#: ̗̀➛ * their blades break against your heart / about.

[mev-fizzah-writes]

ᑎᑌᗰᗷ 𓌉◯𓇋

A/N: Continuation of Part 1 with you in a hospital and Damian scarred. You know he is, even if he won't tell you. Will he keep this secret for his blood sister/sibling or will he cave in and tell the family, the same family that caused this. TW: Substance abuse, abuse, alcoholism, brief mention of underage drinking, self harm etc

۫ ꣑ৎ"You really know how to make me cry" -Billie Eilish ۫ ꣑ৎ

Every point of your life could be summarised by one thing, harm. Back when your mother was still alive, when you lived with your step-father and even after Bruce had taken you in.

Harm. It was either you were the cause of it, or someone else. That's when the drinking started, back when you were sixteen you had your first sip of alcohol. Then you were eighteen and it was the only beverage you'd drink, not legal but it was Gotham so it wasn't hard to get alcohol. After two years of non-stop drinking, all you could see in the mirror was her. The droopy eyes and frail body, the silence followed you like it followed her.

Like mother like daughter right? Right.

The harsh, white lights pierced through your eyelids, pulling you back to a conscious state. There was the sound of a distant beat of a heart monitor, everything sounded mechanic. It was nothing like the filled silence in the bathroom. You squinted your eyes, trying to make sense of your surroundings, the faint smell of antiseptic and the plastic-feel sheets you lay on gave it away.

You lay, almost lifeless, on a hospital bad with an IV drip attached to your arms. It was like it was feeding life into you, replacing the smooth liquid that once graced your tongue. It made your head throb, like it was matching the beeping of the near by monitor. The pieces that led to here were starting to come back, filling you with dread.

There fragmented memories of broken glass, now your foot started to hurt, the bitter taste of alcohol and the looks of horror in Damian's eyes, it all resurfaced.

It was like the guilt was trying to drown you, the way it came down in waves. it was more potent than the hangover that held you down, the reality of your mistake hit like an axe to the skull. It was like your head was splitting in two, you were never supposed to come back to that place. You were never supposed to fail...but you did. And the obnoxious ceiling of the hospital was proof of your failure. It made your eyes sting, every second that goes by made the dam, you spent years perfecting, break. You've never fallen so far down. You've never felt so low.

As your eyes adjusted to the fluorescent lights you finally noticed him. Damian, the side of his head pressed against you bed and his hand loosely in yours. Even in his sleep he didn't look peaceful, his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth down-turned, poor baby looked so miserable.

It was your fault

You moved your hand to his hair, gently, you played with it. He always had such nice hair, even when he first arrived. It must've been in his genes, a perfect mix of his mother and father...you on the other hand..

Despicable. Every shitty thing about Bruce and everything about your mother seemed to fit in a human shaped mould. A human shaped like you. You felt the coldness of the room hit your eyes, it made the tears over fill your eyes. They slipped down when Damian woke up, confusion evident on his face as he sat up, he didn't bother with the embarrassed act.

He was different, not instantly meeting your eyes. No, instead he looked at every wire coming off of you, then he met your eyes. He met them with caution, and you could feel the disgust and self hatred bubble in your stomach.

He shouldn't have seen that, no kid should see someone like that. His eyes, usually filled with determination and will, now displayed a storm of emotions-anger, worry, distrust. It was a vulnerability he almost never showed, now laid out for the world to see. The hurt in his face cut deeper than any blade, it stung harder than any reprimand ever would. You pleaded with your eyes for him not to say anything, there wasn't much more she could handle.

"Why..." he finally spoke, his voice hoarse and raw. Look at what you've done, you've failed it all. Failed at being a daughter, a student, a robin and now you've failed him. You failed at being a sister. "How long-"

"It was one slip up, just one I promise." Desperation laced your voice as you sat up. It was just one.

His jaw hung open as he tried to get the word out, he didn't want to be interrupted, he didn't want to be comforted, he wanted to angry but he didn't know who to blame.

"No, don't interrupt me. One? It wasn't one slip up, it was a big one." He was right, and that made it hurt so much more. In your mind, Damian was one of your strongest siblings ever, he always knew what to say, so watching his chin wobble and his mind scramble for words made your heart drop further and further. "...was it me?"

Huh...

Why, on this god given earth, would he ever think that? You watched him as he clamped his hands together and the way his voice was barely audible. Oh God...why would he think that? The question repeated in your head as he waited for an answer.

"No. Not in a million year Dami." You looked him dead in the eyes as the words left your tongue, it was obvious that he wasn't fully convinced. You couldn't stand seeing him like this, "come here." You tapped the spot next to you, beckoning to come here. He does exactly that and you gently pull him closer. The room is quiet, just slow beeps coming from the corner. He hesitates before allowing his head to rest on your shoulder. With your head resting a top of his, Damian hold onto you. He's holding tight, like you'll float away if he lets go. His grip is firm but gentler, a silent way of him saying 'I'm here.'

"I'm so sorry." You whisper, knowing it's probably not the words he wants to here right now. You can tell with the slight tremble of his hands. It makes you think, is this how you would've reacted if your mother survived that night? Would you have hugged her? Would you have asked her?

For a while neither of you speak, words weren't necessary. Right now you needed him, and he needed you. No matter how much you want to leave, you would never go without a proper good bye. Dami was like an anchor, he kept you grounded when needed. And that's all you needed, him. You didn't Bruce's money, you didn't need Richard or Jason or anyone else. Right on the brink of sleep, you heard your brothers little voice call your name.

You hummed in response to indicate that he's got your attention.

"You broke my promise." His voice was quiet and weary, like he was treading slowly, in case he accidently set off a bomb.

"I did, buddy." You don't know how many apologize you had left in you.

"Promise you won't do that again."

You smiled softly, knowing that this was really just the calm before the storm. But ignoring that fact, you held out your pinkie.

"Pinkie promise." You managed to get out, you were really starting to get tired. Damian rolled his eyes and muttered 'childish acts' underneath his breath, but he still interlocked his pinkie with yours. "I love you Dami." The words left your mouth just before your eyes shut, there was no bother waiting for a response, you knew how he was. And you knew how perfect he was.

"I love you too, sister...and I am sorry." ˙⋆✮

Taglist ˙⋆✮

@pix-stuff @mangogoesfishin @navs-bhat

[prophetries]

some canon intricacies that i want to expound upon bc miss trevelyan has been alive for a decade now and. i've taken liberties.

the anchor: it is parasitic, semi-sentient, and highly unstable. it “feeds” from the demons it sends back into the fade. when those demons no longer exist for her to “feed” it, it begins to “feed” on evelyn herself, slowly taking up more and more of her arm until she has to have it completely covered at all times. 

recurring dreams: haven is a very symbolic place for her, and she frequently dreams of returning there, before it was destroyed. it's always empty, and she always ends up in the same cabin she woke up in after the events at the temple of sacred ashes. 

fade-touched dreams: after she defeats corypheus and solas disappears, the anchor starts to destabilize. it grows bigger and bigger over the next two years, and soon evelyn cannot control when and where she walks in the fade. it's hard for her to distinguish the difference between a regular dream in which she has no control, and walking the fade, where she has some control. 

recurring nightmares: just like she has the same dreams over and over, she tends to have the same nightmares. they tend to involve a scene in which she sits at the head of a great table, with everyone she knows in attendance. she pours her blood from her chest into a great golden goblet, and everyone passes it around to drink. 

fear of fire: in seeing herself as andraste's ‘chosen’, and by some metric, her avatar on earth, she is terrified of being burned alive like her prophet. it features heavily in her recurring nightmares during the events of inquisition. 

religious delusions: evelyn's religious fervor is spurned on by a deep childhood loneliness (treating the maker/andraste as imaginary friends), wishful thinking, politically-advantageous posturing, and a desire to be a bringer of hope to her people. she cannot comprehend a reality in which 'evelyn trevelyan' could lead the inquisition. however, the herald of andraste / the inquisitor can.

crisis of faith: after the events at adamant fortress, her faith is somewhat shaken, but she maintains the facade until at least the events of trespasser. then, learning that the elven gods are the ones who created the golden city, etc, she falls headlong into deconstruction. she still holds many of the mores and norms of the andrastian church, but she does not believe there is a maker to pray to anymore. she believes andraste was a real historical figure, but was someone who, much like herself, used religious fervor to succeed in her mission.

scars: during her final fight with @coryphcus, right before she sent him through the fade with the anchor, he gouged three ragged scars across her chest in an attempt to drag her in with him. they heal very poorly, the red never fades, and the edges are jagged, likely due to the effects of the blight and/or red lyrium. she covers her chest constantly, and has a great amount of self-consciousness around them. where she might have been more liberal with her attire or her own nudity, after she receives these scars, she starts to dress much more conservatively. they ache periodically, as well.

identity: i very, VERY rarely refer to evelyn as "evelyn" inside of threads/drabbles, because that is not how she perceives herself from the point she is nominated inquisitor. the attack at haven, and the dawn will come thing, changed her in a very profound way. that's when she realized that she needed to BE more if anyone was going to believe she could stand against a woud-be god. likewise, she doesn't care for people referring to her by her first name and (maker forbid) any diminuative (other than cousins [other trev pcs], romantic partners, or @fatescarred's amariel). however, after disbanding the inquisition, she will shed some of that mindset and, for example, introduce herself as 'evelyn' to the veilguard.

[coweye]

The Worst Logan

Logan Howlett x Reader!Loganverse| smut | 5.8k words

Summary: You are the deceased-anchor-being-Logan's lover, having found yourself with Laura in the void, you navigate meeting the variant of the love of your life. Sweet dick kicking angst with gratuitous smut, cause we all know Logan eats pussy like a CHAMP. 😤

This is self indulgence at its finest, but it had be to done. 7-years ago, the movie Logan broke something within me that has finally been fixed! 🤠💕

Warning: Explicit - smut. canon death, depression, angst, spoilers for Logan / Wolverine and deadpool, cunnilingus, unprotected p in v, creampie, all the good stuff. 18+

The first time you see him again, the new him, the other him you mean. It’s in the cave accompanied by a man who talks far too much.

You recognise his voice in an instant when the mouth finally allows him to get a word in edgeways. His voice. 

You’ve heard it nearly every night for the past seven years. It's a few octaves deeper than you remember and filled to the brim with vitriol but it's definitely his. The realisation that your memory has been warped by time is a blow to the gut but you continue towards the sound all the same.

When finally you round the corner Logan stands before you in all his glory. For a moment you are rendered utterly unable to form a single sentence as he leans against the wall, a bottle of bourbon in his palm and adorned in yellow and blue.

Your mind can't reconcile this figure as the man you buried. He has the same sneer, the same broad shoulders, he even has the same stance - but Logan, your Logan, would rather die than wear that garish yellow suit and admit to being the hero he always was. 

His nose flares in what you believe to be recognition as he smells your presence, you allow your powers to retreat and reveal yourself. As your invisibility ebbs away Logan snarls in surprise as the talkative man in red gasps theatrically and begins jumping on the spot. 

Your fears are proven well founded when your eyes connect with his across the room, instead of the love and recognition, you find only open hostility and rage.

Your heart had bulldozed all logic, you were in the fucking void, of course it was a variant.

This Logan looks younger; his hair not so grey, his face unscarred and his eyes not so tired. 

This not-quite-Logan stares right back at you seemingly ill at ease with the stranger who is currently taking an inventory of his face. 

“Logan, that's them. It’s X-23 and Y/N, the one’s I told you about.” You graze your palm along your daughter's back in support as you come to stand beside her. 

“Her name is Laura.” It’s a knee jerk reaction; your correction. Your girl wasn’t the sum total of an experiment, she was her own person with her own thoughts and feelings, not a weapon to be utilised. 

The Wolverine’s gaze darts between the two of you, it’d be comical if you didn’t feel like you were about to regurgitate your lunch. They land on Laura, and linger there for a few moments, before they return to you, it's as if he’s trying to find you in her features. 

You barely hear the man you will later come to know fondly as Wade Wilson, question how you all ended up in the void.

“There was a knock at the door TVA sent me here, saying my world was dying … and I never even got the chance to fight for it.” Blade explains remorsefully. 

“They sent us here because they knew we’d put up a fight.” You utter distractedly, finally breaking your staring contest with Logan as he takes a swig from the bottle he’s currently white knuckling. 

“People like us don’t go quietly, TVA knows that so they took us out.” Elektra attests.

“The answer is yes, I’m in.” Wade declares.

“In what?” Blade questions bemused by the man in red. 

“A team up, you me, me you, all of us together, lets get the fuck outta’ here.”

“Don’t listen to him, he’s a fucking liar!” Logan growls, furious at the other man. 

“It was an educated wish!”

“HA!” The loathing behind it makes you pause, he was so angry. 

The heat in his voice, the resentment, it burns you. You supposed even your Logan had his fair share of rage.  

When he arrived at the mansion all those years ago, fresh faced and wild, you had adored him even then, though Logan was far too preoccupied with Jean to notice the torch you carried for him back then.

It was ironic that It had taken the utter annihilation of the X-Men to bring you together. Charles’ accident had left the two of you as sole survivors. Over the years in hiding your ability to mould force fields managed to keep the worst of the effects of Charles’ seizures at bay, but Charles Xavier was one of the most powerful telepaths to grace the earth and your powers had limits. 

Those years were some of the darkest and yet the best of your life, you found yourself growing to love the man the world called The Wolverine.

You realise you’ve entirely tuned out Wade’s rousing speech and have spent the time analysing the man wearing your love’s face currently gargling bourbon though your name pulls you out of your reverie. 

“Laura, Y/N? What’s it gonna’ be girlies?” 

“Lets fucking go.” Laura agrees heartily, you simply nod still dazed. 

“YES! LET’S FUCKING GO!” Wade shouts back fist pumping. 

“You’re all fucking dead.”

Much later in the evening when the sun has finally set you seek him out. When you come across the father and daughter duo before the campfire you hold back, your skin slowly begins reflecting light, fading from vision as you call upon your powers to hide in the treeline. 

They both needed this and it wasn’t something you were about to get in the way of. They talk for a little while, before they part ways, both a little teary. Laura nods your way despite being unable to see you as she heads back to the cave, her nose just as keen as her fathers. 

So it shouldn’t surprise you a few moments later when you hear Logan's voice call across the clearing.

“You gonna’ stand there all night, Bub?” The man sounds utterly exhausted. 

You say nothing in response, only dismissing your powers and revealing yourself as you advance. You take Laura’s seat at the fire, not quite having the courage to look at him just yet. 

“You hear all that? Should mind your own damn business.” You remembered this Logan well, the one aching for a fight, desperate to shed his vulnerability and bloody his fists. 

“I didn’t hear a thing, Logan.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, you haven’t had to gentle parent The Wolverine in a while but it’s like riding a bike. “I wanted to let the two of you talk, she needed it and I think maybe you did too.”

“What do you fuckin’ know.” He growls dismissively, swigging from his bottle of what now appears to be scotch. “You can skip the speech and go back up, I’m not looking for company.” 

“I’m not here to tell you what to do, Logan.” Finally, you look away from the fire and find his eyes fixed on you, you swallow the lump in your throat before you speak. “I just wanted to see you.”

“See me?” He questions incredulously. “Well, keep the change, bub. Good night.”

Despite your smile at his words, you can’t help the tears that begin to cloud your eyes. Your mind and your heart have been locked in a constant battle since setting eyes on him. This man by all rights is Logan. The man you have mourned relentlessly and yet in every way that matters he isn’t.

“It’s like seeing a ghost.” Is the only explanation you can give him, his response is a stoic cheers with his bottle before he takes a deep gulp. 

Finally either his curiosity or the alcohol gets the better of him as he questions. “You her Mother?” 

“Yes and no.” His stare doesn’t leave your face as he waits for you to elaborate. “Her biological mother was a woman from Mexico City that the fuckers in the lab exploited, all we know is that she disappeared after giving birth. After … you … after everything that happened in North Dakota…” You trail off.

Your voice is suddenly thick and your words get stuck in your throat as you try to make them form. It's utterly embarrassing as you feel the traitor tears begin to form. 

A bottle of Johnny Walker enters your field of vision from where you sit staring at your clasped hands in your lap. Startled, you glance up to find the Wolverine standing before you, casting an impossibly large shadow as he holds out the bottle.

You accept the offering from his gloved hand, your fingers grazing his in the transaction as you take a swig or two (or three) before passing it back. He looks thoughtful when he places his lips on the place where your own had just lingered, as he retakes his seat. With amber courage coursing your veins, you continue. 

“She was all I had - if not for her, I-.” You wipe your nose, staring back into the fire. If it was a struggle to meet his eyes before, it was impossible for you now.  “I just couldn’t see the point in being alive anymore if everything just slowly gets stripped away; the X-Men, then Charles and then Lo-” 

You don’t know it, but you’re preaching to the fucking choir with your words. It was rare to find a soul, going through the exact same torture as yourself. Logan found himself softening to you, it was as involuntary as it was unwelcome, but he couldn’t help it as you described a battle so close to the one he fought daily. 

“-she reminded me what I had to live for. Laura she is fierce and so fucking kind; she is everything I loved about him.” You cut your trauma dumping to a swift end as you remember yourself. “So no, to answer your question. I’m not her biological mother, but she’s my daughter in every way that counts.”

Silence reigns for a moment as neither one of you knows what to say to the other. 

“You loved him?” Logan’s voice is deeper than before when he speaks the sentence. You raise your eyes from the fire to find his for the first time since you began monologuing. They’re filled with something you can’t quite name.

“I did.”

Logan seems to contemplate this, mulling it over as he continues drinking. Finally, he seems to reach some sort of conclusion.  “You should get some sleep, big day for you tomorrow.”

“Can I stay here … with you for tonight?” The words slip out before you really even mean them to. Tomorrow you might be going to your death and the ghost of the love of your life is here alive and real, what do you really have to lose?

Logan does a double take, not quite expecting those to be the words that leave your lips. “I’m not him, Darlin’.”

“No, I suppose you’re not.” You sigh, “but could you please just hold me whilst I sleep, James?”

A huge part of you expects him to tell you to fuck off back to the cave and leave him to his booze fueled pity party. However, against all odds, he doesn’t do that. 

Logan simply lifts the half full bottle of scotch to his lips and downs every last drop. He’s a little unsteady on his feet when finally he stands up to his full height and turns towards the blankets he’s laid out on the ground. 

“Fuck it.” He growls and drops himself like a sack of potatoes onto the pile with little regard for his own body. You’ve certainly had nicer invitations into his bed but when he waves you over with a lazy gesture, you can’t help but hurry before he changes his mind. 

Before you know it you’re tucked into Logan’s side. His gloved hand doesn’t quite seem to know where to go, more accustomed to brutality than tenderness these days as it hesitates for a moment suspended in the air. After some careful consideration he delicately places it on the dip in your waist securing you to him. 

Logan’s breath is uneven, though he’s doing his best to seem unaffected by your closeness. It has been years since someone has touched him with such easy affection and the way your body curls around his own as if it was created to do just that is driving him crazy. 

You are completely at ease with him, you trust him so entirely it almost breaks his fucking heart. Logan's stomach is heavy with something he can’t name, you fucking terrify him. Yet, he doesn’t move because you feel so fucking good as he holds you. 

It's scary, you realise, how easy it would be to pretend this was your Logan as you melt into his embrace. He smells exactly the same as you bury your face in his neck, the roughness of his beard feels the same pressed against your forehead. 

This Wolverine’s arms are a little fuller and his chest a little firmer, but he still holds you the same. You make a decision to not focus on such difficult philosophical concepts as variants and the morality of switching out your Wolverine. You decide to live in the moment, to just enjoy the furnace of his body keeping you warm and his arm encircling your waist protecting you from the world, it’s so easy to pretend that this was your Logan, so you do. 

And you fall asleep quicker than you have in years.

It is still night when you awaken, it's not quite dawn but the fire has burned out to a low smoulder. You’re not sure what has awoken you from the best sleep you’ve had in a long while, that is until you feel the arms wrapped around you and the sleeping Wolverine holding you in a death grip against his chest, his half hard appendage digging into your hip. 

Everything is still hazy; you’re floating in that sweet spot between waking and dreaming, you forget about North Dakota and, god forgive me, Laura. 

You’re back in your bed at home and Logan is holding you.

There's no my logan, new logan, old logan. 

He’s just Logan. 

You bury yourself deeper in his neck. 

It’s only for a moment though before it all comes flooding back and the agony overwhelms you like a blade to the gut. 

Instantly tears flood your cheeks as you shake from your silent sobs. 

“...Y/N?” Logan's voice is thick with confusion and sleep, his grip has loosened somewhat to allow you to breathe but he doesn’t release his hold on you. “What’s wrong darlin’?” 

That affectionate name is the last nail in the coffin it fucking ends you. 

All teary, and regrettably maybe a teensy bit snotty, you lean forward and kiss him. Kiss isn’t the right word but it’s your intention. Your lips touch one anothers before he’s pulling away and holding you back. 

“Y/n… Darlin’ you don’t want this… I’m not-”

“But you are Logan. You’re him just as much as he’s you.” Your hands rise to his jaw, running your finger along its familiar sharp edge. “You’re Logan.”

“Y/N… I’d be taking advantage…” His voice is firm yet gruff as he tries to inject reason into the conversation. As usual being the good guy he’s constantly telling everyone he’s not. 

“I am so goddamn sick and tired of being sad, please Logan.” This time when you capture his lips, he doesn’t rear back. You’re not sure what’s going through his mind, but his self control seems to snap within him as he begins returning the kiss in earnest.

Logan’s tongue swipes along your bottom lip begging entry, entry you swiftly allow. You’re breathing heavily through your nose as he plunders the depths of your mouth, exploring your mouth with his quick tongue. 

Deciding to make the next move you push yourself up, throwing a leg over him to straddle his lower stomach. He’s lifted the top half of his body to ensure he doesn’t lose your mouth, your teeth clash slightly with the movement and you can’t help a bubble of nervous laughter.  He pays it little mind though as he swallows the noise, his hands coming to rest on your hips. 

Instantly, you grind your hips downward on the growing bulge that lurks below. Logan lets out a deep groan at the friction and his hands on your hips raise to the bottom of your tee in response, his thick hands tugging at it requesting your permission.

Nodding, you pull back causing him to groan at the loss of your hot mouth on his. Though it's only for a moment as the second the tee is over your head, he’s back on you, only it's your bare neck he’s lashing with affection now.

Logan breathes in deep your scent mixing with the heady aroma of your arousal. He’s nipping and licking along the smooth skin, soothing his bites as quickly he makes them. It's the animal instinct within him, telling him to devour you entirely; make you his. 

“Logan…” You gasp, your eyes are clenched shut in pleasure as he bucks his hips upwards into your jean covered centre.  

Logan pulls back to take you in, writhing above him in the moonlight, you’re fucking beautiful, though the flash of familiar metal between your breasts catches his eye, unable to stop himself, he catches it in his fist. 

Dog tags; his old dog tags.

‘LOGAN’ is etched into the aged metal and they’re warm to the touch from living beneath your shirt over your heart. 

The realisation hits him like a freight train, not only was he loved by you, but for his other self to have given you these, he fucking loved you. 

He’s not sure why it didn’t occur to him before, that the other him was as devoted to you as you were to him. He’s not entirely sure how to feel about it, but he twists his hands, careful not to snap the metal string, but using it to pull you close. 

For the other dead Logan, the hero he’s heard so goddamn much about, he decides he’ll give you the treatment you deserve. 

As if you weigh nothing at all he flips you onto your back, his hands dropping the dog tags and falling to the waistband of your jeans. His dexterous hands undo the button so quickly, that your trousers are peeled from your legs before you know it, leaving you in an unimpressive unmatching set of underwear beneath his roaming eyes. Though Logan couldn’t give a fuck as he groans at the sight of your body exposed to him. 

Logan begins by kissing down your stomach before his hands linger on your black panties, he can't help but grin at the tiny barely there bow in the middle of them; you’re like a gift all wrapped up for him. 

His eyes lift to meet your own as he begins sucking at the fabric that's keeping your pussy from him, it's already damp with your arousal and by the time he finishes, absolutely sodden with his saliva.

“Logan, please…” you whisper desperately as your hands find his ‘tufts’ for a lack of a better word. They were new, but you liked them, plus they now seemed pretty functional. 

He takes only a moment to remove his gloves, before they return eagerly to your body. Those thick hands traverse the planes of your thighs, they’re quick in their passing as they make their way up to the waistband of your panties, he hooks them over his thumb and reveals your soaking core to his hungry eyes and he’s right back to wanting to fucking devour you, and boy, fucking does he. 

Enthusiastic, would be the word, earth-shattering would be another - the word to describe how Logan eats pussy.

