#I do know it is the most regal thing I have layed eyes on today. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

overdueforarevival · 4 months ago

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Whumptober Day 7 - Flyin' But We'd Never Get Far

Unconventional Weapon | Magic With A Cost | 'It's us or them'

Summary: Walburga and Orion Black insist that their sons fulfil their duty as the sons of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black by swearing their loyalty to the Dark Lord and taking the Mark. Sirius refuses and Regulus has to re-evaluate his own ideology in more ways than one.

Sirius should have listened to James. He’d offered before the summer that he could stay, not have to go home to his family for once and they could spend the summer pissing about muggle villages and playing Quidditch. But Sirius couldn’t do that. He couldn’t do that to Regulus.

And so here they are, the aftermath of another horrendous family dinner and Sirius can’t quite remember how they ended up like this. When did he go from his mother’s gorgeous little boy to the bane of her existence? When did his father start looking at him like shit on the sole of his shoe? When did his baby brother start looking at him with that sickeningly desperate look in his eye?

When did the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black turn into this? Sirius used to be proud of his house, used to proudly tell anyone he met that his father was Orion Black and one day he, Sirius himself, would inherit the family fortune and legacy. And now, Sirius shies away from the name, runs from it like it has teeth. Sirius doesn’t know when became the boy he is today.

He’s laying on the floor, chest heaving and face wet with tears and sweat as he gasps for air. Professor Ackles taught them about Unforgivable Curses last year, all three of them he’s seen used in his own home, two of which involved himself as the victim. Sirius didn’t know that. James told him back in third year that the things his parents did weren’t what normal parents did, but he never knew that it was illegal. He didn’t know that there were people rotting in Azkaban for less.

Regulus is staring at him, eyes wide and terrified from where he’s rooted in place in front of their father. Orion holds him fast, gluing him to his spot on the floor with a firm hand on the boy’s shoulder. A single tear glides down his cheek and somehow even now he manages to look perfectly regal. A true Black son, their father would say.

And then there’s Walburga, standing over Sirius with murder written on her face and a steel grip on her wand. Her thin lips are curled in a sneer and her thinly framed glasses sit slightly crooked on her nose. She looks perfectly deranged.

‘Your insolence will no longer be tolerated in this household, Sirius,’ Walburga is telling him. ‘The Dark Lord is holding a meeting next week and you will be attending, with your brother, to receive the Dark Mark. Do I make myself clear?’

Sirius pushes himself up onto his elbows, glaring up at his mother defiantly.

‘He’s fifteen! You can’t—’

‘Crucio!’ her shrill voice rings out in the room, but it’s soon overpowered by Sirius howling screams. The china rattles in the cabinets, glass doors shaking in their frames. And Sirius writhes on the floor, rolling across the centuries-old hearth rug, preserved for eternity and now stained with Sirius’ sweat and blood.

The pain stops abruptly and Sirius sucks in a long breath, making the most of his reprieve whilst it’s permitted. His eyes slide over to Regulus.

‘Mother, please, he can’t take much more,’ Regulus whispers. From the tight set of his jaw, Sirius can tell how hard he’s fighting to maintain an even tone. ‘You’ll kill him,’

‘If he dies tonight, it will be his own stubbornness that does it, do not forget that, Regulus,’ Orion snaps, knuckles turning white around the ball of Regulus’ shoulder. Sirius grits his teeth.

‘You may retire to your room if you cannot stomach it, but mind that you will not come out until you meet with the Dark Lord,’ Walburga concedes, keeping her eyes on her eldest son even as she speaks.

Regulus hesitates, Sirius knows he wants to leave but even though they haven’t spoken in nearly three years, there’s still an inexplicable loyalty between them. Sirius doesn’t want Regulus here, no… he has a job for his brother.

‘Reg,’ Sirius croaks, once more trying to push his way up enough to twist his head around to the boy. ‘Reg, the mirror. Get the mirror,’

Regulus mouths the words silently and Sirius watches the cogs turning in his mind. He sees the moment it clicks and his brother squares his shoulders, understanding the mission.

Their parents watch him curiously as he slips out from under Orion’s grasp and makes his way over to the door. Nobody stops him. They probably don’t think there’s anything he could do to save Sirius from his fate at the hands of their parents. Sirius only hopes that James can help.

At this point, the Potters are his only hope because he knows there isn’t anything he can do top stop his parents now. If he is still in this house in a week, that tattoo will be on his arm and his life will be sworn over to Voldemort.

Sirius’ room is a mess. There are robes strewn across the floor, books decorate every surface and Regulus doesn’t even want to know why he’s got tatty old posters of Muggle girls in bikinis plastered over his walls. He is pretty sure his brother is, well, playing for the other team. Anyway, none of that matters, Regulus has a job to do here. Find the mirror.

The thing is, Regulus has never actually seen the mirror, the only way he knows about it is because he was impatiently waiting for his brother to join him to find their parents when Potter had gifted it to him. It was wrapped up in bulky packaging with ‘FRAGILE’ scribbled across the front in Potter’s obnoxiously messy writing.

So now Regulus must find a mirror in the mess that is Sirius’ room, but the thing is he’s already found two other mirrors into which he furiously whispered Potter’s name several times over before deciding that neither of those were right.

Downstairs, he can hear Sirius screaming and Regulus furiously wipes away another tear. He shouldn’t be crying; Blacks don’t cry. But after tonight, after listening to his deranged cousin prattle on about the Dark Lord and how he’ll bring justice and prosperity to the Wizarding World, he’s not so sure.

The Black family have always been respected and Regulus has spent his life earning that same respect, buying into their motto and legacy. But his best friend is a half-blood, Barty’s mother was muggle-born and he’s a perfectly respectable boy. He’s Slytherin through and through, sharp as a whistle and a good friend. Why does his blood mean he shouldn’t be Regulus’ friend?

Regulus shakes his head, trying to rid himself of these thoughts. Now is not the time for an existential crisis, nor is the time for finding this damn mirror. And there it is, glinting beneath a red and gold Gr\yffindor scarf.

Snatching it up, Regulus holds it carefully and looks into it, at first all he sees is his own face, but he’s sure that this is the one. There are little hoof prints stamped along the edge. A deer’s hooves.

‘Potter!’ Regulus hisses into the mirror. ‘Potter, where are you?’

Silence.

‘James Fleamont Potter, where the fuck are you?’ Regulus snaps, glaring at the mirror as though through pure force of will, he might summon the insufferable prick into sight.

Surprisingly, this works.

‘You know my full name,’ James smirks, face shifting strangely in the mirror as though he’s just picking the object up. And there he is, the arsehole himself, dark messy hair falling all about his face as he reclines back on his bed, grinning at Regulus. ‘You pay attention to me,’

‘Shut up, you delusional pillock, will you listen—’

‘Oh, talk dirty to me, Reggie,’ James fucking winks at him. At a time like this, James is doing his stupid flirting act that Regulus cannot stand. He hates it.

‘Shut the fuck up, you pea-brained pissant, where are you?’ Regulus cuts him off. He’s never done that before. It doesn’t matter, James needs to listen for once. ‘You need to come here… No, not you. You stay where you are, where are your parents?’

Sirius wouldn’t want James seeing him like this.

‘My parents?’ James straightens up, seeming to finally catch on to the severity of the situation. ‘They’re downstairs playing chess, why?’

‘Pay attention, you obstreperous twit, they need to come here. Now!’ Regulus insists, beginning to get frustrated. Why couldn’t it be Remus who gave Sirius a mirror? At least he could be of some use.

‘Alright, alright, calm down. I’ll go get them, we’ll be over in a minute—’

‘No!’ Regulus cries. ‘Not you. Just them,’

James pauses for a moment, eyes flicking back and forth, clearly searching Regulus’ face for something. He isn’t sure what James finds, but it seems to shut him up so Regulus doesn’t push further. James simply nods and then he disappears.

Regulus can only assume that his parents are on the way. So he sets the mirror back down and tentatively steps back towards Sirius’ bedroom door.

His screams have stopped now, leaving an eerie silence in their place. Regulus shouldn't be so accustomed to the soundtrack of his brother’s punishments, but it plays over and over in his dreams and sometimes he wonders if he'll ever escape it. Silence rarely means anything good on nights like this one. Silence means something new is about to happen and Regulus is skidding down the stairs before he can stop to think twice.

He should wait for Mr and Mrs Potter, they'll take Sirius away and then he can get on with his summer. Maybe he'll have to take the Mark, maybe he won't but surely if it's what his parents want, it's what he must do. Barty has been talking about getting it, Severus Snape from the year above already has it, he was bragging about it when he got back from Easter break. Perhaps this is the right thing to do.

Still, something is wrong and Regulus needs to make sure his brother is okay, so he’s hurtling back towards the drawing room and bursting through the door without a thought in his head. Only Sirius. He’s on his feet when Regulus manages to rejoin the party, wand in hand and pointed at their parents who are looking at him with shocked looks.

Mother laughs, a high pitched and painful noise that Regulus doesn't remember ever enjoying. She didn't used to laugh like this. Mother didn't used to laugh at her children or use every spell she knows to cause her eldest pain. Father didn't stand by and bellow at his sons while his wife tortured one of them. The Black family used to be different. Regulus misses his old family.

Sirius has blood on his face now, it's trickling from a gash just over his left eyebrow, his eyeball is stained red with it and there's a manic look in his eye. Regulus has never been scared of his brother before, but he wonders if their parents are.

‘You think you can beat me? Your own mother? Sirius, dear, that is preposterous. Stand down and do as you're told,’ Mother tells him once her cackling has subsided. As always, Father is standing behind her, wand poised at the ready but he follows her lead.

‘Mother!’ Regulus cries as she aims another curse at Sirius face and another gash slices through his cheek. ‘Please stop, just leave him alone!’

Sirius is shaking from head to toe, Regulus tells himself it's adrenaline but he knows it's something worse. He's seen it before when Barty used the Cruciatus Curse on that poor Muggle girl a few weeks ago. It had hit the Daily Prophet the next day that she died in a Muggle hospital early that morning.

‘Its fine, Reg, it was always going to come to this, I've known it for years—’ Sirius finally tears his eyes away from Mother— ‘it's us or them.’

Sirius makes it sound like Regulus should have known too, that he shouldn't be surprised by his words, but he feels sick to his stomach. Because he didn't see this coming. Never before has Regulus thought he would have to choose between his parents and his brother. His parents who birthed and raised him, who taught him who he is and what he should be. His brother who has always stood between him and any danger, who taught him who he could be.

Regulus doesn't have time to make a decision. Father's wand flicks through the air and Sirius goes flying backwards into the bookshelf. It shatters and the books go flying, several of them knocking Sirius in the process. He sits there dazed, blinking slowly and Regulus leaps in front of him.

‘Sectum Sempera!’ he cries, wand pointed at his father’s chest and suddenly his pristine, white dress shirt is staining red. Crimson blood seeps through his clothes, dripping down his body as he cries out in pain, falling immediately to the floor.

Snape really wasn't kidding when he said to only use that curse on his enemies. It's a horrific sight, his father lying on their most prized rug, bleeding profusely all over it. Mother shrieks, for a moment Regulus wonders if somewhere in their bloodline, a Banshee got involved, the sound is truly terrifying.

She comes flying at him, wand in one hand while the other stretches out, going for his neck. Mother doesn't reach him, though, because a book comes flying past Regulus’ cheeky and hits her square in the jaw. She hits the floor right next to her husband, knocked clean out.

‘Shit! Reg, what the fuck?’ Sirius shouts, scrambling to his feet and rushing over to their father.

‘You said ‘us or them’! I chose us!’ Regulus cries indignantly. Father is groaning incoherently as they kneel next to him, both too stunned and ill-equipped to know what to do.

‘That doesn't mean get locked up in Azkaban for murder! Fuck me, have some self-control!’ Sirius mutters, pressing his hands down on Father’s abdomen where the bleeding seems to be the worst. ‘Did you get to James?’

‘Yeah, I told him to send his parents. They should be here soon,’ Reg responds nervously. He didn't mean to do this, hell he didn't even know what the spell was going to do! This isn't how tonight was supposed to go.

‘Good, Eddie's a brilliant healer. She’ll fix this,’ Sirius insists. ‘Effie will fix this,’

Regulus swallows thickly and nods his head. He never would have thought that of the two of them, it'd be Sirius trying to keep their father alive. As if hearing his thoughts, Sirius scowls down at their father.

‘I’m not doing this for you, you pretentious prick. I’m doing it for him, don't you forget that,’ he tells him firmly then, as if just realising Regulus is still knelt beside him, glances over quickly. ‘Why don't you go wait for Effie and Monty outside, make sure they can get in,’

‘Yeah… yeah, right… I’ll do that,’ Regulus agrees, letting Sirius absent-mindedly shove him to his feet and out of the drawing room.

What did he do? He didn't mean it. He didn't mean to hurt his Father that badly, he just wanted to protect Sirius. He was hurting his brother, Regulus couldn't stand by and watch. That's all he's done for the last fifteen years of his life, stand by like a useless, unfeeling bastard who wouldn't even stand up for his brother. A brother who is currently trying to stop him from becoming a murderer

What's going to happen now? Regulus hand shakes on the door as he pulls it shut behind him. It's chilly for summer, or perhaps the chill is coming from inside but either way Regulus’ dinner robes feel awfully thin. It'll be even colder in Azkaban when he no doubt ends up there.

Will Sirius be able to visit him? Will he even want to? Regulus will be a murderer. The boy who killed his own father with underage magic. Talk about the pride of the family. He’ll never be able to show his face around any of his relatives again. In fact, he’ll probably be killed himself for this. If not by his mother, then Uncle Cygnus’ endless sense of familial loyalty might do him in.

‘Regulus? Son, is that you?’ a voice calls out from the darkness. Regulus hadn’t even heard the crack of someone Disapparating nearby, but now two figures make their way down the little cobbled path that lead up to the door. He used to sit on his father’s shoulders walking up this path every Sunday when they left for family dinner. The shoulders of the same man that is now on his deathbed because of him.

‘Regulus, sweetheart, what’s going on? James said you needed help,’ Mrs Potter says as the two reach them. Her face quickly pales and her eyes go wide. ‘Oh my goodness, what happened to you? What’s all this blood,’

‘Not mine,’ Regulus mumbles. The adults share a look and Regulus finds himself hunching over, shoulders curled in on himself. No amount of Mother’s screeching in his mind could make him stand up tall now.

‘Sirius?’ Mr Potter questions gravely.

Regulus shakes his head.

He can’t bring himself to say it. Can’t conjure up the words: ‘I killed my father’. Regulus killed his father. He has murdered his own father. He’s a murderer. A murderer who murdered his father because he is a murderer.

Murderer.

It doesn’t even sound like a word anymore, but it’s the only thought in his head. Garbled English swirling around as he pictures his life in Azkaban, the chill of Dementors hanging over him forever. This cannot be happening.

‘Son, you need to let us inside so we can help. Let us help you.’ Mr Potter’s hands are on Regulus’ shoulders, holding him steady but he doesn’t have the same bruising grip Father does. ‘Let us in,’

Regulus nods numbly, turning around and leading the Potters up the steps to his house. He’s never felt embarrassed by his house before, but he’s never realised just how cold it feels until now. The Potter’s house, Regulus is sure, must be warm all the time. If James lives there, it’ll be warm. James is always warm.

‘Effie? Effie, help!’ Sirius yells as soon as he hears the creak of the door and the woman is quick to rush past Regulus, following Sirius’ voice and bustling into the drawing room. Regulus stands in the doorway, struck dumb.

He can’t move. He can’t leave, yet cannot bear to stay. He won’t look at his Father again, can’t handle the sight of his pale face, blood slowly draining from hundreds of cuts littering his tall frame. He didn’t think such an indestructible man could be taken down with one simple spell. Regulus didn’t even know what the spell would do.

This is all his fault. He shouldn’t have gone back downstairs, should have just waited and let Mr and Mrs Potter come for Sirius, then everything would have been okay. Regulus would still be the golden child, Sirius would be disowned just like Andy and Regulus would take over as heir of the Black family. He’d hate every second of it, but they would be okay. Everything would have been fine.

But he had to go downstairs. Had to make sure that Sirius was okay. Sirius would have been okay, but now his hands must be stained red with their father’s blood and he’s crying now, the sounds muffled behind the door of the drawing room and Mrs Potter is saying something quietly.

There’s a hand on Regulus’ shoulder. A gentle hand and a soft thumb stroking backwards and forwards in a soothing gesture. Still, Regulus doesn’t move.

‘I didn’t mean to,’ he whispers, eyes fixated on the half-closed door to the drawing room. He can’t see anything other than his mother’s high heels just poking around the corner. Sirius got a good shot in on her, perhaps he should be a Chaser like James.

‘I know, Regulus,’

‘He was going to hurt Sirius,’

‘I know,’

‘I just wanted it to stop,’

‘I know,’

Regulus has never heard Mr Potter’s voice before, only seen pictures of him on Sirius’ bedside table and once or twice he’s caught a glimpse of the Potters on Platform Nine and Three Quarters. He never knew how kind a man’s voice could be.

The tears have returned, sliding down Regulus’ cheeks freely and he doesn’t even try to stop them now, simply lets them fall as he stares at the door. Mrs Potter and Sirius are in there for a long time. There’s some muttering from the older woman, most likely a healing spell, more crying from both of them and then silence.

Finally, they emerge.

Sirius’ hands are clean, the gashes on his face healed up like nothing ever happened. His hands still shake, though, and there’s no light in his dull eyes. He looks like Regulus. That was always the difference between them; Sirius still found joy in life and now it seems Regulus has taken that from him as well.

Mrs Potter announces that both of Regulus’ parents are going to be just fine, they’ll come around soon enough. She says it’s probably best if they’re gone by then. So they all trudge upstairs and Mr Potter waves his wand to pack all of their things away. Mrs Potter flicks her wrist and all their luggage disappears. Just like that, their rooms are empty.

‘Time to go, boys,’ Mr Potter announces and he holds out his arm to Regulus. ‘Hold on tight,’

Apparating with Mr Potter is the first time he hasn’t felt sick doing so. Whenever his parents had dragged him along, he’d feel nauseous for hours afterwards, but Mr Potter holds him close as they spin on the spot and Regulus hardly knows it’s happened.

But it’s obvious where they are when James’ voice starts bellowing throughout the house.

‘Pads! What happened? Are you okay? Regulus said you were in trouble, what did they do now? I’ll kill them, you know. I’ll bloody well kill—’

‘James, settle down,’ Mr Potter says firmly. His hand stays on Regulus' shoulder and he’s fairly certain it’s the only thing keeping him upright as James’ words crash over his ears. I’ll kill them, you know. I’ll kill them. Kill them. Kill him. I’ll kill him, I killed him. I did kill him. I killed my own father. I killed my own fucking father.

Murderer.

‘Let’s get you settled in, boys. James, why don’t you find some spare pyjamas,’ Mr Potter suggests, voice gentler now as James deflates like a balloon that’s had a needle thrust through it.

So Regulus allows Mr Potter to guide him around their home, showing him the bathroom and where he’ll be sleeping. He shows Regulus where he and Mrs Potter sleep, ‘just in case’ he says. Just in case what, though? He would never have dreamed of bothering his parents in the night. Does James wake his parents up at the arse crack of dawn like Sirius whinges he always does to him? Is that why he acts like such a spoiled brat?

Regulus accepts the hot chocolate Mrs Potter makes and forces himself to eat the biscuits she offers even though it feels like sandpaper in his mouth. And when the Ministry owl flies through the open window, he lets Mrs Potter read the letter out to him.

He lets James curse and swear up and down that the Ministry is run by wankers who don’t understand mitigating circumstances. He can be quite intelligent when he tries, really. But Regulus lets him rage and lets Sirius hug him and promise to come to the hearing with him. Nobody cares that Regulus nearly killed his father, they only care that it was underage magic. They don’t care that his mother had, only moments before, used an Unforgivable Curse on her own son. They only care that Regulus Black waved his wand before his seventeenth birthday. It could have been any spell and he’d still be getting grilled by Mr Potter every day before the hearing, straightening out his story. It could have been any spell and he’d still be sitting in this circular chamber in front of the entire Wizengamot to determine if the youngest son of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black should be punished.

All of the Potters come to watch. It takes James cornering him against a wall one evening to drill it through his head that they only want to support him. Dumbledore comes to speak on Regulus’ behalf and Professor McGonagall tries to reason that it’s become clear that the Black children do not live in a safe home.

Nobody listens.

The hearing lasts for barely two hours and then Regulus is being ushered into another room where the Potters aren’t allowed to follow. Not even Sirius is allowed in with him. A tall man stands behind a desk and demands to see his wand. Regulus doesn’t want to hand it over. He knows what happens now.

But he doesn’t have a choice. Regulus has never had a choice. Not in his brother leaving him to go to school, not in being placed in Slytherin, far away from his brother, not in having to be the perfect son to maintain some sliver of his parents’ sanity. He doesn’t have a choice in this either.

So Regulus hands over his wand and shuts his eyes when the man takes it in to hands, holding it up to eye level and, with a flick of his own wand, snaps the wood in half. Only the since unicorn hair remains intact, still connected to either side. The only tether Regulus has left to his old life.

Regulus never goes back to Grimmauld Place, in fact it’s years before he ever sees his parents again. He never goes back to Hogwarts either. Everyone moves on around him, Barty insists they’ll stay friends but then one day he pulls up his sleeve to reveal a great big skull tattooed to his forearm and Regulus feels sick.

What’s the point in it? Blood purity. It’s all bollocks anyway. Even a Pureblood from the most respected and well-bred family can be cast aside like dirt, left to rot at the bottom of the food chain. Everybody else keeps climbing and Regulus… Regulus sinks.

4 notes · View notes

raggaraddy · 4 years ago

Note

Can you please do a yandere hyung line reaction to MC being jealous and tries to hide it ( For jin could you please make it as his wife has come back for a short holiday or something)

A/N: My brain did not want to do the writing thing the last couple of days, but I got there. I think these stories are good? but somehow they all ended up a bit soft. I hope you like them though 🤞 because it was a great request! Thank you 💜💜💜

@blacksnow160

Summary: Hyung line reaction when you get jealous.

Trigger warning: Smut, violence, blood-drinking, murder, abuse, yandere themes.

Alpha! Namjoon

Normally you didn't consider yourself clingy. You enjoyed your personal space and your time alone. But at the same time, you've also become accustomed to Namjoon dropping everything to take care of you. This entire week though, he's been preoccupied with a territorial issue, and the last 3 nights he hasn't even come to bed.

Leaving you feeling a little discarded, to say the least.

Nevertheless, you're a mature adult, and you were able to let it go with the knowledge that Namjoon is an Alpha who has responsibilities and knowing that he would still rather be with you.

It is, however, a comfort that you have trouble holding on to whenever you see the new girl around him. It's not like you're jealous. It's just that she doesn't seem to know how to behave respectfully or appropriately around Namjoon. She always stands too close or looks at him a bit too much, and she's way too touchy. Only his elbow, arm, or shoulder. But it's like, get your fucking hands off him.

Rationally, you know Joon is your mate and you own his heart, mind, and body. Still, it doesn't stop you from tossing restlessly, laying in bed at 2 am, once again alone. The two things added together making you feeling sour. Feeling sick of being sent away while this other girl gets to stick around being way too familiar with your Boyfriend.

Coming downstairs in your pyjamas, you weave in among the wolves working your way to Namjoon. Standing at the dining table, looking over a mess of paper, he notices you right away a small smile lifting the corners of his mouth.

"Y/n, what are you doing up?"He asks, checking his watch.

There she is again, right next to him. Her hand casually coming off his shoulder when she sees you.

"It's late. Go back to bed, Beautiful." he coos.

You ignore his instruction. Wrapping to his side by pushing yourself between him and this girl, creating space for yourself with a not-so-subtle shoving of your elbow into her arm. Smiling up at him sweetly as he accepts your presence, hugging you tightly.

