irreversible.

So you were the reason as to why Zelda's light stayed pure.

You were the reason why the malice hadn’t spread on such a larger scale.

You were the reason that allowed life to flourish, why everything and everyone was able to survive through the waves of malice the Camality sends out.

You were the reason why he kept going—why Link kept fighting.

You, the very essence of light itself reborn in a Hylian body, was the sole reason as to why people stayed safe—safer from Ganon’s malice infected beasts and the cruelties the said Calamity had to offer.

You, in all your pure holy glory, was slowly enveloped with malice as time had passed—taking on the very corruption that would have otherwise infected and killed Hyrule's royal princess, ultimately ending Hylia's bloodline.

The very goddess who started this entire mess and her wretched bloodline who continued it.

Damn them.

The warm glow of light you radiated was gradually extinguished and enveloped by the Calamity’s cold darkness.

And now you stood before Link, e/c eyes no longer twinkling with mirth, but instead dazzled with a bone-chilling carmine red.

You bore the full weight of the Calamity, preventing Zelda from being tainted and instead it was you who took the brunt of the corruption.

Damn them all. Link thought as he stared at your crumbling body that seemed to grab at any resemblance of sanity and your former self.

You, his beloved lover, stood before Link as a fragmented version of yourself, winding vines of malice embedded in your skin.

Your eyes flash a golden hue, the color your eyes shone whenever your divine power would show itself, and it shocks him to his very core.

Link wheezes as his chest painfully constricts at the underlying meaning—you’re still you, trying to fight the malice Ganon has infected you with.

Things had drastically changed over the span of a century; formerly known as the epitome of light and purity, you were now a husk of your past self and he the same, only now being forced to watch the fate you were ultimately doomed to.

Your eyes dazzle a crimson red and Link's body moves on his own, dodging your swift swing of the sword formed by malice in your deft hand.

He didn’t envision this to be your meeting.

Where your light once shined is now dimmed with an ominous darkness and he, was still the same, forced into a destiny he never wanted and is now struggling to accept the horrible fate you might have after this cursed encounter.

He doesn’t want this to be your end.

Your blades lock with his, eyes meeting intensely: your empty, ruby eyes pierce his own deeply and Link prevents the urge to cry out.

He doesn’t want to be the reason of your end.

It's tense. The air surrounding you both is charged with an unknown heaviness that weighs heavily on the champion's already scarred heart. The strain within Link's arms is numbing, the amount of weight you're putting into your blade causes both weapons to strain against each other tightly.

He didn't want this.

Amidst it all, Link wonders if your love was damned from the very start. You, a hindrance and a threat to the royal family, and he, a mere puppet of that damned goddess; to be used and thrown away in her cruel games whenever she pleases.

He doesn't want this.

Link’s heart aches with yearning, the hope lingering in his chest painful as he thinks of the what if’s and what could have been.

A peaceful life away from the harsh conformities of royal society, a safe home in the countryside, waking in each other’s arms every morning, not having to worry about your safety and well being in danger.

He hates this.

His heart shatters even more when he notices tears rolling down your face, it pains him more than he could ever express.

The remains of the great hall where you and he once danced in was cold and silent.

Instead of waltzing so care-freely with smiles adorning your lips, eyes twinkling with happiness and love, you both now danced a waltz of pained hearts and clashing blades.

His heart hurts.

Link’s strength wanes for a split second but you, the you the calamity had made a puppet of, caught onto his blunder and forcibly pressed further.

The Master sword flies from his grip and you catch it, smoke emanating from the palm you held the blade in: the very sword heroes of courage had wielded through the ages rejecting you as its wielder.

Because of its kind and virtuous maker, the goddess of light, the blade has recognized you as its master’s equal due to you housing the said goddess’s soul.

But now covered and corrupted with darkness, the light you once radiated was extinguished and the blade could no longer feel the purity of your light.

And he also could no longer bask in the light of your presence.

Link stares at you, a myriad of emotions flashing in his eyes, as his shoulders sag with exhaustion and defeat.

His eyes close and he awaits the blow, ending his life, but it never comes.

Instead, your palm cups his cheek and Link can’t bring himself to shiver at the lack of warmth it radiated.

Eyes flying open, his ultramarine eyes clash with your e/c eyes.

You smile painfully, exhaustion apparent in your orbs as you take in the image of your battle torn lover.

