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acourtofwhatthefuck · 6 months

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Practice On Me — Part Ten — Azriel x Reader

Summary: Poor Rhys gets cockblocked. Cassian and Azriel come to blows. Realisations dawn on Az that he doesn’t know what to do with. Kaeda’s not very good with rejection. Reader receives some unexpected support.

Word Count: 7.2k

Warnings: Depictions of violence and injury.

The male’s hand has found pride of place in Rhysand’s lap.

Currently, it sits on his thigh, but the temptation to inch it closer — closer — to that sweet prize between his legs is a lusty, burgeoning one.

A shame, truly, that they’re currently fully clothed and in the middle of the busy mead hall.

Rhys chews and swallows a mouthful of his dinner, a smirk toying with his lips as he glances at his most recent sexual conquest.

There’s enough heat in that gaze to set the whole of Windhaven blazing.

Zakai is a very pretty male, indeed, with rich dark skin and thick, long eyelashes for days. His tempting appearance is most certainly exacerbating this current haze of lust that has taken over him as of late, driven by a preference for males. It changes every now and then. Sometimes he favours males, other times he favours females.

Whatever takes his fancy, there’s always somebody to warm his bed.

“I do believe,” the future High Lord purrs, “that you’re trying to distract me from my dinner.”

Zakai’s full lips kick up into a smirk. “Maybe I am.”

“How terrible.” He leans in closer. “Depriving me of a nutritional meal. What of my sustenance?”

Zakai also leans in. “I have something else you can wrap that pretty mouth around. I think you’ll find it to be more than adequate.” So boldly, as if no one else is around, he snaps out and drags Rhys’s bottom lip between his teeth.

Rhys makes a low noise, food all but forgotten—

But a kiss never comes to fruition as they’re shoved apart, and Cassian is slotting himself between them. “Your mother is here.” He steals Rhys’s plate. “Did you know?”

Rhys tamps down on the urge to slam his face into that food. “I would hope so, considering it was I who flew in with her.”

Cass hums. “We’ve been banished from the house for the time being.” He turns to Zakai. “Rhys will have to suck your dick elsewhere. May I suggest the pillory? He could even tie you up. Would be very kinky—”

“Banished?” Rhys quickly interrupts with a frown. “Why? Is my mother alright?”

“Roza’s fine. It’s Y/N. They’re having a serious talk.”

“About what?”

“Serious stuff, I guess.”

Cassian can be really, really frustrating sometimes.

Rhys shoots him a look that communicates precisely that. “What serious stuff? What did they say?”

“Roza called it girl talk.” Cass takes another huge bite, chews — and pauses in thought, “Do you think Y/N has been acting a little strange recently? Not her usual self.”

In all honesty, Rhys regrets not being around more, with all Y/N has had to contend with as of late. But even with him flitting between Windhaven and Velaris, he’s noticed a change.

A change amongst everyone, really. Something is…off.

“She has a lot going on. It’s hardly surprising.” He says, studying Cassian — the male is still in deep thought. “But I think there’s more than she’s letting on. I thought you would know more than I do, considering you’re around her more.”

Cassian says nothing. He chews and chews like he can no longer taste the food in his mouth, and he’s just giving it absolutely anything to do other than speak. Even Zakai shoots Rhys a look that says he’s not buying it.

“Shall I give you two some space to talk?” Rhys’s lover suggests.

Rhys dips his chin in gratitude. Makes sure that a little bit of heat still swims in his eyes — a suggestion of what’s to come, when he’s finished here. “I’ll come find you.” He promises.

Zakai winks. “I’ll be waiting by the pillory.” And with a shared laugh, he’s standing and strolling away.

Rhys turns back to Cass. He’s at least swallowed the mouthful of food, but there’s still a faraway look in his eyes. “What is it you’re thinking so hard about?”

Cassian just chews his bottom lip.

“Cass.” He gives a little kick to his leg. “If there’s something you know about Y/N—”

“I think I may have fucked up. Badly.” Finally, his friend turns to him. The severity on his face is…rare. Worrying. “Maybe I should have told you this before now, I don’t know. But…you see…Y/N and I…we—”

There’s no chance for him to complete the sentence.

Not as the mead hall’s huge wooden doors burst open, loudly and abruptly enough that conversation just ceases. Everyone turns. Azriel looms in the doorway.

He only becomes more of an intimidating figure as he gets older — anyone would be an idiot not to recognise that. But there’s something about him right now, like this, that has even the most steeled Illyrian warriors eyeing him cautiously.

Though his hair is wet-through from the snow, he’s not at all dressed for the cold weather. The casual, tight-fitting shirt and breeches will do very little to protect him from the brutal temperatures, and his tan skin is already pinkened where the icy air has bitten it.

But his eyes — his eyes are a blazing, churning inferno.

He looks huge in the doorway. Bigger than he ever has. His chest falls and rises heavily, and his fists clench at his sides. The firm set of his jaw is a warning. He hasn’t come here to play.

His boots thud harshly against the wooden floor as he storms in, and everyone watches, waits to see who the shadowsinger has a problem with, and what he’s going to do about it. He appears to have no weapons on him — a rare sight that only adds to the rugged, impulsive nature of how he looks right now. Like he forgot all else in his pursuit to come here.

What nobody is expecting is the way his dark, golden gaze zeroes in on Cassian. And the love that usually sits on Azriel’s face when looking at his brother has been replaced with something infinitely colder. Harsher. Angrier.

Dangerous.

Rhysand glances between them, recognising very quickly that something has occurred in his absence. He slowly rises from his seat.

“Az?” He says calmly. “You alright?”

No.

No, Azriel is not alright.

Everyone knows it. Cassian especially.

He’s staring back at his friend, and a thousand realisations pelt him that he genuinely did not consider before now. He’s got a terrible habit of acting first and thinking later. Of not looking at the bigger picture and considering every single person that might get hurt as a result of his actions. He doesn’t mean to be so thoughtless or impulsive. He’s gradually learning.

But as he drinks in the sight of Azriel, he somehow knows the source of his rage without it needing to be said. It never occurred to him before, but it does now.

Both he and Rhys have secretly speculated, over the years, whether something more might grow from the loving friendship between Azriel and Y/N. But time passed, and nothing came of it, and—and—

And with Kaeda on the scene, Cassian had assumed that no romance would be blossoming after all.

But that didn’t mean there weren’t still feelings there. Complicated feelings.

And in that moment, as Azriel stops at the table, the true weight of Cassian’s actions strikes him like a bolt of lightning.

He clears his throat, taking in the sight of him. Even his shadows are staying out of this. “Az—”

“Get up.” Azriel demands fiercely.

“I don’t know what you’ve been told—”

“I will not tell you twice, Cassian.” The shadowsinger’s eyes darken. “Get. The fuck. Up.”

Every single person is watching — waiting. Cassian doesn’t move.

And then he says quietly, “No.”

It’s not that he has any problem getting in a punch up with either of his brothers — Cauldron knows, it’s happened more times than any of them care to remember, where they’ve roughed each other up and resolved things quickly after. It’s just a method of Illyrian affection.

But this isn’t like that. This is hugely, frighteningly different.

This is serious.

Cassian is realising very quickly that he fucked up — not necessarily in the act, itself, of having sex with Y/N. They are both free, consenting adults, after all.

But if he’s guilty of anything, it’s of not thinking about who he might hurt with his decisions. And if he’d bothered to stop and think that night in the kitchen, he’d have known damn well that him having such relations with Y/N would be upsetting for Azriel. At the very least, Cass should have spoken to him first.

And that’s what he wants to do, now. Not fight. Not draw blood and leave bruises. Just…talk. Explain himself. Make it clear that he would never, ever intentionally hurt Az.

“I’m not fighting you.” He says, far quieter than his usual Cassian volume. “We should talk—”

Azriel’s lunging across the table and nipping that suggestion right in the bud. His fist goes flying so hard into Cassian’s jaw that his head snaps back. He barely has a chance to right himself before Az is throwing himself at him fully and knocking him to the floor.

“What the fuck is going on?” Rhys snaps, but neither of them seems to hear, and then the noise is picking up in the room and people are rising from their seats to get a closer look at the fight. Encouraging them with rowdy shouts.

This is no competitive brawl between friends. Through the gathering people, fists are swinging and blood is flying all over the place. Azriel is pummelling Cassian’s face over and over, and choked, angry words are leaving him as he does.

“You just can’t help yourself, can you?!” The shadowsinger seethes, throwing another punch. “You know—” Punch. “Know how I feel—” Punch. “And you still had to go and do it.”

Too much is happening at once for Rhys to put the pieces together. All he knows is that this is bad. All he can do is watch.

And Cassian is barely fighting back. He’s not interested in returning the punches. He just wants to put a stop to this.

“You knew. I know you knew.” Az then grabs him by the collar of his tunic, and he’s lifting him and slamming him back down against the floor, so hard that the whoosh of air that leaves Cassian can be heard across the hall. “Fuck. You. Cassian. Fuck you—”

“You—” Cass coughs blood at him. “You had Kaeda—”

“Piece of shit—”

“Perhaps…if you hadn’t been…so blinded by your fucking lust…forgot all about Y/N—”

Oh, that’s entirely the wrong thing to say.

A snarl is leaving Az, or maybe Cass, or perhaps both of them at the same time.

What happened leading up to this point was mere child’s play.

The two of them utterly lose it, and Cassian forgets all about talking and allows his temper to take over, and the real fight begins. Rhys is shoved back, stunned, as people try to push closer. All he can hear is the sound of his friends’ punches landing on each other. With more blood drawn, the noise becomes a sickly, wet one that tells him this is getting out of hand.

He barges his way through people, trying to get to the centre of the fray, but a noise is stopping him in his tracks.

“HEY!”

Somehow, his mother’s voice is loud enough, commanding enough, to reach every corner of the mead hall and wash over each and every occupant. Something about the raw order in her voice has everyone stopping. Quietening.

Even Cassian and Azriel cease their fighting. But they’re still exchanging harsh words that are compromised through split lips and mouthfuls of blood.

“Fucking vile—”

“I’m—sorry—Az—sorry—”

“That is enough.” Roza storms into the hall, a hand resting on her belly. She’s well and truly displaying the façade of the High Lord’s mate; someone not to be argued with. “Stand aside at once.”

If it weren’t for the serious nature of the situation, there might be something amusing about seeing honed Illyrian males slink back like threatened animals. But Rhys can only watch as they back away from Roza and lope back to their seats.

“Mother.” He turns to her, shaking his head in disbelief. “I have no idea what’s going on—”

Roza holds a hand up, cutting him off. She turns to Azriel and Cassian, who are now just staring at each other like sworn enemies.

“Off the fucking ground now.” She snaps.

Azriel’s eyes shutter. He’s breathing heavily. He hesitates, wants to go against the order.

But even through the red mist of anger, he respects Roza too much to do that.

Heaving a deep breath, he pushes off Cassian. Rises to his feet.

Roza jerks her chin at Cass. “Help him up.”

Azriel makes an incredulous sound. “He can get up himself—”

“Help him the fuck up, Azriel, before I bash your damn heads together.”

Az clenches his jaw. It might be childish that he refuses to look at Cassian as he juts a hand out, but he doesn’t fucking care. Nor does he care that he puts the bare minimum of strength into hauling him up off the floor.

As soon as Cass is on his feet, he’s shoving Azriel away from him.

“There are so many things I could say to you idiots right now.” Roza snaps. “But I’m way too pregnant for this shit, and I want to sit down.” She angles herself to Azriel. “You — go spend the night at the dormitories. Clean yourself up and calm down.” She turns back to Cassian, to Rhys. “The two of you are coming back to the cottage with me. I don’t give a shit about who said or did what. Don’t want to hear a peep out of any of you. Do I make myself clear?”

This is just a teensy bit humiliating — the three of them bowing their heads while they receive a scolding in front of their fellow Illyrians. But they’re not stupid enough to argue it.

They are stupid enough not to respond, though, and that only pisses Roza off more.

“Do. I. Make. Myself. Clear.” She thunders.

“Yes.” All three males intone.

“Good.” She steps back, nods at Azriel. “You first. Go. Dormitories. Now.”

Azriel sends one last, scathing glance at Cassian before stalking off. He limps out of the doors and into the snow — a fact that leaves Cassian feeling just a little smug.

“Get that damn look off your face, Cassian.” Roza narrows her eyes at him, and he quickly corrects himself. “And get moving. If you don’t get your asses back to the cottage this instant, I’m locking you out. Understood?”

Cassian says, “Yes, Roza.”

Rhys mumbles, “Didn’t even do anything.”

Roza looks at him like she wants to throttle him. And that’s enough for him to straighten himself out and offer his pregnant mother his arm. She takes it silently. Cassian moves to her other side.

“When we get back,” she says quietly, “the two of you better start explaining what the fuck has been going on in my absence.”

Neither males are exactly sure.

But they’re both wise enough not to say that.

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The steaming bath is supposed to soothe you, but it does not. Nothing can. Not even Rhys’s sweater that’s currently swallowing you up and encasing you in his scent.

And when you traipse down the worn wooden staircase at the first sound of voices, you feel like crying all over again. You hope for Azriel — hope he’s come back, willing to hear you out. But stepping into the living area, that tiny shred of hope evaporates.

Conversation ceases, and Rhys and Cassian are looking up at you from their respective spots on the couch. Roza is pottering around the kitchen.

At the first glimpse of Cass, your heart drops.

It’s not that you’re unused to seeing him roughed up, but this is…this is different. He’s clearly not riding on the wave of his normal post-brawl adrenaline. He looks downtrodden, hurt — both physically and emotionally.

Blood streaks from his face. He’s cut and bruised in numerous places. A gnarly black eye is beginning to show itself.

He finds interest in his hands. Can’t seem to bear looking at you.

“What—” Is all you’re able to gasp out, before you’re hurrying over, perching yourself on the coffee table before your two friends. You reach out. “Cass…what—”

“Take a wild guess.” He mutters, still not looking at you.

You angle yourself towards Rhys, looking for an answer. And the fact that you can’t read his expression…it threatens to cut you open.

“I don’t have a clue what’s going on.” He says with a shrug. “Clearly, nobody tells me anything.”

“Azriel did this.” You say quietly. It’s not a question.

“Yes. He did. Turned up at the mead hall and absolutely lost it.” Rhysand’s violet eyes flick between you and Cass. “And I’m guessing it has something to do with the two of you. Care to share?”

Your eyes shutter, because having to speak it aloud again might finish you off. But you suppose the worst has already happened. Azriel knows. You might as well share the truth with Rhys, also, and show him what a wretch you are.

You open your mouth, and unplanned words leave you in a rasp, “I shouldn’t have done it.”

Rhys studies you. “Done what?”

“We slept together.” Cassian finally speaks, wiping a strip of blood from his chin. “Y/N and I.”

You can’t stop your eyes roving over to Roza in the kitchen. Even though she already knows, a bolt of shame hits you all over again that she has to be present for this. Not only does she have far more pressing matters to worry about, but you simply cannot bear it — of all people you’d hate to let down, it’s her.

And she may have her back to you as she busies herself in the kitchen, but you know damn well she’s listening to every word.

Rhysand purses his lips, and he sits back, folding his arms. “Why?

“It just happened.” Cass shrugs. “Night we went to Fenlaros. Y/N was upset after the fight broke out, and I was helping her, and it just…happened. I didn’t think there would be a problem, given that neither of us are tied to anyone, but apparently it is a problem. Honestly, Azriel has no damn right. He’s been busy with Kaeda for months—”

“Yeah, Cass, but we also know it’s not a straightforward situation.” Violet eyes dance over to you. Back to Cassian. “Surely you must have known that he—”

“No, I didn’t, because like I said,” Cassian snaps, “he has no fucking right. What reason does he have to be angry with either of us? We don’t owe him shit. Y/N is a grown female. If she wants to fuck any one of us, that’s entirely her choice. It isn’t for him to dictate—”

“I don’t disagree, but—”

“Not to mention the fact that he’s passing these judgements from his cushy little high horse that he’s been fucking Kaeda atop of. I should have fucking given him hell back there, but I didn’t—”

“There’s more to it than that.” You cut in, every word slicing at you. You lower your gaze as the two males turn to you. “There’s…there’s more to it than you realise.”

Cass eyes you. And usually, he would reassure you — tell you not to put the blame on yourself.

He doesn’t.

He knows, just from looking at you, that he can’t.

He grits out through his teeth, “What.”

“Az has a right to be angry.” Your hands shake as you drag them over your face. Your eyes are red raw and sore from all the crying you’ve already done. “Not at you, though, Cass. It’s me. I…I’ve been so stupid.”

“Stupid how?”

“Azriel and I were engaging in sexual stuff, too. Okay?” The admission comes barrelling out of you. “It wasn’t planned. He asked me for…for some help. With his confidence. One thing led to another, and he and I were doing certain things. We didn’t sleep together, but we did other stuff. And it was all intended to help him approach such things with more confidence, but then I realised I wanted more, but he was interested in Kaeda, and I was upset and jealous and I just…I’m sorry. To both of you. I’m so fucking sorry.”

Utter silence.

Your friends stare at you. Even Roza turns around.

You think you’d prefer to be shouted at rather than this. They’re looking at you like…like they don’t know what to do with you, say to you, anymore.

And then Cassian laughs. Not humorously, but a bitter, soured laugh. He shakes his head. “So, what you’re saying was that you used me to forget about your feelings for Az?”

“No.” You shake your head. “I…it wasn’t like that. Not intentionally. You and I both know that what happened between us was impulsive…and unplanned…and it didn’t mean anything. It just happened—”

“Because you were upset about what happened in Fenlaros! You instigated the kiss! Am I to believe it was a coincidence that you did so after Azriel had just put on some valiant display of starting a fight over Kaeda?”

“Cassian.” Rhys warns quietly. “Don’t shout at her.”

“I told you,” Your voice is beginning to break, tears heating your eyes again, “that I was feeling shit about myself—”

Another brusque laugh, void of humour, cuts you off. “And what of earlier tonight?” Cassian demands. “When Roza walked in on me kneeled between your damn thighs. What led to that?”

“That is enough.” Roza stalks over, folding her arms. “I’ve been staying out of this so you can have an adult conversation, but I will not tolerate that disrespect under my roof. I won’t have you talking to Y/N like that, Cassian. Or any female for that matter.”

Cassian slumps back slightly, muttering a half-hearted apology. To Roza, not you.

But he has a point, doesn’t he? Having laid it all out to you like this.

You slept together because you were hurting and wanting to chase away your feelings. And he may have instigated what happened earlier tonight, but you reciprocated — because you wanted to chase away your feelings.

You used him. And the second you truly realise that fact, you feel sick to your stomach.

Tears drop into your lap as your eyes shutter. Shame is ravaging your body like a sickness. You wish you were somewhere, anywhere, else.

Wish you were someone, anyone, else.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, and the words alone choke you up even more. “I am so sorry, Cass. I don’t—I shouldn’t have—”

You can’t get out whatever it is you want to say. The emotion is simply too much. A pain that is both mental and physical. It’ll eat away at you until you’re skin and bones. A husk of yourself.

There’s movement, and then someone is perching beside you. Wrapping an arm around you and tugging you into their side.

“Y/N…” Rhysand murmurs, resting his chin on your head. “Azriel should never have come to you for practice to use on another female. Why would you agree to that?”

You know precisely why. But you will not say it aloud again. Choking out those words to Roza was enough. They’ll only hurt even more.

You just cling to Rhys, and you cry harder.

And after a moment, it’s Cassian who’s sitting forward and answering Rhys’s question for you.

“Because you love him. Don’t you?” He’s so quiet. Painfully quiet. “You love Azriel.”

Yes, you want to scream at him, I love Azriel, and I wish I didn’t, because even if Kaeda didn’t exist, I would be the last person in the entirety of Prythian that he’d ever look at. Me with my ruined wings and broken soul. What do I have to offer? What could I ever give him that would be worth sticking around for?

But all you can manage is a soft cry. Rhys holds you tighter as your shoulders shake.

Roza takes the seat that he vacated, next to Cass. Her hand strokes over her belly. “Mistakes have clearly been made.” She speaks. “But believe me when I say that these things are not worth ruining such good friendships over. Ever. The bond that the four of you have is so, so special. Your love and support for each other is beautiful. And so, you may be angry at each other for a while, yes — but it’ll be okay. What you have is far bigger than anger. It’s love.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt anyone.” You whisper. “I would never.”

A deep sigh leaves Cassian, and he’s leaning forward. “I know that. I’m sorry for how I spoke to you.”

He shouldn’t be. You deserve it. Deserve worse.

“I still don’t think Azriel was justified.” He then says. “He’s being fucking irrational—”

“Yeah, well, he just needs to calm down.” Roza cuts him off. “You all do.”

“And stop sleeping with each other.” Rhys adds. “Definitely don’t do that again.”

Cassian’s response is a mumble, “No danger of that.”

You can only manage to shake your head in response. You’re so very, very tired.

Roza seems to read that on your face. “I think we should all head to bed. Y/N, Rhys, you both go on up while I see to Cassian’s injuries.”

You don’t need telling twice. As Rhysand pulls you up, he damn near supports your whole body weight. It’s like you’re boneless, slumping against him. Exhaustion suddenly smothers you and threatens to drag you down to the floor.

But as Rhys drags you past the couch, a hand catches yours. Encloses around it.

Cassian stares up at you. Looks beaten down and tired and hurt. But he squeezes your hand and says softly, “Love you, sweetpea.”

You run the risk of breaking all over again just by opening your mouth, but you have to get the words out. You swallow down a lump and tamp down on a sob, and you just about manage to return, “Love you too, Cass.”

His answering smile is weak, but he kisses your hand and let’s go. And then Rhys is pulling you towards the stairs.

You don’t deserve a friend like Cassian — someone who can be utterly furious with you but will still break through that anger to tell you he loves you, because you need to hear it. He’s so golden. More valued than he will ever realise.

And Rhysand is, too, as he supports you on every step of the staircase. His arms are firm around you, strong. He’s not letting you fall, even as he stops outside of the bedroom that you always share with Az.

“Will you stay with me, Rhys?” You find your hands bunching the fabric of his shirt, clinging to him with shameful desperation. “Please? I don’t want to be alone.”

He studies you, and then he’s nodding resolutely. “Of course, I will.”

The smile you manage to give him is watery and unconvincing, but you force it, anyway. You turn, opening the door — until Rhys stops you. Your tired eyes glance over your shoulder in question.

And the mischief that’s on his face is so normal, so Rhys, that it actually makes you feel better. That look he gets when he’s about to say or do something that’ll earn him a slap up the side of his head. One half of his mouth tilts up, and his eyes are glimmering.

“Out with it.” You say blandly.

“Just don’t make a move on me, okay?” He grins. “Let’s not go for three out of three.”

You scowl, stalk into the bedroom, but in all honesty, you appreciate the humour. It’s far better than the hurt.

And Rhys knows that — which is precisely why he made the effort to crack a joke at all.

When you’re tucked up in bed beside him, his scent and body heat lulling you to sleep, you find his hand beneath the covers and give it a gentle squeeze.

And like always, he squeezes back.

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There’s a new crack in the ceiling.

There were six the last time Azriel counted. A seventh one now cuts a jagged line that zigzags directly over his bed.

This bed, in this room, in these dormitories.