"We're going to be busy most of the night. You should go to bed." he leans down to whisper, his breath tickling your ear. He's trying not to draw the focus from the rest of the table into your personal discussion.

"I'll go up when you come with me." You whisper back.

"It's going to be a few more hours still baby." He sighs, seeming frustrated with the circumstances.

"Then I'm staying here."

"You shouldn't-"

"Don't argue with me Kim Namjoon. You're not going to win this one." While it's said in jest, you also mean it. He'll have to drag you upstairs to make you go. And if he steps foot in that bedroom, you both know you'll be able to make him stay.

"Oh really?" He challenges, fighting the smile growing on his face, not wanting to encourage your mischievous behaviour.

Grabbing the collar of his black tee, you pull him down to your height, smacking your lips against his. Kissing him passionately and longingly. Something you haven't been able to do for nearly a full week.

Letting his shirt go, his smile is fully grown. His dimples on display.

"Really." You finalize, looking up at him coquettishly.

You can see the struggle playing in his mind. He's extremely tempted to throw you over his shoulder and take you upstairs right now, his wolf fighting to shirk his responsibilities and give in to desire. His chest rumbling lowly as he winks down at you.

"Okay baby." his fingers dig into your hips, "If you're gonna play dirty, you can stay." He teases with a chuckle. Resisting the bait.

Feeling calmed and relaxed on the warmth of his hold again, a smug sense of pride fills your chest. From the corner of your eye, you can see her attention on the two of you. Your ego is not able to resist, and you shoot a cold pointed glare at her. A smirk creeping onto your face as she looks down, avoiding your eye line.

"Seeing as it's late, do you wanna make coffee for everyone?" You order her in the form of a question, speaking loudly enough for both her and Namjoon to hear your sassy, obvious tone.

She looks a little stunned. She'd just been promoted to the inner circle for this problem-solving session, and she doesn't seem pleased at being asked to perform menial tasks. Trying to go over your head, she looks at the Alpha for confirmation. But he doesn't give it to her. Instead, you can feel him nod, supporting your order. A full smile filling your face as you get his backing.

"Of course, Luna." she obeys, looking a little dejected.

"Thank you." you shoo her to action with a sing-song voice. Curling into Namjoons side, you can't help but feel authoritative. And a little bit victorious.

King! Seokjin

It had been nearly two weeks since you had seen Jin last. As frustrating as it was, you were genuinely missing him. There was a kind of energy he had when it was just the two of you. Something that filled you, and without him you were feeling like your own spirit was draining away.

It would be okay though, today Jin was coming back from visiting his wife and children. You're sure he missed you just as much as you missed him. That he was as excited to see you, as you were to see him. You were a little worried knowing that you would have to satisfy his sadism first, but you can tolerate it, thinking that at least you'll get to see his smile.

As the day is drawing to an end, you've finished all your tasks but you refuse to retire for the night, certain the King is going to call for you at any minute. Feeling a mix of excitement and relief when the staff manager comes to collect you.

Nearly skipping you rush to the dining hall, having been instructed to serve dinner to the King and his guest. Working with another maid to bring the meals from the kitchen.

Walking in, the smile you were trying to conceal disappears completely. Your stomach dropping. Jin's guest is the Princess. His wife.

You have to control your expression to hide your distress, feeling sick while serving him. His wife never comes down. She hasn't in a year and a half. Jin doesn't even really like her. It doesn't make sense why she's here.

With a curt bow, you remove the closh and place the plate down. Meeting the King's eye for a moment, you do your best to placify your appearance. Your efforts cracking when you see his lips pulling ever so slightly into a knowing smile.

He dismisses the other maid, but not you. Sending you to the waiting station by the wall. You're stuck watching over their conversation. Feeling more and more insecure as you look at the Princess's regality and beauty. Getting more frustrated as your mind runs rampant.

How long is she going to stay? It doesn't seem like they brought the Princes, so she has to go back soon. And what kind of mother leaves her children alone? It doesn't even matter that she's here, you know Jin likes you more. So what if she is really pretty, he can't hurt her like he can you. You make him happy. She's just a prop he was given to secure a treaty. He actually chose you.

Slowly, you're building yourself into a craze. Making yourself feel sad until the very end of the meal. Finally, their dinner date ends and he stands, kindly bowing to see her off. Leaving only you and him in the hall.

Relaxing back in his seat, he finishes the remainder of his drink.

"Y/n." Holding his empty glass to the side, he calls you over. You follow his gesture and top up his cup. Avoiding looking directly at him again. Pacing back to your place when he stops you.

"Come here." He grins, enjoying how uncomfortable you are. "You met my wife today." He pushes the difficult topic, again probing for your reaction.

Nodding softly, you're trying to not let your bitterness out. You know Jin doesn't like it when you pout.

"Are you jealous Princess?" He holds his hand out for you to take, leading you closer to him. Leaning back to create a space for you on his lap. Guiding you over him with your legs spread.

"No, your Majesty." You shake your head, your pause and hesitation giving away the truth.

Jin's gentle touch comes off your hand, his grip instead ripping back your hair, arching your back and nearly yanking you off of his lap. Biting back a shriek, you can't keep entirely quiet, whimpering as his fist curls tighter and closer to your scalp.

"Are you lying to me?" His mouth latches onto your shoulder, biting into your muscle vindictively. Unbridling that scream you had tried to smother.

"Yes. I'm sorry your Majesty!" you cry out, tears building in your eyes. "I'm jealous. I missed you. I want you-" all the truth is pouring out, but you hesitate worried you're being too bold, "all to myself."

His grip comes out of your hair. His hand instead raking down your chest, leaving painful red marks as each nail digs along the skin. Continuing lower, tearing the buttons on your dress. Yanking down your bra also, exposing your breasts. His other hand hikes the fabric up around your thighs, stopping on your waist, lowering your hips into him.

Pinching your nipple, he draws you closer until his lips are just off yours. Gasping through the initial pain, you can only whine and bite your lip to further keep quiet.

"Go on Princess. Prove to me why I should have missed you."

Assassin! Yoongi

Over the past couple of weeks, Yoongi would be gone for days at a time. Coming back in a strangely talkative and happy mood. You were as miserable and depressed as always, but his vigour was somehow revitalizing and comforting. It made him easier to deal with. It made him less moody. And it made your life easier. So to begin with you were very happy that he was happy.

That was until he mentioned a name in passing. A woman's name. Someone he was working with on a project.

As soon as you heard him talking positively about her, a pang of anxiety spiked through your stomach. From then on it rested in your gut, making you irritated, uncomfortable, and flustered every time you heard about or thought about her.

It was the strangest thing. You hated Yoongi, you're sure of it. But he was all you had. And hearing him talk about another woman, even though it sounded platonic, the adoration in his voice was hurting you in a way you never expected.

Slowly you had to work through this feeling on your own. You couldn't bear to let Yoongi know, not certain what he would do with the information that you were, in lack of a better word, jealous.

The more you heard about this woman, you knew you could never be as impressive as her. Every detail sounding equally terrifying and awe-inspiring. To be honest the specifics slipped your mind, as you were mostly wrapped up in self-pity when Yoongi spoke about her.

All you know is that you felt inferior, and you were craving, longing to feel that kind of importance to Yoongi, also. Resenting the fact that this other person was so easily able to bring joy and energy out of him.

Over the next couple of weeks, you spent every waking moment thinking about how to make Yoongi happy. Not just avoiding annoying him, like you usually did, but instead thinking about how to bring him genuine enjoyment.

One time you spent hours making him a meal. Making something you knew he would love. But, unfortunately, he only complained about the mess. He said he wasn't hungry and left you to throw the food away and clean up.

Another time, you had planned a full evening of activities. Movies, snacks, games that would help you get to know each other better, anything fun you could organize with your limited resources. Only, he wasn't in the mood to play, or talk. He only wanted one thing, and when he was done, he left you alone in your room, feeling used and a bit sore.

However, that gave you an idea. Maybe you could connect with him physically first. Then that might give you a way for something, anything more to develop.

This time, you set the house up with candles, music, wine, chocolate strawberries, everything you'd seen in movies. Waiting for him on the couch in something a little provocative. But, as soon as he comes in from the garage he looks more annoyed than impressed. Rolling his eyes, ordering you to your room.

By this stage it's late, you're tired, and you're losing your mind trying to make him happy. You were fighting so hard for his attention, and he was barely tolerating you. You aren't thinking clearly as you snap at him.

"Why?!" You yell, stomping your foot down. "I'm working so hard and you're just being an asshole!"

The words come out and you instantly regret them. His straight expression hardening.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." You rush to him, wrapping your arms around his chest trying to soothe any reaction. "Just tell me what I can do." You plead. Exasperated by so many failed attempts.

"That depends. What do you want?" He honestly questions, looking down at you.

You weren't exactly prepared to answer this question. You're not sure you really know.

"I'm your's right?" you say with big eyes, your voice coming out so softly, feeling embarrassed even though you're mimicking his words. "I get that I have to be yours. But then you have to be mine too." Your voice trembles.

Finally, it makes sense to Yoongi. Your change in demeanour, and in behaviour. Why you've been so needy. Why you've been trying to get his attention. He understands now. And that was most of what was annoying him. Not knowing why you were acting differently.

He steps out of your grasp, calling for you to follow him upstairs. You're not so nervous as you do. Surprisingly, the revelation has given Yoongi has a warm smile.

Falling back onto his bed, he taps the space beside him, inviting you to join him. You climb into the middle of the bed, resting in the place he set for you, his arm laid out under your head. He curls into you, gently wrapping his arm over your waist. Hugging you.

For the first time ever, he is showing you some kind of affection. For the first time, he's actually making a gesture of warmth and comfort. You couldn't even let yourself think that Yoongi could be capable of this. Having spent so many months isolated and alone. Even when you weren't locked up.

Hating yourself for not being stronger, you break into silent tears. Biting your thumb to stifle any sobs.

While reason is battling in your head, telling you that it's a bad idea to form any kind of emotional attachment to him, you don't want to listen to logic right now. Letting yourself cling to Yoongi and the desperately needed human connection.

Vampire! Hoseok

There was a delicate balance to your relationship with Hoseok. You couldn't exactly rely on his moods to be stable, but you could rely on his obsession with you. It was the only thing that kept you feeling secure. Feeling certain that when he bit you next he wouldn't let you bleed out. Or that when he hit you or cut you or hurt you, that he wasn't going to leave you to suffer in agony but would heal you. Because he wanted to keep you. You were his.

It was a twisted kind of reassurance. But it's what you had, so it's what you worked with.

You knew the source of his obsession. It was you as a person, sure. But you weren't kidding yourself. Mostly, his infatuation was with your blood. Hoseok wasn't specific about it, but you had overheard some of the other Vampires discussing you. Apparently, you smell delicious, and that's why he never lets you wander the house with any cuts. That's why you were locked away every 28 days. And that's why you were his only.

It didn't make sense to you, there was nothing different about you.

But somehow you'd fallen in and become the star of your very own YA horror story.

Whatever the cause though, you were aware that Hoseok's addiction to your blood was the reason that he kept you. Without that, he might simply kill you, or worse, he might throw you to one of the other bloodsuckers who look at you like a happy meal they want to fuck.

Which is probably why you were so defensive when you saw him biting another girl.

Sitting on the back terrace looking over the gated property, Hoseok and a few of his creations were sitting in the moonlight enjoying a drink. You'd come downstairs expecting to be his refill when you see him sinking his fangs into the arm of one of the human pets.

Frustration floods through your body, a new kind of anger making your hands shake. A malicious and honestly, not-all-together thought out idea springs into your head. You've never seen him drink from anyone else before, and you need to remind him that he should only want you.

Taking a serrated peeler from the bar at the side of the terrace, you hold it concealed in your palm, going up to the first Vampire leaning there.

"Are you thirsty?" you ask, speaking lowly. He, like all the others, know you're Hoseok's, and so he rightfully looks uncomfortable being near you. Stepping into his personal space, you raise your arm under his chin and run the sharp blade across the top of your forearm. His eyes immediately going black, his fangs bared. Unable to resist what you're offering.

Behind you, every single one of them turns their heads, smelling you the second blood gathers on your skin.

In a flash, Hoseok is between the two of you. Ripping his teeth into the guy's neck, tearing his throat out. Killing him in an instant.

Breathing heavily, he turns to you with blood washed down his front. His eyes murderous and cold.

Retaliating, you storm towards the human-pet and shove her with all of your might, pushing her down the stone tile steps onto the grass. Watching her tumble into a heap.

Those around you have gone dead quiet, none of them even daring to look directly at either of you.

"How dare you?" He seethes, stalking towards you. But you're not backing down. You know better than to retreat from him when he charges.

"How dare I?" you scream. "How dare you drink from that skank!" An enraged Hoseok is something all of his offspring know to fear. Steadily you can see them clearing the space around the two of you. Withdrawing from whatever this is leading to.

"You want to tell me who I can eat?!" He growls, his hand shooting around your neck, holding you but not choking you. "You're a blood bag that I keep as a toy!"

"If that's all, then I'll let all of them feed on me too."

His hand constricts, restricting your air. "I'll kill anyone that tries."

"Then," you gasp, your words coming out short. "only me." you pull your hair off your shoulder, turning your neck as far to the side as you can. Throwing his head back, he takes the invitation, sinking his fangs into your jugular, swallowing down mouthfuls of your blood.

Holding onto his shoulders, you jump up wrapping your legs around his waist, pushing yourself closer to his mouth. Hoseok's arms wrapping around your ass, keeping you up.

Pushed back by your momentum, he stumbles a few steps, dropping down onto the open sofa chair. You landing on his lap, straddling his thighs.

As more of your blood is drained, and you get lightheaded, the pain starts to slip and your body starts to float. A euphoric sensation, akin to being high consuming you.

You tangle your hands up into his hair tugging it, massaging his scalp. You've become so accustomed to him fucking you when he feeds from you, that whenever he bites you, you get turned on. Your body reacting out of instinct. Slowly grinding down, rocking your hips into him as you start to get him hard. The friction feeling good making you moan. Making you move faster with pleasure tingling through your core also.

"Hobi," you moan. Shivering, as his tongue runs up your wounds.

Your gentle whine catches his attention. A surprised expression on his face that shifts into a smile as he leans back to watch you. His focus on you making you feel slightly embarrassed, slowing your motions until they stop altogether.

Biting his tongue, your eyes meet for a moment before he kisses his blood into your mouth, the copper taste feeling soothing and familiar. Your body relaxing completely knowing you'll wake up healed.

"Mine." He whispers into your lips.

The blood loss pulls you into unconsciousness, your head dropping onto his shoulder. The euphoric feeling swallowing you up as you purr back. "Mine."

455 notes · View notes

jiminzfilter · 3 years ago

Text

slow dancing in the night

→ Pairing. Taehyung x reader

→ Genre. established relationship, fluff, slice of life, model!taehyung, model!reader, taehyung missed you a lot, he is starving (his words not mine), gets a bit hot by the last 40 lines, mentions of oral (f) so I guess this counts as mature content, implied smut, making out (kinda), there is a bit of swearing

→ Summary. what could possibly be better than coming home after a long day of work to someone you love and missed a lot ?

→ Word count. 3.2k (!!!)

→ because I wrote this over a year ago when I still didn't know what I was doing with my writing, I had to go through a deep process of editing and re-writing before posting it. This might not be my best work but it's still a fic that I really really like :,)

→ song rec. slow dancing in the dark, Joji// still with you, Jungkook

Fridays have always been exhausting days for both you and your boyfriend, especially on runways weeks. As models, you were put under a lot of pressure.

Pressure to be perfect, to smile but never smile too much, to look good, to not fall on stage.

Falling has to be the most tragic thing that can happen to your carreer as a model, the hungry stares of thousands of photographers and reporters ready to share the latest news to the press.

Yeah, it was exhausting.

This week was no exception... or maybe it was since, this time, you were the only one working until late.

It’s four in the morning and you’re already on your way out - kind of running late, oBviOusLy - quietly wishing your boyfriend a good day.

He is not working today.

That lucky bastard.

He gets to enjoy his free day in bed, lazing around, while you work your ass off all day. He mumbles something that you assume is a sort of goodbye. He is still asleep.

You look at him one last time before leaving the room and smile. He looks so peaceful.

You still remember the day you met, by pure luck even though you both call that fate. That was 5 years ago, when you just debuted your career as a model and were not that comfortable around high heels.

Okay no. Let’s be real.

You hated wearing them because you couldn’t walk in heels higher than 5 cm.

It’s still a wonder how you managed to make it in the first place.

Were you wearing flat shoes for the audition ? Damn you really must’ve done an impression on the judges if they made you pass without the heels try-on.

Your first day at the agency was chaotic to say the least. Your manager made you walk around the building, to visit she said. She made you wear heels. HEELS. That devilish person.

But, thank to that, you got to meet Taehyung. Your eyes landed on him as you were visiting the lounge and couldn’t tear them away from his figure. The poor man had to witness you fall down because you weren’t watching your steps anymore.

I mean.

Who could blame you ??

That was Kim frEaking Taehyung

!!!

He even came to help you get back on your feet and asked if you were alright, kind of amused.

It’s not everyday you see someone falling down in here, let alone a newbie

Let’s be honest, you were so embarrassed.

First day of work and you’re already failing falling.

That night when you came home, you spent the night wearing heels and prayed really hard you’d never have to face him again. After all, the building was big enough and there were enough workers that you could avoid Taehyung easily

If only

The NeXt day, you were told that you had a couple shooting, with none other that Kim Taehyung.

GreaT

He would occasionally tease you about your fall and check on you to see if everything was alright. He watched you carefully as you were walking around with heels.

From up close he looked even more handsome.... :)

After this day, you started talking with Taehyung more and more. He introduced you to everyone around the agency. You met outside of work, got to know each other. You both became regally good friends but there was something lingering in the air, in the way you’d look at each other or stood so close to him after a couple glasses of wine that you could breathe his air.

So what was bound to happen happened and you went from friends a to lovers without really noticing it.

He was still your best friend...somehow

Eventually, you took things to the next level and moved in together... maybe a half and a year ago or so ? You’ve never been happier in your life

And, well, you’d actually be happier if you could spend the day with boyfriend instead of running around trying to find god knows which accessories you need for the rehearsal.

8 in the morning is noT a time to be doing cardio.

Especially while wearing heels

Become a model they said, it’ll be fun they said

“Y/n! Come here please I need you to try on this dress before you go!” Your personal stylist calls “I made sure to fix it yesterday so it’d be a perfect fit for the show”

You stop your tracks and go to her “make this quick i have to go get changed before 9 otherwise I’m screwed. Why did they even decide to do the rehearsals so early today ?” You sigh, frustrated, and put on the dress she’s handing you “thank you”

“Okayyy...it looks great. Gold looks amazing on you.” She smoothes the dress and gives an approving nod, visibly satisfied ; “You’ll look perfect for the Grand Finale. Oh god it’s already 8:30 you better go before Mr.Kim throws a fit because you’re late”

You both giggle ; “thank you for fixing the dress Naeun, see you later today. Well, probably tonight. Byeeee”

The rehearsal seems to never end. You’re squeezed in dozens of different outfits, gorgeous for sure but sO tight. Mr. Kim, the one who organised the runway, is such a perfectionist that you have to re-do some things multiple times before he’s satisfied. One time the lighting isn’t right, the other the models are walking too fast, not on beat and so on.

Everyone hates him for that but he always makes the best shows so you just follow.

After multiple tries, the rehearsal finally comes to an end. It’s already 4PM. You barely get time to breathe and go pee before you’re back into the ‘running-around-to-find-my-dress-and-fix-my-makeup-oh-god-i-gotta-be-on-stage’ crazy mess.

Walking on the runway feels amazing, running backstage is terrible.

It’s so hot and small back there you can hardly move around well.

It takes 2 hours for the whole fashion show to be over, one more for pictures outside the catwalk and chat with reporters. Since you’re kind of a famous model now, you get invited to the afterparty and spend few extra hours interacting with some celebrities that attended the show. Other models were invited and you’re happy to see familiar faces amongst them. Jimin, an old colleague and friend of yours, comes your way and compliments you. You chat with him for a while before deciding you’ve had enough for the day and leave the party. A few more people greet you on your way out.

A taxi takes you back to you company, where you left your stuff in the morning. You spend an extra thirty minutes getting rid of your heavy makeup and striping off that gorgeous but awfully tight golden dress you’ve been wearing ever since the end of the runway.

Now, you can FinaLLy go home. yassssss

It’s almost 12am when you leave the agency and climb into yet another taxi. The ride is quiet, background music playing over the car’s radio, and you take some time to look at what you were gifted for your performance : fancy makeup products, accessories, pieces of clothing-but not those from the runway, you sadly never get to keep those. Being kinda famous has its perks :,)

You then decide it’s time to warn Taehyung you’ll arrive soon and send him a few texts. As if he was waiting for them, he instantly replies saying he’ll be waiting for you and proceeds to spam you with heart emojis. Sometimes, it looks like this man just discovered what emojis were and is trying to use them as much as possible. What a child…

It’s way past midnight when you finally step into your duplex and the first thing you notice is that the place is way too quiet.

Maybe Tae went back to sleep, who knows, it’s super late after all…

You remove shoes and jacket and drop your bags in the entrance before going further and you call out quietly “anyone here? Tae, you sleeping?”

There is a faint glow from the tv on your right but the sound has been muted.

Weird…

“Taehyung ?" You call one last time

Suddenly, two strong arms wrap themselves around your waist and you’re pulled into someone’s chest. You gasp, almost scream, but soften up when you feel the warmth on your back

“Hi baby” a deep voice says in your ear, sending chills down your spine “I missed you”

You turn around and are very pleased to see a handsome face and a warm exposed chest your boyfriend smiling at you.

“Mhm, missed you too” You wrap your arms around him and rest your head against his chest, happy to hear his heartbeat. Taehyung places his head atop of yours and gently strokes your hair. You tighten your grasp around him and hum.

Few seconds later, he lifts your chin up and gently lays a kiss on your lips.

“How are you doing?” He asks, his right hand cupping your cheek. The warmth of it is comforting.

“Exhausted, but you know how it goes” You shrug and he smiles

“Not too tired for dinner ? I could cook something if you want”

“Mhm... let me just go shower and put something else on” You sadly let go of him

“Sure, go ahead” he whispers and you give him a kiss before regretfully tearing yourself away from him.

You walk up the stairs to your bedroom, where you find the bed undone. You smile, Taehyung never really liked making the bed and, very honestly, neither did you. You slump onto the mattress and bury your face into the pillows, inhaling his scent. Lavender. Relaxing. Just like he is.

After a warm shower, you find a t-shirt Taehyung left on a chair in the room and wear it. It’s big enough to reach your thighs and, if you were more energised, you’d probably stay like this. You grab large pants and put them on.

Once again, you smell lavender all around you.

When you’re back in the living area, you see Taehyung busying himself in the kitchen. He hears your steps and his eyes find yours as a smile appears on his face when he notices that you’re wearing his shirt

“My shirt looks better on you than it’d ever do on me” He teases, his gaze longing on your frame.

“maybe I should keep it then” you smile and ask ; ”Do you need any help?”

“no no no no no, you’ve worked enough already. Go and have some rest. I'll call you when everything’s ready okay?”

Too tired to argue on this anyways -and thankful for the given rest-, you go lay down on the couch, your body oriented to let you look at Taehyung.

As he hums and moves to the chill music that was playing in the background, you start to detail his beautiful figure. From the curl of his dark hair (which you knoW are so so soft to the touch) to his beautiful profile and his nose you love so much down to his broad shoulder and then his tanned abs you see from time to time when the opened shirt of his pyjama moves according to his steps.

oH! Let’s not forget his perfect hands gripping at the pan’s handle while he cooks… vegetables? Something like that yeah.

Taehyung is giving his best into what he’s cooking. Vegetables with rice, that’s the only thing he could do quickly.

Quickly as in less than half an hour, unlike his friend Namjoon who’d take this time just to cook the rice.