“I'm sorry.” You whisper and Link surges forward to stop you.

“NO!” Link shouts as time seems to slow, painful and ever so cruel.

The deed is done.

The Master sword impales you, smoking at the contact point where the metal blade meets your sullied body.

The Goddess blade weakens because of the malice consuming you and you physically wither as you stumble to your knees.

It hurts.

Link is quick to catch you, the burns of malice against his skin feel nothing compared to the numbness your incoming death brings.

“Please, my love.” He croaks, cupping your cheek as his tears land on your skin.

He never wanted this.

You smile weakly, eyes closing as you cup his face once more. “I love you,” It’s a hushed whisper that tumbles from your lips.

Your hand cupping his face falls and Link's hand catches it before he brings it to his face again.

It's quiet.

He places a small kiss to your palm as the tears pooling in his eyes burst, rolling down his cheeks at an alarming rate.

“I love you so much more.” His admission is subdued, his voice hoarse—his heart aching.

He didn’t want your parting to be like this.

Link had always envisioned your departure to be that one of comfort, one that came in the form of a peaceful and eternal slumber.

He never wanted this.

His sniffles turn into pained sobs before quieting down. Hand grasping the handle of the Master sword, Link gently and carefully pulls it out of your body.

Collecting you into his arms, he rests your limp head against his shoulder as he rests his on your clavicle.

Raising the blade, the handle burns his skin at the implication of what he’s about to do.

From being given the Master sword at the young age of twelve, the very blade has journeyed with Link till his fall in front of Fort Hateno a century ago and they have now just recently begun the start of their journey once more.

Only for the Hero of Courage to see the bitter end his lover was forced to endure that he decided that it was now the point where his time as the Goddess blade’s master ends.

He recalls the words his father spoke when Link was finally declared as the Hero of Courage and given the infamous sword to wield.  

The Master sword shall never be raised against its wielder.

Paying no mind, Link wraps his free arm around your waist in a final embrace as he presses your bodies flush together.

His eyes close as he thrusts the blade, first piercing through your chest then through his.

It's quiet, almost peaceful.

He never wanted this.

© 2024 𝐌𝐘𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄-𝐈𝐕. do not copy, repost, share, or translate any of my works to tumblr, social media, and any other websites/platforms.

[gold-rhine]

First time sub afab! Kazuha x GN Dom! Reader

A\N: Repost bc my previous blog got shadowbanned. I actually had the visual for this when I was writing my main Kazuha piece, but in the end it didn't fit the pacing, so I'm repurposing it now. this one was quick, but hope you enjoy.

Warnings: nsfw, minors get out, fingering, oral (character receiving)

Wordcount: 1k

You wander the city the entire night with him, it’s summer so it's warm and the sky is hanging very low and black, stars bright and ripe like berries. You kiss him every time you get, until he’s disheveled and flushed, melting against you, eyes gleaming in the darkness. When you pull away, his fingers curl in the folds of your clothes, he looks up at you, biting his lips, swollen from the kisses, hips grinding against you, shy, but not ashamed. He has an understanding of what he wants, incredibly strong for someone so inexperienced, he could not be pressured by time or attention, only makes his move when it feels right. Like it finally does this night, with you.

“Not yet, baby,” you whisper, trail kisses down his arched neck.

“Why not?” he pouts, too sweet and sincere to be manipulative, and you have to fight an urge to take him right there, against the walls in this dirty alleyway, but he deserves better.

“Because I want to make your first time truly special.”

He gives you a small, wry smile. “Well, I’m not exactly a silk bed with rose petals kind of person.”

“I’d never offer you something so stuffy,” you catch his chin, run your thumb over his lower lip until he opens his mouth and takes you in, his scarlet eyes never leaving yours. “Trust me, my little wind, I know you.”

“What is the best place to meet the sunrise?” you ask him as the night is coming to an end and without a second thought he answers

“At the top of the old tower.”

“Let’s go then,” you grin, dragging him by the hand and he smiles, following.

The tower is a ruin left from the ancient defense walls and is of course closed, but Kazuha climbs the nearby tree and gets to the tower’s window through the long branch. As always, he is a treat to watch in motion, swift, decisive and precise. Like any wind, he resists being captured in a moment, each movement would not look too attractive if caught in a still picture, but together in real time they weave together with fluid grace.

