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aemondsbabe · 7 months ago

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Duty & Sacrifice | Claimant Pt 2

summary: your wedding to jace will happen whether you and aemond like it or not; even still, you know where you truly belong

pairing: dark!brother!aemond x sister!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, dark aemond, threats against jace, jace slander do not come at me you were warned, blood purest aemond like he's voldemort coded idk he loves that valyrian o neg, breeding kink, fingering, unprotected sex, piv sex, biting, brief hand on neck, possessive aemond, obsessive aemond, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 3.7k

a/n: big thank you to @rabbit-hearted for sending a request for more dark!aemond! i hope you enjoy!! dark aemond was a bit toned down in this one but he (and the reader) will be going unhinged psycho in part 3 uwu

gif creds to @aemondtargaryensource

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

🔪read part 1 here!

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“Oh, you look absolutely beautiful, Princess,” your lady’s maid coos over your shoulder while she finishes tying the laces at the back of your gown, eliciting a chorus of echoing hums and titters of agreement from the other women fluttering about your chambers.

“Thank you, Kella,” you murmur, meeting her gaze in the mirror, your lips stretched into a thin, tight smile. Even in your periphery, the sight of the ivory dress makes your stomach turn and twist into barbarous knots and you quickly glance away. You try to ignore the pang of guilt that eats at your heart as you keep your eyes trained on the shelves beside the mirror, silently reciting the name of each book stacked on them over and over again, anything to keep your mind occupied.

It only halfway works, just as it had every time before – every other time you stood in this exact same spot as the tailor measured and fitted your dress, as you discussed hairstyles with your maids, as you chose jewelry with your mother. Helaena had spent weeks, hours upon hours, sewing bead after bead into the alabaster fabric, creating intricate patterns of florals giving way to flames, and you could hardly bring yourself to look at it.

If I don’t look, it’s not real. If I don’t look, it’s not real, the words, foolish as they were, echoed in your mind for the millionth time as your maids added final touches to your outfit – sliding your feet into shoes and clasping on various ornate jewels.

“Should we finish the hair first or get the cloak on first?” You hear one of your lady’s maids ask another, somewhere off to the side.

“Mm, I think the cloak,” another one answers; you can hear the doors of your wardrobe being pulled open, “Her tiara may get snagged otherwise.”

Glimmers of red from the small garnet gemstones decorating your gown create bloody splotches in your periphery as morning sunlight filters through your windows; your mind begins to wander again despite your best efforts and crimson quickly gives way to hues of sapphire. Absent-mindedly, you dig your nails into your cuticles as you recall that night. The events play out behind your eyes like they have time and time again in the weeks between then and now – the pin-pricked chill you’d felt from his gaze, the way his whispered promises made your heart ache with a confusing whirlwind of longing and dread, the way his hands had felt against your skin. The sound of your blood pumping wildly in your veins drowns out any other noise as his voice echoes in your head.

“Prove your devotion to me, my Strong girl,” he had commanded, directing your attention to the hilt of his dagger. And you had, the memories of it make you shiver even now.

You had.

But it didn’t matter because here you are, clad in an ivory gown that may as well be a death shroud for all the joy it brings you.

“Princess?” A little gasp falls from your lips as you’re hoisted out of your reverie and your eyes finally focus on Kella standing before you, matching cloak in hand.

“My apologies,” you say, managing a little chuckle, “I’m not sure where my head was at.”

“No trouble, Princess,” Kella smiles, waving a hand dismissively, “I’m sure you’re eager to get the day started, marrying a prince and all.”

“Eager, yes,” you sigh, forced smile falling flat the second she looks away. The back of your throat tightens when you catch sight of yourself in the mirror and, for the umpteenth time today, you try desperately to ignore the urge to run – to sprint all the way to the Dragonpit, mount Silverwing, and go. Instead, you swallow down the sick feeling in your gut and compel yourself to be still as Kella drapes the cloak over your shoulders, the red silk underlining enveloping you in a sanguine veil.

Just as she’s about to fasten it to the little ties at the shoulders of your gown, the doors to your chambers bang open, causing both of you to jump as your heads whip toward the sound of the noise.

“Prince Aemond,” Kella says breathlessly, draping the cloak over an arm and curtsying politely.

“Get out,” he murmurs lowly, violet eye not moving from yours as he stands at the doorway, arms tucked behind his back, “I wish to have a moment alone with my sister.” Your heart hammers so wildly that you’re amazed the sound of it doesn’t echo off the walls – that it doesn’t burst in your chest.

You don’t miss the uncertain glances your maids give one another, though they ultimately nod their heads. A small chorus of, “Yes, your highness,” rises around you as they scurry from the room; Kella quickly drapes your cloak over the back of your vanity chair before leaving as well, the doors to your chambers closing behind her.

Aemond quickly locks them, the barest hint of a smile pulling at the corners of his lips for a precious second as he does so, before turning to you. Your brows furrow as nervousness builds within you, nails digging into your cuticles as you desperately study the neutral expression on his face as he stalks toward you.

“Don’t you look breathtaking, sweet sister,” his eye sweeps over your form as he speaks and you feel as if every ounce of air is pressed from your lungs when he gently grasps at your chin, angling your face up toward his when he comes to a stop before you.

“How did you get in here?” You question, hating how feeble your voice sounds, how your heart slows the second he touches you. Your question is a valid one, though – your mother had taken great caution in the weeks following the night of your betrothal feast to keep you and your brother as separated as possible.

He chuckles as he tilts your face to the side, exposing your neck. “Someone may have delivered an anonymous tip to Cole informing him of a supposed smallfolk revolt brewing in Flea Bottom,” you don’t miss the twitch of a victorious smile on his lips, “Of course, the Gold Cloaks had to attend to it – we wouldn’t want anything ruining such a… joyous day. Once they were gone, it was easy enough to slip from the Sept and make my way back here.”

“You’ve been planning,” his eye stays fixed on the ruby necklace clasped around your neck as you speak, though he hums in acknowledgement at your words. After another few seconds of heavy silence, you cannot help but huff and jerk your chin from his careful grip, “Did you come here to merely ogle at me or do you need something?”

“Mm,” he hums, narrowing his eye for just the barest of seconds, “There is something I need indeed, Strong girl.”

“Don’t call me that!” You snap, the little huff of laughter he gives only makes you more agitated. He turns his back to you and stalks over to your vanity; it’s only then that you see he’s holding a small box behind his back, “What is that?”

“Only a little wedding present,” Aemond drawls, violet eye meeting yours in the mirror as he runs his fingers over the soft ivory silk of your cloak; his nose twitches in disgust, the most subtle of movements that you’re sure only you are able to spot.

“Can… can I see it?”

Another twitch of his lips, a little pulling at the corners, just enough for you to know he’s satisfied about something, makes your heart squeeze in your chest. Whatever game he’s playing at, whatever imaginary battle he’s thought up in his mind, he’s winning.

Am I even fighting back? Do I want to?

Silently, he makes his way back over to you, each heavy step a nail in your proverbial coffin. He’s standing before you again, long hair spilling over the shoulders of his tunic like a pearlescent waterfall, held back from his face by two thin braids that join in the back.

Finally, he opens the box, carefully sliding the lid off. Your lips part as you stare down at the contents, eyes as wide as the moon as it feels like all the air has been sucked from the room.

“I had it made by the finest craftsman in the city,” he murmurs, eye gleaming with pride at your stunned reaction, “Do you like it, little one?”

“I… Aemond, I…,” you stammer, at a loss for words as you look over the necklace resting on a bed of soft cloth. Made from a breathtaking assortment of pearls, the attention to detail is immaculate; each milky white stone is threaded onto a fine silver chain, all leading to a gleaming deep blue sapphire in the center, framed by the figure of a small silver dragon. “I-It’s gorgeous, brother, I… thank you.”

“You deserve only the best,” he purrs, watching closely as you reach up and carefully run your fingers over the glittering stones, “Shall I put it on you?”

“I already have a neck –” You start, only for a loud gasp to rip itself from your throat as Aemond tears the ruby necklace from you, the delicate gold chains easily snapping and sending dozens of tiny rosy stones clattering to the floor. All you can do is gape at him, one hand grazing against the place on your neck where the necklace once sat.

Meanwhile, your brother’s violet eye merely follows a few of the stones as they skid across the stone floors. “Pity,” he tuts, stalking around you like a lion would its prey before stopping behind you and meeting your gaze in the mirror.

“Do you have any idea who that necklace bel–”

“I don’t give a shit about who it belonged to,” he hisses, reaching over your shoulder and grabbing your jaw, forcing your head to turn back enough to meet his heated stare, “All that matters is that you belong to me, not some sniveling fucking bastard who shall only bring you ruin.”

He stares at you for a second more as if trying to drive the point somehow further into your heart before finally releasing your chin, smirking at the little shiver that runs down your spine when he skims his fingers over your neck.

Your eyes flutter shut as he delicately sweeps the hair away from the back of your neck before pressing a soft kiss there, only to trail more down the crook of your neck and shoulder; time seems to slow for a moment while you savor the feel of his lips against your skin and your chest tightens when he groans.

He huffs when he straightens back up, like being apart from you, even if only by a few scant inches, is painful – a feeling you know all too well. Opening your eyes, you watch as he carefully clasps the sapphire necklace around your neck. The larger middle stone sits perfectly at the base of your neck, the rich blue hue sparkles beautifully against your skin.

“Flawless,” he says lowly, gently kissing just below your ear before trailing his eye up to the floor-length mirror the two of you stand before, hands resting on your waist, “We look perfect together, don’t we, little one?”

Automatically, you nod your head, unable to separate your gaze from the mirror. He’s right, he always is. The two of you simply fit together – perfect compliments of the other.

He smiles lazily over your shoulder and pulls you closer against him, relishing in the small gasp that leaves your lips as his length presses against you, already half-hard and wanting. “Yes, you and I were meant to be together,” he breathes, slowly pulling up the skirts of your gown, “You may be marrying that traitorous little cunt, but you’ll belong to me soon enough, sweet sister.”

Your brows furrow at that and you start to question him, ask what exactly he means, but before you can utter a word, a feeble, stuttering moan is wrenched from your lips instead. Aemond holds you steady, keeping one hand firmly around your waist, as the other fits itself between your thighs; you’re helpless to do much else than watch yourself fall apart in the mirror as his lithe fingers slip through your already drenched center.

A pleased hum reverberates against the side of your jaw as he presses soft kisses against your neck, ravenous eye glued to your chest as it rises and falls with sharp pants, your breasts heaving beneath the bodice of your wedding dress.

“Promise me you won’t let him touch you,” your brother growls, swirling his fingers around your already aching pearl with practiced ease, “Swear to me that I am the only one who will ever claim you, sweet girl.”

“A-Aemond, I…,” you gasp, already having to fight through the fog in your mind to remain upright, much less speak, “Brother, please!”

“Swear it!” He snarls, biting harshly at your shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark.

“I promise, I promise!” You quickly concede, the truth willingly spilling from you. You did not want anyone else, you never had – your gaze had been firmly set on Aemond for as long as you could remember. Your heart had soared with hope when Aegon and Helaena’s betrothal was announced, only for those hopes to be squashed when you were all but promised to Jace not too long after Aemond’s eye had been taken – doomed to a marriage built on regrets.

Your older brother had felt the same from an earlier age still, always doting on you, even as a child. He loves Helaena, yes, but his heart had only been yours. His screams still echo in your mind – the only time he’d ever raised his voice at your mother, when he’d stormed into her chambers as soon as Aegon had taunted him with news of the raven from Driftmark.

But it was the same each time, excuses of repairing relations and making amends, commands for you and Aemond both to grow up – to make sacrifices for the realm.

Was I ever more than a lamb raised for slaughter? That question has kept you up for more hours than you care to admit. Now, watching in the mirror as a man who is not your betrothed brings you to heel on the morning of a day you have mourned for years, the dam inside you finally bursts – you are tired of bowing to duty.

“Aemond, please!” You gasp, nearly crying as the fog in your mind finally lifts, “Please, take me, please!”

He pauses at that, the fingers on your aching bud stopping as his eye flicks up to yours. His eye is studying, calculating while he looks over you — there is a terrible relief in being finally, truly seen. “Is that what you wish?” He hums, chuckling when you pant as his fingers circle your dripping entrance, “To be filled with me, little one?”

You’re nodding before he’s even finished the question, desperate whines spilling from you as he slips his hand from between your legs, only long enough to loosen the ties at the front of his trousers.

“I’ll breed this sweet cunt,” he grunts, the arm around your waist moving to hook securely around your chest while the other grabs at his length, positioning it at your entrance as you hold your skirts out of the way in a trembling grasp, “Give you a pure Valyrian babe, just as you deserve.”

All of the air is knocked from your lungs as he pushes into you, spearing you on his cock in one swift motion. Your fingers abandon your skirts to instead claw helplessly at the arm draped over your chest, knees nearly buckling as Aemond pauses long enough for you to adjust.

“Gods!” You whimper as he sets a punishing pace from the outset, though the harsh thrusts feel like paradise after being deprived of his mere presence for so long. Your head droops forward as he snakes a hand around your hip to begin rubbing at your pearl yet again, lucid enough to know that the two of you are operating on borrowed time.

“You have always been mine, all of you,” he gasps, watching as your bodies writhe together in the mirror. After a moment, he growls and grabs at your neck, forcing your head up until your eyes meet his. “That’s it, sweet girl,” he praises, leaning forward to kiss and nip at your neck and shoulder, “You’re mine, you’re mine…”

You nod as best you can as he chants the words again and again like a prayer, pushing his length in and out of you in time with each one, until your mind is nothing but a cacophony of mine, mine, mine.

“I-I’m, Gods, I’m – Aemond!” You all but sob, the knot in your stomach that had been pitifully winding itself for weeks finally about to unravel as your cunt tightens around him, his grunts and growls in response only pushing you further to the end.

“Do it,” he commands, redoubling his efforts on your bud, his other hand scrambling frantically to grasp at your stomach, “Let go and I’ll breed you, I’ll give you a babe, our babe, little one. Let go for me, let go.”

His muttered command sends shivers down your spine and you’re powerless to do much else other than obey and your eyes squeeze shut and your lips part as a harsh, shuddering cry is knocked out of you; fire seems to ignite every cell within you as you pulse around his length. Your knees buckle when your high washes over you, Aemond’s grip around your waist the only thing keeping you upright.

“Good girl, good girl,” he murmurs, the sound of his voice just barely cutting through the rush of blood in your ears. A handful of thrusts later and he stills against you, growling and squeezing you to within an inch of your life as he fills you, cock twitching.

You both still for a moment, harsh pants filling your chambers as you catch your breath. You whine when Aemond finally pulls his softening length from you, though he shushes you sweetly before leading you to your vanity chair and sitting you down.

“I don’t want to marry him,” you whisper suddenly, sniffling softly as tears sting the back of your eyes, “I don’t w-want to, Aemond, I –”

“Shh, shh,” he says softly, gently cupping your cheek and angling your face up toward his, “There’s nothing we can do to change today, as much as it pains me. Were it possible, I would gut him in the Sept and stake my claim to you then and there, Gods be damned, I –”

He pauses, cutting himself off with a harsh sigh, “I will have you, I swear it. I will not fail again.”

Were it any other time, the dark shadow that lingers behind his words would give you pause, would frighten you as they have before.

Now, though, they settle over you like a warm blanket – there is a safety in this fear. Aemond, for all his faults, is nothing if not determined.

Whatever surety had settled within you only an hour before is swiftly and sharply pushed from your mind as you exit the carriage and climb the many steps up to the doors of the Great Sept of Baelor, unsteady even with Aegon at your side.

By the grace of the Gods, Aemond had managed to slip from your chambers, and supposedly from the Red Keep, unseen by all except your lady’s maids, and they had all been sworn to secrecy long ago. Once he had gone, they filed back in and had blessedly made no mention of the intrusion as they bustled about you yet again – quickly braiding your hair through the prongs of your tiara and securing your cloak to your shoulders.

They knew better than to ask about the sapphire clasped around your neck, or about the mess of rubies on the floor.

Your eldest brother, however, had not been so forgiving; his dark eyes had narrowed the moment you were seated together in the carriage. “Today, sister? Really?” He had teased, a dangerous spark in his eyes.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you had grumbled, clenching your legs together as you sat.

“Hm,” he hummed, chuckling softly, “Maybe I’ll soon be mother’s favorite after all.”

“We stand here in the sight of Gods and men to witness the union of man and wife,” the septon’s booming voice fills the Sept as you stand together with Jacaerys, your hands in his, “One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.”

You try your hardest to keep your eyes trained to his, to keep your lips crooked into a smile, but all you can focus on is the two stares practically searing your flesh.

Alicent’s face swam in your vision, the way her cheeks had paled when she had caught sight of the jewelry clasped around your neck, at the guilty look in your eyes. You can feel hers boring into you now and you have no doubt her jaw is clenched, her fingers bloodied and raw.

The other stare makes your skin prickle, much as it did on the night of your betrothal feast. You keep inwardly scolding yourself, again and again, as your eyes lock with Aemond’s every few seconds as he stands at the base of the steps to your side.

“In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity,” the septon continues, gesturing to you and Jace, “Look upon one another and say the words.”

“Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger,” you recite together, all the while you desperately try to ignore the hollow, aching pit slowly opening itself in the very center of your chest.

“I am hers and she is mine,” Jace murmurs, dark gaze fixed solely on yours as he squeezes your hands, a terrible longing in his stare, “From this day, until the end of my days.”

“I am his and he is mine,” you say, each word feeling like a knife being twisted in your gut, “From this day until the end of my days.”

The septon gestures once more for the two of you to step closer together; it takes all of your restraint not to gasp when you feel a rivulet of Aemond’s spend leak down your thigh as you do.

“With this kiss, I pledge my love,” Jace says softly. His warm hands cup your cheeks before he leans in but when your lips touch, all you see is sapphire.

thank you for taking the time to read! hope you enjoyed! :)

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sarahs-library · 1 year ago

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Forgotten

In which an unfortunate turn of events leads to Azriel forgetting his very pregnant mate.

Words: 2541

A/N - Hi everyone, this is my first foray into publishing work online and like everyone else I am preparing for CC3 by re-reading all of SJM's work. I've been inspired by all the lovely Azriel/Reader pieces I've seen on tumblr as of late and have decided to contribute my own.

Part Two ☪ Part Three

Forgotten Universe: Pretty Eyes

Azriel

Heavy waves of unconsciousness threatened to drag Azriel further, deeper into the abyss. The roaring in his ears drowned out rational thought. Tongue dragging against the roof of his dry mouth he reached out for something to anchor him, carting his hands through silk sheets. His skin burned.

“Azriel?” Elain’s sweet voice floated through the darkness. Azriel fought against the fatigue to open his eyes. The brightness strained and he tried to focus. Light filtered through the window, highlighting beautiful features and the golden hues of her hair. She leaned forward, taking a pitcher of water from the bedside table to fill a glass, holding it up to his lips so he could drink. A small smile quirked the corner of his mouth in gratitude and he worked his dry lips around the rim. One hand came up to support the glass, holding it over Elain’s own, an excuse to feel her smooth sun-kissed skin.

He hadn’t seen her since the disaster of the almost kiss and his words, ‘this was a mistake’, had haunted him endlessly in his sleepless nights. The regret hadn’t stopped the images that plagued him. How she would look underneath him, or riding him, the faces she’d make as he brought her pleasure, the sweet songs she’d sing for him as she climaxed. Even Rhy’s warning hadn’t been able to tame the desire he felt for the middle Archeron sister; in his half delirious state he was content to take advantage of the closeness the opportunity offered. His eyes roamed her face, following the tantalizingly exposed skin of her neck down to where the bust of her pale pink gown hid her breasts from his view.