The music he put earlier is slowly starting to bore him. After washing his hands, he reaches out for his phone and plays a different playlist. It’s one you name yourself when the two of you were still friends (aka not dating yet). “Taetae fm” because you once joked he should have his own broadcasting channel on the radio. He’d always criticise the music playing so why not have his own channel 👀

“You know Y/n, I actually watched the fashion show live this afternoon. I mean, of course you know because I always do that haha. Anyways, you really were the highlight of the runway tonight. And I’m not saying this in a biased point of view. Okay I might be a bit biased as your boyfriend but I swear that it’s true!! You literally shone back there, especially in that gold dress you were wearing and even the audience was impressed by your looks maybe you didn’t see it on stage but some cameras filmed their reactions and everyone was looking at you. Really, you were so gorge-oh” Taehyung looks at you and smile fondly “Of course you’re asleep, baby”

He lets his phone aside and checks the now cooked food before making his way to the couch. There’s a blanket on the sofa, he covers you with it, scared you might get cold. Taehyung put a loose strand of hair behind your ear and places a kiss on your chin.

You slowly open your eyes and find yourself face to face with him. You both smile.

“Hi there beautiful” He whispers

“what time is it? Did I sleep until the morning?” You’re scared of having slept through the entire nap without realising

“almost 1:20am, I just finished cooking. I thought you might be cold so I went to cover you with the blanket. You should go enjoy the food while it’s still hot, imma go to the toilet”

You nod as an answer and watch him leave upstairs. Getting up from the warmth of the couch is the hardest part so you keep the soft blanket draped around your shoulders and walk towards the kitchen. You grab two bowls and two pairs of chopsticks that you place on the counter along with glasses and a bottle of water.

You then go take care of the rice and the vegetables, which you mix in the pan. The song playing changes and your favourite nighttime tune starts.

“I don’t want a friend, I want my life in two” you sing along

“Waiting to get there, waiting for you” Taehyung’s voice startles you as he grabs your wrists and pulls your back close to him. You smile as he makes the both of you dance slowly. You put his arms around you so it’s like he’s hugging you from the back. You swing around for a little while, enjoying the close proximity as you both softly hum the song, making your body vibrate against each other, moving in perfect coordination.

“I love you” he whispers in your ear and then kisses it, sending chills down your spine, before lifting one of your arm up to make you turn so that you’re now facing him “did my baby sleep well?” You nod as you place your arms around his waist, paying attention to go under the shirt so you’re touching as much skin as possible.

Taehyung chuckles before asking you in that same, chill-sending, low deep voice ; “Still hungry? Because I’m starving”

If you didn’t just wake up, you would’ve definitely caught that lust in his eyes and also the fact that this wasn’t as innocent as it seemed.

As an answer, your stomach growls pretty loudly, making Taehyung laugh . “I’ll take that as a yes. Sit down, princess. Let me take care of you”

You do as he says, jumping on a stool, detailing all of his moves. You only realise how hungry you actually were when you start eating. Rice with vegetables has never tastes better. You eat everything in less than 5 minutes when you’d usually take your time to finish your plate.

“Damn, that was a well needed dinner! Thank you Tae” you mess a bit with his soft locks

“Imagine me who was waiting for you all evening!! I was hungry too” He pouts.

“Oh come on, I was working today. Cardio in heels isn’t the best way to wake up, let alone spend the whole day standing in tight clothes. When I think you has a day off… pfff. I saw the bed, I’m sure you stayed there all day, you lazyyyyyyyyy ass.”

He mumbles some gibberish and you giggle, knowing that you're right. He looks away, crossing his arms and obviously sulking. You leave your stool and stand behind him, wrapping your arms around his neck. You leave a few kisses on his cheek and neck

“- Don’t be such a babyy. You know I love you.

- You do?

- of course, you dummy” you bop his nose "Sooo, what do we have for desert?

- You. Uh I mean!! Yoghurt, fruits, cakes, fruits…anything” he clears his throat

“Great! What do you prefer?” You open the fridge

“ I’d very happily eat you out honestly but an apple sounds good”

“Oh sur- wait whaT!?” You snap your head to him, eyes wide open

what did he sayyyyyyyy?????

whaT am I even supposed to say noW oh my goddddd

You close the fridge’s door, suddenly not so yogurt-hungry.

There’s a sudden silence between the two of you, only disturbed by the music still playing in the background.

“Mhm? What is it?” He turns around to face you, asking so innocently “did I say something wrong ?”

This man knows what he is doing for sure. Has he ever been that straightforward before ?

Taehyung stands and closes the distance between your bodies, now towering over you.

He lowers himself slightly to speak in your ear “what is it baby? Mhm?” You feel his smile on your cheek when he lays a kiss on it “what happened to my all proud and fierce y/n who was so confident telling me I was being lazy all day, huh? Tell me” He lays another kiss on your temple

OkaY

now he’s being a tease

Great

1 A.M. fluffy and bare chested teaser Taehyung

gReAT

Anyhow, it’s a good turn on.

Really.good.freaking.turn.on

Being tired and turned on was definitely not a good mix for you. You could feel the heat rising in your body and hear your heart pounding in your ears.

“Tae…”

He laughs gently seeing you silently begging for more, brushing your face with his lips, teasing another kiss.

“Tsk tsk, you gotta speak darling, I cannot guess”

You should calm down and go to sleep, it’s 1am and you have work tomorrow you should definitely-

“Fuck-“ You sigh and grab his face, sealing your lips together while closing your eyes.

It doesn’t take long for that kiss to turn into a heated make out session.

You grab and pull some of his dark curls while his hands travels under his your shirt.

You break the kiss just a second to catch your breath.

“Have i ever told you you have the perfect body?” Taehyung asks

“Did I ever tell you how perfect you are??” You reply

He laughs, deep raspy laugh.

You’re too tired for this

And because you’re tired, you’re even more horny :D

Taehyung puts his hands behind your thighs and you jump, locking your legs around his waist, hands still in his hair, lips against his while carries you to the bedroom.

He leaves your lips to travel down your jaw and then collarbone. You throw your head back.

Taehyung gently lays you on the mattress of your king sized bed and makes it his personal mission to pleasure you tonight.

#taehyung fics #taehyung fanfic #kim taehyung au #taehyung fluff #bts fanfic #taehyung #taehyung ff #fluff #implied smut #model taehyung #bts fics #taehyung oneshot #taehyung one shots #taehyung one-shots #taehyung smut #kim taehyung x reader #taehyung au #it's 2am what am I doing #slow dancing in the night

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writing-in-april · 4 years ago

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April Fools

Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: Spencer needs to one up Reader just as he’s about to loose a prank war

A/N: I’m kicking things off for my 30 fics in 30 days for April with this fic inspired by April Fools day- lol this is a much better version compared to what I have experienced in the past with this holiday 😂 @90spumkin there’s a few specific lines in here that are totally inspired by your cowboy Spencer fic lol 😂 I’d like to hear all y’all’s thoughts so far or just drop me any type of anon here- ask me anything -my requests are also open!! Hope y’all enjoy reading ☺️

Warnings: 18+, Dom Spencer (not as harsh as in other fics of mine), Fingering, Edging, Public Sex, Sex with a hidden motive (there are some real feelings there 😉 plus reader acknowledges and knows the hidden motives)

Main Masterlist Word count: 2.4K

When you walked into the bullpen it was dead silent. If you dropped a pin you’d be able to hear it, even with the carpeted floors. You crept as quietly as you could, afraid that someone might jump out to scare you. It was not as if you had gotten in late today, you were actually cutting it rather close this morning.

Your fear of being submitted to a jump scare so early in the morning wasn’t as irrational. Today was the day that everything was going to come to an either a glorious defeat or a momentous victory. A two week long bet was tipping heavily in your favor at the final hours, you had to be careful to not let your hold over Spencer weaken in these last moments.

Today was April 1st- a day like any other to most people, but not to you and not to Spencer. It had all started when you both had begun trying to do little pranks on each other in the months leading up to the bet. If you asked anyone on the team they’d say it started when you replaced his normal standard deck of playing cards with a new set that had awkward pictures of Spencer you had accumulated over the years taped on them to represent each of the numbers and faces. Your personal favorite was the photos you had chosen for the Queens- one of Spencer looking rather regal, eyes cast downwards and with his hands crossed and a big lip pout while sitting at his desk obviously disproving of whatever Derek had said (who was also in the picture)

The team would’ve definitely said it had started there, but that was the first one that they had seen. The first one had actually been when Spencer had switched around the contacts in your phone while you weren’t looking while you had been hanging out with him. To be fair it had been in retaliation to you playfully teasing him about being a technophobe, all’s fair in love and war you had to admit.

And, whether you admitted to him or not, you did love him. This little bet that you set a few weeks ago had only strengthened your feelings. It involved setting a prank for each other, alternating every other day for two weeks until April Fools day, then the team would judge and figure out who one. You can definitely thank Morgan for that brilliant idea as he had spontaneously suggested it after your card prank on Spencer, though you bet he had been thinking about it for a while. Over the course of two weeks you had to delve into the mind of Spencer, really getting to know what would get under his skin, what would be the perfect prank for him.

“I hope you know what you got yourself into Spencer.” He had smirked back at me when you said that right after confirming your bet. You had delved into researching stuff, trying to figure out pranks that would be more personalized to Spencer rather than the ones everyone would see passed around. Eventually you landed on an idea for your last prank that was simple, yet the perfect way to get under Spencer’s skin. It was so easy you kicked yourself a little for not figuring it out before.

Apparently replacing the sugar Spencer specifically brought in for himself with salt was a step too far according to him. The glare that he had fixed on you after he had spit out his coffee onto his cardigan made you shiver, you knew you were going to be in for something big today.

Plus today was the aforementioned holiday that inspired the bet in the first place, you kind of wished you had gotten the chance to have the last laugh. You were still crossing your fingers and toes in hopes that it wouldn’t compare to your coffee prank.

Your eyes locked on the lone figure standing in the maze of desks, Spencer. It felt as if you were both ready at high noon for a duel to see who drew their gun fastest. Though, comparatively there was a distinct lack of cowboy hats and the sun was down to low for a proper duel. That didn’t stop your mind from wandering to thinking about him in a cowboy hat, he’d definitely look good. you’d have to get him one some day or maybe put a snake in a cowboy boot if another prank war was to ever crop up.

“Where is everybody?” You asked, though you knew that Spencer had probably sent them off elsewhere, you had done the same thing earlier when you needed to convince him that he had come in on his day off.

“I may have bribed them a bit to be elsewhere right now.” He spoke with a smirk that would have seemed foreign to you until you guys had started this. Now it was a staple for him whenever you saw him, going right along with his cardigan and tie to complete his look. There was no complaint from you, Spencer acting slightly cocky just before you were about to get pranked on oddly made you get hot and bothered easier than you’d like to admit.

Pushing those thoughts aside, you crossed your arms in front of you, probably a vain attempt to protect yourself from whatever was coming. Your voice came out a little shaky, “What for?”

“Just wanted to talk to you- privately…” He skated around your question, not really giving you any definitive answer. Though, you hadn’t really expected him to lay out his whole plan, that would just be counterproductive. There was a slight pause in conversation, you were about to break it with your own response when he added,“You know I’ve always found you desirable, Y/N…”

The simple teasing conversation that you had been having with him suddenly pivoted. The air in the room felt like it had been sucked out, leaving you gasping. Even if some part of this led to a prank, you knew Spencer wouldn’t play with your feelings like that. What was most likely happening is that he was using this confession to also pull a fast one on you. His deep brown eyes piercing into your own told you that he was telling the truth in that regard, plus if earlier in the bet was any indication, he wasn’t that good of a liar.

“This wasn’t what I thought you’d be talking to me in private about but- I’ve always found you desirable too...” You admitted with a gulp, pressing your weight into the edge of your desk almost sitting on it.

Your full weight pushed to sit fully on top of your desk, undoubtedly crinkling some important papers underneath when he stepped forward to close the large gap between the two of you. The tension was thick around you now with only two sentences spoken, both full of truth.

“Do you want me as much as I want you?” His lips were now so close to yours his breath was projected onto your lips.

“Yes.” You confirmed, with no hesitation. Honestly, you wouldn’t care if there was some sort of prank he was going to play on you soon, you knew that what he had said didn’t just apply to now. That was the part that mattered to you.

His lips surged forward to meet yours, letting all the tension that had been rising boil over. It was everything you had imagined and more, his lips just as soft and pillowy as they had been in your dreams.

When he pulled your skirt up roughly to expose your bottom half to him you came up off of the edge of the desk slightly, then being pushed back down once you were partially exposed before him. You squeaked into his mouth in shock of how fast this was escalating, but didn’t protest any further, wanting to see where he was going with this. You were so glad that he had gotten the team to leave the bullpen for a while, this would be a hard situation to explain. Being out in the open didn’t make you more nervous though, it excited you to know that someone could be around the corner with only the desk dividers hiding your exposed bottom half.

He didn’t even bother to push your panties down to your knees or ankles. He just pulled them aside to gain access to your now positively dripping hole. You hadn’t even thought to question how this tied into his prank, like it inevitably did, yet. You just wanted more of him, in any way you could get him.

His eyes were fixated on your dripping entrance, seemingly mesmerized by finally being able to see it. The awe in his eyes certainly did make you feel adored by him, but your desire made you feel impatient, “Spencer, do something or I’ll take care of it myself.”

A growl was all you were going to get in response to your desperate snarky comment. He then brought his hand up to suck on two of his fingers, his pointer and his middle. But, instead of then putting them to good use to help you reach a peak he stalled some more by bringing them up to your own mouth.

“I want you to suck too.” A little whine was all you could give in response before letting his fingers inside your mouth. You sucked diligently, making sure to get them wet enough for you.

Once he was finally satisfied with your efforts he removed them, a slight popping noise escaping. Bringing his hand down slowly was just another attempt to tease some more, but you knew that he’d reach there eventually. No matter how hard it was to be patient, you did so, though with a bit of squirming.

Your hips bucked up immediately in response to his fingers coming into content with your clit, Spencer’s other hand came down to press your hips back down again. He spent his sweet time playing with patterns, circling your clit a few times slowly before switching to a faster figure 8 pattern, seemingly just to get you more desperate.

“Spencer- again if you don’t do more I’ll take care of it myself!” You snapped harder with more venom this time, patience wearing dangerously thin. You thought you heard a small whisper of the word brat underneath his breath, but you decided to table it when he finally did oblige you.

You had to bite down on your lip hard when he stopped circling your entrance to plunge two of his fingers inside of you. The pressure on your lip was most certainly almost enough to break the skin while he began thrusting his fingers inside you in a steady rhythm, crooking them perfectly to make you see stars. You had to bite your lip so hard to combat the raging moans that wanted to escape from you due to the pressure he was putting on your gspot.

He brought his thumb up to circle your clit again once he saw that you were getting close, helping push you closer towards the edge. Your lungs were heaving in gasping breaths mixed with desperate moans as he continued to add stimulation to your most sensitive spots, hitting them perfectly with each crook of his fingers and circling of your clit.

Just as your orgasm was about to wash over you, all of his movements stopped abruptly. The euphoric stimulation you had been feeling was ripped away from you, his thumb on your clit halted, the curling of his fingers ceased, and his mouth that had been pressing kisses and hidden hickies to my collarbone had concluded its actions.

“April fools.” He then removed his fingers from me and promptly sauntered off to his own desk with no other words for you. Your legs were still shaking, more now from being edged to the point that you fully had to sit down onto your desk to try and regain your composure. Your jaw also was hanging slack in shock in contrast to how hard you had been biting your lips earlier while his fingers had been inside you.

A little glance from Spencer was thrown your way that was probably to gage your reaction,

you spotted even in your disheveled and distraught state. You had to admit, it was not what you were expecting and he had got you good. Your plan paled in comparison by far considering you were just going to have the entire office call him Stanley all day- and of course steal the coffee grounds to see if you could provoke an even bigger reaction out of him.

A deep sigh came from you, an non verbal admission of your glorious defeat. He had well and truly got you, it wasn’t as if you could exactly defend yourself and your pranks to the team during judging. Not that you really wanted to defend them, there was no reason to, he had well and truly beaten you. You could accept when you had been beaten, you’d accept defeat with grace. Though you definitely still feared the idea Spencer would come up with as a consolation prize for his win.

Reaching down with your hands to a stack of files on your desk you absentmindedly straightened them, then sitting down in your desk chair. You wriggled around a bit, feeling the dampness in your parties, already regretting sitting down. With another sigh you nodded towards Spencer, an acknowledgement of his momentous victory before getting up again to go clean yourself up in the bathroom to clean up- and maybe splash some cold water on your face. Though by the smirk on his face, there was no way this wasn’t going to happen again. And, maybe with him actually letting you finish or not, the thrill was sometimes in the chase of one. You’d also have to think of your own way of retaliation in the future of course, just because you accepted defeat just now doesn’t mean there wasn't a longer war to be won. Plus perhaps you will admit your deeper feelings for him that you could now see lying beneath his eyes as well, feelings much deeper than desire.

Safe to say you just told the team that you lost fair and square, not divulging why no matter how much Penelope pried. It was without a doubt, a glorious defeat.

—

Tag list (message me if you want to be added):

All works: @shotarosleftpinky @90spumkin @kyra-morningstar @s1utformgg @takeyourleap-of-faith

All MGG characters: @muffin-cup @willowrose99

Spencer Reid/CM: @calm-and-doctor @destiny-tsukino @safertokiss @slutforthegubes @onlyhereforthefanfics

Dom Spencer: @rainsong01 @evlfknb

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds x reader #matthew gray gubler x reader #matthew gray gubler #matthew gray gubler smut #criminal minds #mgg #mgg x reader

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dreamingofaizawa · 4 years ago

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A Dragon’s Bride

Dragon Prince! Bakugo Katsuki x Fem! Fae Princess! Reader

Fanstasy AU

***18+ Fic***

If you are not 18 years old, you are not old enough to ride. Please exit the line and find another. Thank you and have a good day.

Warnings: Arranged marriage, smut, soft to rough sex, light fluff. Characters are aged up, Bakugo and reader are the same age.

Word Count: 4.7k

Author’s Note: So I had this idea after reading other fantasy AU fics, and I just really wanted a soft Bakugo. I know he’s an angry moody mf but idgaf aight? I didn’t wanna get super descriptive with the smut, just cause I wanted it to be more like ‘lovemaking’ than just sex, you feel me? Sorry if the pace is a little weird, I didn’t spend a whole lot of time on this lmao. Anyway, here’s dragon boi Bakubitch.

Enjoy the read~

As the youngest daughter of the Fae King and Queen, you knew it was only a matter of time before you were put in an arranged marriage. Your eldest brother had taken his Fae wife and would ascend to the throne in due time, and your older sister had already been married off to the Elven Prince Shouto.

Despite knowing you’d need to marry for political ties, you hadn’t expected to be sent off quite so soon. Your 19th birthday had passed only a few days ago, and that was when the news was broken to you. You were to be married to the Dragon Prince Katsuki Bakugo, soon to be the Dragon King, for his parents had expressed their wish to step down as royals rather early for Dragons of their age.

The journey was rather long, even as you flew with your guards in a beeline to the lands of the Dragons. Throughout the weeklong trip your nerves were building and the mild fear settled into your bones. The Dragon Prince was infamous for his temper and short fuse, his anger always taken out specifically on Izuku Midoriya, the Fairy Prince from his childhood. Your kingdom had not tied itself with the Dragons in centuries, and this alliance meant the Fae’s history of stubborn seclusion and independence would begin to diminish. This was a mission you could not afford to fail.

The final night camping was the worst. Sleep seemed to fear you, and you tossed and turned, attempting to settle your nerves. But it was to no avail. The sky began to lighten into a dull gray, signaling the coming morning. The guard came to wake you up, and soon you were bathed and back in the sky. Not having slept was of no concern, you’d gone days without sleep before and were just fine.

By midday you’d reached the edge of the Dragon kingdom, and were landing in front of the mountain castle just before sundown. The castle was gorgeous on its own, the face of it being the only exposed piece of the structure with the rest of the castle buried inside the mountain itself. The entrance was large, a platform that no doubt acted as a landing pad for the royal Dragons. Warm light poured from the large arched doorway as the huge stone doors opened as you approached.

You were greeted by the King, Queen, and the Prince himself. You sank before them in a low curtsy, pitch black wings spread out and flattened to your sides in a display of reverence. The King and Queen themselves bowed their heads toward you as a sign of respect, and when the Prince looked away indifferently, the Queen forced the boy down into a bow by grabbing his head and shoving it down, leaving you shocked.

You were of lower rank than he, so there was no reason for him to bow his head to you. Noticing your confused state, the Dragon Queen spoke. “Rank is of little concern here, child. My son must learn a grain of respect if he is to be King.” With a small smile, you nod in understanding, too afraid to speak. Your nerves were bound to come through in your voice, and you refused to show signs of weakness in front of Dragons powerful as they.

Tonight was one of rest, and there were rooms for your royal guards to rest for the night before they had to make the journey back to Fae land. The Queen insisted you call upon a maid should you need anything, and personally escorted you to your room. Once alone, you took the time to bathe. A warm indoor spring was not something you were used to. Waterfalls were the bathing pools of choice in the Fae kingdom, though the warm water was welcome after your long journey. Soon you were in a nightgown and fast asleep in a warm bed of furs.

The next morning a maid came to wake you, and you were dressed by several handmaidens. The gown you wore was simple. A soft grey, long and flowing, with the fabric bunched at your shoulders in a sleeveless style and a low-cut back to accommodate your wings. You were escorted to the dining room, and you took the time to memorize parts of the castle.

The table itself was shorter than you expected, with only three seats on the longer sides and the usual single seats on the ends, already occupied by the King and Queen. Prince Katsuki sat to his mother’s right, and you were led to sit on her left, directly across from him. For the first time, you got a good look at the boy.

Unruly ash blonde hair framed his face, which was chiseled and defined. His deep red eyes seemed to burn and glow like embers, and you had to look away from the intensity of his gaze on you. Your eyes were drawn to the exposed skin of his arms and collarbones, the muscles rippling underneath. You’d be lying to say he wasn’t incredibly handsome.

Through breakfast the Queen asked about your kingdom and its customs, and personal questions on how you felt about this alliance. You gave simple answers, having been trained to respond to such questions. She then walked you through the day, explaining how you’d be spending a lot of time with Katsuki not only for today, but all the way up until the wedding, which was set to take place in six months. The Prince scoffed at the idea.

“Why the hell do I even need to marry her? Why can’t I go find someone I like? I’m sure she’d rather marry someone she likes.” The Queen let out a low growl that could only be from a Dragon, directed toward her son. Her voice boomed through the hall. “Hold your tongue, boy. This alliance is important to both our kingdoms. You’ll do well to remember that.” He went silent with a snarl. She then turned her attention to you with a soft smile, the harsh edge gone from her voice.

“My apologies, dear. He can be...difficult. I hope your union can teach him some humility as well as respect for others.” With a soft smile, you nod. “I understand, my Queen. I pray I am not a burden to the Prince.” She chuckles and shakes her head as if you’d said something extremely amusing. Breakfast was soon over and you were left to spend the day alone with Prince Katsuki.

It was a rather difficult day. The Prince refused to speak, only voicing any irritation or anger he had for something he’d noticed. You were mostly quiet, in fear of angering him and possibly spoiling the union. He didn’t address you at all, and most interaction was awkward, but that was to be expected. You didn’t know each other. The King and Queen left the kingdom on a trip that was to last up until the week of the wedding, leaving you alone in the castle with the prince.

The first few weeks were relatively the same, little conversation between you and the Prince, silent meals, him angrily grumbling about one thing or another. You began to wonder if this was how life was going to be with him. It’s been nearly four months now, and he only ever addressed you briefly when he commented on one thing or another, though he was less angry lately. Tonight you lay awake in bed, stressing over whether or not you’d end up ruining this alliance.