He helps you to climb into the window, laughs when you pin him against the wall on the spiraling staircase. You kiss him until he’s flushed and panting, clothes in disarray.

“We’ll miss the dawn if we don’t go up now,” he whispers breathlessly, but doesn’t try to resist, his arms thrown around your neck.

“We won’t,” you kiss his neck, run your hands down his warm, pliant body. “How can the sun rise when I have all of the sunshine right there with me?”

He giggles adorably, squirming under your touch. He’s incredibly wound up after an entire night of teasing, desire is both a tight ball and fluttery wings deep in his belly. But he doesn’t mind waiting, his soaked cunt aches so sweetly, and he loves this dizzy haze, being carried helplessly and played by your will like a leaf in the wind, trusts that you won’t leave him unsatisfied by the end, and so it doesn’t matter when that moment comes.

You do not, in fact, miss the sunrise when you get to the top of the tower, but only barely. The sky is high and clear, deep blue in the west with the last stars and the narrow crescent of the moon still faintly glowing, and translucent gray and light blue at the east, an anticipation of the light. The city underneath the tower is still sleeping, the low ground streets drowning in cloudy mist, but the early birds nesting on the high roofs with reddish-purple shingles are already singing.

He looks at the east side, leaning on the stone parapet, when you catch his waist and decisively turn him around, kiss him while opening his clothes to bare his chest. He doesn’t try to stop you, just blushes brightly, looking up at you with wide opened eyes.

“Right… there?”

You smile, kiss him without answering, and he shivers when you slide his cloth down his shoulders. The morning chill mixes with his own feverish heat, and when you move your lips down his throat, tender juncture between the neck and shoulders, down to his chest, it feels like burning in contrast to the fresh air. You throw your jacket on the wide ledge of the parapet, and he gasps when you push him up on it. You suck on the hard pink bud of his nipple as you take off his pants, but then you straighten up, look down on him. You want to see him fully when you spread his legs, his lips swollen from kisses, neck covered in lovebites, he’s panting hard, blushing brilliantly, but looking you in the eye eagerly, his flushed pink cunt open to your view.

You slide a finger into his wet entrance and watch him moan, grip at the iron lattice on top of the stone ledge. You peper him with kisses until covering his clit with your mouth, and he shudders, gasping. You grin against the tender, slick skin of his pussy, suck on his clit and move your finger inside of him so torturously slow. His cunt clenches and he whines so sweetly, leaning back on the iron, feeling both exposed to the whole world and hidden from everything but you.

You ease another finger in and start pumping them in and out, at first slowly, then increasing the speed. His trembling legs rise up involuntarily, bending at the knees and pressed to his chest to expose his pulsing pussy even more and thrust against your movements. Overwhelmed, he arches, gasping with an open mouth, the edges of the iron lattice digging into his shoulderblades. When you curl your fingers inside of him, your lips on his swollen clit, he comes with a choked helpless moan, his head thrown back, and he sees the first golden light of dawn spread over the blue-gray skies above him while the wave of pleasure that consumes his own body.

You look up and see the tender, lemony yellow sunrays spill over his pale arched body, soft and flushed in contrast to the crumbling rocks and iron, his whimpers mixing with the bird songs. You straighten up and catch his mouth, your fingers still buried deep inside his wet, pulsing cunt, and his legs wrap around you, his mouth opening for you to slide your tongue in.

“I promised you something special, didn’t I?”

[theostrophywife]

take it off.

i just wanna watch you when you take it off take off all your makeup, baby take it off take off all your clothes and watch you take them off

masterlist (azriel x reader) author's note: could not stop thinking about coming home from an event with azriel and him just helping you undress and wind down for the evening. song inspiration: tio by zayn.

The soft glow of the twinkling faelights illuminated your bedchambers as you and your mate made your way inside. The door clicked shut behind Azriel, but he stayed put and leaned against the frame as you shimmied out of your heels. 

The shadowsinger watched you with a small smile on his face. As much as he loved seeing you all dressed up in that sinful cobalt dress, Azriel enjoyed this part of the night even more. At the ball earlier tonight, everyone was free to admire your beauty. To trace every soft curve of your body that he’d dutifully committed to memory. To track every surface of exposed olive skin that felt like silk underneath his touch. To trail the elegant lines of your cheeks and neck and collarbone that he’d run his fingers through a hundred times over. 