This bed, that Y/N sucked his cock in. That he kissed Kaeda on. With the lumpy mattress and scratchy blankets.

Azriel fucking hates this bed.

He hasn’t slept a wink all night.

He knows that morning must have arrived, because people are walking the halls and readying themselves for training and talking too loudly. Az would usually have been up before all of them, already out there training in the harsh cold. But this morning, he doesn’t move an inch. It has nothing to do with the good few punches that Cassian managed to get in during their fight. If anything, Az relishes the discomfort.

Y/N and Cassian fucked. It’s all he can think about. Plays on a constant loop in his head. The truth is an oily one.

And with that truth comes further truths. Realisations.

The first — that after a night of lying awake and turning it over in his mind, he’s not sure he even has a right to be mad.

Y/N owes him nothing. Cassian owes him nothing. Their choice to lose themselves in each other’s bodies should make no difference to Azriel whatsoever. No promises have been made — aside of Y/N’s agreement to help him build his confidence. And that was a favour. Nothing more.

But those two words — nothing more — keep bringing Azriel to his second realisation. One he’s so fucking stupid for not realising until now, when it’s too late.

It was more — to him. Right from that very first kiss in the mead hall, when heat had surged his veins and he’d been left wanting more, more, more. It was that want, that carnal desire, that had had him coming straight back for further experiences with her. It was easy to say it was all about practice. Easy to pretend it wasn’t the terrifying thing it was. Easy to deny the truth.

Right from that very first kiss, he wanted Y/N.

Wanted to keep kissing her. To touch her. To have her touch him. He didn’t want to experience those things with anybody else, and he didn’t want her to want anybody else, selfish as that may be. That need had overtaken him after one fucking kiss, and he should have realised it there and then.

It was why he’d reacted to Jonan’s flirting the way he had. Why he’d lost his shit in Fenlaros, when Thedis had been ready to drag Y/N off to a shaded alcove and fuck her senseless.

It was why, no matter how damn hard he tried, he couldn’t generate that same desire with Kaeda. Kaeda was not Y/N.

And Y/N was everywhere he looked. In everything he felt. Her heart and her beauty and her laughter and her damn good soul. Her strength. Gods, that unwavering strength.

And that was why he’d reacted so damn irrationally — because he wanted Y/N, and it was his own fucking fault that she’d fallen into the arms of someone else.

He sits up in bed, dragging a hand through his hair. He doesn’t want to go to training today, doesn’t want to face anyone—

But a knock lands on the door, and he tamps down on the urge to tell whoever it is to fuck right off.

“Azriel?” Kaeda’s voice comes from the other side. “I know you’re in there.”

He heaves a deep, long sigh.

He really, really does not want to face Kaeda right now, of all people.

But she knocks again, and he finds himself kicking his sheets away in pure frustration and stalking towards the door. He almost yanks it off the hinges.

Kaeda takes in the sight of him, a pinched expression on her face. “You look like shit.”

Azriel really doesn’t have the patience for this right now. His voice is cold, flat, as he bites out, “Why are you in Windhaven.”

“I came looking for you to see if you’d given any thought to my offer, and I found out you’ve been brawling with Cassian.” She reaches out, brushing her fingers over his bruised cheek. “What happened?”

“It was nothing.”

“Clearly.” Sarcasm laces her tone. She rubs her arms. “Can I come in? It’s cold.”

The last thing he wants is anyone in his space. And he should stand his ground, tell her that. But he silently steps aside.

Kaeda breezes in, tucking her wings in tight. She turns to face Az and folds her arms over her chest. “Well?”

Azriel kicks the door shut. “Well, what?”

“What of my offer?”

Her offer is the furthest thing from his thoughts. How can he think about a life in Fenlaros when his life in Windhaven is such a colossal fuck up? Not to mention he would never make such decisions without consulting his friends — his family — first—

But things with his friends aren’t in such a good place right now.

“You dumped all of that on me not even twenty-four hours ago.” He points out. “I can’t just come up with an answer for you.”

“What we’re trying to do is important, Azriel—”

“I have other things going on right now. Alright?” He snaps. “Your father’s vision is not my priority.”

Kaeda stills, balling her fists. “What things? Something to do with why you were fighting with Cassian, I presume.”

“I don’t want to talk about it, Kaeda.” He pivots, turns his back to her. “I just…need some space.”

There’s a beat of silence, and Az thinks that perhaps she’ll actually listen and leave.

But then he feels movement behind him, and Kaeda’s front is pressing to his back. Her arms wrap around him. He tenses.

“I’m sorry for pushing you.” She presses a kiss to his shoulder. “I just want what’s best for you.”

Az’s eyes shutter. Her touch feels wrong. All wrong.”

“Azriel.” She whispers, and those hands travel lower, towards the waistband of the low-slung cotton trousers that hang from his hips. “I can make you feel better.”

The second those fingers begin to slide beneath the waistband, he’s launching himself out of her arms. Stumbling back against the wall.

“No.” He breathes. “I—can’t.”

Kaeda stares at him. Purses her lips. “Why?”

Because you are not Y/N. You’re not her. You’re not, and never have been, who I want.

“I just…need to be alone.” Is all he manages to get out. “You…you need to go.”

The expression on Kaeda’s face tells him just how rarely anyone asks her to leave. He feels rude, and brusque, and unkind.

He can’t bring himself to care.

“…Fine.” The tone of her voice suggests that it absolutely isn’t fine. She squares her shoulders, lifts her chin. “I’ll go.”

Az inclines his head. “Thank you.”

She strides towards the door, coldness rippling off her. And when she wraps her hand around the doorknob, she turns.

“When you’re ready to stop being such a fucking coward,” she levels him a look, “you know where you can find me.”

Azriel doesn’t bother replying.

He climbs back into bed. And he relishes in the sound of the door clicking shut.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

“You’re sure you want to do this today?”

Outside the chipped wooden door of your father’s house a day later, you’re frozen on the spot. Your breath clouds in front of your face, and you wish you’d accepted the coat that Rhys had offered you before leaving.

It’s tempting to turn around and go back to the cottage. Warm yourself by the fire. Hopefully fall asleep and avoid the pain in your heart, at least for a little while.

But you know that now is the right time to do this. Your father will be hard at work in his forge, and you’re free to gather your belongings and turn your back on that hollow home for good. At least it’ll keep you occupied for a while.

So you turn to Roza, and you nod. “I’m sure.”

“I still don’t think you should be doing this alone.” She eyes you cautiously. “Why don’t I send Rhys to help?”

“I’m fine, Roz, honestly. I think…I think I’ll appreciate the space.”

The space to cry and cry without anyone smothering you. You appreciate the love and support over the last twenty-four hours, you do — but being under the same roof as Cass…not knowing what Azriel might be doing, thinking, feeling…it’s all a bit too much.

So, yes, you’ll appreciate the breathing space.

Roza seems to finally recognise that. She nods. “Alright. I’ll come back for you in an hour.”

You lean in and press a kiss to her cheek, and then you’re turning and ripping the bandaid off before you can talk yourself out of it.

The house is as dark and dingy as it always has been. It smells musty. It feels soulless.

You step in and shut the door behind you, and you’re suddenly faced with every bad memory that has ever played out there. The shadow of your child self skitters around on bare, dirty feet, scrambling to get the fire lit, the dinner cooked.

The walls are painted with the hateful, malicious words that your father has spat over the years. Some of them have been punched in his many fits of anger.

This place will always be suffocating and evil. It will always shrink you back down to that tiny, terrified child who just wanted love.

You wrap your arms around yourself and drag your feet through to your bedroom. It’s just as it was before you left. Never feeling personal nor lived in. Certainly never feeling safe.

But you try to block all of that out and focus on what you came here for. The silence is welcomed, despite every little creak and bang putting you on edge, filling you with dread that your father might have returned home early. If you had to face a confrontation with him right now, you wouldn’t have the strength to defend yourself. You’d roll over at the first blow of vitriol.

And so, when you hear the sure sound of the door rattling open, your heart plummets. You freeze, hands bunching the tunic you were folding. Clear, confident footsteps approach.

Azriel appears in the doorway, and you don’t know what to do.

Perhaps facing your father would be easier right now.

He stares at you, his expression guarded. Where he would usually allow you to read his emotions, he wears a cool, flat exterior that even your keen awareness of him cannot get past. It’s deliberate — an act of self-preservation.

It makes you want to cry, just realising that he feels the need to do that around you. He never has before.

“What are you doing here?” You rasp, clearing a lump from your throat. “I thought…I mean…I would have come to find you, but I thought you needed space.”

Az nods. “I do.” He says. “I’m not…not ready to talk about anything yet.”

“Then why—”

“I made you a promise a long time ago.” He steps closer, stares at you in a way that is…quiet. You notice the dark smudges that sit beneath his eyes as he continues, “I made you a promise that I would be there for you, no matter what. And I didn’t keep that promise on Solstice, but I’m keeping it now. Even if I’m not ready to confront things yet…I won’t let you face this alone.”

After twenty-four hours of tears, you were certain you’re all cried out.

But tears fill your eyes again, and you feel like the broken pieces of your heart are breaking even more.

Azriel knows, better than anybody, how difficult it is for you to come back to this house. To face so many of the demons that you fought against with him by your side. He knows that you may have told Roza that you were fine, that you could do it alone, but you’re not, and you can’t.

You never wanted to do this alone. You just didn’t want to do it with anyone but Azriel.

And despite being hurt, and angry, and confused…he’s here.

“How did you…” You clear your throat again. “How did you know?”

“Was flying above. Saw you with Roza.” He strides further into the room and goes straight to one of the drawers in your dresser. “Are you taking everything?”

You’re still a little stunned, but you manage a nod. Your everything is, in fact, not much at all.

Az begins to fold your clothes and sort them into piles. He’s completely silent. Doesn’t even look at you. But a shadow reaches out and tickles your arm.

There’s so much you want to say to him. You also just want to throw your arms around him. Apologise, and apologise, and apologise.

But you’ll always respect his boundaries. He isn’t ready. So you return to the task and work just as silently as he is.

It’s a little while later, when he’s moved on to your small gathering of keepsakes, that he speaks again.

“Do you want to take this?” He turns to you.

In his hand is the little wooden owl carving he made for your thirteenth birthday. The damned thing has seen you shed so many tears, stayed clutched in your palm through so many nightmares. Never will you ever part with it.

“Always.” You answer quietly. “I’ll always take it wherever I go.”

His gaze lingers on you for a moment, and then he nods. Tucks the trinket into the pocket of your satchel. You watch the entire thing with a gaping wound in your heart.

“Az?” You murmur, and he glances at you over your shoulder. “…Thank you…”

His eyes catch yours again, and then he’s dipping his chin. “I made you a promise.” He says again.

You don’t speak another word to each other after that.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

As soon as you’re finished, Azriel is taking to the skies once more. He doesn’t bid you goodbye.

Roza appears almost immediately, and she takes in your scant belongings with a pitying look.

“Come, little dove.” She reaches for your bag. “Let’s get out of the cold.”

“Let me carry that, Roz.” You say. “You’re pregnant. And the cottage isn’t far—”

But your words cut off when, with a wave of her hand, she’s spiriting all of your belongings away, into thin air. You cock an eyebrow.

“We’re not going back to the cottage.” She says. “I’m taking you to Velaris.”

az tags: @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @sirenpearldust @queercodedcharacter @azriels-shadowsinger @ruler-of-hades @demi03 @magicaldragonlady @abrielletargaryen @ralsieq @v3lv3tf0x @achase2002 @feyretopia @hayrunnwr @don’t-feed-the-hipsters @brekkershadowsinger @piceous21 @bloodicka @acourtofinkandpapyrus @riri-is-agirlie @siriusement @4valyries @socmono @azriels-mate123 @acourtofbatboydreams @katherinearcheron @nesemi @lupinswolfsbanes @dreaming-unafraid @dxnniiix @cyrygher @liddyr03 @lmllsl @nightless @teenageeggscissorslawyer @brighterthanlonelythoughts @blitz-fall @maybefoxysouls @mschanand1erbong @juiceboxreads @bangtanbecks @florencemtrash @hyemishii @obixix @thenovarose @meshellexplosionmurder @angzlxna @lissy31xoxo-blog @supernatural99 @positivewitch @art3-m1ss @milfhunter-pdx @bbuckysbeardd @coralseacourt @towhateverend87 @sspookz @bird-on-the-wire33 @morrie-rose @megwan @catscanteleport @sevikas-whore @thickthighs-sadeyes

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keravnous · 1 year

Text

bathroom b!tch; tangerine/fem!reader (smut; 18+)

part two | part three | part four

playlist: train quickie with tangerine

Tangerine meets you in one of the bathrooms on the bullet train. He just wants to clean up after his tussle with Ladybug and get rid of the blood, but he could use you to blow off some steam as well. You know: he has to take it if he sees it.

word count: 5,9k

warnings: mirror sex, bathroom sex, semi public, fingering, oral (female receiving), blood (it's tangerine's), squirting, dry humping, rather rough sex, unprotected sex, light choking, confined spaces, dirty talk, name calling, kinda a quickie?, tangerine's a little rude but surprisingly gentle too idk he's just like that, he just needs to fuck the adrenaline outta himself, i have very strong feelings about this angry man

title is from the song of the same name, bathroom bitch by holychild

also thank you v for a) helping me out with Japanese and b) by telling me what being a passenger on a bullet train feels like

You knew it was a bad idea.

Starring at yourself in the impressively clean mirror of the small bathroom, you try your best to hold back any fresh tears.

You knew that a long-distance relationship wouldn't work. You fucking knew it and yet you accepted your fiancés pleas to Just try it. Maybe, it indeed would've worked out if he wasn't fucking his bloody secretary.

You regret leaving London. You miss your home.

You're not even that heartbroken, you just feel exhausted, like you wasted an awful lot of time.

You take a long, good look at yourself. Bloodshot eyes and a sad hue resting over your pupils, turning the colour dark and deep. The dress, that you bought for your anniversary brunch – a surprise, quite as much as the one he gave you, when you walked in on him, balls deep in his secretary – now looks oddly strange, out of place on you. You feel overdressed and ashamed, foolish.

But there’s something else, too: the loneliness that followed suite after your screaming, after fighting with him - after breaking up with him. It's been there since you boarded the train to Nagoya but now it rolls over you like a wave of-

Thump, thump.

"What the fuck", you mutter, taking a ragged breath, before yelling out, "Occupied!"

You just want to be left at fucking peace, not being watched by other passengers as you're bawling your eyes out. All you want is to get off that train and burn some of that fucker’s money on a spontaneous vacation. All you want is for the remaining days in Japan to be good ones.

Another sharp knock follows. This one rattles the door.

It takes a moment for you to scramble for the right words, the ones you have picked up when visiting your fiancé before. "Shiyouchu!"

Another knock. And another.

Motherfucker.

You clench your teeth - saying goodbye to the precious moments of crying in silence for the year you've lost to the most useless relationship of all fucking mankind - and wipe away the wetness below your eyes to open the door. "I said-"

Oh.

Oh shit.

There's a very handsome man waiting outside the door. He is towering over you, impatience plastered on his face and seeping through his every movement, with the way he's leaning against the door frame.

He's hot.

Also, he's dripping in blood.

His light blue shirt, once crisp and clean, is now disshelved and just as stained as his expensive looking dark-blue vest.

"Jesus, fuck, are you alright?", you blurt out.

The man's raising an eyebrow. "Could be asking you the same, love. Now, would you please get the fuck outta there."

He's moving towards you, closing in the last few inches separating the two of you. Your gaze is focused on the nasty cut on his arm.

"You're bleeding", you say dumbly.

His eyes shoot up at you and for a split-second you feel like you are face to face with a predator. The anxiety, that the blood and his rude behaviour sparked in your chest, sends adrenaline pumping through your veins and has the muscles your legs preparing for fight or flight. He blinks.

"I know", he says and his lips curl up to something, that you're convinced is supposed to be a smile, "Now, if ya'd be so kind?"

He gestures behind you, towards the empty bathroom.

"No?", you say, voice shooting up a little, which immediately has him cautiously throwing a glance down the hall to his right, "No, I won't! You need help, how the fuck -- what the fuck happened?"

"You're starting to really get on my fuckin’ tits, pretty thing. Would y'just let me the fuck inside?", he growls, tilting his head towards you. His tone has the hairs on your arms rising, as he is starring you into the ground.

You back up, colliding unpleasantly with the doorframe, that nearly drills itself into your left shoulder.

"Thank you, Lady", he's squeezing past you and then turns around again, giving you a quick one-over. You are unable to move, mesmerized by the way he's looking at you.

The corners of his mouth tilt up again and one of his hands, a little sticky and red with his own blood, comes up to his face, straightening his moustache, as his gaze runs over your body once more. You should leave, you should run - clearly, something is awfully and so not right but you just can't, being glued to the spot by his eyes.

It shouldn't make your loins grow hot, but you can't help it. You feel your belly tingle, shooting sparks down down down between your legs. He is very attractive and the aura of pure fucking danger that wafts around him doesn’t do what it normally should do – instead, it pulls you in. Oh, aren’t you just fucked.

"What were y'saying about help, again?", the man murmurs, gaze locking with yours.

"Uuuh", it's a very stupid sound you make and his eyes spark up at that, lips giving room to flash some teeth, "I-I just said you look like you might need some help?"

"Well, maybe I do."

He licks his lower lip and you blink, gaze following the movement.

This is very stupid. This is risky, dangerous, and most likely something you are going to regret.

It's not only the situation, it's him, too. He seems dangerous. It's not only the blood, mind you. It’s the way he moves, how his eyes dart through the room, over your body. It’s the aggression in his voice that he’s trying to hide, cover up but ultimately fails, something that seeps through every pore of him.

But he's also just ridiculously hot, walking with his crotch first, heavy northern British accent swirling the words around his tongue and, fuck, it's mostly the way he's looking at you.

And you're just so fucking full of anger and grief and your life feels strangely directed and determined by your shitty-ass fiancé and there's so much rage and sadness -

You take a step into the bathroom and the door slides shut behind you.

"Good", he hums, "Because you do look, like you could also use some help."

The door locks behind you and take another step forward, approaching him. "You have no fucking idea", revenge sex is a very stupid concept but now, it seems very tempting. It's exciting and makes you feel oddly alive.

"Did'ya get dumped?", and you don't know why you trust him with that information but you can hear yourself say: "Cheated on. Fiancé of twelve months." There is a hand sneaking around your waist, pulling you in closer. You can smell him now, the blood on his skin and clothes, the heavy scent of his perfume – it’s warm and thick, vanilla and fruit, like an orange grove.

"Allow me the comment - that's one bloody stupid bastard."

You look up at him and blink. That man's insanely pretty and you swallow as he pulls you in even closer, your hand connecting with his chest. It is firm and warm and your fingers get a little sticky with the fresh blood on his shirt. They splay out, feeling the firm muscle flex beneath the expensive fabric.

"How much time d'we have, sugar?", he hums, runs his thumb across your lower lip.

"I have to get off in Nagoya."

"Gonna get you off alright now, sweetie", you roll your eyes at that and he chuckles, "Bit more than half'n hour I'd say. Think we can manage that?"

You nod while biting your lip, adrenaline thick and heavy in your veins, pumping your blood down south and making you wet wet wet, and he laughs at that, runs his tongue along his bright, bright teeth.

It's sheer excitement that has your belly tingle and you lock your eyes with his, the darkening blueish green pulling you in and then he leans down, locks his lips with yours.

They are soft and warm and his moustache tingles a little. You hum against his lips, one hand fisting his vest as the other sneaks up his muscular arm, runs over and through the blood, up up up next to the cut and comes a halt on his neck. The hand on your waist holds you close, fingers spread out delicately as he starts to feel you up.

His tongue darts out and licks over your lips and you gladly give him more room, parting your lips slightly. He's pushing in, licking into your mouth. You hum deep in your throat, pressing against him, tasting the cigarette smoke on his lips.

You can feel the bulge in his pants, his dick pressing hotly against your lower belly. It ignites your loins, pleasure shooting through your abdomen.

You moan into his mouth and he responds by pushing you back, heaving you up the small sink, deepening the kiss. Your back presses against the mirror as you clutch onto him, hand running up his neck and into his hair, slick with product and a little sticky with sweat. Your knees hit his hipbones and the man starts to roll his hips into yours, having his hard dick rubbing against your crotch and your eyelids flutter with the feeling. He's rock-hard and so so hot through his dress pants and you can't fucking wait to get to it.

He eventually breaks the kiss, breath ragged as his eyes roam over your face, hands feeling your thighs up. You decide that you need more of him and thus, your free hand roams over his chest, fingers making quick work of his vest. As soon as you pop the last button, he hastily tears it off of himself, throws it to the ground where it lands with a quiet thud.

"C'mon sweetheart, I know you clammin' to touch me", he says, voice deep and raspy and you do - like you're on fucking autopilot. Your hands dart out, roaming over his defined chest. He feels nice and firm and makes you want him more, want to feel all of him, all at once.

He hums quietly, as you open a few buttons of his shirt and run your hands over the sweaty, warm skin, through the dust of fine chest hair, making his chain rustle. He feels nice and it makes you want him.

The man looks up from your hands and you don't know what has come over you as your hand glides up further, cupping his neck, thumb on his jawline. "Fuck me", you breathe, "Fuck me 'til I can't walk."

He grins and leans in even closer, his clothed and hard dick pressing against your wet panties, as he's kissing a wet trail from your jaw to your ear. "Who would've thought - such a naugh'y lil'mouth on such a pretty woman."

You hook one leg around his waist, tugging lightly at the hair that's curling in his neck as he starts to suck on your neck. The slight pain ignites your lust, has arousal blooming and wetness pooling between your legs. You want to tell him to stop, before he marks you up for good as --

"Name's Tangerine", he suddenly rasps, as his tongue rubs over the spot he has been sucking on and you're pretty damn sure that he just gave you a hickey.

"Like the-"

"The fucking fruit, yeah. 'M gonna burst you more like something of a cherry, though", he rumbles, quietly laughing to himself with his fingers digging into your hips.

Your breath hitches in your throat as he presses himself flush against you - all firm muscles, perfume, and hot skin - tongue licking over your throat like the hot blade of a knife, dancing over your jaw.

It's most likely not his real name and that should really, really alert you. But it doesn't - instead you surrender yourself to him, letting your head fall back and parting your legs, inviting him in.

And the man -Tangerine - follows suite and shoves your dress up up up, runs his hands over your now exposed thighs. You lean forward a little, until your lips brush over his. "Name's Y/N", you whisper and his eyes glint a little at that, "Pleasure to meet you."

"Oh, you gon' be a fun one", he grins and you do too, before leaning in and kissing him again. He is less gentle now, keen on getting you hot, his kisses turn sloppy quickly, biting your lower lip and licking into your mouth until you lack air. The thumbs on your legs dive in deeper, until they connect with your crotch. And then, one of them gently runs over your soaked panties.

Tangerine breaks the kiss, wet lips brushing over the corner of your mouth, only to inhale sharply - keeps his cheeks puffed theatrically for a short moment, then exhales just as sharply, eyeing you up and down. "Jesus Christ, that pussy of yours s'fucking wet, innit?", he rumbles and two of his fingers run over the wet fabric once more, slowly starting to rub your clit.