Sleep refused to come, and you decided rolling around in bed would do you no good. Silently, you stepped out of your room and padded through the castle aimlessly. Eventually you ended up on a lone balcony at the face of the castle, far above the entrance and off to the side, jutting out from the cliffside. The chill of the night air made gooseflesh pebble your skin, but you welcomed it. It had been a while since you’d flown.

Wrapping your night robe tight around your body and stretching your wings, you stood on the railing and leaned back, falling into the open air and sailing into the night sky. You missed the wind rushing past your feathers, whipping through your hair. It was cold, but it made you feel free and light, away from the pressure of the marriage and alliance. Little did you know a pair of red eyes were watching you from a more hidden balcony.

____

You were absolutely beautiful to him. Katsuki watched as you floated on the air. Your dark feathers barely catch the warm light from the castle, giving them a slight glint as they ruffled and moved. He watched as you darted up into the clouds, pulling your wings in and spiraling up through the thick barriers, then falling back downward with your wings stretched out below you.

You were mesmerizing, and he hated how quickly he’d grown fond of you. At first he thought you were some stuck up princess, like the Elf Prince Shouto Todoroki. But he was proven wrong rather quickly. You were intelligent, your opinions sound and logical, the complete opposite of him. He was rash and emotional, and he knew it. He soon came to respect you, though he couldn’t figure out how to speak to you for the life of him. He was always more a man of action. Words were not his forte.

But as he watched you in the night sky, he couldn’t help but be drawn to you. He wanted to fly with you, to dance with you through the air. He wanted to touch you, your skin, your feathers, even your horns. He’d never seen a Fae before, only drawings from books. Though those images were put to shame next to you. Your grace seemed unmatched, even compared to his mother, who was just as rough around the edges as he was.

He’d be embarrassed to say he observed you more than he had intended to. The way you walked as if you were floating, how you held yourself around others. Your posture was regal, poised, and yet full of humility and compliance. You looked like you understood your place in this world, like you knew why you were supposed to marry a Dragon in an arranged marriage instead of being able to choose who you loved.

His thoughts drifted as he watched you, and he found himself wanting to fly with you more and more as time passed. Unlike you, he could sprout his wings whenever he wanted, and soon his large leathery wings were fully formed, ready to lift him from his perch. And that’s exactly what he did.

____

You were so distracted with the rushing wind you didn’t notice the figure approaching you until you felt the air whoosh behind you unnaturally. Swiftly, you turned, and found a pair of glowing red eyes focused on you. Both of you stayed there, flapping softly in the wind to keep steady. He was the first to break the silence.

“It’s a bit late for you to be flying, Princess.” His unusually soft tone of voice had heat rushing to your face. You sputtered out your response, partially from his words, partially from your nerves. “I, uh, I’m sorry, my Prince. I had no idea that…uhm… that I wasn’t allowed to fly this l-late.” A deep chuckle rumbled in his chest, clearly amused. ‘Cute’ he thought to himself. “I didn’t say that, Princess. Just that it was rather late for you to be awake.” More heat flooded your face at his teasing tone.

He tilts his head, indicating for you to follow him, and he flits away, landing on the balcony you’d leapt off of. You were close behind, and landed next to him as his wings vanished into his back. A large hand was extended toward you and you took it, a bit hesitant, as he’d never engaged this much contact before. His warm hand enveloped yours, and he pulled you alongside him through the castle.

You cleared your throat quietly to speak. “Apologies, my Prince, but where are we going?” A small smirk graced his lips as he turned to you. “It’s a surprise, Princess. But I promise you’ll like it.” You gave a small nod and allowed him to guide you through the halls of the castle. He led you deep into the mountain, down corridors you hadn’t explored before, and soon you were walking down uncarved tunnels lit only by torches every few feet.

After a few minutes in the tunnels, the torches came to an abrupt stop, and you began to feel uneasy with the looming darkness. As if sensing your hesitation, the Prince turned and squeezed your hand in his. “Don’t worry, I promise I’m not dragging you to the dungeon.” His voice was playful, something you’d never heard from him before. Despite the mild discomfort of the underground depths, you trusted him and let him pull you into the darkness.

Once your eyes had adjusted, a faint glow came from somewhere further inward. He kept walking, further and further down the tunnel, and the glow consistently strengthened until you were sure you’d find the source behind each turn you took. Then he stopped, and turned to look at you over his shoulder. “You ready, Princess?” You nodded almost excitedly, and he pulled you with him around the corner. The sight before you stole the breath from your lungs.

The source of the cool glow was a gigantic cavern, the walls and ground littered with white, green, blue, and purple crystals, all glowing in the darkness, illuminating the space. The high ceiling was dotted with them as well, almost mimicking the night sky. In the center was a deep pool that reflected the light, the crystalline water perfectly still and undisturbed. Your wings ruffled as you took in the sight before you, the reaction involuntary.

In your wonder, you failed to notice the Prince had disappeared from your side. He called out to you once he had sunk into the water, and your eyes snapped over to him, heat rushing to your face in the realisation that he was naked. He seemed to sense your shyness, and let out a chuckle. “Come on, Princess. Won’t you join me?” Slowly, you made your way over to the pool, eyes focused on the steam rising from the water, and away from the very naked Prince.

You sank down to your knees a few feet from him, your wings wrapping around you slightly. From the corner of your eye you could see his head tilt at you, and you were sure he was smirking at your flustered state. With an amused hum, he turned his body away from you, giving you privacy to undress and dip into the water. Once you were in, you settled onto the ledge and hugged your knees close to your chest, your wings hiding most of your body.

“Y-you can t-turn back around now, my Prince.” He shifted back to his original position, leaning against the edge of the natural pool and resting his arms up on the ledge, relaxing into the hot water. You were still a bit tense, not having been naked around a man before. His deep voice was playful as he spoke. “Relax, Princess. We’re to be married. I’ll see you eventually.” You could hear the teasing undertone and you hugged your knees in closer.

His eyes were now fixed on you. With a small sigh, he moved, and you squeaked as his arms wrapped under your wings and around your waist. He lifted you with ease, and positioned you to be straddled on his lap, face inches from his, strong arms holding you close. His eyes were glued to yours, and you couldn’t hold his gaze. It wasn’t the same intensity as the first time you’d looked at them. This time was a bit different, the burning in his eyes was not from anger.

A hand came up and cupped your cheek, shocking you from the gentle touch. His voice was just as gentle, soft as his eyes trailed over your features. “You’re beautiful, Princess.” Your wings puffed up slightly at his words, and his eyes snapped to them at the movement. “Can I touch them?” The question shocked you a bit, but you nodded, not trusting your voice.

The hand that was on your face reached out and pet your feathers, gliding down your wing gently. Nobody had really touched your wings other than you, and it was only to clean them. This was a new sensation, and your wings shook lightly as your shoulders tensed a bit. Katsuki’s ministrations froze, and his voice turned slightly serious. “What is it? Did I hurt you?”

You blinked at him before shaking your head. “No, no of course not. It’s just...nobody has ever touched my wings before…” He seemed to relax at that. Still, his hand pulled away from your wing in favor of holding your waist. He held you closer, and your breath hitched slightly at the close proximity, your noses inches apart. His breath was warm on your face. “You have no idea how bad I’ve wanted to hold you close like this, Princess.”

Your eyes widened at his words and he laughed a bit. “I’ll admit, Princess, you’d captured my attention rather quickly. I never quite knew how to talk to you. But I am impatient, and couldn’t wait to hold you.” You were giddy from his confession, and you leaned forward, burying your face into his neck and pressing your body into his.

Up until now, your focus had been on the marriage and the alliance and making sure it went well. But now, knowing it would work out, you allowed your feelings to come into play. From the beginning you’d been taken with the handsome Prince. Within the first month you were no doubt falling for him. His attitude and personality was rather brash, but he was never aggressive toward you. Sure, he didn’t speak to you, but his actions spoke much louder.

He was a gentleman more often than not, holding doors open, escorting you to and from meals, even occasionally gifting you gowns and jewelry. You’d kept your emotions in check, though you knew by now you’d fallen head over heels for the man. Now, his arms tightened around you and you breathed in each other’s scents. His fingers massaged the skin in between your wings, and your body shuddered. It felt...good. Really, really good. You mewled into his shoulder, enjoying the new sensation.

You could feel him smirk into your neck as his fingers dug into the fluffy feathers at the base of your wings. With a gasp, your wings extended out behind you and fluffed up, all the feathers ruffling as you pressed your body tighter to his. A warmth began to build in your abdomen and between your legs, and you squirmed a bit, unsure what the feeling was.

His hands released your feathers and gripped your hips with a low hiss. “Quit your squirming, Princess. I don’t think I can control myself right now.” His voice was deep, and slightly strained. You lifted your head to look in his eyes, and his pupils were dilating, red irises now small rings. “What do you mean, my Prince?” His eyebrows raised slightly before his lips curled into a smirk. He brought your hips down, grinding you down onto him.

That was when you felt it, his hardness rubbing against your thigh. A small gasp escaped your lips and heat bloomed from your chest up to your cheeks. He watched as your pupils matched his, irises disappearing into blackness. Leaning forward, he pressed his lips onto yours in a passionate kiss. When he finally let go you were both panting, and he leaned his forehead against yours. “Angel. My Angel.”

His eyes burned into your own as he spoke, his voice almost pleading. “Let me take care of you tonight.” You barely managed to nod before his lips were on yours again, this time hungry and wild. His tongue prodded at your lips and you let them part, let him explore your cavern in a mess of tongue and teeth. Without breaking the kiss his hands grabbed your thighs and began to lift, and your arms wrapped tight around his neck as he lifted you both from the warm water and walked.

You had no idea where he was taking you until he leaned and placed you down on soft pelts. Surprised, you pulled away to look around. The bed was situated behind a mass of towering crystals, hidden from the entrance. The blue glow illuminated the blonde’s face as he hovered above you, highlighting his features. You took a moment to admire just how beautiful he is, before his lips were on yours again.

His hands wandered freely now, groping the flesh at your hips and thighs, fingers massaging the soft skin there as his lips trailed down your neck and along your collarbones and shoulders. A thick finger found its way to your dripping core, and you let out a gasp at the feeling. You’d never laid with a man before, however you had to learn how to please one through books. You wondered briefly if the Prince had any real experience, before your mind was brought back to the moment as his finger pushed into you.

It wasn’t painful, and the mewl you let out let the blonde know you enjoyed it. His tongue attacked your pert nipples as distraction as he pressed another thick digit at your entrance, pushing it into your tight walls. A hiss escaped you from the slight burn, the stretch something you weren’t used to. Nothing had ever been inside you like this, the feelings foreign but pleasurable all the same.

His fingers maneuvered inside you, scissoring and curling and pumping until you were a panting moaning mess beneath him. His thumb dipped down into your wetness before reaching up to rub at the little bundle of nerves, making you flinch with the sudden jolt of pleasure, your wet walls clamping down on his fingers. A tightness built quickly in your abdomen the longer he kept his ministrations, and he leaned up to whisper in your ear.

“I can feel you gripping me. Cum for me, sweet girl.” His mouth attached to your neck and sucked, adamant to leave a mark. It only took a few more moments for you to fall apart around the man’s fingers, legs and wings trembling, moans echoing through the cave. When you had come down from that high, he pulled his fingers from you and licked them clean, a deep groan pouring from his lips.

Wrapping your legs around his waist, he lines himself up with your core, grasping your hip in one hand. “Are you ready for me, Angel?” Grabbing at the furs underneath you, you nod. “I’m ready, my Prince.” Slowly, he pushes himself into you, panting and growling, jaw clenched hard. The stretch burns, but only slightly, and soon you’re moaning and mewling beneath him. Finally fully seated inside you, his head drops to your shoulder and his arms wrap around you, holding you tight against him.

His breath is hot, blooming over your shoulder and neck, lips and tongue attacking the skin there. He holds his hips still, flush against yours, giving you time to adjust to him. When your walls relax around him, he begins to pump into you, shallow thrusts grinding himself into your walls. As he moves, his hands crawl up your back, fingers tangling into the base of your wings and massaging gently, making you moan out and wrap your arms around his neck.

He keeps his pace steady, but you can hear the strain in his breathing and feel his jaw clenched tightly. He’s holding back, and you don’t want him to. “Please, don’t hold back. I want all of you, Katsuki.” His movements stilled, you never used his name before. Pulling back, he peered down into your eyes as your hands held his face.

“You can have all of me, Angel, if you’ll be mine.” You leaned up and kissed him sweetly, “I’m already yours, my King.” A deep growl rumbled in his chest at your words, “Then you will have all of me.” He pulled his hips back and snapped back into you, setting a quick pace. Your breath came in pants and moans, the pleasure wracking through your body stealing the air from your lungs. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the cave, along with moans and growls and the smell of sex.

His arms held you tighter, fingers continuously digging into your feathers, lips latching onto your neck between heavy breaths. “Mine. My Angel, mine, mine. I love you my Angel.” You moaned out, your voice soft in his ear. “I love you my King. I’m yours, all yours forever.” His pace became erratic, and a hand came between your bodies to rub at the little nub between your folds. Only a few tight circles around it had you cumming and clamping down hard around his length, and he thrust into you hard.

A few more thrusts and he stilled himself, letting out a deep guttural moan as he spilled his seed inside you, holding your body tight to his. He rolled over, laying you on top of him without removing his length from you. Your wings stretched out behind you, falling limp at your sides once they were relaxed. Katsuki peppered kissed along your hairline, whispering sweet nothings as your breaths calmed.

After a long, comfortable silence, he spoke. “Are you alright, Angel?” You smiled and kissed at his chest. “Never better, my King.” He hummed, the sound vibrating through your body. “We should get back to the main castle. The maids will panic if we’re missing.” You giggled at the thought of the maids running around like headless chickens searching for the two of you. With a nod, you sat up, and he lifted you off of him.

You swung your legs over the side of the bed and pushed up, but your legs were weak and gave way to your weight. Katsuki caught you easily, and scooped you up like you weighed nothing. After bathing in the pool once more, you both dressed and he carried you with him to his chambers, and you fell asleep in each other’s arms.

The next couple months you spent nearly all your time together. You sit side by side during meals, talk regularly, and spend free time alone on a balcony or in the crystal cave. As you spend time with him, you notice things about him you never would have guessed before. He’s extremely perceptive, smarter than his angry demeanor would lead most to believe. He hates lying, hates secrets and deceit, which showed through when he explained why he was so against the arranged marriage at first.

The news was sprung on him only hours before you arrived, and he was angry that his parents had kept it secret from him. You noticed he was rather protective and liked skin contact, holding you tight to his body whenever he got the chance. He was thoughtful, his gifts were never useless, always something he was sure you would use and appreciate. Your favorite was the many custom jewels he had crafted for your horns. Some a delicate array of dainty silver chains and gems that glittered and swayed as you walked. Others golden wire, mimicking vines and leaves that twisted around and hugged your horns.

That was when you noticed his infatuation with your horns. He’d touch them often when your head was on his lap, tracing the intricate texture with his fingertips. He didn’t find them grotesque or intimidating like most others did, instead he found them beautiful and magical. He never tried to cover them, always adorning them with sparkling gems and glittering metal to accentuate the deep ebony.

He was curious, constantly asking questions about you, your home, and your customs. You grew to love the man more and more with every passing day, and as the wedding came and went you had no reserved feelings about the union. You loved Katsuki, the Dragon Prince, and he loved you, the Fae Princess. He was your King, and you were his Angel, and neither of you would have it any other way.

#bakugo katsuki #bakugo katsuki mha #bakugo katsuki bnha #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo #katsuki bakugo mha #katsuki bakugo bnha #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugo katsuki smut #bakugo katsuki x fem reader #katsuki bakugo x fem reader #fantasy au mha #fantasy au bnha #dragon bakugo #dragon prince bakugo

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modx-reborn · 3 years ago

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Pretty in pink

Returning my C!Eret posts.

SMUT UNDERCUT! MINORS DNI!

The main hall is closed today, or well as closed as it can be, having a few guards tell people that King Eret is busy and that the public is not allowed in the hall won't stop someone like dream, but it will hold most people at bay.

The Hall is closed for one reason and one reason alone.

The current monarch of the Greater SMP is sat astride one of your thighs, crown knocked out of place from the constant shaking that has overtaken them, swaths of their pale skin exposed for anyone to see should they ignore the palace guards and barge in, soft pale pink lingerie decorates them in barely any meaningful coverage.

Rose gold rings with chains that attach the chest piece to the bottoms, strips of stretched material barely covering the globes of their ass, a harness that sits at their waist lead down to thigh straps clipped to stockings. If it weren't for the prominent bulge that presses against the barely-there underwear, Eret would project the very image of innocent sin.

Your hands dig in at the small slivers of exposed skin on their hips, dragging them back and forth making sure that they only feel the beginnings of pleasure coil in them before stopping the movement altogether.

"You know I can feel you, every time you press against me, every throb, every whine you keep trapped, I can feel it all."

It's easy to splay one of your hands across their back, fingers slowly pulling on one of the chains that connect two of the pieces together forcing Eret to arch backwards exposing their neck to you. "Look how fucking needy you are. Barely tugging on anything and you're ready to bare it all for me?"

While your hands are kept to keeping their hips grinding against you at a slow pace, their's are gripping the front of your shirt, tugging and sliding against the fabric, long fingers adorned in several rings so regal even now as you once again stop them from chasing their building end.

The very sight of the King of the SMP perched on your lap, a flush spreading further and further down their neck, clashing light red with soft pink as you mouth along their exposed neck leaving a trail of marks that even the high neck of their usual attire would have a hard time hiding.

"Fuck look at you, So pretty for me but such a fucking slut to let me do this here-" your teeth drag against the edge of the shoulder straps, teasing them with the thought of teeth marks against their collarbones, "-All wrapped pretty, right where anyone could see you," pulling away from them flick at the small hidden clasps and pull the fabric free from their hips, leaving them in their thigh highs and the connected chest and waist piece.

The Whine that leaves Eret as the pressure of the briefs against their member is released, is quickly lost in a gasp as flip them around. Their thighs bracket your own, every mark, bite and bruise now on display to the grand doors at the entrance of the hall.

"I wonder how many people would love to see you like this?-" one of your hands lays spread against their ribs keeping them pulled flush to your chest, as the other teases along the skin beside where their cock presses against their stomach never quite touching, "-All red, making a mess of this lovely Lingerie I bought you, Hmm? What would people think."

The feeling of power is like no other, as one of the most powerful people on the server sits squirming in your lap, whimpering and almost begging for more than the teasing touches you have been giving them, fingers barely tracing against the vain that runs from base to tip. "Fuck, please no more. Just please anything but more teasing."

"You want more?-" the hand that once simply held them against your chest, drifts upwards softly circling and pinching hardened peaks now barely hidden by pink material, "- Want me to make you stain this throne? Leave evidence of how fucking filthy you are on the carpet? Make you remember how good I made you feel every time you hold court?"

"P-Please!"

Fingers quick to wrap around their member, teasing touches turning to a solid grasp, your wrist jerking in short sharp movements. "Go on then, your Majesty. Show me how badly you wanted this," with how much pre they had leaked your hand is slick, each movement accompanied by a wet noise, as you work them close to the edge once again your sharp smile is hidden by kisses pressed against their back.

Only when their hips begin to buck and the soft chant of 'please' becomes louder and louder, your hand stops, grip turning firm almost bordering on harsh as they pulse against your hand.

"NO! PLease. Please. PLEASE!"

The only thing stopping Eret from curling in on themselves is your hand still pressed to their chest, "Awww did someone think they were going to get to cum? Do you think you've earned it?" the response is a long whine, their legs spreading wider, body pressing back into you with their head thrown against your shoulder.

"Please. Please. Please, anything. Just please, let me cum,"

Your laughter is more felt than heard by the monarch who sits debased in your lap, so lost in the need to finish that they have ignored the slight noise of the hall door opening. Pressing your face into the side of their neck, you send a glance at the tilted white smiling mask now frozen in the doorway, the look you send is clear in its meaning 'They're Mine'.

The other lingers as you start up again, slowly pumping away as Eret moans and whines out 'thank you' hips following the rhythm you had set, working them up to the fast pace they longed for.

When they do finally get to cum, it's a long moan of your name, the hand that was wrapped around their cock keeps pumping letting the evidence of their pleasure drip over your fingers, the other moves cradling their face, pulling it down towards you as every noise they make is swallowed by your kiss.

Watching from the corner of your eye, you watch as Dream slips away door clicking back into place as if he didn't just watch someone unravel his little puppet king.

"Plea-I can't. Please,"

Their hips buck against your still moving hand before you relent. Flicking your fingers out, living up to your earlier words, letting drops of cum land on both the throne and the carpet, before lifting them to Eret's eyeliner letting him see how absolutely filthy they just were.

"Look at that. Such a good little slut, taking everything and more," it's a slight movement of their head that tells you they are watching when you place your fingers in your mouth, cleaning away any evidence with lips and tongue. "So good for me aren't you, just for me."

Their response is soft, almost lost as you shush them, a towel placed aside earlier soft against them, cleaning away anything that may linger against their skin, "Just calm we won't move till your ready," gently moving them till they are cradled against you, chest to chest, their head pressed into the crook of your neck as you draw soft shapes on their back.

"I'm not going anywhere, not yet darling."

#c: eret #dsmp smut #k: teasing #k: feminization #k: light degradation #k: humiliation #k: marking #mxad

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mmvalentine · 4 years ago

Text

What Cardan Knows | Jurdan

Canon compliant I suppose, just more post-QoN nonsense. Smut aplenty.

Cardan knows a secret about Jude.

Knows she likes to be kissed right between the shoulder blades.

Knows that if you move your lips on the vertebra that sticks out at the base of her neck, she melts like chocolate in the summer sun.

Jude has spent today, like many days, sitting on her throne like she was born there. There is something so natural in the way that she rules the fae that never came quite so easy to Cardan. He feels more comfortable next to her now than he ever thought he would. Still. He does not think he relishes the power like Jude does.

And of course Jude looks spectacular while she does it. Cardan reclines in his own throne, throwing one leg over an armrest and letting his head fall back against the back. He watches Jude, straight backed and imperious, as she hands down stern judgement for a faerie who stole a human child. She had outlawed changelings since she has been Queen, and although the folk do not like it, they abide by her word.

Cardan finds it sexy that the court is still a little afraid of Jude. Cardan finds it sexy that this sharp and unyielding ruler is his alone to unravel. Later.

Jude does not like anyone to know that she can be tender. Even now, years after she’s gained the loyalty of her court, she avoids being vulnerable. Puts on her armour every morning to meet her subjects, her advisors, and even her sisters. Oak might be an exception. And Cardan, when he knows where to fit his myriad keys.

These are not things Jude has ever told him out loud. Not even to her husband would she confess the chinks in her armour aloud. But Cardan knows anyway. Knows the secret places she keeps her softness, and delights in uncovering them when they are alone in the safety of the dark of their bedroom. Only when she is sure no one is looking does she bare her underbelly to him and let him press toothy kisses there. Cardan loves when Jude is ruthless. Cardan loves when Jude is soft.

Now Jude is sending the faerie away and the fae dislike her changing the rules. But she hands out cruelty like treats in the throne room and so they still adore her. A good public punishing is as good as trading babies. There is a hard glint in Jude’s eye as she watches him go, and then she flicks her wrist and the revelry begins once again. It’s all so simple. She looks out at the crowd with a cold boredom on her face, but Cardan knows she’s riding a high from watching her own orders executed. He also knows it turns her on like nothing else.

And so Cardan pushes himself up off his bramble throne, leans over to his wife with his back to the court, and murmurs, “take your leave my Queen, for I have business with you elsewhere.”

Jude’s lip curls when she answers, and her voice trickles like ice water over his skin. “I do not attend your bidding my Lord, I would stay to see the end of the revel.”

“Nevertheless,” Cardan says, and his fingers slide down her wrist to read her telltale pulse. “I have business with you elsewhere.”