Logan without much preamble dives into your centre, his tongue slips into your hot wet heat, lingering for a moment on your clit, circling it reverently before he dips that talented tongue inside of you. His nose knocks against your clit several times, each more delicious than the last as he utterly devours your pussy. He moans, grinding his hips into the dirt and readjusts pulling you closer, his thick muscled arms locking under your thighs as you buck against his mouth. 

You're a complete goner the second he slips a single long thick finger inside of you. 

“Fuck, Lo, I’m gonna-” 

“Come, baby... I got’ya.” He mumbles into your pussy. And fuck me, he does. He carries on lapping at you all the way through your orgasm, drawing it out of you like the pied fucking piper of pussy. It feels like you’ve been falling for hours by the time you finally come down, only Logan doesn’t allow you any reprieve before he’s back to lashing your clit with his quick tongue. Your hands find those faux ear tufts once more and he groans as you pull on them a little more sharply than you intend in your shock, in answer Two fingers bury themselves deep inside of you.

“One more.” He’s negotiating orgasms, but you have no qualms as he rubs his nose side to side with affection against your sensitive bud. His tongue and nose moving in pace with his fingers, currently fucking in and out of you. 

It's when he scissors those thick long fingers inside of you, hitting that spongy spot within you that makes your back arch. 

Your top half has left the ground, he grunts in annoyance, suspending your hips back to his mouth at the angle he likes. Those deep hazel eyes meet yours from between your thighs, crazed and animalistic, driven wild with arousal as he eats your pussy with gusto.

It's that image that thrusts you over the edge once more, your back hitting the ground as your body seizes, thrusting your hips against his mouth. 

Without any preamble a third finger joins stretching you deliciously. The hand not currently fucking you, leaves your hip to caress your stomach stroking the flesh there, not quite able to reach your breast. 

“Lo… fuck… yes… right… right fucking there.” You cry as he draws your second orgasm of the night out, only when you tug at his tuft due to overstimulation does he acquiesce and pull back, only of course, after cleaning up your gaping desperate hole. 

He sucks his fingers clean as he sits back on his knees, his cock thick and tenting against the yellow bottoms of his suit. Your arousal has soaked through his beard making his chin slick, he wipes it with a single swipe with the back of hand though, it does very little for his sodden chin. 

Tired of not touching him, you sit forward grabbing at his belt. It's a difficult contraption that confounds you, though Logan is far too wound up to find any humour from it. 

 He replaces your hands unbuckling the thing before finding the hem of his shirt and pulling it over his head. 

There, finally in all his glory, he is exposed to you and you’ve never been a religious woman, but Mary mother of fucking christ, he is gorgeous. Logan’s chest is fucking… transcendant to behold, it's like he’s been sculpted by god herself, the light isn’t the best out of here, but you hope to god you don’t die tomorrow simply for wanting to take your time and lick each and every single one of those muscles on his stomach. 

Its your turn to leap forward onto your knees and join his mouth with yours, he tastes distinctly of you and his chin is still sodden, but you couldn’t give less of a fuck, you love the fact your desire is still marking his skin. 

Your hands trace the firm abs at your disposal, before dipping into his now open trousers and underwear to find him rock hard. 

If his physique impressed you, you had a big storm coming, because his cock was a fucking resplendant beauty and it was plain to see from the swelling Logan really liked eating pussy. 

Your fingers barely touched as you pumped him, once twice, spreading the copious amounts of precum along his shaft.

“Fuck.” He grunts into your mouth. You lean down, positioning yourself to take him in your mouth, though he stops you in your tracks grabbing your shoulder. “No sweetheart, I want your pussy.” You clench around nothing at his filthy words, this man will be the fucking death of you. 

You reach behind you and free your tits from their confines, another moan leaves his throat as he pushes you backwards. On his hands and knees he’s deliberate with every move as kicks the bottoms of his suit off as he prowls towards you.

Finally, he’s in between your legs naked as the day he was born. His hands are on your breasts, exploring the new plains exposed to him, playing with your nipples alternating between sucking and twirling them between his fingers. 

So lost in his skilled hands, you barely notice when one disappears to line himself up, it's a shock, the sudden intrusion, but not an unwelcome one as he thrusts himself forward and as deep as he can go. 

You moan his name into his ear, doing your best to keep your volume down.

He has prepared you well, you’re so worked up that he slides home through your tight slit. The sheer size of him means it's a stretch that borders on uncomfortable, but the second his hand finds your clit you’re clenching around him and grinding forward, desperate for more. Unable to control himself, his claws extend, he grunts pulling you close and thrusting them down into the ground. 

“Fuck, you’re tight.” He grunts into your neck, where he's busy lavishing the flesh once again with bites. Your neck is going to be black and blue tomorrow, but you can’t find it in you to give a single fuck.

The two of you are so fucking close his bare skin so deliciously hot against your own, but you want more, you need more.

Logan pulls his hips backwards, pulling out of you until only the tip remains before slamming home and spearing you wide open his cock. Your moans blend together as you lose yourself in each other's bodies.

Logan is worked up from eating your cunt, so it doesn’t take long for the sensation to hit him.

“Fuck, where do you want it?” He grunts into your neck, as his hand descends to rub quick circles on your clit. He pulls your ass up, making sure to hit the spot inside of you that makes your toes curl.

You know he’s teetering on the edge, desperate to make you cum before he does. 

“Inside - come inside me, baby.” You whimper into his neck as he pounds into you reaching your deepest recesses with his thick cock, his hammering, it’s unforgiving with his enhanced strength but it pushes him deeper into spots you couldn’t have imagined. He groans at your words, sounding every bit the wounded animal he is. Your shared groans and the sound of his balls slapping against your ass as he takes you again, and again is all that can be heard in the clearing. 

Finally as he joins your lips in a kiss, you come hard on his cock. Clenching around him as your body writhes uncontrollably. 

Logan adjusts his hold on your thighs, now he uses your body, drawing out your pleasure but ultimately chasing his own. The pace is fast as he grunts and groans erotically into your neck, he fucking growls as his hips stutter against your own, and you know you should be more careful, but the thought of him cumming inside you has you gripping his cock like a vice once more. You give him a tight sheath to come in, and he pumps you fucking full of his cum and its a big fucking load. Logan thrusts a few more times, pushing his seed deep inside of you as he claims your mouth once more.

You run your hands through his hair as he lets his body fall against yours, he’s supporting his own weight, thank god, you don’t think you could handle his muscle, let alone the adamantium skeleton. He’s still sheathed inside you as the two of you revel in the closeness.

The silence stretches on for an amount of time you can’t quite quantify. The two of you take in your surroundings, listening to the quiet of the forest, until your breathing has finally calmed down. 

Logan lifts himself up on one arm, and pushes your hair back from your face. You stare at him in the moonlight for a long moment, unable to help yourself as you trace his familiar features. His strong nose and the curve of his brow, your finger dances along his flesh. 

Logan’s eyes close, so touch starved he basks in your affection. 

“I-” Logan goes to speak, before you drop your finger on his lips.

“It’s okay. Whatever happens tomorrow, happens. I’m okay with it.” You smile at him, there's a chill to the air but you’ve got your Wolverine warming you up. “I just wanted one night to be about something other than death.”

He takes your hand from his lips and kisses along the back of it and up your wrist, though It's a slippery slope as he hardens inside of you again. 

Logan manages to pull two more orgasms out of you before dawn.

When your time has run out, the two of you finally dress, not wanting to be found in a compromising position. Logan curls his body around yours and buries his face in your hair as he spoons you from behind. 

Just when you’re just on the cusp of sleep, he finally speaks into the night. Logan opens up about his world tearfully, instantly you reach your hand down, finding his own thicker one resting on your belly and you intertwine your fingers with his. He tells you of the mutant hunting as you draw comforting circles on the back of his hand, it's not much, but it's more than he’s ever had whilst reliving his worst day. When he has finally bared his soul, the two of you fall back into silence. 

After what has been an emotionally, not to mention physically taxing night the two of you finally fall asleep if only for a few more hours, two incredibly damaged souls offering one another comfort.

It’s later in the morning when you finally awake. The sun has risen that much is clear but you're slow to awaken from your comfortable position in Logan's arms, his warm strong body coiled against your back fighting off the worst of the early morning chill, his face still buried in your hair as he snores peacefully.

There’s a sensation niggling at you, you think it's what woke you up in the first place; you can’t shake the sensation of being watched. 

Lazily you open your eyes, only for your heart to drop to your asshole when you find Wade Wilson about 10-inches from your face lying on his side, his head supported by his hand.

“Mornin’ sleepy head, have a good night?” You can hear the smile in his voice. 

“AGH!”  Unable to stop both your cry of fear and your fight or flight response in progress, you throw yourself backwards, your powers activating of their own accord, and slamming your body into Logan’s chest. He startles awake, with the telltale ‘snikt’ of his claws extending as he orientates himself, his arm coming out to block you from the threat, despite not being able to see you. 

After your brain catches up, you call your power back, but Logan doesn’t do the same, keeping his claws out seemingly ready to slice up his not-so-best friend. 

“Get the fuck outta’ here, Wade.” Logan growls harshly at the other man, his voice is filled to the brim with hatred.

“Hmph - this is what I get for acting altruistically. I thought a good stress relieving bone in the woods with your cherie amour would really sort out that bee in your bonnet, but you sir are just a very unpleasant man and I’m worried that-”

“WADE.” This time Logan’s voice is a threat as he shouts at the man. You place a hand on his muscled arm to steady him. Though he may have stopped your heart with his antics, Wade isn’t doing anything particularly outrageous.  Logan shakes your hand from his arm and allows his claws to retract as he stands. 

“Thanks for jumping to my defence there, Y/N. Great to meetcha bt-dubs, huge fan.” You’re disoriented from the wakeup call but you shake the hand he offers you.  Honestly, you’re still trying to process the head-fuckery of the past day, so you don’t have a quick response for him, though the mouth doesn’t seem to mind as he continues. “That mean lil’ lady is asking for ya’. Thought I’d come and check you and big yellow weren’t still bumpin’ uglies. Didn’t want her to see you and Papa going to town on each other's fun parts.”

“Uh - Thanks… Wade?” 

“That’s me.” He theatrically begins bestowing multiple kisses on the back of your hand he still had in his grasp, which you retract gently. “Oh, and we’re done.”

Pushing yourself up, you go to stand though Logan offers you his newly gloved palm. You lock your fingers around his and the two of you stand together, inches apart and your fingers still intertwined, neither quite sure what to say to the other. Wade’s ‘awh’ over your shoulder shatters the moment and he drops your hand instantaneously. 

After a beat or two Logan leans forward, placing a single solitary kiss on your forehead. “See ya’ around, bub.”

“Where’s my smooch, Logie-bear?”

“Go fuck yourself, Wade.” He calls as he walks around, Logan doesn’t look back as he heads off into the forest. 

You still had faith he’d turn up for the fight, Logan always turned up when it counted and you knew this time would be no different. 

“Hate to see him leave, but love to watch him go.” Wade sighs linking his arm with yours. 

“Mmh, You can say that again.” You agree with the clown watching Logan’s ass as he walks away, you swear you see his step falter thanks to his impeccable hearing, but he doesn’t turn back. 

The two of you turn and you begin walking back to the cave arm in arm with the strange man to prepare for the assault on Cassandra’s lair when Wade finally asks the question you know he’s been dying to ask since meeting you “So, Y/N just between us girls… how big is it?”

LOGAN TENDER HAIR TUCK SUPREMACY RISE. I'll use it in every fic, don't think I won't.

Thanks for reading xxx

Graphics by my pal - @saradika-graphics 💕

[satoruxx]

you're sweating when you wake up, skin sticking painfully to your bedsheets as your bleary eyes dart around, attempting to make focus of your surroundings. the room is still dark, barely touched by the slight bit of moonlight that attempts to peak through the closed windows—defiant. it takes a minute to realize that the sounds that are breaking the silence are actually coming from your own throat—breathy, wheezing gasps of terror.

your stomach drops when your fingers grip cold and empty fabric. he's gone he's gone he's go—

"what are you doing up, pretty?"

your head snaps to the doorway. satoru stands there, sweats hanging low on his hips even as his hand remains curled around a glass of water. his hair is tousled with sleep, but his cerulean eyes are sharp and lively.

as soon as he sees the panic lacing your expression, his eyes widen, long legs practically tripping over themselves as he stumbles towards you.

"what happened?" he asks sharply, frantically placing the cup on the bedside table to take your face into his palms. shades of blue dart back and forth across your features as he perches one knee on the mattress and peers down at you. "are you okay?"

his touch sends electricity through your veins—a splash of ice water pulling you away from that painful reverie.

your heart both clenches and soars, the idea of what you saw being terrifying, and yet finding out it wasn't true being that much more relieving.

"i just—" your voice comes out choked, and satoru's fingers twitch against your skin imperceptibly. "had a bad dream."

you think your brain must be cruel for conjuring up a dream in which satoru could suffer to such abhorrent extents.

"oh sweets." satoru's sigh is sympathetically soft, thumb brushing over the apple of your cheek just barely. "it was just a nightmare."

"i know," you swallow, voice shaking. there's an uncharacteristic wetness pooling at your waterline. "i-it just felt so real."

"baby..." satoru immediately pulls you against the steady planes of his chest, thick arms snaking around your waist to eliminate any measly amount of distance between you two. you prop your chin on his shoulder, sighing as you feel his snowy hair tickling at your cheek.

"it wasn't real, sweetheart," he says, pulling back just slightly to push a piece of hair from your face. his thumb then drags under your eyes, wiping away the unshed tears. "see. you're here, i'm here. everything's all good."

"yeah." you're nodding, unable to take your eyes off of him because he's real and alive and so breathtakingly perfect. "yeah, you're right."

he gives you a lopsided smile, eyes bright and glowing. "i don't like to brag, but i usually am."

you snort out a laugh, missing the way his expression turns pleased at the sound. "hilarious. you love to brag."

"you got me there," he shrugs, grinning as you stick your tongue out at him. the lighthearted banter solidifies the fact that satoru is fine and unharmed and completely yours, but you can still feel the apprehension coursing through your veins. chills run up your spine—you try not to show it.

but of course, satoru has always been able to see right through you.

his teasing smile goes soft, and he inhales deeply.

"was it about me?" he asks, climbing into bed next you. you lay back down carefully.

"yeah," you mumble, watching him tug the blankets over your body and tuck you both under a cocoon of warmth.

"hm." something in his tone tells you he's not unfamiliar with the feelings you seem to be experiencing—his body shifts closer to yours. ocean eyes carefully asses you, deep and calculating and so concerned even as he smoothes a warm palm over your shoulder blades. "wanna tell me what happened?"

the truth is you do want to, because satoru has always understood you better than you've ever understood yourself—you have no doubt he'd be able to comfort you just as well as he normally does.

and yet...

"no," you answer, pressing your nose into his neck. a deep breath in, the lively scent that is so inherently your gojo satoru filling your very soul. "it's okay. i think i'll be fine."

when you shut your eyes, images flash behind them—of bloodied bodies and stitches and swapped souls. yet a chaste kiss to your forehead pulls you back to where you're supposed to be, warm and grounding.

"i know you'll be fine," satoru murmurs, lips tickling your brow as he speaks. you think you can hear the gentle smile as he says it, and your grip on him tightens—never letting go. "i'm right here after all."

[heeliopheelia]

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐅𝐅 𝐃𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐍 𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐔𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓

genre: hurt/comfort, angst, fluff

word count: 4.3k

warnings: cursing, crying, neglect, tiny mention of bleeding

a/n: i think i win the contest of overusing commas with this one 🤍 tbh this fic is just yapping so pls deal with me... it's good to write some proper angst again tho, i missed it :(( hope you guys like it and don't find them too repetetive!!

masterlist

LEE HEESEUNG

It's been two weeks since you got the opportunity to take a proper look at Heeseung. And now as you do, you find it hard to recognize your fiancé who looks like he's about to collapse from exhaustion, to say the least. 

“I never asked you to mother me or worry about me so much. Stop getting into my business so much. I’m not a child, YN.”

It’s like he was blind to how hurt his words and actions were making you feel. It’s so unusual for him, so out of character and unfamiliar to you, that you can’t help but think that maybe it really is your fault for riling him up this much.

“I worry about you because I’m your fiancé and I love you, you jerk!” You scoff at his careless words and take a step back, the aching in your heart only increasing. “I only want to look after you because you clearly don't know how to do it yourself. I mean, look at yourself! You look as if you haven’t slept in a week and I know you haven’t been eating either. How can I not worry about you when all you do is neglect yourself?”

“Dunno, maybe find yourself something to keep you busy enough. You stay at home all day, do as much as nothing, no wonder you’re so damn nosy. I would be too with this much time on my hands.”

He’s so indifferent to everything you say, you try to recall where it all started going so wrong. All you did was ask whether he’s eaten at work or not, and now the two of you are snapping at each other as if you weren’t lovers, and trying not to hurt each other was a long forgotten thought by now. 

“If you’re so unhappy with our relationship – with me, maybe it’s best we take a break,” you say as you feel your throat tighten painfully. 

“Agreed. I never even wanted this marriage in the first place,” he scowls, silencing you, words rolling out of his mouth way quicker than his brain is able to process it. 

He bites his words back quickly when he watches your face dropping along with your shoulders, and fuck, you look as if you’ve given up on him right then and there. 

You walk away then, tears streaming down your face, muttering something about how ungrateful he was being, and all Heeseung could do was stand still as if plastered to the floor, in utter disbelief of his own, untrue, words.

After his cruel statement echoes through his head for the fourth time, he finally snaps out of the self pity and rushes after you to the kitchen where you’re leaned over the counter, head buried in your hands as you cry.

“Baby, I’m sorry,” he apologizes quickly. He walks up from behind you and wraps his arms around your waist, resting his forehead on your shoulder blade. “I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry for everything I said, sweetheart.”

He turns you around gently and feels his chest tighten at how fucking sad you look. He never wants to see you like this. He never wants to be the cause of this ever again.

And when he looks to the side, his throat closes and dries completely at the sight of your engagement ring laying on the counter right behind you. 

“Are you sure you didn’t mean it?” You ask, wiping the tears away with your hand pointlessly as another stream follows right after. “Things like that don’t come out of nowhere.”

“I didn’t, love, I swear I didn’t. I’m so fucking sorry,” he breathes out, pulling you closer to him by your neck again. 

Never again. Never fucking again. He keeps telling himself in his head as he lifts your hand to his lips and presses a kiss to your knuckles, just where your ring was supposed to be sitting snugly. Then he lowers it and places your palm against his chest, right above his heart, and covers your smaller hand with his.

That was too close to losing you, and himself, for that matter. Because he would never recover if you were gone from his life and all because of him. 

“Then why did you even say it?” You sob pitifully as you feel the warm tears dripping down the tip of your nose.

“I don’t know,” he shushes you gently, trying his best to not break you any further. 

You pull away once you feel calm enough, hands clutching his t-shirt. “It's not too late to call off the wedding, Seung,” you manage out breathily, raising your palm to cup his cheek. “I'd rather not take the step further than have you unhappy.”

“Darling, no.” Heeseung bends down to minimize the distance between the two of you and peppers your face with loving, warm kisses. He just wants to erase those atrocious thoughts out of your mind as quickly as possible. “Please, there's nothing I'd ever want more than to make you my wife. That was stupid of me to say. I'll never be happy if I'm not with you, my love.”

“I just don’t want to force this marriage on you. You need to want it as much as I do, otherwise it’s pointless.”

Heeseung almost chokes on air when he rushes out his answer even before you can properly finish your sentence. “I do want it. Please, you have to believe me.” 

“Really?”

Heeseung smiles at you softly as he wipes your wet cheeks with his thumbs. “Really. Scout’s honour.”

You breathe out, feeling relief, and look up at him with squinted, puffy eyes. “Sometimes I just wanna strangle you to death, Lee Heeseung.”

He chuckles lightly before pressing one last kiss to your cheek. “Aren't you just so adorable? You should add this to your wedding vows.”

“Maybe I’ll add this to your eulogy instead if you pull shit like that again.”

Heeseung clicks his tongue with a grin pulling on his lips. “Touché.”

PARK JAY

The atmosphere in the living room is so heavy that your chest starts to hurt. You’re standing barely two steps away from the man you love the most, yet you’ve never felt more far away from him than in this moment. 

His eyes – cold but still undoubtedly full of love, drill holes in the side of your head as you turn your face away from him to try and gather your thoughts.

Arguments with Jay were rare. You always tried to work things out immediately, keeping your heads cool. But something has broken over the last month and you can’t see each other eye to eye anymore. At the very beginning of your relationship you made a promise to never go to bed angry. To never leave things unresolved. Yet now Jay’s been sleeping on the couch for the past week, and you fail to understand what the fuck has happened to the two of you. 

And you can’t help but think that, maybe, sometimes love is just not enough. 

“You’re not even trying to find the middle ground anymore. All you do is snap at me the second I come home. I’m fucking tired of it! Would it hurt to give it a rest for a day?” 

The tension is almost palpable. You hate how you can’t seem to back away from any argument but only keep hurting him instead. 

“Put effort into our relationship first, then we’ll talk,” you spit out instead, against your better judgment.

“It’s funny coming from you who’s done nothing but put a fucking distance between us!”

“This doesn’t make any sense anymore, Jay. We need some time apart,” you finally speak into the dull silence, eyes casted downwards at the floor as your hand keeps twitching, only to finally grab for your ring finger and slip the silver band off of it. You didn’t think much of your action, hell, you didn’t even process it properly. 

Well, not until you hear the shaky exhale leave Jay’s lips. 

Silently, he presses his lips together and nods his head before turning on his heel and leaving the room. You listen intently to the shuffling, then ringing of the keys and eventually the door being shut. 

A moment of silence turns into minutes of you staring at the ring on your palm with tears burning your eyes mercilessly. 

With your heart falling low to your stomach, you drop down on the couch and tug on your hair slightly, cursing yourself for acting so mindlessly. 

You wallow in self pity in the dead quiet room. The shiny ring feels so heavy and burning in your clenched fist. You take in a deep breath, then quickly slide the band back onto your finger, feeling instantly shielded with it being on its righteous place again.

And just like that, you spend the next three hours on the verge of losing your sanity. With no word from Jay. He’s left your messages unread. He’s left your calls unanswered. 

You don’t know whether he’s okay or hurt or simply gone. All that combined is enough to leave you panicked and terrified, unable to have a second of peace. 

You never meant to take it this far. This – your words and rapid actions, that will forever remain as one of your biggest regrets. You don’t like the idea that you made your other half feel like you’ve taken him for granted. Or for what’s worse, like a person that you can use for unloading your frustration on. 

There’s this throbbing pain in your chest as you realize that maybe he’s not coming back because why would he if you can’t even love him properly?

Your fingers are bleeding from how hard you’ve been picking on your cuticles. 

And then you hear the jingle of keys and soon the front door opens quietly. You know that even after all of this he’s still being careful to not wake you up. It’s killing you how he thinks you’d ever be able to get a wink of sleep without knowing he’s safe. 

You’re quick to drop your phone on the couch and shoot up on your legs, rushing over to the door and throwing yourself on Jay’s neck. 

“I was so worried about you!” You gasp out, clinging onto your fiancé desperately as tears unknowingly make their way down your cheeks. “Please, don’t ever do that again!”

“Sorry, my phone died,” he replies after a second or two, bringing his arm up to wrap around your waist and keep you close to him. 

He’s still upset but he understands where you’re coming from, knowing well that if it was you instead of him he’d probably go insane from worry. 

He can feel your heart hammering against his chest, so he lifts his hand and strokes your hair to help you calm down. But then you start crying, feeling his gentle touch even after everything you said, that was enough to push you over the edge. You clench your trembling hands on his sweater as you burst out with choked sobs, slouching against his warm and comforting body. 

“I’m sorry, ‘m sorry, ‘m sorry,” you weep into his chest like a mantra and Jay can quite literally feel his heart cracking at your miserable state. 

“It’s okay,” he whispers, hot air hitting your ear before he presses a soft kiss to its tip. “Don’t cry anymore, honey. We’re okay.”

“I don’t deserve that. I don’t deserve you,” you whimper quietly. “Please, don’t leave me.”

“Don’t say that,” he scolds you with a frown. Your whimpers twist his guts even more than your harsh words from before. “It’s not the first nor the last time we’ll have an argument. It’s not worth losing your pretty head over it, okay?” 

“I’m sorry,” you repeat one last time. “I promise I'll never take it off again. I’ll never lash out on you like that ever again too.”

Jay grabs your hand and runs his thumb over the thin silver band, the same one he was picking so carefully for weeks, and a small smile tugs on the corners of his mouth. He hates how shameful you sound. 