You gasp, hips bucking a little and you watch the way his hand vanishes under the hem of your dress. "Fuck", you moan quietly as he quickly finds the spot that makes your thighs clench. He rubs you through your panties, soft lace turning wet wet wet and dampening his skin. Your mouth falls agape seeing his wrist twitching between your legs and the way he's looking down at it, a little mesmerized, makes your head swim. Then, he stops.

"Yeah, let's get those off", he mutters, more to himself than to you and then he's tugging at the straps of your panties, riiips the lace and tears them apart. "Oh-", you gasp unintelligently as he carelessly drops them to the ground and you really don't fucking mind at all.

It's the first time in a long time that you feel wanted, like someone's actually hungry, greedy for you. And it turns you on. A lot. It is like Tangerine has flipped a switch and you want him just as much as he seems to want you. And you want it now.

You blink at him through your lashes. "You gonna touch me now?"

"Easy, love", he chuckles, genuinely amused and then his fingers are slooowly creeping back over your legs, until his index finger finally touches your exposed cunt. The touch is cold, but not unpleasant and you suck in a sharp breath, one that hitches in your throat.

He watches you, as he runs it over your pussy, quickly joined by a second, digits running up and down, spreading your slick. You hum, pleasure building up in your abdomen and then, finally, his fingers return to your clit.

Slow, wide circles spread your lips apart, making you moan and throwing your head back in pleasure. His bracelet clinks as he quickly picks up a faster rhythm, keen on seeing you coming loose, circles growing smaller.

"Oh shit, yes that's fucking it", you can feel arousal building in your stomach, shooting through your body. Tangerine laughs under his breath and his lips are onto you again, licking and sucking over your straightened neck. You don't give a fuck anymore, the slight pain of him bruising your skin makes your hips buck and rolling against his digits.

"Such a good girl, ain't ya?, he groans against your neck and it sends shivers down your spine as you're moaning and gasping, nodding frantically.

Your body feels like it has been ignited, with the way his fingers rub your clit, teasing your pussy and then there's one finger circling your hole and fuck, you really fucking need it. You spread your legs farther and Tangerine puuushes in, sinks one rather cold finger in your hole, your hot hot skin meeting the cold gold of his ring.

Tangerine starts to fuck you slowly, finger pushing in and out of you, until you're loose enough to take a second one. His rings thrust against your hole every time he pushes them back inside and the sensation has you whining, his lips still glued to your neck, occasionally moving down down down to you cleavage, licking fat stripes over your warm, sweaty skin.

A flood of very good, very dangerous emotions has one of your hands abandoning the sink, instead running up his arm, splaying across his shoulder. You can feel the muscles working slightly beneath the light blue fabric, a little dampened by his sweat. "Fuck, you make me so hot, shit, that feels so good", you whimper quietly, gasping as his fingers push even deeper. It seems to kick Tangerine off, moustache grazing your skin as he’s picking up an even faster rhythm - rubbing, circling your clit faster, adding more pressure - obscene squelching sounds filling the air of the small bathroom. You moan as pleasure shoots up your spine, has you rocking on and against his fingers.

You can feel your walls clenching around his fingers, hole fluttering against the cold, golden rings and then --

He breaks from your throat and whistles lowly as fresh wetness pools around his fingers, your squirt dampening his golden bracelet and the cuff of his shirt.

Tangerine pulls his fingers out of you slowly, slick with your juices and looks at them for a few seconds, the way your wetness is glistening on his skin in the dim lights. He brings them up up up, gaze connecting with yours and then -

They go past his lips, as his tongue darts out and licks them clean. You blink - once, twice. "Fuck", you breathe, and he chuckles.

"You taste like a fuckin' dream, love", his hands push your legs further apart and before you know it, he sinks down to his knees. You blink at him, as he lifts the hem of your dress up, "Might wanna hold that f'me", and you do, pulling the fabric as high up as you can, exposing yourself to him further.

Tangerine tsks as he takes the sight in and you can feel your cheeks growing hot, burning red, as his fingers dance over your pussy.

"Don't ya just have the prettiest cunt?", he hums, running his fingers through your folds, "'M gonna fuck ya so good."

"Jesus, Tangerine", you huff out, legs shaking a little as his thumb carefully rubs over your clit.

Tangerine looks up at you, smirking a little and then he's leaning in, hands coming to rest on your thighs, forcing your legs apart. He's not breaking eye contact, keeps your gazes chained together, as he dives in and licks a long, fat stripe from your hole upwards to your clit.

You fucking mewl, as his moustache rubs over your sensitive skin, tongue circling your clit for a short moment. His eyes gleam up at you, watching your reaction as his tongue swipes down, over your folds to your hole, teasing it. It has your legs kicking a little and you grab the sink with both your hands, as your thighs give a quick shake.

You can hear him chuckle deep in his throat and it makes you hot hot hot all over, with the way his tongue crawls back up, lips grazing your cunt and then he's onto your clit once more, gently lapping at it, placing soft kisses on the sensitive skin.

A strangled noise escapes your throat as arousal rushes through your abdomen and up up up your whole body, has your chest heaving with a ragged breath and rolling your hips forward. It's so so good, but not enough - you just need more.

"Don't ya move, love", Tangerine rasps and one of his hands grabs your hips forcefully, dress sliding up to your navel as he's holding you in place. The other crawls up your lower leg and thigh, teasing your folds and then one finger presses against your hole, pushes in roughly.

You moan as he immediately starts to fuck you with it, pumping your wetness in and out of you with a rather merciless rhythm, keen on having you come for him, having you squirt once more.

His eyelids flutter, long and dark lashes against his pale skin as his tongue licks over your folds, tasting your wetness and taking your scent in. You're tasting so so sweet to him, like a fucking forbidden fruit that he's going to devour anyways, because he can and he will and because fuck the rules he had set himself for this job.

He closes his eyes as he pushes a second finger into you, pumping them in and out of you, while his tongue laps at your cunt, lips closing in around your folds, gently sucking. His fingers are fucking you fast now, pushing you further and further.

"Oh god", you gasp, one hand still holding your own weight, the other now fisting his hair, pulling it. It seems to spur him on, hooking one of your legs over his shoulder and placing wet, open-mouthed kisses on your cunt, gently nibbling at the soft skin as his finger pumps into you. It's even better than before, with his beard scratching you and his tongue and lips gliding over your cunt as if it were a riddle he's going to solve without his hands. The heel of your shoe digs into his back - desperate for any leverage, to just feel him - as you are nearing your release.

"Shit, fuck fuck fuck", your voice sounds strange in your ears, high-pitched and far far away, between the squelching sounds that his rapidly moving fingers pull out of your pussy, "I'm gonna-"

He hums and then, after a short moment, pulls his digits out of you and grabs your hips hard, holding you in place, not stopping his tongue from rubbing over your cunt hard.

It tips you over the edge, has you breaking loose. You gasp loudly, throwing your head back against the mirror, incoherent rambling leaving your lips as you come - riding your orgasm out on his face as he licks you through your orgasm, your hips bucking wildly with it.

As your orgasm rolls over you, you already know that this isn't over. Usually, you would be spent for now, calm and a little tired but right now - you're not at all, lust still rolling over you, fresh wetness pooling between your legs again. "Mhm, shit", you breathe, feet kicking a little as Tangerine's tongue continues to flick over your clit. You are still wet, already desperate for more, more of him.

All you can think about is his hard dick, that you've felt earlier pressing against your crotch and pure want tingles in your stomach. Tangerine's lips close in around your throbbing clit, overstimulation making your head swim.

"Please, fuck, please", your hip bucks against his iron grip that holds you steadily against the sink. Tangerine looks up at you again and let’s go of your clit with an obscene pop. His moustache is dampened by your wetness as he grins up at you. "Please please", he mocks your high-pitched whines and then smirks, "Wan'it that bad, love?"

"Need you - ah, fuck - inside me. Oh, shit", you whine, as your hole clenches around nothing, desperate for more than his fingers. You are so turned on by this stranger, lust crashing over your body like waves - you can feel its tingle in your chest, your legs, feeling your pussy desperate for another touch.

Tangerine blinks for a moment and you're sure, that you saw his eye twitch and then he, very dramatically, takes a deep breath, closes his eyes. "Shit, love, you make me feel all sorts o'things", he says quietly and then quickly gets up, wipes his lips with the back of his hand.

He leans in and his lips lock with yours again and you can taste yourself on his tongue, as he licks into your mouth, grinning against your lips, damp stache rubbing over your upper lip. He licks over it, groans deep in his throat, while his hands brush over your legs, before he commands, whispers against your lips: "Bend over the sink f'me.”

"What?", you blink, words not really reaching you through the lustful haze that has wrapped your brain in like cotton candy. All you can do is look at him, at this very handsome stranger with the very fake name and he has your head swimming, brain giving in and surrendering to lust once more.

You take the hand he offers you as he helps you down the sink, your legs a little wobbly. "Alright c'mon now, girl, don't keep me waitin'", Tangerine gives you a light pat on the cheek, rings barely connecting with your skin - a patronizing gesture that has your knees going ever weaker for a moment as you try to turn around, hands gripping the edges of the sink.

You watch him in the mirror, as he makes quick work of his belt and the fly of his trousers. As he pulls his dick out, your mouth waters. It's long and big and has just the right girth, a drop of precum glistening on its tip. You'd really like to suck that cock, like right motherfucking now.

Tangerine looks at you. "Got all hungry fo'it?", and you nod - breathing out Fuck yeah - arching your back for him, "Alright love, just a minute."

He spits in his hand and rubs the saliva over his dick, giving himself one, two strokes. You arch your back, keeping your eyes on him as he grabs your hips hard, lines himself up, head of his dick resting against your hole - all hot and hard - and then he finally, finally pushes himself in. The stretch is nice and has you squirming a little with the dull pain, excitement lighting your nerves up.

"Jesus Christ", his head falls forward a little, "You're so fuckin' tight."

He bottoms out, forcing himself in deep, holding still. You can feel his dick twitching inside of you, but he doesn't move and you can see his chest heaving, hear him grunt. His hand roams over your bare ass, shoving the dress even higher, until your back is partly exposed and his hand creeps around your body, over your stomach and under the dress, slips beneath your bra and cups one of your tits.

Tangerine squeezes it, feels you up and then pulls his dick back out only to quickly push himself back in. The sound that leaves your throat is nothing but desperate and your hand grips the sink harder, knuckles slowly turning white. His jaw is going a little slack as he rolls his hips into you, fucking you slowly.

"Ah shit", he groans, a deep and coarse sound, that makes you shiver, "Doesn't that just feel lovely?"

He watches the way his dick pumps into your pussy, eyebrows drawn together, lips slightly agape - until his gaze meets yours in the mirror once more and there it is - a shadow that dances over his eyes, turning the mesmerizing blue and green dark dark dark. One of his hands suddenly darts forward, rings glimmering in the dim light, only to roughly grab your chin, forcefully holding your head in place. It hurts a little, but the pain feels good, the way it stretches your back and intensifies the arch of it, forces you to look at him and yourself. Your mascara is pooling beneath your eyes, pupils blown wide and cheeks reddened.

"Would'ya just look at yourself", Tangerine groans, "Ya might be the hottest fucking thing I've seen in a long fuckin' time --" He groans again, thumb catching your lower lip and you moan as you watch his face coming a little loose with pleasure.

Tangerine picks up a faster rhythm, thrusting into you and you push your hips back, meeting him - desperate for more more more. He grins at you in the mirror and his hand creeps a little lower, until it rest riiight below your jawline and then -

Then he squeezes.

It has you gasping, choking a little at the sudden loss of air and the feeling of your windpipe being closed. Your hip bucks against his and he licks his lips.

The lack of air has adrenaline rushing through your veins once more, as his dick pushes against your spongy hot walls and you feel your body surrendering to him fully, the small voice in the back of your head remembering you that You are at his mercy has you growing even wetter.

The hand lets go off your throat, now gently holding your head in place and you suck in a few deep breaths, gasping, greedily sucking in the air, as --

There must be a bump on the rails, as the wagon suddenly lifts a little and has you thrown forward towards the mirror, shoves his dick deeper into you. You moan, instinctively catching his eyes in the mirror.

His lips are slightly parted, eyes darkened by lust and his fingers dig into the flesh of your hips. The train speeds up just as he leans forward, throws his chest against your back. His body is so so hot against yours and your walls flutter around his dick, as his scent wraps you in once more.

Tangerine lowers his head, until his forehead rests on your shoulder, cock twitching inside of you. "Ya have no bloody idea what'cha doin' to me, Lady", he says, voice coarse and dark and your eyelids flutter, "'M gonna ruin ya."

He lifts his head a little and your gazes connect in the mirror once more. A shiver runs down your spine - he means it.

And you feel it, too, as he thrusts into you once, knocks the air out of your lungs with the sheer force of it. The tip of his dick hits the spot perfectly and you nearly cry out in pleasure, hands gripping the sink tightly. There are small lines forming around his eyes as he's grinning against your shoulder, pulls out a little only to force himself back in, even deeper this time. The hand that was toying with your tit leaves, crawls back down and his arm wraps itself around your waist, holds you close.

Your legs shake as Tangerine picks up a faster rhythm, starts pounding in to you like a starved man, like an animal gone wild. It's in his eyes, hunger hunger hunger and you feel pleasure shooting through your body, pooling in your abdomen. You squirt against his dick, wetting the trimmed pubic hair as his balls slap against your wet skin.

You suck in a sharp breath, a strangled high pitched whiny moan escaping your lips, as he hits your walls again, tip of his dick brushing over your g-spot, having you seeing stars. Your eyelids flutter, gasps escaping your mouth with every one of his thrusts.

"Be fuckin' loud, you lil'slut, I don't care - one - bit", he says through gritted teeth, each word one thrust, "If they come knockin'. I’ll kill’em."

It shouldn’t – really, it shouldn’t – but it has your head swimming, rocking back against him, obscene sounds filling the small bathroom and you moan loudly. His jewellery rustles and clinks as he ruts into you, huffing against your shoulder. The force of his thrusts has your body moving back and forth like a ragdoll, hipbones bouncing against the sink, one of your hands coming loose and pressing flat against the mirror, desperate for any sort of leverage.

You can feel yourself clenching around him, white hot pleasure building on the edges of your brain, until there's nothing left but him him him.

"Fuck", you cry out, "I'm gonna fucking cum, shit shit shit", lips falling agape with pure pleasure. It’s too much and you can feel your muscles tensing.

The hand around your throat tightens a bit more and that’s all you need – has your eyes falling shut, your second orgasm rolling over you. It knocks the air straight out of your lungs, has you going limp, while the muscles in your thighs and abdomen clench, holding and squeezing his dick inside of you.

You can hear him moan deeply, sounding far far away and then his cum hits your walls, paints it as he buries himself deep deep inside of you. You gasp, desperate for air and he lets go off your throat.

You suck in a few breaths and feel him doing the same, chest heaving against your back. "Fuck", he says and slowly straightens back up, looking at you in the mirror.

"Y'good over there, love?"

"Uh-huh", you hum, unable to speak, and blink at him. His hair's a mess and his cheeks are a little reddened, glistening with sweat.

Tangerine fucking winks at you and then slooowly, very carefully pulls out of you. You inhale sharply as you feel some of his cum following suite, dripping down your legs. You want to straighten up, too, clean it up, but he's quicker, taking one of the disposable towels and gently sweeps along your cunt.

"'S good, I can do that too, y'know", you say and take it from him, cleaning yourself up. For a long moment, while you can hear him putting himself back in his pants, there's silence between the two of you. Only, as you carefully put your dress back in place, does he look at you again.

"Be careful tonight, sweetheart", he says nonchalantly while tugging his shirt back into his slacks. He says it like it's nothing but it has the hairs on your body standing up.

I’ll kill’em. I’ll kill’em. I’ll kill’em. You look on the slight stains that his blood left on your fingers, that soaked his shirt.

"Make you sure you get out of that train in Nagoya, y'hear me?", his gaze is soft as it lands upon you. Your brain goes numb with anxiety.

"Y-yeah, yeah sure. I'm meeting a friend there, wouldn't miss her for the world."

He smiles at that. A genuine, warm smile. It does something funny to your stomach. "Alright love, gotta dash", he's straightening his vest and giving himself a glance in the mirror, running his hands through his hair, "There's this chap I gotta get rid of. Gimme a call, when you're in London, would'ya?"

You just nod and take the slim, white card he hands you. The numbers on it are orange.

"Very fucking funny", you huff and he grins, leans down towards you, and places his lips on your cheek. The kiss is feather-light but it'll haunt you late at night in the weeks, months to come after the story of the crashed bullet train breaks the international news. But right now, it makes your chest tingle in all the right ways.

"Tis'a good girl, eh?", Tangerine whispers and then, throwing one last look at you, struts out of the door.

#tangerine #tangerine bullet train #tangerine smut #tangerine x y/n #tangerine x you #tangerine x fem!reader #tangerine imagine #tangerine x reader #my writing #smut #bullet train #bullet train 2022 #aaron taylor johnson

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vivinens · 8 months

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a lover's game !

characters: neuvillette, wriothesley & navia.

summary: little things they notice about you.

warning, minor fontaine story spoilers. gender neutral reader. here's a few short drabbles, hello tumblr!

Neuvillette, while famously intrigued by human behavior, often finds himself completely fascinated with you in particular.

For all his objective understanding of worldly matters, he is still confused as to why he specifically craves your attention. It's utterly strange, really, how his eyes seem to trail after your movements and expressions with more care than he would show to others.

You smile differently, when speaking to him. He's picked up on this after numerous conversations involving you two and a third party. When speaking to Monsieur Neuvillette (he often wonders about the soft way you say his name), your tone is easy and your smile is—for lack of a more appropriate word—entrancing. But, the moment your attention turns to the third party, that smile is dimmed.

At first, he simply chalks it up to you wanting to get in his good graces. After all, he's had no shortage of humans attempting to get close to him in order to satisfy their own desires. However, even with his lackluster social skills, he can see how your behavior is different from the people trying to appeal to them for their own merit. Your flustered sentences and bright eyes were not the same as others using flattery to gain status among the court staff.

...Perhaps he should ask Navia about it. Not for the first time, he curses his own lack of social understanding.

Wriothesley is not usually the kind of man who finds himself hung up on trivial details. He spends too much time working and worrying as it is; so why should he make life more complicated for himself?

There were some things he can't help but notice when it comes to you, though. It's midday when he overhears you mumbling to yourself about a new treat from Café Lucerne you'd like to try—as well as something about you having already spent all your "fun mora" for the week. You had sighed to yourself at your own respective desk all afternoon, and the sheer longing he could sense made his eye twitch.

You arrived to your work desk the next morning to see a wrapped gift box atop it. You had gasped when you opened it to reveal the outrageously expensive cake you had been craving all week. Wriothesley couldn't stay to further see your reaction, as to not raise suspicion, but he was content nonetheless.

It was when he arrived at work the next day that he realized—after seeing a steaming hot cup of coffee set on his desk beside a signed thank you note—that you're more observant than you let on. After all, he had taken great care in not letting it be known he was the one who gifted you the cake.

He takes a sip of the coffee. It was the way he likes it. Yes, you were very observant, indeed.

Navia has always had a soft spot for her underlings. She remembers their birthdays, their favorite songs, and those who they would prefer to work alongside. She claims it's her duty as their boss to know such things—although, in the opinion of many, she often goes above and beyond.

However, if you were to ask any of Navia's other subordinates, they would probably say she tries to understand you best of all. You have known one another for a long time, and this friendship was something she held very dearly—especially after the passing of her father. You were a beacon of light in those times, when the world seemed against her and her father's memory.

In some ways, she wondered if she was... taking advantage. You worked hard to support her and Spina di Rosula, and earned hardly nothing in return. Pay was rocky and sometimes even scarce. What if your talents could be better used elsewhere? What if you truly did want to leave? What if—

"You're overthinking again, Navia," you sigh, and before she can even think to respond, your hand is reaching to feel her forehead. You're sat beside one another on a bench, taking a small reprieve after a day spent out and about Vasari Passage. "Hm, I'm surprised you don't have a fever. You've been acting strange all day," you say, tilting your head. "You would tell me if something was wrong, wouldn't you?"

The genuine worry in your voice makes Navia's heart flutter. "No, no, nothing at all!" She exclaims with more confidence than she feels. She seems to be doing that a lot lately. "But... thank you, for worrying about me. You shouldn't have to."

You frown. "I care for you—perhaps more than you understand, Navia. You don't have to speak about it now, but if something is troubling you, I will always lend you an ear."

Sometimes, Navia finds you truly are too understanding of her emotions. Instead of responding, she nods wordlessly, lest the things she wants to say so desperately clog her throat, and reaches to rest her hand against yours. You don't pull away, and the loud hammering of Navia's heart continues in her chest. It does not stop for a long while.

#neuvillette x reader #wriothesley x reader #navia x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin fluff #genshin imagines #💬 vivi is typing

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exitpursuedbyavulcan · 1 year

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Studious II (Aemond Targaryen x Reader) 18+

After your last coupling, Prince Aemond has been acting quite strangely toward you. It doesn't make sorting out your own feeling for him any easier...

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (second person, no use of Y/N)

Warnings: smut (kinda?) , male masturbation, female masturbation (attempted), more Aegon commentary, more Aemond awkwardness

Author's Note: WOW, I was not expecting anyone to like my awkward Aemond brain dump, but boy howdy did y'all... I hope this lives up to the hype!

Read Part I Here - Read Part III Here - Read Part IV Here

My Masterlist

Taglist below the cut

Studious II

The day after his marriage, utterly distraught by the look of confusion and dissatisfaction on his wife’s face after the bedding, Prince Aemond Targaryen came to terms with the fact that he desperately needed help. And though it went against every instinct he had to ask for it, he would much rather admit this weakness – this shortcoming – than suffer seeing that disappointment on her sweet face each time he came to her.

He went to Grand Maester Orwyle first. For while he had taken a vow of chastity, his knowledge of anatomy would be more than useful. Besides, he had always been kind and patient with Aemond during their lessons in his youth – he would not judge the Prince for this failing.

For more practical knowledge, he asked Lord Jasper Wylde, his father’s Master of Laws. His long-held position on the Small Council proved he could be trusted. More than that, the man had seeded twenty-seven surviving legitimate children thus far, and another was soon expected. ‘Ironrod’ clearly knew what he was doing.

Lastly, Aemond reluctantly enlisted the help of his older brother. He had his doubts about whether Aegon actually knew anything useful. Still, no one could deny that he had more relevant experience than anyone in King’s Landing who was not a whore.

Aemond listened to their advice diligently, as if it were no different from anything else he had studied. And, like always, he had been a good student.

The glorious sounds his wife had made when he started putting his lessons to use still echoed in his mind. The gentle whine when he had kissed her. The sharp inhale when he had started caressing her. The shiver that ran through her when he found her ‘pearl,’ as Aegon had called it. And her delicious gasp when he found that sweet spot inside her.

But there were other sounds – worse sounds. The alarm in her voice after he had brushed his tongue against her lips. Her confusion as to why he was touching her at all. How her eyes had gone wide with panic when he began to pleasure her, and how she had begged him to stop.

And every time he closed his eyes, he saw her hiding her face in her pillows after he smiled at seeing her find her own pleasure as he thrust into her – as though the very idea of enjoying being with him was something incomprehensible. Like it scared her.