And although Jude does delight in denying her husband, she rarely denies herself. So she rises smoothly while Cardan watches with one eyebrow raised, and allows him to take her hand and lead her into the alcove behind the throne room.

Cardan shuts the door and the noise outside suddenly chokes off. He turns and Jude is staring at him with her chin up in her regal golden gown, and she is resplendent.

“Well?” She demands. “What is it you wish to discuss so urgently?”

“First,” Cardan purrs, “I mean this to be an informal meeting, since you and I are wed and need not stand on ceremony. Let me remove your formal attire.” He walks behind her and Jude’s head turns, but she doesn’t otherwise move. Cardan’s movements are careful as he removes the heavy crown from Jude’s head; he has had his fingers bitten for this before.

But Jude does not react, so he goes for the heavy collar of gold plates she wears, unhooking the clasp and lifting it carefully from her shoulders. Next is the fastening in the back of her bodice, and even as she is undressed Jude’s spine remains as straight as the sword at her hip.

There have been times where she fucks him just like that. With steel in her eyes and Cardan’s throat between her fingers, when she holds him down with her thighs and draws his rapture from his lips like she can summon his very soul.

But today Cardan wants to pull at Jude’s threads and unspool her at his feet. So he stands behind her, and kisses her like feathers in that secret spot of hers. In between her scapulae. Traveling up toward the bones of her neck. And infinitesimally, Jude’s shoulders loosen beneath his touch.

Cardan smiles against her skin as his fingers skim the outside edge of her bare arms, and she leans her head back toward him so his lips can better reach her throat. When her eyes slide closed, Cardan pulls the tie of her skirt and it pools around her feet. He lifts her out of it and by the time her weight is in his arms, Jude is pliant against his chest.

Cardan lays Jude down on the low couch, and in the moment between kisses where his tongue lifts off her skin and his teeth touch down elsewhere, he whispers honeyed pet-names to her. "Ruthless," he calls her sweetly. He moves down her belly. "Unscrupulous. Uncompromising. Without mercy. Immovable."

At the last, he curls his tongue in the apex of her thighs, and Jude lifts her hips to his mouth with a soft cry. She is not immovable, and he knows it. His tail wraps around her ankle as her leg tries to jerk upward, and holds it in place. Cardan moves lazily, breathes steadily against the Queen and relishes in her slow undoing.

"Cardan," she whispers, and he hums with his lips on her pussy.

In fact, the real secret that Cardan knows is that Jude is not any of the things he calls her, and despite the way fae crave wickedness like opium, it is the very heart of Jude that he loves the most.

"Will you punish me, too?" Cardan asks her. His face moves up her body but one of his fingers replace his tongue inside her and Jude is not able to answer him. "If I confess my sins to you will you hand down my own judgement?"

"Did you steal any children away?" Jude manages to ask him, but her breathing is coming in short pants and her voice is strained.

"No," Cardan laments. "Although I think I would enjoy having a pet."

Jude's eyes flash, but Cardan makes one finger two and her words don't make it out.

"My sins," Cardan tells her, and then leans close to admit it in her ear while his hand speeds up between her legs. "are so numerous as to be unforgivable." He even sounds a little sad, and Jude's eyes open.

"There is always mercy," she breathes.

"Then forgive me, my saint," Cardan says, and then twists his fingers and presses down on her clit at the same time, so Jude climaxes suddenly and unexpectedly. Her lovely brown eyes widen in surprise and her lips part in bliss, and before she has come all the way down Cardan removes his fingers and slides his cock into her even as she shudders and spasms.

Cardan barely moves before Jude is coming again, and the waves of it around him are exquisitely divine. He moans his pleasure as he sinks into her again and again, and revels in the Queen laid bare. His hips kiss hers and it is in this space he finds his absolution daily. For as hard and uncaring as Jude is not, so is Cardan secretly not so unaffected or shameless as he makes out to be.

And as Jude wraps her legs around his waist, and her hands around the back of his neck pull his forehead down to hers, he wonders if this is what Jude knows, too.

Cardan moves his lips against Jude's neck and the increasingly irregular rhythm of his hips matches the erratic beating of his heart, and when Jude's teeth bite into his throat as if to suckle at his lifeblood, he comes hard buried deep inside her.

Minutes later, the King and Queen of Elfhame are still tangled together on the couch. Jude's head is on Cardan's chest and he has the sharp claw tip of a fingernail circling against her shoulder. A faint bruise is blooming on his throat, and the tip of his tail is brushing against her elbow.

"Shall we return you to the revel, my love?" Cardan asks her. Jude looks at him, then stands fluidly and holds her chin up and her arms out.

"Dress me, husband," she commands, and Cardan picks up her clothes off the floor and puts everything back on. Piece by piece, layer by layer, fingers meticulous. Pinning her hair and fastening the scabbard by her waist. Jude is still like a mannequin, and when he is done she lowers her arms and sweeps out of the room without a backward glance.

Cardan straightens his own clothes, plonks his crown back on his head and then saunters back out to the thrown room. Jude is already being offered a selection of the fattest, sweetest grapes and she spears them with a fine dagger before she puts them to her kiss-swollen lips. And when she drags the knife point back out of her mouth, he doesn't know whether he'd rather be the blade or the fruit.

Either way, he is more than content to spend the rest of the night watching Jude rule the fae with an iron fist, as his kisses fade on her skin.

****

Sorry that was so curly! When I started writing Jurdan I just thought I would write these snarly, snappy creatures but it turns out I'm just a sucker for them shedding their skins when they're alone. Also, I planned on writing hardcore smut and all that came out was... intense feels? What is happening?

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST: @asteria-of-mars @swankii-art-teacher @loosingdreams @feysand-loml @cityofbookish

*NOTE* I have two entirely separate masterlists/ taglists for my feysand and jurdan stuff!! Hope this makes it all easy to navigate!

#jurdan #jurdan fic #smut #mine

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nikethestatue · 4 years ago

Text

The Heirs of Shadow

Prompt: here

Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, Language and Fluff

Part I

Calanmai

The shadows danced along the obsidian walls of the chamber, jumping and fluttering across the marble floor and the intertwining carved beasts that scaled the width of the room, waving across the walls and the ceiling.

Behind the doors, Elain could feel the pulsating throb of the revelry that was taking place in the opulent halls and loggias of Hewn City. Fire Night. Calanmai. Beyond the onyx-black bowels of the city, up, up, up somewhere in Night Court, the night skies were streaking with falling stars. Starfall.

Starfall was somewhere else though—they had glimpsed it, taken in its beauty, but now, Calanmai was in full swing.

Azriel’s powerful, muscular body strained over hers, his arm gripping her hip so hard, she was sure that it would leave bruises. Not that Elain cared—she loved the marking of his love on her flesh. She loved the lilac bruises that he left on her neck with his lips and teeth, and the outline of his hands on her thighs, her waist, her…everywhere. For a man who was known for his self-control, and who embodied cold, calculated sophistication and cruelty to all those who did not know him well, Azriel, the Spymaster of the Night Court, loved Elain Archeron with an uncharacteristic degree of unrestrained passion and blind, all-encompassing adoration. He was not above kissing her with uninhibited ambition in public, or slipping his scarred hand into her jacket and cupping a handful of her soft breast or pinching her behind when fancy struck him. It struck him frequently. His love was reciprocated, at last, and there was no limit to his indulging of his gorgeous female. His betrothed and his Lady. The glittering band of her betrothal bracelet was testament not only to their mutual love, but also his wealth and the degree to which he was willing to spoil her. In fact, he had picked out every diamond, every amethyst, every pearl that comprised the intricate flower design of the bracelet himself. Gone were the days when he had to hide his love and desire for her, when the only acceptable gift was a dainty necklace of stained glass. In fact, he designed a very similar necklace for her yet again, only instead of glass, it was rubies and pearls and pink diamonds.

The glint of the necklace in fact, bounced against her creamy skin, the pendant sliding between her swaying breasts. He kissed her, slow and hot, watching her body arch beneath him. The kiss was slow, but not gentle, their mouths fusing together in desperation, as if they’ve been apart for too long, that the previous 500 years were unbearable for him and he needed to fill his lungs with her, with her breath, her very soul, as he sucked and sucked on her lips.

Elain’s nails sunk into his broad, thickly muscled shoulders, and Azriel dipped his head, groaning into her throat, dragging his tongue from her hot, pulsating vein back to her lips, sliding back into her mouth. She kissed him back, sloppy and heated, her lips swollen and ruby-red, before pressing the heel of her palm into his chest and pushing at him.

“I want to look at you,” she moaned, her eyelids heavy with want.

He pulled up and did as he was told, settling on his knees and allowing her to trace the skin of his cobbled abdomen with her fingertips. He was running hot and volatile, his dark brown skin gleaming like dirty bronze beneath the faelights, his wings spayed and open behind him, casting shadows on his sculpted, inked shoulders. His soft, inky-black hair fell across his forehead, sticking slightly to his damp skin, and she smiled at him and rubbed her thumb between his eyebrows.

His thick cock glided in and out of her tight glorious heat and he pushed inside of her with an obscene, wet sound, feeling the smooth thrust of his shaft in her.

“My good girl,” he murmured, extracting loud, explicit moans from her parted lips, while his thumb settled on her pulsating, engorged clit, rubbing firmly, with precise, firm pressure. Elain’s head rolled back, her honey-golden hair fanning out over the dark-gray satin of the pillows. She felt overflowing, torturously stuffed with him, which was the most glorious, gorgeous fullness that she could ever imagine.

“Open up for me, beautiful,” he ground out, “so I can ride you like you need,”

Elain obliged compliantly, wordlessly splitting even further for him, as Azriel gripped her thigh and pulled her deeper onto his shaft, while hoisting her leg onto his shoulder.

“Look at us, my love,” he urged, thrusting harder into her, his gaze gluttonous with pleasure and utter satisfaction. Elain could barely lift herself up on her elbows, but she looked between their bodies, watching her splayed pink folds, his member disappearing in and out of her, glistening with their arousal. His long brazen finger thrust alongside his shaft, the fit impossibly tight, but so wonderfully pleasurable.

She squeezed her breasts in her palms, absently fingering her nipples, watching the explicit show between her legs, while Azriel smiled at her and kissed her foot that rested on his shoulder. She bit her lower lip, enjoying the indecent scrutiny with which his eyes skimmed over her body, as both of them watched the workings of his cock inside of her.

“Do you want to taste, my sweet?” he offered, his midnight voice smooth and sensual, encouraging even more debauched behavior from her, and she nodded eagerly.

Licking her lips impatiently, she murmured, ‘yes’ and he rewarded her with a smile, while slowly pulling out of her stretched passage.

“Az, my love,” she moaned, emptied of him, instantly missing the presence of his thick, long member in her, her hole twitching at the loss. But he pulled her up gently by her back of her neck and instantly fed the shaft in her mouth, thrusting deep and far into her throat. She choked softly around him, but swallowed compliantly, sucking his length down into her mouth.

“That’s my girl,” he approved, holding the back of her head and pumping between her lips, watching her watch him. Her eyes, the color of milk chocolate, blinked rapidly, as she struggled against the girth of the member, but sucked on his bravely and eagerly. He enjoyed the sucking, noisy and wet, her tongue working on him constantly, licking their intermingling juices, but then he patted the corner of the bed, and Elain knew what he desired. She scooted over, and lay back on the cool sheets, never releasing the cock from her mouth, holding it tightly in her hand, as she lapped on the broad head of it, playfully dipping the tip of her tongue into the tiny slit.

They’ve been at it for hours now. Calanmai. Fucking, eating, drinking, fucking, fucking. That’s what people did on Calanmai. Elain figured that perhaps, this would be her new favorite holiday. Always to be celebrated here, in Hewn City, her new home.

The Lord and Lady of Hewn City, feared and venerated—that’s what they were. Who would have thought that Elain would love Hewn City, its obsidian beauty, its marble and granite lined ‘streets’, its unbridled opulence, its soaring columns, its ceilings lit up with faelights that were ensconced in chandeliers that were dripping crystals and silver.

They had begun today’s festivities by following its ancient custom of the Great Rite. As the Lady and Lord of the Underworld, they did not need to ‘choose’ each other, for they were already chosen—chosen the moment the Darkbringers acknowledged Azriel as their Commander General, and Rhysand how no other choice but to pass the crown of Stewardship to his shadowsinger. With Keir dead, all assumed that the magic and the power of the Hewn City and the Darkbringers would pass on to Mor, or one of the sons, yet, it skipped the family entirely. The magic of Hewn City left the bloodline of the High Lord, moving over to Azriel’s line. And just like that, Azriel became Prince of Velaris, the Lord of Hewn City, and Elain, his chosen Lady.

Today was the first year they presided over Fire Night, and while Azriel worried about Elain, she reminded him that she was the Lady of Hewn City and therefore, would participate in all rites and rituals, just like Feyre participated in them as the High Lady of the Night Court.

The entire population of Hewn City, tens of thousands of them vibrated and pulsed in anticipation, gathered in the Great Hall, hundreds spilling outside, thousands crowding the balconies and terraces above.

For Elain, it was the initial walk that was the most nerve wrecking. Naked, she was expected to enter the hall and await Azriel’s arrival. But she squared her shoulders, and draped in nothing but jasmine and moonflowers that cascaded down her unbound hair she made her walk, regal and unhurried, as any queen. When he’d arrived, the new Lord and master of the place, the place shook with a different kind of energy.

And then, they joined together on their throne, in front of their subjects, and Azriel rode her long and hard, until she barely remembered that she was being watched by thousands of eyes. She was eager and willing, taking him in any position that he desired, until he filled her with seed and spilled the rest of it upon the stones of his domain, signifying the start of Calanmai.

The insemination was met with wild cheering and Elain felt nothing but prideful satisfaction after the ritual was concluded and his seed dripped down her thighs, for all to see. She was their Lady, the benevolent one, the kind and just one, while Azriel still inspired fear and trepidation in most. The seed that filled her and poured out of her as she walked through the throngs of people, all of whom looked at her with admiration and excitement, was a sign of good things to come. After centuries, perhaps millennia of stagnation, Hewn City would rise again to its former glory. Lady Elain would be the catalyst for it.

Azriel settled atop of her, her head thrown over the edge of the bed, and rubbed the head of the member over her lips, tugging on it slowly, his eyes wide with the anticipation of pleasure.

“I love Calanmai,” she vowed with a joyful sight, and he laughed.

“Indeed?”

She nodded, licking the tip of the member. “You aren’t tired?” he asked, for they’ve been entangled for a while now. She shook her head no. “Tired? Until you, my lord, render me unable to walk tomorrow, then I might consider myself tired!”

“Is this what you want, my girl?” he asked, his voice gravelly and breathy with lust. Beads of liquid dribbled onto her tongue from his straining member. She whined with anticipation, nodding impatiently, while he guided the shaft into her mouth, her position allowing him to slide deeper and deeper and deeper.

There was nothing that Azriel didn’t love about Elain. Nothing. There was no word ‘no’ in his vocabulary when it came to her. She was his strength, his rock, the one person in this world who offered him complete understanding and acceptance, who supported him gently and lovingly through every peril and cataclysmic change that had taken place in their lives.

Sexually, Elain was brave and tolerant, experimental and curious. Every part of her was enticing and sensual, but nothing excited him more than her willingness and ability to take him in her throat, usually, without him even asking for it. Elain surprised him daily, but her voracious sexual appetite was a marvelous, unexpected gift for him. Because it matched his own perfectly.

He gently cupped her hollowed cheek and rubbed his thumb over the warm, flushed skin of her face, murmuring, “you feel so good, my love. So wet and ready for me.”

Elain hummed against his member and gasping and panting, and the vibrations of her mouth against the head of the member had him moaning, his head thrown back. She stroked his muscled stomach, running her palm over the hard, defined ridges, while he began thrusting between her lips, the tip striking the back of her throat with each push. He gingerly cupped her head, her soft, messy locks a tangle in his fingers, and kept it steady, while she allowed him to use her mouth the way he liked it.

Azriel was not a talkative man, and because he was quiet and reserved and cerebral, most assumed that he was a tender lover. He was not.

So when he plunged into her mouth, it was not gentle, though he was always considerate and acutely aware of all her emotions and reactions. Spymaster, after all.

“My good girl,” he began a litany of praise, “you feel so good. My sweet, beautiful Lainey—are you enjoying yourself, my love?” he looked over his shoulder for a moment and a smirk played on his lips. She was clenching her thighs in desperation, gurgling and panting softly around his member, and he pumped harder, clasping her jaw and muttering, “is sucking my cock making you even wetter?”

She attempted to nod, but it was virtually impossible, though he didn’t need confirmation seeing her rosy folds bathed in her arousal. Taking pity on her, he slipped three fingers in her, and they slid in easily and fully, the walls of her sex clutching at them strongly.

“Where do you want me, sweetheart?” he asked, his hand working inside of her with quick, deep thrusts, while he used her mouth brutally, watching tears spill down her cheeks from the pressure. She did not respond in any meaningful way, indicating that it was up to him to find his pleasure within her, wherever he wanted. He smiled and caressed her sweaty, flushed face, while she chocked lightly against him, stroking his balls with her usual tenderness. He moaned, especially when he glanced lower and gritted through his teeth, “Love, I can see my cock in your throat,” he gasped, his eyes gleaming in the semi-darkness, cloaked in oily lust. Every time he pushed, the member bulged and imprinted in her throat, and he couldn’t help himself and gently lay his scarred hand on the spot, feeling the vibrations of his dick against his palm. He almost came right then and there, himself panting and gasping for air, and even if this certainly wasn’t the first time he saw his cock protrude in her throat, it never failed to cause some instinctual male reaction in him. His wings flared and snapped open, uncontrollable, guided by nothing but base instinct to show his female who was inside of her. By the Cauldron, if he could stay like this forever, he would.

Alas, he could hold back no longer and with a few well-placed thrusts, he felt Elain’s throat contract on him and that was his undoing. His release swept like a tidal wave over him and came in her mouth, making her groan with feral pleasure as he spilled and spilled into her. He was thinking that maybe Calanmai was his favourite holiday as well.

He collapsed alongside her, his wings a mess beneath him, but he didn’t even care. His breath was ragged and heavy, but she lovingly fed her nipple between his teeth and he sucked, tucking her beside him, murmuring an endless string of ‘I love you’ and ‘thank you’ into the soft, wonderfully comforting globe. She held his head against her breast, moaning sweetly, delighted at his steady sucking, wiggling against him to get more.

Once they’ve calmed down a lit, she kissed his neck, while twisting her wrist before her eyes, watching the sparkling and gleaming bracelet explode with a thousand tiny lights in the shadows of faelights and the fire in the marble fireplace.

“Do you really love it?” he murmured, kissing her hand.

“Being yours…your bride and your Lady is all that I want,” she admitted, “but,” she smiled, “yes, my love, I love it. Isn’t it stunning?!”

He nodded, “I think I did well.”

“I can’t believe that you designed it yourself!” she kissed his chin, then his lips. “What other incredible talents do you possess that I am not aware of?”

He turned onto his back, rearranging his wings in some semblance of acceptable order and tugged her next to him. Running his finger over the bracelet, he said, “well, let’s see—I sing.”

“Uh-uh,” she pouted. “But never in front of me!”

“One day, my sweet, one day,” he teased.

“What else?”

“I enjoy building things…carving wood. I think that deep down, I am just a humble carpenter.”

Her brow furrowed, “have I seen any of your work? Or are you being stupidly humble as usual and refusing to show it to anyone?”

He laughed, amused by her indignation.

“No, I don’t believe that I am stupidly humble when it comes to my work. You might have seen it. Most of it is at Rosehall,”

“Oh, speaking of which—I promised your mother that I would visit!” Elain snapped her fingers, frowning at having forgotten.

He kissed her brow and said, “I am sure she’ll understand. Her daughter-in-law is a Lady of Hewn City,”

Elain smiled at the title.

“Even though,” she insisted, “I love her and I want to visit her. She said that she and the girls had made spice blends and mulled wine over the winter break and she wanted us to have it. And she also promised gifts for Calanmai,”

“You are my gift for Calanmai,” he whispered tenderly and kissed her. “My gift for every day. My gift for life.”

Elain cupped his cheek and kissed him back, running her tongue over his lower lip. She smelled and tasted of him, and he shuddered from the sensation, from the realization of how thoroughly his she was. His gift indeed.

Remarkably, it also made him hard.

Elain smiled and ran her finger down his chest, then his stomach.

“I am sorry, Lainey, I know you are tired,” he scrambled quickly, embarrassed by his response to her. Even by Fae standards, he was no spring chicken—not a green youth to be hardening at every kiss of these sweet, soft lips. Yes, he was a male in his prime, but,

“Once more?” she requested softly, batting her lashes at him and he grinned.

“Whatever my lady wishes,” he nodded with a courteous flair. The he kissed her and whispered into her lips, “tell me what you’d like, sweetheart?”

She chewed her lower lip, contemplating, the action making him ever harder. She found that very hardness at the ready for her, and wrapped her hand around him, rubbing him tightly, as she settled in the crook of his arm and he kissed her again.

“In my bottom, please,” she requested shyly.

Her secret, intimate pleasure that only Azriel was aware of. It thrilled him to know that she found pleasure with him, in him, in many different ways—from the simplest and most mundane, to the very intimate and personal, and only he could provide it for her.

“If that’s alright with you?” she added and he laughed, bringing her closer to his chest.

“I don’t think that I need to be pressured, sweetheart,”

She smiled and he parted her thighs, settling just behind her, muttering in her ear, “will you be a good girl for me? My good girl?”

She nodded, breath hitching in her chest, her breasts rising and falling in anticipation and she flicked her plump nipple with his fingers before biting it softly. She squirmed and her legs fell apart of their own volition, while he pressed his thumb into her clit and ground into it, watching her eyes roll back in pleasure, while he lined his member with her little opening. It was well-stretched from their previous bout, as he’d taken her everywhere in front of their Court, and then again, when they returned here, to their private quarters.

He pushed into her, easing slowly and carefully, and her back arched in his arms, as she pressed her face into his neck, moaning loudly. There was always a bit of pain, especially in the beginning, at the initial breach, and the sharp bite that he received on his clavicle was an indication of just that. She gripped the immense muscles of his shoulder, grunting and moaning into his neck, squeezing his arm so hard, it was sure to leave bruises. He was inside of her, his cock enveloped in such mind-boggling tightness that he ceased all movement, just to avoid coming at once.

He clasped her jaw and made her look at him. Her eyelids were heavy and a love-addled, blissful look settled on her face, while he lightly kissed her parted lips.

“Does that feel nice, my girl?” he asked, finally sliding a bit deeper, each shallow, easy thrust opening her up a little more.

“Az, Az,” she groaned breathlessly, “I can’t…it’s so…ohh,” she swallowed his thumb, still wet with her slick, needing to suck on something while he plunged forward, rocking his hips into her.

“Elain,” he hissed low and winced at the sweet, torturous friction that the walls of her bottom offered to his invading shaft. He pressed her to him, slowly bringing his hips against hers, and finally settling fully inside, while she went still and pliable in his arms.

The ache inside of Elain was particularly wonderful right now, even if she felt like she was being split inside—it always happened for a few moments—while her body spread to accommodate him.

“I fucking love you,” he moaned into her mouth, pulling his thumb out so he could ravish her with his tongue, while he returned back to her clit and stroked steadily.

He did not set an unreasonable pace, but rather moved languidly and deeply inside of her, kissing her to his heart’s desire. She nestled into his arms, stroking and kissing him lovingly, mewing and panting against his thorough, merciless thrusts.

“You feel sublime,” she confessed, watching him squeeze her breast, toying and tugging on the nipple.

“Did I tell you that I love you?” he asked, placing light, tender kisses all over her face. She laughed. “About a minute ago.”

“Good. Because I love you.”

“I love you too, Az,” she wrapped her arm around his neck, and then shuddered in his embrace, stuttering into his shoulder, “yes, yes, yes…like that…”

“You like that, my beauty?” he pumped harder now, knowing that the discomfort and pain were gone and she stretched wonderfully around him, taking him to the balls.