Satiated, he pulled his head away and managed to croak out a small word of thanks. Elain’s brows furrowed as she searched his face for something, finding it lacking.

“We’ve all been so worried about you.” Azriel frowned, finding it difficult to care about anything other than admiring her beauty in the light provided by the rising sun. He made a noncommittal sound in the back of his throat and traced the delicate bones of her wrist under his fingers where his large hand still dwarfed hers. She pulled back, placing the glass on the bedside table and he felt words of protest trying to break free. Come back he thought, his appetite to feel more of her supple skin under his own ignited.

Contentment rose in him as she leaned closer once more, this time placing the back of her hand against his forehead. Perspiration clung between their skin; Azriel resisted closing his eyes and basking in the warmth erupting in his chest. Memories of his mother flooded back, in a daze he felt himself being carried through the few times in his childhood when she’d been able to care for him as he had yearned for. This position brought Elain even closer to him, affording him a delightful view of what lay beneath the top of her dress with a downward cast of his eyes. He soaked in where the tan from her time in the gardens morphed into untouched alabaster and ruminated on how it would taste under his tongue.

“You’re still burning up, I’ll send for Madja.”

“No,” he reached to grasp her hand as she pulled back. “Stay.”

Elain worried her plump bottom lip between her teeth as she fixed her rich chestnut eyes on his face. Azriel couldn’t draw his gaze away from how the baby-soft skin looked trapped under her incisor, imagining how it would feel under his own. He watched as her eyes lost focus, she seemed to stare straight through him. He knew the look; could recognise the blankness imposed by communicating with daemati. Which meant that Rhys would be coming soon.

He sighed, perturbed by the impending interruption. He reached for his shadows, hoping that they would at least give him some advanced warning but found them missing. Frowning he tried to sit forward, tearing his eyes from Elain’s face he scanned the room. His room, at the House of Wind. All the times he'd dreamed of her in here with him, what they would do, he'd never quite imagined it like this.

“What happened?” He still clutched at Elain’s hand but lowered it to rest against his thighs. His chest was exposed, naked and flushed with fever. The muscles in his wings protested as he moved to unfurl them slightly and he drew in a sharp breath through his teeth. Such a small motion, but it brought the catalogue of pain to the forefront of his mind through the haze.

The dark silk sheets pooled at his waist and rubbed against the stark whiteness of clean cotton bandages. He could feel where the membranes connecting the sinewy muscle and delicate bones of his wings pulled tighter in places over almost healed wounds. The room smelt of antiseptic; underneath his own scent was stale as though he hadn’t stayed there in a long time.

“I don’t know all of the details, you’ll have to speak to Rhys and Feyre.” Elain seemed to falter under the intensity of his gaze. “You arrived a few nights ago, winnowed to the River House poisoned and half-dead. Madja’s been working on you for days.”

"You've been here all this time?"

He leaned closer to her, his chest warming at the thought that perhaps he hadn't destroyed this, not like everything else he seemed to touch. Elain was frozen under his graze, eyes wide and lips parted. He drew closer, inhaling the scent of jasmine and honey, unable to resist her magnetism.

"Oh." She started and moved back in her chair, putting distance between him and his advances. "No, I arrived about half an hour ago. Y/N needed to get some rest." Her face seemed to implore him to do something and his thoughts were drawn to the failed kiss at solstice. Perhaps this was a gift from the mother Azriel reasoned. An opportunity to do everything over.

His eyes fixed on hers and an unfamiliar sensation bloomed in his chest. Azriel frowned as he felt a tug, it seemed to come from inside his ribcage. He brought his free hand, the one that was still clutching at Elain's, to rub at the skin over his heart. Confused he trailed his eyes down Elain's face to look at the skin his scarred fingers danced over.

He started as he saw it, the thread of pure gold. He reached in a tugged, feeling the answering wave of love and relief. If Azriel felt like he was drowning earlier it was nothing compared to the joy and elation that threatened to swallow him whole. His eyes burned as tears brimmed.

"Elain," he breathed. "I can't believe..." He trailed off, fixing her with a gaze of awe. If he wasn't still suffering from the lingering sluggishness perhaps he would have taken more stock of her confused stare. His hand stilled against his chest and he continued to stare at her. Whatever permission he was looking for, he thought he found in her gaze.

He reached up to caress her neck, following the delicate arch upwards to tangle his long fingers into her curls. His other hand dropped hers to cradle her cheek.

"Azriel." Elain tried to move back further in her chair to escape his wandering hands but found no further retreat against the back of the hardwood. Azriel followed her, shifting forward on the bed so only a few inches separated their faces. His breath mingled with hers.

Taking a deep breath he closed the distance between their lips, fire pooling in his gut with anticipation of finally getting to taste her like he had dreamed of. Claiming her full bottom lip between his own he revelled in the sweetness of her mouth. He pressed harder, her soft lips yielding against his own as he moved to deepen the kiss by tracing his tongue over the swell of her bottom lip. Elain softened in his arms and her fisted hands moved up to rest against his bare chest, not pulling him close but not pushing him away either.

He pulled back slightly, her doe-eyes meeting his firey gaze as he smiled contently at her. His left hand was tangled in the roots of her hair exposing the delicate skin of her ear which he moved to trace with his nose. His breath grazed the supple skin of her neck and his lips danced over the skin of her neck.

"Azriel, wait." Elain seemed to be roused by his actions, opening her hands to press her palms against the plain of his chest. He paused his movement against her throat, inhaling more of her scent deeply as he began to pull back.

"Azriel?"

The voice was unfamiliar, husky and choked, holding back emotion. Hurt bloomed through Azriel's chest and it startled him away from Elain. Anger rose within him at this stranger's interruption, at the hurt they'd caused Elain. Elain who was his mate. His lips pulled away from his teeth in a snarl, driven by instinct. His eyes moved towards the doorway. He felt naked, at a disadvantage without the shadows that had followed him for most of his life, always whispering, always alerting him to the movement of others.

His eyes fixed on the feminine figure in the doorway, taking a cursory gaze over the long golden hair that pooled to her shoulders. She wore night court attire, loose-fitting dark trousers, and a thin-strapped top that hugged the top of her form and flowed out over the obvious swell of her abdomen. The trousers cut off at the calves and a swirl of shadows danced around her feet. Azriel started. They were his shadows.

Elain jumped to her feet, the wooden chair pulled up beside the bed hit the carpeted floor with a thud as she made to move away from Azriel. His hands moved to grab her, to pull her behind him as he struggled to his feet, to protect her from this thief that had infiltrated his home.

"Y/N...This isn't...We weren't, it was..."Elain trailed off, seeming to be at a loss for how to continue. Azriel, now upright but still unsteady, staggered forward a few steps to place himself in between the stranger and Elain.

"Who are you?" He demanded. Elain obviously knew this woman. His mind spun, thoughts still heavy from the lingering fever as he tried to piece the information together. He gestured at the floor, a signal for his shadows to return. Some of them peeled away from winding up the calves of this stranger and slithered towards him across the floor. He took comfort in the familiar cool trail left as they crawled up his legs and chest, curling around his ear to report to him.

Safe, they whispered. Safe as you instructed. Azriel frowned, clearly they were mistaken. He fixed his eyes on the female again, drawn to her face. Chartreuse eyes, lined with tears and framed with long lashes and dark charcoal, stared back at him. They weren't fae he realised, they possessed the otherworldly quality he'd only seen when looking at Amren. There was a deep sense of other about this female that heightened his feelings of unease, coupled with the rogue shadows that flaunted his command and stayed at her feet like loyal guard dogs Azriel automatically grazed his thigh looking for the reassurance of the heavy weight of truth-teller. He found none.

Elain was speaking again, trying to move forward past him, and this time he successfully caught her arm, gently angling her away from the infiltrator to shield her with his body once more. The female's gaze moved from his face to fix where his hand remained on Elain's bicep, rucking up the delicate pale pink fabric as he gripped it with his scarred fingers. Her eyes widened more, Azriel studied as her pouted bottom lip began to tremble and the tears began to spill down her face. She took a step back from where she stood in the open doorway, retreating into the hallway. Azriel was torn between the instinct to follow, to press the advantage he'd unwittingly gained and staying to protect Elain.

Elain who was violently shrugged herself out of his grip, whirling to face him her face filled with anger he'd never seen on her delicate features before.

"What in the cauldron are you doing?" Elain's teeth were bared, her chestnut eyes blazed as she gestured at him widely as she continued. "Have you lost your mind?"

Azriel, surprised at her sudden anger, felt a deep sense of unease that he'd misjudged the situation somehow. His mind whirled, this wasn't how this was supposed to go. He was so used to having the upper hand, having all the information, that without it he was lost for words. Elain continued to back away from him and his eyes darted from her to the doorway which now stood empty, no signs of the mysterious female remained. Azriel's eyes fixed again on Elain's face as they stared at each other. He tugged at the cord in his chest, hoping to receive a response, some kind of assurance that he hadn't imagined it.

A deep sense of betrayal coursed back through the bond, anger mingled with hurt, the sensation was so strong that it almost brought Azriel to his knees. As quickly as the sensation came it stopped, the thread no longer sung and Azriel tried to follow it to the source. A source, he realised flinching, that didn't end with Elain but seemed to trail off and lead elsewhere.

The clap as a pair of powerful wings moved through the air was the only warning as seconds later Rhys landed on the balcony. The doors flew open on a wave of darkness as he sauntered into the room, violet eyes scanning the scene. A dark brow crooked as he took in Elain's rage and his brother half-naked, still flush with fever his shadows swirling in agitation.

"What happened? Azriel, should you be out of bed? Where's Madja?" He addressed his brother first, but his eyes drifted to Elain as he cocked his head for the answer to the second question. Elain took a deep breath and seemed to steady herself, before closing her eyes - an obvious invitation, she wanted to show Rhys. Azriel decided that she could show him whatever she wanted. The more pressing issue, the unknown female, would have to take priority over whatever punishment the High Lord wanted to concoct over Azriel's blatant disregard for his orders.

"Rhys, the stranger - you have to find her. I don't know how she got in. I woke without my shadows and they were with her, she took them."

Rhy's eyes moved between him and Elain as he seemed to piece together the course of events. He took a step forward, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender as Azriel bristled.

"Az." His voice was low, comforting, like he was trying to soothe a cornered predator. "Everything is okay, why don't you take a seat. Feyre's on her way, I think we need to talk."

A/N I'm hoping to start working on Part 2 asap but not sure how long it will take, I have so many ideas for this and committing to them is so hard

#azriel x reader #azriel x female!reader #azriel x oc #acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel spymaster #elain archeron #elain x azriel

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luveline · 1 year ago

Note

Hello! Would it be alright to request something where prince!steve and his Princess attend their first formal event together?

tysm for requesting ♡ prince steve au

"Don't spill anything," Steve advises under his breath. "Your corset is alabaster."

"I know. I feel like breathing the wrong way is gonna crack it like papier mache."

He snorts, adjusting your hand on his arm to the correct position where you stand around a corner from the grand staircase. You wince as rich laughter bounces off the marble steps, the sound wrought with a feeling akin to hounds snapping at your heels.

"Your nails look nice," Steve says.

He's already complimented your face, your hair, and your dress. There's not much left to praise, but he finds something anyhow, and a flush of pleasure warms your skin. "Thank you," you say, looking down at your painted nails, a shimmering mother of pearl lacquer coating each one. The cost rivals a month's groceries. "They had so many colours… we started with red, but I thought it looked silly on me. My hands are weird."

"Your hands are perfect." His eyes shine with sincerity, lips pulled into an amused smile that feels like a well-aimed bop to the chest. "I can get you more. Nail lacquer, I mean. There's a small Sri Lankan boutique by Cordelian House, they have all that intricate cosmetic stuff. It's where Munson gets his kohl sticks." He smiles at you reassuringly. "I'm trying to distract you. It's not working, is it?"

"I'm going to mess up. Your mom– the queen–"

"You can call her my mom. That's what she is." Steve nods his understanding of the things you've said without saying them. "She'll be disappointed if you mess up. But I won't be. I'm proud of you for even putting on the dress. I'd be proud of you if you didn't."

You lick your lips, cherry balm sticky on the tip of your tongue. "Thank you, Steve."

He says things like this with little regard for how forward it is. Not that subtlety is required. While antiquated in some aspects, the contemporary royal society is loudly lustful. You and Steve could be intimate together now weeks before the wedding and nobody would bat an eye, but you suspect that he's just as unprepared for that as you are, no matter how gently he covers your hand with his.

There's a short sound like a bird call. Steve straightens his back, his thumb drawing a half circle across your fingers. "Ready?" he asks.

You nod. You don't really have a choice.

They announce you together, Prince Steven and his Soul Marked Y/N. It sounds ridiculous to hear his name after weeks of Please, call me Steve, or anything else but Steven. Doubly so to hear you announced as his and not yourself. A simple 'Miss' would have sufficed. Braced for a night of similar small agonies, you hold tight to Steve's arm and begin your descent down the grand staircase and into the foyer. The palace is a structure of white stone that shines silver in some lights, impossible walls of selenite and gauzy silks. The steps are more solid, a plain marble that clicks under the soles of your short heels.

"Don't let me fall," you say under your breath, the hush of the crowd nearly occluding your voice completely.

"Never." You can hear his polite smile. "Don't panic."

You can't not panic, sweat at your naked collar, pearls like beads of ice bobbing with each step you take. The second you reach the floor you deflate with an exhale, your back clicking at the sudden decompression. There's a brief round of applause at your arrival before the cheery music begins anew, the dancing begins again, and the many faces that surround you blur into jewels and elegant clothes, fabrics coloured manilla white, snailshell purple, emerald green, a rainbow of satins swirling this way and that as girls are pushed into spins to the right of the foyer under the ballroom chandelier.

"You'll dance with me, yeah?" Steve asks tentatively.

You meet his eyes, all their soft brown gazing at you like you're worth his worry. His lashes twitch as his gaze darts swiftly down and up again.

"Do I have something?" you ask, lifting your chin.

"Lipstick. I can fix it?" He brings his hand to your lips before you've answered, using the trimmed nail of his pinky finger to wipe at your lip. You turn still as a porcelain statue, a shiver rushing down your chest at the warmth of his touch.

"You'll dance with me?" he asks again, his knuckle brushing your chin as he drops his hand.

"Of course I'll dance with you, Steve. We're expected to."

He throws a glance at the people around you and steps closer. "I want to dance with you because you want to dance. We don't have to do anything. Not this ball, not the dance. Not the wedding." He sighs. "You have choices."

"No. I don't." Because there glows your wrist. Threads of translucency like spider web and downy feather combined, a sorry hue of blue.

"Yes, you do," he whispers. "You want to leave? We'll leave right now. I just want you to be happy, and with me."

You think about it. The weight of hundreds of eyes on your shoulders and the restriction of your corset is making you nauseous. If you left, that sickness would go. But Steve wouldn't get to dance with you.

"I don't want to leave," you say, not sure if you're lying or not. You'd quite like to have his hands on your hips again. And sometimes before the dip he breathes in your ear, says something soft, like Keep going, you got it.

"No?" he asks, relieved.

"No. Let's dance. We need the practice…" You offer your hand. He takes it, the smudge of lipstick on his pinky finger like a heart. "I'm sorry. I want to dance."

"What are you sorry for?" he asks, leaning down to kiss the highest point of your cheek. "Let's dance. If you mess up, I'll mess up worse. I promise. I'll chicken dance in front of everybody."

#prince!steve au #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington drabble #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things 4

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msgexymunson · 1 year ago

Text

The Rhythm Of The Night

Fem!reader v older!drugdealer!eddie

Overview: The weekend has landed and you're out clubbing, as you often do, and your hot drug dealer is tagging along. Safe to say, things get a little heated!

AN: 90s AU, Eddie is 31, reader non specific around early 20s. I've been out for a while, struggling with mental health, so I hope this finds you all in a better state than I've been. Remember, comments and reblogs are my life blood. P.S. Before you ask, yes it is very much possible (if you know, you know)

Warnings: reader uses she/her pronouns, a lot of smut, some of it fluffy, slight age gap, NSFW (minors DNI or I'll tell your mother) female fingering, boob play, P in V unprotected sex (be safe guys and girls), drug taking, descriptions of drug taking and highs, sex whilst high (!!)

10k words

Masterlist

OK, it’s all good. You’re gonna be fine. You say softly to yourself as you hug your coat tight around you, too long sleeves hiding your chilly fingers. Hopping from one foot to the next you try to mentally coax yourself to a comfortable state. It’s clearly not working.

You’re just going out. Clubbing, like you have dozens of times with your friends. And Eddie, your insanely hot drug dealer, is tagging along. No biggie.

But it is a biggie. Since you’d met the messy haired rocker you were smitten; utterly taken by his rough demeanour, roguish grin and deep brown eyes. Eyes you could lose yourself in. You nearly had.

Your schoolgirl crush had done nothing but expand on each meeting with him. Stolen glances and flushed cheeks peppered the memories of your rendezvous, along with perpetual flirtatious comments. You came to quickly learn that Eddie flirts just as easy as breathing. He’s a charmer; a salesman. Brushing it off as just Eddie’s personality was a different matter. Your brain told you it was just his nature; but your heart lingered on every word.

Rubbing your hands together in their impromptu hiding place, you blow on them to attempt to warm them up, your mind wandering to earlier today.

It was supposed to be just a regular pick up. You had needed to collect some ‘social medication’ from Eddie for the rave tonight, so you had bounced over there, happy to have an excuse to see him.

The door had flown open sooner than you had expected, which forced an already chapped bottom lip to be sucked in between your teeth as you bit softly on the broken skin.

"Hey bunny, you're early." Eddie's smile smeared across his face, buttery and filling; his teeth flashing with earnest and a dash of debauchery. His chin was marked with his rough stubble; a dark rugged nearly beard that was permanently etched across his features.

"Hey Eds!" You fired back with an innocent grin of your own.

You remember it clearly, him leaning on the doorframe shirtless, showing off countless cheap tattoos littered across his alabaster skin. You knew about the tattoos, but you had no idea about his pierced nipples. They gleamed in the light; the silver bars caught your eye and refused to let go. His teasingly muscular frame was fully displayed, making you dart your pink tongue out to lick your lips impulsively. He looked naturally muscular, erring on the side of skinny. More inclined to slenderness in your mind; you thought he was probably not fussed enough about his image to work out.

Your eyes widened as you realised you were staring, and you forced your gaze away and back to his. A knowing smirk pulled at Eddie's cheeks, altogether a bit too sure of himself, as per usual.

"Sorry, didn't have time to change, you know?" Eddie lied through his teeth. Of course he had time to change. You knew it as well as he did. A part of you had wished that he had stayed shirtless because he felt the same way you did, but you were almost certain the reason was just to see your reaction.

"Yeah, sure, sorry to bounce in on you like this." You had shrugged in an attempt to act blasé about his partial nudity, despite how your cheeks had rapidly grown in heat. Just thinking about it now had your face flushing in solidarity.

"Well, you are one for bouncing. Should've known, Bunny." He laughed, drinking in your figure with his eyes, before he gestured for you to make yourself comfortable. Eddie had made his way over to his desk to find what you wanted; scrambling through the drawers haphazardly.

"Aha! There you are, you lil sucker" Eddie exclaimed whilst he tugged a familiar tiny plastic bag from the bottom drawer. It had hearts inlaid on the clip close rim; the contents were a crystalline, slightly yellowish substance. MDMA. That same baggy currently resides inside a fabric pocket in your bra. You try to forget its presence so you’re less nervous when it comes to getting into the club.

"Thanks, you're a lifesaver!" You had made grabby hands at him which earned a warm chuckle. He held it out of reach, just to see your endearing pout.

"Now, remember, plenty of water, sips not gulps. And don't chew your tongue." As he wagged a teacher's finger at you, he tossed the baggy.

