#her features in the gentle candlelight

[dollwrites]

ɪɴ ᴀʟʟ ᴍʏ ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍs, ɪ…! ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ sᴜɴᴅᴀʏ

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ smut ( minors dni ), fem!reader, innocent!reader & manipulative!sunday, religious setting ( confessional ), mildly dark ( suggested mind control and dub con to cnc fantasies ), dub con, humiliation, masturbation ( him! ). all characters featured are aged 18+

𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ please reblog && leave feedback. not proofread so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading < 3

𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗸𝘁𝗼𝗯𝗲𝗿 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟰 ∣ act seven [ masturbation ]

this was the third time.

the third time you’d found yourself sitting here.

the third time within the Cathedral of Morning Dew, perched and squirming uncomfortably in the claustrophobic cubicle, fumbling with your own fingers against the lace details of your skirt as it splayed across your knees— one of them bouncing as a testament to your anxiety and causing your voice to shake.

the third time you were confessing to Sunday.

“I’m sorry,” you feel like you should apologize, so your voice shyly fills the cool air around you. “You must have so many other important matters to tend to—“

“Nonsense.” Sunday replies with an impossibly soft and alluring purr in his gentle baritone. he’s positioned close enough to the lattice partition that he can almost whisper it to you, like a secret for only you to hear. “Penacony’s sons and daughters and their concerns are of utmost importance to me.” though it was meant as reassurance, your cheeks are aflame with embarrassment. to be coddled by a man with as much power as Sunday did make you feel like a helpless child that cries to her father when she’s upset. “Go on, my dear. Tell me what’s bothering you.”

you glance around the cubicle, eyes landing on the candle that endlessly burns beside you, yet no hot wax trickles down on to the pristine floor, nor does heat emit from the flame. even if you blew on it, you doubted that it would go out. as was the whimsicality of the Dreamscape. “It’s these… fantasies again,” you start, timidly bringing up a topic that had been the prompt for you to seek Sunday out every time. gnawing desires for things you knew you couldn’t have— desires for him. “It’s getting harder for me to tell them apart from, well, what’s really happening. The one’s I’ve had recently seem so… immersive.”

Sunday is a quiet for a moment before calmly asking, “Your condition is getting more severe? These fantasies are worrying you?”

“Well, yes.” you answer, choosing your words carefully. “They’re… very…” for all the words there were that could describe what these daydreams about Sunday were ( vulgar, lustful, depraved ), you could force none to breach your lips.

“Naughty?” Sunday offers, and you can almost hear the fond, ghost of a smile that tickles the corners of his lips. it only makes your blush hotter and more furious.

you bite down in your lower lip, rolling it between your teeth as your eyes look towards the latticework. you can only see the outline of his halo, and the glinting of the candlelight as it reflects off the piercings in his wings. squinting slightly, you attempt to make out more details. the softness of his silvery hair, always just so with not a single tendril out of place. the flawlessness of his supple, milky skin, until he turns his head, just a bit, and a glimmering, golden gaze nearly captures yours. with a soft squeak, realizing you’d been staring— wanting, you quickly avert your gaze. “Mhm…!”

you can feel his eyes on you for several more moments, but you can’t bring yourself to look up at him, deciding instead to stare at your bouncing knee.

“And what happens in these naughty, little daydreams of yours?”

a lump forms in your throat, and your mouth goes dry at the prospect of describing to Sunday the way you yearn for him. so, instead of answering right away, you shrink away from the lattice until you no longer feel him gazing at you. the cathedral is eerily silent, and you can hear the flapping of Charmony Dove wings outside. “My dear,” Sunday begins in a calm, patient tone, “you know that you must confess them to me, no matter how deplorable. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here. Now, don’t be shy. You’re safe here with me. You know this, yes?”

you had always felt safe in the warmth of his presence, so you nod again, though you didn’t think he was looking at you anymore. still, you were naive for thinking so. a perfectly gullible, little prey.

Sunday could hear the trepidation in your voice as you began, and he was smiling to himself, imagining the flustered look on your dreamy countenance as you recall how you fantasize about him. with slow, graceful movements, he pinches the very tips of the fingers of one glove, pulling it from his hand. his fingers wiggle once they’re freed from their cloth confinement, which he drapes neatly over his knee.

“In these… dreams, I come to you late at night, when no one else is around…”

“Do you?” he asks, amused, his bare fingers drumming lightly on his thigh silently. “All alone in secret? For what purpose?” he knows why. after all, he’s the culprit behind these eerily realistic fantasies. however, he wants to hear you say it.

“To— um,” you pause, your sheepishness getting the better of you. “Offer myself to you.”

Sunday exhales through his nose to keep a low sound of satisfaction from filling the air, and alerting you to his arousal. hearing how humiliated you are, it tightens the muscles in his lower abdomen, and a tent begins to form in his trousers, which he promptly rubs against his palm. “Oh…?” he asks, almost in a teasing, condescending lilt, murmuring, “In these fantasies of yours, do I accept the offer? Do I take you for myself? Steal your innocence like a wicked thief in the night?” even though his voice remained even, his heart was thumping. his cock jabbed uncomfortably against the fabric of his clothes, and he was busying himself with the task of freeing it.

“Mhm…. Many times,” you answer, and the way your voice breaks, Sunday can practically see your lower lip quivering. it only makes him harder to think about that, and your sparkling eyes welling up with tears. once his cock springs free, standing at attention, he wraps his bare hand around it in a loose fist, and purses his lips together to suppress a grunt. veins throb beneath his skin, the tip twitching as beads of translucent nectar bubbles up from the eager slit. “In many different ways. Sometimes, you— you’re rough with me.”

the tremors that shake your voice when you say this do not go unnoticed by Sunday, who closes his eyes, bringing the fantasy he’d handpicked to implant deep within your mind to the surface of his own. it was one of his favorites, and he was quite pleased that it affected you the most. though his memory wasn’t tampered with, as yours was, and so he couldn’t conjure all the sensations or watch the fantasy like a movie in his mind, he could imagine the sight of you beneath his wandering hands. how they tore at your delicate, little dress. ripping the neckline open to expose your pert breasts for him to grope and squeeze. the way he would imagine you to whimper and wince, perhaps even squirm, and he would have to spare a hand to wrap it around your throat and hold you down— pin you in place so you couldn’t escape him. he would whisper to you that as long as you’re a sweet, obedient darling, he would be gentle. but this was, of course, a lie. the way you would peer up at his figure as he forces his way between your trembling thighs, and the way you would cry out once he finally got his cock inside you, it would be your way of begging him to break you. your mouth could lie, and whine that he was hurting you, or that you want him to be careful with you, but deep down, you wanted him to dominate you. to decimate and own you. he knew this to be fact because he had designed this little dream to convince you of it.

all whilst his imagination ran wild, his thumb runs deftly along his leaking slit, applying enough pressure to milk the swollen, red tip until his precum begins to dribble down the length of his cock, slickening the skin. his palm glides down his needy length, fingers clamping down, until the side of his fist rests against the base, before he slowly drags it back upwards towards the tip, setting a torturously slow tempo for himself. “And in this daydream of yours,” he purrs, only parting his lips wide enough to allow the words to slip through, lest a sound of ecstasy also escape, “You love it when I’m rough with you.” it wasn’t a question. it was a matter of fact. “I can hear it in the way your voice quivers, my dear, you’re ashamed of yourself. Humiliated because, albeit untouched, your little cunt gets so wet when you think about me abusing it.”

“S—Sunday…”

“Mm?” he taunts in a soft voice, as if daring you to challenge the truth. “It’s true, isn’t it? Deplorable, vulgar, and embarrassing to admit, but impossible to deny that you’ve soiled your panties many a time when you imagine how a man like me could use your body all up, and leave you in a state of ruin.”

“Y—yes…” it’s exactly what he’d expected to hear, and yet his core throbs the second he does. he leans back, just enough to brace his back against the wall of his cubicle, and adjust his feet. spreading them further apart. “I—I can't help it…”

“Poor, little thing.” Sunday croons, his slender eyebrows furrowing as he pumps himself harder and faster. “So helpless.” his fist alternates by squeezing and releasing, in the same rhythm that he imagines your virgin pussy would spasm if he was inside, and the sensations were already driving him to the brink. Sunday tilts his head back against the wall, hissing out a soft groan under his breath. part of him even wants you to hear that little sound of pleasure, to realize what he’s doing— getting off on your distress. on your desperate, wanton lust for him. however, if you do hear it, you’re too shy to draw attention to it. too bad, he thinks, if she had only caught me, i would have the innocent, little thing gagging on my cock right here in this booth…

“Wh—what should I do?” your shy question snaps him back to the moment at hand. “About these fantasies. I feel— I feel like they’re only getting more depraved and… scary…”