But this side of you—this was all for him. Azriel was the only one who got to watch you take it all off at the end of the day and he fucking loved it. It was like unwrapping his favorite gift on Winter Solstice night. 

You settled in front of the wooden vanity by the wall, moonlight streaming through your hair as you pulled out the sapphires pinning your locks. One by one, you stacked them neatly at the edge of the desk, leaving your long dark hair loose and flowing down your back. 

Azriel wanted nothing more than to run his fingers through those silky tresses, but he stayed perfectly still. Even his shadows reached out for you and he had to reel them back in. He wouldn’t touch you; not yet at least. The shadowsinger wanted to admire you, drink you in, savor you before he completely devoured you. 

He observed in awe as you wiped off the cosmetics from your face, revealing those freckles that he loved so much. Azriel fought the urge to trace them with his fingers as he was prone to do when you were lying in bed together. Your mate compared it to charting the constellations and by now he had memorized every star etched upon your lovely face. 

“Beautiful,” Azriel breathed as he came up behind you. It didn’t matter that he’d seen you do this a hundred times over. He’d never get used to how breathtaking you were. The shadowsinger leaned down, kissing the top of your head. “You’re beautiful, my love.”

You smiled shyly, meeting his eyes in the mirror. “I love when you look at me like that, Az. Like I’m the only female in the world.”

He kissed your cheek. “You are to me, baby.”

You twined your fingers through his, pressing gentle kisses onto his scarred hands. A knowing smirk curled through your lips. “Care to help me out of this dress?” 

The shadowsinger nodded, his hazel eyes glowing golden in the darkness as he caressed your cheek. “You never have to ask twice.” His cool breath fanned over your skin as he nuzzled his chin in the crook of your neck, golden eyes meeting yours in the mirror. “As stunning as you look in this dress, I’ve been waiting all night for the chance to take it off.”

You shivered as he carefully brushed your hair aside, his rough and calloused fingers a sensuous whisper against your skin. He hummed in appreciation as he slowly undressed you, unzipping your dress until the velvet fabric fell and pooled at your feet. And just because he could, Azriel helped you to your feet and twirled you around, drinking in the sight of you in nothing but a lacy lingerie set. 

Your mate towered over you as his hands trailed up your spine, smirking to himself when you leaned into him. He took his time, tracing the delicate lace of your bra, cupping your breasts in appreciation before he unclasped the entire thing in one swift movement. Every layer that came off made him harder and harder to the point of pain, but he didn’t care. He’d endure it if it meant getting to unravel you until you were laid bare before him. 

Azriel trailed a path of kisses down your torso and hooked his fingers through the waistband of your panties. You steadied yourself on his shoulders and slipped out of the fabric. It took every ounce of Azriel’s restraint to help you shrug into your robe instead of throwing you on the bed and having his way with you right then and there. 

You could feel how turned on he was through the bond so you smiled, giving him a chaste kiss that left him wanting more. “Thank you, baby.” 

Azriel cupped your face in his hands and gently kissed your temple. “Any time, my love.” 

There was a devious glint in your eyes when he pulled away. “How does a hot bath sound?” 

He grinned, dimples appearing on that breathtakingly beautiful face. “Like the best damned thing I’ve heard all night.” 

You chuckled. “Come on, then. Maybe I’ll even throw in a massage if I’m feeling generous.” 

“Don’t tease, baby,” Azriel drawled, his voice rough and husky. “It’s cruel.” 

You ran your pointer finger over the curve of his wing, smirking as Azriel shuddered. “Me? Tease you?” Your lilting laughter rattled his bones as you kissed his cheek. “I’d never dream of it, my love.”

Fuck was the only coherent thought in Azriel’s mind as he followed you into the bathroom. 

If you kept this up, the shadowsinger wouldn’t be able to hold out for very long. He never could with you and judging by the smirk on your face, you were more than aware of this fact.

The sound of running water echoed through the spacious room as he sauntered across the cold tile floors. You pressed a hand against his solid chest and flashed him a wicked grin. 

“It’s your turn to get naked.” 

Cauldron fucking boil him. It was pathetic how much your words affected your mate. The front of his pants tightened uncomfortably as you peeled his suit jacket off. It was a shame, really. Azriel looked so damned good in the elegant all black suit that it was almost a waste to undress him. Almost. 