“Yes, yes,” she nodded, eyes shut, pleasure settling and growing somewhere inside of her. She milked and squeezed his cock frantically, urging him to move and give her more, and he did, pounding deeper into that marvelous tightness, against the lush silkiness of her quivering, trembling behind.

“Azriel,” she almost screamed, and then turned and swiftly straddled him, impaling herself with unstoppable determination, her wet, gleaming sex played widely in front of him, her other opening swollen and bursting around him.

Her plump tits bounced as she rode him, unconcerned about anything at this moment, her hair hanging limply over her body, her nails dug into his chest, her hips undulating on his cock.

“Baby, come for me,” he urged her, mesmerized by the wantonness of her creamy, pale body atop of him, the rhythmic bounce of her beautiful ass on his thighs, her determination to take what she needed from him.

With a roar that awoke the beasts, she shuddered and trembled over him, her rectum twitching and squeezing him so hard that he was unable to even work her through her climax, as he arched beneath her and his ecstasy was complete, as he spurted hot and thick inside of her. She went limp and he caught her in his arms, gently squeezing her against his chest and then waiting until the waves subsided for both of them, before kissing her hungrily.

He lay her down and then carefully withdrew, dragging his seed out of her with one long pull.

“Happy Calanmai,” she giggled and kissed him.

“Happy Calanmai, my love,” he stroked her damp hair.

He took her to the bathing chamber then, and they cleaned each other up quickly, for even the stoic Azriel was tired and all he wanted was to snuggle with his love and sleep. With her, he slept. She was his miracle.

By the time they returned to the bedroom, the bed was remade, the sheets changed and the subtle scent of jasmine perfumed the air. The wraiths who served at their court were nothing but efficient.

Elain’s beasts, two creatures who sat in stone for millennia, while Hewn City awaited its true master, and slumbered in its decadence, under the rule of the Night Court’s High Lords, awoke when the magic and power descended upon Azriel.

The creatures, and there were many of them here, awoke. But two, the ones who guarded the entrance to the City, were touched by Elain’s hand and released first. She freed them all, though some she put back to slumber, to be awoken when needed, though unlike before, they fed regularly, as opposed to once a decade.

But the two—Asterin and Sorrel—were Elain’s perpetual companions. The great fanged beasts, with powerful slithering bodies clad in impenetrable scales and with massive claws, not to mention keen intelligence and perfect understanding of language had made even Azriel a bit uneasy at first. Asterin was more physically powerful, but also playful, if volatile and temperamental, while Sorrel was calmer, if more brutal, and extremely overprotective of Elain.

Hewn City, especially during the transition of power, was not the friendliest of places, its new Lord well-known, disliked, feared and resented by a swath of its population. Even Elain, with her kindness and good-natured character, was not immediately successful in turning the tide of public opinion. Therefore, Azriel was more than concerned about leaving her here, if he had business elsewhere, but with Asterin and Sorrel, even his worries were put to rest.

The beasts were not exactly wyverns, or dragons, but creatures of their own. Like Rhys, they were able to summon their wings at will, which was perhaps something specific to Rhys’s bloodline, or somehow connected to Hewn City, but whatever the reason was, it was very, very useful. Elain had noted that having not one, but three winged creatures in the bedroom would be…excessive. Hence, when she and Azriel went to their palace atop the Court of Nightmares’ mountain, the beasts were free to fly and frolic about as much as they wanted. They also offered winged transportation to Elain.

At last, all three sisters were able to fly. Feyre simply summoned wings just like she always did. Nesta received her white mare pegasus, which she named Marena, from Helion (who still held out hope that she and Cassian would join him in some erotic escapade), as a mating gift. And lastly, Elain flew on her fanged beasts. Their three males could barely keep up.

Luckily, the beasts also went into hibernation when ordered, becoming stone-like, just like the sculptures that they once were. Because they insisted on sharing the quarters here, it was rather imperative that there was some privacy—because Azriel did not need to suddenly glance at a pair of slanted green eyes while licking Elain’s pussy.

Azriel deposited Elain on the bed and she wrapped her arms around him, giving him a hearty hug.

The shadows had returned—they left when they sensed that their master was about to engage in something private with the mistress—while Asterin and Sorrel coiled around the bed.

Even though their private apartment was located far inside the Hewn City Night Palace, they could still hear the partying occupants of the underworld Court. Azriel rolled his eyes and Elain laughed in return. He threw a shield over the bedroom, blocking the noise.

“Who knew that you’d fit right in, with Calanmai becoming your favourite holiday?” he muttered, squeezing her behind.

“I suppose the Cauldron doesn’t only make stupid mistakes,” she shrugged. “And once in a while gets something right.’

Part II

The Heirs of Shadow

Spring was in full bloom across the Night Court territory, slowly but surely crossing into summer.

The wind in Elain’s hair was sweet and scented with roses and pine. Asterin was like an enormous scaly snake-like puppy, swooshing through the air, making all sorts of unnecessary maneuvers beneath Elain’s saddle. “Hey! I will be going on Sorrel when we return,” she warned her beast and Asterin gave her a petulant snarl, but slowed down. The flight made Elain queasy and she was glad to see the cypress and pine-covered hills, and beyond them, a flower-covered meadow and a glittering, turquoise lake.

The stucco-covered villa stretched along the banks of the lake, one wall covered in ivy, and the other, in pink and white roses. As Asterin and Sorrel approached the villa, two children rushed out of the wrought iron gates, waving their arms in the air, jumping and yelling. Elain smiled at them, waving back.

“Elain, Elain,” the children rushed towards her the moment Asterin touched down, “we missed you so much! You came! Can we play with the wyverns? Can we go flying?”

Elain dismounted and squatted in the grass, opening her arms and then getting tackled onto her back, once the two children slid into her arms, hands and legs flailing about, smiles and at least one mouth with missing teeth grinning at her. She kissed soft cheeks and thick black hair, so alike to that of their oldest brother—Azriel.

“You two are such hooligans!” she laughed, finally managing to sit up, but they wouldn’t let get up, so they remained in the grass.

“Where is Az?” asked Nataliya, playing with Elain’s braid and closely inspecting her emerald earrings. “These are pretty! Do you have presents for me?”

“Nat, it’s rude to ask that!” at nine years of age, her brother Riad was the voice of reason and propriety. More than any other child, he reminded Elain of Azriel—a uniquely handsome boy, with a contemplative and scholarly attitude and yet remarkably swift, agile and fast. She’d watched him climb the old oak tree that grew on the property in under a minute. Sometimes, he and Azriel would go for a run, and the boy would keep up the entire time, without complaint, steadfast and determined, just like his brother.

“Why it’s rude if I want a present?” demanded Nataliya, shrugging. Elain kissed her head and said, “Lucky for you, I do have presents for everyone!”

The girl squealed, her round face breaking into a happy smile. “That’s good. I want them! You wanna see our baby?”

“Of course,” Elain nodded and then gave each one of them a hand and they tugged her upwards.

“Come on, Elain! You can do it,” Nat encouraged her, grunting.

“Is Az gonna come?” asked Riad quietly, once Elain was up, and they walked towards the villa, holding hands.

“Not right now, my loves. He is very busy,”

“He is High Lord!” exclaimed Nat, squeezing her chubby hands in delight. “He is busy, Riad!” she added confidently, “so he can’t come visit.”

“Maybe you can come and visit us in Velaris?” proposed Elain.

“Be careful what you ask for, darling!” a laughing voice interrupted their conversation.

Azriel’s stunningly beautiful mother was smiling at them, standing by the gate. Her lustrous black hair cascaded in rich, ebony waves around her, and the bright green eyes were in fine contrast to her dark golden skin. Her eldest son inherited her sensuous full mouth and every time Elain laid eyes on the woman, she could see Azriel’s visage in her face.

“We’d love to have you all,” insisted Elain, throwing her arms around her mother-in-law.

“Ma, we gonna go play with the wyverns!” announced Riad.

“Yes, with wyverns!” Nat nodded immediately. She was not yet five, and basically repeated everything that Riad did and said. “Which one is good?”

Elain chuckled, “they are both good. Asterin, the green one, likes to swim, so maybe you can go to the lake with her. And Sorrel, the gray one, she may even fly you about, if your mother permits,”

“Ma!”

Rosamunde winced a bit, but Elain murmured, “they’ll be perfectly safe.”

“Alright, but,”

Before she could even finish her sentence the two ran off towards the beasts.

“Ellie, you look wonderful,” Rosamunde locked arms with Elain and they slowly made their way inside Rosehall. A riot of flower beds greeted them and Elain sighed with delight. Who would have thought that she and her mother-in-law possessed the same interest and passion? Though Elain felt that Rosamunde’s gardens put hers to shame.

“Thank you,” she smiled, looking around.

The villa was a tranquil and stunning place, nestled in a valley, surrounded by low mountains and crystal-clear waterfalls. Azriel had purchased the estate long ago, while he was in love with Mor and had hoped that they would have a blissful future together. While he knew that they would always be tied to Velaris and Hewn City, he had imagined that Rosehall would be their escape, their private place to enjoy.

It was stunningly picturesque, with a mild tempered climate year-round, and a town a few leagues away, which supplied the estate with everything that it needed. However, things did not go as planned and instead, Azriel gifted the house and the lands around it to his mother, for her wedding to her life-long and long-suffering lover, partner, friend and the male who had waited for her for a century, and ultimately helped to rescue her from the clutches of Azriel’s father. The male was now an elected mayor of the town—a long way to come for a humble hunter who had once fallen in love with an Illyrian laundress and loved her for all the days of his life.

“So do you!” exclaimed Elain, breathing in the fragrant air and smiling widely. She loved Rosehall. It was a serene and gorgeous place, full of delightful smells and exquisitely stunning scenery.

“Come, come,” Rosamunde pulled her by the hand and they entered the house. It was cool and dim, but once they made their way down the terracotta-tiled hallway and stepped into the opulently enormous kitchen, light flooded the place. This kitchen was Elain’s inspiration for her own home—grand and open on three sides to take advantage of the glorious views outside, it was also homey and cozy, a place to accommodate a bustling, busy family. All the doors were open and a pleasant breeze wafted in and out, bringing in the scent of flowers and mingling with the smell of freshly baked tarts.

“Sit, sit,” Rosamunde offered and immediately sat a tall glass of lemonade before Elain.

“How’s my Azzie?” the mother asked, joining her at the long butcher block that stretched in the middle of the kitchen. A mother’s privilege, to call the famed shadowsinger, the feared spymaster, and now Lord—Azzie. Even Elain didn’t dare, though she teased him with it at times, causing many dramatic eyerolls in response.

“He is good,” Elain smiled a happy, satisfied smile which did not escape Rosamunde’s notice. Her charming daughter-in-law looked blissful and for some reason, it made Rosamunde’s heart ache with joy and pride. “Works too much,” Elain continued, sipping her lemonade, and helping herself to a peach cake which Rosamunde supplied promptly. Like all mothers, Rosamunde was convinced that both Azriel and Elain were too thin and did not eat enough. Hence, each time they visited, they returned laden with bushels of food, treats, jars of preserves and gods only knew what else. Now that there were two wyverns to carry the care packages, Elain couldn’t imagine how much she’d be given. Not that she minded.

Azriel had introduced Elain to his mother just after the betrothal and they had come here and spent a few days getting to know each other. Rosamunde had four children then, besides Azriel—Enid, who was over three hundred years old, and who was married to an Illyrian General (not an asshole, as Azriel explained), and then, hundreds of years later, she birthed four children almost in a row—unheard of in Fae society—Rafael, Riad, Nataliya and finally Ellena, with whom she was pregnant when she and Elain met.

Ellena now sat up groggily in a little play crib that stood in the corner and looked around, having just awoken from her nap. Seeing Elain, she immediately stood up and extended her arms to her.

Family. Elain had loved her father, but…family…

There used to be a family, but it was never quite normal, cohesive. Her mother only doted on Nesta, their father was frequently absent, Feyre was a solitary, quiet, dreamy child and Nesta was a formidable creature of her own. Elain learned how to navigate the dynamics early on, floating quietly between all of them, playing the peacemaker, being the good daughter. And while her sisters, and her nephew were her blood family, this—this was her new family, the one she loved. Her Azriel and all her new little nieces and nephews, and her mother-in-law, who was both a mother and a friend, and her father-in-law—an enormous, gregarious male who reminded her of Cassian, but who was even larger than the Illyrian General. When she came here, she felt in place, happy and cared for.

Rosamunde watched from the corner of her eye how Elain and Ellena hugged and cooed at each other, giggling and whispering, and she already knew that Elain wouldn’t let the baby go until it was time to leave. The three of them, well two, since Ellena mostly stuck her hands into things and smooshed food around, prepared lunch and then went outside, slowly walking down the path that led to the lake. Riad and Nat were using Sorrel as a slide, climbing on top of her and then sliding down her scaled back into the water, shrieking and screaming with joy and excitement, while Asterin lounged next to them, sunning her hide, watching them with lazy amusement.

“You smell like Az,” Rosamunde murmured suddenly, as they took off their dresses and waded into the water, because Ellena was throwing a fit and wanted to slide off Sorrel as well. Elain only allowed her a little jump off the wyvern’s tail, but Ellena loved it and screamed with delight, falling all over the place, while to two of them tried to catch her.

Elain, her shift irreversibly soaked, glanced at the female, as she helped Ellena climb up Sorrel’s tail. It was an unusual comment for Rosamunde to make. They were very close, and even though Rosamunde was over 700 years old, she looked like a woman in her early 30s, which made it easy for them to become friends, because on the surface they looked like they were almost the same age. And Azriel was born so, so long ago that Elain hardly ever thought of them as a mother and son. However, some conversations were off limits, and they certainly never discussed her and Azriel’s intimate relationship, even when they talked about males and their ways around the bedroom, giggling and joking over a few glasses of wine.

“Well, I,” Elain began saying, feeling a blush spreading over her chest and neck. “We…”

Yes, of course they’d made love in the morning, before she came here. They made love every morning. Every evening.

Rosamunde waved her hand at her, laughing, “Oh Cauldron! Please spare me the details!”

“Oh,”

“All I am saying is that your scents—they’ve amalgamated. I,” she sniffed delicately, “recognize him within you…Not just on your skin,”

“Really?”

Something passed across the female’s face, a small smile of recognition. Then she nodded, her face remaining unreadable, much like her son’s.

She nodded, “Yes. The cedar and the jasmine. A lovely scent indeed.”

“You smell good Elain?” Nat barreled into Elain’s arms, wrapping her arms around her neck.

Elain kissed her wet hair and said, “I guess I do. Are you ready to go and eat lunch?”

“No! I want to do this more!”

“Why don’t we come back after lunch and you can play more?” Elain proposed, somehow managing to convince the unruly bunch to actually get back into the house. While they walked, Nataliya declared, “I wanna be High Lady!”

Elain chuckled, “Yes? Why? What will you do as High Lady?”

Nat thought for a second and then said, “Gonna wear pretty dresses,”

“You already wear pretty dresses,” countered Elain.

“More pretty,” insisted the girl. “And eat cake!”

“So as a High Lady you’ll be wearing pretty dresses and eating cake?”

Nodding, the budding High Lady hooked her little finger over Elain’s bracelet and added, “Will wear this too! And crowns.”

“Well, well,” Elain laughed, “all good things.”

Nat seemed pleased by the prospect of her High Ladyship and skipped ahead, dreaming of crowns and cake.

“You know,” Rosamunde’s voice was thoughtful and quiet, “she may sound silly,”

“I think she is adorable,”

“She is, but even if she is only dreaming of nice dresses and cakes now, I am glad that she is able to dream like this at all. It wasn’t available to us—females—before. There were no High Ladies—not for a very, very long time. So much so, we’d forgotten that we could be one. It’s ironic that it took a human woman to bring the practice back to the Fae world. Now it’s you, and Lady Feyre, and Lady Viviane…I never thought I’d see this.”

“But your son is also a Lord,” reminded her Elain, gently pressing her lips to Ellena’s damp curls. “Was it a surprise?”

They’d never discussed the power transfer—not at any length. It was all very sudden and there hasn’t been time or perhaps even desire to talk about it.

“No,” Rosamunde shook her head, “not exactly a surprise. We hail from an ancient race of Fae—from a Court that no longer in existence,”

“Dusk?”

“Yes. They say that when Dusk was destroyed a few hundred families managed to survive and escape. They were the original inhabitants and builders of Hewn City. Over the centuries, bloodlines thinned, some mixed with other Fae, some with Illyrians…My bloodline is pure,”

Elain shot her a surprised look. Azriel had never mentioned this before.

“Azriel is a true and direct descendant of the Dusk Court nobility—through me—and perhaps even their High Lords…So, no, I was not particularly surprised. That’s why Keir and that family were always ‘stewards’, and not Lords.”

She sighed and looked ahead, as they approached the villa.

“My son,” she said softly, “has had a difficult life. An unhappy life. A life of incredible violence and heartache. A life without childhood, or love, or anything positive or any light…That he is a shadowsinger is not a good thing, you know…It’s a curse, not a blessing. But,” and she glanced at Elain, her sad, soft face, “now he has you. Gods, Elain, you have no idea how happy you make him.”

Elain blushed, a tear-touched smile on her face. “I,”

“Elain, love, you will never know,” Rosamunde wrapped her arm around Elain’s shoulder. “He isn’t a man of many words, but believe me when I say this—I would have been heartbroken if he was granted this burden of power without you at his side. It would just be another weight added onto his shoulders, and I wouldn’t want that for my son. But you came along, and everything fell into place…You and him, and how the Power chose both of you,”

“We aren’t mates,” Elain reminded her quietly, knowing how much importance the Fae placed on the bond.

“And? Perhaps you are even more than that?” Rosamunde shrugged. “Believe me—I’ve seen some happy matings, Rhys and Feyre, for example, but I’ve seen some bad ones as well—Rhys’s parents come to mind. Your own mate bond ended up being faulty…What if you have more than a bond? Not just a bond of love, but that of power? Think about it…” she cocked her brow.

Elain hadn’t considered that option, but now she pondered the suggestion, the implication of it all.

“And you?” she asked instead.

Rosamunde smiled and looked back, towards the town which nestled under the mountains, leagues away.

“And I am an example that bonds don’t matter. No one can possibly love me more than Finrod does, and seven hundred years later, I still get weak in the knees at the sight of him—just like I did when I beheld him the first time, when he won an axe throwing competition and then flared his wings with more gusto than Cassian would,” Rosamunde began to laugh and then Elain joined. But then, her brow furrowed and she asked,

“Wait—Finrod doesn’t have wings!”

“I have wings!” yelled Nat, as she entered the house, and Rosamunde called after her and Riad to go and dry themselves and change.

Surely Elain wasn’t losing her mind. None of the family had wings. Her expression must have been so apparent that Rosamunde chuckled and clapped her on the shoulder, “We do,”

“But…what?”

“Do you know how Rhys can summon his at will? As does Lady Feyre?”

Elain nodded, so confused she felt like she was in some kind of out-of-body experience.

“That’s because Rhys has Hewn City blood. From his father. His mother was fully Illyrian. Us—we are the opposite. I am of Hewn City stock, but Azriel’s…father…” she grimaced, “was Illyrian. So Azriel has permanent wings. We—my children, and Finrod—can summon them at will. I don’t use them much, though they could be useful. Mine are mostly vestigial—I can hardly fly and,” her beautiful face darkened with sorrow, “and…”

Elain squeezed her hand in support and acknowledgement.

“I couldn’t save my baby,” Rosamunde choked, tears filling her eyes, “I couldn’t save Az…They probably would’ve caught me anyway, but I might have had a chance…But, but,” she sobbed and stopped, burying her face in her hands, “I couldn’t…I can’t fly. I couldn’t save him…I couldn’t save my boy…”

“Mam, ma,” Ellena babbled, seeing her mother in distress, and Elain brough her arms around the two of them, kissing both of them, the three of them crying together. For a little boy who couldn’t have a childhood and couldn’t be saved.

…The rest of the day wasn’t as eventful. They had lunch, with Nataliya demonstrating how to summon her wings and ripping her dress in the process, which caused a flood of tears, and laughter from Riad, and then Nataliya smacking her brother in retribution, and him scowling and pouting for the rest of the meal.

“You two are clearing the table,” ordered Rosamunde, and Elain had to hide her smile at their indignation.

“Az mentioned that he works with wood and that you have some pieces that he’d made,” she remembered. “Do you mind showing them to me?”

“Of course! Come,” they grabbed Ellena, who wouldn’t let go of Elain anyway, and walked through the house, with Rosamunde pointing out beautiful pieces of carved wooden furniture and decorative pieces.

“After Az was sent to the camp,” she recalled, “they allowed him to apprentice with the carpenter there…Because of his hands and his inability to fly, the Commanders didn’t think he’d be useful, and would ever be able to fight. So they figured that he should learn some kind of trade, if he didn’t make it as a shadowsinger for the High Lord, and it also allowed him to work with his hands and fingers, because he still had trouble with them even after 3-4 years after…” her voice faded and she didn’t finish her thought.

Elain ran her fingers along a beautifully carved mirror frame and murmured, “he is truly talented…”

He mother nodded. Then said, “I think he might carve something for you soon…”

“What?”

“Something for the house, I am sure.”

Azriel landed in the front lawn of his estate.

It was a large, rambling cottage that became available after the war—the family that lived there moved to a smaller place and the house sat unoccupied for a year. Azriel’s been eyeing it ever since it became vacant, but he didn’t need a place that big for himself and back then, he didn’t think that he ever stood a chance with Elain.

Asterin and Sorrel were lounging on the grass, lazily chewing on Elain’s roses, pretending to smell them. At seeing Azriel they immediately shifted, feigning innocence and acting like they weren’t gnashing on the bulbs just now. He shook his finger at them and they turned away, ignoring him.

He was forever thankful that unlike Hewn City, the cottage, while large, couldn’t contain two enormous, fanged beasts. So, they stayed outside. He reckoned that everything fell into place when Elain entered his life, including the location of this house—far away from everyone, secluded in brambles and weeping willows, it was just outside of Velaris, with stunning views all around—the city on one side, and the sea on the other. His presence made people nervous enough, even back when he was just a shadowsinger and spymaster of the High Lord, and an Illyrian with seven siphons. Now, as Lord of Hewn City, with a Cauldron-made betrothed, two fanged beasts in tow, and Bryaxis who loved visiting as well, having befriended Elain a while back (since two monsters as friends weren’t enough), Azriel did not make for a desirable neighbour. Thankfully, there were no neighbours around. Therefore, if Bryaxis felt like sitting in the garden, wrapped in dark shadow of terror, it didn’t result in a pile of bodies who died of pure fear.

“My love, are you home?” he called out, shucking off his jacket and weapons, and rolling up the sleeves of his shirt.

“I am here!” Elain’s voice sang back and instantly his heart gladdened. That voice was like a balm on his soul, sweet and welcoming, and Azriel had to mentally pinch himself to remind himself that this was real. This was his life. This was his home, the one he built with the only woman that he ever truly ever loved and who loved him unconditionally and with an undimming, everlasting passion. His Elain. His Elain who chose him against all odds, and who promised to walk with him side by side, regardless of what befell them in this life. And with her next to him, he felt no fear.

“Holy gods, what are you doing?” he cried, when he entered their vast kitchen and saw Elain balance herself precariously on her toes, on the top step of a stepladder, reaching for something on the top shelf of their pantry. “You couldn’t have waited for me?!”

She laughed at him, kissing the air in greeting and said, “You are fussier than your mom!”

“What are you doing?” he came closer, and crossed his arms on his chest.

“She gave me so much food, I am trying to arrange it all,” Elain giggled, “I think she thinks that we are starving.”

He snorted a laugh.

“I felt bad for Sorrel who had to haul all these baskets on her back,”

“I imagine that Sorrel managed just fine.”