Sunday has to seal his tiers tightly together, lest a breathy chuckle bubble up from his throat at just how frightened by your own desires ( or, at least, the ones he’s convinced you are yours ) you are. it was cute to him. adorable how eager you are to make these naughty visages go away before they spiral out of control, when that is exactly what he was waiting for. “You needn’t worry, you know this.” he manages to force the words out, even as he stroked himself, coming undone in his own palm to the thought of deceiving you. plucking away the petals of your fragile, little mind until you were compliant and easy enough to do the same deflowering to your body. “I will always be here for you, I will always take care of you.” as he says this, he milks his cock, slowly dragging a tight fist up from the base, coaxing a slowly oozing release from the engorged head. a couple of rogue streamers splatter silently against the floor between his feet, but he pays the mess no mind. instead, he retrieves a handkerchief from his breast pocket and carefully wipes the mess on his lap— cum glazing his bare hand and the length of his shaft, down to where it began to frost his now empty balls, just before reaching the fabric of his trousers. it was unsurprisingly that he looked pristine once he was cleaned and tucked back into his pants. the soiled handkerchief is forgotten on the bench, in exchange for his glove still resting across his knee. he slips it back on before he stands, taking only a moment to smooth his vest and jacket before escaping the now stuffy air of the booth. with a soft knock on the door to your side, he waits for you to come out, too. a gentle smile on his face, and the dusky blush fading into his normal complexion by the time you emerge.

when you open the door, it creaks a bit, and you glance down at the hinges, before looking up to find Sunday incredibly close. the subtle musk from his refined cologne tickling your nostrils, but that wasn’t all. there was another smell that was quite unfamiliar, and yet seemed to spark a low bubble in your belly, but you couldn’t place it. you shrink away from him with a sheepish smile, your back pressing against the door of the booth when he takes a step closer, effectively blocking you from leaving. “Your condition is my concern,” he assures you with a gentle smile, before reaching into his pocket and retrieving a little vial of pinkish, glowing liquid. it was familiar to you— the same elixir he’d given you the last two times you’d come to him. to help with the symptoms, he says.

“Th—thank you, Sunday—“ you whisper, reaching a trembling hand for the vial in his, but what he does next surprises you. grasping your wrist with the other, he presses the vial against your palm and covers your fingers with his, wrapping them tightly, and he leans in with a softer whisper.

“Remember to place a single drop on your tongue. Every. Single. Night.” when you nod, flustered by so much physical contact, he smiles fondly, and releases your hand. “Very good girl.” he appraises, before his right hand falls to rest behind his back, yet his left lingers, creeping up to trace the shape of your mouth. piercing, golden eyes for us on your lips, his own curled into a gentle smile.

“P—please don’t tell anyone… about my condition.” you whisper, your eyes big and hopeful. you didn’t believe he would, but it was something you always needed to plead for before you left.

Sunday chuckles softly at this, and presses a gloved thumb to the seam of your lips, applying pressure until your lips open and it nearly slips inside. “You and I have many secrets together,” he murmurs in reply, before his gaze flits back up to your eyes, locking them into an intense contact that has you shifting back and forth on your feet. “But that is why we must trust one another. Unconditionally. Do you trust me, my dear? Unconditionally?”

[sunshinesfreckless]

Flower Petals and Candles

───୨ৎ────────୨ৎ───────୨ৎ───

Pairing: Hyunjin x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your request to finally lose your virginity catches Hyunjin a bit off guard…

Warnings: As you can probably guess, there’s sex in this fic—minors, please leave!

A/N: Dear anonymous requester, I hope this is what you were looking for 😔🤍

───୨ৎ────────୨ৎ───────୨ৎ───

Hyunjin was never in a rush with her.

Every kiss, every gentle touch, every stolen glance across the room held a kind of reverence—as if she were something fragile and sacred. And she could feel it, deep in her bones. The way his fingers would curl protectively around hers. The way his eyes would soften the second he looked at her. He didn’t just love her. He cherished her.

He knew she was a virgin. And never—not once—did he try to rush her, pressure her, or even hint at it. He waited. Patiently. Like she was worth waiting a lifetime for.

But he hadn’t expected her to be ready… tonight.

His lips were already hot and slow against hers, breath mingling, tongues teasing, his body pressed back against the couch as she straddled him—her knees on either side of his thighs, her fingers tangled in his hair. The kiss deepened. Messier. Wetter. Needier. Her hips rolled instinctively against his.

Then she broke the kiss, eyes glassy and wide, looking directly into his.

“I want you to have sex with me.”

The air in the room seemed to stop. His heart thudded painfully hard in his chest.

Hyunjin blinked. “W-What?”

“I mean it,” she whispered, voice small but sure.

His breath caught. He had told her everything. About his past. About the other girls. About how he used to be. And how he wasn’t that guy anymore—not with her. But she knew he still kept condoms in the drawer. Just in case.

This moment shouldn’t have caught him off guard. But it did.

“Oh God,” he muttered, eyes wide. “No, no, no—not now.”

She pouted adorably, her bottom lip jutting out. “Why not…?”

“I wanted to… prepare. Candles, flowers, clean sheets, music, the works,” he rambled in a panic, rubbing his forehead. “You deserve it all, baby.”

Her giggle melted his chest. “Jinnie… I don’t want flowers or candles or some perfect Pinterest night. I want you.” Her hand slid down his chest, slowly grazing his abdomen until it found the bulge beneath his sweats. “And this.”

Hyunjin groaned. His eyes rolled back for a split second as he fought for composure.

“You are a vixen,” he whispered, voice dark with awe. “But… at least let me light one candle. Okay?”

She nodded with a smile, he lifted her off his Lap and sat her on the Sofa. He stood, walking over to his dresser to grab a simple vanilla-scented candle and lit it. The warm, flickering light painted his features gold and shadowed. And when he came back to her, she was still sitting there—skirt riding up slightly, cheeks flushed, hair mussed from their kissing.

God, she was beautiful. He took her back to his lap so fast.

He cupped her cheeks and kissed her again, slower this time. Intentional. She whimpered softly, gripping his wrists as his hands slid under her skirt.

His brows lifted the moment he felt lace and the thin string of her lingerie.

He leaned back, lips hovering close to hers. “You wore this for me?”

She nodded shyly. “ Take my clothes off,” she whispered, almost like she was scared to break the spell.

His breath hitched. Carefully, reverently, he reached for the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head, revealing a delicate white lace set with tiny embroidered flowers. The candlelight kissed her skin in gold.

Hyunjin’s jaw went slack.

“Fuck… muse…” His voice was hoarse. “You look gorgeous. Like… unreal.”

She bit her lip, glancing down nervously, but he was already peppering kisses across her collarbone. Down to the swell of her chest.

“I’m going to go slow,” he murmured against her skin. “You tell me to stop and I will. No questions asked. Okay?”

She nodded.

Still seated on his lap, she leaned into his chest, breathing uneven and shallow as he trailed warm kisses along her throat.

“Come here,” he murmured, arms sliding under her thighs.

She gasped when he stood with her effortlessly, lifting her like she weighed nothing. Her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, her arms around his shoulders as he carried her toward the bed. The candlelight flickered behind them, casting long shadows against the walls, wrapping the moment in a soft golden haze.

He gently laid her down in the center of his bed, the cool sheets a contrast to her heated skin. She watched as he stood at the edge of the mattress, eyes dark and hungry but soft. Reverent.

“Just stay there,” he said, his voice a low, breathy command. “Don’t move.”

She nodded, lips parted, heart pounding.

Then he pulled his shirt over his head.

Her breath hitched.

Hyunjin was art. Lean, sculpted muscle, sharp collarbones, that tight V-line disappearing into the waistband of his sweats. He ran a hand through his hair, his toned chest rising and falling as he looked down at her like she was the most perfect thing he’d ever seen.

And when he pushed down his sweatpants—no boxers underneath—her breath caught fully in her throat.

Jesus Christ.

He was thick. Long. Already hard. And somehow more beautiful than she had imagined. Her thighs pressed together instinctively, her core aching with anticipation.

His smirk deepened when he noticed. “Already needy for me, sweetheart?”

She whimpered in response, and he chuckled softly, crawling up the bed until he was hovering over her again.

“Can I take this off?” he asked, fingers brushing the strap of her lace bra.

“Please,” she whispered.

Hyunjin kissed her as his fingers slid behind her back, unhooking the bra easily. He pulled it away from her chest slowly, like unwrapping a gift. His eyes roamed, his mouth already parting.

“You’re so fucking perfect.”

He dipped his head, lips brushing over one breast while his hand gently cupped the other. Then his mouth closed over her nipple, tongue swirling, sucking lightly.

She gasped, arching into him.

He gave the other breast the same attention, dragging his teeth just enough to make her squirm, and then kissed his way down her belly.

His hands slid up under her skirt and hooked around the waistband of her lace panties.

“Let me see all of you,” he whispered.

She lifted her hips for him. He slid the lace down slowly, keeping eye contact as he tossed them aside. She could see the tension in his arms, in the way his jaw flexed—Hyunjin was barely holding it together.

He kissed her inner thighs softly. One, then the other.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmured, pressing a kiss right above her center.

She nodded breathlessly, fingers already clutching the sheets.

He brought one hand up and gently slid a finger between her folds, groaning low in his throat.

“Fuck, you’re already so wet for me…”

He circled her clit softly, slowly, then slid one finger in—deep, gentle, curling ever so slightly. She gasped, her hips lifting, and he immediately paused.

“You okay?” he asked.