He’ll never tell you how the sight of you pulling your ring off your finger made him physically sick to his stomach. He can't have you feeling even worse than you already do. So instead he brings you close to him and rests his forehead on yours. 

“I’m so stupid,” you whisper quietly as you close your eyes, your heavy eyelashes letting go of another few droplets of crystal tears which Jay’s lips soak up instantly. “I don’t know what I’d do if you actually left.”

“You know me better than to think I’d let us break it off over such a petty fight.” And, yes, you do. But your lip wobbles with silent agony at the sole thought of that. “Hey,” he tries again as he presses a loving kiss to your red nose. “I’m not leaving, okay? How could I ever?” 

“I love you.”

With his thumb caressing your burning cheek so tenderly, you feel at peace again.

“I love you too,” he replies without skipping a beat. “No one can handle you as well as I do. And no one sees me for me like you do. We complete each other. We belong together.”

He kisses you silly then, until there’s no more tears left in your body and you’re barely able to breathe anymore. He kisses you until your legs give in and he swoops you up to carry you into your shared bed for the first time in what seems like forever.

He kisses you until it engraves in your mind that there’s no other person for him in this world but you.

SIM JAKE

“Baby, I already apologized.” A groan lingers at the back of his throat but for his own sake he stifles it inside. “I don’t know what else you want me to do.”

You sit on the edge of your shared bed and clench your fingers on the silky duvet. “How about you start showing up to things we both agreed on attending to?”

He runs his hand down his face. “I know. It just slipped my mind, that’s all. You know how busy I’ve been this week.”

“This shouldn’t be my business only, though. I mean, for christ’s sake, it’s our wedding! I would really appreciate it if you participated in something for once!”

Flowers and cake. That’s literally all you’ve asked of him to go and pick with you for the wedding reception. Knowing his tight schedule, you picked the date carefully so that it wouldn’t meddle with his work and you could even go grab some dinner afterwards. But your plans all went out the window when he didn’t even bother showing up or giving you a heads up text, standing you up yet another time when it comes to your wedding preparations.

You’re honestly getting tired of it.

“I’ll be there next time,” he assures you quickly as he nervously taps his fingers on the doorway of your bedroom. 

“You said you wouldn’t do that,” your voice wavers as your shoulders drop with resignation. With the back of your hand, you wipe off the tears that made their way down your cheeks. “You promised to help, Jake. But you left me alone with everything, as usual.”

“It’s not even that big of a deal. This can be rescheduled any time. Baby, stop stressin’ so much.”

“But it is a big deal to me!” You cry out, palm reaching up to pinch the bridge of your nose. You breathe out heavily. “I don’t want to do everything by myself! We’re supposed to be in this together! If getting married means that I’m gonna be alone with all the responsibilities that you don’t consider important enough, I’m not even sure I still want it.”

To back up your words, your hand moves half-consciously to your ring finger and you twist the cool piece of jewelry in between your fingers. 

“No, no, no, no.” Jake moves quickly, nearly tripping over himself as he rushes towards you to desperately clasp your hand in his two and stop you from whatever the hell you were about to do. He drops to his knees in front of the bed, right at your feet. “Baby, you promised you’d never take it off.”

You’re at a loss of words as you look into his wide eyes, the seriousness of your actions only catching up to you now. You gasp quietly, eyes watering just like his, quickly relaxing your tensed hand in his and letting him slide the ring back down your finger, just where it belongs.

Silence envelopes the two of you, besides the sound of your sniffles. 

You feel awful. 

Jake feels even worse. 

Leaning forward, you press your face to his shoulder and melt instantly when he brings a hand to caress your hair. 

“I'm sorry,” you whisper, clenching your hand to feel the cool ring against your skin. “I don't know why I did that. I didn't mean to.”

“I know,” he soothes you just as softly. He stands up from the floor and carefully maneuvers the two of you so that you’re placed on his lap as he sits with his back against the headboard. “It's my fault. I'm sorry. I never meant to disregard your feelings like that.”

At the end of the day, both of you would rather set themselves ablaze than watch the other one hurting. 

You nod silently, heart pounding in your chest before you bring your arms up and throw them over his neck.

“I’m sorry I was so impulsive.”

“No. You did nothing wrong.” His soothing voice carries over the room, enveloping you with warmth. “I promise I'll be here whenever you want me to from now on. I don’t want you to feel neglected by me, especially now when you’re this stressed over the wedding. I won’t let you down, again.” 

“I just need a little help, that’s all,” you mumble tiredly into his skin.

“I know.” His warm lips press to your forehead lovingly. “I’m sorry for being an insensitive douche. It won’t happen again. I’ll take some days off next week, hm?”

The tears on your face dry slowly as your hold on him tightens. “I’d like that a lot.”

“Then it’s done. I'll be all yours and you’ll be all mine then,” he hums and noses at your cheek, finally bringing out a small giggle out of you. After all these years, he still melts at the sound. “I won’t let things get this out of hand again, YN. I promise.”

“Okay,” you whisper. Tilting your head up and bringing his down towards you, you join your lips in a kiss that you’ve been longing for for days. His movements are slow and careful as he tries to soak up as much of the moment as possible. 

His kisses slowly put your broken pieces back together. He never knew how much seeing you cry like this would hurt him. And he’ll make damn sure he won’t ever have to experience that again for as long as you're with him.

“If I have a life to spend, it'll only be with you, sweetheart,” he lowers his voice to match yours, cradling your cheek in the palm of his hand. “You're it for me. I'll never give you a chance to doubt that ever again.”

PARK SUNGHOON

“You’re never home! There’s always a hundred things more important to you than spending an hour of your time with me. Your fucking fiance! Are we really about to get married when you’re clearly so tired of me already?”

Your heart pounds in your chest as you finally voice out everything that’s been sitting on your chest for the past month. Things have not been working out well with the two of you, much to your despair. He’s been neglectful, always too busy to help you with anything – even the wedding related things that you should’ve gotten done weeks ago. 

And you know that he’s swamped with work and it's not his fault. You understand everything. But to ask him to spare you an hour or two of his day shouldn’t be too much. It shouldn’t make him snap at you unlike what he just did the second he came back home. You slowly begin to lose your hope.

“God, have you always been this needy? Why can’t you accept that I can’t always put you first? No matter how much I’d want to, sometimes I just can’t! Deal with this!”

“Fucking- Fine.”

Your hand moves quicker than your brain, and the next thing you know, your shiny ring is being pulled off your finger and resting in the palm of your other hand. 

You can see the disbelief flashing through his face briefly before it completely morphs into a scowl. 

“You really think that this will solve the problem?” He asks, eyebrows narrowed as he glowers at you from across the room. “Really? Does that ring mean so little to you that you go and throw it away with any minor inconvenience?” 

You try to blink away the frustrated tears, hand raking up to brush your hair away from your face. “No, fuck, I just- I don’t know what to do anymore, Sunghoon. I feel like I’m the only one in this relationship. I need you to give me something more because whatever you’re doing now is not enough for me.”

“Well, I’m putting out everything I have, YN! I love you! If that’s still not good enough for you, then maybe it’s not meant to be.”

The silence that falls in the room doesn’t last long as your sudden sob pierces Sunghoon’s ears quickly, making his stomach drop to the soles of his feet. His heart wrenches and twists as the anger simmers down and evaporates from his body within a second, and he’s quickly coming back to his senses at the sight of you breaking down right in front of him. 

“Can’t you just try?” You cry into your hands, shielding your face away from your fiance. “That’s all I’m asking of you. Is it really so hard to try?”

No, it’s not. Sunghoon knows it without a second of thinking. It’s not too hard to try, never if it’s for you. And his throat dries so quickly when he basks in the weight of his words that finally made you break as well. 

“You don’t know how much it hurts to feel like you’re too much for your partner,” you wail with a small voice, shoulders trembling and hands quickly getting damp with tears. “You’ll never know how it is to feel unwanted, because you’ll never have to when you're with me. Because I love you, asshole, but now I’m doubting if you’re saying it back just for the sake of it.”

With air getting stuck in his throat, Sunghoon looks at you wide-eyed before quickly crossing the living room and enveloping you in his arms. His warmth wraps around you in what you've always considered to be safety, but now it just makes you cry more. 

He finds it hard to breathe. The hesitation in your eyes feels like a stab to his chest.

“Of course I still love you,” he says, voice muffled by your hair. 

He hates how he made you feel the opposite. He hates how you’re right and he never had to worry about any reassurement of such kind from your side because you’re just that good to him. And his heart breaks with the realization of how much of a lousy partner he’s been to you when all you ever were was nothing less than perfect.

So he places his hand on the back of your head and presses you even closer to his shoulder as you cry, his own eyes burning with tears at the sound of your sobs and sniffles. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, my darling,” he apologizes with a heavy heart, fearful of what’s about to come next. “I didn’t mean to neglect you this much. I could say that I’m tired and the work has been a lot lately, but I know these excuses are not enough to make up for my actions.”

You’re mad and hurt, but you love him and would never want to give up on him, so you wrap your arms around his middle and hold him almost as tight as he holds you, burying your wet face in his chest. 

“I love you more than anything, YN.” He pulls away from you only to cup your face and make you look at him. His long fingers wipe away the tears with gentle touch, soothing your stinging skin instantly. “You could never be too much for me. I want all of you. I promise I’ll do better. I’ll love you better.”

And when you’re looking up at him with these shiny eyes of yours, he closes the distance and presses a loving kiss to your swollen lips, hoping to take at least some of the pain away. He doesn’t think he can hold you any tighter. He can’t love you any stronger than right now, and it messes with his head how easily he could’ve had it all ruined only minutes ago. 

He’ll never take your love for granted ever again. Because if he did, he’d never be able to pick up the parts of whatever was left of him, and put himself back together ever again. 

You can feel his warm hand opening your closed palm before he takes the ring you've been clutching so tightly and holds it in between his fingers. 

“Can I put it back on, baby? Please.”

You nod wordlessly while you try to tame your tears. You hold your slightly trembling hand up to him. He takes it, gently, and watches as your bottom lip wobbles while he slides the ring on your finger just like he did months ago. 

“I'll never screw up like that again. You have my word for it.”

You sniffle quietly when he kisses you right on the cool band adorning your skin. “You better not, Park Sunghoon.”

His long fingers caress your cheek, wiping the remains of the tears away. “Can you forgive me, darling?”

You don't need to think long of an answer. “You know I can never stay mad at you. Even if you're a idiot, I'll never stop loving you. You have my whole heart, Hoon. Please, don't ever make me regret trusting you with it.”

permanent taglist + taglist: @bambisgirl @arizejkt19 @luvmura @milisabunny @cathy-1997 @satoruskitchenrag @ramenoil @jenjnk @jaylaxies @yoongspi @nichoswag @s00buwu @dazzlingligth @goreconsumer @i4kt @heehoonsnemo @seongslutt @seongclb @iamnotalicia

© heeliopheelia 2024 // ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. DO NOT copy, translate or repost any of my works on any other social platforms.

[torubeth]

degradation taken too far (mature content 18+)

context/warnings : it’s smut, so kids shoo! hell of a lot of degradation. they’re so mean i hate them. (swearing, words used : slut and slutty) angst to i have no idea what. pls do lmk if i missed any tws. and as always, its not proofread :p gojo ver.

ryomen sukuna ‘is that all you can do? all your yapping earlier about ridin’ me was just talks? answer me’ his sudden shift in demeanour has you feeling really small. sure he is a rude ass prick but not to you. never to you.

‘no- i can take it. i really can ryo’ tears sting at your eyes as you struggle to take in his full length. his hands giving your waist a small squeeze.

‘yeah and that’s all you’ve been saying for the past goddamn fifteen minutes. either you take it like a good girl or i’ll just have to find someone who will. trust me, i can’ he eyes held no remorse of the words he just spewed and that’s when you break.

correction, you shatter.

somewhere in the back of your head you knew he’ll never leave you but him wording it out makes it seem like it’s bound to happen.

and so tears stroll down your cheeks, your hands and legs giving out on you, your body going limp against his and you whisper the same thing over and over again.

‘don’t leave me ryo. i’m sorry. didn’t mean to upset you. i’m so sorry. don’t leave’

quickly his arms wrap around your body protectively, your face between his shoulder blade and neck, wetting the area with fresh batch of tears.

‘i could never leave you. you’re-’ you’re it for me. ‘you’re always the one that keeps me sane. there’s no way i’ll ever leave you. i’m sorry baby, forgive me. i didn’t mean a word of what i said’ he says.

when he didn’t get a response from you ‘look at me’ he whispers. slowly you leave the comfort of his neck and meet his eyes.

‘i didn’t mean it. you could leave me on deathbed and i still wouldn’t mean it’

‘i can’t leave you ryo. i love you way too much’ you sniffle, new tears threatening to spill so you go back to huddle against his neck.

god. he knows you mean it. and that’s what makes him feel like a dickhead.

‘me too, i- i lo-’ he struggles, just as your palm reaches up to cover his mouth.

‘i know ryo, i know’ you whisper, placing your forehead against his, both of you basking in the quietness of the surrounding.

geto suguru ‘fuckin-! ah shit! some insane grip you have on me baby. can’t move if you clench and lock me up like that’ he smirks against your neck.

‘and a bit quiet today ain’t ya? you sure had a lot to say to satoru earlier heh’ he remarks.

‘we were just catching up suguru, nothing-! nothing more’ you whine.

‘catching up you say? does catching up require smiles and touches? do they angel baby?’ he raises his eyebrows.

‘no..’ you avert your eyes away from his.

‘that’s what i thought. so for that, now you pay’ he pulls out suddenly, and pushes all the way back in making you yelp out loud.

‘sugu! ah fuck, i don’t think i can go another round baby. s’too much!’ the pressure was starting to get to you and you were starting to lose stability.

‘hah, i know you can baby, this slutty pussy’s all you’re good for anyway. fuck, doesn’t matter whose it is, as long as you’re filled. am i right?’ his words pierced straight through your heart.

since when did he-?

out of reflex, your hands reach out to touch his face to make sure that this was a dream nightmare. otherwise there’s no way he-

‘don’t touch me with those filthy hands’ he spits but makes no effort to push your hand off.

‘do you really think that’s all i’m good for?’ your voice is soft, filled with pain, and suddenly it’s like he’s broken out of his trance.

what the fuck am i doing, he thought.

slowly he pulls out, all whilst holding your hand against his cheek.

‘absolutely not. no. fuck, did not mean it angel. i promise. i- i don’t know what came over me-! didn’t mean it. please i’m sorry. next time if i ever lose my shit with you, i want you to take the nearest sharp object and plunge it into my chest’ he heaves out a guttural sigh.

‘you were really mean you know..’ you wipe your eyes.

‘i know baby, fuck. i didn’t mean it. i did not mean it. i’ll never do it again princess, ever’ he repeats.

his face lands on your chest, thanking all the gods and the stars out there for giving him another chance.

he’ll never screw up again and that’s a promise.

nanami kento ‘you really couldn’t wait for a few hours? just had to go and think with your cunt, right? have you no- ugh! no shame?’ his thrusts were sloppy as his hands were placed around your hips.

‘kento- slow down baby, i- i don’t think i can last’ you whine, hands clutching at the sheets.

‘no. you asked for this you little slut. so shut. the. fuck. up. and take it!’ each syllable was accompanied by a harsh thrust.

the usually composed, sweet and calm nanami was nowhere to be found. he’s never once called you a ‘slut’ and what caused this? you rubbing him through his pants and riling him up at his office dinner earlier tonight.

he warned you off multiple times but did you listen? no.

‘why are you so quiet now? i thought this is what you wanted’ his voice comes out raspy and cold.

a quiet but audible whimper escaped your lips, making him halt his actions.

slowly he pulled out, gently laying you on your back as your body shook with each sob.

‘sweetheart…? why are you…’

you look up at him, eyes puffy and swolllen ‘i’m sorry kento, it’s just that, you’re never home these days and i missed you so much’ a cry that’s sure to crack his heart leaves your lips.

‘i just wanted you all to myself for tonight but i didn’t mean to be a bother-’

his warm body hovers over yours, ‘you’re never a bother baby. always know that. you will always be at the top of every and any list i make. there’s nothing more i want than coming home to you everyday after work. and i didn’t mean to lash out at you. you didn’t deserve that, i’m sorry’ he leans down to press a kiss to your forehead.

‘you will always have me sweetheart, never forget that. now let me make it up to you yeah?’

[thesecondhandwoman]

Hiii! I wanna make an angst to fluff/comfort request with Sevika x fem!reader.. where like they had an argument about something and where reader thought Sevika was gonna hit her so she flinched away with a bit of tears in her eyes? Like a “when you flinch during an argument scenario”.. I hope this was okay!

BREAKING POINT

Sevika x f!reader

Synopsis: You and Sevika had gotten into an arguement after Sevika was seen as weak due to public affection, but it escalated to the point where it brought unwanted trauma and made you flinch.

Request: Anon 🤍

The dim glow of the single overhead light flickered in the room, casting long, uneven shadows along the cracked concrete walls. The tension between you and Sevika was heavier than the smoke-filled air of The Last Drop. It hung there, thick and unyielding, an invisible wall that neither of you had the words to break down.

Her metal arm clicked softly as she flexed her fingers, her flesh hand pressed firmly against her hip. She was pacing, her eyes darting toward the ground as she wrestled with her thoughts. Every stomp of her boot echoed through the room, each step sharper than the last.

“Do you know how this looks?” Sevika’s voice was rough, strained with frustration she was barely keeping in check. “How it looks when you cling to me like that in front of him?”

Her words hit like a whip crack, and you flinched inwardly. But you kept your chin high, refusing to back down. “I’m not ‘clinging,’ Sevika. I’m just—”

“Just what, huh?” she snapped, spinning to face you, her eyes sharp as broken glass. “Acting like we’re untouchable? Like Silco won’t notice? Well, guess what? He did. He asked me if this—” she gestured harshly between the two of you, her movements sharp and forceful, “—is gonna be a problem. If you are gonna be a problem for me.”

Her words struck deeper than any blade ever could. Your breath hitched in your throat, and the burn of unshed tears prickled at the corners of your eyes.

“You’re acting like I’m some kind of liability,” you muttered, your voice quieter now but laced with pain. “I’m just showing you I love you, Sevika. Since when is that a problem?”

Sevika’s eyes shut tight, her jaw working as she inhaled deeply through her nose. “Since people like Silco see it as weakness.” Her voice was lower now but no less cutting. “You think I want him thinking I’ve gone soft?”

“That’s not fair,” you said, voice trembling. “I’m not asking you to be soft. I’m just asking you to let me love you without feeling like I’m doing something wrong.”

Her eyes snapped open, and something wild burned behind them—anger, frustration, but maybe guilt too. Her hand shot up, metal fingers running down her face before she threw both hands up, exasperated.

Her voice rose with her movement. “Why do you always have to make everything so damn hard?!”

The motion was fast, sharp, and your heart betrayed you before your mind could catch up.

You flinched.

Not just a small, subtle recoil. It was sudden, visceral—like every muscle in your body lit up with the command to move, now, before it’s too late. You stumbled a step back, arms half-raised as if to shield yourself. Your breathing hitched, sharp and shallow, as the memories you’d buried clawed their way to the surface.

And just like that, the room went deathly silent.

You felt it before you saw it—Sevika’s entire demeanor shifting from volcanic rage to stunned stillness. Her arms slowly dropped to her sides, her metal hand twitching, fingers curling inward as if she’d suddenly realized they could hurt.

“Fuck,” she muttered, barely audible. Her eyes were locked on you, wide with something like shock. Horror.

Her gaze darted between your trembling hands and the tears slowly spilling down your cheeks. Her brow furrowed deeply, her lips parting like she wanted to say something but didn’t know how. She took a small, hesitant step toward you, and you flinched again.

“Fuck.” Her voice was louder now, pained and raw. “I’m not, I wasn’t gonna—”

She shook her head hard, like she could physically will the idea out of existence. Her breathing had gone shallow too, her eyes darting around the room like she was looking for a way to undo what had just happened.

“Babe,” she rasped, her voice cracking in a way you’d never heard before. “I would never.”

You believed her. You knew she would never. But that didn’t stop the past from dragging you back into the fog of fear. The panic didn’t care who it was or what you knew. All it cared about was survival.

“I know,” you choked out, voice tight and unsteady as you wrapped your arms around yourself. “I know you wouldn’t. I know.”

But you were still shaking.

And Sevika saw it.

“Shit,” she muttered under her breath, dragging her metal hand through her hair and down the back of her neck, her whole body stiff with regret. She took a slow step toward you, but she moved like she was approaching a wounded animal—slow, cautious, careful. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” Her voice was quiet now, rough with emotion.

Her words cracked something open in you. Your knees went weak, and you sank down to sit on the edge of the old couch, burying your face in your hands. Your breath came in shallow bursts, like you couldn’t fill your lungs no matter how hard you tried.

“Hey, hey, no,” Sevika was in front of you before you realized it, crouching low on one knee, her flesh hand hovering just in front of your arm. She didn’t touch you—not yet—but she stayed there, close enough that you could feel her warmth.

“Can I,” Her voice was soft and unsure in a way you’d never heard before. “Can I touch you?”

You didn’t trust your voice, so you nodded. Slowly, carefully, she reached out, her flesh hand resting on your knee, fingers curling gently around it. Her palm was warm, grounding, and that was all it took to break you.

You sucked in a ragged breath, squeezing your eyes shut as the tears fell harder. Sevika moved then, pulling you forward into her chest, her arms wrapping around you with all the strength she always tried to hide. She pulled you in like she was afraid you’d disappear if she let go.

Her hand cradled the back of your head, her lips pressed softly against your temple. Her chest rose and fell against you in slow, steady beats, and she held you like you were something fragile but precious.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered again, her voice thick with guilt. “I never want you to feel like that again. Not with me. Not ever with me.”

You sobbed harder, hands clutching the fabric of her vest, pulling her closer like she was your only tether to the world.

“I know, I know,” you hiccuped, your voice broken but sure. “It’s not you. It’s just— it’s old stuff, Sevika.”

Her breath hitched at that. She knew what you meant. She knew that old pain never truly disappeared, that it could creep in when you least expected it. Her arms tightened around you, her cheek pressed to the top of your head, grounding you with her steady presence.

Her lips brushed against your temple, then your forehead, a soft, lingering press of warmth. “I’m here,” she murmured, her voice low and steady. “I’m here, baby. I’ve got you.”

You didn’t know how long you stayed like that. Minutes? Hours? Time didn’t feel real anymore. All that existed was the feel of her arms around you, the warmth of her body, the low rumble of her voice murmuring reassurances that you barely heard but deeply felt.

Eventually, the shaking subsided, your breaths becoming deeper, steadier. You stayed in her arms, letting her hold you as if you were both trying to prove something to each other.

After a long, quiet moment, she pulled back just enough to look at you, her flesh hand wiping the tears from your cheeks. Her thumb traced your cheekbone with the softest touch, like she thought you might break.

“You’re not a liability,” she said firmly, her eyes locked with yours, filled with an intensity that made your heart ache. “You hear me? Not to me. Not to Silco. Not to anyone.”

You nodded, your heart too full to speak.

Her forehead pressed against yours, her eyes closing as she sighed deeply. “Next time Silco says something, I’ll handle it,” she said softly. “I’ll handle it. Not take it out on your or us.”

“Okay,” you whispered, your fingers tracing the edge of her jaw.

Sevika tilted her head slightly, brushing her lips against yours. It was so soft, so tender, you almost felt like crying all over again.

“I love you,” she murmured against your lips.

“Love you too,” you whispered back, letting her hold you until the world, past and present, didn’t feel so heavy anymore.

A/N: I’m sorry this is so short, but I hope that it met the request anyway. I was just trying to get this one done, since I have a lot of other requests that I plan on sending out today.

[freyito]

ʙᴀʟᴅᴇʀꜝ ⨟ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ ʜᴇ ᴅᴏᴇꜱ

✭ pairing(s): aventurine, dr ratio, boothill, gallagher, sunday, argenti, mr. reca, sampo, jing yuan, blade, luocha, jiaoqiu, moze, dan heng, gepard, caelus, welt (seperate) x reader

✩ in which: you notice the little things they do for you/around you.

✧ a/n: a little something ive been thinkin about U_U and something to tide my followers over while i work on strawberry season! (and unfortunately fall victim to The Inspiration and The Motivation.)

✦ taglist: @fffrost, @shinysora

🗒 cw: gn reader, just fluff, short n sweet, old man welt. actual old man welt, not proofread

✎ wc: 2.4k

⎯ Aventurine

One of AVENTURINE’s habits at the table is holding onto your hand, or even just linking your pinkies. It’s his way of waning himself off of clutching his chips behind his back. You’re his good luck charm, of course. It’s not just at the table or machines, though. He does this at the arcade, as well. He’ll make you stand close by, even wrap your arms around his arm as he messes with the claw machine. He swears up and down that you really are his lucky charm. If you step away, he does his very best to fail miserably. Unfortunately, he’s still somehow able to get some plushies. But he won’t let that ruin the magic.