You took your time admiring your mate. Ran your fingers through those soft, raven locks. Traced the outline of his nose, cheekbones, jaw. Swiped your thumb across those perfect, pouty lips that slightly parted to kiss your fingertips. This beautiful male. Your beautiful mate. All yours, forever. 

You sighed in appreciation. “You’re so fucking pretty, Az.”

Despite himself, Azriel blushed. You almost giggled at the sight. The feared spymaster of the Night Court bested by a compliment. It was extremely endearing and so Azriel to become this flustered even though you were merely stating a fact. Your mate was a dream and you were one lucky female. 

Luckier still, because you were only getting started.

His breath hitched as your nimble fingers unlooped the tie around his neck. Azriel tried his best to stay still as you unbuttoned his perfectly fitted silk shirt, delicately shrugging it off his shoulders. You took your time unfastening the clasps at his back that were especially made to accommodate his wings. When he was finally shirtless, you ran your hands through his chest, tracing every mark and mole and scar, pressing kisses along the way that made the shadowsinger sigh softly. 

Azriel was barely breathing as you unbuckled his belt, making a show of slowly sliding his trousers over his long legs, repeating your movements from earlier and kissing his hips, his thighs, and his knees. You smirked as you tugged at his boxers next, toying with the waistband as you licked a stripe through his perfectly sculpted abs. Those taut muscles flexed against your mouth and you wickedly flicked your tongue, causing Azriel to shudder above you. 

“Baby,” Azriel breathed, his voice full of lust and desire. “If you keep doing that, this little game of yours will be finished before it’s started.”

You chuckled and the sound traveled straight to Azriel’s already painfully hard cock. “That would be a shame, wouldn’t it?” The sight of you kneeling before him with your soft, wet mouth mere inches away from where he wanted you made the shadowsinger growl. His proud length stood at attention between you while you licked your lips, further dragging out his torment. “I think I want to take my time playing with my mate.”

Before he could register your movements, you rose from the ground and kissed his cheek. Azriel could do nothing but watch as you peeled off your robe and bared yourself to him. Every curve and mole and freckle on your beautiful body formed constellations that rivaled the night sky. You were his mate—breathtaking and beautiful and made just for him. 

Mate, his shadows whispered. 

Mine, Azriel thought in agreement.

Just when he thought you couldn’t get any more stunning, you flashed him a devious grin as you playfully cocked your head to the side. He watched with bated breath as you climbed into the marble tub.

“Are you coming or not, Az?” 

The shadowsinger nearly sprinted to the warm bath awaiting him. He eased into the water, the fragrance of the soap and herbs you haphazardly threw in instantly relaxing his aching body. You beckoned him over and he waded into your lap, his back pressing against your breasts as his wings relaxed at his side. Azriel sighed in satisfaction as you kissed his shoulder, kneading the tension out of his muscles with your delicate fingers. 

He was putty in your hands, melting at your touch as his head dropped against your shoulder. You kissed his cheek next and continued massaging his back, squirting soap into a small loofah and gently cleaning your mate. Azriel murmured softly as you lathered shampoo into his soft hair and worked it into his scalp. He practically purred as you raked the product through. 

“You like that, baby?” you teased, brushing the bubbles out of those stunning hazel eyes. His irises were blown out and hazy like two pools of delicious, golden honey. 

“Feels good,” Azriel babbled. His shadows snaked through your ankles, pulling you taut against his back. 

You groaned as your sensitive peaks brushed against his golden brown skin, already feeling the wetness gushing between your thighs. Azriel kissed your knee before turning around and pulling you into his lap. Water sloshed to the side of the tub, but you couldn’t give less of a fuck. Not when your mate was staring at you like you were good enough to eat. 

The shadowsinger gripped your hips as he brushed his lips against the hollow of your throat. You could feel his smirk embedded onto your skin as you twined your finger through his hair. The tension between you was heady and potent, so heavy that it clouded your senses until Azriel consumed your entire being. 

You traced his bottom lip with your thumb, taking in this beautiful male before you. “Do you want to know what I’ve been thinking about all night, Azriel?” 

“Tell me, my love.” 

Azriel hissed as you shuffled in his lap, your sopping wet sex grinding against his hardness. “I thought about these lips,” you murmured, dipping down to press your lips against his. The kiss was heated and full of need, your tongue dancing against his as you swallowed Azriel’s growls of pleasure. 