She nodded, eyes fluttering. “Feels… good. Don’t stop.”

He kept going—adding a second finger, moving them in and out slowly, opening her up. She was tight. So fucking tight. And the thought that he was going to be the first inside her nearly made him lose control.

He kissed up her body again, mouth finding hers in a slow, deep kiss.

“Ready?” he whispered against her lips, forehead pressed to hers.

“Yes,” she breathed.

Hyunjin reached into the nightstand drawer, his fingers fumbling slightly—not from nervousness, but from the sheer need building in his chest. He ripped the foil packet open and rolled the condom on with one hand, the other resting on her thigh, grounding both of them.

When he looked at her, his eyes softened. “You okay?”

She nodded shyly, her cheeks warm. “I want this.”

“Yeah?” He leaned down to kiss her again, slower this time, his voice barely above a whisper. “You sure you’re ready for all of me, baby?”

She laughed breathlessly. “I think so… I mean, it’s you.”

That crooked, dangerous little smirk curved on his lips. “Exactly. Have you seen me?”

She swatted his arm playfully, giggling. “Don’t be cocky—okay, wait, that was a terrible choice of words.”

He laughed too, low and warm. “Too late. You’re about to find out just how cocky I can be.”

She rolled her eyes and pulled him back in for a kiss, tugging him closer between her thighs. Then she felt it—him—pressing against her entrance, thick and hot and very, very real.

Hyunjin’s brows knit the moment he tried to ease in. Her whole body tensed under him like a taut wire, and she instinctively flinched.

“Wait—ah, sorry,” she gasped. “It’s just—tight. I didn’t expect—”

Hyunjin froze immediately, his thumb brushing across her cheek. “Hey, hey… it’s okay. You’re not doing anything wrong.”

She gave him a frustrated pout. “I want to relax. But my body’s freaking out. I feel like I’m trying to shove a watermelon through a keyhole.”

He laughed again, burying his face in the crook of her neck, chest shaking.

“Stop laughing!” she whined, but she was giggling too. “This is not the time!”

“I’m not laughing at you,” he said, propping himself up again. “I’m laughing because you just compared my dick to a watermelon. My ego is inflated for life now.”

She groaned and covered her face with both hands. “This is so awkward.”

He gently peeled her hands away, pressing a kiss to each of her knuckles. “Baby, this is us. If your first time doesn’t include laughter and a few clumsy moments, it’s not real. But I got you, okay?”

He kissed her forehead, her nose, her lips. Soft. Reassuring.

“Breathe with me,” he whispered, voice low and calming. “In through your nose… hold… and out…”

She followed him, matching his breath. Again. Slower.

His hand caressed up and down her thigh, soothing her muscles. “You’re doing perfect. Let’s just stay like this a second.”

His fingers moved lower, brushing her folds again, gently circling her clit with feather-light pressure. Not trying to push. Just pleasure. Just comfort.

She whimpered softly, her hips tilting toward his hand without realizing it.

“Better?” he murmured.

She nodded, biting her lip. “Yeah… it feels really nice.”

He leaned in again, mouth ghosting over her ear. “I’ll go slow. I’ll stop whenever you say. But you’re ready. I promise.”

She looked at him, searching his eyes. That warmth, that care… it was always there. Always.

“Okay,” she whispered. “Try again.”

He lined himself up again, holding himself steady at her entrance with one hand, the other cradling her face. This time, as he slowly pushed in—inch by careful inch—she focused on breathing, focused on him. The stretch still burned, but not as sharply. And he didn’t rush. He let her feel every second of it.

She gasped, fingers digging into his shoulders. “You’re so big…”

“Fuck,” he groaned, gritting his teeth as he slid deeper. “You’re so tight, baby. Like—insanely tight. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You’re not. Just… go slow.”

He kissed her again, and finally, with a shaky breath, he bottomed out, buried completely inside her.

They both stilled, hearts pounding.

“Holy shit,” he murmured into her neck, voice wrecked. “You’re squeezing me so good.”

She gave a breathless laugh. “Maybe your watermelon comment wasn’t that far off.”

He laughed too, chest pressed against hers, body trembling from restraint.

“God, I love you,” he said, forehead against hers. “I love you so much it hurts.”

She cupped his face. “Then show me.” Hyunjin stayed buried deep inside her for a moment longer, letting her adjust—every muscle in his body taut with restraint. His forearms were locked on either side of her head, his jaw clenched as her body pulsed tightly around him.

He pulled back just an inch—then slid back in slowly, and her soft gasp made his abs tense.

“Like that?” he asked, watching her face closely.

She nodded again, her hands sliding up his back, nails lightly dragging down his skin. “Yeah. More.”

Hyunjin’s hips began to move with gentle precision, rolling into her slow and deep, grinding into her like he wanted to live inside her. Each thrust was met with a breathless moan, her body gradually relaxing under him, molding to him like they were made to fit.

He groaned, his voice breaking. “You’re taking me so good, baby…”

Her thighs wrapped tighter around his waist as she whispered his name, over and over, like a mantra.

“Look at me,” he said, cupping her cheek, his hips moving in a lazy, sensual rhythm. “I want to see you.”

She forced her eyes open, meeting his gaze—and it nearly undid him. The way she looked at him. So open, so trusting, so his.

“I’m not gonna last long,” he warned with a breathless laugh. “You feel too fucking perfect.”

She moaned as he rolled his hips a little harder, deeper, and her back arched off the mattress, her head falling back in bliss.

“You’re hitting something—fuck—”

“I know,” he whispered, lips brushing her jaw. “Right there? Yeah?”

He shifted his angle, thrusting with a slow, deliberate push that had her legs trembling and toes curling.

“Hyun—oh my god, don’t stop—”

“I’m not,” he growled. “Not gonna stop. Gonna make you cum on me, baby. Let me feel it.”

She was close. He could feel it in the way her walls clenched around him, the shaky moans she tried to muffle against his skin. He snaked a hand between them, fingers finding her clit, circling fast and tight.

That did it.

She shattered under him with a broken cry, her body convulsing around his cock, nails digging into his shoulder blades. He nearly lost it from the way she squeezed him—tight, desperate, pulling him in deeper.

“Shit, baby—” he gasped. “You’re—fuck—I’m gonna—”

His rhythm faltered as his orgasm slammed into him, hips stuttering as he spilled into the condom with a deep, guttural moan of her name. He collapsed over her, chest heaving, forehead pressed to hers as they both tried to catch their breath.

The room was filled with the soft sound of breathing, skin slick with sweat, candlelight flickering lazily beside them.

After a long moment, he kissed her—slow, tender, full of emotion.

“You okay?” he whispered.

She nodded, smiling softly, skin still flushed. “That was… everything.”

He chuckled, brushing her hair from her face. “You’re everything.”

He kissed her again, then pulled out carefully, discarding the condom and grabbing a warm towel to gently clean her up. His touch was soft, reverent—like she was glass.

Then he slipped under the covers with her, pulling her against his chest, arms wrapped around her tightly.

“Still mad about the lack of flowers and candles?” She asked with a teasing grin.

She giggled into his skin. “. Because you were more than enough.”

He smirked and whispered against her hair, “Round two will have the candles. And maybe a few petals.”

[chrissssssmut]

Liz and Rei threesome nuru massage smut?

RELIEVING TENSION

Liz & Rei x Male Reader

AN: Last fic for this week! Need to prioritize my health so I'll be resting for now! UIIIAUIIAAIAAU💕

The exhaustion had been creeping up for weeks. Work had drained you, your body aching in ways that no amount of sleep could fix. You needed something—something different. Something that would help you loosen up completely.

That’s what led you here, standing at the entrance of an upscale but discreet massage parlor tucked away in the quieter streets of the city. The sign outside read, "Ethereal Touch", its soft golden glow inviting and warm. With a deep breath, you pushed the door open, greeted by the gentle chime of a bell.

The receptionist, a striking young woman with long dark hair and sharp eyes, greeted you with a knowing smile. "Welcome to Ethereal Touch. Are you looking for a specific massage, or would you like to browse our packages?" Her name tag read Rei.

You hesitated for a moment before nodding. "I’d like to see the packages."

Rei handed you a laminated menu, her neatly manicured fingers brushing against yours briefly. Your eyes scanned over the options—standard oil massages, deep tissue treatments, aromatherapy… but then, something caught your eye. "Nuru Experience - Ultimate Relaxation (Two Masseuses)".

Your gaze lingered on the description. Heated, fragrance-free gel, full body contact, synchronized deep relaxation…

"That one." You pointed, your voice steadier than you expected.

Rei smirked, as if she had expected your choice all along. "Good choice. Liz and I will be taking care of you tonight."

A soft chime rang as another door opened. A blonde-haired woman stepped forward, her features delicate yet captivating. Her skin glowed under the warm lighting, and her smile was gentle but unreadable. "You must be my next client," she mused, tilting her head slightly. "Follow me."

Your heart picked up as you followed Liz and Rei down the dimly lit hallway, the scent of lavender and warm oils hanging in the air. The room they led you to was sleek yet cozy—candlelight flickering softly, a large cushioned mat replacing the usual massage table in the center.

Liz turned to you, a teasing glint in her eyes. "You know how this works, right?"