⎯ Dr. Ratio

RATIO, while he doesn’t seem the sentimental type, really likes to take some of your jewelry with him to work. He prefers necklaces most of all, something easy to tuck in if students dare to ask about it. He loves to keep some part of you close, especially when he’s away. He won’t outright say why he likes it, but it’s something along the lines of keeping you very close to his heart. He asks politely, although a little sheepishly. He’ll lie for his pride, saying it’s simply something nice to hold on to. It’s odd, really, he’s not so shy with his declarations of love, but something so little has him pretending that he’s too shy to say it.

⎯ Boothill

There’s a lot BOOTHILL does. Too many to count. One thing he really seems to enjoy is triggering his censor on purpose. Before he had gotten serious about making you his partner, he’d get annoyed when you’d snicker and chuckle at his censor. He’d pitch a fit, huff and puff and curse you out even more. But it’s that same snicker that made him fall in love; at least, that’s what he believes. He was head over heels the minute he met you. But that's besides the point. After all he’s seen, the blood on his hands, and much more, he’s realized he’d do anything for that laugh. So he “swears” as much as he can around you, his Synthesia Beacon somehow slipping in new words. Where the hell did ‘banana’ come from…?

⎯ Gallagher

One of GALLAGHER’s favorite things to do when he gets home is cuddle. He’s busy as is, and some time to decompress with his lover always sounds like heaven. Oftentimes, he’ll drag you to the bed or the couch, even when you’re in the middle of something. He loves to bury his face into your shoulder. And moreso, he loves the way you giggle when his stubble tickles your neck. When you squirm and try to break free, he only tightens his hold, pulling you up against his chest as you laugh and swat at him, telling him to stop. He doesn’t. He’ll poke at your sides and squeeze at your hips as well, anything to keep you laughing.

⎯ Sunday

SUNDAY is so sickeningly sweet when it comes to you. His affections aren’t subtle, bringing you a bouquet of flowers when you’re at work, taking you out on fancy dates, and so much more. He is a textbook romantic. No act of love is little from him, he makes sure not to skip out. He wants you to know just how much he loves you, grand gesture or not. However, one thing you have noticed is the way his wings flutter just a little when he sees you, or hears you. A light blush always dusts his cheeks, followed by a smile and a tilt of his head. When you visit him while he’s working, his wings flutter just a little bit longer. You aren’t sure if he is aware of this, but you don’t want him to stop, so you decide to keep it a secret.

⎯ Argenti

Oh, ARGENTI, sweet Argenti. He’s so… princely, when it comes to you. Such a gentleman, really. He follows the sidewalk rule almost religiously, places his hand on the small of your back when the two of you are walking, grabs your hand so tenderly and kneels in front of you to kiss it, everything and anything that can come out of a fairy tale. One of his favorite things to do, however, is letting you do his hair. While he quite likes letting his long hair down, he loves nothing more than your hands running through it. He allows everything short of cutting it. In fact, he loves it so much, he practically runs to you before he trains, so you can put his hair up in a ponytail. If you want to braid it, however, he won’t mind. As long as you don’t yank his hair.

⎯ Mr. Reca

MR. RECA is all for the theatrics, on and off the set. Sometimes, it feels like he can’t turn off his whole director persona, even with you. Not that you mind. While he’s packed full of movie and media references, some that barely make him sound coherent, there are moments where he’s a completely Normal Guy with you. Sometimes it makes you think he’s lost his mind. However, one of your favorite things that prove he wasn’t abducted is when he acts like your life is a movie. He’ll bring his hands up and frame your face with his fingers, ramble on about how the main actor is just ‘too perfect for this role’, and how you're ‘born for the screen, born for my heart!’. He’ll add some sort of dramatic flare, clutching his chest or pretending he’ll pass out. While Memokeeper’s are quite odd, you don’t think you’d give up this one for the world.

⎯Sampo Koski

Whatever you need, SAMPO has. He even established this before the start of the relationship. He’s like… a penguin. While him showering you in luxurious gifts is not uncommon, it’s truly the smaller ones that count. Random trinkets he found somewhere, most were a little dusty and dirty, but ones that had provoked the thought of you, making them so meaningful. He presents all sorts of things to you, really. Rings he just ‘happened’ to find, necklaces and bracelets too, gears that were in such very oddly pristine condition, and his favorite: shells and rocks. He really does live up to the actions of a penguin, finding the prettiest rocks he can to give to his lover. Perhaps he is proposing…? It’s hard to say.

⎯ Jing Yuan

As the Divine Foresight, JING YUAN doesn’t get as much time as he’d like to enjoy the little things with you. A stroll once in a while is nice, or perhaps sitting down for at least ten minutes and chatting will do. He’s a simple man, and seeing your face for a fraction of a second is enough to tide him over for the next month. At least, that’s what he says. When he does get to spend time with you, he has a habit of bumping into you ‘accidentally’. He leans in close whenever you’re inspecting the fruit at the market, tends to bump into the two of you when you’re just walking, and actually prefers sitting on the same side of the table most of the time. All to enjoy those brief moments of contact. You’ve told him countless times that he could just ask to hold your hand, and he does, but somehow he always finds a way to come impossibly closer…

⎯ Blade

There’s not much BLADE does that isn’t small. He’s not necessarily vocal about his love for you (however he does love you, very much), nor is he good at expressing it. You’ve learned to translate the little things into big things, even something as simple as an ‘i thought of you’ when he comes back from a mission is a big deal. There’s one thing you’ve noticed that you’ve gotten to hold over the other Stellaron Hunters, though. He hates shopping, unless it’s with you. With Kafka and Firefly, he groans and acts uninterested most of the time, but with you, he’s quiet. Perfectly content to hold your bags, no matter how much things you have bought. No complaining, not even a grimace. Don’t point it out though. He’ll start pitching a fit if you so much as suggest that he loves you. (He does. But it’s hard to say or express for a man like him.)

⎯ Luocha

LUOCHA’s good with physical contact. With his profession and secrecy, sometimes it’s hard for you to remember that. He’s often gone for so long, doing Aeons knows what, that you tend to miss him, and especially his physical affections. Somehow, he’s also terrifyingly good at coming back just when you start to miss him too much. By then, you are craving a warm hug from him by the very least. But he always does more. He treats you, a nice date, either a day out or a day inside, before he’s off again. Somehow, his hands always find your hair, playing with it absentmindedly. You could be on the verge of sleep, and here he is, twirling a strand of your hair around his fingers idly. Running his fingers through it, scratching your scalp, the list goes on. You start to wonder if it’s you he missed, or your hair.

⎯ Jiaoqiu

Now, JIAOQIU doesn’t like feeling helpless. Just because he’s blind doesn’t mean anything, he’s still a great healer, and an even better cook. Before he lost his sight, he’d cook terrifyingly grand meals for you, practically a whole feast for twelve. And if you can’t handle spice? You’re the only one he would turn down the heat for. But that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t let you off the hook. No, he chose to build your spice tolerance, instead. Adding more and more to each meal, even if you struggled with it. Now, without his sight, he’s only a little more hesitant to cook. He’s gotten all sorts of aids that help, of course. But knives are still knives, and he can be as careful as he wants, but they’ve somehow made him just a little antsy. So, he likes to guide you through chopping vegetables and the like. It doesn’t matter if you can do it by yourself, he likes to stand behind you as he ‘guides’ your wrists, smiling and snickering all the while.

⎯ Moze

It comes to no surprise that what MOZE enjoys best is cleaning. With you, he’s amped it up a little. When he can, he likes to do all the chores he possibly can before you get home. It’s something you’re used to, but even if you tell him you’d like to have a few to do, he acts like he takes it to mind. Really, he’s just telling himself he’ll have to do more. Days off aren’t exactly existent for him, but if he’s not keeping his hands busy, he gets anxious. So he’s resorted to making your life easier, sweeping the house, cleaning the dishes, doing laundry, and much more. You can’t argue, because who wants to do chores, anyways?

⎯ Dan Heng

While DAN HENG can be quite romantic, that doesn’t stop him from being what he is, an introvert. Some of his best days are spent holed up in his room on the Express, kicking back and ignoring what he can, unless it’s urgent. A nice quiet day and some tea are his true peace. And you, of course. He likes spending those quiet moments with you, especially when the two of you are just… doing your own thing. He could be reading, and you could be playing a game on your phone or watching something right next to him. He has no qualms if you aren’t doing something together, as long as you’re right next to him. ‘Parallel play’, he’s heard March call it. It fits, truly.

⎯ Gepard

GEPARD is truly a gentleman. He almost fits the Golden Retriever standard to a T. Kind and gentle, protective yet oh so sweet, almost knightly. While his work hours hold him hostage most of the time, he cherishes the time he gets to spend with you. Even when he’s tired and worn out, he simply can’t say no to a date. He’s the definition of royalty treatment. Holding your jacket, helping you zip up your clothes when need be, following the sidewalk rule, switching out your shoes if they’re uncomfortable, opening doors, and making sure your chair is pulled out before he sits down. No gesture of love is too small for him, or at least, he makes sure the small ones culminate into something bigger.

⎯ Caelus

To be honest, you still really can’t get CAELUS, even as his partner. He’s a bit quirky, maybe a tad too adventurous (stay out of those trash cans, you beg of him. But he does not listen), and perhaps way too into it for the bit. But that doesn’t mean you don’t love him. He’s silly and goofy and quite profound when he’s in the mood, although with his own sort of charm. Massive bouquets, massive credit bouquets, oddly cliche dates, and the like. But his most defining moments are the smaller, almost mundane ones. Sitting in the parlor car, laying on his belly and kicking his feet while you go through his nail polish collection, picking out what colors you want him to wear. He’s oddly… sparkly, grinning ear to ear as he holds his fingers out, waiting oh so patiently for you to color them. Paint his nails like one of your french girls… or something.

⎯ Welt

Unfortunately, while WELT is sweet, his habits can be a little bit annoying. For the first month or so when you started sleeping in his bed, his snoring almost drove you crazy. Perhaps you should’ve expected this for a man his age, but at the same time you can’t help but scold him in your mind. Fortunately, it is something that you get used to, and even see as white noise. You could complain all you want, and he’d apologize profusely, figure out any sort of way to at the very least quiet himself during the night, and then apologize some more. Not only does he snore, but he moves a lot in his sleep. He likes to fall asleep holding you… however throughout the night, he gets too hot, which means he pulls away, then it’s too cold, so he’s rolling back over to you, then he can’t quite find a comfortable way to sleep… it’s never ending. And charming, kind of.

© freyito, 2024 | masterlist | queue | kofi | discord server (16+) | star header by roseschoices DO NOT REPOST AS YOUR OWN OR USE FOR AI/AI CHATBOTS.

[steveslevis]

all of you, all of me, intertwined.

azriel x healer!reader

summary: You met your mate during the war and have been obsessed with him–and his dagger–ever since.

warnings: smut!!!!!, improper use of of Truth-Teller (aka object in v), knife kink, dom/sub dynamic (+ hints of R in subspace), praise kink, lots of dirty talk, mentions of war & injuries, mentions of pregnancy

If anyone would’ve told you five years ago that the mating bond snaps for you when your brand new mate pulls a knife from his hip and presses it to your throat, you wouldn’t have believed them. Hell, even five days ago you wouldn’t have believed them. 

But here you are, a blade against your throat, back pushed against a wooden support of the tent you accidentally walked into as the most breathtaking male you’ve ever seen holds you in place, eyes narrowed and hands firm on your shoulder and throat as he stares down at you intensely with bright hazel eyes. 

You didn’t mean to walk into the wrong tent, exhaustion and confusion has taken over your body hours prior and it was an honest mistake to walk up the wrong row of tents in the middle of the night. So, you truly don’t blame the male for holding a knife to your throat. You would’ve done the same if a random fae waltzed into your tent while you were recuperating after battle, considering this is the middle of a Godsforsaken war with Hybern. 

A strained cry breaks from your throat as the bond tugs on your chest for the first time ever, feeling like your heart is about to beat through your ribcage as you stare back at the male in front of you, your mate. 

“Who are you?” he insists, blade pressing harder into your throat as he watches emotionlessly as you cry out once more.

You thrash in his grasp once, the blade slipping across your throat as you throw your head to one side. The male grips your chin to force you to look at him, making the blade slip across your throat once more, the tiniest ripples of blood coming to the surface as you lock eyes with him once more.

“M–Mate,” you whimper, voice barely audible as you stare up at him with terrified eyes, hands trembling as you try to reach for his blade. 

“Mate?”

Those are the only words you hear before you slip into unconsciousness, collapsing into the male’s grasp as he stands there, dumbfounded at your words. 

When you wake, you find yourself slumped in a chair, presumably in the tent that you accidentally entered prior to fainting. You’re faced with a familiar female when you wake, who you slowly realize is the High Lady of the Night Court. She’s standing over you, pressing a damp cloth to the shallow cuts on your throat. Your eyes wander as you process the people you’re currently in the room with, you see two very obviously Illyrian males next to the High Lord of the Night Court on one side of the room along with a tall, beautiful blonde female helping the High Lady with tending to you. 

It takes you a moment, but you slowly realize that you definitely wandered into the High Lord and Lady’s tent thanks to the fatigue from battle. 

On your final scan of the room, you finally comprehend that one of the Illyrian males on the other side of the room is definitely your mate, and it’s definitely the male that’s pacing back and forth in front of the other two while running his hands through his hair frantically. You finally recognize the two males with the High Lord as his General and Spymaster, the Spymaster being the one who bombarded you as you entered the tent, but you can’t remember either of their names in your haze.

You try to sit up straight as soon as you see him, but Feyre gently guides you back in the chair before you can. 

“Azriel,” she calls out, making the male snap his attention towards you. 

He’s next to you in an instant, kneeling next to the chair while peering up at you with those cautious hazel eyes. 

“H–Hi.” is all he says, voice shaky as he speaks. 

“H–Hello.” you stammer, finally sitting up straight in the chair, “My deepest apologies for barging in, I–I promise I thought I walked up the right row of tents, I was just trying to go–”

“It’s alright,” the male in front of you, who you now know to be named Azriel, interjects coolly, shaking his head as he notes the panic in your eyes. “The High Lord knows you mean no harm. He saw what you were trying to do.”

You furrow your brow, unsure what he means by the High Lord seeing what you were trying to do. Before you can question it, Rhysand himself takes a step towards your chair.

“And I saw how much blood you’d lost prior to your walk over to the tents, even before your new-found mate here decided to put a blade to your throat.” Rhysand says, “It’s Y/N, correct?” he asks, and you nod hesitantly, “Would you like to see a healer?”

It’s then that you remember that the High Lord is daemati and definitely infiltrated your mind when you entered the tent, in order to gauge the threat you posed to them. 

You shake your head quickly, a frown pulling on your lips as you’re reminded of the blood pooling beneath your leathers at your hip. You don’t want to see another healer, you’re a damn good healer, but you have to remind yourself that they don’t know that yet. Pain ripples through your side as you twist slightly in the chair to look at Rhysand and you have to force back a grimace as you give him a weak smile. 

“No, I am quite alright. Thank you very much, High Lord.” you say, nodding formally at him before attempting to stand from the chair. “I have plenty of healing and strength tonics back in my tent. I just n–need to wrap it and get some rest for the morning.”

You barely make it one step before stumbling, your mind going hazy and body going shaky due to the lost blood and lack of food or water throughout the day. Azriel is there to catch you as soon as you stumble, strong hands holding your weight up before settling you back into your chair. You see shadows skitter around you as you take a shuddering breath and you wonder if your vision is clouding again. But you soon notice them around Azriel’s hands as well and make a mental note to ask about them once you’re fully conscious and not feeling delusional. 

“It doesn’t seem like you’re fit to go anywhere right now.” Azriel mumbles with a slight growl in his voice, turning away from you immediately after you relax back into the chair. 

He walks over to a table on the other side of the room that’s filled with objects you’d find scattered across your own desk on any given day at work. There’s bottles of tonics, gauze, bandages and even some sutures strewn across the table. It makes sense that the High Lord and his Inner Circle would have their own supplies given to them during the war. 

Azriel takes his time gathering the supplies he needs, then sets them on a table adjacent to the chair before turning his attention back to you. 

“Do you need help, brother?” Rhysand questions, noting Azriel’s furrowed brow as he tries to decide what to do first. “I can call for Madja.”

“No, I can do it.” Azriel grunts insistently, sending a warning glare in Rhysand’s direction. 

There’s a tug in the center of your chest as he speaks, as he unintentionally sends his possessiveness and frustration down the bond to you. Without a word, you send a weak but soothing hum of power down the bond back to him, which makes his brows furrow again, his attention snapping to you instead of the High Lord now. 

The look in his eyes is wild, one filled with shock and awe as he processes what you just did. 

“Did you feel that?” you question softly, eyes wide and watery as your heart feels like it’s going to beat through your chest. 

He only nods, his own eyes wide as his hand rests over his heart. You hear the rest of them behind you beginning to exit, hearing the High Lady suggest that they go visit her sisters to give the two of you space. A feeling of relief washes over you as the tent empties, leaving you alone with Azriel, your mate.

“So it is real,” he says breathlessly, a strangled noise of shock falling from his lips as you tug on the bond once more, “you’re really my mate.”

“I am,” you say in reply, a smile playing on your lips as you gaze up at him, you reach a hand up to his cheek to cup it as you grin as you repeat his words back to him, “you’re my mate.”

The two of you stare at each other for a moment before he notices how shaky your hand is against his cheek. He turns his gaze back to the slew of supplies he has in front of him. You hold back from directing him only for a moment before noticing the look of pure confusion on his face as he reaches for one of the tubs of salve that he’d grabbed. 

“Did Madja give you any strength tonics?” you ask, eyes scanning the table for the distinct bottle of aquamarine liquid that you have in mind. 

You spot it eventually, but can’t reach far enough to grab it, so you point to it for him to hand to you. Azriel does so and watches you closely while you shakily take off the stopper and take a drink from the bottle. You know that you only need to take half of the bottle, because you’d mixed these yourself and the amount in each was enough for male Illyrian warriors, not for an ordinary high fae healer. So you drink half of it and set it back down, noticing the male staring at you with wonder-filled eyes as you do.

There’s a beat of silence in the room as you reach for the healing salve on the table, making quick work of soothing the stinging cuts on your neck from Azriel’s interrogation. He continues to stare as you work on your own wounds, unsure of what he can do to help.

“Are you–” 

“A healer?” you interrupt with a smirk, giggling at the dumbfounded male in front of you. “I’m a healer working under Madja.”

“So you really don’t even need me to help with this, do you?” he questions, a small smile on his lips as he stares down at you soothing the cuts on your neck.

“Normally I wouldn’t,” you jokingly hum in return, “but since my healing abilities are stunted and I can’t twist too well right now to see what’s going on, I will need you to dress my wound.”

Azriel’s eyes widen at your words and he nods quickly, dropping to his knees in front of you again. His hands hovered over your waist, taking in the bloodied gash on your side. Your leathers are tattered in that area and there’s a piece of some other cloth shoved in between the holes of the leather, something you did while trying to keep the bleeding at bay while you fought. Truthfully, you can’t fully remember what caused the wound itself, but you’d rather not remember the traumas of the battlefield you endured over the last few days. 

“May I?” his voice interrupts your thoughts as his hands still wait for your approval to peel your leathers away from the wound. 

You nod silently, inhaling sharply as he pulls the leather away from your waist, tugging it up with your help. There’s blood caked on your skin, so Azriel makes quick work of carefully wiping down the area with a warm washcloth. You wince at the rough feeling of the cloth against your skin, biting back a cry as he continues to clean it. He mumbles apologies to you over and over again, his free hand grabbing for one of yours for you to squeeze.

“Almost done,” he murmurs, his thumb running across the back of your hand as he intently stares at your wound.

He finishes up quickly, pressing some dry gauze to the cut area before turning his gaze to you. Your eyes are watering when they meet his hazel ones, but you still give him a weak smile in return. 

“Now you can stitch me up, right?” you question jokingly.

Azriel misses the joke and the half smile on his face falls slowly at the thought. You giggle at his expression, shaking your head as he stares at you blankly.

“I’m only joking,” you tease, watching him finally relax once you start giggling. “I just need you to wrap me up, okay?”

“Yeah, yes of course.” he replies quickly, reaching for the large roll of bandage to his left to start wrapping it around your waist, “Do you harass all your healing trainees like that?”

There’s a smirk on his face as he places the bandage over the gauze on your side, eyes twinkling as he teases you back. 

“No, only the ones that interrogate me with a knife right before I find out that they’re my mate.” 

______________________________________________________________

Six years later

“Can you believe that it’s been six years since you held me at knife-point with Truth-Teller the first time we met?” you ask your mate, who just emerged from your en-suite bathroom in only a towel.

You’re laying on your side in the middle of your king-sized bed in the middle of your shared bedroom, toying with Truth-Teller that Azriel had left behind on the bedside table. 

“Are you ever gonna let that go?” Azriel says as he walks toward the edge of the bed, a smirk on his face as he pushes Truth-Teller out of your grasp. “I only did it because I thought you were gonna try to kill Rhys, or even worse, kill Feyre.” 

You gasp at his statement, throwing your hand over your heart dramatically. 

“I would never do such a thing and you know it.” you say with a dramatic frown, propping yourself up on your elbows as he inches closer to you by sitting down next to you. 

“I didn’t know that then,” he says matter-of-factly, “but now I know that you would never do such a thing and that you’re a little too fascinated by Truth-Teller after all that. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re turned on by it.”

Your eyes widen at his bold statement, your body flushing with embarrassment as he smirks at you before pulling you in for a searing kiss. His hands caress your sides, fingers gently grazing over your scars from that fated night from over your silk nightgown. You grasp for any part of him that you can, your hands shoving their way into his slightly damp hair to pull him closer. He hums against your lips, pulling you onto his lap. 

He presses your hips down onto his, causing you to moan into the kiss and grind back into him as you feel his half-hard length pressing against your core. His lips trail from your lips, to your cheek, and up to your ear. His breath fans against your neck, causing a shiver to run down your spine. Shadows trail along the hem of your nightgown, pulling the silky fabric up and up and up–

“How would you feel if I used Truth-Teller on you now, huh?” he murmurs against your skin, nibbling on your earlobe as he chuckles, “What if I took the blade and cut this pretty little nightgown off? What if I took the hilt and–”

Azriel’s lewd words are interrupted by a loud banging on your bedroom door, causing you to nearly jump out of his lap as the pounding continues.

“Training in twenty minutes with the Valkyries, asshole.” you hear Cassian’s booming voice call from the other side of the door, “Get your shit done and get out here, I can smell you two from out here.”

“I’ll be there, now fuck off,” Azriel retorts, biting back a smirk as he peers down at you to mumble, “remind me to look into new houses for just us soon.”

A pout pulls your lips down as you make the smallest bit of space between you and your mate, cheeks flushing with embarrassment as you become all too aware of your arousal hanging thick in the room.

“Don’t worry, love. We can continue this later,” he hums, bringing his lips to your neck to pepper kisses along the soft skin, “I don’t wanna rush anything today, wanna take my sweet time with my sweet girl.”

The flush of your cheeks deepen as you pull him closer, whining in response to his sensual touch, grinding your hips ever-so-lightly against his as you try to silently convince him to stay with you. He only growls in response, shaking his head at your mischief as he realizes your plan. 

“It’s our anniversary, Az.” you whine, a frown on your lips once more as the scent of your arousal continues to linger around you, enticing your mate more and more with each breath. 

It’s the anniversary of the mating bond snapping into place along with the anniversary of your mating ceremony today. The two of you decided to wait a year to accept the bond in order to get to know each other, and you’ve been inseparable since.

“I know, love.” he coos gently, hand coming up to your cheek to stroke it gently. “That’s why I wanna take my time with you, wanna make sure my perfect girl is taken care of in every way possible tonight. Can you be a good little mate and hold out until after dinner with the family?”

You continue to frown at your mate, but nod at him slowly. He smiles in return, placing a quick kiss on your cheek before gripping your hips to remove you from his lap and place you back on the bed.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come to training?” Azriel asks as he stands, reaching for his coveted blade as he stands over you. “I could bring Truth-Teller out to play just for you.”