She hadn’t wanted to look at him, kiss him, or be pleased by him. And she hadn’t come.

So, he assembled his advisors the next day, seeking some explanation of what he had done wrong. Or new instructions on how to please her in a way she wouldn’t eschew.

They had quickly decided the solution wasn’t some new technique, but for Aemond to ‘woo’ her.

The prospect at once delighted and terrified him.

At least he had advisors to help him figure out how.

Indeed, Lord Wylde had taken on the demeanour of a man plotting a war. He asked Aemond to list every detail he knew about his new bride and wrote everything he said word-for-word on a piece of parchment, along with his own commentary and musings on strategies.

Aegon’s comments and observations, mostly concerning her breasts, were not written down.

But the elder Prince did not mind, as he was quickly distracted by his own interrogation of Grand Maester Orwyle. He wanted to know precisely when, why, and how the Maester had pleasured Helaena.

Once Orwyle finished giving him the details, it was clear the Prince was far more impressed than offended. When Aegon finally turned back to the matter at hand, the Maester said a silent prayer of thanks that he was not going to lose his head.

After more than an hour of strategising, they had devised several courses of action for Aemond to try.

“She will be so enamoured by you that you won’t even have to touch her to get her to come,” Aegon declared proudly.

Orwyle and Wylde winced at the Prince’s crass words, but could not deny they also felt confident in the plan.

Aemond growled at his brother, eye blazing with rage. “This isn’t just about sex, Aegon. I want... I want her to like me.”

He sighed and slumped in his chair, running a hand over his flushed face. While he would never admit it aloud, he wanted so much more than to just be liked by his wife.

He wanted her to feel the same thing he felt exploding in his chest every time he looked at her. The intensity of the feeling was more frightening than losing his eye had been. And more thrilling than his first flight on Vhagar.

More than anything, he wanted her to love him – as he loved her.

But as his fingers grazed the leather strap of his eyepatch, he knew it was an impossible dream.

She was so beautiful. So gentle and kind. So pure and full of light.

He was monstrous. In the years since losing his eye, he had become as hideous in his soul as he was in the flesh. He had delved so deep into the darkness of his anger, resentment, and hatred that he knew there was no escape.

Until she had come into his life.

From the first moment he saw her step out of her father’s carriage, he knew that if she looked on him affectionately and allowed her holy light to shine upon him just once… perhaps he could be saved from damnation.

“I need her to like me,” he sighed, feeling not like the fearsome Prince and warrior he was, but like a whimpering, desperate child.

A dozen snide, and admittedly quite witty, comments died on Aegon’s lips. Once, he would not have hesitated to say them, to laugh at the hurt in his brother’s eyes.

But that was before Driftmark.

Before he had failed to protect Aemond from their bastard nephews – spurred on by the very teasing Aegon had once led them in. Though he wasn’t there when the eye was actually cut, he knew that if he hadn’t been such a twat before then, his brother would be whole.

He would still be an awkward, pathetic mess with no clue how to fuck a woman properly, but… he wouldn’t think himself so unworthy of his wife.

“Well,” Aegon drawled, slipping back into the mask of the blithe, carefree Prince everyone knew him to be. “I think we can at least manage ‘like.’ Now, get off your brooding ass, woo the girl, and make her come!”

You sat comfortably in a secluded corner of the Red Keep’s library, reading the book you had been forced to set down after your husband’s arrival in your chambers the night before.

Libraries were all the same, no matter where they were. The peaceful quiet interrupted only by the turning of heavy pages every so often. The soft shafts of yellow sunlight streaming through the small windows – stained glass, if you were lucky. The smell of old paper and well-worn leather.

It was far too easy to imagine you were back in your father’s library at home. Even better, this little corner you found felt as private as your own rooms.

More private, perhaps. Here, Prince Aemond could not barge in requesting you perform your marital duties.

Or so you thought.

A shadow stopped in front of you, blocking out the mottled sunlight you were using to read. Thinking that perhaps it was later than you’d thought, and one of the Maesters had come to tell you that you’d once again stayed past the library curfew, you looked up with a polite smile.

And met the single violet eye of your husband.

“Good afternoon, wife,” he greeted, dipping his head slightly and giving a decidedly awkward smile.

With his dimples, he was very nearly handsome when he smiled. But it did not quite reach his eye, and his brow was set too hard for you to truly see him as such.

Blinking rapidly as you tried to quickly hide your disappointment that your private reading spot was discovered, you returned the smile as best you could. “Husband.”

Aemond stared at you as though he expected more, as was apparently his habit, but you only stared back.

Why should it fall to you to put more effort into the marriage than he did?

Finally, he cleared his throat slightly. “I was wondering if I may join you in your reading? I noticed last night that you were reading Valyrian history. It is a favourite subject of mine.”

Indeed, you had begun studying the history of House Targaryen more in-depth the moment your betrothal was announced. You wanted to familiarise yourself with the family you were to join.

Though your ideas about becoming a true member of the family faded quickly, you continued your research. As much as the disappointment of your marriage had made you loathe to admit it, it was a fascinating history.

But now it meant Aemond wanted to read with you…

“I am sure you’ve read this particular history before,” you said, shyly showing him the title. It was little more than a beginner’s primer, almost more a storybook than a proper history, but you had to start somewhere. “Would you not rather read something more… novel?”

He laughed slightly, and you realised you had just unintentionally made a play on words. And not even a particularly clever one.

“Seeing my family’s history through your eyes would be quite ‘novel,’ as you so cleverly put it,” he replied, obviously quite determined, if he was willing to compliment you.

Was that… the first compliment he ever gave you?

When he smiled at you like that, it brought you back to the way he smiled when he had done… whatever it was he had done while he was inside you that made your vision burst into stars.

You blushed as heat pooled in your stomach at the memory, and the feelings that came with it. Your feelings about him, which you hadn’t yet allowed yourself to sort through – if you even wanted to.

He had made you feel so small and unwanted in the training yard when he grimaced and ran away from you. But then he had touched you so gently and gazed at you reverently at your slight gasp of pleasure like it was as beautiful a sound as he’d ever heard.

And then he left. Again.

But that was what you wanted – wasn’t it?

You had no idea what you wanted. And right now, figuring it out wasn’t your primary concern.

What he wanted from you was.

You prayed it was honestly just to discuss history.

So, you smiled as genuinely as you could and gestured to the seat across from you. “Then I would be… happy to have you join me.”

His eye lingered slightly on the seat next to you, but he nodded and took the seat you indicated.

You looked at him. He looked at you.

“Should I…” you began, at the exact moment he opened his mouth to speak.

You looked down, clamping your lips shut to let him speak first – as a good wife does.

He let out a sound halfway between a laugh and a sigh before setting his hand on the table. You watched as he flexed his fingers, wondering for a moment if he wanted you to reach out as well – if he wanted to hold your hand.

It was a ridiculous thought. One you silently scolded yourself for as you gripped the book harder, keeping your hands firmly where they were.

Silence fell as he mulled over his words, the left corner of his mouth twitching every so often as though he had almost decided what to say. Not wanting to interrupt, you simply sat there, pondering how uncomfortable you had become in this once-soothing place.

When it was just you, you savoured the silence. When he was here, you abhorred it.

“Do you have any questions?” Aemond asked, finally breaking the silence.

His words confused you. Was he referring to the book or to him? You had so many questions about what he had done last night, though you were more than a little afraid to ask them.

“What kind of questions should I have?” you replied, ashamed by how small your voice came out. Hopefully, he interpreted it as respect for the library.

He quirked his head, his lips again spreading in that not-quite smile, not-quite frown he often made after you had said something to him. Then, on the table, his hand curled into a fist.

“Just…” he gestured to the book. “Questions about what you don’t understand. I would be more than happy to help you.”

If your mind had been clearer, perhaps you would have seen the offer for what it was: a genuine desire to help and, perhaps, a way to get to know you better.

But something about Aemond clouded all your good sense as thoroughly as a stormy sea.

Your brow instantly furrowed in anger. Did he really think you were so stupid you could not understand a simple book meant for children?

“I have no questions,” you said coldly, your voice louder and harder than before.

Aemond blinked, his eye widening as he reached further across the table toward you. “I… I have studied the histories extensively, and I know they are complicated and difficult to understand. If there is anything that you are struggling with, or – ”

“Of course,” you cut him off. All your mother’s advice about how to be a good, dutiful wife was long forgotten as your anger rose higher and higher. “It is quite a difficult book. The words, I’m afraid, are well past my simple understanding. I’ve actually only been looking at the illustrations.”

His face was frozen, his eye wide, and his mouth hanging slightly open. He looked remarkably like a freshly caught fish. You laughed at the thought, slammed the book shut, and stood.

“Although,” you hissed. “Even the pictures have started to become too ‘complicated’ for me. I’m afraid my headache is returning.”

He finally blinked and leaned across the table, truly reaching for your hand now. “No… I didn’t…”

You stepped away, harshly pulling your hand away from his. “If you will excuse me, husband. I must rest before the evening meal, or else I fear I will be too exhausted to participate in any intelligent conversation.”

That look of hurt again came over Aemond’s face, but you were far too angry to care. As you stomped out of the library, you did look back at him once.

If you had, you would have seen him slump over in his chair with his head in his hands before he pounded his clenched fist against the wood table, earning quite the scolding from a nearby Maester.

You once again did not attend the evening meal with Aemond and his family.

It had been a hard decision to come to. You had even dressed before finally deciding to remain in your rooms. But in the end, you supposed that the consequences of missing a second night would be easier to endure than an evening sitting next to your husband.

Your husband, who so obviously disliked you and thought you were an idiot.

That was what he had insinuated, wasn’t it? Why else would he have offered you help in understanding a children’s history book?

It was stupid of you to even want to read about Targaryen history, you scolded yourself. It was little more than a repetitive tale of countless generations of dragonriders who all shared the same handful of names. A stupid story about a stupid civilisation.

But as you sat at your desk eating your solitary meal, you couldn’t help but wish you hadn’t left the book in the library.

You contemplated sending one of your maids to fetch it, but you had no doubt Aemond would hear about it. That is, if he hadn’t just taken it himself.

Oh gods, what if he had?

He would find the notes you had made and tucked into the cover – including the family tree you sketched to keep all the names straight. It would only confirm his suspicions about your intellect.

You could picture his smug smile when he found the notes. The way the corners of his mouth would lift just enough to expose his dimples. There would be an arrogant twinkle in that violet eye. Perhaps he would be so amused by his simple-minded wife that he would have to bite his lip to hold back a laugh. Those lovely pink lips that had felt so soft on yours…

Shaking your head violently to banish the foolish, lustful thoughts, you took a long drink of your wine. Hopefully, it would soothe your nerves enough for you to think about anything but Aemond. Or at least enough to calm your breathing and banish the heat that bloomed beneath your thighs.

Once again, you lost your appetite and sent your meal away only half-eaten.

You needed to pray.

That was the only answer. The only way you could rid your mind of these horrible, sinful thoughts.

You had only just grabbed your copy of The Seven-Pointed Star when there was a knock at the door.

Not again.

“Who is it?” you asked, heart pounding with both nervousness and anticipation.

“It is Grand Maester Orwyle, Princess,” came an unfamiliar voice. “The Queen sent word you were unwell.”

A great wave of relief and disappointment washed over you, your book falling to the floor as your hands went slack. “Yes, come in,” you called.

Then, to yourself, you whispered, “I am quite unwell, indeed.”

The next afternoon, you sat comfortably on your couch, still in your nightgown and robe. It was improper, yes. But after assessing you in your somewhat panicked state the night before, Orwyle commanded you be relieved of your duties for the next few days.

‘Duties’ was a strong word, as your responsibilities only required you to stand silently next to your husband at court and gossip with the Ladies in the afternoon.

Still, you were glad to be rid of them, even if only for a few days. You had plans to go to Sept and pray and to sort out your feelings for your husband – the frightening, complicated feelings that had you so rattled that the Grand Maester himself thought you to be genuinely ill.

But not today.

Today, you would simply rest, drink your chamomile tea, and read the books your maid had fetched from the library.

None of them were history books. That had been the one requirement you had. Well, that and no romance.

So, as you sipped your tea, you allowed yourself to fall into the world of your book – a world of grand adventure, mythical beasts, and a pirate lord with a dashing smile and eyepatch…

Damn.

You threw the book aside, dangerously near the lit hearth, and crossed your arms. But before you could get too far into your wallowing, there was a knock at your door. Again.

“Who is it?” you called, eyes blazing as though you could see through the wood and smite whoever stood behind the door.

There was silence.

“It is Aemond,” came his soft, melodic voice. “May I please come in?”

You clenched your jaw, willing yourself to say ‘no. No, I don’t want to see you.’

“Yes, you may,” your voice said instead. You baulked, unsure how the words came out so wrong.

The moment he stepped through the door, you turned your eyes down. You didn’t want to look at him, for you knew if you did, your logic would abandon you as whatever it was you felt for him overcame you.

But then you caught a flash of bright pink, and your head snapped up.

Aemond was carrying a small bouquet of dog roses, your favourite flower.

The large blooms were the most vibrant pink you had ever seen, perhaps even more so than in the fields where they grew back at home. Even the dot of yellow in their centres seemed as bright as the sun.

They seemed so out of place against the wall of black leather that was Aemond.

Slowly, you looked up from the flowers to face your husband. He had crossed the room to stand before you – awkwardly, as always. His lips were pursed, and his brow set in a deep furrow.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly and quietly, stiffly holding the flowers out to you. “For what I said yesterday.”

You did not move to take them. Did not blink. Did not breathe.

“I did not mean to offend you,” he continued, arm still extended. With the flowers only inches from your face, you could see how tightly he held the stems – his knuckles were bone white. “I spoke without thinking, and my words did not accurately reflect my intentions. I only meant – ”

His voice faltered as you reached up for the flowers. You did not want him to snap the stems. They would die more quickly if he did.

As your fingers brushed his, he flinched, dropping the flowers unceremoniously onto your lap. You immediately grabbed them, carefully examining each bloom to ensure it was not damaged. Thankfully, they were intact.

You stared and stared at them, memories flooding your mind. Every year, your entire family would journey to the fields where the dog roses bloomed. First, you would picnic together in the grass, the happiest meal of the year. Then, when you were finished, you and your siblings would race to examine each flower, competing to see who could find the loveliest bloom.

They would do so without you this year.

Distantly, you heard Aemond saying your name, drawing your attention back to him. He was frowning, his brow crumpled. “I thought…” he whispered, “I thought you would like them.”

You blinked, confused by his words. But the motion sent the tears welling in your eyes spilling down your cheeks. You were so caught up in your memories you did not notice you were crying.

As you looked back down at the flowers, you missed the subtle movement of Aemond’s hand, reaching out to wipe the tears away. Instead, when you moved away, he clenched his fist so tightly that his nails began to bite into his palm.

“I miss home,” was all you could say before the tears began to fall in earnest.

Aemond stepped back, bumping into the low table before the couch. “I’m so sorry,” he murmured. “I did not mean to upset you.”

Then he turned, stumbling into the table once more, and left.

As the sound of the shutting door echoed in your mind, you did not know whether you were still crying from your homesickness, or because he had left you again.

After Aemond left, and you had finally stopped crying, you had one of your maids set the bouquet in a vase. But not before you had carefully inspected each stem to be sure they were intact.

Somehow, they were.

You put the vase on your vanity where the flowers could catch the sunlight before crawling into your bed, intending to take a nap after what was an unintentionally exhausting morning.

But you did not find sleep.

Instead, you stared at the ceiling, thinking over what Aemond said.

He had apologised for making you feel stupid, and then you immediately cried over flowers.

You had never felt more stupid.

And now you felt like you needed to apologise.

So, despite having Orwyle’s official permission to skip all your obligations, you finally rose from your bed as the sun set and asked your maids to dress you for dinner.

Because you made your decision to attend the evening meal at the last minute, the rest of the family had already begun eating when you arrived.

Aemond, who sat facing the door, was the first to see you. His eye immediately went wide, and he stood so quickly that a servant had to catch his chair before it toppled to the ground.

Aegon began laughing hysterically.

Queen Alicent shushed him once before she stood, giving you a mildly concerned but otherwise pleasant smile. “I’m so glad you could join us, my dear,” she said pleasantly as she gestured for you to sit. “We were beginning to worry about you.”

“I have simply been tired,” you assured her as you slowly walked around the table to your place. Curious, they had still set a place for you, despite your missing the last two meals. “Adjusting to life at court has been more difficult than I thought.”

As you came to stand before your chair, Aemond held a hand out to help you sit. Then, just as you had only hours before, you looked from his hand to his face. His brow was still set in a furrow, but he was almost smiling.

You took his hand, squeezing it tighter than you usually would. The only forgiveness you could give while being watched by his mother, grandsire, and siblings.

He seemed to understand, giving you a real smile – a breathtakingly beautiful smile – as you sat. You wanted to return it, but all your lips would do was tremble pathetically. You were sure that if you opened your mouth, you would burst into tears. So, you fixed your eyes on your plate and listened to the idle conversation around you.

Aemond himself began serving your plate, somehow knowing exactly what you liked and what you didn’t. When he finished, you looked over to him briefly and nodded your thanks, earning another of those beautiful smiles.

Your stomach flipped, and you told yourself it was only because you were hungry.

Neither you nor Aemond said anything to each other for the rest of the meal. Instead, you were more than content to simply listen. Or try to.

You were all too aware of every movement Aemond made. The way his long, elegant fingers gripped his goblet. The severe line of his jaw moving when he responded to his grandsire’s questions. The way he sat, legs bowed slightly outward to allow him comfortably at the table.

If you weren’t careful, your leg would brush against his.

You made sure to be very careful.

What you were not aware of was Prince Aegon’s eyes on you, noticing each time your eyes slid to his brother. Every so often, he would dip his chin and raise his brows when he made eye contact with Aemond, nodding toward you in encouragement.

Aemond noticed, but did nothing to act on it.

Not until the meal was ended and everyone rose from the table. He stepped to your side and extended his arm, accidentally bumping you, rather firmly, with his sharp elbow and causing you to jump away from him.

“I’m sorry,” Aemond said hastily. “I just… I hoped I could escort you back to your chambers?”

You looked at him for a moment, at the near-pleading in his eye, and nodded, slipping your arm into his for the first time since your wedding ceremony, and began to lead you through the castle halls.

As your private chambers were separate from the rest of the family’s, you were alone as you walked. You were not sure whether you were grateful for it or not.

The silence was palpable and nearly painful.

“Thank you,” you whispered, and Aemond stumbled at the unexpected sound. “For the flowers, I mean. They are a favourite from home.”

You looked up at him, and he gave another half-smile, but said nothing.

Silence fell once more.

“You look very beautiful tonight,” Aemond said, nearly shouting the sudden words. The corner of his lips twitched when you looked at him in shock. “This dress suits you much better than the one you wore yesterday, and is far more flattering than your nightclothes.”

Any warmth you felt at the initial compliment was thoroughly snuffed out at the remainder of the comment. Though you once more felt like crying, you schooled your features into indifference as you turned away from him, only looking straight ahead.

“I did not know you disliked them so,” you muttered, removing your arm from his and clasping your hands in front of you. You fixed your gaze straight ahead and did not waver. “I will not wear them again.”

Aemond stilled, but you did not break your stride. You only knew he followed after a moment when you heard the soft sounds of his boots against stone.

You walked in silence until you reached your door, then turned back to him. “Is there anything you require of me tonight, husband?”

He wore that expression of hurt that caused your chest to tighten, but you did not allow yourself to react. Finally, after a long moment, he licked his lips and shook his head once.

That was all the dismissal you needed. You opened your door just enough to slip through and shut it firmly behind you.

You did not speak to your maids as they prepared you for bed until they presented you with one of your favourite cotton nightgowns and your robe.

“Not those,” you whispered, though you longed for their comfort and warmth. “Something else. Anything else.”

They dressed you in one of the thin silk nightdresses, one which matched the colour of the dress you just removed. Though it was soft and luxurious against your skin, as you settled beneath your covers, you felt cold.

In the hall, Aemond took a stumbling step forward to rest his forehead against your door, his hand resting on the handle but not moving. He stayed like that for many long moments, silently cursing himself, before he stepped away and retreated to his own chambers.

The following day, you woke still feeling tired. It had been hard to find sleep when you felt so cold. When curling into yourself still did not warm you, you rose from the bed and stalked to your dressing room, determined to find your more comfortable nightclothes.

But the moment you ran your hand over the well-worn brocade of your robe, Aemond’s words again echoed in your mind.

He was right. It was not flattering. Your father had it made when you were younger, and he had obviously expected you to grow as large and tall as your brothers. But you had not, and the robe still overwhelmed your frame.

Your maids had offered to take it in to make it fit better, but you had denied them. You liked the way you could disappear into it, how it could double as a blanket, the way it streamed behind you as you ran through the halls of your father’s keep.

It was familiar – it was home.

Now Aemond had ruined it, as he had your dreams of a happy marriage.

Reluctantly, you rang the bell for your maids, apologising for the late hour, and asked for another blanket.

But worse than the aching in your bones and the heaviness of your head was the sinking feeling in your stomach when your maids told you that Aemond had sent word asking you to come watch him fight in the training yard.

No reason was given. Why would there be? A man did not need a reason to summon his wife.

You wanted to ignore the request. With Orwyle’s orders that you should rest, you easily could. Yet you could not deny the sinful part of you that remembered how you felt watching him train only days ago.

With his sword in hand, Aemond was a different man. He was graceful and confident – the Prince you imagined when you first heard of your betrothal. The sight of him had lit the smouldering fire of desire within you, shameful as it was.

Despite your prayers, the memory of his seeming indifference, and his more recent insults, you could not deny you wanted to see that man again.

So, you once again donned your warmest cloak – only after confirming with your maids countless times that it was flattering – and headed to the training yard.

Aemond was not in the ring when you arrived but sulking by a table full of weapons. His arms were crossed tightly in front of him, and though he faced the ring, he was not truly focused on the fight. He looked as distant as he did on your wedding night, just before he asked you to get in the bed.

That is until one of the Kingsguard – the Dornish one – pointed to you on the ramparts, and he looked to you.

You braced for another grimace, but it did not come. Were it not for the slight, almost hopeful raise of his brows, you would think him completely indifferent.

He turned back to the weapons table, quickly selecting a longsword and walking to the ring, barking an order that immediately disbanded the current melee. You watched him jump up and down, stretching and shaking his limbs to prepare for his own fight.

The Kingsguard stepped into the ring with him, wielding a large morningstar. The sight of the fearsome weapon sent a shiver of fear through your veins, but you quickly brushed it aside in favour of a small surge of pride.

You had seen Aemond fight. Surely success would come easily.

Though perhaps not.

At the first strike of the Morningstar, Aemond fell to one knee as his shield shattered. You startled, prompting the old Lord to your side to set a hand on your back and whisper his assurances.

“The Prince is a fine warrior,” he said, “a single strike will not fell him.”

But it was not only the one strike.

Over and over, the Kingsguard’s weapon struck, Aemond only barely avoiding it each time.

Once, after Aemond was forced to concede several steps back, the Kingsguard let his offensive stance fall and whispered something. Your husband only growled back at him, loud enough for you to hear from where you watched. Though even in the ferocity of his new advance, he fumbled through his strikes.