Rolling your eyes at that, you catch the bag clumsily. He had held out his hand and you had stared at it doltishly in a feeble attempt to get free drugs.

"Come on trouble, don't play dumb with me."

Eddie had given you an admonishing look, but there was no bite to it. As you huffed dramatically, you reached in your pocket and handed him a couple of crumpled notes. As he reached to take them, he held your hand for a second. You feel a flash of heat through you at the mere memory of his touch.

"Now, I can't keep giving freebies to all the pretty girls, or I won't earn anything at all."

You flushed at that; the apples of your cheeks had diffused into a deep magenta. He thinks you're pretty. That phrase had turned around and around in your head all day.

"Besides, I'm broke right now."

Before you could have processed how to speak properly, you had blurted out "come raving with me!"

"Oh Bunny, that's not really my scene, you know that."

"I know but, I mean, if you're broke, you could earn a bit of cash."

"I suppose you're right."

"It'll be awesome, Eds, trust me." You grinned hugely as you gave him the details of where to meet, practically vibrating with excitement.

It was only after you had left, with lingering thoughts of Eddie’s bare torso in your mind, that reality decided to hit you like a ton of bricks.

I can barely speak to him without getting nervous or embarrassed and saying some stupid shit; how the hell am I going to survive tonight?

Shaking your head, wishing it was some sort of etch-a-sketch, you focus back on your calming mantra, trying to block out the creeping nerves winding around your spine like unwanted vines.

Huffing into the night air, you shimmy your coat sleeve up to check the time on your watch when a large pair of hands grab you by the waist and a gravelly voice whispers in your ear, “baby you come here often?”

Jumping bodily, you twist to face your attacker and realise it’s Eddie.

“Eddie I was about to punch you, fuck!”

Eddie laughs deep in his throat, hands travelling to hold you by the hips. Your heart jumps at the unfamiliar gesture.

“Sorry bunny, couldn’t resist. I’ll make it up to you, promise.” That grin, that damn wink. Any resolve you had melts in their wake as you stare up into those chocolate brown eyes.

“Shall we, er, go?” You manage to stumble out, voice suddenly as skittish as a mare.

“Lead the way, trouble.” Eddie smirks, giving your hips a final squeeze.

Trying your best to ignore the rush of blood to your cheeks you lead him around a few side streets and down an alley. You had arranged to meet your friends a couple of streets away from the club.

“Well, look at the bunny leading me down some alley; what are you planning on doing with me?”

You roll your eyes in his direction. “Yeah, you wish, Eds. We’re meeting my friends, just around this corner.”

“Shame.” A further blush threatens to inch across your face at that, whilst a thought of a smile tugs at your lips. You look over to Eddie to catch him staring straight at you and quickly look away. Maybe he does like me?

You’re unable to dwell on the look however, as the minute you turn a corner you hear a loud, obnoxious voice shout “BUNNY!”

Before you can react a tall, lanky dark haired boy wraps himself in a koala hug around your middle.

“Tech! Good evening!” You smile. He peels himself off you in order to give Eddie an appraising look.

“Well, well, the infamous Eddie. Pleasure to meet you.” As he sticks his hand out. Eddie takes it, and finds himself pulled into a hug he was not expecting judging from the look on his face. Coughing, he pats Tech on the back. “Er, pleasure dude.”

“Been pre gaming, Tech?” You giggle.

“Only always!” He responds with a toothy grin.

Pointing at your other friends, you introduce the short blond with the shy smile “Eddie, this is Panda.” She waves with her fingers and blushes. Pointing to the built guy with the dreadlocks you smile “And Mustard.”

Mustard pouts, “I told you guys to stop calling me that!” His indignation is merely met with giggles from you and your friends.

As you take Eddie’s arm and start leading him round the corner to the club you feel him bend slightly to speak in your ear.

“So, anyone have a real name or is this gonna be a theme?”

You giggle, “Well Tech’s name is Wojtech, it's Polish, so technically it’s his real name. Plus, he is our own very camp IT whiz. Panda, well we met her with that name, we kinda took her in, you know?”

“Ah, that's good. I hear Panda’s are going extinct. Very humanitarian of you.”

“Indeed.” You smirk up at him in time to see his warm smile pouring towards you, and feel a heat pool in your belly.

Approaching a lit doorway with a metal barrier outside, your group stops behind a small queue of fellow party goers. You and Eddie hang back whilst your friends fumble about in various pockets for their entry tickets. You already have yours and Eddies clutched in your hand slightly too hard, crumpling the card with nerves.

"And, erm… Mustard?"

You giggle, dropping your voice a little lower given the content of your conversation. Eddie bends lower so you can whisper to him. "Yes, but he hates it. We were at an after party, he'd taken a crap load of speed. We were all winding down and he kept asking us to play Cluedo. Well Tech shouted, 'who do you think you are, Colonel fucking Mustard?' And we just lost it." You smile broadly at the memory while Eddie snorts out a deep laugh.

Your friends get their tickets taken and after a brief pat down they're ushered through. Pretty soon you're next in line.

"Tickets please." Looking up, you meet the gaze of a tall burly doorman, all lack of neck and set jaw. His colleague looks equally unamused and threatening, eyeing Eddie up and down.

"Here's our tickets fellas." He takes them, inspects them briefly, then pockets them.

You hold your canvas bag out whilst he shines a torch in it.

"Do you want one of these?" You fish in your bag and hold out a few candy suckers. Eddie's staring at you in disbelief.

The shorter one looks shocked and shakes his head, but then leans over to grab one anyway. No Neck's face breaks into a huge childlike grin.

"Now, I haven't had one of these in years! Thank you, miss. Do you have a grape one?"

You giggle and fish out the flavour for him and he takes it with his large paw, fiddling with the wrapper.

"Go on through, have a great night."

"Thank you!" You beam at him and waltz through the door.

Eddie strides to catch up as you start walking up a wide staircase, already hearing the tell tale thumping of heavy bass.

Grabbing your arm, he leans in, hot breath in your ear making you shiver.

"They didn't even search us! You've got balls of steel, Bunny."

Blushing at the fact you impressed him, you lead him up the staircase and over to the coat check.

"What can I say, I aim to please."

"I bet you do." He whispers, and his lips brush the edge of your ear softly. A small gasp escapes your lips at the contact.

As he breaks away, you know there's a smug grin smeared all over that handsome face, so you decide to not give him the satisfaction of a look, and instead focus on the coat check girl.

"Just want to check this coat please, Eddie do you want to do yours too?"

"Sure" He says, shrugging off his leather jacket. He's wearing his signature black jeans, hugging his legs deliciously, and a white fitted t-shirt. Simple, but damn, he looked fine. You swear you could just make out the balls of his nipple piercings, now that you knew they were there.

Realising you were staring, you look up at his face. To your surprise he looks embarrassed.

"I, er, didn't know what people wear to raves," he chuckles.

"No, you look good. Real good." Coughing, you look away and take your own coat off whilst he checks his.

As you hand your jacket over, you hear him whistle out lowly behind you.

"Holy hell Bunny. This what you wear outside??" Turning to face him, you can feel his eyes roaming all over your scantily clad form as he strokes the back of his neck compulsively.

You must admit, you look good tonight. Maybe a little extra effort went in knowing Eddie would see you. Maybe just a little less clothing than usual. So what?

Well aware that you looked your best in pink and blue, you had chosen a tiny blue bra top with pink edging, and a pleated blue mini skirt that barely covered your ass with hot pants underneath since you'll definitely be dancing on a podium somewhere in the club tonight. A simple pink choker and a few kandi bracelets completed the look.

Eddie looks like he's about 30 seconds away from eating you alive.

"What, this old thing?" You tease, giving him a twirl and a tiny curtesy with the tiniest of skirts.

"Damn." Eddie's hand roams to his mouth, rubbing his stubbled face whilst he continues to gobble you up in his head, or at least that's what it looks like to you. You'd never known him to be speechless; he was usually the one with the witty comebacks. It was your turn to smile smugly for once.

"If you're done perving, shall we go in?"

"Oh I am so not done, but yeah let's go." He grins back.

You roll your eyes at him but you're still grinning, excitement bubbling in your belly. Turning to the next set of stairs you lead the way, knowing full well Eddie's getting a choice view of your ass.

What the hell are you doing? This has certainly swam out of the paddling pool of playful flirting and was quickly taking a deep dive somewhere. You know full well this is a Bad Idea™. The guy is a drug dealer, and you're flashing your goodies at him. You hardly knew the guy.

A drink. It was definitely time for a drink.

You enter the main area, a sort of meet up spot between the two dance floors. The music was quieter here, but the throb of bass could still be felt in your gut. Predictably, you spot your friends queuing at the bar.

"What do you want to drink, Bunny?"

"Oh, a vodka lemonade would be great, thanks."

Eddie moves past you, close to your side since the room was heaving with people. You feel the not so subtle drag of his hand as it presses to your lower back, and dips just enough to get a feel of your ass before winking at you as he goes by.

Well that was a bit fucking forward. Not that you didn't enjoy it, quite the opposite in fact. The fleeting touch had you biting your lip enough to taste blood. If there were still any doubts about what Eddie wanted they dissolved immediately.

You sauntered over to your group of friends as they exited the throng of people congregating around the bar and walked with them over to a high table. No seats were free as per usual but it was at least a ledge to place drinks, and something for you to lean on. All these salacious thoughts had your knees ready to buckle.

"Bunny! I got you a bottle of water for your party pack!" Tech practically sang out. You laugh and take it gratefully, depositing it in your little canvas bag. You know you'll need it later.

"Thanks Tech babe." And you kiss him on the cheek.

"Hey, calm it, I don't want guys thinking I'm straight!" He says animatedly.

Mustard responds, "Tech, there ain't no way you come across as straight."

"Hey, that's not true! You think I'm camp?"

"As Christmas." Eddie's voice cuts through as he places your drink in front of you and casually throws his arm over your shoulders. Tech's eyes go wide as he not so subtly gives you a look and a nod. Panda giggles. Mustard? Well, he just looks pissed off. You notice Eddie's looking straight at him, and he's the only one who looked at Eddie and not you. You could practically smell the testosterone from here. Oh dear.

"Bunny, you look so pretty tonight!" Panda squeaks across the table, breaking the tension.

"Aw thanks babe, so do you, I love your top!"

"Thank you!" Panda beams. "You look really good too Chris, by the way." Her face flushes, stealing a glance at Mustard.

"Er, whose Chris? I only see Colonel Mustard." Tech says chuckling. Mustard throws him a murderous look.

"Hang on, can I ask something?" Eddie asks, addressing the group. "Why do you call Bunny, well, Bunny?"

You wince, your cheeks flushed with heat despite the lack of clothes.

The gang look confused, glancing back and forth to each other. Panda quietly says, "I think you have to tell us, Eddie."

"Huh?" Eddie looks puzzled, taking his arm off you for a second so he can see your face as he takes a sip of his drink.

Typically, Tech is the one to butt right in and embarrass you.

"Well, you gave her the name! She told us you called her Bunny and she wouldn't shut up about you and-"

"OK Tech that's enough" you interjected, already cringing more than you are sure is healthy.

"Oh really?" Eddie's clearly loving this. He leans on the table to get a close view of your face which you promptly hide in your hands.

"Don't you have like, a job to do?" You say through your palms.

Knocking his drink back, Eddie claps his hands together.

"You're right. Whose first?" Tech sticks his hand in the air, and he and Mustard start to walk him over to the restroom to do a deal.

"Don't think this conversation is over Bunny!" Eddie shouts over his shoulder at you.

Panda's smile is wide. "He's cute."

"Oh he's hot, but I don't really know him that well, you know?"

"Yeah, but you'll never get to know him with that attitude!"

You smile at her, she's always such a ray of sunshine. "Come on, I'm not ready to drop just yet, let's have a dance."

You finish your drinks and make your way to the main room. The second the doors open the heat and the noise slam into your abdomen. You can practically feel the music vibrating through your lungs. The dance floor is smoky; lights are flashing and the room is heaving with dancing bodies. You shoulder barge through and find a spot for the pair of you right under the DJ booth.

This is the reason you rave. The feeling, the music, the dancing. Being able to just let go and have no responsibilities, not a care in the world except maybe when you were going to take drugs. And when that happens, it's the same feeling but multiplied by a thousand.

You and Panda dance away, feeling the rhythm and snatching shouted conversation in each other's ears here and there. Pretty soon you're both sweaty and laughing, and ready for a small break.

"Bunny, I need medication, come on!" She drags you to the restroom where you sneak into a cubicle together. Fishing the little baggy out of your bra, you hand it to Panda first.

"Hearts? Cute."

"Yeah? Eddie gave it to me. You think he meant something?"

Panda took a bit out of the bag and put it on the toilet seat cover, smashing it into a line with a card. She passes the baggy back and you take a sizable crystal out and swallow it with the aid of some water. It tastes disgusting, but there's no way you're going to stuff something up your nose. Molly was like that, you'd grown somewhat used to it.

"Bunny, seriously, that man clearly wants you. You don't need a bag of drugs to tell you that."

She's right of course. You're still apprehensive though.

"It's just- well, he's a drug dealer."

Panda snorts the line she made and wipes her nose. "Er, are you one to judge right now?"

You laugh loudly and pass her the water.

"You're right. I suppose a bit of fun won't do us any harm."

"That's the spirit. Let's go have a smoke."

You both go into the main hang out area and find a vacant sofa surprisingly. Your buzz starts to creep on slowly but surely. Panda's a bit ahead of you; the pros of snorting.

"I really like Chris, you know." Her eyes are glassy as she tells you.

"Oh I know. I don't think he does though. You should just take the leap."

"Well, evening ladies." You look up and see Tech and Mustard grinning, pupils blown.

"Nice of you to join us. Here, have a sucker, don't chew your face off." You pass the candies out to everyone, holding back a cherry one for yourself. "Where's Eddie?"

As soon as you say that he appears, the biggest smile on his face.

Panda bounces up. "Come on boys, I'm buzzing, let's dance." And she grabs your friends to lead them to the dance floor, throwing a wink back at you.

"See you later Rock Star!" Tech shouts over his shoulder.

You just about hear Mustard grumbling "why's he got a cool nickname? This some bullshit."

Eddie flops down next to you, man spreading. You turn to him, elbow on the back of the squishy sofa, faces inches from each other. You can see from here he's clearly dropped, taken a pill or something. His pupils have grown, you can barely see the colour of his eyes. Apart from that he still looks put together. Probably more used to this sort of thing than you are.

"So, Rock Star?" You smile at him.

"Yeah, we were talking, and some guy started talking about metal, and I said I play guitar, next thing I know I'm Rock Star. Glad it wasn't mayonnaise or something."

You giggle at him, unwrapping your sucker and putting it in your mouth. Eddie fixates on your mouth immediately. Sensing the opportunity, you lick your tongue around it slowly, then suck hard. Letting it go with a wet pop, you look at his eyes again.

Eddie's clearly flustered.

"Are you- you having a good night yeah?"

"Yeah we had a dance, I've just dropped, just waiting for it to kick in."

Eddie reaches over to your face, fingers moments away from brushing your jaw, staring at your saccharine smeared lips.

You hear an awkward cough to the side of you.

"Hey, Bunny, it's DJ Skitz's set, you said you'd dance on stage?" it's Tech, hovering nearby, looking like an unwilling third wheel.

Well shit.

"Eddie, I've got to go. Come and watch, yeah?"

"Couldn't drag me away sweetheart." You feel the heat pool between your legs, amplified by the drugs beginning to course through your system.

"Come on then." In a moment of bravery, you grab his hand and lace his fingers between yours. He looks at your conjoined hands for a moment and then back up at your eyes. The look on his face is not what you were expecting. You'd grown used to the sparky wit, the smugness, the charm. Right now, he looks like a lucky little boy, shocked at the affection. You flash him a small smile and drag him into the main room and across the heaving dance floor.

There's a small podium stage left. A girl you vaguely know is on the other side of the stage on a similar podium, a skinny redhead in yellow hot pants and pigtails. You take your position, dumping Eddie directly in front of you.

The lights dim and your friend DJ Skitz is bathed in a spotlight. He begins his set, spinning some fast techno and hard-core that you love. Breaking out some glowsticks you lose yourself in the music, dancing, gyrating, sometimes spinning and shaking your ass. You nearly forget Eddie is there. Nearly.

Looking down, you see him staring at you as if you hung the stars in the sky just for him. Tech's there too, wolf whistling and cheering you on. Panda and Mustard are nowhere to be seen. A part of you hopes they're off sucking face somewhere finally.

The high is finally sinking those familiar claws into you. She's a sneaky bitch. You begin to let go at last. All the day to day bullshit, all the drama, all the hassle. Gone. You dance, just dance. Oblivious to the crowd and any expectations. Throwing yourself into the music, you dance. The thrill of the high leads you. You're guided through by the mistress of the beat.

In almost no time at all DJ Skitz's set is over. Before you exit the stage you tell him how good the set was, how much you enjoyed it, and of course, hand him a sucker. He grins and takes it gratefully, complimenting your dance moves.

As you are looking to get off the stage, Eddie holds out his hand to help you down. You meet him, bodies pressed together in the mess of people.

"You wanna sit for a bit?" He asks.

"Sure" you say as you flash a lazy grin at him.

This time, he's the one to link hands with yours and drag you. There's not much space free given this is the lull between sets. He spots a single soft chair way off in the corner and drags you to it.

"Mind sitting on my lap?"

"Not at all."

He sits, holding his arms out to you. You sink onto his lap, ass on his thighs. He wraps his arms around you and you melt into him, all social insecurities forgotten. Sparking a cigarette, he holds the butt to you, so you take a drag. Continuing like this, you share the smoke until there's nothing left.

"So, I'm guessing you're done for the night, yeah?" You ask, staring up at him.

"Oh, it was a very lucrative night. Might have to go out with you more often." He smiles at you.

"Oh that can be arranged. So all out?"

"Hmm, not quite. Two pills left. I was waiting for you, if you want one? Free of charge for the prettiest girls." He says, guiding a wayward hair out of your face.

"Oh, how many have you given away to pretty girls, huh?" You joke, poking him in the abs.

"None. Just you."

The smile that creeps over you is entirely unbidden, forcing its way across your face.

"So, you wanna go to the restroom or-"

"Oh, I think we can be subtle eh?" He raises an eyebrow at you. Staring at him, trying to work out his next move, he fiddles with his mouth and then flashes his tongue for a fraction of a second. You see a streak of white in your vision as he guides your head towards him.

It's not a kiss, it's a transaction. You say it to yourself in your head without much enthusiasm. Leaning in, you press your mouth to his. His thick tongue pushes into your mouth, massaging your own, passing you the pill. Fingers twine their way into his wild mane as you grip on, afraid of losing a hold on reality. It would have been perfect, if it didn't taste like hairspray.

You break away, the bitter taste of the pill too much. Gulping down water, you look at him again, taking in his flushed cheeks and heaving chest.

"Very subtle." You quip, hitting him lightly, hand resting on his chest unwilling to move.

"Yeah? See, I can do subtle." He says, as one large hand drifts down to cup your ass.

'Hmm, yes, very subtle. Hardly noticed that at all sir."

Eddie laughs, tipping his head back, giving you a full view of the veins on his neck. The feeling floods through you, making you want to dive forward to bite it. Before you can register what's happening, you're planting soft kisses to his throat. Eddie's breath heaves even harder.

"Holy shit Bunny, you're gonna make me hard."

Moving reluctantly away, your eyes meet once again. The question burns in your head.

"Why did you call me Bunny?"

He laughs and looks awkward for a second.

"Wait a minute?" He asks. You nod as he fiddles with his mouth again, you assume to take his last pill. He gestures at you for water and you hand it to him. Taking it gratefully, He gulps some down. You're going to have to replenish in a minute before you forget.

"For courage." He laughs, taking your small hand in his own.