“I thought about this neck. Just begging to be kissed,” you taunted, littering sloppy, open-mouthed kisses along the hollow of his throat. The shadowsinger grabbed your hips and his grip on you was hard enough to bruise. You only smiled. You’d wear the marks of his fingertips on your skin like a trophy. 

Your mate’s eyes were nearly black as you grabbed his hand and intertwined your fingers. “I thought about these hands. Wrapping around my throat. Palming my tits. Burying deep inside my pussy.” 

Azriel took a sharp intake of breath as you braced one hand against his chest while the other trailed down his torso. He was so turned on that he couldn’t even manage to form words lest he ruin the buildup of all this teasing and taunting. Your mate loved when you toyed with him like this. You may look like a sweet angel, but he knew firsthand how fucking filthy you could get. How easily you had him wrapped around his finger to the point that he’d crawl on his hands and knees for a chance to taste you.

When your delicate fingers wrapped around his cock, he nearly fucking lost it. “But mostly, I thought about your perfect cock. Stuffing me full. Hitting that sweet spot. Making me scream until I’m hoarse.” 

“Fuck,” Azriel groaned as you lined him up at your entrance. His eyes rolled to the back of his head as you eased his cock between your folds. Your hips lowered, taking him inch by delicious inch. “That’s it, princess. Take what you want. You can have all of it. All of me.”

At his beckoning, you lowered your hips until he was fully seated inside of you. The sensation was heavenly and had the both of you gasping for air. Slowly but surely, you moved up and down and let Azriel fill you up again and again. The shadowsinger guided your hips while you grinded into him, meeting each movement with thrusts of his own. You moaned, gasping into his neck and scratching at his back as you picked up the pace. You moved in perfect sync with the ease of two lovers who had perfectly committed each other’s bodies to memory. 

“I wish I could have you inside of me all the time. It feels so fucking good, Az," you groaned, raking your nails over his golden brown skin. Azriel’s intricate tattoos flexed underneath your touch as he rutted into you, hitting that sweet spot that made stars explode behind your closed lids.

“You’re absolutely filthy, baby.” Azriel snarled into your neck. “Such a sweet innocent face, but you turn into such a dirty little slut every time I have my cock in you, don’t you?” 

"Can't help it," you breathed, rolling your hips. "Not when you fuck me this good. It's all I can ever think about. You're all I can ever think about, Azriel."

The shadowsinger latched his lips onto your nipple, making you arch your back with every flick of his tongue. He ravaged your breasts, palming them in his large hands as he continued swirling over your hardened peaks with his mouth. 

“Do you even know how much I think about you?” Azriel hummed as you rode his cock. He watched as your tits bounced from the movement, burying his face in the valley of your breasts while you took what you wanted from him. “You consume every part of me, princess. I think about kissing you. Tasting you. Fucking you. Making love to you.” He emphasized the latter with a sharp thrust, making you whimper. “There isn’t a single second of my day that I’m not constantly craving you.”

He sucked at your collarbone, nipping and sucking as you lifted your hips. Azriel cupped your ass, watching his cock disappear between your folds. You felt so warm and tight, hugging him just right. A purely predatory growl ripped through his chest as you teased him, lifting your hips higher and higher until only his tip remained sheathed in your sex. 

“Show me, baby.” You whispered into his ear. “Show me that you want me just as badly as I want you.”

In one swift move, Azriel was stepping out of the marble tub while carrying you in his arms. You squealed as water dripped all over the bathroom floor. “What are you doing, Az?”

And that smile. Gods, it felt like watching golden rays of sunlight spearing through the dawn and kissing every part of you with its warmth. 

Azriel was so fucking beautiful. 

He leaned down, kissing the tip of your nose with a cheeky grin. “If you want me to show you how much I want you, then I’m taking my time baby. We’re doing this right. On the bed. Me and you.”

Indeed your mate gently deposited you onto the large four poster bed, the mattress feeling soft and firm underneath you as you and Azriel dripped water all over the cotton sheets. He paid no mind to it as he hovered over you, pressing his wet, glistening, sculpted by the gods body against yours. 