You narrow your eyes at him, trying to ignore the familiar yet strange feeling of dread roiling within your gut as you try to feign annoyance with your mate. You shake your head at him wordlessly, rolling your eyes playfully when he shoots a lighthearted smirk in your direction. He’s only teasing you and you both know it, but the thought of training for battle does not sit right with you anymore, especially after you swore to him five years ago that he’d protect you forever, and that you’d never have to be on the front lines of war again. You could continue your duties as a healer for as long as you pleased, and would never have to worry about defending yourself, as your very own shadowsinger would do so for you. 

Ever since sustaining your injury six years prior, your body has never been the same. The injury you sustained was so intense that even the powers of you and Madja combined couldn’t heal the skin of your waist fully, nor could the two of you completely repair the damage to your hip bone that fractured from the impact of whatever took a chunk out of you. You can’t move as freely as you once could, though it doesn’t stop you from many things now aside from training, which you’ve only attempted once. 

“I’m only joking, love.” he reassures you, seeing the dimming light in your eyes as you drift off into thought at the idea of training. His hand runs along your side reflexively, as if his own scarred hands can heal the scarred skin of your waist. He plants one soft kiss on your lips before pulling away, taking you in as he smiles, “I love you, happy anniversary.” 

“Happy anniversary, Az. I love you so much.” you murmur, watching as your mate continues to get ready for the day. 

—

The day flies by quickly, filled mostly with fulfilling orders from Madja for illness tonics and salves in preparation for the coldest months in Prythian. It’s all a blur to you in all honesty, your mate being the only thing on your mind all day as you try to preoccupy yourself with busy work until it’s time to go to the River House for dinner.

It’s only 4:30 in the evening by the time you finish putting the rest of the salves into their tins. But you still decide to head to the River House a little early in order to speak to Feyre regarding an experimental tonic the two of you had brainstormed about a few weeks prior. 

She had commissioned you to do some research on non-Illyrian females giving birth to half-Illyrian children if there was any magic that could help to make the process less life-threatening. The High Lady never specifically asked you to make anything, just to research the topic, but you found a mix of tonics that would potentially help with flexibility and strength of a female’s bones during pregnancy in order to prevent major complications with the Illyrian wings and couldn’t help but start experimenting right away. 

It was a topic dear to your heart and you were more than grateful for Feyre’s commission, as you’d been told by Madja multiple times that it’s very possible that you’d never be able to mother Azriel’s children, especially due to the injuries you sustained in battle damaging your hip and pelvis. You’d hoped that this could be the cure for your feelings of inadequacy in being able to give your mate a child, but Madja still warns you to be careful and to wait as long as possible before deciding to try for a child in order to make sure you are truly healed. 

Despite the ringing thoughts of inadequacy in your brain after finishing the tonic, you nearly floated with excitement over to the River House at the end of your day, feeling beyond excited to tell Feyre the great news about your work-in-progress.

You enter the River House and are greeted with the smell of fresh pastries and a crackling fireplace. One turn into the drawing room and you spot Feyre lounging on the couch while Nesta plays with Nyx in the middle of the floor. Rhysand enters the room from the other direction as you do, three glasses of wine in hand as he strolls toward the couch to sit with his mate. Your chest blooms with warmth at the sight in front of you, admiring your found family that you lucked into becoming part of just a few years ago. 

Feyre is the first to notice you enter the room, greeting you with a grin as she motions for you to come in. You sit on the couch that’s facing the one the mates are sitting on, quietly greeting the others in the room as you settle. 

Nyx all but abandons Nesta when you come in, waddling over to you to give your legs a hug. You giggle at the boy, grabbing him under his arms to pull him into your lap and give him a proper hug giving him a quick kiss on the cheek.

“You’re here early today,” Rhys notes, summoning a fourth glass of wine for you before handing it to you. 

“I finished with my work early today, and had some exciting news to tell the High Lady that I wanted to share before dinner.” you retort with a smile, bouncing the toddler on your knee as you speak. 

Feyre’s eyes narrow at you as you call her by her formal title, but it’s so second nature to you that you almost always slip up when referring to her in conversation. You give her an apologetic look but her mood quickly changes once she realizes what you’re referring to.

“Oh, what have you found?” she says excitedly, sitting up straight as if that would help her hear your response any better. “Any good ideas for us to look into?”

“Actually, I have something better than good ideas to look into,” you say, reaching your hand into the bag at your side, pulling out a small vial of a cherry red tonic to show the three in front of you. 

“Is that–”

You nod slowly and hum in response, swirling the liquid in the vial before handing it to Feyre. She inspects it with wide, wonder-filled eyes as it sloshes in the tube. Nesta and Rhys crane their necks to look as well, both confused about the content of the vial.

“If it does what it is meant to do, it should be able to widen the pelvis of non-Illyrian females in order to aid in the birth of winged babes and make the process easier on our bodies.” you start, a bittersweet smile on your face as you catch yourself using the word our, referring to yourself as one of the females, though you know how unlikely it is that you’ll be able to. “It is supposed to help with the flexibility of the bone and grow the bone outward in order to accommodate the wings. We–We just need to complete some trials on non-pregnant females to confirm that it does what we want it to do before we can start advertising it to the public–”

“I’ll volunteer,” Nesta says, eyes wide as her own eagerness takes her aback. “I mean–If you need volunteers, I would love to help.”

“Of course, Nes.” you say with a smile, “You’ll be the first person on my list to contact when we’re ready for volunteers.”

“And what about you?” Rhysand interjects, taking a sip of wine as he peers over at you with nothing but pure interest and amusement in his eyes. “Would this be able to help you with childbirth, given your situation?”

Feyre immediately elbows her mate in the ribs, giving him a sidelong glare as she does. You know his curiosity is genuine and he means no harm by asking the question, but the thought alone feels like a knife through the heart. 

As you open your mouth to answer him, the doors to the house swing open, a booming voice flowing through the lower level as Cassian and Azriel enter. You thank the Cauldron in that moment for Cassian’s loud mouth, turning your attention to the two males strolling into the drawing room. 

Your mate’s eyes meet your own instantly, brow furrowed as he looks down to you, able to feel your discomfort, thanks to the conversation they’d interrupted, through the bond. You give him a weak, but reassuring smile, tugging on the bond lightly as if to tell him that you’re fine. 

“We thought we’d find you two here,” Cassian says to you and his mate, pulling Nesta into an embrace when she stands to greet him. “Neither of you can go a full day without seeing your precious Nyx, can you?” 

You smile down at the giggling boy in your lap, little wings flapping happily behind him as Cassian comes behind him to poke him teasingly. 

“As much as I love this little babe, I know my rightful place,” you laugh, standing from the couch to hand the child over to Nesta. “I know I’m quite far down on the list of favorites, especially since Auntie Nes is 1000% his number one.” 

Nesta hums in approval as she holds the little boy close, cooing as he plops his head down on her shoulder. 

Azriel makes his way over to you, his shadows immediately greeting you with lingering touches and whispers in your ears. His wing closest to you nearly wraps all the way around you like a protective shield, covering your back as he pulls you to his side to press a kiss to your forehead.

“Are you alright?” he mumbles against your skin and you nod, feeling better now that your mate is by your side again, especially when he sends a soothing hum down the bond to you. 

The rest of the night goes by smoothly, with flowing drinks and a bountiful feast. You told Feyre a thousand times that she did not have to do all of this just to celebrate your five year mating ceremony anniversary, but she insisted. It’s just you, Nesta, Feyre and your mates, and Nyx, present for dinner this time, as the others have other obligations. 

You don’t mind, though, since sometimes it’s overwhelming with all of the Inner Circle, including Varian and Lucien following their lovers around like lost puppies, present for dinners. So you’re grateful for the somewhat smaller crowd, meaning there are less people around to ask prying questions about your job, about your life before meeting Azriel, or–your least favorite–about what Azriel is like in bed. Those questions typically come from Mor or Amren after a few too many glasses of fae wine, but you’re grateful for the break from them for the time being.

You don’t miss the way your mate sneaks glances at you all night, sending his shadows to tease you and play with the crushed velvet of your skirts while acting engrossed by conversation with Nesta, using his own strong hand on your thigh to tease you. 

By the time desserts roll out, you’re having a hard time sitting still under his touch, ready to head back to the House of Wind to continue whatever you had started with him earlier in the day. You’re shifting back and forth in your seat while trying to focus on the chocolate tart in front of you when you feel a strong hand squeeze your thigh once again, making you snap your attention to your mate. 

Azriel smirks down at you, reaching his free hand to your cheek to stroke it gently. Your knee brushes his leg as he massages your thigh gently, pushing your knee against the sheath holding Truth-Teller flush to his outer thigh while a wicked smirk plays on his lips. He knows exactly what he’s doing and it’s damn near driving you insane.

“Are you going to be okay to leave after you finish your dessert, love?” he questions, feigning innocence as he knows at least Nesta and Cassian are listening to him from the seats on the other side of you. “I’m exhausted from training today.”

You nod quietly, keeping a cool and collected expression on your face while you tug on the bond between your souls sensually.

It’s only 8 in the evening by the time Az is shooting into the sky with you in his arms, two hours earlier than the two of you usually are leaving the River House on a family dinner night. He typically has to drag you out of the drawing room after multiple drinks with Feyre and Cassian, but this time you’re the one dragging him out. 

He doesn’t even bother entering the House of Wind through the front, just flies straight onto the balcony outside your bedroom, pushing the door open quickly as he sets you down gently. 

Before you can pounce, he turns away from you and walks over to his desk on the other side of the room, rummaging through the top drawer. He pulls out a black rectangular box that’s a little longer than his hand, adorned with a golden ribbon. You frown as he turns back around, shaking your head at him.

“Az, we said no gifts.” you say, brows furrowing as he runs his hand along the edges of the box nervously. “I–I didn’t get you anything.”

“I know, I didn’t want you to get me anything,” he says firmly, hazel eyes flaring with love and intensity as he stares down at you. “I–I just wanted to give you this, it’s something I’ve had for a long time and haven’t really known what to do with, until now.”

He’s firm in his movements as he places the box into your hands, not letting go until you accept the gift. You eventually grab it, a frown crossing your face as you look down at the box.

You choose not to argue with him anymore, giving in to his intense gaze as you tug on the golden ribbon to free the lid for the box. In all honesty, you’re expecting some kind of jewelry, some delicate and historic necklace that he’s had for centuries. What you’re not expecting to find on the other side of the black lid is a dagger. 

Lying within a blanket of velvet inside of the box is a silver dagger, one with a braided silver and gold hilt adorned with large white and golden-yellow gemstones in an intricate pattern imitating starlight all the way from the pommel down to the cross-guard. A gasp falls from your lips as you take in the beauty of the weapon in the box, unsure of what to say.

“I was given this dagger centuries ago by my mother. She told me she knew I would never use it myself because my hands had nearly outgrown it by the time she gave it to me, but she knew that I would find the perfect person to give it to.” Azriel says, unsheathing Truth-Teller to place it next to the box in your hand. “I think deep down she knew that I would meet you, love.”

The dagger within the box is almost an exact replica of Truth-Teller in shape and form but not size, only the color of the gemstones embedded in the metal and the gold-adorned hilt of the smaller one setting the two apart. 

The two blades seem to hum when set next to each other, as if they were Made together, as if they were twin flames, as if they were mates. You can feel the vibration in your hands along with in your own soul as you stare down at the gift in wonder.

“Az, I–I can’t take this from you,” you say, finally looking back up at him with teary eyes, “I know how much your daggers mean to you, I don’t want to take one from you.”

“My lightsinger,” Azriel nearly whispers to you, his free hand coming up to brush through your hair, “my beautiful mate, can’t you see?”

You smile gently at the nickname, one he’d given you shortly after the two of you had met. He’d told you that he thought you were a lightsingerwhen you walked into the tent that evening, joking that you were just like the faeries living in the Bog of Oorid in the way that you lured him in immediately. The nickname stuck, especially after the first time he’d watched you heal Nyx, seeing the bright light flowing from your fingers as you healed the boy’s scraped knee to ease his pitiful sobs. 

“Can’t you feel it, love? This dagger was made for you, it took me so long to realize it, but I just know this was made for you. It sings to Truth-Teller, just like your soul sings to mine. You are the light to my shadows, I–I really never thought I would find you in this lifetime, but then you just stumbled into that damn tent six years ago and my life has been so much better since. I was stuck in a constant state of darkness with no real purpose in sight until this bond snapped into place, but now I can see what my life is meant to be spent with you.” he continues, cupping your cheek. 

For a man of few words, Azriel always knows how to make you melt. Without a word, you pull him down for a gentle kiss, feeling the two daggers hum in rhythm with your bond between your bodies. You pull away from the kiss to peer up at him, eyes glowing with love and warmth.

“I love you, Azriel.” you whisper, pulling him close as his shadows skitter over your hand that’s touching his cheek. “My shadowsinger, my mate.”

He doesn’t say anything as he wraps one arm around your waist, the other pulling the daggers from your grasp. He sets you and the blades onto the edge of the bed, prompting you to wrap your legs around his waist as he kisses you deeply.

“Can we finally finish what we started earlier today?” you tease against his lips, earning a chuckle from the shadowsinger.

“I think we need to finish the conversation we were having earlier before we continue anything else, yeah?” he murmurs, trailing kisses along the smooth skin of your neck.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you hum innocently, grinding your hips up into his eagerly. 

“Hmm, you don’t?” he questions, blindly searching for the blade he’d strewn onto the bed next to you with his free hand before running it along your arm. You gasp at the contact, the coolness of the blade making your skin erupt in goosebumps, “Does this jog your memory at all, love?”

You open your mouth to make a teasing comment to your mate, but he trails the blade from your arm and up to your chest, stopping at the hem of your shirt laying between your breasts.

“Do you want me to use my blade on you?” he questions, voice low and sultry as he speaks, “I see the way you watch when I train with Truth-Teller, I can feel the way it makes your heart race every time I pull it out. I see how disappointed you get when I take it off my hip when I come into the bedroom, love.” he continues, the tip of the blade drawing tiny circles on your chest as your breathing grows heavy. “Just tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it.”

You stare up at him with lust-filled eyes, pupils blown as you think about what’s about to happen. He gives you an encouraging yet lustful look in return, tugging on the bond between your souls to tell you how much he needs you. His shadows trail around you as well, tendrils swirling by your ears and down near your breasts excitedly to spur you on. 

“I–I want you to use Truth-Teller on me, Az.” you admit finally, a blush spreading over your cheeks at the confession. 

“How would you like me to use it, love? You gotta use your words or I won’t know what you want.” he coaxes, a smirk playing on his lips as he tries to get you to elaborate, since it always took much encouragement from the foul-mouthed shadowsinger to get you to talk dirty with him. 

“Want you t–to fuck me with it, u–use the hilt to fuck me.” you murmur, eyes falling to avoid his as the words fall from your lips. “Want you to cut my clothes off with it and–and then fuck me, mark me as yours, Az.”

He hums happily at your confession, one hand coming up to grip your chin. Your eyes meet his and you notice that something’s changed, something dark and lustful taking over his gaze as he trails the blade from the exposed skin of your chest towards the ruffled neckline of your pale marigold dress. Your breath catches as the blade digs into the velvet, easily creating a small nick in the fabric.

“This dress is one of my favorites on you,” Azriel states in an almost disappointed tone as he watches the blade slowly separating the bust of the dress, “but I guess I’ll just have to find a really good seamstress to make you a new one because I need to get this off of you, right now.”

Before you can process the scene unfolding, Azriel uses one swift flick of Truth-Teller to split the velvet all the way down to your navel, and one more to separate the skirt. His eyes are wide as he shoves the fabric from your body, helping you as you tug your arms out of the sleeves, leaving you in only a glittering navy blue bralette and thong, picked out specially for him. 

“You’re incredible,” the shadowsinger breathes out, feverishly pressing his lips to yours again once he takes in your figure below him.

Your heart races as you raise your hips up, grinding against his clothed cock while he trails Truth-Teller over your bare hip. He groans into your mouth before pulling away from the kiss, gently removing your legs from around his hips to spread them for you. Shadows work on your bralette as he moves the blade, unbuttoning the back of it so you can quickly toss it off, leaving you in only the glittering navy thong.

Truth-Teller is in Azriel’s hand as he takes a half-step away from you in order to trail the blade down to your core, the cool metal against your heat causing you to squirm slightly. He smirks at you as he flips the dagger around, hand on the blade as he presses the hilt against your clit. 

“Are you sure you want this, sweetheart?” he questions seriously, watching you closely for any signs of hesitation. He finds none as you shake your head firmly.

“Yes, Az.” you nearly whine as it takes everything in you to keep your hips on the bed, feeling like you’re going to implode if he waits another minute to touch you. “I need you..need Truth-Teller, please.” 

“Nuh-uh, love. I gotta hear what you want.” he purrs, a smirk playing on his lips as he holds your hips in place with one hand while pressing the dagger against your clit with the other, “Gotta tell me what you need from me and Truth-Teller.”

It takes everything in you not to scream as he urges you to beg for him, tears welling in your eyes as you stare up at your mate. His hazel eyes are blown with lust as he continues his relentless teasing, getting pleasure from you begging for him.

“P–Please,” is all you can say as your mind becomes fogged by desire, eyes glassy as you beg.

“Use your words, love.” he prods again, a wild smirk on his face as he watches you becoming a mess beneath him. He knows you love submitting to him like this, and loves watching you give in to his every desire, loves watching you give up all control in order to please him. 

“I don’t know what you want when you just sit there and whine at me,” he teases, removing Truth-Teller from your core to move it towards your lips. “For all I know, you could want me to fuck your face with it.”

He catches the way your eyes flare slightly with interest at his suggestion, the way your lips part slightly as if you’re ready to take the hilt in your mouth instead. He knows you’re close to giving in again just from the way you can’t take your eyes off of him, the look in your eyes showing him that you’ll do anything for him.

A low chuckle falls from his lips as your mouth falls open when the pommel presses against your plump lips, allowing him to slide the hilt into your mouth with ease. Your lips close around the metal and he presses it to the back of your throat, slowly pumping it in and out as you whine around it.

“This isn’t what you really want, is it?” he questions and you hum around the hilt and shake your head slowly. “That’s what I thought. Once I take this out of your mouth, you have five seconds to tell me what you want, or you don’t get to cum at all tonight, got it?”

You nod obediently up at him, heart swelling with pride as he smiles sweetly down at you. 

“Good girl.” he whispers, finally pulling Truth-Teller out of your mouth for you to speak.

“Want you to fuck me with Truth-Teller, Sir.” you beg almost immediately, “Please, I–I need to feel it, wanna cum on your dagger, wanna be your good girl.”

“Oh, I can’t say no when you ask so sweetly, can I?” he coos at you as he pulls your panties away from your core, making room for his fingers on your clit and the hilt of the dagger against your entrance. “Now, be a good girl for me and stay still, sweetheart.”

He presses the pommel into your cunt, groaning as he watches your heat swallow the metal so well. A cry of pleasure falls from your lips as the hilt is pushed deeper into you, mouth falling open as you squeeze your eyes shut. That familiar feeling coils in your core as the hilt reaches your cervix, pent up from all the teasing you endured leading up to this moment. 

“Look at you, already ready to fall apart on my dagger. Such a good slut for me,” he remarks, pumping the blade into you at a steady pace. “You’re not allowed to cum until I say so, alright?”

“Yes, Sir!” you whine, nodding feverishly as you squirm.

Azriel watches in wonder as you take the entire hilt of the blade, your hips bouncing in rhythm with his thrusts. He can tell you’re fighting hard to hold back your orgasm, getting even more turned on by the tears of pleasure and frustration pricking the corners of your eyes as you bite your lip harshly. 

“Love when you take what I give you and listen so well,” he praises, increasing the speed of his thrusts as you begin to chant his name mindlessly, “My beautiful little mate.”

“P–Please, Sir.” you beg, eyes opening quickly and hips snapping roughly as you feel the shadows begin to work on your clit when Azriel takes his hand away to palm himself through his pants. “I wanna cum for you, please!”

“That’s it, love.” he coaxes as you don’t dare to look away from him, watching as he smirks down at you approvingly, “C’mon, cum on my blade.”

You don’t have to be told twice, your release immediately washing over your whole body as you let out a loud cry of pleasure. Azriel wraps an arm around your waist as you squirm beneath him, pumping Truth-Teller into you at an unforgiving pace to fuck you through your orgasm. He kisses your neck gently, whispering praises in your ear that you can’t hear over the shout that falls from your lips. He doesn’t stop moving until you’re almost begging him to, squirming beneath him to get away from his relentless touches. 

“Did so good for me.” he murmurs against your skin, planting one last kiss against your neck before pulling away from you completely and placing Truth-Teller next to you on the bed. “Think you can give me another?”

You watch in a daze as he strips, discarding his clothes quickly before returning to the foot of the bed. In his own lustful daze, he begins to sheath himself into you immediately upon stripping, but stops himself when he looks down to see you blinking up at him slowly. He relaxes for a moment, reaching to stroke your cheek gently to bring you back to him. 

“Need your color, love.” he coos, smiling down at you sweetly.

“Green, Az.” you say confidently as you nuzzle against his hand, “Need you so bad, Az, please.”

He hums in response, leaning down to kiss you gently as he pushes into you, one hand toying with your clit as he does. You both groan at the feeling, his cock filling you to the brim, unlike the hilt of Truth-Teller that didn’t have the same thickness.

“F–Fuck,” he groans, burying his head into the crook of your neck. “You feel so good, love. Don’t know how long I’ll last.”

He couldn’t lie, watching you get off on Truth-Teller turned him on so much more than it should have. It turned him on so much that he’d almost cum in his pants at the sight of you, so he’s on the brink of cumming just from being inside your warmth for a few strokes. 

“Want you to cum in me, Az.” you whine, desperate to feel him, in love with the sight of your mate marking you as his. “Please, cum inside me. I’m close again too. Make me yours all over again.”

He nods wordlessly, speeding up his thrusts as you coax him now, the feeling of you clenching around him spurring him on even more. You wrap your legs around his waist, digging your fingers into his shoulder while you moan, his name falling from your lips like a chant. 

It isn’t long before his hips are stuttering, thrusts becoming erratic as he reaches his own climax. You’re not far behind, feeling his cum coating your walls making you cum quickly as you hold onto him tightly. 

“Gods,” he mumbles as he collapses against you, your sweat-slick bodies flush against each other as you feel your heart beating in time with his. “You’re unbelievable.”

You hum tiredly in response, trying to fight your weariness for long enough to get ready for bed. Azriel can tell that you’re exhausted as he pulls away, and he knows what he has to do. He plants a quick kiss to your forehead as he pulls his half-hard cock from your cunt, making you whine at the loss of contact. 

Before you can protest, he’s walking towards the en-suite bathroom to draw you a bath, though the House is already one step ahead of him. There’s already a steaming bath running, along with a bottle of fae wine and two glasses sitting next to the tub, ready for the two of you to clean off. 

Azriel quietly thanks the House and returns to where you’re sprawled out on the bed. You give him a tired smile as he reaches for you, stroking your hair to get your attention. 

“Let’s take a bath before you fall asleep, alright?” he suggests and you nod, willingly letting him pick you up bridal-style to carry you to the bathroom.

You wrap your arms around his neck, cuddling against his bare chest as he carries you effortlessly, “I love you, my shadowsinger.” “And I love you, my lightsinger.”

taglist: @wrecklesssly @slutforwordsfr @georgiadixon @dreamloud4610 @angelbunny222 @bookishbishhh @fanficscuziranout

[dolicekiss]

From Friend To Foe

PAIRING: Dark!Aemond Targaryen X Strong!fem!Reader

CONTENT WARNING: smut (18+, mdni), noncon, virgin!reader, possessive aemond, friends to enemies, childhood friends, reader is from house strong, dragon riding (also riding Aemond), unprotected sex (p in v), forced kissing, breeding, angst, threats, humiliation, reader has dark hair, hair pulling, slapping, cunnilingus, mention of forced marriage, attempted murder.

SYNOPSIS: Aemond and you were childhood friends, you being the daughter of a lord and him being the Targayen prince. When the Greens and Blacks went against each other, your father’s sworn fealty to the blacks became an obstacle in your friendship and when your father was defeated, army overthrown — you were taken prisoner, kneeled before the Targaryen prince who was once your closest friend.

Swords clashed, dragon roared and knights fell after fighting bravely.

All you could do was sit idle in your room and await the promise of a better future. Only it did not come and when silence haunted the grounds of Harrenhal and everything came to a halt, you were certain your family had lost the fight.

You were mere humans, with no possession of such an almighty being.

Dragons were Gods. To be worshiped and prayed — and one was prominently flying over the remains of Harrenhal.

Belonging to none other than Aemond Targaryen, who was once your beloved friend with whom you dreamt of riding on a dragon.

Aemond had promised you when you were younglings. A promise that once he has claimed himself a dragon, you would be the first person he'd take for a flight.