You swallowed. "Not exactly."

Rei chuckled, stepping closer, her fingers grazing the hem of your shirt. "Don't worry. We'll take good care of you. Just relax and let us do all the work."

Liz gestured toward a small changing area in the corner. "You can undress there. There's a robe if you'd like to cover up before we begin."

You nodded, stepping into the area and taking a deep breath. The anticipation was building as you undressed, neatly folding your clothes before slipping into the robe. When you stepped back out, Rei and Liz were waiting, Liz holding a bottle of the warm, glistening Nuru gel in her hands.

"Lie down on the mat," Liz instructed, her voice soothing yet firm.

As you settled onto the cushioned mat, Rei knelt beside you, her hands trailing lightly over your shoulders. "You seem tense," she mused, her voice carrying a playful lilt. "We’ll have to fix that."

Liz knelt on your other side, her hands already warming the gel between her fingers. "We’ll start slow. Just let us take care of you."

The massage started off normal—well, as normal as it could be with two stunning women gliding their slick, warm hands over your body. Their movements were slow, deliberate, working out every knot in your muscles with practiced ease.

But then… things shifted.

"Turn over for us," Liz murmured, her voice soft yet commanding.

You hesitated for a second, but Rei gave you a playful tap on your shoulder. "Don’t be shy. We still have a lot of tension to work out."

Rolling onto your back, you tried to focus on the feeling of their hands, the heat of their bodies so close to yours. Liz’s fingers pressed into your shoulders, kneading firmly before slowly trailing downward. Too slow. Too intentional.

Rei’s touch mirrored hers, moving along your sides, the slickness of the gel making every motion smooth, effortless. And then—Liz’s hands ghosted over your thighs, her nails dragging lightly against sensitive skin. Your breath hitched.

Rei chuckled, voice laced with amusement. "Sensitive, are we?"

Liz smirked, her fingertips grazing higher, dangerously close. "Looks like we found another area that needs some… special attention."

Your body betrayed you before you could even react, heat pooling low in your stomach as your cock twitched to life. Liz and Rei exchanged glances, their smiles growing as they leaned in closer.

"Don’t worry," Liz purred. "We’ll take care of everything."

For a brief moment, your mind raced. Was this still part of the package? Were they really offering… this?

Almost as if they could read your thoughts, Rei giggled, her breath warm against your skin. "Of course it is," she whispered. "This is the best package we offer."

Liz leaned in closer, her fingers teasing along your length, barely touching—just enough to make you throb with anticipation. "You did pick the ultimate relaxation experience," she added, her voice dripping with amusement. "We’re just making sure you get what you paid for."

A shaky breath left your lips as Liz finally wrapped her hand around your cock, her movements slow, deliberate—like she wanted to savor every reaction. Meanwhile, Rei shifted, her presence growing closer until her lips hovered just above yours, her eyes dark with something unreadable.

"You’re so tense," she murmured. "Let me help with that."

And then, before you could even process it, her lips met yours—soft, warm, and undeniably intoxicating.

The sensation was overwhelming—two gorgeous women, their bodies pressed against you, their hands and lips exploring every inch of your skin. It caught you completely off guard.

You wanted to say something, maybe protest, maybe question how this was even happening—but the words never came. Your breath hitched, your body betraying you as Liz maintained her slow, torturous rhythm, her fingers working you with a practiced touch.

Rei finally pulled away from the kiss, her lips glistening as she leaned in close, her breath hot against your ear. "You're lucky, you know," she whispered, voice dripping with something dangerously sweet. "We don’t usually go this far with clients..."

She paused, letting her fingers trace lazily down your chest before smirking. "But since you’re extra attractive, we figured you deserved the best special treatment."

Liz let out a soft chuckle, her grip tightening just slightly. "Hope you can handle it."

Within seconds, Liz rose to her feet, her eyes locked onto yours with something almost predatory. Your breath caught as she hooked her fingers around the waistband of her underwear, sliding them down her thighs before stepping out of them completely.

She didn’t hesitate. With the nuru gel making everything impossibly slick, she straddled you, positioning herself just right before slowly sinking down onto your throbbing cock. The sensation was instant—hot, wet, and so smooth that it almost didn’t feel real. A deep, shaky groan slipped from your lips as she took you in inch by inch, her nails lightly grazing your chest.

Rei, still close, still whispering, smirked at your reaction. "You like that?" she murmured, her fingers teasing along your jaw before tilting your head back slightly. "You like being inside of Liz?"

Her voice was intoxicating, a perfect contrast to the slow, deliberate movements Liz was making above you. Every roll of her hips, every squeeze around you, every whispered word from Rei sent a fresh wave of heat through your body.

Liz let out a soft moan, her hands bracing against your chest as she moved. "He loves it," she teased, breathless. "Look at him."

Rei giggled, pressing her lips close to your ear. "Don’t hold back. We want to hear everything."

Liz’s hands found their way to your chest, her fingers digging in slightly as she picked up her pace. She bounced on your length, her movements fast and effortless, the slick warmth of the nuru gel making every thrust impossibly smooth.

The sensation was overwhelming—each downward motion sending a wave of pleasure through your body, the lewd sound of skin against skin filling the dimly lit room. You bit your lip, trying to suppress a moan, but it slipped out anyway, raw and breathless.

Rei smirked at the sound, her fingers tracing lazy patterns across your jaw before tilting your chin towards her. "You’re really enjoying this, huh?" she teased, her voice dripping with amusement. "Feels too good to stay quiet?"

Liz let out a soft, breathy moan of her own, her nails pressing into your chest as she rode you harder. "You’re stretching me so well," she panted, her rhythm never faltering. "I can feel you twitching… are you about to lose it?"

Rei chuckled, her lips grazing the shell of your ear. "Don’t fight it," she whispered. "Give Liz everything."

After a while, Liz’s movements slowed, her breath heavy as she lifted herself off of you, leaving you throbbing and desperate for more. A wicked smile played on her lips as she met your gaze.

"I think it’s Rei’s turn now," she murmured, her voice dripping with satisfaction.

Before you could even process it, Rei was already moving. She stood up, her hands gripping her hips as she slid her panties to the side, revealing herself to you. Without hesitation, she positioned herself over your aching cock, her breath shaky with anticipation.

And then, in one slow, careful motion, she sank down onto you.

A sharp gasp left both of you at the same time. Rei’s body clenched around you, impossibly tight, the heat and slickness making you dizzy.

"Holy shit," Rei choked out, her hands flying to your chest to steady herself. "You’re… fucking huge."

Her walls fluttered around you as she adjusted, her brows furrowing as she bit her lip, overwhelmed by the stretch. "Shit, shit—fuck," she cursed under her breath, her nails digging into your skin. "How the hell am I supposed to handle this?"

Liz, watching with amusement, leaned down and pressed a teasing kiss to Rei’s neck. "You’ll get used to it," she whispered, her hands sliding over Rei’s waist. "Just take it slow… or don’t."

Rei let out a shaky moan, her fingers tightening against your chest as she tested a small movement, her body shuddering at the feeling.

"You better not hold back on me," she panted, locking eyes with you. "I want all of it."

Rei’s movements were different from Liz’s. Both of them were fast, but Rei’s body gripped you tighter—almost unbearably so. Every time she lifted her hips and slammed back down, her walls clenched around your aching cock, making you feel every inch of her.

"F-Fuck," Rei stammered, her voice breaking as she struggled to adjust. "You're stretching me so much—I can feel everything."

Her nails dragged down your chest, her thighs trembling as she quickened her pace. Unlike Liz’s smooth, fluid motions, Rei’s were desperate, erratic—like she was chasing something she’d never felt before. And the way her tight pussy clenched around you only made it harder for you to hold back.

Liz, still beside you, watched with a smirk, running her fingers through Rei’s disheveled hair. "Look at you," she cooed. "You’re already so fucked out."

Rei let out a strangled moan, her body shivering as she sank down to take you even deeper. "I don’t care," she panted, tossing her head back. "It feels too fucking good—I don’t wanna stop."

For a fleeting moment, you wondered if you even cared about the massage anymore. The whole reason you came here had completely slipped from your mind—because right now, nothing else mattered except the way these two gorgeous women were completely falling apart on you.

Rei was relentless, her hips rolling in a desperate rhythm, her tight walls gripping you like she never wanted to let go. Every thrust had her moaning louder, her words growing filthier with every breath.

"Fuck—you're so deep—shit, I can feel you in my stomach," she whined, her head tilting back as another string of curses tumbled from her lips. "I—hah—I'm so fucking full."

Liz chuckled beside you, clearly enjoying the sight of Rei losing herself. Then, as Rei continued to ride you, Liz leaned down, her lips grazing your ear.

"Want to feel our mouths next?" she murmured, her voice dripping with seduction. "I promise we’re just as good with our tongues."

Your pulse quickened. The moment the words left her lips, you already knew the answer.

"Fuck yes," you groaned.

Liz grinned, exchanging a look with Rei, who bit her lip before finally slowing her movements. Your body ached from the loss of heat, but as they both slid down to the mat, their hands trailing over your skin, you knew the next part would be even better.