"The family friendly version? You're sweet," he says, pressing a soft kiss to the tips of your fingers, "and cute," another kiss to the tips of your fingers, but this one lingers slightly, sending a quiver through your nerves, "and full of fucking energy, its unreal!" You laugh as he lands another kiss on your knuckles.

"And the R rated version?" You ask, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Well," he says, visibly steeling his courage, "I've thought about you," he says, laying another kiss, this time to your wrist, "how good you would look," another kiss, in the crook of your elbow. He brings your face to his, his breath whispering in your ear. "How you would look bouncing on my dick, over and over and over." You gasp as his teeth graze your neck, the touch electrifying you. He bites down softly, sucking a bruise into your skin as you attempt not to moan aloud.

Pulling away, his eyes search your face for your reaction. To be honest, all you're thinking right now is how soft his lips are, how much you want them pressed against yours again. Or on your neck, your collarbone, your breasts…

"Well, you didn't run a mile. That's good." He laughs slightly awkwardly, fingers whispering against your arm, erupting goosebumps in their wake.

"Oh, I'm not running." You reply, pulling him in for a kiss. A real kiss. Locking lips, you take your time, tongue swiping into his mouth slowly. He responds in kind, licking into you, his hand dipping into the back of your skirt. You can feel his fingers squeezing into the flesh of your butt as the kiss deepens.

Every move is electric, making your hairs stand on end. You want to engulf him in the moment, to swallow him whole in it, to bask and revel in it, never ending. Eventually you both break away, if only to breathe.

"I don't know if its the drugs talking, but that was fucking amazing." You say breathlessly. Laughing, he takes hold of your hand on his chest.

"I hope not. We've not gotten to my fantasy yet."

Biting your lip, you feel his fingers drag down the cleft of your ass, drifting dangerously close to your hole. You whimper slightly; at the feeling, at the narcotics flowing through you, at Eddie. Especially Eddie. He was like a whole new drug you'd only just started experiencing.

"Fuck, you're perfect Bunny." He says, admiration gleaming in his eyes.

"Hey you guys!" You turn to see Panda, hand in hand with Mustard, a stupid grin plastered across both of their faces. Panda waves their woven together hands up triumphantly at you.

"About time!" You grin back, doing your own sheepish nod at Eddie, purely for Panda’s benefit.

"Wanna dance?"

You reluctantly slide off Eddie's lap and both of you make your way to the dance floor.

He barely lets you move, hands trailing across your figure, dragging his fingertips over your bare abdomen, grasping your ass or the back of your thighs. You reply in kind, soft digits trailing over his stomach, raking across his chest, sometimes stopping to rest on a pierced nipple, feeling the steel of it over his shirt.

"I don't think I've been this turned on in all my life," you admit in a frantic whisper to him. The pill he had given you had well and truly come into effect and you were basking in its golden glow.

"Shit Bunny, you can't just say that to me!" He gasps out, tongue darting out to lick at your neck while you dance.

"I have to touch you," he says breathlessly as he grasps your hand and leads you away from the writhing crowd.

Leading you down a corridor he pushes open a little known restroom door and ushers you into a tiny cubicle.

"Fuck, you are driving me crazy, shaking your ass in that little skirt" He says, fingertips grazing the inside of your thigh. The feeling is explosive, hammering through your nervous system like a freight train on steroids. You'd never had anyone touch you when you were high before, and the fact that it was Eddie had you moaning before he'd even touched your pussy.

"Hmm, be quiet little Bunny." He laughs as he presses his body against you, fingers tracing up and over your clothed heat. You whimper, pushing your body against him urgently.

"Please touch me Eddie," you struggle out, wiggling your hot pants and panties to the floor until they rest at your ankles.

"Say that again" He says as he grins wickedly, fingers stroking just to the left of where you wanted him, needed him.

"Please Eddie, please touch me. I-I need you to." You whisper, fingers wrapping the front of his shirt into a tight ball.

"I think I need that on tape" He huffs out, desire shining in his eyes. His calloused fingertips finally meet your wet heat, finding your clit with hardly any hesitation. Gasping, your eyes fly wide open, staring straight at his.

"Oh fuck Eddie, oh God, please, oh please make me cum" you babble at him, the feel of his rough, sure hands electrifying every limb.

"Sweetheart, you are something else," he manages to say, eyes shining. He sinks two fingers into you then as you open your mouth in a perfect o, feeling them glide into you, your velvety walls already convulsing. The heel of his hand presses deliciously onto your swollen clit as his fingers rub your g spot.

"Holy shit! Eddie, what the- how the fuck are you so good at this?" You whisper shout at him, small hands clinging onto his shoulders.

"I'm sure it's just the pills sweetheart," he laughs into your ear, taking your earlobe in between his teeth and sucking softly.

Your climax builds impossibly fast, buzzing through your nerves until every part of your skin is singing for him.

The rush is almost too much. Your head is spinning; vision pulsing with your heartbeat which feels like it's moved deep inside your cunt.

"Eddie, oh fuck," you nearly squeal at him, eyes wide and wild.

"Yeah? You gonna come for me, Little Bunny? Please, please come for me." His speed increases as you feel wetness squelch inside you. Reaching that precipice faster than you think you ever had, you freefall into it, gripping hard onto his shoulders. The buzz of your release sets your skin on fire, every rock of his fingers making you pulse and moan.

You come down, from this high at least. The other one, the drug fuelled one, is still firmly locked in. Eddie's eyes are fixated on yours; he's breathing as heavily as you are.

"You are unbelievably hot, you know," Eddie says, fingers still buried in your cunt. He finally releases you and pulls you in for a devastating kiss. Tongues sliding against each other, you press your body to him, wanting to be closer.

"Eddie, I really want you," you breathe out, fingertips pressing so hard into him they may well leave bruises. Sucking a love bite into his neck, he groans.

"Fuck. Yeah, I want you too, but maybe not in a restroom?"

You pull away and gain eye contact, both of you giggling and high.

"Suppose you're right," you laugh as you pull your undergarments back into position.

"You wanna dance some more?"

"Not right now, I feel fucked." He raises his eyebrow at you.

"Not like that! Just super super high." You're floating right now, soaring, thoughts scare and about as substantial as dandelion fluff.

"Oh shit you really are aren't you? Right, come on. I'll look after you."

He leads you out of the stall and washes his hands before guiding you to a free seat in the main room which was starting to clear out a bit. Flopping unceremoniously into it, you feel your head fall to your shoulder, letting the seat engulf you in softness.

"Wait right here, OK Bunny?"

"Yup. Not going anywhere. Got jelly bones" You giggle and smile broadly at him.

He shakes his head and leaves you for a moment, returning with a bottle of water. Handing it to you, you take it gratefully, feeling the cold water sips trickle down your throat.

Eddie squishes next to you on the armchair, feeling your forehead with the back of his hand.

"Well, you're not too warm, that's good. You got any suckers left? You want some gum or something?"

"Hmm, gum would be splendid!" You say to him in a silly voice. Chuckling at you, he rummages in a pocket, unwrapping a stick of gum and putting it in your mouth.

"Splendid?"

"Yup!" You grin, chewing lazily.

"Anything else I can do sweetheart?"

"Please touch me." You see him pull a shocked face, looking you up and down.

"Not like that! Just like, stroke me. My skin is all buzzy."

Throwing his arm over your shoulder, he softly runs his fingers over your upper arm, his other hand resting on your thigh following the same movements. It feels so nice, each stroke calming and intoxicating.

"Hmm this is so nice. Stroke the Bunny." You say as he laughs loudly at you.

"You're fucking hilarious when you're high."

"I'm hilarious all the time. I am a gift." You nod matter of factly at him.

"I'll say." He plants a lingering kiss to your temple as you snuggle into him, head coming to rest on his chest.

"Aw, look at the Bunny!" You look over and see Panda gleaming with sweat, still firmly grasping Mustard by the hand. Tech stands a little to the left, hands on his hips.

"Is she alright?" Tech asks Eddie, looking more sober than the rest of you.

"Yeah, she'll be OK, she's just really high."

"OK, Bunny?" You hum in response, smiling up dopily.

"Right, the ultimate test. Boop!" Tech says loudly, bopping you on the nose. You giggle, smiling up at him.

"Well, she didn't cry with laughter. She's good. You wanna go home Bunny? We're about to leave."

You frown. "Can you teleport me? I'm super cosy right now."

"I can do the next best thing. Abracadabra, let's get a cab-a!" Tech announces, wiggling his fingers.

You make your collective way out, grabbing your jackets. Eddie's arm stays glued around your waist making sure you're steady.

Outside, he looks a little sad.

"I guess I'll see you soon?" You gaze up at him in confusion.

"Eddie, you're coming with us. After party."

"Oh I don't know-"

"Hey buster," you say, poking him in the chest making him laugh, "you said you'll look after me. Well we are going to Tech and Mustard's place. And you're looking after me. Got it?"

"Yes ma'am." He smiles at you.

After a very squished taxi ride which you're sure wasn't legal, but hey, a lot of this night wasn't, you arrive at their house and settle in. Dance music is softly playing, and Eddie's sitting on a chair. You're on the floor between his spread legs whilst he rubs your shoulders. Mustard and Panda are snuggling on the couch together, whilst Tech is laying on a bunch of cushions on the floor. A joint has been passed already between you all.

"You sure you don't wanna sit here?" Eddie asks.

"And miss this back rub? Not in a million." You reply, reaching up to squeeze his hand.

"Hey guys?" He asks the group. Various heads swivel to look at him.

"Wanna play Cluedo?" Laughter erupts from everyone except Mustard.

"Yeah yeah, laugh it up Rock Star." He says, but he's smiling as he says it. Standing up, he announces, "me and Panda, we're gonna, erm, have a nap." They take each other's hands and giggle as they leave the room.

"I'll just turn the music up a little, shall I?" Tech shouts at their retreating backs.

"Tech, you mind if we crash in your spare room for a bit?" You feel the pressure of Eddie's hands on your shoulders increase at your words.

He huffs. "Oh great, I'm surrounded by couples. I'll just stick some headphones in eh?" He winks at you as you stand up taking Eddie's hand and leading him.

You walk into the spare room, little more than a storage space. There's a few boxes stacked up and a bed, thankfully already made. As you shut the door, Eddie strokes your arm.

"You sure about this Bunny?" His eyes are big and soft, making you remember why you crushed so hard on him in the first place.

"Look, I'm not like, super high any more, but I'm definitely feeling it. I like you. I don't wanna think too much about it, all I know is that I wanna feel your skin on mine," you explain to him. No games, just pure honesty.

"That does sound really good right now." He says, pulling off his shirt. You take a beat to drag your hands over his exposed chest, fingers tracing over tattoos. Running a finger across a pierced nipple, he quivers.

"OK, fuck, yeah I'm still feeling it," he laughs slightly, eyes shutting for a moment.

Taking the opportunity, you pull your top over your head. Eddie's eyes snap back open, staring at your lacy blue bra. There's no padding, you can feel your hardened nipples poking at the soft fabric, just barely visible through the flimsy material.

You smile and pull your skirt and hot pants down slowly, leaving you in your bra and matching panties.

"God damn."

Eddie's eyes are raking over your form, drinking it all in. He reaches out a hesitant hand, dragging a finger slowly over your collarbone, making your skin erupt in goosebumps. He moves his fingers slowly lower, tracing the hem of your bra, before stroking down to your nipple. The contact zings through you, making you gasp.

Eddie smirks, hand reaching up to your bra strap, gently sliding it down your shoulder. Even that has you groaning.

You reach forward and grab him by the belt, dragging him towards you, and tilt your head up to envelop his lips in a soft kiss. It's so delicate; a crush of lips, a flirt of tongues, edging, teasing. His hands trace your sides. Each miniscule movement whispers across your skin; a susurration of sensation.

Fiddling with his belt you dip your fingers into the waistband of his jeans.

"Can I take these off?"

"Fuck yes" Eddie says, large palms running up your sides, thumbs reaching out to graze your breasts. Fiddling with his belt you just about manage to unfasten it, unbutton his jeans and pull them down. He's wearing loose fitting boxers, but even so you can clearly see the sizable tent his hard member is making. You run your fingers over it gingerly, tracing the outline, and gently take it in a loose grip, rubbing up and down.

"Jesus Christ that feels so good," he says, voice nearly a whisper.

He reaches behind you and unclips your bra with one hand. It's so fast you look up at him in shock.

"Oh shit, er- can I take this off?"

You laugh out loud. "Well, you might as well now!"

"Sorry, too excited" He laughs back, and peels the garment off your form. His laughter dies in his throat at the sight of your bare chest.

You're all poised to make a joke but he doesn't give you a chance. Falling to his knees in front of you, he gently strokes at your breasts with his hands, and you feel his hot breath on your nipple. As he licks pointedly over it you can't help but tremble at the feeling, it's just so intense.

Suddenly he takes it into his mouth and sucks. The moan that forces its way out of your throat is husky and laced with need. He plants open mouthed kisses all over your naked chest and stomach, sometimes nipping with his teeth, sometimes sucking a minute bruise. You quiver, feeling like your legs are about to give way.

It's almost ridiculous how amazing it feels; a hot weight settles in the pit of your stomach, wanting to lash itself out into the world. Then he's sucking your nipple again, swirling his thick tongue around it. Everything's tingling; your whole body feels like a live wire. He takes the other nipple in his mouth and you whimper. A familiar feeling is building in you but you are almost scared to believe it.

Surely he can't make me come without even touching my pussy?

The thought is incredulous, but the feeling mounts as your legs wobble in time with the shaky breaths you're taking.

"Eddie, Holy shit," you gasp out, fingers winding into his hair and tugging. He moans and doubles down on his ministrations, tweaking your nipple hard and running his knuckles over the hardened nub.

"I think, fuck, I'm gonna-" the words are lost in a cry of his name as you reach a pinnacle you didn't even realise was possible.

Taking ragged, heaving breaths you look down at him. He looks almost as shocked as you feel.

"Did you just…?"

"Yep."

"Really?" The look on his face is half surprised and half smug at this point.

"Hey it's news to me too!"

He laughs and stands, picking you up in the process, and lays you down on the bed.

"Bunny, that was really hot." Standing at the edge of the nightstand, he's staring at your nearly nude form as if it were some work of art. You take the opportunity to take your jewellery off and leave it in a pile on the bed.

"I didn't know I could do that." You smile at him, shrugging.

"I didn't know anyone could do that!"

Pretty soon you're both laughing as he gets on the bed next to you.

"I hope I wasn't too loud."

Eddie snorts a laugh. "Bunny, be quiet for a sec and listen."

You snuggle into him and listen. Oh.

"Is she- squeaking?" You press your lips together, willing yourself not to laugh. Eddies shaking under you with barely contained amusement. Soon after there's a definite grunting noise.

"Oh God I hope Techs put headphones on or he's gonna be scarred for life!"

Peals of laughter erupt from the both of you.

Laying there, stroking each other's skin, you feel more comfortable with Eddie than you've ever felt with any other man. This just feels right. There was no other way to explain it. Giving him a feather light dusting of kisses to his jaw, you realise your hand is roaming further and further south, reaching the waistband of his boxer shorts. You run your fingers across the very edge of it, dipping into the hem oh so slightly. Abs tense under your touch.

"Quit teasing Bunny," Eddie says; he's almost bucking into your touch, willing your hand to go lower. You ping his underwear with your finger, watching it snap back onto his skin making him jump.

"Can I take-" the sentence is cut short however, as Eddie pulls his boxers down and flings them across the room. Giggling, you look down. And stop giggling.

"Jesus Eddie, it's huge!" You thought it was big given you felt it earlier, but seeing is most definitely believing. No wonder he's so confident all the time.

"Flatterer." He quips back, but you can tell how pleased he is with your words. Moving to straddle him, you rub your thinly clad core against it, earning a heavy moan from each of you. Eddie's hands grasp your hips and run inside your panties.

"Take these off before I rip them off." You gasp at his words and look into his eyes.

"Please?" He adds almost sheepishly. You smile and lean awkwardly to the side, pulling them off and away. You're straddling him then, entirely naked, soaking pussy dragging along his throbbing cock. Eddie's eyes nearly roll into the back of his head, firm hands holding onto the meat of your thighs, helping you glide back and forth.

"Im- I'm on the pill. I'm clean. I promise. Can I just- slip it in?" You ask sweetly, dragging your hands up and down his lean sides.

"Er, I think I've hit my head and I'm making this all up. Say that again for me, Bunny?"

You giggle, and lean over him, breath whispering into the shell of his ear.

"I wanna fuck you raw. Can I? Pretty please?"

He groans so low it's almost a growl, pulling your face toward him for an urgent kiss. His tongue massaging yours and the drag of his pulsing cock rubbing against your clit is setting off fireworks in your head.

You slide and slide against him, when his cock slips inside. You wish you could have the noise Eddie makes in your mouth on record; it's low and primal, a violent hum. You tease him a little, giving him tiny kitten licks in his mouth as you circle just the tip, and take in a little more, a little more. Suddenly pushing your hips down he practically whimpers, eyes scrunching shut as he's fully seated inside you.

"Holy shit, Bunny what the- how is this so good, fuck!"

You have to agree, the feeling of him deep inside you has you fluttering already, cunt throbbing around his manhood.

You move to lift off him slightly, and slam back down.

"Bunny, please, go slow," he says, his eyes pleading with you as his fingers grip you tightly.

"I was trying to fulfil a certain fantasy?" You smile at him, and begin to grind back and forth at a languid pace.

"And I appreciate that," he says as you giggle. His large hands run across your skin, running over your sides, your stomach, your breasts. Each touch has you moaning, back arched in pleasure.

"This is too good Bunny. I want it to last."

Continuing your slow, deep pace, you feel your swollen clit singing, dragging across his pubic hair on each pass. The feeling transcends any sex you'd had before. It wasn't in the same league. Hell, it wasn't even the same game. You lean towards him, hands tucking underneath his muscular shoulders, holding him close to you.

"Have you had sex when you were high before?" You whisper to him as you grind deliciously back and forth and nibble on his earlobe.

"Yeah, but not as good as this. This is fucking incredible," he responds, planting kisses over your jaw line.

Your orgasm is creeping closer and closer as you moan in his ear.

"I can feel you shaking baby. You gonna come?"

You can only nod against his neck as he holds you close.

"Look at me. Eyes on me Bunny."

You lift your head, foreheads nearly touching. Your whole body is quivering, mouth hanging open. The hotness in your stomach is turning to liquid fire, reaching out to lick over your limbs.

"That's it baby, let go."

As if your body was waiting for permission, you feel yourself become truly overwhelmed by your own pleasure, exploding through you with an intensity unmatched by anything you've ever felt before. And it just keeps coming. Rolling over you in delectable waves for what feels like forever.

Finally, the waves begin to ebb. Your legs are shaking uncontrollably as you try to regain some semblance of breath.

"Wow." Is all you can manage. He smiles up at you, reaching to rub his thumb up and down your jaw, settling the softest of kisses to your lips.

"Right, hold on Bunny."

You're clinging to him as he turns you over until you're underneath him, his narrow hips slotted between your legs, without ever leaving your cunt.

"Smooth," you say, smiling at him.

"Well, I try." He grins back, grasping one of your hands with his and holds it over your head, fingers entwined as he slowly pumps in and out of you. His other hand is hoisting your leg around him, keeping your knee high. You're in rhythm with each other, moving as one, meeting his hips again and again.

Each thrust of his hips has you keening into him, sending more waves of intense pleasure coursing through your nerves.

"Eddie, oh God!" You grasp at his shoulder, fingernails biting into his flesh.

"Come with me my Bunny, come with me, oh fuck!"

You come together, the feeling of him throbbing his release into you sending you over that edge once again.

He nearly collapses onto you, barely holding himself up on an elbow as he brings his lips to yours. You kiss, and kiss, and kiss again.