The irony of the situation broke your heart.

The same dragon had left your castle and people in ruins — Vhagar’s loud wails filling up the sky with terror. You knew very well that now your army had fallen, your father definitely slain, you were going to face the same fate as many women during war did.

A prisoner, meat for Aemond’s men.

The door was slammed open and you turned around in a swift motion, finding your servant standing there. A look of horror adorning her once serene features. “It is done. The Targaryen prince has won and we are the only ones left.”

Tears blurred your vision. You did not remember reaching for the sharp blade which you had placed on your side table, an escape from all the atrocities you would eventually be forced to face by the hands of your own closest friend.

War was war.

And with the stories of Aemond’s cruelty circulating about, you knew very well than to beg for mercy or even expect it. Long gone was the sweet prince who made you promises of protection, a dragon and long lasting friendship.

He was your foe now.

An enemy who had slayed the men of your house, your own blood.

As you attempted to cut your own throat, a hand prevented you from doing so. Guards, of house Targaryen. Your face paled and your tears finally rushed down your face in glossy streaks, your one chance of escape taken from you.

The men restrained you but you screamed, struggled even. To break free and somehow draw the blade closer to your throat, only a small cut and you would disappear. You did not care if this was considered weak, you were willing to do just about anything to keep your dignity and honor.

To not be some slave for a man to put his cock in.

“Stay still, woman!” One of the guards berated you but you didn't listen, worming in their grasp.

“Let me go! Release me, right now.” Your screams echoed in the expanse of your chamber as well as the castle and Aemond heard them too.

He had ordered the demise of everyone, everyone besides you. There was this ache, this need to lay his eye upon you for the first time in awhile. Last time he saw you when you were nine, a beautiful little girl who often came to the red keep with her father — member of the council.

Aemond and your friendship flourished when you defended him against Aegon, comforting him to not lose all hope for a dragon. It was you who encouraged him, who provided him with the mental strength to claim Vhagar.

Your words of strength lingered in the back of his mind when he took claim of the largest dragon.

And now he had caused destruction with the same dragon.

Fate had brought you both to this. Ruined every good thing which was left in his life and he knew that you would never, ever forgive him for destroying your home.

You were kind, loving, sweet. Rebellious too but always stood your ground and believed in achieving justice, by any means. Aemond wondered how you'd grown, how you appeared as an adult now.

Did you braid your dark hair the same way as his Targaryen sister did, since you'd grown so fond of their silver hair? Were your eyes still the same onyx dark as your hair, a stark contrast to his own purple ones and was your choice in clothes still so dreadful? Curiosity pinched at his abdomen.

Your screams boomed through Harrenhal and Aemond felt proud of your resistance, only he had no knowledge of what you were resisting for so prominently.

He had no idea all your desperation and fight was to end your life.

The guards pulled you apart, their blood stained hands managing to rip off the side of your dress which concealed your shoulder during all the commotion to get you to release the blade. You somehow managed to free yourself from one of the guard’s unbearable grip and slashed his face with the blade.

“Ah, you fucking bitch.” He screamed, holding his face with one hand while the other tried to reach for you.

Another guard extracted his revenge, striking you across your face and tugging at the already torn fabric, exposing more of your back.

Your face contorted in pain, wishing to rid yourself off this world. “Don't fucking touch me. Unhand me and I will slaughter you lot like pigs.”

Your threats were larger than your size and some guards found you amusing while some knew you were capable of what you had promised them. A hand reached for your wrist, to tame it but not being able to pry open your clingy fingers around the dagger with all their strength.

Your fingers had paled, losing all their pink hue and the blood had stopped pumping through the small veins. That was how strong your grip around the weapon was.

Being carried down the stairs, your gaze took in the sight of the place that was once your home. Broken and hopeless, you were dragged along to the main hall. Rain pattered over the stones, causing a nauseating feeling in your stomach as you took in the situation of your castle.

Thankfully, your blurry vision did not allow you to take more of the destruction. All you noticed was the daunting figure of your enemy, standing pridefully at the center of the hall, awaiting your arrival.

You were pushed towards someone, forced on your knees and the silky silver strands gave away at the person's identity. Prince Aemond Targaryen stood before you, with his back turned to you and hands clasped behind his back.

You attempted to gather the pieces of your torn dress, holding it over your chest since it was ripped evidently in the back. Aemond upon turning around, did not expect you to be in such ruins. Dress torn apart, dark hair all but a mess and he caught glimpse of the silver rings encircled around your strands.

Now in a complete frenzy.

The same silver you always wore in your hair, around your little braids.

Aemond glanced up at his guards and then back at you, watching you. Demeanor phlegmatic, lips sitting tediously on his face.

You didn't dare to lift up your eyes. It wasn't about possessing enough courage to look him in the eye but having no self control. You knew deep down if you looked at him, you'd lose all control and attack him.

“I don't recall ordering you lot to bring her in such a..” Aemond tilted his head, analyzing the state you were in. “disheveled state.”

“She fought back a lot, my Prince. Intended to cut her throat with that little blade of hers in her hand.” Aemond was slightly taken aback from the revelation but you were right to choose that as an option. Everyone in this room knew what happened to women during war, especially the beautiful ones such as yourself.

The highborns were craved more as they carried noble blood within them.

His one eye fell upon the blade you still held with great vigor in your hand and Aemond nearly snickered. You had not let go of that adamant personality of yours, carrying it with you in adulthood.

Aemond did not like how your beautiful skin was exposed to the lecherous eyes of his guards. This abrupt jealousy even left him bemused for a moment, nonetheless he diverted his attention back to you.

He stepped closer — frame towering over yours and you saw the perfect moment to attack him. A feeble and thoughtless action but it was either succumbing to horrors or extracting revenge. In a fraction of mere seconds, you had risen up from your knees and headed for him with the pointy end of the dagger in his direction.

The guards reached for you and before you could possibly injure the Prince regent, his fingers enveloped your wrist. With potent strength and fast reflexes, Aemond held you in place. A mischievous glint flashed in his one good eye, lips curving up in a malicious smirk.

He saw the raw hatred and hunger for revenge in your eyes — your hand unwavering and stable. You meant the attack. Nowhere was it under the sad emotions of losing your family.

“Bold of you to assume this would work on me, Dōna.” Aemond whispered, face only a few inches apart from yours. Only the dagger separating you. You acknowledged the name he'd called you, from when you were children and the anger inside you was fuelled more. (Sweet)

“Have I not trained in front of you, hm? Did you not see me wield a sword whenever you stayed in the red keep?”

You glared at him. “I will kill you, either with poison or with a dagger. It is my promise to you, tyrant.”

“From raqiros to tyrant? You truly have grown, my Dōna.” He whispered malevolently, his warm breath with its own mind caressing the bridge of your nose, nearly with affectionate. (Friend)

Having spent most of your childhood in the red keep with the targaryens, especially Aemond, he was bound to teach you some high valyrian. You knew what raqiros meant, but he had never unveiled the meaning behind the nickname he gave you. Promising you he would once you two are grown enough.

Aemond looked up from your face to his men who stood on guard. Three of them, big and broad. His eyes raked over their hands and as he imagined those same hands mishandling you, ripping away at your clothes and prying open the corset which held your dress together, his jaw clenched.

“Ser Criston Cole,” he called out and the commander responded, head held high.

Aemond’s hand still prevented you from moving an inch, the pointy end of the dagger only a few inches away from his glistening, pale cheek.

“Behead them.” It was a simple command but it instilled fear in everyone in the room, including you. Even the commander was surprised by such a gruesome order and dared to ask. “Forgive me, my Prince but why?”

Aemond locked gaze with you. “They dared to lay hands on my prize, unveiled her dignity.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion as the Commander nodded, passing the order to his other guards. You heard the sounds of constant struggle, similar to yours as their pleas to live fell upon deaf ears.

“My Prince, please! Spare us, we were only acting upon your order!”

They were ignored, as Aemond continued to stare at you. His purple eye dropping to your lips for a second. He released you and you, on instinct, stepped back with the dagger still in your hand. It was proven that combat was definitely not how you could take down the prince.

Aemond had forced you to come along to the premises of Harrenhal, where his dragon rested. Strained and tired from the war she had indulged in. You had never seen Vhagar up close but knew that she was the second largest dragon, her first rider being Visenya Targaryen.

Your lips shuddered the more closer you were pulled next to the sleeping dragon.

“She can smell fear.” Aemond reminded you, staring ahead. “Conceal it unless you wish to burn to ashes.”

You inhaled a deep breath, closing your eyes and hoping to put an end to the growing fear in the presence of Vhagar.

When you opened your eyes, you were more calm now and in the right state of mind to admire the beast’s beauty. She was gorgeous, a shade of bronze mixed with green and blue highlights. Green, fierce eyes staring ahead and you would have congratulated Aemond on claiming a dragon if only the circumstances were different.

“You will ride with me to King’s Landing.”

“I will not.” You spat, taking a step back from him. That didn't seem to please Aemond as he closed the distance between you and grasped your arm, holding you in place. “Yes, you will.”

“I would rather be fed to your hounds than ride with you upon the back of the dragon which destroyed my home.” Your tone was venomous, full of anger and spite. Aemond knew there was no way calming you down or ridding you of your anger, so he did the next best thing that came to mind.

His slim hands slithered across your waist as he picked you up, settling you down on the dragon’s back. Vhagar released a roar and Aemond whispered something to her in high valyrian, causing her to calm down. Her head settling down, to rest.

He moved in front of you, taking a seat as well. “Hold on tight.”

You glued your hands to your sides, completely ignoring him. Aemond released a frustrated growl at your adamant behavior and lack of pliancy. He reached behind to grab your arms with his gloved hands, forcefully circling them around his small waist.

“Let go of me.” You struggled and Aemond looked back at you with irritation all over his beautiful face. “Do you wish to succumb to your death by falling? If so, feel free to let go.”

That was a lie as Aemond had already tied you to him with the brown belt — locking you with him. Even if you were to let go of him, his body weight restricted on his dragon would prevent you from falling and eventually meeting your demise. This was merely to get you to touch him.

To feel you against him, with little to no distance.

Your lips settled in a frown as you tightened your hold around him causing Aemond to grin. He patted his dragon’s back and then spoke. “Sōvēs, Vhagar.” (Fly)

The dragon shifted on its legs, preparing for the flight and you gasped when you felt it move more beneath you. Subconsciously, your fingers gripped the leather tunic of Aemond, chest pressing tightly over his broad back. Terror filled you as the dragon finally took flight, its huge wings flapping and the force of it made you realize how easy it must have been for Aemond to ruin your house.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, closing your lids shut and burying your face in Aemond’s shoulders.

This is exactly how he had anticipated your first ride on a dragon with him all these years, how you'd react to the beast moving and roaring. Your subtle touches, adorable reactions and soft sounds were just as Aemond had pictured them in his mind.

And he was fulfilling his promise to you.

Until now, Aemond never allowed anyone to ride with him. Only you were the exception and as gruesome the enmity between the two of you was, he could not simply suppress the overwhelming feelings he'd always harbored.

“Aemond..” You whispered, as the dragon took flight and it left you screaming. “Aemond! I'm fucking terrified.”

One hand holding onto his seat, the other reached over and settled on your hand around his chest. In an attempt to comfort you as Vhagar flew into the depths of the sky, Harrenhal nothing but a small scenery when you opened your eyes to look down at it.

A lone tear slid down your face.

This was not how you wished to ride with Aemond.

You hated him, disgust all over your face when you noticed how little and inferior everything appeared from up here. No wonder the Targaryens burned people and houses, as they felt superior being this close to Gods than the rest of you.

“Calm down, Dōna.” He said to you when his dragon had finally flew for King’s Landing.

You didn't say anything, only loosened your hold around him after realizing how awfully close were you to him.

Aemond noticed that and didn't like it.

“Vēzot, Vhagar. Vēzot.” Upon hearing Aemond’s command, the dragon changed route and flew high up in the air, going up tearing through the grey clouds. In fear of falling, your arms once again found themselves around the dragon rider’s small waist. (Up)

You had no idea what Aemond had said but it made his dragon fly up, defying gravity and leaving you gasping for air.

With a satisfied smile on his face, Aemond relished in the feeling of power he had over you and the power he'll soon have over others too. It was painfully evident his brother was incompetent and if something were to befall him, it would be Aemond next in line to inherit the throne.

Never did you ever think or expect that you would be brought back to the red keep as a prize, a symbol of victory — a slave most definitely for Aemond after how he behaved last time with the guards last time. He did not allow anyone to look at you, to touch you, besides your maidens who helped you doll up for the Prince.

His possessiveness was very well known to you when you both were children but you had expected him to grow out of it. How foolish of you to assume that.

Aemond was a possessive child. You recalled the time where he had forbade his siblings from playing with you — or when he did not let anyone touch his sword or even wield it. You remembered how the future lord of Casterly Rock was treated only because he had dared to pass a compliment to Aemond’s sword.

You could hear the cheers of the smallfolk and it disgusted you. He only won against you and your family, not the Blacks. It repulsed you how he was supporting a usurper and not the rightful heir. Your father died for the cause of Rhaenyra Targaryen, you would do too in a heartbeat.

You were lead inside the Red keep after the notorious flight with Aemond. The Prince’s orders were to his servants were to lead you to his own chambers and clean you up. You had no idea why, but you were not going to comply easily.

“I am not your mistress.” Your voice boomed loudly in the main hall, causing Aemond’s footsteps to come to a halt. “Neither am I your whore. Kill me because I too support Rhaenyra Targaryen’s claim to the throne. I shall die a honorable death as my father and kin did.”

You had dared to speak to him, like that, in the presence of not only the Queen but even the other council members.

Aemond’s hands balled up into fits. “Take her.”

You were forcefully dragged somewhere while you struggled, piercing screams enough to damage one's ears. Before you were pulled in a corridor, you made a promise. “I will get my revenge, Aemond Targaryen. You shall answer for the blood of my family that stains your hands. I will never forgive you!”

Alicent followed her son, your threats still lingering in her mind. You had screamed them with tremendous agony and will. She worried, for the kingdom.

“Do you believe you would be doing the realm anything good by bringing a blood thirsty enemy here?” Alicent questioned as she followed Aemond into the room where the council took place.

His fists shook, with poorly tamed rage. “She is anything but a weak girl.”

Alicent scoffed. “She is openly screaming threats. Either a fool would do that or a person who has got absolutely nothing to lose, Aemond.”

“Her screams will quiet down once I have managed to put a child in her.” Aemond spat at his mother, placing his sword down on the table.

She was appalled at what her son had evolved into. The monster he'd become and somewhere she doubted her own motherly skills.

You were forced into a beautiful, pale dress – the fabric as thin as a sheer curtain – after your bath. The maids obviously did not provide you with anything which could conceal your body in the see through white dress. It had embroidery done on the front, so it somewhat worked to cover your breasts.

But the longer it extended, the more it revealed everything underneath.

Pieces of your wavy dark hair were pinned behind, some braided with silver rings clipped around.

The maids soon excused themselves, leaving you to your solitude. Your body felt cold from the lack of clothes so you moved over to stand before the fireplace. Arms sliding up and down your frame to warm up yourself.

Truth to be told, you were suffering with trepidation. Were you prepared to sleep, to head to bed? But why in Aemond’s chambers? All sorts of vile and impure thoughts came rushing in your mind as you tried to keep them at bay.

The doors were soon opened and there stood Aemond, in a different set of clothes. You immediately stepped back, albeit him standing far away from you. He noticed that but no matter how many walls you tried to build between you two, Aemond was determined to break and crush each and every one of those.

He appeared enamored with you.

You were nothing less than an angel, standing underneath the moonlight illuminating your frame.

“Is this what you brought me here for, Prince Regent? To dress me up and warm your bed late at night?” You questioned with disgust and Aemond stepped froward.

You immediately retreated. “Do not dare to come any closer. I will not be one of your whores.”

“What makes you think I would let you become one of my whores?” Aemond asked with a soft tone. Your beauty had soothed all his irritation but it also ignited a fire within his core.

“You're a monster.” You whispered. “You have become a tyrant, a beast worse than those dragons of yours. It is a pity.”

Aemond was losing his patience with you. He didn't waste time, snapping and running towards you. The man pinned you against the wall, knocking over a vase resting on a table besides you. Pain bloomed in your back from the hardness of the wall — and being slammed into it.

The targaryen man locked eyes with you and let out a smile of satisfaction, witnessing the fear swimming in your innocent gaze. “Pity? You dare pity me when you are left with nothing of your house, nothing.”

The cruel reminder caused tears to well up in your eyes but your gaze stayed locked with Aemond’s. It did not waver and with all your strength, you pushed him away from you.

“I hate you.” You confessed, tears sliding down your face, a testament to the pain you were battling. “You were my friend, my fucking friend. How could you do this to me, to me? Your fucking Dōna, Aemond.”

When he heard the high valyrian word escape your lips, he growled. You saw him take a step further and this time decided to make a run for the door, trying to crawl over the bed hastily but Aemond was fast, vigilant as he grabbed you.

You fought back, slapping and punching him but it didn't work at all. He shoved his lips against yours and he did not care that you didn't want this. He wanted it, that was all that mattered. Aemond’s tongue forcefully entered your mouth as your hands continuously punched his chest.

He pushed you down on the both whilst staying locked to you, tasting your plump lips with vigor.

Head tilted, he pushed open your thighs and buried his knee between them. Rutting it against your cunt and you released a muffled cry in the liplock, hoping he would show some mercy but Aemond was too far gone.

The pressure on your clit – sheer fabric the cause of you and Aemond’s separation – was intense. A burgeoning need lighting up in your core as you struggled. There was no way you would give in, no matter how much you had admired him when you both were children. You knew better. You were only the daughter of some lord, meanwhile he was the Prince.

The fight for dominance was already won by Aemond as his tongue explored the inside of your sweet flesh. He broke apart from you to gaze upon you, a mess he'd turned you into. Face flushed, lips swollen and bloodied from how harshly he had sunk his canines into them.

Your dark hair with glinting silver in pure disarray, spread about everywhere on the bed. Aemond was fucking drunk and there was no stopping him.

“You said I'm a monster, right?” His voice was eerily low, causing you to panic. “I shall show you what monstrosity I am capable of.”

He tore the dress in a single tug, discarding the two pieces somewhere on the ground. Fear evident in your enlarged eyes as you struggled to conceal yourself with your arms but Aemond held them above your head, his fingers roughly pressing into your skin leaving marks.

“Aemond, please.” Tears fell and Aemond nearly softened.

If you'd been kind to him like how you were in the past, this compromising situation wouldn't have fallen you. He would've let you live, be a maid in the red keep but now, he had to prove it to you.

Just what he was capable of.

“Aemond,” you sweetly called out, hoping it would work. “My prince, don't do this. You do not wish to do this.”

“Too late for that sweet tone, my lady. If you do not wish for worse, I suggest you shut your goddamn mouth and take it.” His voice was so soft, so low but his words were as repulsive and cruel. It was what Aemond had become. A broken boy who sought out solace but was too afraid to ask for it, fearful of seeming weak — yet again becoming a target of his brother’s constant bullying.

In the process of becoming what he hated, Aemond lost you too.

One eye raked over your exposed breasts, full and round. You were no longer the little girl who used to chase him around the red keep, in her long dresses. You had flourished, flowered with grown tits and when his eye fell lower, he inhaled sharply. Plush, meaty thighs greeted them. He recalled how at one point you were as skinny as a boy, with no fat to your lean frame.

Now you had blossomed in a beautiful woman.

Your skin glowed neath the moonlight, your presence basking in its light. It showcased all the little minorities your features carried, what you had become, the delicate beauty that you were.

“You are certainly no little girl no more.” He reminded you, words no less than salt over your sounds.

Tears pearled on your waterline. “And you've grown into a fine man yourself.”

Your words were carried on obvious pain and Aemond pretended he did not catch a whiff of that. You continued, with a wavering voice, drained from all your rebellion and fight. “Fine but cruel, Aemond. I thought you were different, ought to be different. You proved me wrong.”

“Keep your lips sealed.” Aemond commanded, as your words nearly made his will to defile you falter. Being the daughter of a high lord, he was certain your maidenhead was still intact. You were never the type to engage in lecherous actions before the pure promise of a marriage.

Aemond’s rough hands took a handful of your breasts, fondling the fat. Thumbs swiping over your peebles, sending them upright. Undeniable pleasure shot through your body in the form of swarming heat as it settled in your lower stomach. A prominent gasp tore from your parted, swollen lips as Aemond stared at you in adoration.

“They are so full.” His comment about your body your pleasure-clad face form into one of grimace. “I wonder how your cunt looks now that you are older. You were always too innocent to consider our friendship anything more than what it was.”

Your back arched off the bed, the writhing of your hips increasing whenever Aemond rubbed his knee over your tiny pearl. You felt it swell up with need and wanton, a dull ache growing, begging to be burned out. The silver haired male pried your thighs open to lay eye on your pink cunt.

Aemond licked a wet tongue over his lips, his hunger to taste your seemingly delicious core pressing at him. He never once got overwhelmed with the urge to put his mouth on a woman's cunt — as the woman he got involved with whores. He had no interest in tasting something where most men found solace in.

But you were a virgin.

He knew that.

Yet he asked, surely to rile you up. “Has anyone been inside of you yet?”

Your eyes widened at the repulsive question of his. Brows scrunching in disgust and the rosette on your cheeks transcending into beetroot. Before you could control your imminent action, a strike echoed in the chambers. Tears had stalled, replaced with a hateful searing look and when Aemond recovered from the slap and faced you, chills enveloped you. Despite the impact, he was still poised. Eyes sheened with darkness and pure rage, his hand moved to reciprocate the harsh movement.

Only his slap hurt more — a scorching sensation awakening below your skin. A hint of red in the form of a hand imprinted on your face.

“Answer my question.”

You shook your head. Not only had the slap worked wonders to make you more pliant, it also made you realize that what Aemond was capable of.

His fingers ran along the line of your plumped up lips. “Use this pretty mouth of yours.”

“I'm not a low born.” You said through gritted teeth. “I'm chaste. Check for yourself if you are disbelieving of me.”

Aemond let out a scoff, fingers dimpling into your cheeks. The angry pout on your lips along with his hand print left behind on your cheek made you look ten times more endearing to him. “That I plan on doing, my lady.”

Hands lowering to your thighs, fingers dipping in the thickness. Aemond nestled his head between them, eyes gliding over your glistening cunt. It was true that you were still chaste and he was sure of it, there was no need to check it. He softly ran his tongue over your pearl, a sharp breath from you entering his ears.

“I don't want this.” Your tone had a hint of plea in it. “Please, Aemond. It is too repulsive, I cannot—”

Aemond growled. “Cannot, what? You cannot allow my cock inside you? Cannot allow me to put a babe in you? Or won't allow me to simply because I'm Aemond.”

“Targaryen with the largest dragon who put an end to my family line.” You finished, vision blurring. Aemond knew this conversation was pointless to carry and he instead closed his lips around your swollen bud, suckling like it would produce the sweetest of nectars in existence.

You tried to fight him off, pushing at his shoulders with the little strength left in your small fingers to no avail. He sucked with great vigor and your demeanor fell — back rising up from the ruined mattress and hips pushing your mound further into his cage. He pulled back, lapping at your swollen clit over and over again, like a dog in heat. Tears furiously caressed down your face as Aemond’s fingers came to collect your arousal from the center of your folds.

By the Gods, you were a waterfall.

“Never did I think I would grow this addicted to the taste of a woman's cunt.” Aemond whispered, his warm breath shooting jolts of pleasure through you. Your hand on its own accord pressed onto his head, palm flaccid and fingers twisting his Targaryen strands around. “The more I taste you, the more famished I become.”

“G-Get off me.” You somehow managed to utter. You were mortified. How your body ached for him to continue, hand forcing his mouth against your hot heat whilst the heavy fists of your morals thudded on the door of your hazed mind.

All but a futile endeavor to fight back.

Aemond pulled back and reached for his slacks, undoing them. You watched with a dazed out look as he released his cock from the confines of his breeches. His fingers moving to curve under the hem of his shirt, ridding himself of the leather as well as his small clothes.

Left bare and naked before you, your gaze caught Aemond’s searing red cock. Head swollen and shining with leaking cum, veins traced up and down. You closed your eyes, in hopes that the nightmare before you would be over but that was only you losing last remnants of your hope.

“I-It won't fit.” You whispered to yourself, more tears sliding down your temples.

Aemond heard it, despite your voice being a low whisper. He reached over to grab your face between his large hand, fingers sinking into your cheeks. That caused you to flutter your weak lids open, staring back at him with a sheen in your pupils. “It will fit. Your maidenhead is still intact, so it might be painful. But who cares?”