Rei’s movements started to slow, her breath ragged, her thighs trembling from the intensity of it all. With one final, shaky gasp, she lifted herself off of you, leaving your cock slick and throbbing, desperate for more.

But before you could even register the loss, both Liz and Rei were already on you.

Two warm mouths. Two eager tongues.

You groaned as they licked up and down your aching length, their soft lips trailing along every inch of you. Liz took the base, her fingers wrapping around you as she kissed and sucked along the shaft, while Rei flicked her tongue over the tip, teasing you with slow, deliberate circles.

"Fuck," you exhaled, your head falling back as pleasure shot through you.

Rei looked up at you, her tongue dragging along a vein before smirking. "You were stretching me so good just now," she purred, her voice sultry. "I wanna see if you taste just as good."

Liz hummed against your skin, her lips pressing wet kisses along your cock before taking you into her mouth, her tongue swirling expertly. After a moment, she pulled back just enough to breathe, "Don’t hold back. We want to feel you throbbing on our tongues."

Rei giggled, pressing her tongue flat against your shaft. "Let us make you lose control."

Their mouths were just as heavenly as their pussies—warm, wet, and utterly relentless. Liz and Rei worked in perfect sync, their tongues gliding along your length, leaving trails of slick saliva as they took turns sucking and teasing.

Soft lips pressed kisses along your shaft, their movements slow and deliberate, as if they wanted to savor every inch of you. Rei’s tongue flicked over the tip while Liz wrapped her lips around the base, her fingers stroking what her mouth couldn’t reach. The combination was intoxicating.

A deep, shameless moan escaped your lips, your body shuddering under their touch. The moment they heard it, their eyes darkened with hunger.

Rei pulled back for a second, her lips shiny with spit, a smirk playing on her face. "You sound so good when you moan like that," she teased, before pressing her tongue flat against your cock and dragging it up slowly.

Liz giggled, glancing up at you as she let a string of saliva drip onto your shaft, her hand spreading it along your length. "We can make you even louder," she murmured, voice thick with desire.

And just like that, they both went back to devouring you—hungrier, messier, more desperate to pull every last sound from your lips.

Your mind was hazy, completely fucked out, barely able to process anything beyond the wet, sinful heat of their mouths working your length. Every lick, every kiss, every slow stroke of their tongues sent another wave of pleasure crashing through you.

Then Liz decided to take things even further.

Without hesitation, she slid her lips down, taking you deeper—deeper—until her nose brushed against your pelvis. She swallowed your entire cock effortlessly, her throat tightening around you in a way that made you groan loud and raw.

Rei, eyes wide with awe, pulled back and let out a breathy laugh. "Holy shit, Liz… how did you do that?"

Liz smirked as she finally pulled off you with a wet pop, a string of saliva still connecting her lips to your cock. "Talent," she teased, wiping her mouth before shooting Rei a playful look. "Wanna give it a try?"

Rei, never one to back down from a challenge, licked her lips and nodded. She positioned herself, took a deep breath, and slowly started to sink down. At first, she did well, inching further and further… but the moment she reached a certain point, her throat tightened, and—

"Ghk!" She gagged, immediately pulling off with teary eyes, coughing as she wiped her lips. "Shit—how do you even—"

Liz giggled, rubbing Rei’s back. "Don’t worry, baby. It takes practice." She turned to you, stroking your spit-soaked length. "Guess we’ll just have to keep practicing on him."

Rei caught her breath, then grinned. "I’m not giving up just yet."

And with that, she went right back down.

Their mouths never slowed, never relented—both of them completely focused on you, devouring you with their lips and tongues. The pleasure was overwhelming, and as much as you tried to hold on, you could feel it building deep inside you.

Liz seemed to notice first. With a knowing smirk, she wrapped her hand around your slick, throbbing length and started stroking you faster, her grip firm and relentless. "You’re close, aren’t you?" she murmured, watching the way your body tensed beneath them. "Come on, let us have it."

Meanwhile, Rei kept her mouth wrapped around your tip, her tongue swirling slow, teasing circles over the sensitive head. Her eyes flickered up, locking onto yours, dark with lust. "Give it to us," she whispered between strokes, her breath hot against your skin. "I wanna taste how good we made you feel."

That was it. That was all it took.

Your climax hit like a tidal wave, your moan ripping through the air as pleasure overtook you. Your release shot out, splattering across Rei’s flushed face and dripping over Liz’s eager hands. Rei gasped at the warmth hitting her skin, her lips parting as she licked some off the corner of her mouth with a satisfied hum.

Liz, still gripping you, stroked you a few more times, coaxing out every last drop. She brought her hand up, watching the way your release dripped between her fingers before smirking. "God, that was a lot," she teased, glancing at Rei. "He must’ve really loved this."

The session left you completely breathless, your body loose and tension-free in a way you had never experienced before. Every muscle in you, once tight and aching, now felt melted into relaxation, your mind hazy from the overwhelming pleasure.

Liz leaned down, her soft, warm breath fanning against your ear as she whispered, "Feeling better?" Her voice was laced with satisfaction, her fingers tracing gentle patterns across your chest, as if she was savoring the aftermath just as much as you were.

You tried to answer, but all you could manage was a slow, exhausted nod. A lazy smirk tugged at Liz’s lips. "Thought so," she murmured before pressing one last teasing kiss to your jaw.

Rei, still just as playful even after everything, propped herself up on her elbow, watching you with amusement. "I don’t think he can even move right now," she teased, trailing a single finger down your stomach. "We really did a number on you, huh?"

You exhaled a shaky breath, finally finding your voice. "Yeah… you could say that."

Liz chuckled while Rei stretched, giving you one final sultry glance before slowly standing up. "Well, whenever you need another ‘massage,’ you know where to find us."

After finally gathering the strength to move, you cleaned up, got dressed, and made your way back to the front. Rei was already behind the desk, her usual air of professionalism now mixed with the lingering heat of what just happened. As you approached, she tapped the counter lightly, a knowing smirk playing on her lips.

"Hope to see you again soon, handsome." she mused, tilting her head.

Liz, leaning casually against the doorway behind her, added, "Next time, we’ll have even more fun."

You swallowed, your body still buzzing from everything they had put you through. As you stepped out into the cool night air, the crisp breeze hitting your flushed skin, one thought settled firmly in your mind.

You would definitely be coming back.

[kryllia]

Silver Threads of Love

Husband Aemond Targaryen x Wife Reader

romantic fluff

art from pinterest

This fanfiction is inspired by a bot in character.ai and I thought it was really cute, so I created this cute scenario. The creator of the bot is @Xaidil

The candlelight flickers, casting golden hues across the dimly lit chamber. The scent of burning wax mingles with the faint trace of lavender lingering in your hair. Aemond sits on the floor beside the bed, his long legs stretched out, his back resting against the mattress as he lets you run your fingers through his silken silver locks.

You’ve always adored his hair—soft as the clouds that drift lazily across the skies of King's Landing, cascading like liquid moonlight down his back. Tonight, you take your time, weaving each strand carefully, enjoying the rare moment of peace between you.

"Are you finished?" Aemond's voice is quieter than usual, a stark contrast to the commanding tone he carries in the war council or during training sessions. Here, in the privacy of your chambers, he is just your husband, not the fearsome prince who rides the largest dragon in Westeros.

"Almost," you murmur, fingers deftly twisting silver into intricate patterns.

Aemond hums in acknowledgment, his singular violet eye half-lidded. He appears content, relaxed even, something he rarely allows himself. You wonder how often he felt this kind of ease in his youth, when every moment was a battle to prove his worth.

"We're just going to sleep," he comments, amusement lacing his voice. "The braid does not have to be flawless. Only you shall see it."

You huff softly, lightly tugging at a strand in playful reprimand. "That does not mean I should be careless, husband."

His smirk deepens, though he makes no move to stop you. Instead, he tilts his head ever so slightly, allowing you to work more comfortably. A gesture so small, yet so significant.

Few would believe the tales if you spoke them—that Aemond Targaryen, the cold and fearsome warrior, allowed his wife to braid his hair before bed, seeking solace in the gentle touch of her hands. But they did not know him as you did. They did not know the man who sought you out in quiet moments, whose arms wrapped around you in the dead of night when his mind was plagued with restless thoughts.

The silence between you is comfortable, the only sound the soft shuffle of your fingers threading through his silver tresses.

After a moment, you tie the end of the braid, running your fingers over it with satisfaction. "There," you whisper. "Done."

Aemond shifts, rising gracefully from the floor to sit beside you on the bed. His eye roves over you, contemplative, lingering on the curve of your lips before meeting your gaze. Slowly, he lifts a hand and pulls the leather eyepatch away, revealing the sapphire embedded where his left eye had once been.

It is not the first time he has shown it to you, but it still takes your breath away. The jewel gleams in the dim light, an ethereal glow in contrast to the warmth of his violet eye. He had once hidden it from you, even long after your wedding. But now, he no longer hesitates. No longer fears what you will see.

Your fingers reach for his face, gently tracing the sharp angles of his cheekbone before brushing over the cool sapphire. He does not flinch.

"You take such care with me," he muses, his voice barely above a whisper. "Even when you do not need to."