Azriel kissed you gently and took his time worshipping every inch of your body. He kissed, nipped, and sucked hot trails all over your neck, throat, breasts, thighs, knees, and ankles. Your mate made sure to litter your skin with his marks and bites until every surface was thoroughly covered. 

He circled back and settled against you, his lips brushing the shell of your pointed ear. “You’re mine, baby. My beautiful mate. You belong to me and I belong to you.” 

You caressed his cheek and pressed your lips against his. Azriel deepened the kiss and it felt like the two of you were trying to crawl into each other’s skin. He hiked your leg up, kissing the side of your knee before he slid inside you once more. You groaned as you adjusted to the deep angle and Azriel swallowed the sound, intertwining your fingers above your head. His shadows kept your wrists in place as your mate kissed your closed lids. 

You opened your eyes to find his loving gaze staring back. Azriel bared himself to you and sent a burst of his love and affection down the bond. Warmth and light and joy spread through that special connection and you kissed your mate again, smiling as you reciprocated that love right back to him. 

Azriel’s soft breath was warm on your cheek as he rolled his hips, dropping his forehead down to yours as he made love to you. While sex with Azriel was always enjoyable, whether it was rough and kinky or quick and punishing, this type of sex was your favorite. When the two of you set aside the whips and chains and wicked games just to simply enjoy one another. 

Being this vulnerable with Azriel was so deeply intimate and you loved it. Loved him. This kind, caring, patient, sweet, sarcastic, and perfect mate of yours. 

“I love you,” you said in between kisses. “My mate.”

“I love you,” he whispered, repeating the words again and again against your lips. 

His strokes were slow and deliberate, drawing out your pleasure with every thrust of his hips. Azriel made good on his promise to do this right. His shadows released their hold on your wrists and he intertwined your fingers, relishing the way that you wrapped your legs around his waist to take in more of him. Your mate could feel you clenching around him, signaling the approach of your release. Azriel picked up the pace and brought you closer to your orgasm. Your eyelids fluttered close, his name echoing through the walls as you cried out in pleasure. 

“Gods, Az. Right there, baby. I’m so close.” 

The shadowsinger rubbed his thumb against your clit as his shadows played with your sensitive peaks. It wasn’t long before you were clawing at his back and gasping as he hit a particularly sensitive spot within your walls. He could tell by the way that you were writhing that release would claim you soon.

Azriel kissed your temple. “Let go, princess. I’ve got you.”

The tension in your lower abdomen snapped as your orgasm peaked. Your walls clenched around Azriel’s cock as you came. He kept stroking until he couldn’t hold out anymore. He thrust three more times before his own release approached and then he was cumming inside of you, grunting as your pussy milked him dry. The sensation was all too familiar and pleasing, satisfying that innate need to have your mate finishing inside of you. 

You and Azriel fell into a blissful, euphoric heap of sweaty bodies and tangled limbs. Your mate gently pulled out of you, careful not to disturb your sensitive sex before pulling you flush against him. The rapid beating of his heart echoed through your own chest as though you and Azriel were one and the same. His wing wrapped protectively around you and a warm, fuzzy feeling blossomed deep within you.

Home, you thought.

A few minutes passed as you two came down from the high, your cheek resting against Azriel’s solid chest as he stroked your back. The comfortable silence was broken up by the sound of dripping water. Your mate’s gaze landed on the trail of clothes you’d left in the bathroom, which were now in danger of getting wet by all the water gathered at the edge of the marble tub. 

Your lips kicked up into a knowing smile. “You’re dying to clean up, aren’t you?” 

Out of the two of you, Azriel had always been the clean and organized one to the point where it was almost obsessive. You faintly recalled teasing him about color coding his socks and underwear during your first few years of being a mated couple. Post coitus pleasure aside, you knew the mess had to be killing him inside. 

Azriel smiled sheepishly, which only made you chuckle. “Go for it, baby. I know you won’t be able to turn in for the night until you return everything to its rightful place,” you kissed his shoulder and playfully nipped at his skin. “My only request is that you do so naked. I like a good view.”

Your mate grinned. “My devious little mate.” Azriel gently pried himself out of bed, kissing the top of your head and indeed providing you with the best view in Prythian. "Your wish is my command."

You sighed dreamily as you blatantly ogled your mate’s backside. As Azriel turned around to shoot you a cheeky little wink, there was only one thought floating through your blissed out mind.

You were one lucky fucking female.

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