He came closer and playfully pecked her bottom through her gauzy skirt, and she squirmed with enjoyment.

“My Lord Azriel!” she admonished him playfully.

“Lady Elain,” he slapped her buttock lightly and said, “get off that stool and give me a kiss! What smells so good?”

“Dinner!”

He went to the cupboard and started pulling out plates and wine glasses and setting the table.

“Six jars of pickles! Three jars of jam,” she was counting out loud, “Three jars of marinated peppers. Six baskets of dried mushrooms…Azriel, if I see you tucking into those blackberry tarts before dinner, I swear,”

In the next moment, she was swept off her feet and into a pair of strong arms, his mouth descending on hers in a savage kiss. She screeched and laughed, clutching at his shoulders, before softening against him and draping her arms around his neck. Her lips opened in invitation and he swept his tongue inside, gently overpowering her with his kiss.

“I love you,” she moaned into his mouth, running her hands through his hair.

“I’d like to hear the rest of your threat,” he invited with a chuckle, “about the blackberry tarts,”

“I’d make love to you,” she whispered into his ear, lightly biting his earlobe, “if you eat a blackberry tart,”

“Then perhaps I should have two?”

“Perhaps…”

“And if I eat a pickle?” he proposed, returning to her lips, placing small, loving kisses on her mouth and her eyes.

“The punishment remains the same,” she breathed.

He breathed in deeply, with satisfaction.

Then stilled, abruptly.

Elain looked at him in surprise when he pulled away from her mouth.

His hazel eyes blazed—blazed like the green forests of Illyria, like the obsidian of Hewn City, like the stars of the Night Court. Those eyes devoured her. His perfect, beautiful face, usually so tanned and golden, paled. She’d never seen him pale.

“Az?”

Confusion and fear were written on her face.

“El,” he sobbed.

He…sobbed.

Azriel’s gorgeous eyes filled with tears, huge and thick, the eyes brimmed with them before spilling onto his face.

“Azriel,” she cried in alarm, cupping his cheek.

“Elain,” he gasped, his voice so choked with emotion, so raspy, she could barely hear him, “my love. Elain. My love,” he kept repeating, as if in shock, as if he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“Az, I love you, please, my darling, what is,”

“We are going to have a baby,” he blurted out.

Her eyes widened and his hand instinctively went to her stomach. He lay his heavy scarred palm on her belly, setting her down on the floor, and dropped on his knees before her.

She pressed her hand over his, still disbelieving his words, as they stared at each other, both in some kind of stupor of complete elation and doubt.

“Are you certain?” she begged softly, her eyes pleading with him for confirmation, for this to be true.

“I smell it…it’s so clear,” he inhaled again, and then again, “you and I and someone else in there,”

“Oh, by the Cauldron,” she gasped, her hand flying to her mouth, “you mother…Oh…”

“What?” he pressed his cheek to her stomach, wrapping his arms around her hips.

“She knew. I think she knew…She commented on our smell,”

“What did she say?”

“That we amalgamated into one scent,”

He chuckled softly, kissing her hands, her stomach, whatever his lips could reach, “We certainly amalgamated. I think it’s a bit more than just a scent though,”

Suddenly it dawned on Elain. It all came crushing at once and she wept, squeezing her face, a smile on her face so wide, it hurt her cheeks.

“We’ve made a baby?” she gasped, “Az, we’ve made a baby.”

“We’ve made a life together,” he murmured, awed. For a male who was so used to taking life, whose very existence was dedicated to war and blood, the thought of creating one, of creating something pure and good along with this female that he loved beyond reason, was simply magical.

“On Calanmai, you think?” she marveled, remembering the Great Rite, and everything that they did that night.

“I am certain,” he nodded.

“Our magical baby,” she grinned through her tears, looking down at him, at her stomach, and their hands, cradling it together.

It was a warm summer day, with the sky of the clearest blue and the sun beating down.

Azriel had worked up a sweat, but he loved it. It was quiet around their house, other than for the chirping birds and the rustling of leaves. Out as far as the eye could see stretched the azure sea—this view was one of the reasons Azriel bought this specific house. It was absolutely glorious and he loved the gleaming amethyst brilliance of the water, the smell of salt and brine in the air. One side of the house overlooked the city skyline, in the back, the towering mountains, and ahead, the vast expanse of the sea. When he was old and gray, he imagined that he’d be sitting out on the terrace, with Elain on his lap, and never tire of the view or of her. Not a Lord, not a spymaster or an Illyrian with too many siphons, but Azriel. He’d never tell her, but he already knew what he’d have written on his tombstone, if he ever had one ‘Here lies Azriel. He loved Elain, who made him happy’.

He looked up from the piece of wood that he was polishing. In their beautiful garden, the whole menagerie of their creatures napped or lounged. Deep in the shadows of the two weeping willows was a smudge of impenetrable darkness—Bryaxis came to look at the sun and smell the flowers. Around it, Azriel’s own shadows fluttered and floated. It was a little too bright for them out here, so they hid alongside Bryaxis, nestled in his darkness. Azriel figured that they could talk with each other, though he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know what the topic of their conversation would be. Asterin was cooling off in the pond, while Sorrel was sleeping on the grassy bank, sunning her wings. He supposed that he was also a strange creature, just like them, with his wings, that he was also presently sunning and his unnatural power. Perhaps, only Elain was the normal one amongst them, though probably not.

Elain was crouched in the flower bed, a wide-brimmed hat obscuring her face, even if her thin sleeveless shirt allowed a very generous and tempting glimpse of her unbound breasts under the unbuttoned collar.

“You look like a cat who just drank all the cream,” she noted, without moving her head or looking at him.

“And you are acting like an expert little spy,” he laughed, and walked over to her.

His scarred hand crawled under her hat and he squeezed the back of her neck, massaging gently.

“Mmm, that feels good,” she hummed, leaning into his hand.

Then, with a smirk, she complained, “I am hot.”

He chuckled and stooped over her, his palm migrating from the back of her neck to the front, squeezing her throat lightly and tilting her head back. The hat tumbled on the grass.

“Can I help you remove some of this offending clothing?” he offered, leaning deeper over her, his face ghosting hers in the barest of touches. He whispered and her tongue darted out and licked on his lips quickly.

“Yes,” she breathed. “Please…”

He snapped his fingers, without taking his eyes off her and then said, loudly, “Hey! All of you! Find somewhere else to be!”

The monster, the beasts and shadows all made an indignant noise, and attempted to turn around, but Azriel shook his head, “No. No. Go. Leave. Come back later. All of you.”

His shadows flew closer to him, in hopes of being spared, but he flicked his wrist at them.

Elain was laughing.

“You are a terrible host!” she murmured, when he slid on the grass next to her.

“I am a stupendous host,” he countered, stroking her throat, before tilting her head the way he wanted to and placing his lips on the thin, smooth skin. He kissed. Softly. Unhurriedly. Up and down, from her ear to her shoulder, while his deft fingers unbuttoned the few buttons of her shirt.

“Stupendous, huh?”

“Uh-uh,” he breathed against her neck, and parted her blouse, sliding it down her arms and then arranging it so she could lay her head on it. “They lounge on my lawn. They swim in our pond. They eat your flowers. They terrify the neighbors,”

“We don’t have any neighbors,” she reminded him with a chuckle. “You hate people,”

“I don’t hate people,” he corrected, kissing her nose and then her lips, “I care about people. That’s why I don’t have them around, so they don’t die of terror should they come upon Bry or your sweet beasties,”

“You are my sweet beastie,” she whispered, stroking his face.

Azriel smiled, and agreed, “That I am. And, you’ve been very naughty, tempting me with these all morning long,” he cupped her bare breasts, which always fit so well within his palms and rubbed his thumbs over the nipples. Now, a month and a half into her pregnancy, they began to fill out, growing just a bit heavier and fuller almost daily. It fascinated him and, well, he couldn’t deny that it made him quite happy as well.

“You can play with them,” she offered.

“Yeah?” he leaned into her and wrapped his mouth over the nipple, pulling hard and deep, teeth and lips clamping on the sensitive tip. A violent shudder rushed through her, and she tugged on his hair, pushing his face into her soft breast…and if he was going to suffocate now, he’d die a happy male. But she released her hold on his head a bit and he sucked deeply and steadily, while working her out of her skirt. She wiggled out of it and kicked it with her foot, while going for the ties on his trousers, pulling on them impatiently. He laughed over her breast and then looked up at her, “eager, are we?”

Elain flipped him on his back and muttered, panting lightly, “Az, I need you,”

“You have me, love,” he assured her, as he pulled out his cock and stroked it a few times. She looked down, hunger in her beautiful brown eyes, her lower lip between her teeth, body almost shaking with anticipation.

He wrapped his hand over her hips and nudged her forward, murmuring, “come, my baby, take what you need.”

Elain didn’t have to be asked twice. The horrible ache in her core was becoming unbearable and there was only way to soothe it. While Azriel slid his trousers down his legs, finally getting naked beneath her, she straddled him and guided his thick cock inside of her.

“Oh gods,” she moaned, her eyes closing and head lolling to the side, pure, ravenous bliss written all over her face. She sunk on him slowly, for no matter how aroused she was, how wet and ready, his size did not allow for a singular initial thrust. It always had to be a tempered, gradual push, which they both loved, for it only heightened their senses, the anticipation of what was about to happen.

His fingers dug deeply into her thigh probably adding to an existing bruise, but Elain loved carrying his bruises on her body. Beneath her gauzy dresses, or the more daring, risqué outfits that she wore in Hewn City, or her gardening dungarees, or the simple skirts and shirts that she wore at home, her lovely, curvy body bore the marks of Azriel’s love. It was their secret, just like the bargain tattoo that was hidden on her thigh—only for him to know.

The moment he was situated in her, he set an ambitious pace, his hips working almost against his rational inclination, but the way the walls of her sex gripped him with such sublime strength and clenched and pulled him in every time he made a move was so overwhelmingly pleasurable, he stopped, just to gather his thoughts for a moment.

“You take me so well, my girl,” he grunted, “so tight,”

“Az, move,” she pleaded desperately, her palms pressing into his chest, her hips grinding onto him. “Faster…”

He sat up, biting his lower lip, his palm gripping her breast almost painfully, as he squeezed her nipple between his fingers, twisting it harshly. She panted loudly, the bit of pain always being something she craved, something he offered and she chased.

“Anything you want, baby,” he finally calmed himself enough to begin thrusting into her in earnest. Even when she was on top, she liked for him to do most of the work, and he did not object whatsoever. He lay back down, letting his eyes roam over her gorgeously lush body, mesmerized by her bouncing breasts, as they bopped and swayed with every thrust of his hips. He cupped her soft, pert ass and gently spread the cheeks, mashing them in his palms, his fingers pushing occasionally against and around her other little hole, eliciting pleased moans and cries from her parted lips.

“Az, my love, you feel so amazing,” she breathed. “Why does it feel so good?”

“Because you were made for me and I was made for you,” he said simply.

“Yes,” she nodded, “yes,”

His eyes drifted down her body and he buried himself inside of her, thrusting to the hilt and holding still. She moaned loudly, her head rolling back, unbound hair ticking his thighs. He ran his hand over her torso, her throat and her breasts and then paused at her stomach, pressing lightly to her lower belly. He could feel and see the small bump—not that of their baby—but his cock that was so deep, it pushed out from inside of her.

Azriel groaned loudly, wondering if he’s ever been so hard before. He has. But every time it felt new and different, the sense of possession almost indescribable.

He grabbed her hand and pressed it to the same spot. Her eyes widened with lust mixed with amazement and she rubbed the cock that was pocking her stomach.

“El, fuck,” he swore low and hissing, “fuck it feels nice, baby…” he held her hand right there, and she moved and stroked her stomach. “You are so tiny, I can see myself moving inside of you,”

She grinned, “You like that, bad boy?”

“Yes, my sweet, this boy really, really likes seeing you take my cock!”

Cassian could barely breathe.

He loved Elain, but the flowers…Her garden was gorgeous, a feast for the eyes, a work of art—and torture for his nose and eyes and throat.

Azriel and Elain had been holed up in their luxurious secluded cottage for over a month.

He saw them here and there, they visited once, maybe twice, and then there was the dinner at the River House, which they declined to attend, citing Hewn City business.

“Go check on them!” ordered Nesta.

“Why don’t we go together?” proposed Cassian, but she said, “I don’t want to ambush them. Just…it’s casual if it’s just you.”

So here he was, being casual.

Somehow even Rhys found out that he was going to visit them, and the High Lord ordered him to report on their well-being.

The two wyverns, or whatever they were, flew over the sea, flipping and diving into the water.

Cassian landed in front of the house and knocked. No one answered. He knocked again, harder this time, but was greeted with silence.

It was a nice day, so he figured that the two of them being in the garden was very probable. Elain with her flowers or berry bushes, and Azriel just watching over her like a hungry wolf in love. The male was so obsessively in love, Cassian figured that if he could spend eternity watching Elain garden, Azriel would be perfectly satisfied with his life.

Rounding the corner, Cassian was faced with the most disturbing scene that his 543-year-old eyes had seen—naked Elain, grinding on Azriel…riding his cock.

Oh gods. Oh gods.

His sister. His little sister. That’s who Elain was to him. She was his little petal, his sweet flower girl. Riding Azriel’s enormous cock. How that thing even fit into her was a miracle.

Oh gods. His eyes. He pressed his palms over his face and ran back. He slammed into something, refused to open his eyes, and ran until he was well out on the front law on the house.

Mother’s tits! Why were they outside? He knew why they were, because it was a nice day and it was perfect time for lovemaking, but gods, did Azriel have to do it with her?

Breathing heavily, Cassian shot up in the air. He’d fly around, for a few hours. A few hours should be long enough, right? Maybe a few days?

Yes, theoretically, Cassian knew that Elain and Azriel were lovers. They were betrothed and swore their love and loyalty to each other before a priestess, and one day, planned to perhaps marry, as humans married—Elain’s idea, though she was cooling off to it, no longer concerned about the human rituals and their ways. But they were both reserved people, rarely displaying overt affection towards each other and somehow, it was difficult to imagine them in more intimate situations.

Azriel had scented his brother nearby.

Elain was whimpering atop of him, as he was pounding into her and right then, his brother was of no concern to him. He wanted to bring his girl over the edge, and she was close if the fluttering of the walls of her pussy around his cock were anything to go by. Her breath came out in deep, hoarse sighs and she stretched over him, her hair draping over her breasts and his chest, swooshing and tickling his chest. She squeezed her breast in her hand, rolling her nipple, as she plunged down on him, meeting him thrust for thrust.

“Close, sweetheart?” he held her hips tightly, angling her so that her clit ribbed against his pelvis, while kissing her mouth. She nodded breathlessly and fell atop of him, sinking her teeth into his neck and sucking, as she thrashed and moaned into his shoulder, whispering how much she loved him.

“I love you too, my beautiful girl,” he murmured into her hair.

Azriel was working on an intricate carving in the piece of wood, chiseling slowly and carefully into the plank. He might have planned too complex a design, if he had to admit it, but he had eight months to complete it, so with some perseverance he figured that he’d be done just in time.

“I know you are there,” he said without raising his eyes from his chisel, “stop being weird.”

Cassian stepped in front of him, sniffling and hacking, rubbing his eyes with his fingers.

“Were you hiding there long?”

“You know I wasn’t hiding,” Cassian sneezed, “I just flew in.”

“Flew back in,” corrected Azriel, smirking.

“My eyes did not need to see what they saw earlier,” Cassian sat heavily on a bench, shaking his head. “And stop smiling!”

“I wouldn’t have taken you for someone so modest and easily perturbed,”

“Umm, I am not easily perturbed at all,” he interrupted, “unless I see my sister doing all those things with you,”

“Well, she is my betrothed female and my Lady,” Azriel reminded him casually, “so we do ‘do those things’ as you call them,”

“I don’t need to be reminded!”

Elain appeared—thankfully dressed—with a smile on her face, and exclaimed, “Cass! I didn’t hear you come in!”

She skipped towards him and threw herself into his embrace. He swung her around in his arms, and kissed her head.

“I’ve missed you, petal!”

“I’ve missed you too!”

“You look—stunning,” he had to admit, giving her a once over. “Gods…you are glowing!”

She smiled shyly, ducking her head and then playfully slapped his shoulder, murmuring, “such a flatterer,”

Azriel was observing them silently, still carving the wood, though Cassian sensed some tension in his brother. Azriel was never jealous, especially not of him, but just in case, Cassian stepped away from Elain and sat back down on the bench. Azriel reminded him of a newly mated male, and for a moment, he wondered if they had a mate bond snap for them, which would explain their absences and secrecy.

He watched them exchange a quick glance, but a bout of sneezes interrupted his puzzlement at all of this cagey behaviour. Could Elain have been given two bonds? Elain was mysterious, her power still not entirely revealed, her Cauldron-given abilities developing and unraveling bit by bit. Her power matched Azriel’s in many different, intricate ways, most of which Cassian could not understand. Even Rhys had trouble comprehending what the two of them were capable of, and how vast that power reserve actually was.

“Cass, let me get you something for your allergies,” Elain offered. “Do you want lemonade?”

“Don’t fuss Lainey,” he began, but she waved him off. “Lemonade for my brother is not fussing. I have an ointment that will help you,”

She went back into the house and Cassian draped his arms over his knees, looking out at the sea. This was a damn nice view! No wonder they didn’t want to leave. They split their time between their four residences—Hewn City palace, Azriel’s apartment in Velaris, occasionally they used the palace on the mountain, but typically only for formal meetings, but this—this was their home.

“You are quiet,” Cassian noted, glancing at Azriel.

His brother seemed to have relaxed a bit, even his wings snapped not as tightly as before, and he shrugged in his usual Azriel way, saying nothing.

Cassian finally glanced at the wood that Azriel was working on and he nodded towards the fine carvings, “it’s beautiful…what is it?”

Azriel drew his scarred finger over the wood, and after a moment, said, “it’s headboard for a crib.”

“A crib? Really? Who asked you to make a crib?” wondered Cassian, cocking his brow.

Then he stilled, his eyes widening, “Shit?! Rhys and Feyre? Are they having another baby?”

“I don’t know,” Azriel chuckled, amusement in his eyes, “they haven’t told me.”

“Who else?” pondered Cassian. “Don’t be an asshole! Tell me!” he whined.

“Maybe you?” Azriel winked at him.

“What?” Cassian paled, “wha-…Nes,”

“Oh gods, no!” groaned Azriel, laughing, “I am kidding. Can’t you smell anything?”

“I can’t smell shit!” Cassian wiped his nose, “I am all stuffed up. What am I supposed to be smelling?”

“Elain.”

“What about Elain?”

In the next moment, Cassian tackled Azriel in his hug, both of them landing in the grass, a scream of joy ripping from Cassian’s chest.

“Elain?” he cried, tears springing in his eyes, “a baby…a baby for you,” he rocked Azriel against his chest, and for once, Azriel gently, easily embraced him back.

“Az, I…” Cassian, for once, was speechless. ‘”I am so happy…I am so happy for you,”

Azriel grinned, emotional again, his chest heavy and tight with joy.

“Actually, I need to make two cribs,” he said. “Care to help, uncle?”

#elriel #elriel fanfiction #my writing #the heirs of shadow #azriel #elain archeron #elain #azriel and elain #elain and azriel #azriel fanfiction #elriel fanfic #acotar fanfiction #fanfiction prompt #fanfic prompt

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awanderingtortoise · 4 years ago

Text

a/n: first of all, i would like to thank my genius brain for answering the ask this stemmed from privately, therefore losing all access to it and anything i typed in reply. i would also like to thank google docs for housing the backup copy of this fic, ensuring my panic lasted only half the time it could have. finally (and the only serious thing here) ty to @nabrizoya for giving this idea during my 'i cant write banter only dad jokes help' panic, i loved it and wrote far more on it than i expected.

laughter in the rain

ao3

word count: 2.1k of pure fluff and crack

blurb: in which Nikolai is much too found of puns while Zoya is the polar opposite, and a young, incredibly chaotic Squaller child wreaks absolute havoc on literally everything.

(from tumblr ask: how about nikolai interacting with zoya's students and them finding nikolai's dad jokes funnier than zoya does (though she does secretly enjoy them)

----

Zoya knew she was in for it when she agreed to teach Damyen to summon lightning. Possible consequences listed themselves in her head without regard for her anxiety: Getting half her hair burned off. An emergency fire drill, minus the drill, at the Little Palace. Possibly a few roasted pigeons falling from the sky. The ten-year old Squaller was undeniably one of her most gifted students, possessing a striking talent for both the Small Science and utter chaos. Unsurprising, really, considering the child both worshiped Nikolai and had a disposition remarkably close to the latter’s. Zoya’s rant on the young Grisha amused him to no end.

“A miniature me,” Nikolai mused, glancing thoughtfully at Zoya as he sat on the edge of their bed. “And shaping up to be quite the handful.”

“You have no idea,” she grumbled, brushing out a stubborn tangle in her hair, eyes still bleary from her slumber or lack thereof. She’d slept terribly and dreamt her kefta had been on fire. Though she was never much for fortune-tellers or prophetic hogwash, she had an inkling this particular dream would soon be reality. “You could be brothers with how much you have in common. Insubordinate. Endless chatter. Utterly chaotic.”

“Handsome?” Nikolai suggested, inspecting his boots before putting them on. “Charismatic and startlingly intelligent? Really, my dear; you don’t have to be quite so negative.”

“I’m likely about to be set on fire. I have every right to be negative.”

“Now, now,” He said soothingly. “I’m sure it will be a very- enlightening experience.”

Zoya froze mid-brush stroke, turning to give him a withering glare. “Nikolai,” she hissed.

He grinned. “Yes?”

“We have talked about this.”

“Have we?”

“No more puns,” Zoya ordered. For every joke Nikolai in his love for infuriating humor could crack, these were the worst. The only people in the palace that found them amusing were Tolya and Nikolai himself. Which meant, of course, that Tolya was the only one Nikolai didn’t subject to this banal torture.

“Why?” Nikolai whined. “I find them rather electrifying, don’t you?”

She slammed her brush onto the table and stalked towards him, seizing his wrist. “I will blow you out the window. I will tie you to a tree and let Damyen use you for target practice.”

“From the sound of him, he wouldn’t dare. He loves me.”

“He’s also remarkably similar to you and has every ounce of your taste for drama. He might, and if he doesn’t you have my word that I will do it myself.” Zoya let her eyes flash silver, static crackling in the air.

“Alright,” Nikolai sighed, unperturbed by the display. “Fine. I concede. It’s but a trifle. A storm in a teacup, if you w- ow !”

She had sent a small shock through his arm, and now scoffed at the reaction to her handiwork. “Consider this a warning,” she sniffed, before turning to leave the room. “I have a Squaller to teach.”

“Storming off, are we- ow- ”

Only once the door was safely slammed behind her did she let her frown shift, lips quirking upwards. “Damnable idiot,” she muttered, smile clear in her voice.

“You love me for it,” Nikolai called from inside the room.

Zoya scowled. She’d need to have the walls thickened.

-----------------------

To Zoya’s right, a flock of very terrified and slightly singed geese squawked and took to the skies. Their nest lay in a steaming pile of ash. She raised a single eyebrow at her pupil. “Damyen, this is-”

“Awesome!” He cackled, gathering the ash in his hands and tossing it in the air like confetti. The flakes drifted down, settling in Zoya’s hair and eyelashes.

“I was going to say dismal. I do not recall asking you to set birds on fire. Your aim is terrible.”

“But I shot lighting!” He stared at his fingertips with such utter reverence for himself that Zoya didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“If you want to shoot lighting without setting your friends alight, I’d suggest you learn to hit your mark,” She said as sternly as possible. He’d picked up on the skill remarkably quickly, in all honesty, and the currents he summoned were more than good for a start. She was impressed, but her approval would only be gained with sufficient effort. And after more than a few sharp comments. “You aim worse than a blind mole rat. Again.”