Your brows furrow slightly at his words. "Of course, I do," you reply, tilting your head. "You are my husband, Aemond."

A shadow crosses his features, but it is not the cold, detached look he wears before his enemies. This is something softer, something raw.

"You chose to love me," he murmurs. "Even when our marriage was one of duty."

Your chest tightens at the weight of his words. You reach for him, cupping his face with both hands, your thumbs tracing the line of his jaw.

"I did not choose to marry you," you admit softly. "But I chose to love you. And I would choose it again. Every time."

For a moment, he says nothing. Then, in a rare display of affection, he leans into your touch, his lips pressing a slow, reverent kiss against your palm.

His hand moves to your waist, pulling you gently toward him. You do not resist, allowing yourself to be enveloped in the warmth of his embrace. His forehead rests against yours, silver hair spilling over his shoulder, the braid you crafted lying against his back.

"Come," he murmurs, his voice softer than the night breeze filtering through the open window. "Let us sleep."

You barely have time to nod before he guides you down onto the bed, shifting so that your head rests against his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat soothes you, a lullaby more comforting than any sung by the court musicians.

His hand moves lazily along your back, tracing small, absentminded circles, as if grounding himself in your presence. His warmth, his scent—clove, fire, and something distinctly him—surrounds you, making it impossible to keep your eyes open.

Aemond notices. "Sleep, love," he whispers, his lips brushing the crown of your head.

You murmur something in response, though you’re already slipping into slumber, your body melting against his. Aemond chuckles softly, a rare and quiet sound meant only for you. He tightens his arms around you, holding you close as his own eyes finally drift shut.

For all the battles he fights, for all the nights spent planning for war, this—this moment, with you safe in his arms—is the one thing he will always protect.

Fan fact in Fire and Blood Aemond looses his right eye. On the show they switched it to his left eye.

[mikaylathenerd5]

Collide | R. R. Smut

You Already Do Masterlist ৹ Main Masterlist ৹ Join My Taglist

❤️ Pairing: Roman Reigns × Shiloh Lucero (Black OC)

🎧 Song Inspo: Collide by Justine Skye

📌 Summary: Shiloh didn’t expect forever to start with a key. What begins as a quiet overnight stay unfolds into something far deeper—slow kisses in the kitchen, whispered truths under candlelight, and the kind of first time that feels like a vow. Roman isn’t like the ones before. He listens. He waits. And when he finally touches her, it’s not just with his hands—it’s with devotion. This isn’t just sex. It’s softness. Safety. The kind of intimacy that ruins you for anything less. Tonight, their bodies meet. But their hearts have been colliding for weeks.

⚠️ Content Warning: This one-shot contains explicit sexual content intended for readers 18+. It features soft but explicit smut, including praise kink, size kink, dirty talk, and emotionally intimate first-time sex. There are strong themes of healing through intimacy, gentle aftercare, and reverent touch, as well as references to past toxic and one-sided sexual experiences. The narrative is grounded in emotional vulnerability, sensory detail, and the tenderness of being fully seen, held, and chosen. Reader discretion is advised.

🗨️ A/N: So I might of got carried away with this one but thank you to the lovely anon for requesting this one shot. As always thank you for all the support and make sure to check out the masterlist loves or join the taglist for more.

📝 Word Count: ~6.5k

I wanna feel your hands learn me slow. Like you’ve got forever. Like I’m not just yours tonight—but always.

Shiloh stood at the edge of her bed, fingers curled around the zipper of her overnight bag like it might bite.

It was already mostly packed. Her makeup bag nestled in one side pocket, her favorite satin bonnet folded beside her charger, and a rolled-up Nike hoodie lying neatly on top. Roman’s hoodie. The one he’d left at her place after a late-night call and hadn’t asked for back. The one she still hadn’t taken off.

But even with everything in place, she hesitated.

“You’ve been staring at that zipper for five minutes,” Jaida said from the foot of the bed, sipping wine like it was tea. “Blink twice if you need emotional support or tequila.”

“She needs both,” Rhea called out from the floor, cross-legged with a throw blanket over her lap and her own glass tipped lazily in her hand. “Also, is that lace?”

Shiloh’s head snapped up.

Rhea pointed her finger, but not at her; Rhea was pointing at the tiny splash of maroon barely peeking out from the corner of the bag. Thin straps. Delicate floral lace. Feminine and sheer and folded too neatly not to be intentional.

Shiloh groaned, moving to nudge it deeper beneath the hoodie. “You guys weren’t even supposed to see that.”

“Uh-huh.” Jaida leaned forward with a smirk. “You wearing that under his hoodie? Girl. Pack extra panties.”

Rhea nodded solemnly. “That man looks like he got a curved dick and an attitude. You’re not coming back the same.”

Shiloh dropped her face into her hands. “Please stop talking.”

“We’re not judging,” Jaida said quickly, her voice softening. “We’re hyping you up. This is a big step.”

Shiloh let out a slow breath and sat down on the edge of the mattress. She looked down at her hands—nails freshly done, palms still slightly damp from her last-minute body oil. Everything about tonight felt… big. Bigger than her usual firsts. Bigger than just sex.

“I’m just nervous,” she said quietly. “Like… the kind of nervous that sits in your stomach for days.”

“Because you like him,” Rhea said, gentler now. “Because it matters.”

Shiloh nodded. “I’ve never had anyone treat me like this before. He’s… different. It’s not just about how he looks. It’s the way he listens. The way he pays attention.”

Jaida raised an eyebrow. “Roman definitely pays attention. Man could find your pulse with his thumb.”

“I’m serious.”

They both quieted. Shiloh tucked her legs under herself and rested her hand on the closed bag.

“My exes were… fast. Thoughtless. They made sex feel like something I owed. But Roman—he’s patient. He waits for me to catch up. Even when I don’t say anything.”

Rhea’s expression softened. “That sounds like someone worth trusting.”

Shiloh hesitated. “What if I mess it up?”

“You won’t.” Jaida reached over and zipped the bag in one smooth motion. Zzt. “And even if you wobble, he’ll hold you steady. That’s what it sounds like.”

Shiloh gave a shaky laugh and stood, grabbing Roman’s hoodie off the bed and slipping it over her head. The familiar weight grounded her immediately. Her phone buzzed on the nightstand.

Roman ❤️: Can’t wait to see you. Use your key.

She stared at the screen for a moment, heat blooming across her chest. He didn’t smother. He didn’t push. But he always reached for her, in small and steady ways that were just enough to remind her she wasn’t alone. Her thumb hovered over the reply button, and for a breathless moment, her mind drifted back to the night he gave her the key.

It was late after a taping—quiet, cool, the smell of lingering arena smoke still clinging to their clothes. Roman hadn’t said much as they walked to his rental car, their hands linked between them. But when they reached the driver’s side, he turned to her and pressed something cold and metallic into her palm. A key. Silver. Smooth. Her name etched in cursive on the handle.

“You don’t have to use it unless you want to,” he’d said. “But it’s yours.”

He’d looked away when he said it, like it was too vulnerable to meet her eyes.

But she’d stared at that key all the way home.

Shiloh slipped her phone into the bag, grabbed her car keys, and took one last look around the room.

Everything about this was new. Maybe even a little scary.

But for once, the flutter in her chest didn’t feel like fear.

It felt like something blooming.

By the time Roman stepped off the elevator, his whole body ached.

Media day had drained him. Another string of interviews, cameras shoved in his face, the usual rehearsed questions. Smile. Nod. Say something safe. The public-facing version of himself was second nature by now, but it still left his jaw tight and his head buzzing by the end of the day. All he wanted was to stop performing. To sink into silence and not be seen for a while.

He scanned his fob at the condo door and stepped inside, keys in hand. He barely had time to close it behind him before something in his chest unspooled.

The smell hit him first. Garlic and butter, layered with something citrusy and warm. Jazz played low from the Bluetooth speaker in the kitchen. Not his playlist. The light was dim, all the overheads off except for the kitchen lamp and the warm flicker of a candle glowing from the center island. The air was thick with something that didn’t feel like routine.

It felt like home.

Then he saw her. A sight he swore he could never get tired of. And suddenly the ache in his body was replaced with something quieter, something that made the room feel like it was holding its breath.

Shiloh stood barefoot in the kitchen, her back to him, gently swaying as she stirred something in a pan. She wore one of his hoodies — sleeves bunched at her elbows, hem brushing the tops of her thighs. Her hair was pinned up in a loose twist. She was humming to herself, moving like she belonged there.

Not like a visitor.

Like someone who had always been part of the space.

Roman just stood there for a moment, not saying a word, letting the silence hold him still. His eyes scanned the space as his heart caught up. The couch had a folded throw blanket he didn’t remember owning. A half-read book lay on the coffee table beside her favorite water bottle. The vase on the dining table held tulips she brought home last week, already starting to open. And taped to the fridge, held by a small silver magnet, were two Polaroids.

One was of her cat, Kairo — orange, smug, curled on Roman’s armchair like he paid rent. The other was of the two of them after one of his matches. His hair was a mess, his skin still damp with sweat, and his arms wrapped around her waist. She was on her tiptoes, kissing his cheek. His eyes were closed in the photo, mouth barely tilted in a smile. Unposed. Raw. Honest.