"That was incredible," he whispers on your skin, nose nudging yours.

"Splendid" you grin back at him, making him chuckle.

"Wait, let me clean you up. Where's the bathroom?"

"First door on the right. There's a wash rag on the bedside table."

"Your friends really look after you, don't they?" He smiled, grabbing the cloth and donning his boxers.

He returns moments later and wipes at you with such care, cleaning you up.

Whipping his underwear off again, he snuggles up behind you in bed. You were finally starting to feel a little tired, but you know it'll be a couple of hours before you can sleep with the ecstasy in your system.

Not that you minded. This was heaven right here, Eddie's warmth pressing against you, leaving paper trace kisses over your shoulder.

"Eddie," you say in a moment of bravery, "what are we?"

"I thought you didn't want to think about it." He says. You can hear the smile in his voice. His arm moves over your side, hand coming to rest on your own.

Honestly, you're not sure why you'd said it. Well, there was one reason. You're not sure you could deal with this being a one night stand. The sex was too incredible for that.

"I know I said that, it's just- I don't want this to be it."

"Hmm," he hums into your shoulder, "what are we?" He leaves a soft kiss, "we're friends." You scoff a laugh and go to turn to him, but he holds you fast.

"Let me finish. We're friends," he continues, kissing your shoulder again, "friends who fuck," another kiss, a lingering one that makes your toes curl, "daily." You giggle, lacing your fingers with his.

"Friends who go on dates occasionally," he says, beginning to kiss at your neck. His length is hardening, you can feel it rubbing against the flesh of your ass. "friends who don't sleep with anyone else." He finishes, teeth nipping at your neck.

The grin that flows across your features comes unbidden and nearly surprises you.

"Eddie?" He only hums in response, starting to suck a bruise into your neck, his dick falling into the cleft of your butt as he pushes against you.

"I think that sounds a lot like-" you begin but he shushes you softly.

"You said you don't wanna think. So don't." He unlocks hands with you, fingers tracing down your abdomen and gently sliding between your wet lips. Gasping as he lightly rubs against your clit, you buck against his throbbing length.

"You are so sexy, you know that?" He huffs, slipping his member between your legs.

"Me? You're hot Eddie." He snorts in disbelief.

"Why didn't you ask me out?" You ask, as you feel the tip begging for entry.

"Hey, I tried to charm the pants off you." He said, nipping your earlobe.

"Well, I suppose it worked, but I thought you were just like that with all the girls" you reply, allowing him to slip inside you.

Moaning in unison, you rock against him. His breath is a whisper in your ear.

"No. Just you."

You keen at his words and he doubles down on his efforts on your clit forcing you to grip onto the bed sheets for dear life as if you'd float away.

"Eddie, fuck that's- that's so good" you purr, backing into him.

"You gonna come for me Bunny? My little Bunny? Go on, come for me," his voice is bordering on begging, rubbing tight circles on your swollen clit. Crying out, you clench around his cock, releasing again.

Grabbing you by the hip, he thrusts harder into you, again and again, until he's moaning his orgasm out, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

Bringing his hand up to your face, you drag your lips over his knuckles, settling warm kisses over each one.

"You know, I don't really know you, not really," you smile.

"Well, get to know me. What do you want to know?"

"I don't even know how old you are. 28? 29?" You guess, kissing him again.

He slips out from you and coaxes you to turn so you can curl into his chest.

"31 actually."

"Well, see that's a deal breaker, sorry," you joke, fingers tracing his chest tattoos.

"Well, we had a good run," he responds in kind, kissing you on the forehead.

You're not entirely certain where this is going, what the future may hold, but right now you're just happy to be in Eddie's arms.

Masterlist

@eddiemunsons-missingnipple @corrodedhawkins @lunatictardis @roanniom @pxrxcxa @sillypurplemurple @sinczir @lightvixxen @eddiemunsonfuxks

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gladiatorcunt · 10 months ago

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RASPBERRY - CORIOLANUS SNOW

summary: the apparent end of an era

cw: implication of infant death, canon typical violence and canon major character death (if that’s how you read it), unnecessary oc children (mention of pregnancy), reader’s in lucy grays place (chosen to be in the games and etc. not as a substitute for coryo) but if she went back to capitol with him, old man snow loses his marbles, open to interpretation ending, canon typical district citizens slander (and katniss slander but it’s snow’s pov), og timeline reader in this story died in between thg and catching fire, treating this as dark content due to vagueness regarding how willing the reader is

wc: 1.3k

requests are open (read the rules first <3)

block & move on if uncomfortable

do not repost or translate!!

“Boys, workin' on empty

Is that the kinda way to face the burning heat?

I just think about my baby

I'm so full of love I could barely eat

There's nothing sweeter than my baby

I'd never want once from the cherry tree

'Cause my baby's sweet as can be

She give me toothaches just from kissin' me.”

- Work Song // Hozier

Caecilia Snow can hardly stomach what she is about to witness. Her oldest sister, Iovita, stands stoned faced behind her. One of her svelte hands clasped around her left shoulder. A mask, she’s sure. Vita always did have troubles with expressing her emotions. The middle sister, Agrippina, is a complicated mix of both. Her hand is warmer on Caecilia’s right shoulder, but the blisters make it uncomfortable. Cato, the steadfast and tough oldest son, does not look at all. One can only wonder how he felt about that tribute from two, poor souls. Little Ignacius (she will always see him as such even though he's grown a head taller than her) brow is furrowed so terribly, she fears it might get stuck.

And strange Silvanus, the second son, he isn’t even on the balcony with his beloved siblings. Perhaps he is lost in his thoughts again. He wonders now if when his father smells the wood of the gallows, he thinks of a forest out in twelve that he haunted decades ago. The handkercheif he uses to hastily wipe his tears before he can gather the courage to join his family possess drops of blood every time he pulls it away. From his nose or drug up from his lungs, who can say? The wall outside the library his father had made especially for their mother on their wedding anniversary takes several blows from his aching clenched fist. So much blood, like father like son. Silvanus feels comforted by the persistent thought.

Ignacius eyes his brother with open concern as he saunters into view beside him. He barely manages to hide his wobble and his rush to stuff a stained cloth into his pocket does nothing to ease Ignacius’s worries. Silvanus has been one of the more sensitive ones in their parade, though that has never meant that he has not fought for his family. It is because of that that when Silvanus relents to the beseeching stare of his younger brother, Ignacius nods with utmost determination. The second son softens minutely and eventually returns it.

“Snow lands on top.” Six voices whisper in chorus.

Somewhere in an alabaster mausoleum, resides an ornate urn containing what would have been a seventh voice.

At the end of it all, President Coriolanus Snow smiles and he laughs with his entire chest like you’ve told him your funniest joke. Blood pours from his mouth like hot wax. His forked tongue doggy paddles in the little sea of crimson. A weathered hand with hard to spot cracks in the skin and light purple spots clasps itself firmly around the rose pinned to his suit. The wind seems to circle around Coriolanus Snow and he heaves a hearty chuckle when it ruffles through his hair. You’re with him even now as the foundations of your dynasty crumble and scatter over a stormy cliffside. A most welcomed and yearned for torment. His dearest specter.

Finally.

It seems even a Mockingjay’s tiny brain can manage.

It brings to mind the memory of another unfortunate like her. An Angel of Death from 11, tall and hunkered over. A flag being ripped from its rightful place and being pulled over rotting corpses. They were laid so closely together, they might as well have been a pack of sardines. There was ample meaning in his rustic burial, and there were snakes that suffocated it in their multicolored den. A precious rainbow after a great flood.

He’s not the only boy she reminds him of, but he’s unable to recall the second one’s name. A ghost that hovers on the edge of his mind.

Nevermind how useless her brief moment of assumed triumph will be. The games may be locked in a box in the minds of Panem and shoved away so they can be blissfully ignorant, but there will always be those in favor of them. What they represent will remain just as their purpose will prove itself once again when the people are governed by the rabid cannibals that ate them. Dogs can’t be trusted to be left to their own devices and off their leashes. Such deranged creatures were far better suited for being submerged in the violence of their own making.

Panem today. Panem tomorrow. Panem forever.

The soft dulcet tones of silenced voices ring out, something he once knew about a man who murdered three. The white fog fades away and Coriolanus wakes with a muffled shout to find himself in a raggedy bunk in an all too familiar building. his hands tremble but they look no different. with a disbelieving laugh he realizes that nothing has changed yet, that he has been rewarded for decades of dedication and devotion to Panem. That his herculean task others once thought of as sisyphean had been irrevocably realized.

3 daughters, 3 sons. Countless grandchildren. A legacy that will no doubt be remembered no matter the connotations associated with it.

Coryo’s heart is thundering like it did back then on that fateful day, and it does not slow by the time he’s shoved his things into a sack and hidden in the back of a truck. He could sway from the dizziness of deja vu. The truck soon comes to a stop and he clamors out of it, jumping out and racing however many yards he has to until he can spot his heart doing a terrible job of hiding behind a pillar. Anyone with a working set of eyes could discern the scarlet edges of your skirt swishing from side to side. They would have an unchallenging time seeing you suppress the urge to pick at the skin around your nails.

For the first time in over a year, Coriolanus Snow is utterly consumed by the urge to burst into tears. His beautiful beautiful dryad. The blood red dress he had ran himself ragged to buy clung to you like a lover as you twirled around nervously looking for him. Never in his life had a decision been so easy, so with a grateful chuckle and an embarrassingly giddy grin he bounds over to you. The light splintered through the trees nearby, the way it raked through your eyes and made them sparkle brought him fantastic grief. To him, they have never once lost that illustrious shine.

“I thought you’d never show up, Coryo. I was startin’ to worry a bit.”

Your hand feels like a delicious brand when it slips into his, impossibly soft and his cock throbs in his pants at the countless memories it elicits. In an apparent recreation of Pygmalion gazing upon the stone turned flesh form of Galatea, his love spills from him like a reopened wound. his Aphrodite on earth, his goddess with a never-ending number of rose petals in her hair.

“Not even a bullet in my back could keep me from you, dove.”

A garter snake slithers by between the two of you and before you can notice, Coryo swiftly crushes its head under the heel of his boot. The forest is blessedly silent. His world is kept from cleaving in two by the invisible string you’ve looped around his neck.

The putrid smell of the woods around you forces you to attempt to hide yourself gagging behind your hand. His lips twitch but he suppresses the urge to smile in that smug but infuriatingly hot way he knows you secretly love.

You’d better make quick work of getting over the mountains, you’re pregnant after all.

a/n: I’m sick and on bed rest (the cold is kicking my immune system’s ass) so wip progress has stopped but I had this in the drafts. call me Suzanne Collins because I tried with the naming symbolism. Please reblog if you liked it and yell at me about him if you want <3

#dividers by pommecita cafekitsune and firefly-graphics #this is more experimental but #coriolanus snow x reader #dark fic #⚰️.deaddove #coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #tbosas #coriolanus snow x you #snow x reader #snow x you #x reader #x you #tw dark content

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arcielee · 2 years ago

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She Walks in Starlight

Summary: A goddess comes to ask for help to save her friends. Paring: Aemond!Hades x OFC!Persephone Word Count: 4358 Warnings: Mention of character(s) death. It’s HotD and Greek mythology, so there will be incest. Author's Note: So, the whole Aemond as Hades trope has been done before BUT NOT BY ME so lets go. My inspiration came from this Aemond drawing: artist. It’s so nifty. Also, huge shout out to @aspen-carter for her ceaseless patience and helping me edit this. I am so grateful to have her as a friend because her writing is just top tier and her insight is so wonderful. ♥ Also! Gō vys is Valyrian for Under world. Enjoy! Tags (Tumblr kindred spirits): @sirenofavalon @annikin-im-panicin @aaaaaamond (slash means I am unable to tag you) Series: Act I - Act II - Act III

ACT I

“Little goddess, you are far away from where you belong.”

This was the truth spoken, for she never before dared venture away from her mother’s watchful gaze, never pressing beyond the boundary she swore she implemented for safety. Today it was fate that propelled her soft steps to follow the trodden pathway that wove from her realm into his.

His tone was low and voiced with authority, but she did not feel threatened despite the grim scenery she now found herself in. The Underworld seemed just a shadowed, desolate reflection of the mortal realm above; it was not shroud in darkness, mostly void of pigmentation save the veily blue hue that enveloped all around. She watched the souls make their way towards the ferryman, unaware their fluid steps were not solid against the grey sand that spread the shore of the river Styx.

“Aïdōneús,” she used the ancient moniker, for who else would be present other than the lordship to the realm of death? She spoke his name as she heard from the hushed whispers of the mortals, who were afraid to misstate and bring unwanted attention from the king of the dead. For her, it was an ancient tongue known to the gods and it spilled like a sweet nectar from her wet lips. She pressed on the ball of her foot to turn and face him.

Throughout the ages, many adjectives have been used to describe him and beautiful was the first to her mind.

The contours of his face were sharp as the marble stones that the mortals would carve the gods’ likeness into and it gave a severity to his expression. She saw the left side of his face, marred from his heroism from the tales of the Titanomachy, with a gash that began above his brow and cut through, curling into his cheek. His bravery had been rewarded with his kingship of the Gō vys and a brilliant sapphire stone that was set into his scarred socket.

Cold and stern, was often used, a firm accountability held for the laws held. Monstrous. Menacing. She assumed these descriptors were spoken by cowards, for all she could see was an esthetical deity.

He towered over her, his arms were tucked behind his back and it emphasized his broad shoulders. Silver scars littered over, brilliant streaks in contrast to the plum chiton draped over his lithe figure with golden thread knotted around his slender waist. The dark tones he wore gave a luminous intensity to his alabaster skin, like a godly beacon in the realm of grey.

He kept his distance, but she saw his head tilt from the gleam of the red ruby set in his crown and the soft glimmer of his silver tresses that spilled forward with his subtle movement.

“I have come to ask you something,” she continued, her voice unsteady, but her eyes boldly returned his steady gaze.

There was a haunting beauty to the mismatched coloring of his stare, his lavender eye and the glint of his sapphire eye, that caused her heart to reverberate within her chest.

“You traveled all this way to ask me a question?” His baritone continued and there was a flicker of amusement, the slight curl to his lips with his mellifluous words. “Please ask so I may best assist the goddess of spring.”

She felt the flush of pleasure. He knows who you are, the thought flutters throughout her head and she cannot stop her smile. “I wanted to ask if it was at all possible for a soul to be returned to the mortal realm?”

A low hum rumbled in the back of his throat and he took a deliberate step to close the space between them; the flicker of amusement is gone, his expression now as cool as the marble it was carved from. “This cannot be done, little goddess,” his silver words carefully chosen for his silver tongue. “It is the fate of every mortal to die and once that threshold is crossed, they cannot return to that life.”

Her renewed grief comes with its sickening hold, clenching her heart and the threat of tears pricked her eyes. She swallowed thickly, only then breaking her bold stare and instead she looked over the spirits that continued forward, awaiting their turn to cross.

It should have been me.

“Who did you lose?”

His soft tone pulled her attention back and she can see his brow is furrowed. “My friends,” she refused to cry in front of the king, no matter the kindly concern etched onto his features in the moment. “They were taken suddenly and do not have the gold to pay the passage.”

He hummed a second time, still low but thoughtful. “They are not yet lost, little goddess,” and the familiar curl of his bow lips gives her the flutter of hope. “Come back tomorrow and we can see what may be done, but,” his gaze rolled over her, locking onto her face once again. “I would advise not to return empty handed when you come to beg a favor from the king of the Underworld.”

+ + + + + + +

He dared teased the goddess of spring and then he relished in her response to the reminder of such a timeless courtesy. The rose coloring flushed her ivory tones, her embarrassment clashed with the thrum of her vitality beneath and it brought out the sun speckles across her nose and cheeks.

How divine the thought of his lips to kiss each one.

She left chagrined and he was certain he would not see her again, save the movements when he would slip to the surface for a reprieve from the dead, a shadow in watch of the gods who resided in the mortal realm. He had not expected her to return the following day and with a basket she showed was filled with delicacies of cheeses, olives, figs, and more.

He saw her coming, her steps almost familiar with the pathway that led to his realm. “You returned, little goddess,” it was a statement more so than a question.

“I have, Aïdōneús.”

Aïdōneús. A name long forgotten, spurned from the fear it held amongst mortals, but she was dauntless with her pronunciation, just as she was bold with her stare. It was the sweetest sound, both familiar and unfamiliar, a sound that he would spend his immortality to follow its every behest.

Even though her tone was cool, he noted her white knuckled hold on the wicker basket. “I have returned and I have brought you an offering,” she continued, shifting her weight to rest it on her hip. “You also may call me by name or you may call me Kore, if you desire.”

Desire. There is an unbridled fervor in his gaze as it rolled over her curves, so sinfully wrapped in the peplos linen but his posture remained reserved, his arms crossed behind and one foot stanced.

“As you wish, Kore.”

He did not say another word and his hand reached for hers; he was pleased that she took it without hesitation and his skin prickled from the warmth of her palm. He whisked her forward and he felt her grip tighten, looking back to see her eyes wide from the abrupt movement. He pulled her closer to his chest, his other arm wrapping around her waist with a firm hold.

He brought her to a pomegranate tree that is curled on a ledge overlooking the knolls of silver grass, decorated with aimless spirits.

There was almost an ache when he released his hold and he kept his arms open, watching to make sure her steps are balanced on the solid earth. “I apologize,” his voice was almost sheepish with his realization. “I am so used to getting around and I forget…”

He is grateful that she does not press him to finish his thought. Instead, he fell back and watched as she spread the cloth, the white billow of fabric that settled on the ground, and placed the basket in the center. She offered to pour him a glass of wine and only then does he take a seat, breaking the bread, while he shared that their view is the asphodel meadows where good souls reside, a neutral ground for peaceful spirits.

He wanted to bring her here and show her. “This is where your friends will eventually be,” he finished, lifting his goblet to his lips.

Her eyes watched the bob of his neck as he drank the wine and she admitted, “This seems so dreadfully dull for the good souls.”

“They no longer have the tedious shackles forced on them from the mortal realm,” his lips curled upwards with his further explanation. “They feel nothing and this allows them contentment to wander these fields.”

Her nose scrunched. “I understand this,” she breaks a piece of the bread, allowing the wine to dye it red. “That, however, does not change my initial opinion.”

This is a moment that broke through the kingly demeanor that he carried with his every step, his every movement within the cosmos. She watched, wide eyed and rosy, as his laughter lines his cheeks with dimples, the king of the Gō vys has dimples! She savored the genuineness of this moment and she cannot help but giggle as well. “It is beautiful, though,” she continued with a shy smile. “I see why you chose this spot.”

His demeanor darkened and he smirked. “Kore, this pales in comparison to your springly creations. I only brought you to show you the bit of vegetation that can survive within my realm.”

She tilted her head upwards, looking at the deep burgundy of the ripe pomegranates that hung low on the branches. “Are they edible?”

He leaned onto his side, propped up onto one elbow and his fingers traced the decoration of the gilded goblet. “It is, but without the same savory flavors as,” and he gestured towards the basket that slowly empties with their picnic. “There is a cost of their consumption,” he cannot help the edge of bitterness to his voice.

Her eyes widen, not with fright but curiosity, to the animosity of his words. “What is the cost?”

“Anything eaten or drank chains you to the realm,” he answered, solemn, and was surprised by the glint in her eyes.

It draws his gaze to her and, again, he can see the thrum of her ichor beneath her ivory skin, her eyes focused on him and framed with dark lashes, her stare as dauntless as earlier.

“It is the cost to rule a kingdom,” she offered, blinking and it is seemingly gone, her expression now doleful as it looks over the silver hills that spread infinitely before them. “It is better than to be destined to be the forgotten goddess, tied to her mother’s shadow and just a decoration who nurtures flowers.”