Your bottom lip quivered as Aemond let go, holding his cock. He guided it across your wet slit, pushing its thick head past your folds and pressing into your pearl. Your breath was bated, perspiration dancing on your forehead. Your body had grown completely warm and you wished for someone, anyone to burn down the fire which was ignited in the fireplace.

Aemond gathered your arousal, in soft circulation around your pebble. You whined out, hands slapping at his broad shoulders to put an end to his obscenities. Yet he did not falter, will growing more profound and strengthened to a point of no return.

He soon aligned his cock along your hole with the disgusting intention to defile it and slipped in. Your walls squeezing around his cock head tightly, endeavoring to grow used to the size but Aemond did not wait. He pushed and your tears of sadness had now transformed into tears of pain.

Hot searing pain.

“It hurts, it hurts. Let me go, please let me go.” You cried, screamed even, nails scratching rapidly at his chest. You left evidence of your firmness, of your distaste for such degeneration. Long lacerations formed on a pale canvas as Aemond held you down with one hand circled around your throat while the other had pushed your leg up for more easy and open access.

You were crying relentlessly and it was beginning to annoy the young Prince. “Quiet now, or I will have your tongue.”

“I-It is too p-painful.” You sobbed and this time Aemond landed a tight slap to your other cheek, watching it imitate the shade of the other one. “I said, fucking quiet. If I hear anything other than sounds of pleasure out of these lips of yours, I will toss you to my guards.”

It was an empty threat.

Aemond would never, ever do that. You were for him, only him. Insignificant your view was about him.

You were his prize, a sign of victory.

Still Aemond stalled, not having the heart to pummel his cock fully into you. All he managed was to breach your maidenhead and you were already wailing like you'd been shot with an arrow. He waited it out, letting you grow accustomed to his length and thickness.

Once your agony-clad face recovered and softened, Aemond took it as a sign to move further. Your gummy walls sucking his cock in, caressing the rigid veins. Deeper, and deeper. He went slowly and carefully, which you didn't overlook. You felt him sheath his cock fully into you, arms extended out for him, in complete submission.

Aemond, silently surprised by such vulnerability and submission, took your hands into his and brought them to his nape. “Hold me, brace yourself, Dōna.”

That sweet tone of his.

It nearly warmed your heart but the constant reminder which took at Harrenhal haunted you like a ghost. A cursed bestowed upon you, no escape at all. Aemond melted within you, nestling against your spongey spot of nerves. Your lips fell when he found that sensitive spot of yours.

He didn't waste time pummeling his cock into your weeping cunt, growls of a beast escaping him. You could not bring yourself to look at him. Pulling him closer, you concealed your face within the crook of his neck as your hold clasped around his slender nape — fingers intertwining with silver roots. Aemond had only tried Sylvie, his first and last so when he felt you draw him closer, it ignited a fire impossible to end.

“Gods,” Aemond groaned in your ear, his sharp nose running along your cheek, both hands gripping your flesh. “If I had known laying with you would be this pleasurable, I would have done it when we were younglings.”

Disgust would have made path on yout face it it was not for the pleasure Aemond bestowed upon you. His thick cock head repeatedly bruised your cervix and all you could do was wail, your hold for dear life tightening around him. Aemond found delight on your innocent moans, your sweet little hiccups and sounds of pleasure. He pulled from you, to glance down and felt immense satisfaction at the ring of blood around his length. He had officially taken you, not exactly under the circumstances he wanted but pondering about that was futile now.

His one eye stayed focused on you. Examining the lines donning your forehead, dark brows furrowed and a sheen of sweat sitting on your forehead. Pale cheeks flustered and saccharine sweet lips parted, birthing little sounds.

An epitome of nobility and charm you were.

Aemond pulled out of you, just as you were beginning to reach your pounding climax.

He leaned on the head board of the bed, chest glistening with droplets of sweat. The fire crackling was not helping neither of you to find some cold. “Get on top of me.”

You weakly shook your head.

Aemond’s glare obliged you and you shifted on the bed, crawling on top of him. In the process, you caught the blood of your purity staining the pale bed sheets, as well as your thighs. A burning sensation prodded and you finally did what Aemond asked you to do. The evil man grinned, leaning forward to press a kiss to your temple.

“I'm sure you know your job here.”

Your lips trembled. “I-I am supposed to sit on it?”

Innocently you had voiced that question and Aemond almost cooed. He gave you a simple nod and watched as your cheeks burned with newfound embarrassment. You still did what you were told to, aware that fighting him back on this would only make him revoke the small kindness he'd shown you.

You grabbed a hold of his erect cock — pressing it over your soaked hole. As you slipped down on it, Aemond and you groaned in unison.

Your small hands found support on his bleeding chest, fingers swiping over his nipples accidentally and Aemond let out a choked gasp. The feeling of your walls clamping his cock mixed with the way your fingers brushed over his nipples was enough to send him fucking into you. Thrusting upwards into you while his large hand stayed locked on your hip.

Both of you moved simultaneously, greedily chasing after your own pleasure. Aemond saw a goddess in front of him — a weeping goddess who possessed the cunt of a hungry whore. Your small waist and bare tits bouncing with each move had him obsessed like a dog.

“Fuck, fuck, Dōna.”

He panted like his dragon, matching your pace with his, hand fondling your breasts. He was close but ripping an orgasm through you first was his priority and he was dedicated to it. Aemond felt your cunt squeeze him, watching as your tears fell in little pearls. “I am going to put a babe in you, Dōna. Can you believe it? Your childhood friend putting a babe in you.”

You couldn't even voice out your disagreement, Aemond was bound to do what he promised you. An intense feeling surged in your stomach, your pace slowing down and your sobbing growing more and more. Your orgasm tore through you in the form of essence, as your eyes disappeared behind your lids.

“Aemond, Aemond! Aemond.” You chanted his name out like a mantra and he slapped his cock deeper into you.

He fucking loved how submissive you were being now — entirely at his mercy and neath him. His own climax followed thoroughly, filling your walls with his spend. Spurting our rope after rope of white to fill up your expanded womb. Growls of need and ache echoed in the room and you couldn't stay still anymore, losing all your balance and colliding right in his chest.

Your little body was spent, fatigue and tiredness weakening you. Aemond was quick to wrap his arms around you, shushing you gently while you cried in his chest.

“It's over now.” He reassured but you knew very well that it was not. It was only for tonight that it was over.

Aemond comforted you, holding you against him with his cock still inside you.

“I hate you.” You cried, tears coating his chest as your forehead rested on his muscular chest. Aemond could only sigh, loathing the situation that bad befallen them. He did not resent you as you were the only one who had shown him true kindness.

But the war and throne were far more important.

“Rest, you need it.” He said, an order it was and you felt forced to comply. “Things will be very different from now on, Dōna. I will have the high sept marry us tomorrow, our child will not be a bastard.”

All you could do was weakly stir in his arms at that. There was no way you were willing but it was better than being a slave for Aemond’s guards. Being one man's whore was better than being a thousand’s.

[wyvernest]

back massages

pairing: miguel o'hara x college roommate f!reader

warnings: smut, miguel is a bit cocky, unprotected piv, suggestive massages, dry jumping

summary: you give miguel the proverbial back massage, and he returns the favour

"Ugh, my back-" he groans loudly, entering the cramped dorm room and slamming the creaking door shut in frustration.

"Still?" you reply, absent-mindedly, not looking away from your laptop screen and the from project you're working on for tonight's delivery. "Didn't the trellises at the gym help?"

You hear the cot springs coil under his weight as he drops to the bed on his stomach. "Couldn't even use them."

"Hm?" You're still half focused on your research, briefly catching the last words of his replies.

"The gym was full." He groans, shuffling on the mattress.

He is increasingly frustrated with the lack of attention he's receiving from you. You two have been teasing eachother for a while; enough of a while to get him riled up late at night, and to considerably speed up your heart rate whenever he was around.

But even now, you were afraid of being more obvious than necessary. He seemed so confident and easy to talk to, but sometimes you could only wonder if that's just what he was like with everyone else.

He wasn't. He was only this open to you. This relaxed. At least he wasn't aware of how attractive and intimidating his confidence could be to you.

Your delicate fingers kept tapping on the keyboard, unrelenting. Nearly indifferent.

"Didn't you say you'd finish it this morning?" he groans, slightly muffled by the pillow he rested his head against.

"Yeah." You aren't paying attention. Truthfully, beneath the façade, you can barely understand what you're reading, your eyes mechanically darting across the text in front of you. All you can think about is how much you'd want to straddle him and make out right now. Especially with the way he's groaning from the back pain-

"- I overslept." You explain, scarce and somewhat cold. He sighs deeply, and you feel your heart sink into your stomach. Fuck. You don't even know if being roommates is either a blessing or a curse. How are you even supposed to study with-

"Can't you take a break? Por favor." He speaks, his voice down an octave. You can't take it anymore. You peek at him over your shoulder, pondering.

He's shirtless. Of course. He has to be doing it on purpose at this point.

Your attention drifts over the line of his back that bends just slightly for him to hold his beefy arms under his pillow. His muscles ripple as he shifts to get more comfortable into the greyish bedsheets.

"Give me a back rub." He challenges, squinting his eyes and watching your face drop the second his request is processed in your brain.

"Come on." He chuckles lowly. A few ruffled strands of hair on his face make it look like he had just woken up. You can't resist. "Help me feel better."

Raising from the desk chair and moving to sit on the edge of the bed, you place your hands on his shoulder blades, pushing gently, kneading the tensed muscles there. He sighs deeply once again as he feels your small, warm palms on his broad back.

"Ugh." he groans, relaxing under your touch. "Push harder."

You comply, applying more pressure, digging the heels of your hands into his toned muscles.

Your vision washes over his body, comforted by the fact that he can't see you. His back is so much bigger than your whole body. You feel an unfathomably strong need to lay on him, to feel the heat of his skin invade yours. Or better yet, have him lay on you, feel the whole weight of him, cozy and constant.

"Oh-" He moans, raspy and low when you find another tensed up knot, "-feels so good." You're starting to soak your panties from the sounds he's making.

"You're so good at this." He halfly speaks into his pillow, evidently pleased with the special treatment. "Ah, yeah, right there- oh-"

Insisting on the spot, you start putting your upper body weight into the strokes, not having any more force in your arms. He groans again at the sudden change, only this time it comes out very much like a prolonged moan.

Soon enough your own back starts to hurt from the twisted position you're in, legs dangling on one side of the mattress and your torso turned to him. Ceasing your movements, you bring your hands to your lower back, pushing so you could straighten your spine as a faint ache begins to form.

"Get on the bed." He moves his head to gaze up at you over his shoulder. "Straddle my waist. Better for the both of us.", He advices, as if it's nothing.

Your heart rate picks up as uneasiness shoots through your veins as in a lighting strike. You've never been this close to him before. This physical, this intimate. Heart fluttering at the faint hope of reciprocated feelings and the possibility of something more, you silently accept the suggestion.

Climbing on the bed, you hop on his lower back, gradually and slowly laying your bodyweight on him.

"Is this okay?" You're finally settled, and he groans in an infinitely relieved exhale.

"More than okay." One of his hands slips away from under his pillow to tap on your thigh, nearly making you jump. "Continue, it was so good."

Trying to ignore his hand still resting two millimetres away from your leg, you resume the massage, searching for more knots over his broad back.

"That's it, that's it, oh fuck- ugh" His voice sultry and raspier, he flexes his back muscles involuntarily the second you finally reach the spot.

You have to use all that's left of your self control not to accidentally clench your cunt on his lower back. But you can't help it. Wearing a skirt wasn't the best idea today.

The way he's slightly squirming underneath you as you massage his huge shoulders, the way your clothed clit rubs against his skin with the motions have you shivering lightly.

"Yeah- oh, fuck" Your hands are behind his neck, undoing all the aches and rigidity from hours of hunching over his desk, of not taking long coveted breaks.

"I'm done, my arms are starting to hurt." You announce, partially true. You also couldn't stand his noises anymore, all the obscene groans and rough moans, fearing he might start feeling now wet you've actually gotten in the meantime.

In a surge of confidence, you lean forward, more or less intentionally letting your breasts squeeze flush against his back, and you kiss his cheek, soft and tender.

He's surprised and flustered for a flashing second, before letting a smirk tug at the corners of his mouth.

"Let me give you one too, cariño."

You shiver at the pet name, hearing him talk this way to you for the first time.

How could you possibly say no?

You lay on the bed where he had been, feeling the clean sheets warm and infused with his musk.

The mattress dips, springs creaking slightly as he adjusts his weight, finally straddling your upper thighs. Your breathing quickens in shock, not having expected him to take the same position as you did. You feel his weight on you, grounding you.

His broad hands start at your shoulders, questionably innocent at first. But just as you start to think that there isn't more to the way he's sat behind your ass, to the way he's touching you, his palms drift away from the usual motions of the massage he is supposed to give you.

Expert, cursory fingers pretend to knead down, to your waist, gripping hard.

You start feeling your pulse in your neck.

One of his thighs flexes on your side as he slightly adjusts, lifting himself a mere inch above you and settling back down. Only this time, you can feel his erection through his sweats, snugly sat between the globes of your ass.

Leaning forward, his grip on your waist remains strong as he slightly grinds his cock on you from behind, his hands mimicking his rhythm as if things aren't already obvious. It's still a massage, it's just not his main goal.

"Mm- Miguel-" you attempt to protest, only it comes out as a moan laced with anticipating pleasure.

A broad, warm hand slowly and unabashedly moves from your waist up to your shoulder, only for a mere second kneading the tensed muscles before drifting down. His fingers ever so slightly slip underneath you as he palms your right breast, not stopping his hips from rubbing his dick against you.

He's slow and careful, as if still hoping you hadn't noticed or aren't bothered to ask him to get off, even through your mewls and his moaned name.

“You're so..” He speaks quietly, for himself, “soft, and fragile-” He leans forward, much like you did, but instead he kisses your neck, down your spine. “I wanna-”

He leaves the voiced desire unfinished as he picks your torso up to his chest, his arms encompassing you, flipping you around.

Now with your body trapped in his embrace, thighs between his and hands squished together, he kisses your flushed cheeks with fervour.

“Tell me to stop.” A low whisper below your ear. Watching your face for any trace of doubt, you shake your head, ‘no’.

‘Don’t stop.’

Placing you back down on the mattress, he bunches your skirt up to your middle, moving your panties to the side as his other hand takes his rock hard cock out of his sweats.

You feel the precum coated head flush against your pussy lips, pushing in with a gravel groan.

As soon as he gathers the courage to advance, his length grazes your clit, your hips automatically jerking away, akin to having touched hot coal.

A shiver runs down your spine that makes your cunt flutter, his awaiting cock twitching in enthusiasm. He feels you spasm and grow wetter.

“Ugh, that- you feel so good-”

He’s only taking his time before he can bottom out inside you. With a look over your shoulder, you don’t trust your voice to respond. You nod and clench your pussy around him, aiming to viciously drive him mad.

He suddenly pushes forward, hands forcing you onto him, the contact with his own blazing flesh making your brain melt and eyes roll back into your head. You can almost feel his bulbous tip in your guts, messing with your nerves and sinews.

Quickly adapting to the new conditions your body has given him, he corrects his grip on your waist, hoisting you until your feet lose contact with the bed. Back now arched, ass well-adjusted to meet his height, upper body rested on the plush pillows. He drags out halfway before sinking back in.

His hips slowly rotate against yours, his tense abdomen waving into you

You can’t take it anymore. Your limbs feel like radio-static, heart sending its pulse into your pussy, breathing laboured and synced with his. The broad head flicks a spot deep inside you that curves your spine this time, feet no longer able to find balance away from the stimulation.

A strong forearm curls around your middle with snake-like speed. You settle obediently back into his hold.

Your hips wiggle closer into his, apologetically stuffing yourself full of him. He smirks at the gesture, satisfied.

“Fuck, Miguel-”, you moan for him, giving him exactly what he wanted before he started pounding into you.

A combination of his pelvis slamming into yours and his hands violently dragging you back onto his dick has high-pitched whimpers crawling out of your throat. Your head rings with the sound of the bed squeaking back and forth along with the harsh returns of his cock in between your come-soaked folds.

His firm hands hold you from flinching, fingers digging into your waist while his thumbs press down into your lower back.

It's when he changes his angle that you scream out, all consciousness dissolving into raw, carnal bliss. Ruptured cries and fractions of his name bloom out of your nearly-dry throat.

He feels his heavy cock pulsate as your ass jolts with each slap, your pussy choking his dick in the process.

With a suffocating groan, he releases inside you, his ecstasy drawn-out into fractured grunts blended with heavy breaths.

You sense his warm come spilling inside you. Your own climax sends your head spinning, your loud pulse dropping in your ears.

The thunder subsides through your veins like a candle being put out by the cold.

a/n: sorry for the delay i have a ton of stuff to do for college 💀

[svearehnn]

a raging storm | azriel x reader

Summary: Azriel always hoped it would be Elain; sweet, docile Elain. However, when the bond lit a fire between you and him, his cold demeanor set into place, pushing him away from you, and you did the same. Rhys sent the two of you on mission after mission together, hoping it would help in breaking down your walls, but the fire and ice that ran through your veins could never be quenched.

a/n: i know this is short, and i haven't finished the tarot readings i need to, but my relationship is falling apart at the seams and i needed some azriel angst to make me feel better :) so here you go, i hope your heart hurts.

warnings: angst, slight mention of blood

The firelight flickered, casting long shadows between the two of you in the small but cozy room. The sound of your blade sharpening against stone and the crackle of the fire filled the space, along with the palpable tension between you and the Shadowsinger. He stood by the window, eyes flickering to your hunched figure on the couch briefly before staring back out at the snowy abyss outside. Your motions grew reckless, the blade ringing in the air, your jaw clenched, eyes cold.

Your chest thrummed, begging you to move closer to Azriel, to pull him into your arms and soothe the tension that curled around his shoulders, but you stayed still. The bond between you felt like a chain, one that was bitten by cold fire, unwelcome. You knew he had hoped Elain would be the one, three sisters for three brothers, and it pulled a sour taste onto your tongue, one that you quickly swallowed down.

“I think your dagger is sharp by now.” His voice filled the quiet room, shadows darkening the already dim space as night threatened to take over. A soft growl sounded in your throat as you stopped your movements momentarily only to continue, this time faster, harsher. Your eyes narrowed in on the steel, watching as the light of the fire glinted off of the metal every time it shifted within your grasp. 

You heard him shift, wings rustling as he moved, his eyes burning a hole into the side of your face. The frustration in his gaze was building, his shadows twitching with agitation around his shoulders and about the room. You glanced up at him, cold fire dancing within your irises, teeth clenched as you glared at each other for a moment before you continued your heated task.

His eyes narrowed, fists clenching as you began hitting the dagger against stone with a renewed ferocity. “You’re going to hurt yourself,” he murmured in a low voice, deep in the back of his throat. His wings shifted, a tinge of warning building within the air. The shadows around him seemed to darken and twist, looming over you like a dark specter as the tension in the room rose to unbidden heights.

“Then I’ll hurt myself.” You grumbled, gripping the steel in your hand, knuckles turning bone white. You were lost in thought, not fully focused on the task at hand. He stepped closer, the air around you shifting, his fingers brushing against your leather-covered arm. You flinched slightly, the blade nicking the skin of your wrist. Blood bubbled up and trickled down as a shaky breath fell through your teeth, but you didn’t cease your movements, desperate to keep some sort of distance between yourself and the male before you.

Your name fell from his lips in a warning, his voice taut and deep with a pain that you couldn’t place. The floorboards creaked underneath him as he stepped closer. You could feel his breath against your hair, the strands fluttering softly, your body tensing at the proximity of him. The fire crackles and pops, sparks flying into the air, the light casting eerie silhouettes onto the ground behind him, making it seem like demons were dancing in the darkness alongside his shadows. You knew his gaze was on you, intense with anger and frustration, but you ignored his presence, ignored the blood dripping down your wrist as you continued to clash steel against stone.

“You need to calm down,” he growled low in his throat, his voice akin to the cold wind whistling outside in the frigid winter night. His fingers twitched, threatening to reach out and stop your incessant gesticulations. Your eyes snapped up to his, a glare permanent within them as he took a deep and steadying breath.

“I am calm.” You snarled, dagger clutched within your grip, the blood seeping down your wrist pulsing with its own rhythm, matching the beat of your heart. Azriel’s hazel eyes never leave yours, swirling with an unspoken promise. You glanced back down at the blade, pulling it away from the stone to inspect it. Your thumb runs against the edge of the steel. It was sharp, sharper than it had ever been before, slicing a shallow cut along the flat of your thumb, but you didn’t flinch. You set the dagger down on the table in front of you before picking up another and unsheathing it, eyes avoiding his as you began your ministrations once more. Shadows swirled in the corner of your vision, reaching out to comfort you, but never quite coming close enough to slide against your skin. You batted them away, sighing as the familiar ring of your blade filled the room, accompanying the soft roar of the fire.

Azriel’s gaze fixes on the dagger in your hand, jaw clenched, shoulders tensing. “You’re not calm,” he says softly, his voice like a gentle breeze that can’t quite dispel the storm raging within you. He sits down beside you on the couch, wings pulling into his back uncomfortably as you shuffle to the side furthest away from him, body curling in on yourself. His fingers flex into fists in his lap, the black tattoos on his skin pulsing with an otherworldly energy. 

“Talk to me.” His voice was barely above a whisper, almost lost amongst the sound of your blade. There was no anger in his tone, just desperation–concern as he tried to reach you before you fully succumbed into your own mind. The bond within your chest churned like a sickness, your eyes squeezing shut, air escaping through your teeth.

“And what should I say?” Your voice was deadly, venom snaking through the words, wrapping around him like a vice and squeezing viciously. The shadows around him seemed to stir, reaching out once more. This time they curled around you, the dark tendrils gently locking around your wrist, hiding the blood from sight with a cool whisper of air.

“Should I mention the carnage we just witnessed?” You murmured, the sound of your blade once again ringing through the air. “Or the fact that I can feel your ache for Elain, wishing to wrap her in your arms against your High Lord’s orders?” Azriel inhaled sharply, his chest constricting, the pain of your emotions washing over him even as you tried to keep them out of his grasp. 

Your name fell from his lips once more, quiet and sweet like honey, trying to draw you in like a fly to a spider’s web. You threw your dagger down on the table, it hitting the oaken wood with a resounding clang as you stood abruptly.

“Stop saying my name.” You seethed, eyes turning towards his with a menacing glare, water pooling within them even as you tried to blink the vulnerability away. “Once the snow stops falling, we are going back to Velaris.” Your words were finalized, chilling to the bone as you walked to the fire, standing before it, eyes mesmerized by the glaring light. You wrapped your fingers around your wrist, blood smudging, wincing at the sting of the cut, letting the pain ground you once more. Eyes shut tight, a tear fell down your cheek as you tightened the hold on your wrist painfully, your body shaking, adrenaline taking over. A shadow flew toward you, wiping the salty water from your cheek before you could back away from it. You shook your head as if that could rid you of the lingering chill Azriel’s shadow left.

You felt him move behind you, the warmth of his body encasing your back, his breath hot against your neck. “You need to quell this storm inside of you.” He whispered against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. The bond in your chest sung at the closeness of him, begging you, pleading with you to lean back into his embrace, but you wouldn’t give in, you couldn’t. 

“And why should I?” The words fell from your lips before you could stop them, your eyes heavy and lidded as they stared into the fire, searching for answers within the flames. “What if the storm is all I am? What if I am just fire and ice?” Your voice was cold, devoid of emotion, and you felt him flinch away from you, but he stayed put. He didn’t take a step back, even as you nailed your heart shut, sealed your soul away from the male behind you, your mate. 

“Then I will embrace the fire and the ice,” he whispered. You whirled to face him, his hazel eyes gazing into yours with an intensity that made you swallow deeply. He was searching your irises for something, watching the way they swirled with frosted emotion, trying and failing to break down the walls you had held up for years–the walls he had caused you to build.

“And if it’s too much?” You bite back, fury coating your words as you tilt your chin up, ragged breaths rising and falling in your chest. “Will you run back to sweet Elain, let her fill you up with honeyed-words and petaled smiles until you forget about me once more?” Azriel’s jaw ticks, brows furrowed at your harsh words even though he knew it was nothing but the truth lilting out of your lips.

He had never given you a chance, not even when you had stepped forward all those years ago, hand on your heart, eyes wide and vulnerable as you whispered those fated words that he had longed to hear for centuries. Azriel had turned you away, again and again and again. He had watched with cold detachment as you closed yourself off to him, to your friends, even to yourself. You became a shell of who you once were, that bond in both of your chests weakening, fraying. Yet here he was, trying, finally realizing that you were the one, that Elain was nothing more than a distraction from the fear of letting himself truly love you. Maybe he still had a chance, but maybe… maybe he didn’t. Perhaps it was too late.