This was not the man you watched in the training yard before. However, there were hints of him, sometimes – a graceful swing of the sword, the agile avoidance of an incoming strike, or a strong blocking with his shield (which was replaced several times).

Though those glimpses were few, they were enough to light that fire once more as each one sent that tingling down your spine.

You even considered going down into the yard when the fight was over and asking him to take you back to your chambers.

The idea when quickly squashed when the fight ended badly.

A powerful blow from the morningstar sent Aemond backwards into the dirt. He only barely hung onto his sword. The Kingsguard dropped his weapon and approached the Prince with his hand outstretched.

Aemond did not accept it. Instead, he swatted the knight aside as he stood, driving his sword point-first into the dirt. Then, after whispering something you could not hear but could tell by the fury in his eyes was harsh and likely cruel, he turned and left the training yard.

Without a single glance your way.

Aemond did not attend the family meal that evening. He could not bear to face his wife after such a mortifying display.

Seeing her disappointment would break him, he was sure. Though worse was the possibility that she may laugh at him – mock him, as he had unintentionally mocked her.

Gods, he had not fought so poorly since he was a mere boy and had not yet been allowed to wield real steel. Perhaps the next day, Cole would give him his wooden practice sword back. He would deserve it, for both his abysmal performance and his arrogance.

When Lord Wylde suggested he invite her to ‘witness his martial prowess,’ he had let himself fall victim to Aegon’s flattery and his own vanity. And the gods had seen fit to punish him for it.

He would beg their forgiveness later. After he committed another sin. One he had been indulging in far too often of late.

Though his body – already sore from the fight – protested every movement, Aemond removed all his clothes. All the while, he tried not to think about the wrongness of what he was about to do or how much he had embarrassed himself, but about his wife.

How beautiful she had looked on the ramparts. How her hair floated so gracefully in the wind. How the colour of her cloak brought out a delightful sparkle in her eyes. How she had jumped each time Cole landed a blow.

That she cared whether he lived or died should not make his heart flutter as it did, but he would take whatever she would give him, even if it was the barest of affection.

When he was naked and laid himself across his bed, his cock was suitably hard and leaking. Still, he reached for the small phial of oil Aegon gave him when he suggested he ‘practice building his stamina.’

“It is a sin,” Aemond had hissed, horrified by the mere suggestion.

Aegon only shrugged. “So is killing. But we do so in war without fearing the wrath of the gods. Why? Because it is in pursuit of a noble goal. I would say making your wife c… happy and satisfied is a noble goal, wouldn’t you?”

It was an impressive logic – for Aegon. Still, Aemond went to the Sept each morning to ask the gods for forgiveness.

And each night, like now, he practised.

After depositing a droplet of oil into his palm, he took hold of his cock and began to slowly stroke himself.

It was nothing like being in his wife. No matter what he did, he could not replicate that wonderful feeling. So he quickly stopped trying.

Instead, he pumped himself hard and fast, trying to get to the edge of his peak as quickly as he could – and then stopped. He curled his hand into a fist at his side as he squeezed his eyes shut, waiting a few agonising moments before resuming at a slower pace.

The only thing that made that waiting bearable was assuring himself what it would lead to – or what he hoped it would lead to.

He pictured his wife as she had been when he was touching her. How she had come so close to giving herself over to pleasure.

He hoped she would not ask him to stop the next time. Instead, she would let him touch her until she came. She would let him taste her, something he had never considered before Aegon told him of it, but which he now craved like a man lost in the desert craved water. She would beg him to fuck her, to once again brush his cock against that spot inside her, over and over until they both came apart.

And he would gladly obey. He would do anything she asked – if she only would.

Aemond brought himself almost to coming over and over until his stones ached from being denied so long. Only then did he allow himself release, spilling across his stomach with his wife’s name on his lips.

The dinner felt unbearably strange without Aemond beside you. No excuses for his absence were given; it was apparently not a subject anyone else was curious about.

So, you ate your food, spoke when you were spoken to, and excused yourself the moment you were done eating.

Though he had never much talked to you at meals, his presence was still somehow missed. You missed the touch of his hand as he helped you into your seat, the low timbre of his voice when he answered a question from his mother or grandsire, and the warmth of his gaze whenever you caught him looking at you.

You missed all those little joys, which you only then realised were indeed joys, so much that you would gladly endure his insults and criticism if it only meant he was there. Besides, you liked how he had gawked in the library when you mocked him in return. That could become a fun little game…

As you left the dining hall, thinking about how he had smiled at you the night before, you found yourself turning not for your own chambers, but for his.

Perhaps he was hurt from his fall, and that was why he was not there. Surely, it was only concern for his health that had you turning this way, nothing more.

But then you took another step forward, and you knew.

You desired him.

The shock and shame of it had you immediately retreating to your own rooms.

You quickly had your maids prepare you for bed, dressing in another silk slip of a nightdress before sending them away and curling beneath your blankets.

Soon, your own heavy breathing was the only sound in the room. The godsdamned crickets had gone silent again, wishing for you to hear every shameful thought you had clearly.

You thought of the strength he had shown in holding off the Kingsguard’s attacks. The strength you had seen in the tautness of his muscles as he hovered over you. As he used those hands that so skillfully wielded a sword to bring you pleasure.

Your legs squeezed together of their own accord at the thought, and you became all too aware of a wetness between your thighs – the wetness he had once coaxed out of you with his gentle touch.

Spreading your legs and trying not to think about the sin of what you were doing, you slowly raised the hem of your nightdress and slid your hand over your folds.

Where Aemond’s fingers were warm, yours were cold. You rubbed your hand over your thigh momentarily, remembering him doing the same thing, before touching yourself again.

This part of you was unfamiliar, and you fumbled around more than Aemond had that first night.

You found your entrance first but shied away from slipping a finger inside. Somehow, that felt too wrong, too much of a sin.

But that was not the only place Aemond had touched that brought you pleasure.

Following the same line his thumb had taken, you searched from that little spot that had sent lightning through you.

It took some time, but you found it.

Though, no matter how fast you moved your finger or how hard you pressed, your own touch did not bring you nearly as much pleasure as Aemond’s had. Finally, after many long minutes, your attempts were causing far more frustration than anything else, and you ripped your hand away from your sex.

You nearly cried when you saw your fingers glistening – with bright red blood.

Your moon’s blood was here.

You were not pregnant.

The next morning, you immediately sent for raspberry tea to soothe the aching that had already taken hold in your abdomen and did not get out of bed until it had arrived and you had drunk two cups full.

Then, you wished you had not gotten out of bed at all. There was another note from your husband – he wanted to meet you for a walk in the gardens.

At least it meant he was not hurt. But to face him after what you had done, or tried to do…

A good wife did not do what you did. A good wife would have gone to his chambers and made sure he was well, would have let him take comfort in you.

Gods, you should have done so. You wished so badly that you had done so.

You could not change what you did, but you could be a good wife from this point on – you would be.

So, despite your pains, you dressed and headed for the gardens, where his note said he would be waiting for you all morning.

You spent the entire walk through the castle praying. To the Father for forgiveness for your sin. To the Mother for forgiveness for failing your husband and to beg that his seed quickened the next time. To the Crone for the wisdom to be a good wife – again, as the same prayer had obviously not worked the first time. To the Warrior, for the courage you would need to face Aemond. To the Smith, to repair what had been broken between you. And to the Stranger for whatever you had forgotten to include in your prayers to the others.

Truly, you needed the blessing of each of the Seven.

It was only by clutching the Seven-Pointed Star pendant until your fingers hurt that you did not collapse at the sight of Aemond.

He looked ethereally beautiful in the morning light. The soft sunlight streaming through the few leaves that still remained on the trees set his hair aglow, like he was touched by the gods themselves. Indeed, they must have been tempting your devotion to your promise. Why else would they make him appear so tempting?

You swallowed thickly, grateful you had approached him from the left, so he would not see you gawking. Then, once you had regained your composure, thanks in no small part to a new wave of pain in your belly overwhelming any desire, you stepped forward and curtsied.

“Husband,” you greeted with as much sweetness in your voice as you could muster, “thank you for the invitation to join you today.”

Aemond stood from the bench and bowed back to you, even though protocol did not require it. “Thank you for coming,” he said with a shy smile. “I was worried that… you might not.”

“It would be improper for a wife to deny her husband’s wishes,” you replied.

Dutiful. Polite. A good wife.

But Aemond’s smile fell. “I hope you do not feel you had to come here just because I asked,” he murmured, not meeting your gaze. “I hope that you wanted to come.”

You found yourself almost smiling at him, at the sentiment he offered. Then, nodding, you stepped forward and awkwardly held your hand out for a moment before returning it to your side. “I have not yet had the chance to see the gardens. Will you show me?”

He looked as though you had just offered him a kingdom and held out his arm for you to take.

Despite the heat radiating off him, you shivered as you looped your arm through his, and he began to lead you down the flagstone path.

You walked in silence for a while, but it was not as heavy or uncomfortable as before. There was only the faintest hint of tension between you, the rest replaced by a kind of contentment – unfamiliar but pleasant.

Aemond only spoke to name some of the plants you saw. How he knew exactly which ones you could not identify yourself, you did not know. He just… knew.

You stopped in front of the gnarled trunk of a wisteria vine. It was not in bloom, and most of its leaves had fallen, but it was still beautiful in its bareness.

“It is wisteria,” Aemond said after a moment, pointing with a finger to trace its path from its roots to the very ends of the vine some twenty feet away on a trellis. “At the end of spring, it will produce hanging blooms that are a lovely shade of purple.”

You looked up at him, at his one eye and its lovely shade of purple – the colour of wisteria, you realised.

Before you knew it, you were smiling so wide it hurt your cheeks. “I know,” you replied, your voice almost a laugh. “It is one of my favourites.”

Feeling yourself begin to blush furiously, you turned back toward the plant. “There was one even larger than this right outside my window at my father’s keep.”

Aemond did not – could not – respond. You had just smiled at him, and it was more beautiful than he had ever imagined.

You walked through the gardens on Aemond’s arm until you had seen every plant, every flower, every leaf. It was the happiest you had been since arriving in King’s Landing, and indeed in many years before.

But it could not last forever. While you were merely a wife, Aemond was a Prince. He had duties far more important than walking with his wife. So, when he mentioned the hour was growing late, you did not ask him to stay.

You merely removed your arm from his, bowed your head, and whispered your farewell. As a good wife does.

Yet Aemond remained in front of you, the look in his eye so intense you had to turn away.

“May I come to your chambers tonight?” he asked, his voice small but firm.

Your chest tightened.

You wanted to say yes – to kiss him and feel his touch once more. But…

“My moon’s blood arrived today,” you told him quickly before the fear in your gut could still your tongue.

Until he made that request, you had been enjoying the time spent with your husband so dearly that you had nearly forgotten the pain in your belly, the undeniable proof of your failure to produce an heir.

Your failure to be a good wife.

As tears sprang to your eyes, you watched his face twist with confusion, then crumple with despair, and finally, freeze into an expression you could not name.

Once more, he felt like a mystery to you – a stranger. Had you really come to know him so well, to care for him enough that even a single unknown expression could cause you this much pain?

You must have, for the pain in your empty womb was nothing compared to that which now took hold of your heart.

He looked to the flagstones below you, his mouth starting and failing to find words. “I…” he began, then stopped.

“Aemond?” you asked, desperate now for him to say anything, even if it was to call you stupid again.

Your mind was so clouded by fear at what he may say next that you did not realise it was the first time you had called him by his name since the wedding ceremony.

His eye met yours again, and he raised his brows. “Thank you for the walk.”

And then he left. Again.

To your credit, you did not cry until you were back in your rooms.

You did not go to dinner that night or even eat the meal that was brought to your rooms.

You only prayed and cried and prayed some more. Until you fell asleep on the couch in your sitting room.

After waking in the dark at some point in the night, with a blanket over your shoulders. You knew you should move to the bed, or you would be sore in the morning. But whatever you did, you would be sore for at least a few more days. So, you stayed on the couch.

For a while, you watched the door, hoping that Aemond would walk through and throw himself at your feet as he begged your forgiveness. And despite your better judgment, you would give it to him without hesitation.

But he did not come.

Eventually, you fell asleep again.

When you woke once more, you were indeed sore. But it was quickly forgotten when you saw something unfamiliar on the table before you – a leather-bound journal and a folded note with your name written on it in beautiful script.

Curious but cautious, you only grabbed the note before settling back into your seat to read it:

My dearest wife,

Forgive me for not coming to you myself to apologise, but given the way I acted the last time I did so, I believe you will prefer this.

I am so very sorry that my behaviour towards you has been utterly abhorrent. Please know that my stumbling words and foolish actions come not from a place of malice or even indifference. Rather, they are an attempt by a stupid and incompetent man to try and impress his wife.

There is nothing in the world that I desire so much as to see you happy. Nothing I wish for more than to see your smile and, if the gods bless me, to be the reason for it.

For my love, when you smiled at me yesterday – I have never felt anything so wonderful.

But as the past weeks have shown, I fear I am incapable of presenting myself with dignity when I am in your presence. Your beauty, kindness, and pure goodness overwhelm me the moment I see you, and all my good sense abandons me. No matter my intentions, nor the poetry I compose in my mind prior to coming to you, the very moment I am with you, I become little more than a bumbling idiot, unable to even say ‘hello’ without somehow offending or upsetting you.

So, I will no longer try. I know I have caused you much more discomfort than anything, and it pains me beyond measure. Already, I have begged the Seven for their forgiveness, and now I beg yours.

If you do not wish to give it, I will understand. I will accept whatever you decide and act accordingly. If you wish to not see me again, I will disappear. But I would be doing you a disservice as your husband if I did not at least share with you the depth of my feelings before we are parted – if that is indeed what you desire, though I hope it is not.

I am all too aware that if I tried to do this myself, I would say some ridiculous thing to make you hate me forever. That is, I admit, my greatest fear. So, I have asked the servants to deliver you this note, along with my diary. I know you keep your own, for I have seen it in your chambers. Therefore, you know that what you will read is not merely words, but the truths of my very soul.

Please know that I am not afraid to share it with you. As my wife, you are entitled to know everything about me. But more than that, I want you to. I want you to see all that I am, to know me as well as the gods themselves. I pray that what you will learn will not frighten or upset you but show you the man I so wish to be. The man I would be, if you allow me.

I pray you will like him, perhaps even learn to love him. For he loves you so very, very much.

I have marked the passages I most want you to read, but you have my permission to read everything. I will not hide anything from you, not anymore.

With all my love, more than you know,

Your husband, Prince Aemond Targaryen

As you lowered the note, now stained with several of your tears, you looked at the journal – the diary – on the table. It contained the truth of your husband, the man who had confused and angered you, delighted and amazed you.

It was a truth that, once you knew it, would change you forever.

But you had already been changed, hadn’t you? Irrevocably. The only thing the diary would change was whether it was for the better or for the worse.

So, after one last prayer, you set Aemond’s note back on the table, picked up the diary, and began to read.

Taglist (bold means I couldn't tag you) If I forgot you, I'm sorry! I've never had a taglist this big before!

@hb8301 @that-girl-named-alex @bat-revival @dahlias-and-marigolds @dc-marvel-girl96 @nina2697 @padfooteyes @missusnora @bluebirdonafencepost @bellaisasleep @yentroucnagol @sarahkimtae @imjustboredso @howdoichangemynameto @hopebaker @yelenabeleovapocket @let-love-bleeds-red @maximizedrhythms @xideshiz @siriusdumblittlepuppy @skikikikiikhhjuuh @lemonivall @anisa269 @flavorofsalt @queenofshinigamis @elles-mind-palace @dragonfireandpixiedust @glitterandgoldfinds @daydreamerblues @tswiftsthings @kitkat-writes-stuff @miraclealignertlsp369 @cryztalline @im-obsessed-with-marvel @fluffiy @kotonei-molyneux @natie335 @killjoynotes @mariahossain @bellstwd

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bunji-enthusiast · 3 months

Note

Hiii! Im not sure how requests are doing, but I wanted to add one in if that’s okay? Based off the I’m So Sorry story, what if reader went missing for months. None of the toys know what happened, because the company was like “You know what? Nah we can’t risk it”. And then the day right before the Hour of Joy a new toy is revealed in Play Care (or wherever else), a mermaid/merman 👀 And then that just further fuels the toys want to cause the Hour of Joy once they find out

Harmful Revelations

Note || for those confused, here’s the link to the post. BUT— THE ANGST?? HELLO?

Note V2 || sorry this took so long, it’s mayhaps short and stout. Headcanons like before, but this will work okay?

Sypnosis || How would one think this is a dream come true? Well you’re wrong. So out for long and long time had you been found missing, how wonderful to know your importance in their eyes.

Something felt off, strange. You were gone for so long, quite a long time now. It was appearing to be strange to both CatNap and DogDay alike, all the other Smiling Critters had shared the same sentiments. Why did you disappear so suddenly? Nothing could be known about you, you simply just went off the grid.

DogDay had tried asking around, any employees in sight that he could find. Even trying to take it up with any superior, alas he was left without a plausible answer. Always faced with, “Sorry, but your angel has been terminated.” or, “Oh, em? I’m pretty sure [First Name] quit as far as I know.”

Many, and by many toys, were visibly concerned about your lack of appearance. Huggy and even Mommy asked about You, to which DogDay had apologized – he was in the dark as they were. Pug-a-Pillar felt sad, he couldn’t do anything to help, or even find out anything plausible. Mommy reassured the fluffy pillar, saying how many toys felt sad about you not showing up to the building anymore.

Oh hell.

Soon enough, their anger was rightfully provoked. A new toy had been introduced to Game station, retaining an appearance that was very reminiscent of your physical and mental quailites. Mommy found it odd and disturbing even for someone like him, why did this half-human, half-fish person look so closely like you?

The insomniac cat was the first to notice this alongside Mommy as she had talked about her concerns with CatNap, spreading this information quickly among the Smiling Critters. Soon so many more had found out about this, knowing about the toy that looked so much like you. Huggy Wuggy was one of the few that had a gall to strike a conversation with the toy, nobody (or no toy) had expected the hugger to come back with a very strikingly angry look about his wits.

Oh they were all very angry as soon as Huggy began spreading this information around once again, revealing the fact it was indeed you. Completely transformed, your consciousness being molded into the body you were in now. You were experimented on as they were, the few of them were extremely set off.

Might one even dare say that they were unnerved to the point to finally set off the Hour Of Joy.

Let’s say nobody came out alive to tell the tale for a reason.

#poppy playtime #poppy playtime x reader #poppy playtime chapter 3 #poppy playtime angst?#poppy playtime huggy #mommy long legs #huggy wuggy #ppt2 #ppt 3 #dogday poppy playtime #so many tags ahhh

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etherealstar-writes · 3 months

Text

I WANNA BE YOURS | LIONESSES X READER | PT 3

pairings: lionesses x reader

summary: in which you're accidentally added to a random group chat, not knowing they're all actually famous footballers, and obliviously end up having many of them competing for your love and attention.

part: three

part one here

✦ ——— ✦ ——— ✦

THE NATIONAL DIVING TEAM

brightness

we have training tomorrow

just a reminder

the REAL karate kid

ughh

kie

what's the bet leah and georgia

are gonna be a show off

while niamh's gonna be off in her own world

neev

hey! no need to call me out like that

i do focus

stairway

i am not a show off

willybum

me neither!

door knob

you guys need proof?

the imposter

damn

you guys got that athletic build 💪

the REAL karate kid

......

willybum

.......

stairway

.......

elton

.......

earpsy

.......

brightness

.......

neev

.......

lotte

.......

maya

.......

daily

.......

the imposter

HOW MANY OF YOU ARE ON THIS CHAT??

elton

i think the rest are asleep

the imposter

are you guys all part of some cult omg

and why do you guys have like

group training together?

that's kinda sus

the REAL karate kid

honestly it's kinda fun and chaotic

lotte

are we all gonna ignore the fact that

nobbs has photos of georgia's and leah's muscles?

door knob

are we just gonna keep referring

the imposter as imposter?

or if anyone's gonna ask her name?

the imposter

your name's nobbs??

LMAO THE DOOR KNOB MAKES SO

MUCH MORE SENSE NOW 😭💀

also

my name's y/n

neev

that is such a pretty name

the imposter

thank you!

elton

you know

you never really answered

lotte's question nobbs ....

willybum

it's because i'm her favourite duh

stairway

um it's actually me

hence why she sent a photo of mine first

meado

and here we go again

✦ ——— ✦ ——— ✦

elton

hello

@everyone

why is everyone so dead right now

earpsy

maybe it's the fact that we just finished training

the REAL karate kid

and because we actually have lives

elton

that's a lie and we all know it

the imposter

how was training?

neev

tiring

feeling quite dead rn

willybum

funny actually

lessi slipped and slammed

face first into the training mat

elton

that was the highlight of my day

the REAL karate kid

glad to know my misery

causes you guys happiness

rusty metal

guys

i stumbled upon the best photo ever

my eyes have been blessed

stairway

omg

bronzy in her active era??

daily

ooh do show

lotte

it's intrigued my interest now too

rusty metal

neev

LMAO

willybum

WHERE THE HELL DID YOU GET THIS

the REAL karate kid

CRYING RN 😭💀

elton

STOP 😭

this is a masterpiece

i'm saving this

stairway

she's a barbie gurl 💅

earpsy

PLS 💀

willybum

i'm blocking yall

stairway

your eyes just can't handle this much art

the imposter

hello friends of y/n!

i was trying to take photos of y/n

and accidentally clicked into here

neev

hello friend of y/n

the imposter

WHAT IS THAT PHOTO OF LEAH WILLIAMSON 😭

is this some kind of football fan cult??

some of your usernames are familiar in a strange way

idk why i can't seem to place it

elton

hmm quite strange

don't you all agree?

stairway

hmm very strange indeed

brightness

yes

daily

indeed

willybum

very

the REAL karate kid

where's y/n?

the imposter

standing in front of me

has no clue i'm on this chat

i'll send a photo

hang on

(lets just pretend they can see your face in the photo)

now she wants her phone back

goodbye strange strangers

elton

......

stairway

......

willybum

......

the REAL karate kid

......

neev

......

rusty metal

......

brightness

......

daily

......

doorknobs

......

meado

......

kie

......

earpsy

......

maya

......

lotte

......

lauren 1

......

stairway

the whole chat rn:

elton

i was not expecting this today-

the REAL karate kid

toone, this is literally the best

most dumbest thing you've done-

neev

honestly

lotte

my eyes have been blessed twice today

willybum

wow

the REAL karate kid

you can get my number wrong

anytime toone

part four here

#lionesses x reader #woso x reader #engwnt x reader #engwnt #woso imagine #leah williamson x reader #alessia russo x reader #ella toone x reader #georgia stanway x reader #niamh charles x reader #woso #woso fanfics

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hunn1e-bunn1e · 4 months

Text

Dorm Heads - Zhongli Male Reader

🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.

I'm sorry this took so long to post, Mystery anon! I've been super busy with personal stuff so I haven't had a lot of free time to work on this. I got pretty burned out at Idia's part and I couldn't be bothered to touch it up honestly; so, sorry about that. I hope this is what you wanted. — Benny🐰

🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏

🌹 This hot headed boy was pretty surprised to find that the supposed magicless student from the orientation ceremony was not in fact magicless; seeing as you brought down a literal meteor and crushed the poor unsuspecting, feline resembling, monster. A meteor which appeared out of thin air and left no traces of damage behind after its impact. To say poor Riddle was confused and also fairly alarmed was an understatement.