She turned her head slightly, as if sensing him.

Roman finally found his voice.

"You look like you belong here."

Shiloh jumped, turning toward him with a smile. “Hey,” she said, eyes bright. “You’re home.”

He was, and for the first time all day, it felt like a good thing.

Roman dropped his keys into the bowl near the door and walked over slowly. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

“You didn’t.” Her voice was warm, steady. She reached to turn down the burner, then set the spoon aside. “Dinner’s almost done. I was just trying not to burn the garlic.”

Roman stepped in behind her, slipped his arms around her waist, and pressed his face to her neck. She was warm, soft, and smelled like vanilla, butter, and something else he couldn’t name but craved all the time. His entire body eased just from having her close.

“I wasn’t sure what I’d walk into,” he murmured against her skin.

“Hopefully not smoke or a ruined pan.”

He smiled against her. “Nah. Just this. Just you.”

She leaned into his chest and let out a little laugh, one hand resting lightly over his.

“You cooked in my hoodie just to ruin me, didn’t you?” he asked, letting his lips brush under her jaw.

“It’s cozy. And it smells like you. Kind of a win-win.”

He kissed her there, soft and slow, and let himself breathe her in like it was the first clean breath he’d had all day.

They ate at the island, side by side, still in sweats. Shiloh had picked up bread from the market he liked and poured them each a glass of wine. Everything was easy. Unforced. It didn’t feel like something special. It felt like something that had been theirs for a while.

Between bites, she launched into a story about Jaida and Rhea that had him choking on a sip of wine halfway through.

“So we’re in Target, right? Just supposed to be grabbing hand soap and a mop refill. That’s all. But Rhea finds this rogue cart abandoned near the front. And Jaida, of course, gets this look in her eye like she’s about to commit a felony. She dares Rhea to race down the aisle — the candle aisle, Roman. Those two acted like they were at the Daytona 500.”

He blinked at her, half-chewing. “What kind of dare is that?”

“The kind that ends in destruction.”

She grinned, barely getting the words out between her laughter. “Rhea cuts the corner too sharp and clips one of those metal end caps. Candles go flying. It’s like a damn fireworks show, but with eucalyptus and sea salt. Jaida screams, runs the other way. Rhea crashes into a decorative gnome, and I have to pretend I don’t know either of them while security comes over.”

Roman stared at her, a slow smile creeping in. “You’re joking.”

“I wish. The worst part? Rhea had the nerve to grab a bag of popcorn on the way out, like she wasn’t just the reason we’re banned from that store.”

He laughed — really laughed. The kind that shook his shoulders and echoed across the kitchen.

“You’re all menaces.”

“And yet, here I am,” she said, lifting her glass with a tilt of her head. “In your hoodie. In your kitchen.”

Roman gave her a look, feigning annoyance. “Don’t forget your water bottle, your playlist, and half my closet.”

“Sounds like a you problem.”

“It’s the best problem I’ve ever had.”

They lingered after the meal, plates pushed to the side. The jazz looped into something slower. Roman leaned on one elbow, watching her swirl the last of her wine. The room had gone still in the way only peace can do. No distractions. No noise. Just the sound of her breath and the steady hum of existing beside her.

“This is the first time in weeks I haven’t felt like I’m performing,” he said quietly.

Shiloh looked at him, expression soft. “Good. You don’t have to perform here.” She reached across the counter and laced their fingers together. “Not unless I ask nicely.”

He smiled, but the weight in his chest didn’t lift. It dropped deeper. Settled into something rooted.

He watched her — the way she looked at him without flinching, the curve of her mouth when she was trying not to laugh, the comfort in her silence. She’d slipped into his life without asking. Left pieces of herself everywhere. Not loud. Not demanding. Just… present.

And it hit him. This was it. This was what forever felt like.

He didn’t say it. The words were there, full and heavy in his mouth, but he wasn’t ready to let them out. Not yet. Not when everything was already so good.

So instead, he squeezed her hand and let his thumb drag softly over her knuckles. She didn’t ask what he was thinking. She just smiled again and leaned in, resting her chin in her palm, looking at him like he was already hers.

He squeezed her hand again.

And in his chest, where the ache used to be, there was only her.

The plates were rinsed and stacked, the wine bottle left uncorked beside the sink. The jazz had faded into silence, replaced by the low, familiar rhythm of Abbott Elementary playing from the TV. The screen flickered, but their attention had long drifted elsewhere—drawn into a moment that felt more real than anything on screen.

Shiloh was curled into Roman’s side on the couch, legs tucked beneath her, her wine glass loose in one hand. She was still in his hoodie, sleeves swallowed over her knuckles, with her face pressed against the stretch of his chest like she belonged there. A cozy blanket draped over them both, the lighting low and intimate.

Roman’s arm rested heavy across her shoulders, fingertips tracing lazy circles over her upper arm. He hadn’t said much since dinner. He didn’t need to. Everything he’d meant to say had been sitting in the way he held her. A soft breath when she laughed. The pause before he leaned in closer. The way his thumb never quite stopped moving against her skin. They’d never had a night this quiet. And yet, it didn’t feel like silence. It felt like something else. Something whole and grounding. Like a new chapter that didn’t need to announce itself.

Shiloh shifted, nudging her nose gently against his collarbone. “You okay?” she asked, voice low.

Roman tilted his head toward her, his thumb brushing along her arm again. “Yeah.  I’m more than okay.”

She looked up at him, her eyes steady. Soft. Familiar.

“You sure?” she murmured.

He nodded, then gave a small shrug. “You ever notice how loud the world is? Like… even when you’re alone, it’s never really quiet.”

She nodded slowly. “All the time.”

Roman’s voice dropped a little. “This is the first time in a while I haven’t felt like I have to be someone. Haven’t had to wear the voice, or the walk, or the name. I don’t have to flex anything with you.”

Shiloh didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. She just shifted her weight and pressed a kiss to his chest, right over his heart. Roman swallowed, jaw tight. She could feel his breath change.

“Everything feels different with you,” he murmured after a beat. “It always has.”

She tilted her head slightly. “Different how?”

Roman looked down at her, eyes hooded, raw. “I’ve always felt alone. Even when I wasn’t. Even in locker rooms. On flights. At family dinners. Around people who say they know me.”

Shiloh’s fingers slid beneath the hem of his t-shirt, resting on his stomach. “And now?”

He leaned down, pressed his forehead to hers.

“Now I feel… still."

Shiloh’s breath caught, emotion swelling in her chest. She hadn’t expected this kind of honesty, not tonight. But the way he opened himself to her—quietly, vulnerably—wrapped around her like something sacred. She shifted closer, her cheek brushing his shoulder, grounding herself in his warmth. He didn’t say it outright, but she heard it anyway. That quiet truth. That ache. That love. It pulsed between them like a heartbeat neither of them had noticed until now.

The show played on, background noise to a moment far louder in meaning. All that existed was the space between their lips, the electric hush of touch, and the comfort of knowing neither needed to fill the silence.

Shiloh smiled—quietly, shyly—shifting onto her knees, leaning just enough to kiss his jaw. Her lips brushed against his.

Roman blinked, a little stunned. “What was that for?”

Shiloh smiled again, smaller this time. “You looked like you needed it.”

He was about to respond, but then she stretched her arms overhead, yawning softly. As the hoodie rose with the movement, his gaze dropped—and stopped.

Just beneath the hem of the sweatshirt, he caught it. His breath hitched, chest tightening with a raw kind of wonder. For a split second, the air felt suspended, thick with heat and reverence.

Maroon lace. The barest glimpse of a strap across her ribcage, disappearing under soft brown skin. He blinked once, then again, mouth parting slightly. For a moment, he forgot how to breathe. The sight of her—soft skin, delicate lace—sent a rush through him that left every nerve lit and humming. Time seemed to narrow to that one image.

“Wait,” he said, voice raspier than he meant it to be. His hand stilled on her thigh, breath catching like the air had thickened in his lungs. “Are you…”

Shiloh looked down, her heart thudding with a quiet kind of courage. Then she looked up at him through her lashes, her eyes steady and open, hoping he saw all the trust she was offering.

“Wearing a set?” she finished for him.

Roman nodded slowly. He stilled. Reverence flooded his expression.

“You wore this for me?”

Shiloh’s smile deepened, her voice soft but steady. “Wanted to surprise you. You make it easy to feel good in my skin.”

Roman’s throat bobbed. His whole expression shifted—reverent, starving.

“You don’t even know what you do to me, baby.”

There was a pause. Only a second, but it stretched like a thread between them, pulling tighter with every breath.

Roman sat up straighter, his hand sliding along her thigh, up the hoodie, then stopping just above the curve of her hip.

“I thought we were taking it slow.”

Shiloh leaned in, brushing her lips against his jaw, her voice a soft thread of truth. “We are. But slow doesn’t mean scared. I’m ready to take the next step with you. Because it feels right.”

Roman didn’t say anything. Not at first. He just looked at her like she’d cracked something open in him. His heart thudded once, heavy and sharp.

I don’t deserve her. The thought came unbidden, but it didn’t linger like it used to. Instead, it was eclipsed by something gentler, stronger. But I want to. I want to try.