He was watchful in this somber moment; there was a silence that was not uncomfortable, but he felt the returned fervor from before to ask more, to understand more. There was a tingle in his fingertips to reach for her hand, to knit his fingers so perfectly with her own, just so she may remember she was not alone.

Instead, he waited.

She pulled herself to stand and reached her hand towards him, the radiance of her smile returning, a divine glow amongst the eerie meadow. “Come and show me more of your kingdom.”

And he obliged her.

+ + + + + + +

Time, she learned, was different in the Underworld.

She allowed herself to tour the Gō vys, tucked so close to his side and allowing him to show his kingdom, from the Asphodel to the Erebus, to watch the passage of Acheron and learn the ferryman was men, twins who let a foolish misunderstanding result in the simultaneous slay and he offered them an alternative to serve him. She met Vhagar, the rumored three headed beast who in truth wished for belly rubs and she happily inclined.

There was a panicked realization when she resurfaced and saw the moon bore overhead. Her steps were quick homewards, muttering prayers to Gaia, to Rhaenys, to whomever was listening and she begged her mother would be unaware of the time lost.

“You smell of death.”

Rhaenyra was the golden goddess of harvest and fertility, her mother the very embodiment of the sacred laws of the cosmos. Her eyes narrowed on her arrival, but she managed only a hint of anger to touch her overwhelming interrogative tone. “Where have you been, Kore?”

She hummed a lie, something enough to dissuade further suspicion her mother may hold, just a silly little goddess who had gotten lost within the cosmos. She continued to add another promise she would never dare return.

This was another lie.

“Aïdōneús,” she greeted him the next day and was pleased with his expression, which was almost incredulous at her return.

“Kore,” he responded with the same warmth, the curl of his lip when he reached for her hand. She allowed him to take it without thought, a blush crept over as he brought her knuckles to his lips, the tickle of his breath to her skin. “Please, I meant to say this yesterday,” he did not release his hold, his dichromatic gaze watchful. “You may call me just Aemond, if you wish.”

“Aemond,” and she said his name with the same sweetness and reverence, enjoying her familiarity with the king and how the rose color dusts his cheeks when she repeats it. “I admit, I have come to ask another favor.”

“More souls you wish to return to the mortal realm?”

He regretted his words the moment they left his lips, when he saw the pain that danced across her eyes. His apology was caught in his throat, the explanation for his tasteless jest, but she already shook her head and that pain was gone.

“I wish to show you a place that is dear to me,” but her tone is careful. “Are you able to come with me to the mortal realm?”

I would go anywhere you asked of me, he does not say and instead he nodded, the shimmer of his silver hair. “I can leave, though not for long periods of time,” he shifted his gaze. “It is a tether to the Underworld. There is a pull, almost an ache, that grows the longer I am away.”

A smile returned to her lips, pink and inviting. “I will not keep you too long from the duties of your kingdom,” she promised and offered her hand to him.

Traveling within the Gō vys requires a celerity to his movements; there is a rush of wind with his quick motion from one place to the next, whereas she seems to frolick, pulling to keep him at her pace as they flit from the shadows and move towards a small isle. At first glance, it only holds the wreckage of the temple to appease the averter of evil, its ruin ironically from a temper tantrum of the gods.

“But why here?” Aemond was curious as he looked over the cracked stylobate and the broken pillars split, with stone embedded into the soft earth around them.

“There is beauty in the broken,” she smiled and pulled him to follow. “After Daemon and his temper tantrum, the mortals abandoned it, but I wished for it to blossom with new life.”

He watched her climb over a fallen pillar and she peered up to him, beckoning him to follow. He dropped softly at her side, while the soft echo of her words, there is beauty in the broken, remained in his ear. Aemond saw her focus was ahead and he followed her gaze.

His eye followed the curl of a turquoise moss that curled and decorated the stones, blooming with pastels. It continued to the reflection of the morning dew glittering off the almost iridescent petals, gleaming brilliant in the rising run; it showed the sea scheme of colors that stretched around them.

She was the goddess of spring, of vitality personified, and he is the darkness. But in this serene moment, there was an emotion, an almost tangible passion that entangled with the ichor of his veins when she reached for his hand again.

There was a spark as their palms fit together, as his slender fingers curled around her hand. “It is beautiful,” he said and his tongue wet his lips.

She peered at him, the flutter of her own heart when she saw how his features softened in the intimacy of the moment, a satisfaction to be privy to the reserved pleasure that played on his face. There was the intrusive thought that begged her to touch his jaw, to press up to her tiptoes and dare to taste his mouth, and she wished to bring back a piece to his kingdom, just so she could relive the hint of his smile on his lips.

“It is,” she agreed, tucking the thought away.

+ + + + + + +

That night, she tucked herself into the athenaeum to pour over the scrolls her mother stored away, with Rhaenyra both pleased and proud of her rekindled passion for her role within the cosmos.

Kore did not correct her. She needed her focus to return to what initially brought her to the Underworld, the fate she shelved and the growing burden with that neglect. She told herself that Aemond would be more amenable with an offering more tailored for the god of death, but in truth, she also wished to understand the growing thrum beneath her breastbone whenever she was within his proximity.

There was a simple spell that would serve both.

Though he would never admit to waiting for her, she was still pleased to see him on the edge of the plane, close enough for the sunlight to touch and give an ethereal glow to his chiseled features. There was a gentle breeze through his silver, silk tresses and she stopped her steps so she could admire him, the glimmer.

He tilted his head. “Kore, what is it?”

“Aemond,” she breathed. “You really are beautiful.”

His jaw steeled with the compliment and she was quick to grab his hand, leading him below like a silver beacon into the blue hue of the Gō vys. Once they were in the shadowed realm, she turned to press against his chest, her softness melting against him and with her whisper, “Aemond, take me back to the meadows.”

He, of course, obliged her.

There was a comfort with how his arms, so strong and lined with silver scars, wrapped around her waist with a hold she knew could be trusted. The jarring movement still caused her stomach to lurch, but it was quickly replaced with the exhilarating rush and her laughter spilled from her lips. Only when she felt the tickle of the silver grass beneath her soles did he finally release his hold of her and they were back beneath the pomegranate tree.

She curled with grace onto its roots and beckoned him to follow. He paused for a moment to appreciate how her robes nestled against her curves before he sits, close enough, with one leg up to rest his forearm on and the other arm pressing himself upright, his palm resting on the earth. His expression begs curiosity, but he is quiet.

Kore and her sweet smile elicited his hummed response and he watched as she began to rub her palms together. A soft glow emitted between and her focus returned to Aemond, a golden goddess with the light, before she pressed her hands to the ground. Her eyes closed for a moment, her thoughts poured into the practice incantation with the wordless flutter of her lips.

She opened her eyes and smiled again, his gaze shyly dropped to watch her hands lift and reveal the bolt of green that begins to stem upwards. He watched as its leaves unfurled and the red bulbs bunched together began to blossom.

His expression is one of awe, his jaw slack from seeing the life sprout from the grey earth and flourish with color before him. Aemond looked pained when she reached to pluck one, cupping it in her palms with a whisper, the same golden glow, before she presented him the enchanted flower, the petals unbruised and a vibrant red.

“This will match the ruby in your crown,” she explained, shifting her weight to look at him.

His expression was stoic, just a red reflection in his sapphire eye. “What are they called?” He asked when she opened his palm, his fingers spread as if his touch would shatter it.

“These are called snapdragons,” she shared, her pride aglow with her creation, her validation. “They are able to handle the cooler weather, but their lifespans are not very long, which is why,” and her fingertips tickled his palm as she picked it up, careful to pin it to his chiton, “I made this one for you. This one will never wilt.”

His gaze fell to it, his slender fingers pressed into the fabric around where she snugly fastened it, still cautious to touch. “Is this magic?”

He did not see the touch of pink to her cheeks, how she hemmed for her words to reply to him.

She sought out this spell in the archives of her mother’s anethum, that would allow a flower to eternally hold its blossomed vibrance with a condition in place, an emotion from the spellcaster, something that hinted its existence from the day they spent together at the temple.

An emotion she felt irresolute to share now.

She had thought it to be carnal at first. Desire, the unbridled passion that hummed within her when she first laid eyes on the god of death and his aery beauty. It was a fervor that burned within her as she drank his deliberate movements, the glimmer of his silver hair, the perpetual smirk that played on his pink, bow lips.

This will fade, she told herself. She returned, undeterred and with purpose to save her companions, the fate that brought her to the Gō vys to begin. With her offering rested on her hip, she allowed herself to be swept away in his arms, flitting further into his kingdom. It was his touch that sparked something more, the sweet candor of their conversation, how she swore his steady gaze able to see her bones beneath.

She felt confirmation at the temple ruins, from the moment she watched the colors of her masterpiece absorb into the exquisiteness he carried with him. She saw something, she felt something.

There is beauty in the broken.

He was a timeless deity that had seen the fall of Titans and she was only the little goddess of spring.

In part, she was proud of her power that grew, the vibrant glow of the snapdragon, but she also knew it stemmed from an emotion from her that he would never reciprocate.

So all she said was, “Yes. Magic.”

Her cheeks grew warmer still with his steady gaze, her silent prayers that he would not press for the truth of it because she knows she would never be able to lie to him. Aemond seemed to accept the words and then said, “I accept your offering, Kore. Tell me your favor and I swear I will do the best that I am able.”

So she spoke of the fate that brought her to the Underworld. “I wish to pay the passage for two souls.”

Her question did not anger him, but there is a sadness that crept to his features. “Kore, I would not be able to allow this,” he sighed, unable to look her in the eyes. “If I am to make an exception for you, I would have to offer the same courtesy to the rest and…” there is a pregnant pause, a moment that allowed her to choke on the emotion that threatened to break through and she saw the glimmer of silver when he tilted his head to watch her.

“Persephone,” he said with his low baritone. “Why do you ask for this? What brought you to my realm?”

She wore her shame like the chiton draped over her curves. Her tongue wet her lips as her mind tried for the words to express the suffocating guilt that built with her every visit. Begin at the beginning. On that day, there had been an enchanted flower that she and her companions, Baela and Rhaena, came upon.

“A flower,” Aemond hummed, his expression unreadable.

His comment left her feeling childish, ashamed to admit what followed. The flower seemed otherworldly, its petals glittered in the sunlight and beckoned to her, but she balked and stayed within the parameters Rhaenyra had placed. Baela and Rhaena teased at her sudden shyness, pushing beyond and dared to pluck it.

In return, the earth rumbled to split open and swallowed them both.

“I know that it was planted for me,” she finished, her fingers fidget with the rope tied around her waist. “What other purpose would an enchanted flower serve than to lure the goddess of spring?” Her cheeks were tearstained. “It should have been me.”

Aemond hummed again, the severity returned to his gaze and he looked away. She allowed herself a breath, the slow intake and exhale through parted lips, to relax her posture and rest her hands into her lap. He reached for her hand and she allowed him to take it.

It was with his touch that she could admit she loved him. There was a tenderness to his large hands, how his slender fingers were gentle to hold her own and the soothing gesture of his thumb making circular patterns on her palm.

“Kore,” he began and she looked up at him. “I will look further into this. I meant what I said that I am unable to return souls to the mortal realm, it is beyond my power, but I will find…” he hummed again. “Will you please come back tomorrow night?”

I will always find my way to you, but instead she only smiled, nodding her head.

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x oc #greek mythology hotd au #hotd au #aemond!hades #oc!persephone #slow burn #hotd fanfic #aemond fanfiction #aemond fanfic #thanks for reading #♥

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asnowfern · 4 months ago

Text

The ways you say my name, have me running on and on

A/N: A little angsty porn for day 7 of @cassianappreciationweek because we just know Cassian wanted to cuddle just as much as Nesta did, yeah?💗

CW: NSFW, WC: 692

Read on AO3

It’s just sex.

Cassian chants in his head as his calloused fingers press a bruising grip into her hips. He drags his cock along the silky entrance, before snapping it back forward, setting a punishing pace.

He moves his gaze up from where they are joined and admires the sweat glistening on the dark eight point star-marked back. It marrs the smooth alabaster skin yet he remains enamoured, with the sight of dripping sex, the moans he drags out of those wicked lips.

His fingertips are sure to leave a bruise.

It’s carnal and purely physical.

It’s just sex.

He pulls her across the soft sheets so that he is able to lick a clean strip down the centre of her folds, relishing in the shudders that the motion elicits. He sucks on the nub while plunging his fingers deep into her. Her thighs, so much stronger now, clenches around his head.

He doesn’t let up. Not now, not ever. Lapping on the folds, he feasts on the juices of her arousal, relishes in the quickening of her breaths, the stutters as she cries out his name. He quickens his pace, sensing her impending climax, and commands, “Be a good girl and come for me, Nes.”

It is a crushing hold around his head as she falls over the edge, calling his name. It is a sound pleasing as a chime and a taste so syrupy sweet.

Even if it’s just sex, he could do this forever.

Afterall, there could be no one else for him.

It’s just sex.

He is still buried to the hilt in her, her back held flushed against his chest, his arms circled around her, soft breast firmly in his palm. The evidence of their combined release flows down their thighs, mixed so completely it is impossible to tell whose is whose.

He should let go.

He can’t.

He holds her in his arms and feels her breathing begin to even out, exhausted beyond reprieve. Sniffing into her hair deeply, he lets his eyes fall shut and tightens his hold just the slightest.

Not much time has passed when he wakes. Nesta, by Mother’s mercy, still remains asleep. He drops his head to those beautiful shoulder freckles and lightly brushes his lips across them.

As gently as he can, he extricates himself, flaccid cock and all. He makes a quick trip to the bathroom and returns with a cloth and a small basin, half filled with water at the most soothing temperature.

He suppresses a wince as he wipes her down as carefully as he can. Smiling slightly when she stayed asleep the entire time. With a light touch, he sweeps a stray strand out of her face.

Unable to hold himself back, he drops a kiss on her forehead before exiting the room.

It’s still just sex.

It’s no longer just sex.

Not when their souls have become so intertwined, entangled with a thread of gold.

Forever forever forever. There is to be no one else for either of them.

Cassian wakes up with Nesta still nestled in his arms. The sun peeks from beneath the horizon, casting the most gentle glow into the room. Her face is completely relaxed as she nuzzles into his chest.

She is incandescently beautiful. A goddess, really.

His cock twitches. A primal instinct demands for him to continue the frenzy, to wake his mate up in the most enjoyable of manners. To plough deep. Again and again until there is nothing more left to give.

But he can’t.

Not when she isn’t yet ready for all of what it encompasses — to finally have to face the truth of their bond.

So he feigns an urgency to leave when she awakes, mumbling excuses on their annual snowball fight (while important, could never, never measure up to her) and inspections in Illyria.

Every fibre of his body screams at him not to leave. The drag of resistance of frigid wind against his wings is a desperate plea for him to return. Back to the warm bed, back to his mate.

He can’t.

It’s not just sex anymore.

It never was.

#cassianweek2024 #nessian #Cassian #nesta archeron #for all those who were just as frustrated that Cassian never stayed for cuddles #is this the smuttiest thing I’ve written? probably

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superprincesspea · 11 months ago

Text

Courted by the Dragon

Chapter 3 - Secret Admirer

Aemond Targaryen is both the cause and witness to the greatest humiliation of your life. You would rather die than see him again. Yet summer at court and the precipice of civil war have other ideas.