“Your storm is all I crave,” he spoke, words full of conviction and desperation. “I will walk across hot coals, through raging winds, through bloodied battlegrounds just to reach you.” A shake of your head, a soft, sad smile. You take a step back, the warmth of the fire licking at your legs.

“Why the change of heart?” Your voice quivered, lips pursing as you tried to hold back the tears that threatened to fall, tried to keep up those barriers that seemed to be crumbling down around you.

“I see you,” he murmured, reaching up a scarred hand to cup your cheek. You sighed, inadvertently closing your eyes and leaning into the touch. “I finally see you.” With a shake of your head you pull back, maneuvering around him, reaching the table and sheathing your sharpened daggers.

“Well,” you whispered, voice angelic against the clash of wind and looming fire, “you took too long.” With the finality of your words you glanced back at him one last time, a sorrowful smile pulling at your lips before you retired to your room, shutting the door softly. The bond thrummed once more in your chest, loud and incessant, and then it dimmed to a low dull. 

The storm had finally passed, but the damage it had caused was irreversible, and both of you could feel it in the silence of your souls.

[prophetries]

What kind of traits does Evelyn look for in a significant other?

*twirls hair* well....

i can list a few things she does not care about: height, weight, gender, hair/eye color, disability. she can/has found people across all spectrums attractive, including other races (dwarves, elves, qunari, etc)

now to things that she actively has found attractive/finds attractive in theory

propriety, manners, politeness, general care for thedas norms/mores: most of her exposure to love and romance in her youth was through (forbidden) romance novels, usually featuring some sort of concept of courtly love ala knights and fair maidens. she is of noble stock, and learned her etiquette, so she really values that in others. people who show her some kind of "feminine" deference [in western context fyi] (holding the door, bowing, pulling out her chair, kissing her hand, etc) is something that she's found really endears someone to her. in some ways she's very traditional.

nobility: as a noble herself and someone with a vast amount of political power, someone with a noble name and the potential of entering into a mutually-beneficial marriage contract is, on its own, very attractive to her for strictly strategic reasons.

faith/tolerance of faith: her faith has been her only salvation for much of her life, so she would likely abhor anyone who spurns the faithful or makes fun of people who have faith. even when she goes full atheist in veilguard, she still holds that opinion. she finds it cruel to put others down for finding comfort in their religion. now, mind you, FAITH. not organized religion. she does not blindly accept every single thing the chantry has done ; her faith is/was very personal to her, and is viewed through a highly personalized lens. she's also not afraid to stand up to members of her own religion when they cross those lines.

devotion: she functions on two complete opposite ends of the spectrum with regards to romantic love. she must either have a partner who is totally devoted to her (worshipful, almost. obsessive) or she has to be totally devoted to her partner. there is nothing casual or easy about her love. it's all-consuming and frequently crosses the lines between the sacred and profane. she wants to either worship or be worshipped. (ideally both!!!)

strength: of constitution, but also physical strength. she appreciates strong women and men. she's been known to ogle the soldiers as they train in the yard 👀 subtlely, of course.

intelligence: she genuinely loves to learn, loves to be read to, loves to hear people talk about things they're passionate about. (she used to hand-write copies of the chant and do illuminations, so she's very adept at reading herself.) she's also partial to artists, musicians, etc.

as much as she idealizes the idea of her prince/princess charming, white knight, etc. she is secretly drawn to the "darker side": things that are profane, borderline blasphemous. the darker sides of people attract her, especially if something lurks under a pristine surface. for example, someone who is normally exceedingly kind taking extreme measures against an enemy, or a normally put-together person having their hair/clothes mussed for whatever reason. she finds beauty in imperfections, though strives tirelessly to conceal her own. she craves to be with someone she can be her complete, total self with. someone she can indulge with. this very well could be a romance she hides from everyone, but she covets it.

and then your standard stuff: personal hygiene, kindness, etc. the stuff most people value.

[maruflix]

YOU ARE SO GORGEOUS (IT MAKES ME SO MAD!) #oneshot #hoshinasoshiro #f!reader

hoshina is unfamiliar with the concept of personal space. unluckily for you, the huge crush you have on your vice captain is the least of your worries when he keeps catching you absolutely losing it. / REQ.

feat. hoshina soshiro　　⎯⎯　wc. 2.0k

contents: female reader, reader is an officer in the third division, fluff, stoic reader, reader cannot express her feelings, not-so-oblivious hoshina, kissing

When any kind of problem arises, the Third Division knows three things for sure:

Go get Captain Mina Ashiro to solve the problem for you.

If she’s busy with other important stuff, Vice Captain Hoshina Soshiro will do.

Should the Vice Captain be unavailable as well, look for Platoon Leader Y/N instead.

You don’t mind being busy— you’re happy to know that your fellow soldiers look for you in times of need. The thing is, sometimes people look for you to ask you where the Vice Captain is.

... and you hate Hoshina Soshiro.

It might surprise people to know that you’re able to feel emotions as strong as hate. You’re a naturally stoic person after all.

No noise readies you, no words shake you out of yourself, no person makes your emotions fluctuate — but Hoshina Soshiro is the only exception.

When other people would get discouraged to get close to you because of your lack of emotions, Soshiro is always at ease near you, like the two of you have been friends for a long time.

The way he smiles, the way he runs a hand through his hair, the way he stands— he’s so gorgeous it makes you so mad.

Like right now; the sound of blades clashing against each other rings in your ears as you try hard not to gape at the glorious display in front of you.

Kafka, huffing and puffing with sweat all over him as he desperately tries to keep up with his opponent, while Soshiro moves around with grace, delivering blows that seem so elegant and yet is enough to make Kafka stumble around like a puppet.

You watch, unsurprised, when Kafka falls down ungracefully, butt planted on the floor. Soshiro’s mouth starts moving (probably giving him some pointers) but all you can think about is how perfect he looks as a bead of sweat trails down his neck.

“Hey, it’s your turn.” Kikoru elbows you rather hard, making you snap out of your trance. Your face falls in an immediate deadpan as you stand up, passing by a dejected Kafka.

Soshiro smiles at you, seemingly unaffected by his earlier spar. “Oh no, I’m gonna have to open my eyes for this.”

He says it loud enough for everyone to hear and your heart leaps.

The spar lasted longer than the one with Kafka, but it still ended up with you losing. Well, there’s a reason he’s the Vice Captain and you’re the Platoon Leader.

As a competitive person, you should be angry for losing— but how could you, when Soshiro pulls you up and pats you in the back?

“You’re a great fighter. I might hafta to sit down and take a break.”

The poker face you successfully maintained should’ve given you a goddamn Grammy.

Soshiro spots you in the cafetaria and immediately makes a beeline to your table.

“’scuse me, coming through!”

The surprise in your eyes is gone as quickly as it appears. The entire table greets him warmly while you continue to eat. Soshiro smiles, sitting down next to you as Kafka scrambles to get out of his way.

Reno is trying to strike up conversation, but his only focus is on you. You seem so unconcerned about everything. He likes that about you too, but he wishes you’d let down your guard with him. How could he know whether you liked him or not? — not that he’d stop trying to get your attention.

Soshiro eating the rest of his apple while he watches you slurp down the last remains of your soup. Even when you eat, you look absolutely divine.

Just then, a lock of hair falls down your face, hanging dangerously close to your food. He instinctively reaches out to brush it out of your face.

“Whoops, wouldn’t wanna get that in the soup.”

Soshiro is aware of the stares he got from his subordinates, but seeing those beautiful eyes of yours look at him makes it worth it. Shocked, he watches as your eyes flash through different emotions before finally returning to its usual calm state.

“E-excuse me.” You didn’t give him time to speak before standing up and walking away.

“Wait!”

Did he just hear a stutter?

You walk fast, but Soshiro managed to keep a comfortable distance away from you. He lets you put away the tray of food and is about to call your name when you disappear inside the toilet.

He halts, opting to wait for you, resting his back against the wall. Then he hears something weird.

“AARRGGGHH!!!”

Posture immediately straight, his body involuntarily jerks to the sound of the scream, wanting to check out if you’re okay. Because it’s the sound of your scream.

He doesn’t have to, because at that moment the door swings open and you walk out of the toilet.

Red-faced.

He’s still standing in stunned silence when you slap a hand to your mouth and run away.

If Soshiro wasn’t worried before, he’s definitely worried now.

You keep avoiding him throughout the rest of the day. When you cross paths, you would refuse to look at him in the face. You’d only give him a halfhearted salute before fleeing.

The thing that bothers him is how hot and bothered you look. Are you feeling under the weather? Soshiro knows how hardworking you are, so he’s worried that you’re forcing yourself to work even though you’re sick.

“Platoon Leader, come here for a sec.”

You begrudgingly make your way to him, still not looking at him in the eyes. Fidgeting, sweating, and looking very, very bothered.

“Platoon Leader, are you sick?”

“No, sir.”

“Excuse me.” is his only warning before he presses his palm against your forehead.

Surprisingly, your temperature is... normal?

“W-what the-” Flinching, you make a big reaction and jerk away from his hand. Still, your face is calm. “If that’s all, I’ll take my leave.”

Soshiro sighs as you speedwalk away. Temperature aside, he’s 101% sure that you’re sick. After all, why else would your face be so red?

Unless...

You’re dreaming. You’re dreaming. You’re dreaming. Because there is no goddamn way Soshiro just touched your face.

You have no clue where you’re walking. You just wanted to get away from the only person who’s able to make you lose your cool. So you head outside, to the gardens. You pass by Haruichi on the way there.

“Hey, have you seen the Vice Captain around?” He calls out after you, making you want to scream in frustration.

Can people stop making you remember the existence of the drop dead gorgeous Hoshina Soshiro?!

“I don’t know! Maybe China!”

Haruichi looks very confused. You brush past him.

Full of nerves and unsure what to do, you finally sit down on a bench to catch your breath. You can still feel his fingertips on your forehead and see the worried expression in his handsome face.

He’s worried about you. You’re about to bury your head in your hands and squeal when you catch sight of the very same man walking towards you.

Like a cue, the mask is back on. You wanted to pat yourself in the back for how quickly you’re able to gather your composure. You’d rather die than embarrass yourself in front of your crush... although you just did that when you walked out to a surprised Soshiro.

He didn’t hear you scream, did he?

Did he?

You stand up as Soshiro stops next to you. He’s smiling his usual smile, but something is eerie about it. Like he knows a secret.

“Can I test something?”

You blink once. Twice. Then you nod.

“Walk with me.”

You follow him, puzzled.

Suddenly, he loops a hand around your shoulders.

Your heart misses a beat and you nearly stumble, but you catch yourself with sheer willpower. The stoic expression is getting harder to maintain, the smile on your lips itching to blossom.

“What... why?”

There are chills running down your back when you look up at Soshiro. His smile is wider now, like he absolutely knows a secret.

He absolutely knows.

You break free and run for your life.

Soshiro feels kinda guilty now. He didn’t mean to fluster you so much; he just felt so happy and flattered that he actually managed to make you blush.

That’s why he’s making his way to your quarters, hoping to apologize for teasing you too much today. Soshiro has loved you for many months now; he has no problems taking it slow until you’re ready to trust him with all your emotions.

The door is slightly ajar, so he pushes it open quietly, not wanting to alarm you. He’s about to knock on it to signal his presence when he sees the state you’re in.

Facing away from the door, your body is half slumped on the floor and half on the bed. You’re clutching a giant pillow to your face.

“AAARRRRGGGMMMM” Without warning, you scream, the sound drowned out by the pillow you’re burying your head into.

His mouth drops open but it quickly stretches into a smile.

You raise your head, revealing your blushing face, before slamming it down on the pillow again. A string of unintelligible noises follow soon after.

He clears his throat.

You pause mid grumble and the air is still. Slowly raising your head, you turn your head to the door. The two of you lock eyes.

“Vice Captain! Get out!”

Instead of getting out, Soshiro lets himself in and closes the door behind him. He chuckles at your terrified expression, finally seeing an emotion other than complete indifference.

“So you’re really not sick? Just blushin’ around me?”

You gape, looking very offended but unable to counter him.

“Oh, good. I thought my crush was unrequited.”

Your eyes widen.

“Hey, can I kiss ya?”

“Wh-what?!”

“Sorry. You just look so cute right now. Is that a no..?”

Soshiro moves closer, now kneeling down in front of you. A teasing smile is still present on his features. Gently, he strokes his thumb down the right side of your lips. Gauging your reactions.

You didn’t want to give him any, but even a great actress needs her breaks. A shy smile breaks through your cold facade, and Soshiro beams.

“Oh, this is so cute. I must kiss ya now.”

You don’t know where to look, eyes flitting everywhere but him, but you let him lean into you until you can feel his breaths against your skin.

“W-wait,” you gasp meekly. Soshiro’s other hand is around your waist now. “I’ve never kissed anyone before.”

Soshiro shivers in anticipation. “That’s okay,” he whispers and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, “just follow my lead.” And he presses his lips against yours.

It’s so cute how shy you are, so much so that you’re trembling under his touch. He’s pretty sure he heard a whimper when he tightens his hold on your waist. It takes everything in him to control himself when you tilt your head back, parting your lips a bit further for him.

You don’t know how long time has passed because your head is still in the clouds even after he pulls away. It’s embarrassing how a simple kiss leaves you a mess; your breaths ragged and cheeks flushed.

You, who’s usually so stoic, calm and composed, looking like this under him—

“I want to say that I’ll stop teasing you, but I would be lying.” Soshiro grins when you bury your face in his chest.

You’re sulking a bit now. How dare he make you look like a complete idiot. “Whatever. You won’t get another reaction out of me anyway.”

“Is that a challenge?”

After that, he tries to get your attention every time you’re in the same space as each other. He’ll tease you, praise you, sling an arm around your shoulders, hold your things out of reach, all that just to get a rise out of you.

Of course, everyone knows he’s down bad. He acts like a schoolboy trying to get attention from his crush in all the wrong ways. So now even more people ask you about Soshiro; where he is, what he’s doing, like they’re completely convinced you two are an item.

Well, you are.

But with so many people teasing you about your relationship, it’s getting hard to hide behind a calm face. You smile a lot more often, especially when he’s around. Your reputation as the division’s most calm and composed soldier quickly fades into memory. At least you got yourself a hot boyfriend...?

Oh well. You win some, you lose some.

[ahqkas]

“NOTHING’S GONNA HURT YOU BABY — jason todd.

PAIRING! jason todd 𝒙 fem!reader SYNOPSIS! your roommate is the menacing red hood — who just happens to have a soft spot for you WORD COUNT! 1.5k WARNINGS / TAGS! roommates jason & reader, cursing, smoking, mention of alcohol consumption, reader is described to wear makeup, use of petnames ( doll ) NOTES! i need a vigilante bf sb. based on this req.!! © ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

THERE IS A STARVED DOG IN THE BACK OF JASON TODD’S THROAT.

It keeps barking, baring its sharp canines at whoever dares to step too close to comfort. It isn’t afraid to bite, to leave permanent marks in its wake because it had been hurt once before and the past hadn’t been so kind. So, it rips things apart, shows its strength to intimidate. A mechanism to keep itself safe. To remain whole.

The dog craves violence and roughness to represent the image it once created. It also craves touch, and not the bittersweet one. The kind that aches to feel, the kind that feels undeserving.

Jason isn’t a violent dog. He doesn’t know why he bites.

He’s chaos wrapped in leather. He’s the rumble of a motorbike tearing down an empty street, the smell of gasoline and adrenaline falling behind him. He’s sharp edges and electricity, the lighting that splits the sky just before the rain comes down. He’s a storm caged in a human shell, unpredictable and restless. Jason is late nights bathed in neon lights and the rush of speed that makes your heart race. He’s fire and fury, a protective shield made of calluses and scars.

You, on the other hand, are the softness in a world that’s far too loud. You’re the quiet that follows the first snowfall, the kind that blankets the earth in white stillness. You’re the warmth of vanilla in a kitchen. You’re the calmness of a gentle breeze, the soft glow of a candle against the darkness. There’s nothing harsh about you; you’re delicate without being fragile, a sweetness that lasts long after you first taste it. You’re a handwritten note, a favorite song played on repeat, kindness that doesn’t ask for anything in return.

Where Jason is a storm, you’re the eye. He’s the clash of thunder, you’re the calmness that follows. He’s leather jackets and combat boots, you’re large sweaters and bare feet on fluffy carpet. He pushes the word back with his fists while you disarm it with your smile.

Maybe that’s why he has such a soft spot for you.

Jason’s large combat boots were heavy on the hardwood as he stepped through the apartment door. He didn’t use one of the windows tonight since he had the luxury to change out of his vigilante clothing. The brown leather jacket still hung from his broad shoulders, but all the other equipment that created the complete look of Red Hood was safely stashed under the stairs of your fire escape.

Red Hood was one side of Jason’s many personalities he tried to shield you from.

He was quiet, mindful of his steps. He avoided the creaking spot on the floor, and he avoided closing the door too roughly. He had told you one too many times that he could take a look at the things that just made your life annoyingly difficult, but you waved him off with sweet words and he obeyed like a man possessed. The apartment was quiet, too quiet for his liking but he shook it off. You were supposed to be out anyway, something about a party your friends dragged you at.

The faint scent of cigarettes hit him before the quiet breeze of the night air rusted the curtains, and Red Hood was instantly on alert. His fingers moved before his mind could even process the situation, feeling the sharpness of his blade tucked in the belf of his pants.

His legs followed, taking him toward the balcony door and stepping outside into the night. He expected anything: a stray cat wandering through various apartments on a hunt for leftovers or even a rookie thief trying to break in. But he didn’t expect you, sitting on a plastic chair with a cigarette between your lips. One his cigarettes.

There you were, knees pulled close to your chest, the heels of your feet digging into the cheap plastic so you wouldn’t fall.

Draped in one of his hoodies he forgot on the couch earlier, you looked like you were ready to call it a day. Still, impossibly beautiful even with that tired look in your eyes. You pulled the cigarette out, puffing a white swirl of smoke into the darkness.

Jason stepped closer, his tall frame easily towering over yours. “You wanna tell me what the fuck you’re doing out here?” The sight of you, your cheeks flushed with alcohol and your hair a little wild from the chill wind, tugged at something buried deep in his chest.

Your glassy eyes met his and your lips tugged into a beaming smile. “Hey, Jason,” you mumbled his name out like it was a melody you hadn’t quite learned yet. “You’re home.”

“Yeah, I’m home. And you’re drunk. Smoking my shit.”

“I stole it from your jacket’s pocket when I did the laundry. I figured you wouldn’t miss one,” you held up the cancer stick towards him, as if to say, ta-da! Look what I found.

You were holding a piece of him. He crouched in front of you, his gloved fingers gently plucking the cigarette from your hand before you could protest. “Smoking’s bad for you, you know. I guess I’m a bad influence for you,” he muttered while his thumb brushed over the filter, the bark of the dog in his throat quieting for a moment. There was a faint pink outline on the white paper. A mark of your lips.

You tilted your head, studying him like you were seeing him for the first time. “You could never be a bad influence.”

Jason didn’t answer right away. His jaw tightened as he put the cigarette against the railing, the faint hiss breaking the silence between you. Then, he flicked it over the edge of the railing, watching the embers spiral down into the darkness below. The city roared faintly beneath you, but here, on this tiny balcony, it was just the two of you.

“You shouldn’t say things like that.”

“Like what?” your brows knitted into the frown he grew to adore.

“That I’m not a bad influence,” his lips twitched, caught between a smirk and something bittersweet. It was all a big joke to him; you didn’t know his true nature and yet here you were defending the man you thought you knew. The irony wasn’t lost on him. “You don’t know me as well as you think, doll.”

Tilting your head to the side, you gazed up at Jason like he hung the moon just for you. The look in your eyes softened. “I know enough, Jay. I know you’d rather jump off this balcony than let anything happen to me. I know you leave food for the stray cat, even though you complain how she’s too noisy at night. And I know that when you’re quiet like this,” you bumped your knee against his, trailing slightly into a quieter tone of your voice, “it’s because you’re hiding something.”

The dog inside Jason growled lowly, warning him to keep his guard up. To start building thicker walls around his bleeding heart. This would only end in tears and anguish. But you weren’t barking back. You held your heart in an open palm, extended toward him.

You leaned forward after a minute of his silence, hand brushing against his knee, and Jason stiffened. “You’re not mad, right? About the cigarette” you voiced your thoughts hesitantly.

Jason sighed, running a hand through the dark strands of his hair. “I should be. But seeing you out here like this . . . ” he trailed off, his eyes flickering over your face and cataloging every single detail. The flush on your cheeks and glass in your eyes. The aftermath of alcohol. “I can’t be mad. Just–don’t do it again, okay? You don’t need to mess with that shit.”

Your lips parted like you were about to argue, but then you closed them again, nodding slowly. Jason exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, the tension in his shoulders easing ever so slightly. He stood up, holding out a calloused hand to you. “Come on. Let’s get you inside before you catch a cold out here.”

You stared at his hand for a moment before slipping your smaller one into it. His grip was warm, steady, and for a fleeting moment, you wondered if he could feel the way your pulse quickened under his touch. He didn’t let go as he led you back into your shared apartment, the door clicking shut behind the two of you.

The dog in his chest stirred, restless and uneasy. It barked once, softly, a reminder of all the ways he could ruin this. He swallowed hard, his throat dry, his jaw tightening against the weight of it. The dog craved destruction, violence, and chaos—it had always craved those things. But now, as he watched you drunkenly lean into him, the dog hesitated.

It whimpered. Then it lay down, its teeth still bared but its growl silenced, if only for tonight. Because for the first time in a long time, Jason felt something strange, something almost unfamiliar.

It wasn’t the absence of violence or the dull ache of longing. It was the quiet hope that maybe, just maybe, there was something in this world he didn’t have to break to keep.

[tojisun]

this is an edit of my drunken thought last night but

hockey player simon is in my head right now—

thinking about how you are watching from the seats closest to the rink, and startling when he body-slams an opponent against the glass protector only for your eyes to meet his when he pulled away with a quiet snarl and snapped his head up in his anger.

he couldn’t have truly seen you, you tell yourself. he’s caught up in the middle of a game, high off his adrenaline, so you are damn sure that he didn’t really catalogue the interaction. that it was a fluke—eyes meet without the conscious awareness from the brains, you know that.

but.

riley (41) somehow began to gravitate towards your end of the rink, only slipping away for assists or to catch his mark. sure, the seat you chose was close to the ones that are angled well to the goal so perhaps that’s why he kept coming back, but there’s something electrifying at seeing the way he scans the crowd during the two-minute breaks, stopping when his eyes finally rest on you, before he skates away.

it makes your heart flutter, blood jumping as your mind runs with imaginations. you try smothering the blooming hope that maybe, just maybe, this man you idolize somehow is attracted to you. that somehow, amidst the craze and the adrenaline, you were able to leave such an imprint on him.

but the game rages on, with specgru managing to carve a tie against their opponents with mactavish (91) scoring a point. it makes the arena shake as screams and jumps erupt from your side of the rink; horns blaring as victory now seemed to be on the horizon. even the goalie, price (2), runs to mactavish, tapping his bucket, fond even in his excitement.

time runs. you swallow, parched, your eyes flicking between the screens and the rink itself as the tension reached new heights. your friend holds your hand, her nails digging into your skin, but you don’t even notice as you clock in riley’s fast skating, his blades slashing against the ice with intense ferocity.

garrick (33) passed the puck, and riley receives it.

your throat constricts, your eyes going wide. you plant your feet onto the floor, unconsciously tensing your muscles. your eyes follow his move, watching the way he devours the space to get to the best shooting spot—that sliver of angle in front of you.

you watch with bated breath, palm over your chest, but it takes your friend shaking you to realize what’s going on.

the roaring of the stadium is all of a sudden muffled as your mind catches up to your eyes, now finding meaning to what exactly it is you’re seeing. your friend is screaming your name but you’re deaf to it all, focused only on the man before you.

riley, the man that he is, points at you. then he turns, swinging his lumber, sending the puck flying past the goalie’s legs and into the net.

it happened so fast—barely a second or two—riley’s point and his score—but it unfolded so clearly before your eyes and victory sings in your blood.

“what was that!?” your friend screeches, pulling you up now that the game has reached its end with the specgru claiming their second win.

you try to tell her that you don’t know, that you don’t even understand what the hell actually just happened, but your voice refuses to form and your mind is back to buffering and riley is still staring at you—

jesus.

he is still staring at you.

god—

guys idek what this was but i woke up and saw bulletpoints of a thought so uhhh heres an attempt 😭

pt.02

mlist!