🌹 Your mannerisms were very strange to him. You're very well spoken and composed; yet you're seemingly wise beyond your years. Why are you speaking as if you're in your 80s? Riddle won't lie though; for an old man you're quite good looking. If he didn't have a reputation to uphold and examples to set, he could stare at you all day long.

🌹 A dragon? Well… that explains a lot. No wonder the Dark Mirror couldn't detect magic in you; or at least, that's what he reasons with himself. Please; he needs an explanation, he's so confused. Upon seeing your dragon form though… Riddle is once again confused. Are dragons supposed to be that long? Not that he's complaining though; the way you make a massive bed out of yourself is hard to contest.

🌹 T‐Treasure? Him? That's— Now look here; no amount of buttering him up will make you exempt from the rules, You— you scoundrel! Riddle is not easily tricked! Even if he is a tad bit more lenient with you, no he's not. You have no proof.

🌹 You have a son now too!? Just what else aren't you telling him!? Riddle doesn't mind Xiao at all actually. He thinks that they're both similar in how dedicated they are to their work. The adeptus seems to only tolerate him though; which, while disheartening, he completely understands.

🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏

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🦁 Right off the bat Leona could smell it and immediately he knew; that ain't a damn human. However, he couldn't seem to pinpoint just what you were exactly. You smelled similar to his one sided rival, Malleus, but it was different somehow. In the end, he just chalked it up to you being a fae of some kind. He did find it bizarre that the Dark Mirror claimed you to be magicless and directly after that you used magic. Whatever, he just wants a nap.

🦁 Why the hell are you talking like that? You sound like Diasomnia's Vice Dorm Head. Seriously, who in the world says ‘quite’ anymore. But, Leona doesn't mind you going off on one of your long winded story times about your past. Your deep voice is very smooth and soothing to his ears and has lulled him to sleep successfully every time.

🦁 HA! He knew it; his nose is never wrong after all. Well… maybe Leona was off by a little; but you're certainly not a human. A dragon though? No wonder you smelled similar to his nemesis; except your scent is more earthy than the dragon fae's. Your dragon form makes a very comfortable body pillow to cling onto. Yes, he is indeed speaking from experience. What was said experience, you ask? You were taking a nap in your dorm room while in your dragon form and woke up with a wild lion beastman clinging onto you.

🦁 Treasure, huh? Okay, be prepared for him to call you nicknames of his own. Noodle is one that Leona uses the most; a way to endearingly tease you about the foreign look of your dragon form. Another one he likes to use is old man/gramps; a tease on the strange way you speak.

🦁 Oh dear Seven; please not another Cheka, he doesn't think he can deal with another gremlin in this lifetime. Thankfully for Leona though, the avian adeptus is far older than his hyperactive nephew and awfully cold too. The lion beastman is pretty sure that Xiao doesn't like him, but you've continually assured him that your son actually really enjoys his presence.

🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾

🐚•♡•🐚•♡•🐚•♡•🐚•♡•🐚•♡•🐚•♡•🐚•♡•🐚

🐙 His immediate impression of you was actually very positive! You seemed incredibly knowledgeable and well spoken. But what really caught Azul's attention was your apparently unrecognizable magic. The Dark Mirror proclaimed you magicless and yet shortly after the proclamation you displayed an exceptional control over stone and earth when you suddenly summoned a large stone pillar to attack your rampaging familiar. Color him intrigued.

🐙 My, what a strange way of speaking you have; are you perhaps anything like Diasomnia's Vice Dorm Head where you're far older than you appear? Azul actually doesn't find your mannerisms all that strange to be honest, he thinks it just gives a certain charm to you.

🐙 Oh, so you're a dragon are you? Would you perhaps be interested in signing a contract with him? It's for your benefit, he swears. No? Damn. Your dragon form reminds him a bit of various aquatic animals that populate the Coral Sea. Don't mind him calling you any names of fish you've never heard of, okay. Sometimes, if he's tired enough, Azul will allow you to cuddle with him in your dragon form. It's quite comfortable, so he doesn't mind too much.

🐙 Azul doesn't mind giving nicknames to people, but he's not too used to receiving from anyone other than Floyd and sometimes Jade. So when you refer to him as your treasure, he's caught off guard and pretty flustered. He'll never not be red in the face when you call him by that pet name, but he has a few of his own for you. Oarfish is one that he uses often, mostly in a teasing sense. Another is Ropefish, this one is used sparingly, he never told you why though.

🐙 Xiao… does not like him. The adeptus made it very clear upon their first meeting when he held the blade of his polearm to the poor cecaelia's throat and fixed him with the sharpest glare Azul had ever seen. It would seem that you told him about the whole contract debacle that went down before his overblot and your son wasn't going to forgive him any time soon.

🐚•♡•🐚•♡•🐚•♡•🐚•♡•🐚•♡•🐚•♡•🐚•♡•🐚

🕌•♡•🕌•♡•🕌•♡•🕌•♡•🕌•♡•🕌•♡•🕌•♡•🕌

🪲 Kalim thought that you were really cool when he first saw you at the entrance ceremony! Not only did you help him put the fire on his butt out, you also summoned a huge meteor out of nowhere! “‘I will have order!’” You sounded so cool! Ah… but wait– didn't the Dark Mirror say that you were magicless? Oh whatever, it doesn't matter anyway.

🪲 Why do you talk like you're old? You look way too young to talk like that; maybe around Professor Crewel's age but that in itself is a stretch. Expect a lot of questions from Kalim; like a lot. How old are you really? Are you a fae? Were you raised by your grandparents? What do you mean you don't know what omg means? How did you get your hair so shiny? Why do you wear clothes like that? Where are you from? Do you have a job? What do you do for work? Why are you looking at him like that? Huh… who's Hu Tao?

🪲 A Dragon!? That's so cool! Our precious boy was completely blindsided by the revelation that you were, in fact, not a human. When you reveal your dragon form to him Kalim is ecstatic, attempting to wrap his arms around your now massive form. Most times you'll be lounging on his massive bed while in your dragon form as he lays in the middle of your coiled body; running his fingers through the fur on your neck and pressing kisses to your snout.

🪲 While he certainly doesn't mind receiving nicknames and pet names, actually he loves it, it makes him happy, but Kalim isn't one to give nicknames himself, he prefers to use their birth names because it feels more intimate. However, he's not against it when you call him your treasure, he's very happy, it makes him feel all warm and bubbly inside. He might call you Cobra from time to time but it definitely won't be too often.

🪲 You have a kid? Can he meet them!? Please, please, please! Yes? Yay! Your poor emo son was immediately glomped by the eldest prince of the scorching sands as soon as he entered the room. Kalim was so excited that he didn't even let the adeptus speak before he vomited questions at him. Xiao actually didn't mind him at all, the golden retriever-like boy reminded him of a certain one he once met in the Casm in Liyue.

🕌•♡•🕌•♡•🕌•♡•🕌•♡•🕌•♡•🕌•♡•🕌•♡•🕌

🪞•♡•🪞•♡•🪞•♡•🪞•♡•🪞•♡•🪞•♡•🪞•♡•🪞

👑 Vil actually had a very positive but slightly strained impression of you. You were very well put together; a foreign beauty from another land if you will. Well dressed, well spoken and dashingly handsome; it would be a lie to say that he felt a bit threatened by your arrival to the NRC. Not only were you undeniably attractive though, you possessed an unknown magic that the Dark Mirror couldn't even identify. You were marvelous but mysterious, beautiful yet dangerous. He couldn't help but find himself lost in those glowing amber eyes as you summoned a translucent shield around yourself.

👑 Goodness you're like that Lilia fellow from Diasomnia, only taller, far more charming and much less with the times. Truly, your lack of knowledge about modern technology and tendency to forget your wallet is astonishing. You're like an old man trapped in a young man's body. Don't worry though, Vil will do his best to lay it all out clearly for you.

👑 I'm sorry, you're a what? Could you repeat that darling, Vil doesn't quite think he heard you right. Oh, a dragon, well… okay. He's never seen a real dragon before but something about that form of yours seems a bit… off should he say? You actually resemble more of a snake in his opinion. He won't cuddle with you in your dragon form, unfortunately. His clothes are far too expensive to be covered in dragon fur; but he will give you a few pets from a good distance away. Take what you can get, man.

👑 I need you to know that Vil is the fairest of them all, he's heard it all by now. Well… he thought he did. It wasn't really the pet name but the sincerity in that loving tone you used when you called him your treasure. Oh, how it made him swoon! You rascal, flattery will get you everywhere with him.

👑 Xiao… is afraid of him. One time, you left the two of them alone for ten minutes and came back to a trashed room, a grinning Vil and a beautified yaksha that was trembling in embarrassment and rage. Your poor emo son was holding himself high up and far away from the beautiful man by hanging onto his winged jade spear that was stabbed into the wall. The Pomfiore prefect was right though, green really is Xiao's color.

🪞•♡•🪞•♡•🪞•♡•🪞•♡•🪞•♡•🪞•♡•🪞•♡•🪞

🔱•♡•🔱•♡•🔱•♡•🔱•♡•🔱•♡•🔱•♡•🔱•♡•🔱

💀 He recognized you from somewhere; he was sure of it, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. From his tablet, Idia watched as the Dark Mirror addressed you as magicless; though, shortly after, you summoned a pillar of dark brown and amber colored stone to subdue your fire spewing familiar. You were so familiar, yet he couldn't think of where from, it was like some divine intervention was preventing it. Weird….

💀 You… How are you so clueless about technology? Just where the hell are you from that you don't know what a phone is? Your young appearance betrays your age too… You're like an irl anime character! Idia is absolutely raving! Hold on; let him write down a couple catchphrases and design you a costume! Don't worry, he'll teach you all he knows about modern tech as long as you go to this upcoming cosplay convention with him. You can be his main shielding healer from ‘Outworld Collision’!

💀 A dragon? Okay… so? Diasomnia's Dorm Head is kind of a dragon, so what's there to be surprised about? Your dragon form is a bit strange looking, but it's not like he'd actually tell you that; then again he's seen a lot of weird fantasy shit in the media he consumes on the daily, so he has no real reason to comment. Idia enjoy sitting in the middle of your coiled up serpentine body as he plays his games and reads his light novels; enthusiastically explaining the plot as he goes.

💀 T‐teasure? Your treasure? This poor man just about died when you called him that pet name for the first time. You thought he was so valuable that you compared him to treasure? Hold on, give Idia a second so he can compose himself, he's absolutely blue screening right now.

💀 Your son actually still has yet to meet Idia; he always psyches himself up to meet the yaksha but then chickens out at the last minute. He's just worried that if Xiao doesn't like him then you'll change your mind about being with him. It's not that he thinks the adeptus would purposely try and break the two of you up, he's just super paranoid.

🔱•♡•🔱•♡•🔱•♡•🔱•♡•🔱•♡•🔱•♡•🔱•♡•🔱

🧚•♡•🧚•♡•🧚•♡•🧚•♡•🧚•♡•🧚•♡•🧚•♡•🧚

🐲 Malleus, of course, hadn't attended the orientation ceremony due to not receiving an invitation, however Lilia had told him all about you when he returned to Diasomnia. He was very intrigued to hear about how you didn't seem to be human despite your appearance. As well as how the Dark Mirror had mistakenly labeled you as magicless as you seemed to display expert control over stone and earth. You truly lived up to expectations when he finally met you during his midnight walk around Ramshackle. You were quite the beauty as well.

🐲 Your disposition didn't faze him in the slightest. If anything, it just confirmed Malleus’ assumptions that you certainly weren't a human. He and Lilia speak in the exact same way as you, so he has no reason to be concerned nor intrigued about it. However, your habit of forgetting your wallet is a bit vexing.

🐲 You're… a dragon? Really!? Oh, you have absolutely no idea just how extatic he is to meet another dragon! Er, well, he isn't exactly a dragon, but he is close to it. Whenever you show him your dragon form, he's even more in awe of you than he was before. Truly, you were the most majestic creature he has ever had the pleasure to bear witness to. He'll happily show you his own dragon form too; expect to set aside a few hours once every week so that you and Malleus can cuddle together in said forms.

🐲 Your Treasure, you say? My my, you're quite charming aren't you? Now, Malleus isn't one to be easily flustered, but knowing how important treasures are to dragons, you're practically getting down on one knee when you call him that. Of course, he's not cruel enough to leave the sentiment unreturned, so he's taken to calling you his jewel or his fallen star in reference to you coming from another world.

🐲 Believe it or not, Xiao actually tried to kill him upon their first meeting. The yaksha had mistakenly thought that he was a demon that had somehow followed you all the way here. Thankfully though, you calmed your son down, explained the situation and introduced the two. Malleus actually took quite the liking to him despite the initial frosty reception; saying how the adeptus reminded him of a more quiet version of Sebek.

🧚•♡•🧚•♡•🧚•♡•🧚•♡•🧚•♡•🧚•♡•🧚•♡•🧚

🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.

Wanna see similar content? Check out my Masterlist!

916 notes · View notes

delulujuls · 6 months

Text

papaya nails and everything nice | op81

hi! i dont really know how to comment on that one, i just get this idea from few videos where oscar actually admitted that he has very interesting relationship with his nails

anyway, is this original? i think it is. is this wholesome? hell yes, we do be supportin in this household. enjoy!

summary: oscar is having an unusual problem but it's nothing a manicure cant fix

warnings: none, i hope that painted nails on a boy arent a trigger

pairing: oscar piastri x fem!mclarendriver (ft. lando)

Oscar had been struggling to get himself together for some time now. As far back as he could remember, he considered himself as organized and put-together person who kept everything in check. However, for the past few weeks he had been the complete opposite—nothing seemed to go his way, he was incredibly scattered, sleeping poorly and was always last-minute everywhere.

This day was no exception to the rule that had persistently dominated Piastri's life for the past few weeks. Hurrying, he entered the garage running late and quickly started changing, not wanting to delay the start of training. His hair was messy, clearly having just detached from the pillow a few moments ago. Y/N observed her friend from the corner of her eye, seeing him struggle with unzipping his jumpsuit. Without hesitation, she approached him and eased his suffering, helping him with the zipper.

"Thanks," he mumbled, throwing a fleeting glance at his friend. Only then did Y/N noticed that Oscar's face was marked by several red streaks.

"Something happened?" she asked, clearly concerned. The recent strange behavior of Oscar had not escaped anyone on the team and she was no exception.

"I overslept, nothing new lately," Piastri casually replied, putting on the jumpsuit and fastening it around his neck. He brushed his hair off his face and only now did Y/N have a full view of his face, where red stripes were visible on his even paler-than-usual skin.

"Yes, that too, but that's not what I meant," she said.

Y/N took her phone and showed him his reflection. He furrowed his brows in surprise but took the phone from her and looked at his face. It was a fact, there were strange red marks on it. After a moment, he figured out why he looked like so this morning.

"They're probably scratches; I must have done them in my sleep."

"Scratches?" she scrunched her eyebrows and involuntarily glanced at his nails when he handed her the phone. Indeed, Oscar's nails could make many girls envious.

Y/N still had something to ask, but she was called to take her place in the car. She didn't have the chance to exchange a single word with Oscar until lunchtime. The couple sat in the cafeteria and as Y/N was familiar with both the old Oscar, whom she had known for several years and the slowly emerging new Oscar, she had never paid much attention to his hands or, more importantly, his nails.

"Has this happened to you before?" Y/N asked when they were both eating lunch and Oscar focused all his attention on what she assumed was his first eagerly awaited meal of the day.

"That I took two portions of rice with vegetables for lunch?" he asked with his mouth full, glancing at her in the meantime "No, honestly, this is my debut."

She rolled her eyes. "No, I'm not asking about that. I mean, have you ever looked like you've just met Wolverine?"

"Still have those marks?"

Y/N nodded in response as she continued eating.

Oscar sighed, swallowing what was in his mouth and wondering whether to tell her about the embarrassing nonsense that had haunted him for as long as he could remember. Seeing her curious gaze he decided to confess to her an unusual fact about himself.

"I can't cut my nails."

Oscar threw this statement into the air without much ado. Honestly, at this point in his life where he was and with all the things happening, most of which didn't go the way they should, thinking about things like his unfortunate nails would be total foolishness.

"Oh, really?" she was surprised, but it was the kind of surprise when you hear some fun fact you didn't know before.

"You reacted like I just told you that there are twice as many kangaroos as people in Australia."

"It's quite an unusual thing, you're probably the first person I know who can't do it."

"I don't know if it's something to feel special about, although probably yes since for the rest of the day, I look like I do."

Oscar replied, pointing to his scratched face.

"What's worse," he continued, not interrupting his eating, "Even when I manage to deal with them, it takes a moment and they look the same again. They grow terribly fast."

"If you want, I can help you with them," she offered, glancing at him.

Oscar hesitated for a moment and after that he looked at her uncertainly.

"Could you?"

"Of course!"

Shortly afterward, Y/N's hotel room turned into improvised nail salon. She took her task very seriously, pleased that Oscar allowed her to do anything extra such as cutting his cuticles or giving his hands a massage with a cookie-scented cream.

"You have nice nails," he said when she massaged his hands. Her nails had short square shapes with a matte finish. The color was no surprise; it was papaya orange. "Do PR people dip their fingers in this too?"

Y/N laughed and shook her head.

"No, I just noticed this nail polish in the drugstore and I thought I'd take it. It amused me that this color haunts me everywhere."

"Do you do your nails yourself?" Oscar looked at her with a slight shock. "It must be terribly hard and time-consuming."

"I've been doing them for a few years now and as you can see they are pretty simple, so with each time I get better at it."

She replied, taking a bit more cream. She noticed that he was silently looking at her hands; it seemed that he was particularly paying attention to her nails.

"I can paint yours too if you want."

"Mine?"

Y/N nodded and Oscar looked at her, shocked by how effortlessly she seemed to read his thoughts.

"Painted nails aren't for boys. "

Y/N rolled her eyes.

"Anyone can have painted nails, Oscar."

"Zac would be pissed at me. PR people probably too."

"Fuck Zac, fuck PR people," she looked him in the eyes. "Everyone has the right to look how they want, so if Lewis can have earrings and tattoos, Alex could have red hair, then you or any other guy can have painted nails."

Oscar hesitated for a while, looking at her uncertainly. He was silent for a moment, thinking hard. However, he decided that it was time to finally do something contrary to the norm. He has stuck to the rules and regulations all his life, so it's time to make a small concession that won't harm anyone.

"Can you make them for me with a shiny finish?"

Y/N smiled and nodded, hurriedly getting off the bed and grabbing her bag with all the supplies. The smile on Oscar's face appeared with each painted nail, pushing away his fears and insecurities.

When the girl started finishing his other hand after more than an hour, Lando came into the bedroom without any warning, complaining about his friends and the fact that none of them had replied to any of his messages for over forty minutes.

When Norris noticed what he was witnessing, he opened his mouth in shock and his eyes almost fell out of his sockets. Both Oscar and Y/N knew their friend's unfiltered chatter, so they mentally prepared themselves for some comment from him. But beside that, he hurriedly took off his shoes and all excited sat on the bed, rolling up his sleeves.

"Oh my God! Will you do mine too?"

#f1 imagines #f1 one shot #f1 oneshots #op81 #formula 1 #f1 #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader

731 notes · View notes

talaok · 11 months

Note

Hello!

I was thinking about this a little too much today. I often read fics / drabbles about Pedro being all sweet and flirty or him being very confident and flirty … I just want to read a fic about him being the worst flirt ever 😅 I know he’s a flirt in his interviews , but what if he’s really bad at it when it’s time to really seduce someone. Like he messes up what he wants to say , he makes stupid jokes that don’t land.

Do you think you could write that?

summary: Pedro is a bad flirt

A/n: I'm genuinely sorry this took so long, but I had to study like a bastard just for my professor to be an asshole

"please introduce me to her"

"why don't you go there and do it yourself?"

"because I can't"

"why?"

"please"

"fine"

__ __ __

It was a relatively small party, just a few friends and some friend’s friends, nothing huge.

Vanessa, your best friend, had insisted on throwing it, encouraging you to “live a little now that that asshole isn’t in the picture anymore”.

“That asshole”, was indeed your, as of two weeks, ex-boyfriend.

Neither of them had ever been fans of each other, and thinking back at it now, that should have probably been if not red, at least some kind of colored flag.

Anyway, as always, when it was V talking you into something, you had accepted, with a few conditions of course.

Hence, the small party and your playlist playing in the background.

“Y/n, did you know that?”

right, you should have probably been listening to the conversation.

“Uh, no, it’s news to me” you topped with an awkward laugh you hoped would go unnoticed.

“that’s crazy, you learn something new every day” Ryan commented, making you wonder for a sec if perhaps you had actually missed something interesting.

Just as you turned to Claire beside you to investigate, everyone’s attention moved to Vanessa as she strolled toward you.

Not unusual, you thought, she wasn’t a woman that got unnoticed.

What you found when you turned too, however, did pique your interest.

A man walked beside her, Pedro Pascal.

He fell into the friend-of-friends category.

He was one of Vanessa’s oldest friends from back when she studied in New York. She talked about him sometimes, but you had never actually met him, which, thinking about it, why was that?

"hi there, how's it going?" V asked

"very well, Pyke here was telling us that sharks do not have bones"

There it was, mystery solved.

V raised her brows clearly unimpressed "Wow, well that's great" she patted his shoulder, as everyone made space for the pair.

Pedro still hadn't spoken, and a match of awkwardness lighted as you all came to the same realization.

"Alright then, I think I'm gonna get another drink" The shark expert spoke, and all of a sudden Claire and Ryan both got really thirsty too as they followed him to the kitchen.

A strange smile pulled at V's lips

"Anyway, Y/n, this is Pedro" she gestured "Pedro, this is Y/n"

You felt like one of those women in period dramas when their mothers introduce them to a man they think they should marry.

"Hi, it's nice to meet you" You shook his hand "V has told me about you"

"H-hi" he cleared his throat "it's very nice to meet you too"

" Pedro's here to film a movie"

"are you?" you asked, interested

"yes, I- Uhm- I am"

He looked nervous, and you had no idea why.

"Can I know which, or is it like one of those secret Marvel things?" you joked.

"Oh, no, of course" he laughed, "It's Weapons, it's like a horror movie"

"oh" you winced "Well that's lovely, but you'll have to forgive me if I'm not going to watch it. I hate horror movies"

"Oh, why?" he asked looking genuinely perplexed

"I get scared very easily, and... I'll sound like a 5-year-old, but every time I watch one I have troubles sleeping"

"oh that's fine" he laughed " I get it" he nodded "You don't look like a five-year-old at all" he blurted out, his eyes instantly widening as his brain realized what he had just said "Sound! I meant sound like a 5-year-old" he breathed "you look- you look extremely beautiful, not like-" he stopped himself before he could talk again, and just let out a small "oh god"

You shot Vanessa a glance.

"it's fine" you laughed "I got it," you reassured him, placing a hand on his bicep.

"so, since I'm not going to watch it, why don't you tell me what's about?"

His eyes found yours again, something sparking inside of them at the question.

"Oh you know, it's about guns and swords and rifles," he said with a smile.