Masterlist

~~~

Several days after Aemond’s return to King's Landing, nothing had really changed in regard to your social demise, and it was time for yet another evening of feasting and dancing.

But before the night began, packages arrived at the door, and it seemed the young ladies in the Baratheon family had been gifted a new gown from a secret admirer.

There was even a package for you and, though your father hoped it was Lord Lannister who had sent them, you didn’t have the nerve to tell him the truth. Tyland Lannister had not spoken to you in four days. Nor had anyone else, even Ser Harrold.

With this in mind, you took the parcel with your name scrolled on top and opened it in the privacy of your room. Inside was a fine gown of sapphire blue silk. A much richer hue than anything else you possessed, and it was very beautiful. The fabric seemed to reflect the light, giving it an almost iridescent quality, like a sparkling gemstone. Aside from the dress, there was no note or explanation and you wondered if your father was right.

Perhaps Tyland Lannister had ordered the dresses before your fall from grace?

Afterall, this dress was much too intricate to have been ordered in haste, the craftsmanship and delicate stitches must have taken weeks and cost a tremendous amount of coin.

If it was a gift from Tyland, you knew it should be returned immediately. But you could not bring yourself to admit why that would be necessary, nor could you explain to your mother why you would rather wear one of your other dresses.

So, feeling like a fraud, you wore the sapphire blue while Cassandra and Maris wore pink and lilac respectively. Pretty dresses but not as exquisite as yours.

Entering the hall, the colour and beauty of the gown was enough to turn heads in your direction and, though you wanted to shrink into the wall, you remained defiant. Head up, back straight.

Even Tyland Lannister was looking at you, and you took that as an opportunity to cross the room, breaking free from the safety of your family.

“I’d like to thank you for the dresses, My Lord,” you said, curtsying with your head bowed demurely.

Yet when you met his eye, he seemed surprised.

“It is a beautiful gown indeed, but I did not send it,” he conceded, before hastily taking his leave from your side, as though talking to you was an act of treason.

You tracked his escape, but your gaze was distracted by the sight of Aemond. Standing across the room, a dark line of fine black leather and alabaster skin. He was looking directly at you, and a smile twitched at his lips for just a moment, before he turned his attention to the Lords and Ladies vying for his conversation.

Steeling yourself, you looked back to your family who now seemed impossibly far away. But you could not give in to the nervous energy which had begun to beat in your chest. You crossed the room again, this time on unsteady feet but steady enough to carry you to safety.

“Were the dresses from Lord Lannister?” Maris asked, excitedly.

“They were not,” you admitted feeling decidedly foolish for being bold enough to thank him.

Maris frowned, puzzled for a moment before a fresh wave of excitement overtook her face.

“Then who it be?” she said with a bright smile.

“Maybe it was Lord Karstark?” you suggested, both glancing at Cassandra who had been the main target of Karstark’s attention these past few days.

“He couldn’t afford it,” Maris decided before excitement claimed her face again, “perhaps it was the Queen?”

It seemed so unlikely. The Queen had not spoken to any of you since your first day in court, but you supposed it had to be someone and the options were few.

Regardless, you were not to find this information out tonight and, though you’d intended to spend the rest of the evening hiding behind your father's sturdy frame, circumstance had other ideas.

Today, it seemed, your family had the great honour of being seated at the Queen’s high table. Refusal would be unthinkable and, though you did consider it for a moment, you were not that brazen. All you could do was let your family lead the way so you could at least be seated last.

Your father sat by the Queen, your mother with Aegon while Cassandra and Maris flanked either side of Aemond. This situation suited you fine. You were more than happy to be curtailed to the end of the long table with only Helaena at your side.

The Princess, however, was not so pleased with the arrangement. Compared to your sister's company, you were only third best, and she insisted on swapping places with her brother. So, in the end, Aemond sat next to you.

“My Lady Baratheon,” he says with a smirk, his tone still as soft spoken and commanding as it had been on the beach. “It seems your endeavours to avoid me have been thwarted. As such, I believe you owe me the honour of your good name.”

“I’d wager your Grace is already privy to that information.”

With a small laugh, he slides his hands across the table to straighten the cutlery flanking his plate, “sometimes I find myself privy to all manner of things.”

You glare at him. His words might be vague enough for unsuspecting ears, but they are not vague to you. You know exactly what manner of things Aemond Targaryen has been privy to, and you don’t want to be reminded. Yet Aemond counters your look of contempt with one of amusement.

He thinks this is funny. You're his entertainment and, though that thought is enough to make you burn with frustration; you won’t lose your head in front of the entire court and Royal family. Instead, you clench your hands tightly together on your lap and ignore him as the servers walk the line, offering food to the Queen and her guests in order of importance.

The first platter which reaches your place at the end of the table, is the suckling pig. But before you have a chance to say anything, Aemond raises his hand dismissively.

“We will have the fish,” he decides, catching your attention. “Freshly caught in Shipbreakers Bay,” he makes sure to add, keeping his face even, though his eyes betray a wicked sense of humour as mortification begins to heat your skin.

“I requested it personally,” he continues, waiting for the fish to be brought forward then, picking up the long-handled silverware from the tray, he serves a delicate portion of lemon sole onto both of your plates.

“How attentive of your Grace to make my decisions for me,” you remark through gritted teeth, and he seems to enjoy the burrow he’s digging under your skin.

“Then perhaps my Lady would also like me to select the wine?” He suggests quite innocently, reaching to pick up one of several carafes which litter the table. “A gift from the Lord of Tarth. I am led to believe that if you stand on the beaches of Storm’s End on a clear day, you can see all the way to the Sapphire Isle.”

“Perhaps your Grace would find the Isle easier to spot if he was looking beyond the shore?”

A broad smile escapes across his cheeks. “Sometimes a shoreline can provide the most intriguing views, don’t you agree Lady Baratheon?”

You turn away from him, jaw set with indignation, but he only leans closer.

“I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a shoreline quite like the one below Storms End,” he whispers, eliciting another glare.

Part of you wants to tell him to get it over with, to stop teasing you and just tell everyone what he saw. But you don’t, and another server arrives with another tray of food.

Once more, Aemond takes it upon himself to serve you, using the long-handled silverware to portion samphire and buttered baby potatoes onto your plate.

Aemond’s chivalry would have been flattering to any other girl in the room. Afterall, he’s a Prince and an unmarried one at that. But every time he leans in to add to your plate, he catches your eye and all you can think about is how he has seen your naked flesh and has no intention of pretending otherwise.

“Do you not care for the fish?” he asks, noticing that you are only pushing your food around the plate instead of eating it.

“I seem to have lost all appetite this evening.”

“Perhaps some fresh air would help it return?” he quips, his eyebrow raised above his good eye.

“You mean to say a walk along the beach?” you reply tartly.

A smile quivers at his lips for longer than it should before he speaks. “I was going to suggest a turn of the gardens.”

“The gardens here are quite beautiful,” Maris, who has been quietly waiting for her chance, injects herself into the strange conversation, “do you walk them often, Prince Aemond?”

Aemond frowns for just a moment, but only you can see it, before his face soothes back to silk.

“I prefer to take the air with Vhagar,” he says, carefully slicing through his food.

“She is quite the dragon; we have seen her many times flying over Storms End in these past months.”

“Yes, the Stormlands can be quite pleasant on a hot day.”

“Perhaps when we have returned home, your Grace would like to stop by our hall on one of his adventures for tea and cakes?”

Maris’ smile is so sickly sweet when she says this that it could give you a toothache, but at least she's offering some reprieve from Aemond’s company.

“What say you, my Lady?” Aemond asks, returning his attention to you.

“I say Your Grace will do as he pleases regardless of my opinion on the matter.”

“ Sister !” Maris laughs nervously, her hand reaching to touch Aemond’s sleeve. “You must ignore her for she is no fun at all these past few days. Please, tell me of Dorne. Princess Helaena says it's where you’ve been hiding these past weeks, is it as wild and beautiful there as I am led to believe?”

“Wildly beautiful,” he replies, picking up his wine which causes Maris’ hand to slip from his arm, “which is why I like it

After that, Maris asks the prince about a thousand questions, and you drain two cups of wine until you’re finally allowed to leave.

You jump up at the first instance, moving in time with Aemond who had been standing to offer you his assistance. Instead, his outstretched hand hangs uselessly between you before he turns to offer it to Maris who’s still sitting down.

She fawns over the gesture with a doe eyed smile, and you can’t get away quick enough.

You excuse yourself from the table and disappear into the throng of courtiers. You want to find a familiar face and find it in Belis Trant, another young lady who has been enjoying afternoons in the garden with Maris and Cassandra.

“You got to sit next to Prince Aemond, how lucky,” she remarks with a smile of genuine glee.

“I suppose you could call it that.”

“You wouldn’t?” her eyes widen, before staring dreamily towards him, “he’s very handsome and so gallant.”

Gallant. The word hits you square in the back of the head, and it's certainly not how you would describe Aemond Targaryen. No, you glance back at him, wanting to see the arrogant smirk which sat on his face for most of dinner, but it's gone.

He’s nodding agreeably at something Maris has said and you realise, despite his many faults, he is not entirely unpleasant to look upon. In fact, he’s begrudgingly handsome.

Despite the patch across his eye, Aemond is without blemish and his jaw is as sharp as a sword's edge, his golden hair as smooth as spun silk. No doubt the envy of half the ladies in the room. But if that wasn’t enough for one man, Aemond’s body is long and lithe, yet strong and solid at the same time. Providing a dangerous mixture of power and speed.

A dragon through and through.

As you’re thinking this, he catches you staring, and your heart jumps into your throat before you force your attention back to Belis.

“You should speak to him and perhaps he will ask you to dance,” you say.

The pink of her rosy cheeks deepens, “oh I could never approach him as easily as that and besides…” her eyes trail once more over your shoulder. “He’s still speaking with Maris. So lucky!”

Daring another glance over your shoulder, you see your sister is still doing her best to flirt with Aemond and moreover, he still isn’t rejecting her exuberant conversation. Though his emotions hardly seem to register on his face, you think him quite content with her company and, somewhere deep inside, a fleeting twang of jealousy irks your low opinion of the Dragon Prince.

Yet you’re not jealous, you do not wish his attention for yourself, you simply wish Maris to be away from him. If only she knew what kind of a person he really was, then she would have no interest in such a man. But you can’t tell her that. You can only stand by as the music begins to play and space starts to clear in the middle of the room.

Looking again at your sister, you see that Aemond is gone, and he has not asked her to dance though that is no great tragedy. Maris is hardly short of suitors and, before long, her and every eligible lady is in the arms of some enamoured knight or lord. But not you. You can only idle on the periphery of fun with the old maids and undesirables- a crowd you’d hardly noticed in your first weeks in the Red Keep.

It seemed the treatment you received on the dancefloor was going to be no different to the treatment you received in the gardens. Even in your shimmering blue gown you were invisible to their attention though you were not immune to stares.

You could feel eyes everywhere, burning onto your skin with wonder and every hushed whisper or giggle seemed to make your ears prick.

After what felt like an eternity, your cousin Lord Boremund, who spent most of his time at the Red Keep, came to your rescue.

“Little cousin, you seem to have fallen out of favour this evening,” he teased, offering his hand to escort you to the centre of the floor. “A few days ago, there was not a man who didn’t want your pretty company and tonight you are the most beautiful wallflower in all of King's Landing.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

He snorts with disbelief, his thick brows raising with suspicion, “either you have displeased someone very much or... you’ve caught the eye of someone who does not wish to share you?”

"If that was the case, then I would not be dancing with you, my Lord.”

“Ah,” he nods his head in acceptance, but his eyes are stills shrewd, “very true, little cousin. Very true.”

The only consolation of this conversation is that Lord Boremund seems entirely oblivious to your little indiscretion on the beach and, if that was the case, maybe they all were?

Maybe Aemond hadn’t said anything at all?

When the music ends, you curtsy to your cousin, declining his offer of a second dance. One dance with a cousin was acceptable, two in a row was cause for gossip and you did not need to invite any of that.

Instead, you notice Ser Harrold, standing somewhat forlornly at the back of the room. Only a few days ago, you would have been in his company for most of the night. It didn’t make any sense for you both to be bored and lonely, while the rest of the room laughed and danced.

So, feeling a fresh sense of confidence, you head directly towards him, but he notices your approach and how could he miss it? With your shimmering blue gown, you’re like a crystal beacon. Except you’re not beckoning anyone, and Harrold seems to haste himself in another direction.

You could let him go, turn around and find the safety of your father but you don’t. You cut off his little escape, growing more and more weary of petty games.

“Can you not even stand and talk with me?” you ask directly.

His head lowers to avoid your gaze.

“Forgive me Lady Baratheon but, after careful consideration, I find your conversation to be a bore, your dancing merely adequate and your beauty,” he meets your eye, hesitating for a moment, “ forgettable . As a third daughter, you have very little to offer beyond your accomplishments of which there are few. So, yes , I cannot even stand and talk to you.”

Heat burns on your skin, the wine in your stomach turning sour.

You should say something, but you can’t. A lump has formed at the back of your throat, and its burning for a strangled release

You can’t even tell your family that you're leaving. You just go. Blindly hurrying towards the door but not before colliding into the arms of Aemond Targaryen who somehow sweeps you into the corridor before anyone has a chance to notice the commotion.

He cocks his head, waiting for you to give him some sort of explanation for your distress or perhaps an apology for having the audacity to crash into him. You do neither.

You shrug his hands from your arms and break away from his stare, offended by his proximity and how easily he must see the glossy layer of unshed tears which coat your eyes.

You leave him behind without a word and only when the door to your room is sealed shut, do you allow yourself to cry. Falling onto your bed, you sink into the comforting hug of the mattress.

What should it matter what Ser Harrold thought of you?

What should it matter if nobody danced with you?

You hadn’t even wanted to come here in the first place!

You should be happy Tyland Lannister and all the other sharks who lurked in the Red Keep were no longer interested in your company.

You should be thrilled to climb into bed with your stack of books and your own company, but you are not. You’re miserable and there was only one person you could think to blame. Aemond .

Everything had been perfect before his arrival. You had never felt more desired or more interesting than you did in those first two weeks.

Now you were a pariah with no means to defend yourself. Indeed, no accusations or implications or reasons at all. You were simply cast out and what could you say to that?

Nothing.

You could only sob uselessly into your pillow and you allowed yourself to cry until there were no tears left. But on one condition, these tears would be the only tears you’d allow the Red Keep to claim.

~~~

Thank you for reading!

#aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond fanfiction #aemond one eye #hotd aemond #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon #ewan mitchell #romance #female reader

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jomiddlemarch · 5 months ago

Text

For there is nothing lost, that may be found, if sought

“You’ll be late for practice, Blythe,” Charlie said, once again using Gil’s surname as if they hadn’t known each other since their mothers had had them in lace-trimmed dresses. Gilbert scowled, partly at Charlie’s attempt at bluff heartiness, but mostly at the lines in front of him, which wouldn’t scan. Or rhyme. Or behave in any way as a sonnet should, which Gilbert, who genuinely enjoyed reading Spenser and Donne as much as attending biology lecture, knew well enough.

As Anne would know even better.

Queen Anne, his own Faerie Queene, with her glorious bright hair and her shining eyes, her delicate eyebrows drawn across her fair skin like chalk—

Like chalk. It was drivel. Worse than drivel—senseless and thumping and everything Anne was not. He slashed through the words instead of crumpling up the paper and throwing it aside. He’d wasted too much already, his mother would frown most decidedly and then snort if he admitted what he’d been doing, reminding him the stable could use a good mucking out if he wanted much to do with manure.

Charlie was likely to snort as well, unless he was still doing the Redmond act he’d whipped up after the first fortnight away from Avonlea, right around the time he started growing a mustache and using slang with an affected nonchalance.

The mustache was more convincing.

“We have a little time left,” Gilbert said. Perhaps the answer was to drop the reference to her eyebrows. Nothing rhymed with eyebrows, unless he picked the singular and then used “highbrow,” but Anne would laugh and then offer to never speak of the sonnet to anyone, not even Diana, whom Gilbert was fairly certain would give him credit simply for attempting to write a poem for Anne, rather than the actual product.

Your eyes my North Star, he wrote, then lifted the pen. There was something there, but how her two eyes equaled one North Star was an offense to astronomy as well as being markedly short on iambs and dactyls.

At the very least, his growing frustration might be useful on the practice field, where the coach often complained Blythe was too careful of his fellows and wouldn’t be prepared when it came time to challenge an opposing team. Charlie leaned in, peered over and managed to read a little before Gil pulled the page back.

“You don’t forget mine own wingéd creature nearly brained you for pointing out she was a redhead,” Charlie remarked.

“She still is,” Gilbert said. “And she didn’t nearly brain me. I had a worse goose-egg from that time Moody chucked a ball at me after Sunday School—”

“She did break her slate,” Charlie said. “Anne of the wings and the whatchamacallit, gleaming albatross—”

“Alabaster, you dunderhead!”

“She had quite an arm on her, we all thought she’d take your head off,” Charlie said.

“I know. I was there. I still liked her then and I do now,” Gil replied, letting his exasperation with his lack of poetic ability find a release in sniping at Charlie Sloane. Anyone in Avonlea would have understood the satisfaction therein, except maybe for Josie Pye at her Pye-est, as Anne would say.

“Come on, leave it, go to practice with me and then to the pub,” Charlie said. “Your chicken-scratch epic on Anne Shirley’s orange symphony of tresses will be waiting and maybe you’ll have a better idea. In vino veritas, they say.”

“I’d have to be drunk to keep writing this,” Gilbert said.

“That’s the spirit, Blythe! Come to practice, get pleasantly addled with me, and then see what poetic flight of fancy a pint of ale makes possible.”

Years later, some golden afternoon at Ingleside when the children were all running about in Rainbow Valley and Anne was left to her own devices and a garden that required no deadheading, Gilbert returned home to find her at his desk in the library, squinting as she leafed through a collection of yellowing pages; she had finally embarked upon her long-awaited plan to organize their college memorabilia, which he knew was a polite way of saying clearing out some more space for the latest shipment of books Paul Irving was sending up from New York.

“Does this say ‘albatross,’ Gil?” she asked, her amusement only lightly mixed with the confusion engendered by his poor handwriting. She often said he could have no other career than medicine, given the hand he wrote and the physician’s reputation.

“Alabaster,” he said. “I was a poor enough poet, but I would never have compared you to an albatross.”

“It might have been an allusion to Coleridge,” she said.

“It wasn’t,” Gil replied.

“You poor dear darling man. Boy really, this was our first year at Redmond, yes?” she said, those grey eyes of hers bright, still his North Star though he’d never resolved the quantity issue to his satisfaction.

“Yes. But before you console me too generously, I’ll have you know someone else also thought it read albatross,” he said.

“Who?” she said, a puckish smile on her lips, one that would make Susan Baker shake her head at Mrs. Doctor’s incomprehensible ways and then serve even larger slices of her strawberry rhubarb pie to set the world straight.

“Charlie Sloane,” Gilbert said.

Anne burst out laughing and Gilbert joined her. When they’d both caught their breath, she spoke first.

“That’s me put in my place.”

“Not quite,” Gil replied. “You’re too far away—”

“Shall I fly to you then? For I am a wingéd creature,” she replied.

“You’re a belle dame sans mercy and well you know it, Anne-girl,” he said.

“I can be merciful,” she said. “I’ll show you. I’ll pack all these poetical endeavors away and I won’t show the children until we’re very old and very grey.”

@gilbertsmustache see what thou hast wrought! Or, be careful what you prompt for :)

#aogg #anne of green gables #gilbert blythe #charlie sloane #anne shirley #anne of the island #anne of ingleside #fratboy gil #humor #romance #gilbert's attempts at poetry #gilbert's canonical love of pie #fluff

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dracopetal · 11 months ago

Text

Sirius/Draco inspired by @basiatlu's iconic piece of them here

dirty filthy secret on ao3 (explicit)

The air in Sirius’ shitty bedroom at Twelve Grimmauld Place was stale with sweat and in some distant corner of Sirius’ mind, he knew this was wrong, somehow. But even if he wanted to stop, he wasn’t sure if he could.

Draco, the little Malfoy brat that had sneered at Harry and his friends for years, was writhing and moaning under him like some animal, like a little dog being punished. His normally perfectly slicked-back hair was plastered to his damp forehead with sweat and his hips bore the many bruises from Sirius’ fingers.

“Agh, fuck,” Draco hissed with a particularly vicious thrust, and it only spurred Sirius on, the little voice in that distant corner fading away with whispers of Narcissa’s son, cousin Draco.

Second cousin, Sirius thought before banishing the voice of reason. He didn’t need reason, not when he had this.

Not when Draco clenched around his cock, his reddened hole swallowing Sirius eagerly down with every thrust of Sirius’ hips. Not when Sirius grabbed a handful of his white-blond hair with fingers damp from his own insides, and yanked his head back until his tattooed chest collided with Draco’s back.

“Fuck,” Draco hissed again, and Sirius didn’t let up, not for a moment. Draco’s cock, pink and swollen and curved slightly to the left, bounced in front of him, and Sirius didn’t touch it. He didn’t forbid Draco from doing so, but he didn’t even try.

Maybe he was punishing himself. Sirius didn’t really give a shit.

He kept a tight grip of Draco’s hair, holding him in place, and thrust deeper and deeper, as if trying to carve out his insides. Draco moaned and whimpered, his hands fluttering and eventually settling on his own arse, pulling himself open, giving permission that Sirius had never bothered seeking.

Sirius took the invitation anyway, and let go of Draco’s hair. Draco, momentarily startled, flopped forwards onto the bed, not having time to brace himself.

Sirius didn’t care. Sirius didn’t care about anything - not the war, not Azkaban, not that he was fucking his cousin. Only that familiar sweet pull at the base of his cock mattered. He chased after it desperately, wanting to feel something at his core, even if it only lasted a few minutes.

Draco was rutting into the dirty bed sheets, little noises escaping his throat telling Sirius that he was just on the edge. Sirius held him down by his hips, fingers slotting over the bruises and pressing, wanting to sting, to feel him clench and hear him hiss.

“Fuck,” Draco hissed, like it was the only word he could say. Sirius’ thought there could be a joke there, something about his Mother hearing, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it. His orgasm was just within his grasp, if he reached out he could touch it with his fingertips, and he could focus on nothing else.

Pounding inside Draco’s hole, who panted with each thrust like a man drowning. Sirius dragged his nails over the alabaster skin stretched over his spine, for no reason other than he could, and Draco turned slightly, angling himself up so he could look Sirius in the eye, and it was enough.

Sirius’ orgasm hit him hard and fast, like pleasure always did, and he was only distantly aware of pumping his seed into his cousin, who clenched his hole around his softening cock. Sirius held tightly to his hips and panted.

Sirius stayed inside until Draco wriggled, and then he pulled out, deliciously slow, watching intently as his come dribbled out of the swollen ring of muscle.

Draco moaned unabashedly, nothing aristocratic left about him, and Sirius plunged two fingers back inside, purely to hear him gasp. Sirius pulled out the fingers and wiped his come on Draco’s thigh.

Sirius collapsed on the dirty sheets next to Draco and threw an arm over his scarred chest. Draco didn’t react, he was pink in the face and gazing dazedly up at the bed canopy. He would have to leave soon; the thrill of his orgasm was already fading, and soon enough Harry would be home. And Harry couldn’t know, not about this.

Sirius couldn’t quite bring himself to tell the brat to get out, so instead he stalled until he got his breath back, and twirled a strand of his white hair around his fingers. He could wait a little while, at least until Harry got back, and then he’d bundle him out of the floo. Sirius’ dirty, filthy little secret.

#hp #draco malfoy #sirius black #sirius x draco #drarius #draco x sirius #my writing #inspired by art

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darlenicy · 10 days ago

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trixweek || day 6 || AU || fanfiction

@trixweek @bellatrixobsessed1

FINALLY, finished this ff for the 6th day of the trixweek. I'm so sorry that it took me so long. I planned a small, little story and ended only after 9 word pages.

Driven/Vampire AU: The vampire hunter Riven is chosen to kill the highest lady of the vampires at her own ball. However, he did not count on her daughter, Darciella (Darcy), who turns his head completely unexpectedly. And then there is the full moon, which makes his blood boil...

note: English is not my first language and the story wasn't supervised yet.