Damyen sighed but brought his hands together once more, brow knitting in concentration as lightning began to form in his palm. Strands of his bronze hair fell onto his face and he squinted through them at the target. Adjusted his hands. Squinted again.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Zoya muttered. “Perhaps you’re waiting for the Saints to come riding down on a shiny chariot?”

He snorted, apparently genuinely amused, then let the bolt fly. At the same moment, a golden-haired figure strolled into the lightning’s path.

Zoya shrieked, hurtling a gust of wind towards Nikolai and blowing him to the ground. The streak of electricity slammed perfectly into the target’s center, setting the whole thing aflame. Damyen whooped, throwing up his hands and sending wind blowing every which way; scattering leaves into the air as Nikolai groaned and swore from his spot in the grass.

“Hello,” He said weakly. “Atmosphere’s rather charged around here, don’t you think?”

She huffed and pulled him to his feet, glaring daggers.

“No shocks,” Nikolai noted.

“I may change my mind. Care to explain yourself, Lantsov? In the habit of trying to kill yourself?”

“I hardly need to try. I’m a magnet for life threatening situations. Though I’ll admit that today it was a personal decision.” He beamed, spreading his hands. “I simply wanted to help you make good on your threat.”

Zoya rolled her eyes. “Why are you here? Has something come up with the Fjerdans? Did the Kerch renegotiate the trade-”

“Zoya, Zoya, Zoya,” Nikolai sighed, tucking a wayward lock of hair behind her ear. “You worry too much.”

“I worry exactly the right amount for this fickle country. Answer the question, or I truly will have him target you.”

“Is it so hard to believe I came here only to see you?”

“Yes.”

“You wound me. But if you must know, I thought I could be of some assistance.”

“As target practice?”

He wrinkled his nose. “I’ve had quite enough of that. As a mentor. As a bribe, perhaps; for your little firecracker over there.” He glanced at Damyen, still stripping trees of their hard-earned leaves and seemingly unaware that he’d nearly killed his beloved idol. “You seemed like you could use some help.”

She raised her chin disdainfully. “I am perfectly capable of wrangling the little-”

A loud crack sounded and the sky darkened rapidly, clouds swarming over their heads as rain began to pour furiously in a matter of seconds. A few meters away, a bright flash enveloped a tree, sending the trunk bursting into flames.

“Damyen!” Zoya screeched.

The boy stared at her, wide-eyed and grinning in a mix of elation and fear. “I made a storm, Your Highness!”

“Congratulations. Now do you mind stopping before you kill us all?”

“But I-” His eyes found Nikolai and realization set in as he beamed and the rain poured even harder. “Your Highness- es !”

Another boom, and a second, larger tree was wreathed in electricity and fire. It groaned, wobbling dangerously before crashing to the ground.

Nikolai’s brow furrowed, squinting against the pouring rain. “That,” he started. “Was a centuries-old sacred cypress planted by the first Lantsov kings. Now firewood. Impressive.”

Damyen’s chest puffed with pride.

“You can fawn over each other later,” Zoya snapped. “Damyen, enough with the storm. Turn it off before you start a forest fire.”

He grinned sheepishly. “How?”

She muttered obscenities, raising her hands and dispelling the clouds with a flick of her wrists. The sky cleared, small patches of pouring rain left to quell the still-burning trees as Nikolai whistled appreciatively, clapping; and Damyen gave a small bow. Saints, these two would be the death of her.

“So,” Nikolai said, soft enough that Damyen couldn’t hear. “Changed your mind?”

She sighed. “Fine. Make your attempt. You’ve always loved trying your hand at the impossible.”

“Improbable,” he corrected, then strolled over to Damyen, running a hand through the golden strands plastered to his forehead. Soaking wet and almost cooked alive, and he still looked every bit the regal prince; she thought, a grudging, now-familiar fondness rushing through her like a horrible, tooth-rotting sweet. She scowled.

“Lovely morning,” The prince greeted. Damyen bent over in a hasty bow, but Nikolai waved his hand. “No need. Are you the wonderfully gifted Squaller her Highness speaks of so highly?”

Zoya snorted, but Damyen’s eyes practically doubled in size. “She does?”

“Oh, yes,” Nikolai said seriously. “You’re quite talented, I hear.” He lowered his voice to a theatrical whisper. “Just between the two of us,” muttered Nikolai, very much loud enough for Zoya to be able to hear. “I think you remind her of herself, when she was your age.”

She opened her mouth; ‘What utter bullshit,’ already on the tip of her tongue but Nikolai raised a gloved finger, eyes twinkling. With much effort, she clamped her mouth shut.

Damyen seemed he might faint on the spot. Nikolai went on. “Really, there’s quite a lot you two have in common. Powerful. Willful. In possession of a rather strong attachment to me.”

The young Grisha was eating up his words. Zoya wanted to strangle the both of them.

Nikolai took a seat on a faintly smoking tree stump. “You seem to have quite a lot going on for you, learning to summon lighting and all. A rather current affair, don’t you think?”

The silence seemed to stretch on infinitely. Then Damyen gave a toothy grin and guffawed far, far louder than that sorry excuse for a joke deserved.

“Oh for Saints’ sake, Nikolai,” she groaned, shoving her face into her hands.

“Zoya, dear; no need to thunder about like that,” Nikolai said soothingly. Damyen bit his cheek in an attempt to control himself, but whatever smidgen of respect he had left for her kept him silent for barely a second before he burst into a fit of giggles.

Zoya threw her arms up in frustration and from the clouds a deep, deafening roar answered her-- how’s that for thundering, you nincompoop-- as the sky flashed once more, bright streaks lacing every cloud in an intricate web. Damyen’s gleeful expression faltered at the sight but Nikolai only grinned wider, patting Damyen on the shoulder before standing and holding a hand out to catch the rain.

“Don’t let her dampen your spirits,” he called sagely over the rumble, and it took a good amount of self control not to smite him on the spot. Nikolai flashed a thumbs-up at the boy before jogging over to the spot where Zoya stood, arms crossed and glaring. He clasped her hand in his, opening his mouth to speak.

“Not one word,” she warned. “Not a single pun or I will have Tolya read you every Ravkan epic in existence while dangling you off the palace roof.”

“No puns,” he promised. “For now. I only ask that perhaps you let the sun shine through-”

“I will not sugarcoat my instructions for whatever reason.”

“The storm, my dear,” he said gently. “Not your teaching methods. We’re nearly soaked through.”

She glanced towards his dripping sleeves and the damp fabric of her own kefta. “Fine,” Zoya muttered grudgingly, raising her free hand to call away the storm and let the clouds fade to fog. “But enough of this foolery. I can’t have Damyen running around being able to summon lightning and having no idea how to wrangle it. He has to learn.”

“And he will. Let me work my magic and I’ll have him perfectly eager to learn to control his.”

“Without the puns.”

“With slightly less puns?” He asked, brow knit together as if the fate of his jokes were a matter of life and death.

Zoya frowned, but Nikolai’s pleading look wore away at her and she sighed. “Slightly less puns.”

His eyes lit up and he beamed, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand. “You won’t regret this,” he promised.

“Oh, I will,” she remarked drily. “But perhaps not enough to shock you again if you can manage the walking fire hazard.”

“As you wish, Your Highness.” He bowed theatrically before turning and running back to Damyen with a ridiculous grin on his face, sunlight gilding his hair and shining in his gaze; his form so full of light that she couldn’t help but smile.

“Nikolai,” she called after him.

He turned, cocking his head. “Nazyalensky? Is everything alright?”

Zoya closed her eyes, sighing deeply. She opened her palm, summoning the smallest thundercloud, letting raindrops pool in her outstretched hand. “Right as rain, Lantsov.”

He laughed, and the sound, golden and unrestrained and bright, was worth every joke she’d ever have to endure.

#zoyalai #i am an idiot #zoya nazyalensky #nikolai lantsov #horrible puns terrible puns #nikolai duology #grishaverse #tortoise tries to write #me

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mythicamagic · 4 years ago

Text

Unorthodox: a Sesskag oneshot

Summary: Kagome is pleasantly surprised to receive a present from Sesshoumaru for White Day... until she glimpses the contents inside her gift box.

AN: Written for the Sesskag 2021 Big Bang event on tumblr! @chierafied

I was paired with @milomai-art and here’s their lovely artwork: https://milomai-art.tumblr.com/post/648766972634513408/unorthodox-mythicamagic-inuyasha-a-feudal

Rated K+

Words: 3,000

You can read it on Ao3, Dokuga or fanfiction.net.

Unorthodox

Valentine's day had come and gone, with a notable difference this year for Kagome compared with the last lonely three;

Her return to the Sengoku Jidai.

To celebrate reuniting with her beloved friends, she'd gone all out. Everyone received gifts, right down to Myoga and Jaken; no one had been excluded.

For all her efforts, however, she expected nothing in return. Though she'd explained the concept to the Inutachi, Sango and Miroku were much too busy looking after their children to keep track of dates, Shippo was often away at Kitsune school and Inuyasha had been absent as of late. Besides that, since their relationship had ended, the subject of Valentine's had become an awkward one. She'd had to stress the platonic intent behind her gift to him.

Therefore, Kagome had pretty much forgotten all about White Day by the time it rolled around.

Exiting Kaede's hut with a tub of water in her arms, intending to give the old miko's horse a good scrub down, she dug in her heels the second exquisite silks, armour and a fur pelt registered- having blinked into existence before her. Kagome gaped, swaying. Water sloshed, some spilling to their feet.

"Uh hi," looking up at grave, handsome features, she arched a brow. Sesshoumaru stared at her fervently. "Nice to see you, Sesshoumaru," adjusting her grip, Kagome sidestepped him and flashed a warm smile, used to his minimalistic approach to conversation by now. "Do you need something? Inuyasha isn't here. I think he's helping the next village over repair a-"

"I am not here for him."

Kagome noted his succinct tone, sounding more defensive than usual. Setting down the wooden tub carefully, she straightened, tilting her head. "Then what are you here for?"

"White Day."

"White... ah!" Kagome gasped, "that's right! How did you know about that?" she blinked, noticing he looked extra grumpy today. His jaw ticked, golden eyes narrow. Slowly, the miko brightened. "No way. Did you... get me something?" she breathed, strangely touched.

Of all people, Sesshoumaru had remembered? Was she dreaming?

A hand thrust out stiffly towards her, balancing a small box upon his palm.

Accepting it with thanks, heat touched her cheeks. Weird. She really shouldn't be indulging this- or feeling kind of happy. It didn't mean anything to be pleased, right? Was she even allowed to feel warm and fuzzy towards her ex's brother?

Opening the lid, Kagome tried to squash her excitement- peering down. Slowly, she reached in, retrieving a silky soft thing.

It appeared to be made of something long, silver and fine, the material woven into a pretty design. A bracelet of silk, if she could hazard a guess.

"Um, thank you," Kagome raised her gaze. "What's it made of, out of curiosity? It's very soft."

Sesshoumaru appeared pleased, preening a little. "Only the finest material."

"Really?" she stroked it. "I hope you didn't go to any trouble on my account."

He scoffed, midsummer gaze smiling slightly as his tone became haughty and prideful, "it was no trouble to use this one's own hair."

Kagome dropped the bracelet back into the box. "Whut?"

Lithe fingers combed indulgently into his fall of lustrous silver hair, "you need not be alarmed. The strands grew back quickly."

That isn't what's alarming me, Kagome silently screamed. Now that she was paying attention though, the pale bracelet really did resemble the demon lord's long flowing locks.

Her hand recoiled a little from the box. "W-well, um... thank you very much," Kagome said thinly. "It's a very thoughtful gift. Truly."

Sesshoumaru's keen, piercing eyes roved over her strained features, voice deepening. "If you do not wish to accept it-"

"N-no, I do! I'll wear it right now!" Kagome grabbed it madly, fiddling with the thing while repressing a shudder. She tried and failed to secure the clasp, stiffening when large hands closed over her hand.

The demon lord leaned forward- that same hair currently being secured around her wrist falling free from behind a pointed ear. Silver strands draped down like a gossamer curtain, tickling her flushed, sensitive skin.

Sesshoumaru tilted his head up, expression unreadable.

Shifting her wrist, Kagome observed the threads of hair wrapped around it. His bracelet felt odd, the concept totally foreign. However, she could feel how much the gesture meant to him. She didn't fear offending him because of his dark temper- more because she cared about his feelings and wanted to nurture any hint of a bond between them.

"Thank you," Kagome said. "No one else brought me anything today, so I'm...I'm grateful."

Even if it was the weirdest thing she'd ever received. A bracelet made of hair wasn't exactly traditional.

Straightening, Sesshoumaru's lips thinned as his eyes flickered with confusion.

Kagome blinked, wondering what else he'd envisioned her saying.

"Hn," inclining his head regally, he pivoted sharply and began stalking away quickly, giving a swift kill to the conversation.

---

Without a frame of reference for how long he desired her to wear it, Kagome tugged her sleeve down to hide the bracelet from curious eyes during the next few days. She tried to ignore the sensation of hair continually brushing her skin.

"I wonder if it means something important," Kagome examined it while sprawled out upon a grassy hill, taking a break from her miko duties Kaede had started dishing out ever since her return.

Sesshoumaru had seemed extremely serious while giving it to her. Then again, the gift could've meant nothing. Maybe his hair was just THAT valuable in the Daiyoukai's opinion. She snorted, twisting her wrist and watching silver threads catch on sunlight, making it shine white. "His ego is big enough. I'd believe it. Heh, maybe he'd also give me one of his eyelashes, or a fingernail or..."

Why was Sesshoumaru heading towards her?

Sitting up and fussing absentmindedly with her hair- removing a few stray leaves- Kagome felt heat flood her face.

Okay, no- she shook herself, putting a firm lid over the butterflies taking flight in her stomach. Too strange. Enough of that.

The Daiyoukai stopped a few feet away, expression detached. Kagome knew by now to ignore it in favour of looking into his eyes. They were intent and unblinking today, hinting at his seriousness.

"Hi," she said, patting a spot next to her. "It's rare for you to visit the village again during the same week. What's up?"

Sesshoumaru cocked his head to the side at her odd term. Kagome bit her lip, finding it endearing. Her attention strayed, noticing yet another box sitting innocently upon his hand.

She paled. Oh no.

Gracefully sweeping himself down onto one knee- he thrust the new box out towards her, giving Kagome a dizzying sense of Déjà vu.

I was joking about the fingernails. Please be something normal. Please.

Accepting it gingerly, blue eyes flicked up towards him. "White day is over, you know."

"This one is aware."

"So...why the new gift?"

Sesshoumaru pretended to be interested in the gentle bubbling stream not too far away. "Because it pleases me to give it to you."

He was so difficult to figure out. Not wanting to squash his newfound sense of generosity, Kagome carefully removed the lid.

The contents did not look promising.

Trying not to jump to conclusions, she reached in and removed the long necklace. A single solitary tooth hung from the chord.

"Ah," Kagome squinted. "Open your mouth a sec."

Sesshoumaru's lips parted wordlessly, mouth opening wider to reveal a gap where one of his sharp canines used to be.

"This...is yours?" she asked weakly.

Sesshoumaru closed his mouth and nodded primly. "It will serve you well, should you have need of it."

In what way would I ever have need of a tooth? a wrinkle marred her brow as she considered it, coming to a small realisation. "To make a sword from?"

"Hn."

Well, that explained a small piece of the puzzle. In a very 'Sesshoumaru' way- it almost seemed a little sweet, practical even.

However, this did not help assuage her naturally squeamish reaction while looking at the freshly plucked tooth.

"Thanks," she said lamely. "I-I'm sure it'll be very useful if I visit Totosai in the future."

Her answer didn't seem to be what he was looking for. Sesshoumaru's gaze flitted from her to the dangling fang. "Females... prefer jewels, make-up or clothing, I suppose."

Kagome scratched her cheek, "depends on the lady- but you really don't have to worry, Sesshoumaru," laying a hand over pale knuckles resting upon his knee, she gave a squeeze. "I'm touched you're being so thoughtful. There's no need to give me anything else though, I have more than enough."

His nostrils flared, jaw setting stubbornly. He drew himself up to stand, "you are too modest."

Feeling thoroughly discombobulated, Kagome could only watch as he pivoted with all the grace of a dainty dancer, stalking away with billowing sleeves.

---

For two weeks, Sesshoumaru continued visiting the village at random intervals. His flair for turning up at the most unexpected times made it difficult for Kagome to anticipate his visits. Sometimes he'd arrive bright and early, others- nearing nightfall. Occasionally he'd visit Rin, but their interactions seemed distracted. Rin would whisper fiercely to him while gesturing in Kagome's direction, but he'd ultimately leave without speaking a word to the miko.

It was odd, confusing. She'd used to think of Sesshoumaru as a fairly straightforward demon. As of late, he'd been downright unpredictable and... flakey. She kind of missed their previous easy interactions when she'd pick herbs and prattle on while he occasionally offered a word or two. His silence had felt comfortable rather than awkward.

I don't know how to get that back, Kagome thought sadly.

A chilly wind passed by, breeze rushing around her exposed neck. Adjusting her miko garb, she sneezed, shivering a little. Autumn would soon be on its way.

The heat of an intense stare sent a new chill down her spine. Kagome turned, sensing it- only to find Sesshoumaru gazing at her intently.

Was it her imagination, or did he seem absurdly pleased? As though struck by a revelation.

As was typical behaviour for him, the demon lord began walking away without a word.

---

Trudging back from training in the woods, Kagome shouldered her bow while walking around a thick tree- only to quickly stop, almost bumping straight into polished armour.

Sesshoumaru stood before her, holding another box. This time it was larger, more of a rectangular shape.

"M-more?" Kagome squeaked. Her heart thundered. It felt like so long since they'd last spoken.

Sesshoumaru inclined his head gravely, "hn."

Biting her lip and somewhat dreading what cast-off part of him could be inside this time, Kagome grasped the lid and removed it- only to slam it abruptly back down.

"What… what is that?" she asked thinly.

Sesshoumaru's lashes fell shut and slid open in an unruffled blink.

"My fur."

I thought as much.

Kagome removed the lid with trepidation once more, lifting out the lush, soft coat. Even while her hands sank into the cloud-like material, blue eyes remained wide with distress.

Sesshoumaru seemed to guess her line of thinking. "It is discarded fur that I have shed, not cleaved off. Do not worry."

"O-okay," she said thinly. It's still weird though. Too weird. Imagine if I'd made a coat of shed skin.

It was so odd that Kagome felt a line needed to be drawn, placing it back into the box and numbly accepting it from him. "Sesshoumaru… I have to put my foot down now. I appreciate your gifts but I can't accept any more."

He stiffened, the burning embers in his eyes freezing into glassy orbs.

Kagome rushed to explain, "it's very sweet of you, and I appreciate the thought. I'm just not, uh…sure they're suited for a human. Besides, you seem to be worrying about what to get me instead of talking to me. I'd rather we just spoke like old times instead of this awkwardness."

"I see," he said stiffly.

She took a step forward, eyes widening when he took one back and turned. "This one did not intend to give you things deemed inappropriate and unwelcome. Farewell."

"Wait-!"

Too late, Sesshoumaru blurred away from her outstretched hand.

Kagome grit her teeth, sighing and balancing the box on one hand. Damn it.

Slowly, Kagome lowered the box onto a tree stump and gingerly lifted the coat. It felt lush and divine, her hands disappearing within the sheer volume of fur. Sliding her arms into the sleeves and putting it on, Kagome wrapped it around herself, feeling like she were enclosed in a giant fluffy cloud. His static youki brushed her skin intimately, fanning out from the strands.

It was big. It was a little ridiculous. It was wonderful.

Kagome groaned, burying her face in her hands. Sure, the idea of him collecting his shed fur to sew into a coat was strange by human standards, but actually wearing the coat, she now understood his simplistic intent.

He'd just wanted her to be warm.

"You're such a weirdo," she grumbled, blushing and dipping her nose into the fur. It smelled like him; wild forests, with the hint of refined smoke from a pipe.

Maybe she was weird too.

---

He was absent for an entire month.

Sesshoumaru figured it would help ease the sting of rejection. The second he caught Kagome's fragrance, however, it was like an old wound had been ripped open again.

His lips thinned, firmly keeping all emotion locked tight behind a placid mask as he visited Rin.

Chatting with the girl allowed him to soothe his stung ego for a while, distracted by Rin's news about the village and her training. Occasionally she would mention the miko and his chest would tighten again. How pathetic of him.

Once his cup lay empty and Rin mentioned the need to leave in order to assist the older miko, Sesshoumaru took his leave.

Stepping foot outside Kaede's hut, however, he froze.

Kagome stiffened before him, swathed in furs- his furs- he dimly noted.

More than that, lithe fingers curled around the fang resting at her collarbone. The silver bracelet of his hair caught the light before disappearing beneath the length of her sleeve.

Kagome's cheeks heated, and she thrust out a box, letting it rest on her palm.

"I asked around," she muttered. "Inuyasha was clueless, and Shippo kept laughing whenever I tried to ask him what was going on. Luckily Myoga happened to stop by," blue eyes pinned him in place. "You could've told me what all the gifts meant instead of leaving me in the dark."

Sesshoumaru did not accept the box just yet. "I thought my intentions were achingly clear."

Embarrassingly so, for a proud demon.

"Not for humans!" she huffed, lowering her hands a little. "I was confused the whole time! How was I supposed to know that you were giving me a betrothal bracelet, or that the fang was for any half-demon children I might have when they need a sword? I kind of figured out the coat, but I didn't know it represented your intentions to provide for me."

Sesshoumaru stared. Oh. Perhaps he should've listened to Rin about courting the miko after all.

Cheeks scarlet, Kagome sighed, lifting the lid of her box off and removing something from inside.

"May I?"

Sesshoumaru nodded dazedly, golden eyes widening. His entire being thrummed, heart picking up speed.

Shifting closer, Kagome pushed some dark locks behind her ear, the length slightly shorter than usual. Sliding a black bracket around his striped wrist, Kagome swallowed. Her hair had been woven into a band much like his, though nowhere near as intricate.

The demon stared at it, fixated. Baser instincts purred.

Molten gold eyes slowly raised to pin her with a disarmingly reverent look. He spoke no words of poetry, no love or longing, but it was there, he hoped. Abundantly clear. Kagome seemed to recognise it for what it was now.

She smiled a little, hugging her arms and scuffing her foot. "Don't get the wrong idea; I'm not saying I'll jump into marriage with you, but it turns out I'm kind of interested in dating you. Really... interested," Kagome forced out, obviously embarrassed but soldiering on. "If it's okay, we could...do that," she finished lamely.

Sesshoumaru took a step forward, invading her personal space. She blushed exactly the way he'd hoped she would, babbling. "So the uh- think of the bracelet as a dating bracelet! Maybe down the line it could...it could become an engagement thing," she murmured, voice dimming in the wake of his proximity.

"Hn," honeyed eyes smiled, careful claws unfurling to find her chin. "That would be pleasing," he uttered in a faint rumble, tipping his head down. "I accept."

Satisfaction rolled through him fiercely as she tilted her head just so- lips meeting and brushing feather-light against his. Emboldened, Kagome's hands found the collar of his hankimono just as he took her by the waist as though entering a dance, tightening.

Sesshoumaru let his eyes flutter shut, inhaling sharply through his nose. He could smell her so bright and clear—the sweetness of tangerines, faint, exotic soaps—and her mouth so warm. Kagome kissed him, firmer, hand finding his hair- fingers curling. His breath began to roughen the longer their kisses went on. His heart chanted the truth of it all- 'yours.'

If the foolish woman wanted him, he'd already given himself to her. The ticklish brush of her hair claiming his wrist made him smirk against her mouth, glimpsing his own band of white around hers and revelling in a plume of possessive pride.

Perhaps it was unorthodox by her standards, but they were not exactly normal themselves. And so, Sesshoumaru drowned himself in the curious, raw newness of the strange miko, surrendering to all the oddities that would likely follow during their strange courtship.

End

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