You couldn't hide your confusion

"I'm sorry?" you asked, half-laughing

"y'know, because it's called weapons" he explained, his voice getting smaller as he realized the joke had bombed.

"Oh" you laughed, actually laughed "Of course! I'm sorry!"

"No, no don't be sorry it was a stupid joke"

"it was funny, I'm just..." You mimicked something with your hands.

"Y/n!" a shout from across the room caught your attention.

Mary was waving desperately at you, which could only mean that she had either broken another piece of furniture or wanted to do shots.

Neither of those options seemed particularly interesting, for some reason you wanted to know more about the man in front of you.

However, you also couldn't ignore one of your best friends.

"I'll be back in a second, I just need to make sure she hasn't broken another vase" you joked with a grin.

"o-ok" he nodded, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he swallowed harshly.

"get ready to tell me about all those weapons!" you called out, already walking to the kitchen.

Once you disappeared, Vanessa raised an eyebrow at him, her expression an open book.

"Don't say anything"

"I'm not"

"good"

there was a brief moment of silence before Vanessa couldn't hold it anymore.

She busted out laughing

"Guns and swords!?" she laughed, recalling his joke

"Shut up"

"And the five-year-old thing!?" she kept going "Dude you've been drooling over her for two years and that's what you go for the moment you finally get to talk to her?"

He couldn't do anything but sigh "I need a drink," he said "And I thought it was funny"

"Yeah, you were the only one, my friend"

1K notes · View notes

hvaneyflowers · 5 months

Text

Family ********

Fernando Alonso x femreader! family!

Instagram au

Fernando and y/n have been married for 10 years, and for the last 9 years, y/n has been fighting against cancer. Because of this, they can't have children on their own, so they decided to adopt.

***************

yourusername

liked by fernandoalo_oficial, y/bfn, and 400.890 more.

tagged: fernandoalo_oficial

yourusername: Celebrating 5 years without cancer! Couldn't be more grateful for being alive and for this amazing man who I call my husband! You're the best! Thanks for being there with me when times didn't seem to be well. Thanks for never letting my hand go, and being by my side in the hospital, sleeping on the floor while holding my hand! I love you so much!! ❤️

view all 400 comments.

y/bfn: MY WARRIOR!! Such a brave girl!! Love u!! ❤️❤️

yourusername: ❤️❤️❤️

username88: Happy for you!!

lance_stroll: Happy to meet you! You're such an amazing woman! Fernando is lucky to have you.

fernandoalo_oficial: Indeed, I am. yourusername: Thanks, Lance!! You're a incredible man! ❣️

fernandoalo_oficial: Mi nena hermosa, you're so brave, I love you so much!

yourusername: ❤️

username77: So gorgeous! Wishing you and Nando the best!

username99: Wishing you a happy life!

username222: I hope your dreams come true!!

yourusername: Soon, very soon! 🙏

fernandoalo_oficial

liked by yourusername, f1, and 500.000 more.

tagged: yourusername

fernandoalo_oficial: Mi hermosa esposa, mi todo, mi amor, el amor de mi vida, te amo! (My beautiful wife, my all, my love, the love of my life, I love you!) You're the bravest woman I've ever known. I remember the day the doctor told us what the problem was, it's still vividly in my mind. I was scared of losing you, but I knew I couldn't give you up so easily. I will be by your side, no matter what! ❤️

view all 500 comments.

yourusername: love you so much, baby!! ❤️

f1: congrats yourusername for 5 years without cancer! Hoping to see you soon in the paddock!

username2: I want a husband like Fernando!

username65: I want Fernando as my husband! 😉

f1fans00: rookie of the year is the husband of the year!

carlossainz55: what a lucky man you are, Nando!

fernandoalo_oficial: very much. The luckiest man in the world!

sebastianvettel: my favorite couple! Miss you so much! You're the best @.yourusername❤️

jensonbutton: the only person who can bear @.fernandoalo_oficial!

fernandoalo_oficial: HAHAHA so funny 😒 yourusername: but it's true 😚 fernandoalo_oficial: 😒

username899: my fav couple! my fav wag! 🙌

username99: I wish the best for you!

yourusername

liked by fernandoalo_oficial, carlossainz55, and 700.890 more.

tagged: fernandoalo_oficial

yourusername: Te amo España! | I love you Spain!

view all 300 comments.

username77: OMG! They're in Spain!

username99: Are they on vacation or something? I know they live in Switzerland. username11: me too! I thought they were in Miami because of the race! username77: the race it's next week. Maybe they took some days off! Strange but understandable.

carmenmmundt: Missing you in the paddock!! Please come back!

the_crochet_girl: same!!! See you in Miami!

username112: I love how the wags love each other! It's so beautiful!

username23: I know!!! They're the best!

username999: I love your style!! Come to Barcelona next time!

f1news

liked by wagsoff1, f1fans, and 10.000 more.

tagged: fernandoalo_oficial, yourusername

f1news: Rumors say that Fernando and his wife, y/n, had adopted a little Spanish boy early this week. If it is true, congrats to the couple!

view all 100 comments.

username33: WHAT?!

username99: Are you telling me we'll see Nando as a real father?!

fernandoalonsofans: OMG! I need this to be true! They'd be the best parents in the world!

username55: I NEED THEM TO CONFIRM ASAP!!!

username66: Would his name be 'Fernandito'?

username77: Nandito Jr., the world champion!! I can see it!

username33: So happy for them!!!

username88: So that's why y/n said her dream would come true soon! HER BIGGEST DREAM WAS TO BE A MOTHER!!

yourusername

liked by fernandoalo_oficial, f1, astonmartinf1, and 800.976 more.

tagged: fernandoalo_oficial

yourusername: All my life, I've wanted to be a mother. It was my biggest dream. When I married Fernando 10 years ago, the first thing I wanted to do was look for a baby Nandito, but unfortunately, I had cancer. I needed to give up my dream of having a baby on my own to live. All these years, I was so sad because I'd never become a mother, but now I am. Meet Matías Fernando Alonso y/ln, the new addition to our family! He's 4 years old (soon to be 5) and loves cars and animals! We're so happy about this incredible opportunity. Our dreams came true with his arrival! We are deeply in love with him and looking forward to the future! ❣️

view all 700 comments.

f1: Congrats! We know you'll be the best parents in the world! Welcome, little Matias, to the F1 family! See you in the paddock!

astonmartinf1: Welcome, Matias, to the F1 and Aston Martin family! Hoping to meet you soon!

username777: OMG! So it was true!! I CAN'T BELIEVE!!! SO CUTE!!

username999: Little Matias looks so cute! Congrats!

username8880: And he loves cars! Perfect son for Nando! Congratulations!

username0190: Rockie of the Year has become a father!! I'M IN HEAVEN!!

lance_stroll: Congratulations! He'll have the best parents in the world!

landonorris: FATHER IS A FATHER! OMG!

carmenmmundt: CONGRATS BEAUTY!! YOU'LL BE THE BEST MOM!!

the_crochet_girl: Congrats!!!! Bring him to the paddock so he can meet Sky and be friends!!

hulkhulkenberg: but no so close, please!

kellypiquet: CONGRATS!! SO HAPPY FOR YOU!! ❣️

fernandoalonsofans: AMAZING! SO HAPPY FOR YOU GUYS!!!

fernandoalo_oficial

liked by f1, yourusername, lance_stroll, and 1M more.

tagged: yourusername

fernandoalo_oficial: Welcome home, Matias! We've been waiting for you for ages! I promised you to be the best father I can. I'll give you the world and all my love. You and your mother are the best things that happened to me! I love you more than you can imagine! Can't wait to teach you how to drive a kart and everything! ❤️

view all 2000 comments.

yourusername: you'll be the best father, mi amor! ❤️

fernandoalo_oficial: and you'll be the best mother in the world! Te amo nena! ❤️

landonorris: FATHER IS A FATHER! CAN'T BELIEVE IT! Is he going to prepare you coffee? Because I can teach him how to make your favorite one!

username18: Lando doesn't forget his time in McLaren when he used to prepare coffee for Nando hahaha! landonorris: never!

hulkhulkenberg: Congrats!! You'll be the best parents in the world!! pss. don't let him be so near to my baby girl, please! I don't know if I can survive that!

the_crochet_girl: cry.

username188: Congrats father!!!

fernandoalonsonfans: Congratulations to the best father in the world!!!

charles_leclerc: BRING HIM TO THE PADDOCK!! I'll have gifts for him!! He needs to meet his cousin Charlesito!

carlossainz55: He needs to meet all of us!!! danielricciardo: YES!!! He'll have the best cousins and uncles in the world! username817: OMG! The whole grid is going to be uncles and cousins to this little kid! I'm jealous! username890: Fernando and y/n, don't you want to adopt me? I know how to cook!

maxverstappen1: Congratulation!! Wishing the best for you!

lewishamilton: Congrats, mate!!! Roscoe wants to meet him!

yukitsunoda0511: congrats!! He's too cute!

username91991: My favorite couple are my favorite parents now! CONGRATS!!!

#fernando alonso #formula 1 #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 #aston martin f1 #f1 social media au #f1 instagram au

696 notes · View notes

acourtofwhatthefuck · 5 months

Text

Practice On Me — Part Fourteen — Azriel x Reader

Summary: Reader is readying herself for the ball. Hot Daddy Fin™️ opens up to her a little and shares some worrying truths (and then some). Azriel and Reader reunite, body and soul.

Word Count: 8.2k

Warnings: Adult content, 18+, NSFW, minors dni.

Tried my best with this part but sorry if it's a bit iffy! This girlie is ill as FUCK. Still hope you enjoy, tho, loves!

“You know, I have to admit, I was dubious at first.”

Mor is knelt at your feet, and you think this might be the closest you ever come to having a goddess on her knees before you. A strange part of you wants her to snap out and sink her teeth into your thigh, leave a bright red mark on the skin — but alas, her attention is fully on the hem of your gown.

“My uncle, love him though I do, is a calculated bastard.” She pushes to her feet, straightening out the fabric. “But I think he actually enjoys your company.”

“He does.” Roza pitches in from her place on the couch. “I know Fin. Y/N has him eating out of the palm of her hand.”

Though she smiles, her tone is laced with clear concern. Not because she cares about Fin, but because she cares about you. Doesn’t want you to forget that this is the High Lord of the Night Court you’re meddling with.

“Males are vapid and predictable, every last one of them.” You shrug your tense shoulders. “Throw them a few pretty smiles and they’ll do anything for you.”

Mor steps back, a low whistle leaving her. “Forget the males. I’ll do anything for you.”

Her eyes rake over your gown. So do Roza’s. And you…you want to crawl out of your skin and hide.

You’ve never owned a beautiful gown like this, never been able to afford one. The couple of dresses you do keep amongst your clothes are plain ones that just about do for special occasions. What hangs off your body now is…a work of art.

Almost feels like sacrilege for the beautiful fabric to touch your marred skin.

It’s sheer, showing off more than you’ve ever before dared to, and yet there’s a modesty, an elegance, to the many whorls and swirls made up entirely of little blue jewels and pearls and beads. It gives the gown a weight that makes it cling to you, and it outlines a body that…that quite frankly, you’d never considered beautiful until this very moment.

A body that commands the garment, and not the other way round. That makes you feel like far more than just another mistreated, unfavoured Illyrian female that will one day be lost to history.

This gown makes you think: I do not need the wings I have spent my life longing for.

It makes you think: There is nothing more beautiful than a good spirit and soul, and I have both.

It makes you think: Never again will anyone — friend or family or foe — make you feel less than worthy. Less than deserving. Less than strong.

You have always had strength. And this dress somehow amplifies it. Will amplify it to a room full of people who will see, through that sheer fabric, your scars, your lack of wings, and they may pity you, or not pity you at all, or may even laugh.

But you will still be beautiful.

Movement has you realising that tears have blurred your eyes. You swipe them away, and Mor is smiling at you, and Roza looks like she’s a little choked up, too.

“You are so godsdamned gorgeous.” Mor says earnestly. “Every last inch of you.”

Indeed, you glance over your shoulder at the mirror behind you, your gaze immediately finding your scars sitting brutal and undeniable beneath the sheer fabric. You don’t hurriedly force your gaze away like you have done your whole life, don’t try to avoid them.

You just…look. Look at what has been a part of you for so long, now.

“…Mor?” Roza says quietly. “Can you…give Y/N and I a moment?”

“Of course.” Mor agrees. “Time for me to find a snack.”

The stunning blonde squeezes your hand as she strolls past, and as she leaves the room, the door is pulled shut behind her.

Roza rises from her seat, making her way over to you. And as she stops before you, her hands move up to cup your face.

“Did you know,” she murmurs, “that I’ve always thought you were one of the prettiest females in all of Windhaven?” A soft scoff leaves you, but before you can glance down, she’s holding your face firmly. “I mean that — even when Azriel brought you to the cottage that very first time, and you were covered in dirt and mud, your hair all knotted, a leaf or two in there — you thanked me for feeding you, and you gave me a smile that was just like…sunshine. Such a rare thing in Windhaven. I remember thinking, this girl deserves to smile like that, always.”

A single tear spills down your cheek, and Roza wipes it away. She definitely looks like she might start bawling, too — a rare thing for her.

“I know you were never given much of a chance to feel worthy.” She whispers. “Your mother abandoning you…your father taking your wings…they were the two people who were supposed to love you more than anyone, and they broke you and left you broken.”

“You put me back together.” A lump in your throat fractures your words. “You and Rhys and Azriel and Cassian. Your love—”

“My little dove, you put yourself back together. We just loved you through it. I just want you to know that…I just want you to remember, the next time you feel worthless, that you are beautiful, and you have always been beautiful. You’re strong, and spirited, and determined. You have a resolve like no other I have ever seen, and you can do anything — which is why I know you will achieve whatever it is you’re planning with Fin.”

Only then does your gaze drop. “I only wish to appeal myself to him enough that he’ll value my opinion — that this Fenlaros business cannot go ahead. But I still feel awful…he’s your mate.”

“Gods, in the loosest definition, Y/N.” Her hands move to yours, then, liking them together. “Believe me when I say that if it weren’t for my children, I’d never see that male again. I think you know that I do not hold him in high regard.”

“I do know. But I respect you and care about you more than anyone in the world. And if you feel even a shred of discomfort about what I’m doing, I’ll stop. I’ll find another way—”

“The only discomfort I feel,” she squeezes your hands gently, “is at the thought of any harm coming to you. But I’ll feel that way through everything you do in life, because I love you. I also feel awe, because you’re brave and brilliant, and you’re doing what’s right. What I will teach this little girl,” she places your hands on her swollen belly, “to do — to stand up against what is wrong, and do so without a lick of shame.”

“I’ll protect her with my life, you know — the babe. I’ll love her unconditionally.”

“And she will love you, my dove, just as I do. So,” she steps back, eyes your dress again. A smile curves her lips. “Do whatever it is you have to do, Y/N, to change Fin’s mind — you have my full support. I only ask three things of you.”

Your expression softens. Anything — you’d do anything for her. “Of course, Roz.”

“First, don’t get caught with your scheming.” She says. “And second — you may feel like murdering Fin. Gods, believe me, I get it. But please do refrain. He’s my children’s father, after all, and Rhys isn’t ready to be High Lord just yet.”

You breathe a laugh, dipping your chin. “No murder. Got it. And the third thing?”

Roza steps up to you, her fingers finding the beautiful, jewelled material that clings to you like a second skin. She smiles.

“Go to that ball,” her fierce eyes meet yours, “and show everybody there that your father didn’t take one bit of beauty away from you.”

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

You pace the length of your room. Back and forth, back and forth. You’re restless tonight.

Day after day is swept behind you like the snow that blankets the mountains. Time is a racing thing. Starfall is fast approaching, and thus, so is the ball. But you still feel as though you can’t get a good read on Fin’s thoughts.

No matter how many dinners you share with him, how many walks through the city streets you take together, the shows you watch in the Rainbow…he does not offer you the candidness with which he spoke through that very first conversation in his study. Any attempts to talk about Tathaln, about Fenlaros, are promptly diverted. He wants to talk about you — wants to know you.

It feels like the opportunity to stop this shit show in its tracks is slipping through your fingers, and you can’t grab hold of it, pull it back.

So instead of sleeping, you think, and you pace, and you—

Gods, you just want to see Azriel.

How much space, you wonder, is enough space? You have respected his needs, have kept to Velaris, given him time to confront his innermost thoughts and feelings. But you don’t know how long he needs, and right now…right now, all you want is to see him. Look into his eyes. Hear that soft, quiet voice telling you that everything will be okay.

You need to know if he’s made a decision about Fenlaros. You’ve tried not to think about it, not to dwell on the possibility that he could choose to run from his feelings over embracing them. But the longer the silence stretches on…the more you find that hole in your heart gaping, threatening to swallow you whole.

You pace more and more, up and down in time to the ticking of the clock. It’s a wonder you haven’t worn a track through the carpet. You don’t know why you’re suddenly so antsy, but perhaps if you could just talk to Az, some of your worries could be allayed—

Before your thoughts can catch up with your body, you’re tearing through the drawers in the desk, scrambling for paper, a pen. Practically throw yourself into the chair. A letter — a letter will do the trick—

But you don’t know what to write.

You stare at the blank parchment like the words will simply appear by your willing. They don’t.

A love letter? No, no, not a love letter. Just a letter to…to remind him that you are still here. That you are reason to stay in Windhaven, and you think you could be reason enough.

Azriel… you picture him as you crawl his name. His honey-golden eyes and his silken hair. The sharp bone structure that could slice through paper, the full lips. The memory of how those lips feel is fading, and you want — need — it back. Your pen pauses, hovers at the parchment, and those lips are all you can think of, the urgency with which you crave them.

Azriel, you write again, I want to see you. I need you, too—

A soft knock lands on the door, and the pen clatters against the desk where you drop it.

The clock has just timed three in the morning — the knock is an unexpected obtrusion in the dead of night. One that makes you anxious.

But a second knock comes, and you shove the parchment and pen back into the drawer, scrambling to your feet. Perhaps it’s Roza — the more the pregnancy progresses, it’s not unusual for her to wake up in the night with need for something. You hurry over and tug it open.

Fin stands on the other side, looking…unkempt. His hair is mussed, like he’s been dragging his fingers through it. The first few buttons on his shirt have been undone, and a glimpse of a fine, chiselled chest peeks out. The sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. He looks as though he hasn’t been to bed.

He drinks in the sight of you in your nightgown, bathed in the room’s glow. He swallows. “Forgive me, I…I saw your light on. Thought you might be having trouble sleeping again.”

You incline your head. “I was.” You admit. “…And you?”

“Too much in my head to even attempt it.”

You’re not sure what to reply with, how to help. Fin watches you closely like…like he needs to. Like gazing at you brings him comfort.

You are treading a very, very dangerous path. But you shift on your feet and ask him, “Would you like to come in?”

A tiny nudge of a smile pulls one side of his mouth up. “I was actually wondering if you’d allow me to take you somewhere.”

Your eyes widen a little. The surprise isn’t for show, and it seems to please him. “Right now?”

“The City of Starlight doesn’t sleep. Ever.”

A fact you’ve learned all too well during your stay here. There’s always some sort of activity, something going on that sends a constant pulsing through the city streets. For some reason, you hadn’t imagined Fin to be a participant in the night life.

“It’s somewhere I go when I can’t sleep.” He explains, as though you’ve spoken your thoughts loud and clear. “I think you’d like it. And from one insomniac to another, I…I would be honoured to share it with you.”

How can you possibly say no to that? For all Fin is mysterious, for all he keeps his cards tightly pressed against his chest, you truly believe that he finds a strange sort of solidarity in this one affliction that burdens you both. You may have wildly different reasons for pacing your room at night — and you’re not sure he’ll ever tell you his — but when the world is too quiet and thoughts are too loud…there’s comfort in knowing that somebody else is staring down those early hours, also.

It almost makes him seem…normal.

And perhaps that’s why you offer him a dazzling smile that isn’t entirely disingenuous. “From one insomniac to another,” you say, “I’d love to come with you.

The way his eyes light up makes you wonder if you’ve played your role, appealed yourself to him, a little too well. “Then I’ll wait here while you get dressed.”

You incline your head. “I’ll just be a moment.”

He waits patiently as you change from your nightgown into warm clothes that will shield you from the freezing night air. With no indication of where you might be going, a sweater and breeches and boots seems like the safest bet. You sweep your hair out of your face and shrug the weariness from your bones. When you emerge from the room, Fin’s gaze traces you like you’ve donned an evening gown and not the thickest layers you could fine.

“I find you so very intriguing.” He comments unexpectedly, and you’re not sure what he means.

You plaster a smile on your face, all the same. “Where are we going, Lord of the Night?”

Heat stokes his hickory eyes, and he looks as though he’s actually trying to tamp down on a broad smile. “It’s a surprise.”

You hold a hand out. He takes it. “Then surprise me.”

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

“Tilt your head up.” The instruction comes from close behind you. Near enough that a warm breath tickles the back of your neck. You dutifully obey. “Now, open your eyes.”

Your eyelids flutter open slowly, cautiously. What you’re met with has your next breath catching in your throat.

A dome of starlight arcs high above you. The twinkling jewels in the sky feel almost close enough to reach out and touch, and they shine brilliantly through the glass roof, an occasional transient one cartwheeling its way past in pursuit of another place.

You can only stare. Gape. Your feet move forward a couple of steps, but your face remains tilted upwards.

You were in this building only a couple of evenings before, but it had been so packed, then, so filled with music and chatter and laughter and activity, that you hadn’t noticed what sat above your head. You’d been far too enamoured with the performers, their poetic verses and fluid dances, the tragic climax that had brought you to tears.

Now, the largest theatre in Velaris’s rainbow is empty and bathed in darkness, broken only by silvery moonlight. You and Fin are the only two here. And standing on the gargantuan stage, a mass of empty, folded seats staring back at you, you have the perfect view of the night sky that gives a performance all of its own above you.

There are soft footsteps, and Fin is also stepping forward, stopping at your side. “In over nine centuries, I’ve never tired of that sight,”

You shake your head, a little dazed. You’re lost for words. “I can see why.”

“There is so much unexpected, so much chaos and burden, in being High Lord. But no matter what I may face, what choices I make, and what reactions they receive…there will always be the night sky and its stars.”

Only then do you remove your gaze from the domed glass ceiling — to drink him in and wonder how many layers deep his true heart lies. This male who is as cunning and cruel as he is handsome and charming. How many dimensions does he have that you’ve never stopped to consider?

“I know it doesn’t exactly support the imagine of a calculated High Lord who shouldn’t be crossed.” Fin says, staring had at the surface of the stage whilst a wry smile graces his lips. “Sneaking off to an empty theatre in the dead of night when sleep evades me. But I find…peace here.”

You eye the ginormous building around you, dipped in shimmering moonlight and the shadows of twinkling stars. All those empty seats, the vacant orchestra pit, the stage that has trapped so many beautiful voices and words, guided so many dances and echoed so much beautiful music. There’s a haunting loneliness to the desolation. And you can’t help wondering if…if Fin relates to that, somehow.

When you snap out of your thoughts, you find he’s moved again. Now, he sits on the very edge of the stage, legs hanging down and palms bracing him. He stares out at the rows and rows of red velvet seats, not one of them disturbed by a spectator.