Read it on:

AO3 (english)

Fanfiction.net (english)

Fanfiktion.de (german)

First passages under the cut:

The full moon disappeared behind the clouds, as if it wanted to avert its eyes from the atrocity that just had happaned. But it happened quickly. Riven was a professional, and so his blood-sucking victim had not even been able to scream when the vampire hunter's silver dagger was rammed between his ribs. The wound that the dagger had left in the alabaster-colored vampire skin smoked and hissed in the cold evening air.

Riven quickly dripped a tincture from a small bottle that he had taken out of his wide coat onto the wound. It closed immediately and stopped the flow of blood.

A rustling behind him made him turn around. Just a cat. He breathed a sigh of relief and averted his gaze from the cat's piercing green eyes. He couldn't waste any time now. He hastily dragged the vampire's corpse into a dark alley between two houses. No one would find the corpse here for the time being, and it had something that the young vampire hunter urgently needed. The appropriate formal wear for the ball of the venerable Morterra vampire family. The most influential family in the country. If their leader fell, the vampire network would collapse and that was the goal of the Vampire Hunters Association, the sun's last bulwark against the night. So today Riven would pretend to be one of them and put an end to the Morterra family.

The vampire's clothes fit Riven perfectly. He had had a good eye when choosing his victim. He made his way quickly to the Palazzo Morterra. It was tricky to venture into the lion's den. But he had been chosen for this. Of all the students of the Grand Master of Vampire Hunters, he had proven himself to be the best. This fact filled him with pride, even though he would probably die himself after the assassination. But it was worth it. Outcast as he had been since birth, all his hatred was directed at the vampires. They had taken everything from him. His home, his mother and his future. However, he was not alone with this fate. Almost all members of the association were half-bloods like him. Bastards of noble vampires who rejected their half-blood brood. This circumstance was both his downfall and his advantage. Since the night also flowed through his veins, the other vampires would not recognize him. A human would never have been able to move unnoticed among the vampires. Half-bloods, on the other hand, had the same aura and therefore remained undetected. Nevertheless, he pulled the tricorn hat with the peacock feather down over his face and hid his face in the shadows. Less out of fear of being discovered, but much more so that he didn't have to see the moon, which had now reappeared from between the clouds. The full moon. His downfall.

The full moon reminded the half-vampires every month whose child they were. It triggered in them the thirst for blood that affected every half-blood once a month. Riven was strong, he could fight the thirst, but the direct light was dangerous.

So, he stayed in the shadows as he approached the Palazzo of the Morterra, il Palazzo della Notte, as it was commonly known.

........

Continue reading on ao3, ff.net or ff.de as mentioned above

#trixweek #winx club #winx #winx trix #winx riven #winx darcy #winx fanfiction #winx ff #winx club fanfiction #winx club au #winx vampire au #winx club vampire au #winx driven #winx darven #driven #darven #darcy x riven #riven x darcy

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casuallivi · 1 year ago

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The Midnight Kiss

I live bitches! barely lol. Slow and steady wins the race, they say. Hope that shit is true. 🤷

Enjoy. Comments are welcomed and cherished :)

Part 7: Here comes Jhonny

Morrigan Moretti never cared much for her catholic background.

For a spoiled little girl approaching the age of twelve, being catholic only meant Sunday mornings were reserved for church or else her nonna would have a fit. But going to church didn’t mean Morrigan attended the mass, no. The girl was well accustomed to finding her way to the backdoor, killing time behind the opulent white building till her grandma had enough of singing hymns.

In a boring Sunday mid spring, Morrigan snuck out of to find a boy sitting by the shade of a tree, their faithful meeting changing the curse of her life forever.

“What is this?” Morrigan scrunched her nose, looking over the little boy’s shoulder.

“A magazine.”

Mor squinted at the black woman in a yellow two piece sprawled on a beach towel, before her lips quirked in a sneer. Did this boy bring porn to church?

“A dirty magazine?”

She had seen naked women in her father’s hidden magazines before. And she was not impressed.

“A fashion magazine.” The boy corrected impatiently.

Oh, he did not have porn then. But his answer somehow made it all worse. What was a boy doing with a fashion magazine?

“That’s for girls,” she snickered under her breath.

The girly boy did not seem to like her words, because next thing she knew vexed hazel eyes cut to her so harshly, Mor flinched. Over his left brow, a pink cartoon band-aid creased.

“Fashion is for everybody."

With sharp page flip, he dismissed her completely, grabbing the pencil behind his ear to make annotations alongside the margin. In her short twelve years of life, few were the times Morrigan was ignored.

Okay, who was this boy?

She sat beside him on the steps, attempting to lure the boy back in conversation.

“I never saw a boy with a magazine like that,” then, when she had no answer, “have a dress that color…”

“Is it fun?” She tried again.

“…”

“Can I see it with you?”

No matter how hard she tried, the boy continued to ignored her, going as far as turning his back to her, making little Morrigan baffled. Huffing, she got up, cleaning her behind, eyeing the handkerchief under his butt, stopping his grey suit from getting dirty.

“Hey, I’m talking to you!” She exploded, getting angrier by the minute.

Now she was really annoyed with him. He must not have recognized her, or know about her, because everyone in this town knew Morrigan Moretti was to be treated as nothing short of a princess.

Being the only child in a family were couples had a hard time conceiving lead Mor to grow used to being doted and catered for. House in the suburbs, private school, tutoring sessions, ballet lessons, and her long-life membership to the bay area Young Promising Ladies Club –which was passed down from mother to daughter– made sure she was well-educated and fine breeding lady who charmed everyone in the vicinity. Being a beautiful blonde, taller than most girls her age, with alabaster skin – which strayed from the general olive-ish tone of the Morettis – and the owner of a peculiar pair of brown eyes didn’t hurt either.

Everyone loved cute little girls, and Morrigan Moretti was cute as they come, never struggling for attention a day of her life.

Crossing her arms, Mor glared at the boy.

Despite his suit being perfectly pressed, and his black hair being meticulously combed to the side, she could see pink cuts coming out of the collar of his shirt, scratch marks on his wrists, and another colorful band-aid across his knuckles. All those cuts and bruises screamed trouble-maker to her.

How dare this shorty, trouble-maker, ignore her? Weirdo.

Feeling extremely irritated that he paid her no attention, her eyes set on the oh-so-precious object in his hands.

“You are very rude!” Morrigan said, kicking the magazine out of his hands. The boy gasped as the copy landed in a mud puddle, finally giving her what she wanted, and would want from him from that day onward: attention. “Oops. Sorry.” She wasn’t sorry one bit.

Serves him right for ignoring her.

The boy opened his mouth, but no sound came out, instead, the loud bells signaling the end of the mass caught her attention. At that moment, the big oak double-doors opened, a flock of elderly, couples and dutiful children spilling outside.

“Morrigan!” The happy voice of her noona reached her. “There you are, sweety. Come here child, I want to introduce you to my friend. Sofia, here she is. This is my granddaughter, Morrigan.”

Sofia turned out to be her noona’s best friend, who gave Mor a big huge and stained her cheeks red with lipstick. Discreetly, the blond girl cleaned her cheeks, feigning the polite expression she had long mastered. While cleaning herself, Mor payed little attention to the elderly women, eyes set on the boy swaggering towards them till he was standing behind Sofia. This boy looked nothing like the presentable boys she usually saw at church.

This one looked a foot taller than her, older too, with pants that barely reached his sockless ankles, sporting a loose faded-red tie which hanging from under the collar of his wrinkled shirt, a loud Gameboy firm in hand. He eyed him from head to toe, brow rising at the pink scratch marks on his cheek. The worst part was his hair: long enough to be tied at his nape with an ugly leather band. Ugh, she hated boys with girls’ hair. Morrigan made a face while he wasn’t looking.

When she was done analyzing the boy, Mor payed attention to her grandmother’s conversation, soon discovering the little hobo cosplay, and the boy who annoyed her earlier, were Sofia’s grandsons, who were moving in with her and would now be “a part of their community”.Her nonna was over the moon with the news, Mor not so much.

The weirdo’s name was Azriel. His older brother, Cassian.

When Sofia ordered the boys to greet her, Azriel merely nodded. She glared at the shorty, now hiding behind his noona.

“He’s a shy kid.” She smiled, patting his shoulder.

Mor couldn’t tell if he was really shy or resentful at her, but the one called Cassian seemed to be his opposite.

Cassian introduced himself without waiting for his grandma’s command, beaming as he kissed her hand, going on and on about how it was a pleasure to meet the pretty little girl he had heard so much about. Despite the gesture not being uncommon to Mor, who was used to people of all ages fussing over her, calling her pretty, granting all of her wishes, she liked him instantly.

Her noona, on the other hand, had no interest in Sofia’s older grandson, eyes shining only to Azriel, rushing him from behind Sofia, holding him and Mor close together.

“He’s your age, bambina. You are going to be best friends just like Sofia and I. I can tell.”

The two old ladies laughed.

Mor didn’t.

At the time, Morrigan had no idea how close she and Azriel would grow to be. Close enough to spend a decade in a relationship, flirting their way into it long before that.

Now they were no more.

Azriel had cut ties with her.

Their break up was no news to Morrigan. Azriel had done it a couple times before, set on separating his life from hers.

“I’m unhappy. I can’t do this anymore, Mor. I can’t.” He said the last time, breaking up with her again. “I’m done. I’m sorry, but I’m done.” “I won’t take your calls, I won’t answer the door, I won’t see you. We’ve been through so much, I don’t know – I don’t know how to stay friends with you. I’m sorry.” “I’m sorry, I’m really sorry it has to be like this, but this is the only way for us.”

Mor let him go that night, as she constantly did when she felt too tired to deal with his bullshit. Always something with that one.

Azriel had been hers for decades. She knew it was better to let him cool down, give him a few days and he’d be back to her again. Deep down Morrigan liked Azriel. The problem was Azriel was as emotional guy who like a boring monogamous relationship, and sometimes a girl needed a little break from routine. Not that she would not return to him afterwards. Mor always returned to Azriel’s side. There was nothing on this earth capable of separating them. Morrigan was a model because of him, Azriel worked for a fashion magazine because of her, their lives were way too intertwined to go on without the other.

So they lived like that. Morrigan gave him enough to keep him satisfy, hoping he could keep her satisfy, but he could. She would get bored, and he would want more, because Azriel always wanted more. He wanted full commitment, marriage, a house with dogs and kids. Morrigan wanted freedom, to enjoy life. So they’d start fighting, and she’d would get sick of him, letting him go for a while to cool down while she enjoyed the perks of the single life. Then, when things got boring again, she’d return to his side. Return to the man who loved her more than life itself.

Morrigan Moretti knew she’d marry Azriel Marino.

Eventually.

For as long as Mor could remember, Azriel had been irrevocably and undeniably in love with her. And for as long as she could remember, Mor had been irrevocably and undeniably in love with being loved by him.

In all honesty, Mor did not make it easy for him when they were kids, but to his credit, Azriel was not dissuaded by her hard personality. No one, in the whole world, loved her like Azriel did. In their twenties, Azriel dropped out of his dream college in Milan to move to Atlanta, because Mor was casted by a model agency in the city, and was “scared to be alone” there. One call. All it took for him to give up his dream and support hers was one phone call and a couple of fake tears while she painted her toenails.

Azriel went back to finish college later, but not before she turned into a runway model and moved to Milan herself, signing with a new, bigger agency. The little boy whose magazine she kicked grow into a man who had no difficulty in molding his life around hers, dedicating all of his free time to take care of her schedule, take care of her, so of course, Mor would reward him by settling down at his side.

Could you blame her for wanting to life her life before settling down? It was only fair to have some fun before being someone’s wife. Afterall, no matter how many times they broke up, they always got back together. Always.

Lately, one thing had been keeping her on edge, though.

Their break was too long.

This time Azriel had been taking his sweet time to crawl back to her side, longer than he ever did before. So long that Morrigan ended up hooking up with his brother.

Again.

Azriel didn’t know, would never know, but Morrigan had lost her virginity to Cassian. Had have a couple of one-nights with him along the years as well. She would never assume him, of course. If Mor wasn’t willing to lost her freedom in prol of Az, who never touched another woman in his life, imagine losing it to his man-whore of a brother, who loved no one but himself. Morrigan refused to be owned, she didn’t want a man to have that kind of power over her. And being owned by Cassian was beyond absurd.

“You’re coming with me to the office Christmas party.” Cassian announced one night, stripping his shorts. Morrigan hated how he wore short everywhere, like a young boy refusing to grow up. Would it kill him to put on some pants? Wear suits more than once a year? “What for?” Mor asked, unzipping her dress. “I need a girlfriend. The new shareholders will be there. They’ll feel more confident in the investment once they see me as a family-oriented kind of guy.” She waited for him to laugh, to tell her it was a joke. When he didn’t, Morrigan laughed and laughed, turning red in the face. “What’s so funny?” “You.” “Me?’ “You.” She repeated, “thinking I’m your girlfriend.” Cassian placed his hands on his hips, not amused. “You are my girlfriend.” “I’m no one’s girlfriend.” She was no one’s. Feeling the mood turn sour, Morrigan got of the bed. Cassian grabbed her arm before she took another step. “Let go, Cass.” “I’m not done talking to you.” “Well, I am. Let go.” “Still scared of relationships, blondie?” “I’m not scared, let me go.” “Get over yourself, Mor. You are not a fucking child anymore. You’ll fuck me every other night but won’t date me? Cut the horseshit. We are going, playing the happy lovable couple, then we’ll come back here and I’ll give a reward.” He moved her hand to his groin, show her exactly what she was getting. “I don’t want your shabby reward!” she spat at him. “You sure? Let me chance your mind, then.” Under heavy protest, Cassian threw her over his shoulder and carried her to the bathroom, showing Morrigan the kind of rewards he had in mind.

True to her word, Mor didn’t go to Cassian’s stupid Christmas party… but she couldn’t escape his stupid New Year’s Eve party.

Cassian had nothing to do with that, of course. Going to that party was the only way she had of seeing Azriel, who was also being true to his word, cutting all contact since their latest break up. Her calls weren’t answered, his doorman wouldn’t let her up anymore, her threatening texts were ignored, and the one time she managed to see him, Mor had to beguile Cassian into convincing his brother she was the perfect model to appear in Marino’s cover. To the increase of her stress, Azriel had remained strictly professional during the shooting, ignoring her efforts to meet afterhours. And then, at that awful karaoke party, he had the audacity of kissing someone else.

Dressed in an elegant black cocktail gown, Mor sipped her wine, eyes trained at the table on the far end of the restaurant; a table Azriel shared with no other than her.

Her.

The poorly dressed child-like woman she saw him kissing that night.

The same woman Cassian, for some reason, judge worthy of receiving a separate introduction during New Year’s Eve. Oh, Mor noticed their matching shirts instantly. She also noticed the dumb stunned look in her face when Cassian called Mor his girlfriend. That woman wanted to fuck Cass. Badly. Which let Mor utterly confused when she spied her all over Az. Her Az.

Despite being emotional one in their relationship, there was one thing Azriel and Mor had in common: Az did not like public displays of affection. Never had. Yet, he let himself be kissed just to spite her. Now here he was, going as far as taking that woman out, pretending to be on a date, doing everything in his power to make her jealous.

Mor blinked at the sight of the lousy girl.

What was her name again? Elide? Elisa? Elena? Well, who cares!

In the back of her mind, Morrigan had a faint memory of that woman being on set the day she posed for Marinos. She also remembered not liking her one bit. Too bubbly for her taste, too excited, too… happy. No one was that happy. Besides, A woman like Elisa would never attract Azriel in a million years. His taste ran on the refined side of things, not on women who dressed in shirts with comics printed on it. He should have chosen a better partner to pretend to be with.

That day Mor left the studio with a searing headache after spending half the day listening to distasteful jokes being traded left and right between Elena and Cassian –who was also present the shooting, despite her explicitly asking him not to– acting as if they were two pre-teens in a locker room. The other half consisted in her and Azriel going back and forth in a thousand of small irrelevant discussions that no one else seemed to follow.

Mor pushed her sunglasses up, stunned by the way the woman pointed her finger in Az' face. Their yelling getting louder. “Ignore them. We all do.” Cassian advised her. “You should call security.” “Nah, Ellie is not violent.” He slid his arm across her shoulders. “This is nothing, you should have seen the May shooting. She threw a binder at him.” “She did what?” “Don’t worry. They’ll reach an agreement in a sec.” “This is absurd.” “Nope, just another day with Az and Ellie. Believe me, I get tired of it too.” “Why don’t you fire her?” “Can’t.” “Why?” “Azzy won’t let me.” At that, Mor frowned. Why wouldn’t Az fire someone he couldn’t work with?” “Why?” Cassian shrugged. “Beats me. Az turns me down every time I found a replacement. Said is a hassle to train someone else when Elain gets him.”

The whole conversation made no sense to Morrigan. The more she watched them, the more out of character Az acted. Contrary to what she had seen him do countless times in the past, Azriel did not order the photographer around. He did threaten to fire her countless times, but everyone could see he didn’t mean it. The worst part was watching him discussing ideas with her, listening to hers as well, going as far as incorporating her inputs in the itinerary.

That day Morrigan caught Azriel doing a measly a staff’s job because she asked him to.

Mor returned from reapplying make up, to catch Azriel and the photographer mid conversation, the couple conversing quietly in the corner of the set. “Marino,” “No.” “Marino, please!” “I said no.” “I keep getting shadows in her face.” “Have her under another light stand.” “I can’t! This is her best angle so far, I don’t want to lose it.” Azriel rubbed his temple. “Just photoshop the shadows away.” “You’re the one spanking my ass the other day for using too much photoshop!” Azriel’s ears turned pink. “I spanked no one’s ass!” he hushed stressed. “Figure of speech. Help me out, will ya?” “What do you want me to do, Archeron? There’s no electrician here.” “Hold it for me, please?” Elain held his hand in hers, bouncing up and down while blinking repeatedly. “Twenty minutes tops. Promise.” Struggling, Azriel pulled his hand from her grip, cleaning them with his pocket square. “Don’t be stupid, I won’t hold a light for twenty minutes ‘cause you want me to.”

As if the dialogue itself wasn’t bizarre, to see Azriel taking off his shoes to step in the sterile zone to hold a light stand had Morrigan shocked.

And as she sat here, in this restaurant, watching him hold the photographer’s hands, kissing her palms without a care in the world, Mor’s hatred for the yapping-girl ten folded.

Mor snickered into her glass, finding it funny how Azriel was doing everything in his power to get her attention. She didn’t know why he bother parading that one around. Soon she’d be nothing but a smudge in his latest attempt to break up with her. All those who came before her didn’t get a second date, this one would not either. Azriel Marino was obsessed with Morrigan Moretti, there was no space for anyone else in his heart, nor his mind.

In the distance, Azriel fixed the girl’s frizzy hair behind her ear, pinching the tacky earring daggling in her lobe. Mor's intention to sip her wine was replaced by her downing the entire goblet.

“How’s your lobster?” Her boring, bald, partner’s question caught her by surprise, bringing Mor’s attention back to her own table.

She sliced a piece of meat, curling her lips around her fork with an exaggerated moan.

“Delicious.”

Her companion’s eyes gleamed with malice.

She gave him a sultry smile, but in her mind, Mor was already back to ignoring him.

Azriel having a “date” in the same restaurant she was meeting with her newest spoon was no coincidence. The man new everything about her, there was no way he came here not knowing she had this dinner schedule for tonight. Stalker much? The boring man served her more wine, which Morrigan gladly accepted.

Well, since Azriel was trying his best to get her attention, Mor would be generous and grant his wish. After she was done with this sponsor, she’d visit Azriel to do what she did best: speed the inevitable end of his doomed relationship. And Azriel would go back to doing what he did best: pine for her.

~~~~~~~~~~

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