You’re moving before you tell yourself to. Sitting at his side and tucking your legs beneath you. You spend a short time in still silence, but the heaviness of the High Lord’s thoughts seems to spread to every corner of the building.

“When you brought me here the other night,” you angle yourself towards him, “it was my first time in a theatre — ever. I never saw a show before.”

A very slight frown pinches Fin’s features. He seems to consider that. “One of my flaws, Y/N, I have to admit, is that I often forget that there’s a world outside of my privilege. That people lack where I never will.” He tugs his bottom lip between his teeth. “Roza was right to take Rhysand to Windhaven. He’s grown with a humility that I very much do not have.”

You snort softly. “I spend a lot of time with your son, My Lord. I assure you he’s just as capable of arrogance. I’ve kicked his ass a good few times because of it.”

A quiet laugh rasps from him. “Somehow, I don’t doubt that.” He pauses, and then his elbow is gently nudging you. “I told you, anyway — it’s Fin. I consider us to be friends. Don’t you?”

In some ways, you really do. Ans what a lying, using, devious little friend you are.

Especially as you scoot closer to him. And you’re softening your features and staring openly at him.

You don’t miss the way his gaze falls to your lips.

“I do.” You say, and he lifts his eyes to yours again. “And as your friend, I’d like to know what weighs so heavily on your mind tonight.”

His mile falters. And you don’t want to lose him, to let the moment slip away from you. You quickly grab his hand before he can tense up.

“I want you to talk to me…” You make your voice soft as butter, sweet as honey. “I like talking to you, Fin.”

There’s a beat. A tense one. And then his body is loosening, relaxing, his eyes becoming infinitely warmer.

His hand wraps around yours, the pad of his thumb tracing your nail. “I like talking to you, too.” He admits, and pauses again. “…War is…a great likelihood, Y/N.”

It’s your turn to go still, then, to tense up. Icy cold surprise bolts through you. That…isn’t what you were expecting.

“War?” You breathe, your mind already conjuring images of your friends on a battlefield. “With whom? When?”

“I do not know when. It could be in a year’s time; it could be in a decade. That all depends on how long it takes for humans to rise up and rally against our kind.”

“Humans?”

“There has been more and more pushback, in recent years, from humans. Humans who are enslaved by our kind and are sick of it. More and more of them are beginning to stand up against it, to protest how they’re forced to live. They’re willing to go to war over it. I don’t know when or where, but they will. In years to come, they will.”

“As they should.” You sit up straight. Perhaps it’s the wrong thing to say, but you don’t care. “They should revolt. I think it’s barbarous, the way our kind treat them. Their purpose is not to serve us. They have just as much right to live freely as we do.”

You mean it, mean it with your whole heart. You know what it’s like to be used for somebody’s personal gain, what it’s like to have freedom always lurking just out of reach. And you’ve heard about the treatment of enslaved humans. Most would rather die that live under the cruelty of their fae masters. That the practice hasn’t been outlawed utterly sickens you.

Fin says nothing for a while. His hand continues to hold yours. His eyes drink you down with a muted intensity. Like this is the first time he’s ever really taken you in.

“I agree.” He murmurs, much to your surprise. “And when war comes — and it will, and I’m preparing for it — when war comes, I will fight alongside the humans. To liberate them.”

You look at him, then — a male who has lived for almost a millennia, but doesn’t look a day over forty. Who is so universally feared, who carries a reputation for things you can’t even bear to consider. You will not fool yourself into believing that the darkness hides an inner light, or that the cruelty is a front. He is not soft and he is not kind.

But perhaps he’s not totally bad, either. That he would put himself in the firing line for the liberation of innocent humans…it has to speak somewhat to his character.

It almost makes you regret your scheming, your manipulating.

Before you can muster a response, the High Lord is leaning closer. Your body tenses as his face stops inches away from yours.

“You need not be afraid of me, Y/N.” He whispers. “I find you…magnificent. I like that you don’t filter yourself in front of me, that you’re not afraid to speak your true thoughts and feelings. You…you are an asset. Worth so much more than you’ve ever been given credit for.”

Your gaze dips, cheeks burning at the compliment. “I don’t know about that—”

“I mean it.” His finger hooks under your chin, soothing the skin there. “Magnificent.” He repeats, and he’s leaning in closer, closer, until his lips are coasting your flushed cheek. The kiss he presses there is cold in contrast, but you have no chance to react as his mouth brushes its way to the shell of your ear and lingers there. “Absolutely brilliant. And do you know what?”

“…What?”

“After the ball is over,” his breath tickles your ear, “I’m going to bring you back here, to this stage. And those stars above our heads will watch as I strip you bare and fuck you hard enough to shake the building.”

It takes every morsel of your resolve not to start at the words. You release a shaky breath — one that makes you seem eager, responsive. It’s convincing enough that you don’t think you’d be out of place up here on this stage.

Thankfully, you don’t have to drag words from your spinning thoughts. Fin lets go, and he pulls back, rising to his feet.

“But until then,” he holds a hand out for you, “there is much to be done. Starting with you and I getting a good night’s sleep.”

You wear a mild smile as you allow him to pull you up. “A girl can dream.”

“And so can a High Lord.”

You don’t say much else to each other as he tugs you close and spirits you back to his palace. You are both pensive, and you are both tired.

But when he bids you goodnight outside your bedroom and strolls off to his own, sleep seems further away than ever. You’re thinking too much at once. Humans. War. Fin. Azriel.

You still desperately want to see Az, talk to him.

You dig back into the drawer, meaning to retrieve the letter you’d started to write.

But your hand merely knocks against wood, and the letter is gone.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

You’re tempted — to write another letter, or note, or…whatever. You don’t even know what became of the first, unfinished one, whether it made its way to Azriel or not.

But days pass, and you…you begin to lose your nerve a little. Perhaps it’s better to live in ignorance for as long as possible than know, either way, what Azriel is thinking. Choosing. Can’t help feeling that the more time pedals on without a word…the worse the outcome will be.

Distractions help. But tonight, it would seem, there are none. And it’s strange, because everything around you is bathed in luxury, in excellence, but you find yourself missing the stripped back simplicity of Windhaven. The crumbling cottages, the mead hall, the rough-and-tumble way of life. There’s always something happening in that harrowing place, something to keep you occupied. As you stare down an evening in a huge, mostly empty palace, you’re actually struck by your longing for it. Both Roza and Fin are busy. Mor is away. Only the mountains and the distant sounds of the city are your companions tonight.

And once again, your thoughts take you to Azriel.

You think maybe this need for him is getting out of hand. And maybe it’s just the sugar-sweet things that Fin has been speaking into your ear, the knowledge that deep down, there’s only one person you want to make such promises to you—

No. It’s not just that. Not just a pathetic influence of suggestive words. It’s a need.

You need Azriel.

Your closest friend. Your safety blanket. The male who saved you and brought you into the fold of a loving, supportive unit. You stared down awkward adolescence together, faced such trying times by each other’s sides.

And you need him.

Your heart, your body, your skin, is hot and heavy with it. Restless. Like the craving is pulling you apart from the inside.

You need to do something, anything, to occupy yourself; take a late-night stroll, read a book. Anything to stop you from staring at the ceiling and being eaten alive by the fire that scorches your veins.

You’re so desperate to get moving that you don’t bother to grab a jacket — just shove your feet into your shoes. A spring mildness has blanketed the city, anyway. You’ll be fine. You just need to move—

But you yank your bedroom door open, and Azriel is on the other side.

His beauty punches you straight in the gut.

He’s a vision, stood there in casual clothing, a note — your note — clutched in his hand. He takes in the sight of you just as hurriedly.

“What are you doing here,” you breathe.

He opens his mouth. Closes it. His eyes rove you again, and he swallows. “I got your note.” He answers. “I wanted to see you, too, and…the High Lord summoned Rhys, Cass and I here…to warn us to be on our best behaviour at the ball.”

You can’t say anything. Can’t speak. You just gawk like a godsdamned fool.

A strange concoction of a frown and a laugh comes from Az. “I…snuck away after…to come here—”

Before you even know what you’re doing, your hand is bunching in the front of Azriel’s shirt, and you’re dragging him into the room with all your strength. He looks bewildered as you shove the door shut behind him.

“Az, have you lost your mind?” You round on him. “If Fin knew you’d come to my room—”

“He isn’t here.” He cuts you off. “Cass went straight back to Windhaven, and Rhys knew I wanted to see you, so…he’s currently having quality family time with Roza and his father in the city.”

There’s a lot to unpack. But all your mind wants to zero in on is that one little sentence — Rhys knew I wanted to see you.

Pathetic, how your entire stomach flips.

“…You call him Fin?”

It takes a moment for your mind to catch up enough to understand Azriel’s question.

“We’ve been living under the same roof.” You shrug slowly. “I…guess he got tired of me using his title.”

Az stares at you, assessing. You’re not sure what he’s looking for, but you fidget under the intensity of his gaze.

“What is it?” You ask him.

“I’m worried about you. I know he’s taking you to the ball. I don’t want you playing his games.”

You purse your lips. “…That why you snuck here to my room, Az? To give me a warning—”

“I came here because you said you wanted to see me, and I want to see you, too.”

So open — for him. So straightforward that for a beat, you’re not sure how to react.

But then you’re moving, and so is he, and your bodies slam together in a tight, long-awaited embrace. Feeling his arms wrap around you is…everything. Everything you’ve missed and longed for. Everything you will ever long for. Whatever happens…Azriel is the only thing you’ll need, when all is said and done.

And that’s why you’re suddenly crying, clinging to him.

On instinct, Azriel’s arms tighten around you. He moves a hand up to cradle the back of your head, and he whispers, “Y/N…”

“Please don’t leave Windhaven.” The words choke out of you. “Please, Az, just…don’t go to Fenlaros. Please—”

“Y/N. Look at me.”

Tears and all, you do. You remain as close to him as you possibly can as you lift your head to meet his eyes.

You don’t know how you know, but you do — from that one, heavy stare, you can tell that things have changed. That he has changed. He looks like the same, stunning male that you’ve always admired, but something else sits on his face.

Emotion.

Determination.

Fire.

He opens his mouth. Takes a slow, shuddering breath that you feel through every inch of your body. And then he says, with utter clarity, “I’m not going anywhere.”

You almost break all over again. But he keeps talking, keeps sharing.

“I love you. No — I’m in love with you. I love you more than I can put into words. I want you and only you, and I’m not leaving you. The only reason I would ever walk out of that camp is if you were by my side, and we were leaving together.”

You are…weightless. Boneless. Held up only by Azriel’s arms. A tear rolls down your cheek, and you allow it to fall to the carpet.

“My handling of my feelings,” Az stares down at you, “has been one huge fuck up. I loved you long before you offer to let me practice intimacy on you. Experiencing those things with you…the things you made me feel…only brought those feelings to the surface. And instead of facing them as I should have done, I hid behind Kaeda to avoid them. But it was never about Kaeda. It was always you. It will always be you. And I’m scared, Y/N, I’m fucking terrified. But I’m done running. Done hiding.”

Silence sweeps into the room on swift wings, and you are suddenly incapable of thought, and of somehow turning it into words. Without Azriel’s voice to distract you, you’re aware of the tremors that wrack through his body. As though this is the scariest thing in the world to him, and he’s trying to hold strong against it.

It probably is.

He studies you closely. Croaks out, “Please say something.”

And perhaps it’s giving him the wrong impression entirely, but you’re stepping out of his arms and putting space between you. You just…need to gather your thoughts. To remember how to speak.

“I…” You blink. “I handled it badly, too.”

“It doesn’t matter—”

“I made selfish choices. I…I acted out of jealousy because I wanted you, but you and Kaeda were…”

He shakes his head resolutely. “What I told you before was true. I never touched Kaeda like that. Even before I found out about all that Fenlaros shit, I think I knew that I wouldn’t. That I couldn’t.”

A fact that breaks your heart. Your eyes fill with tears again. “But I still did. Cass and I—”

“Cassian was there for you when I should have been, and I had no right — none — to react the way that I did. If anyone did anything wrong that night, it was me. But what you and Cass did…it does not matter. Not one bit.”

You’re pivoting on the spot, turning your back to him, before you can crumble entirely. He really means it. Really does not hate you for the choice you made, even though it hurt him.

“Y/N,” Az’s voice shakes behind you. “Please…look at me.”

Now you’re confronted with the situation, part of you wants to run — to hide.

But Az is being open. Honest. No matter how hard, how terrifying it is for him…he’s here. He’s trying.

And so you’ll try, too. And you think you might be shaking just as much as he is as you turn back to him.

The two of you stare at each other. Feel the situation out with your gazes alone.

Azriel is the one to break the extended silence.

“You said you need me.” He eyes you. He’s visibly trembling all over, and it has nothing to do with the chill in the room. Trembling like he’s trying to hold himself together against the weight of the situation.

“…Yes.” You swallow. “I do, Az…I think I’ve always needed you.”

“So show me.”

You pause. Blink, your eyes blown wide. “What?”

“Show me how you need me.” He steps closer, and though he’s shaking, he outreaches a hand and find yours. “Show me how to give you what you need.”

Your fingers brush his, and you’re forcing a lump down your throat. Drinking him in. He…he’s exquisite. “You mean…”

“I mean,” the gap is closed between your bodies, and his heat is reaching you, “I don’t want to practice. I want it all…everything…with you. I want you to take me. Only you—”

You’re surging forward with so much pent-up need that when your lips collide with Azriel’s, it almost knocks you both to the floor.

But Azriel’s arms are banding around you, and he’s a pillar against you, kissing you back with just as much heat.

You don’t know which of you makes what move. Your hands are all over him, and his are all over you, and he’s walking you backwards and groaning as the kiss deepens.

You find the hem of his tunic, dip your hands under, fingertips skating warm skin that shudders beneath your touch. “Can I take this off?” You murmur, and he swallows your words greedily.

“All of it — take it all.”

And so you do. There is no method to it. You’re a woman starved and crazed as you tear at his clothing, not caring about where it ends up, so long as it’s no longer on him. More and more tan skin is exposed, more muscles, more scars. And when he kicks out of his boots and breeches and his underwear is the only remaining barrier, you’re reaching for him, for the hardness that’s pushing through the dark grey fabric and taunting you.

But Azriel reaches out an arm to gently stop you. His hand brushes your cheek, and his eyes are pure hunger as he says, “Your turn.”

And it hits you just then that up in until this point, Azriel has never seen you naked — in this capacity, anyway. There have been plenty of non-sexual circumstances over the years in which you’ve gotten a glimpse of each other, but not like this. Even when he began practicing on you, you never took your clothes off.

And you’re fucking nervous. Even more so under the press of his gaze. He looks like he may combust as you slowly move your hands to your shirt and tug the front laces loose. You pull the hem out from where it was tucked into your breeches.

The fabric parts enough that it more or less slides off you and pools on the floor. You do not meet the heavy stare that watches you so closely. You may lose your nerve if you do.

But when the last few items of clothing are off and kicked away from you, and you’re left entirely bare, you hear a sharp intake of breath. Curiosity gets the better of you. You lift your gaze and resist the urge to fold your arms over your chest.

Azriel is staring at you like…like nobody ever has before.

Like you are the rare rays of sunlight that break through the grey landscape of Windhaven. Like the world around you was forged from your own two hands.

Like you’re beautiful, and worthy, and unruined.

“…What is it?” You clear your throat, shifting on the spot.

Azriel shakes out of a daze and takes a single step closer to you. “You are…” His throat bobs, “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.”

You almost laugh. Almost. But something stops you.

The sincerity in his tone, his eyes. The realisation that he truly means that.

Your eyes travel from his face, down his sculpted chest and stomach. The firm, toned legs and what sits beneath him. You’ve seen plenty of his body naked. But…not all at once.

You think the air might be punched from your lungs.

He’s hard as a rock — from looking at you. The tip of his cock is already leaking moisture. His wings flare proudly at his back.

“So beautiful.” He cups your jaw, guiding your eyes back up to his.

There’s nothing else you can say, in that moment, than the words that tumble from your lips.

“I love you,” you whisper.

Emotion crosses his face, and both hands are gripping your cheeks. He kisses you deeply; so deeply that it steals your breath.

And then he pulls away, and he’s repeating his earlier words, his forehead pressed to yours. “Show me — show me what you need. No games, just…you and me.”

No games, indeed. You cannot wait any longer.

You rise on the tips of your toes and claim his mouth with yours, and you’re guiding him back, back, until his legs are hitting the bed and he’s gladly falling onto it. He sprawls out, watching as you climb over him. As your hand caresses his stomach and moves down.

And when your fingertips brush the head of his cock, a deep, delicious noises rumbles in his throat.

You mop the moisture up with your palm, using it to slick the length of him and slide your hand up and down. He hisses between his teeth, hips jerking, hands bunching within the covers on your bed.

“No games,” he repeats through gritted teeth. “This is about both of us.”

And you know that, and you’re not patient enough, anyway, for foreplay right now.

It dawns on you that there will plenty of time for that.

He is not leaving Windhaven — not leaving you.

You will have experiences together beyond this one night.

And with that very fact warming your heart and making it set to burst, you place your legs either side of his body and stare down at him. His cock brushes against your centre, and he can feel how wet you already are for him. His eyes travel down.

You watch, and you ask him, quietly, “You’re sure about this?”

His gaze flicks up immediately. “I’ve never been surer about anything in my life.” He reaches out a trembling hand and brushes a strand of hair out of your face. “That doesn’t mean I’m not nervous — gods, I really fucking am. So scared. I just…want to do it right. To be good for you.”

The sentiment almost brings tears to your eyes. “You couldn’t do it wrong if you tried, Az. Do you trust me?”

“With my whole heart.” He sits up a little — angles himself closer to you. “And I love you with my whole heart, too.”

And that’s all either of you need, isn’t it? Love and trust. The need that exits between you. Everything that is just…yours and Azriel’s relationship in its entirety.

Your eyes remain locked with his as you gently reach down and position his cock at your entrance. He breathes shakily. Doesn’t look away from you once.

Not as you slide down onto him just a little. You pause at the first feel of your walls stretching to accommodate him. A pleasured frown furrows his brow. A moment passes, two, and then you slide down further.

More and more. Sinking onto him. Pausing. Adjusting. With every inch of his huge length that disappears inside you, you feel like every one of your nerve endings is struck by lightning. Azriel’s head lolls back, and he makes a soft noise.

“You’re okay?” You check, hovering over him.

“You feel—” He chokes on his words. “Fuck.”

It’s the encouragement you need to sink the rest of the way onto him. The last few inches slide into you quick, thanks to the slickness that soaks your folds, and then he’s pushed into the hilt and hitting a spot so deep inside you that you can’t stifle the noise that breaks from your throat.

“Did I hurt you?” Azriel gasps, and you can only shake your head. He seems to study your face for confirmation, before he’s pushing up to kiss you.

And you kiss him back. For a moment, that’s all either of you do.

But when he’s losing himself in your mouth, his tongue dancing around yours, seemingly distracted by your kiss…only then do you lift your hips and sink down onto him again. And then you’re falling into a slow, steady rhythm.

Azriel is gasping again, his mouth moving from yours to press kisses to your jaw, your neck, your collarbones — your breasts. As you rock slowly against him, the walls of your pussy squeezing him, coaxing him, he buries his face into your chest and explores you, lips and tongue paying attention to your nipples, teeth grazing with a gentleness that’s almost heartbreaking.

“So beautiful.” He whispers, and the hands that are sitting on your hips travel up your back — up to the scars that live in the place of your stolen wings. “Gods, Y/N, you’re everything.”

You moan, rocking harder on him and wrapping your arms around his neck. You just…want to hold him to you, to feel him against you. It’s like it all comes crashing down on you that he very easily could have left.

But he didn’t. He won’t. He is here and so are you. He is yours and you are his.

“Talk to me,” you breathe, raking your nails down his arms. “Tell me how you feel.”

“So good — feels so good with you wrapped around me.”

“Yeah?” You lean down, brush a kiss to his lips. “You like being inside me?”

“There is — fuck — there is no one, Y/N, that I want to do this with, besides you.” His mouth slants over yours, and he whispers two words — take me — before he’s giving himself to your kiss.

He’s so big, so deep. And the blood in your veins feels like molten lava as the pace picks up, as his trembling begins to subside, and he grows more confident. His groans are loud, and his hands roam over your body before finally landing on your hips. Fingertips dig into your flesh with a dizzying bite, and he’s rocking you, encouraging you to take him. To fuck him.

This is not practice. This is two bolts of lighting striking in the same place. The friction between your bodies is perfect, like nothing else you’ve ever felt. The pleasure may just finish you yet. It’s electric. Addictive. You want to feel like this forever, with him.

And more pleasure floods you as in one swift move, he flips you over — takes you entirely by surprise. You’re landing on your back, and he’s hovering over you. He stills as he stares down at you.

“This is perfect.” He says, dipping down to kiss you again. It makes him move inside you suddenly, and the different angle has you both gasping into each other’s mouths. “Gods.”

“Fuck me, Az.” You moan. “Just like that.”

What starts out slow quickly builds in pace. The roll of Azriel’s hips become thrusts — and the moans, the cries, the words that leave you, all guide them to be deeper, harder. You think you could stay like this forever, with him buried inside of you, wringing pleasure from every corner of your body. It snakes through your veins and zips up your spine, and when his hand travels down and his fingers find your clit, you fucking explode.

You cry out, bucking up from the bed as your orgasm hits you full force. Azriel fucks you through it, and his groans are growing louder, more desperate, as the walls of your cunt clench around him. He breathes out a fractured, desperate noise, leaning down to brush his lips over yours as he fucks into you harder.

“I can’t last much longer.” He chokes around his pleasure, pressing quick, nipping kisses to your mouth. “I can’t—”

“Come for me.” You gasp, locking your legs around his waist. “Come inside me.”

The noise that your words coax from him is downright sinful. He grabs your hips in his hands, slants his mouth over yours. He slams into you again, again, again, and then he’s roaring his pleasure with enough force to shake the bed, and you feel every rope of come that he spills into you.

You’re trembling. Or maybe that’s him. Or both of you. Both slick with sweat, and both shaking, and both unable to hold yourselves up any longer.

Azriel collapses beside you, his body still tangled with yours. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, his heavy breaths heating your skin. You sink a trembling hand into the strands of his hair.

“That was—” His voice hitches, “I can’t…can’t put it into words.”

Neither can you. It’s all you can do to nod as you catch your breath.

“Thank you.” A kiss is pressed against your neck. Another. Az’s arm drapes over your chest, and he moves his mouth to yours. “Thank you.”

Still void of words, you settle on kissing him. Deep. Slow. Unhurried. Your hand cups his cheek, and your tongue strokes into his mouth. Lays out a litany of sentiments that you’re currently incapable of verbalising.

It feels like you kiss each other forever. But then you’re pulling back, pressing your foreheads together. And you stare into Azriel’s eyes as you tell him once again, “I love you.”

Emotion floods his eyes, and he holds you as close to him as he possible can, murmuring onto your mouth, “I love you, too. I think I always have.”

You know you always have. You tuck yourself into his side, content to feel his skin against yours. The rest of the world floats away. There is nothing and no one but you and him. Your Azriel.

Your eyes are growing heavy when he brushes his lips against your forehead, and he whispers the words you’ve needed to hear for so, so long.

“Whatever happens, Y/N,” another kiss joins the first, “you and I will face it together.”

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