He leaned in, cupping her cheek.

The kiss started out slow. Gentle.

Their lips brushed once, then again—tentative, exploratory. But then her fingers slipped into his hair, and his hand moved to the small of her back, and everything deepened in an instant. The kiss turned hungry, full of the tension they’d both been holding back for weeks. Her lips parted, inviting him in, and he took it—his tongue sliding against hers in a rhythm that made her whimper softly into his mouth.

She climbed into his lap without breaking the kiss.

The hoodie rose higher as she moved, revealing more skin, more warmth. Roman’s hand paused briefly, eyes darkening as he traced the edge of lace with his thumb, his breath shallow like the moment was asking him to be gentle with it. Her bare thighs straddled him, skin warm against his, grounding him completely.

Roman’s breath caught as she shifted in his lap, his hands tightening instinctively around her waist, a low breath escaping him—ragged and reverent, like her touch undid something deep in him. Shiloh leaned in, their chests brushing, and kissed his cheek, then his lips—slowly, deeply. Roman groaned softly, hands flexing at her waist. As she rolled her hips, his breath caught.

"Shiloh," he whispered, voice low and reverent. His fingers flexed against her waist, and his jaw tightened as she pressed closer, her nails grazing his neck. He trembled slightly beneath her, not from uncertainty, but from the overwhelming force of feeling. The air between them felt charged, their bodies drawn together by something unspoken and sacred.

The room felt smaller. Hotter. Their wine glasses were forgotten on the coffee table. The dim light played across their bodies as he kissed her like he needed to memorize every inch of her mouth. She tugged at the back of his shirt, breathless now, her whole body flushed and buzzing.

Their foreheads rested together for a beat, lips swollen, breathing uneven. The air between them was thick with want and reverence. Roman looked at her like he didn’t want to rush this, even though he wanted her more than anything. A soft groan rumbled in his throat, his thumb brushing beneath her jaw like he needed to ground himself in the reality of her.

“Are you sure?” he asked softly.

Shiloh nodded, fingertips brushing along the edge of his jaw. Her heart felt like it was pulsing right in her throat, but not from nerves—from certainty. “I’ve never been more sure.”

And Roman kissed her like he finally understood what it meant to be home.

Shiloh melted into his embrace, her heart swelling with something deeper than desire—something like certainty. In his arms, she felt a belonging she'd never known. She wasn’t just held. She was seen. Wanted. Loved.

Her eyes fluttered shut as warmth settled in her chest. The world had gone quiet—finally—and all that remained was this: him, her, and the steady rhythm of something that felt a lot like forever. For the first time in a long time, she didn’t question if she was too much or not enough. In his arms, with his kiss pressed to her skin like a vow, she knew she was exactly right.

Roman carried her into the bedroom with a tenderness that belied the strength in his arms. The lights were low, the air quiet but thick with everything unspoken. Shiloh's arms looped around his neck as he set her down gently on the edge of the bed, like something fragile and precious. Her maroon lace lingerie caught the warm light, hugging her curves in a way that made his breath stutter.

They undressed slowly. Not rushed. Not greedy. Just reverent.

Roman kissed along her shoulder, her collarbone, down the slope of her ribs. Every inch he touched was kissed with patience, his mouth mapping her body like it was scripture. He pressed his lips to the soft skin beneath her breast, then trailed lower—down her stomach, the inside of her thigh, right to the edge of her lace panties.

Just as he hooked his fingers beneath the band to pull them down, she stopped him with a hand to his wrist. Her voice was small, but steady.

"I’ve never had... good experiences. It’s always been rushed. One-sided. I was just... there."

Roman stilled immediately. His hand reached up to cradle her face, thumb brushing her cheek with exquisite gentleness.

"That ends tonight," he murmured, voice deep and steady. "You deserve more. We’ll take it slow. We’ll take our time."

He kissed her again—her temple, her jaw, the space just below her navel—before finally removing the lace that had taunted him all evening. He settled between her thighs, spreading them gently, reverently.

It started with a slow, teasing kiss to her inner thigh. Then another. And another. He breathed her in like she was the first real thing he'd tasted in a lifetime. When his mouth finally met her center, he groaned low and deep, the sound vibrating against her soaked skin.

Shiloh gasped, head falling back, a tremble rippling through her. Her heart was racing so fast she could hardly breathe. She wasn't used to this—being seen, being worshipped.

Her mind scrambled for air, for balance. But Roman didn’t give her time to think. His tongue moved with filthy reverence—broad, wet strokes that licked into her like he needed her to survive. He flattened his tongue and dragged it through her folds with aching precision, then circled her clit in slow, rhythmic pulses. Each movement felt deliberate, devastating.

She could barely process the way he kissed her there—open-mouthed, hungry, like the taste of her was addicting. Like he meant to break her apart with his mouth alone.

“Oh my God,” she whimpered, hips jolting. “Roman—fuck—please, don’t stop.”

She didn’t even realize she was saying the words aloud. Her hand shot into his curls, gripping tight. Her thighs tried to close around him, overwhelmed by how good it felt—but Roman caught them, strong and steady, holding her open so he could keep devouring her.

“Don’t hide from me, baby. I want all of it.”

His tongue flicked. Lapped. Swirled. He groaned like she was the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted, the sound rumbling through her. He kissed her clit, slow and wet, then dragged the flat of his tongue across it again.

This wasn’t like before. This wasn’t selfish or rushed. It wasn’t careless fingers and eyes that didn’t care if she finished. This was hunger. This was obsession. This was someone who wanted to taste every inch of her until she forgot what silence ever felt like.

He’s going to ruin me. He already has.

Roman’s mind spun with need—I could spend the rest of my life right here.

He growled against her, sucking her clit into his mouth, just hard enough to make her cry out.

“Fuck, Roman—”

Her back arched, muscles locking. She was spiraling. Her body was trembling. She couldn’t stop moaning. She couldn't remember her name. All she knew was his mouth—how it built pressure so achingly slow, only to undo her with the next pass of his tongue. Every flick, every groan against her, wound her tighter. He was dragging her to the edge and keeping her there, like he wanted to own the moment she came apart.

“You taste so fucking good,” he rasped. “This pussy’s mine now, you hear me?”

He lifted his gaze, locking eyes with her as he moaned against her clit, tongue relentless.

“Look at me, baby,” he said, voice ragged. “Look at me while I make you come.”

Shiloh cried out, overwhelmed by how full she felt even without him inside her. His mouth alone felt like too much and not enough all at once.

No one had ever made her feel like this. Like she was precious. Like she was pleasure incarnate.

His voice came rough, scorching against her soaked heat. "That’s it, baby. Let go for me. Don’t hold back. Let me feel it."

She shattered.

Her orgasm crashed through her like a tidal wave of heat and stars. Her legs shook violently. She sobbed through the pleasure, thighs quaking as Roman held her down, licking through it, chasing every aftershock until she was crying out and gasping his name.

“Roman—Roman, I—I can’t—”

But he didn’t stop. Not right away. He slowed only when her legs were trembling beyond control, and she was boneless beneath him. He pressed one final, worshipful kiss to her clit, then the inside of her thigh, before resting his cheek there.

“You taste like heaven. I’m never letting you go.”

She collapsed, breath shattered, chest heaving, fingers still knotted in his hair.

Roman lifted his head. His lips were shiny, beard soaked, eyes wild with reverence. He kissed the inside of her thigh and rested his cheek there, hand brushing softly over her knee.

“You okay?”

Shiloh blinked through the haze, lips parted, heart racing. She nodded, and one tear slipped down her cheek.

Roman kissed it away.

“That was just the beginning,” he whispered.

And the look in his eyes told her he meant it.

The room was quiet except for the soft sounds of their breath, skin already slick with sweat and anticipation. Roman hovered above her, jaw tight, chest rising fast like he was holding back a storm.

“Tell me if anything doesn’t feel good,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. “If you need me to stop, I stop. You hear me?”

Shiloh nodded, heart thundering beneath her ribs. “I want you,” she whispered. “Just… go slow. Please.”

Roman kissed her once—soft, anchoring—then again, before shifting lower. One hand curled beneath her thigh, the other pressed into the mattress beside her head. He guided himself to her entrance, dragging the thick head of his cock through the slick mess he’d made with his mouth. Her breath hitched.

Oh my God. He was thick—thicker than anyone she’d ever been with. Just the weight of him at her entrance made her legs tremble.

Her eyes flicked down—and froze. Oh… His cock was thick, long, and glistening from where he’d dragged it through her slick. The sight alone made her toes curl. No one’s ever— Her mouth parted on instinct. How the hell was all that going inside her?

“Breathe, baby,” he whispered. “Let me in.”

The first push stole her breath. Her body stretched, clung, fluttered around the intrusion. Oh God. Nothing had ever felt like this—every inch of him dragged sensation from places she didn’t know existed. She could feel the imprint of his thickness along every wall, nerves lit up like wildfire. None of her exes ever filled her like this. None ever made her feel cracked open and claimed. This was different. This was him. Wetness coated them both, the sounds obscene, slick, constant.

“You okay?” His voice was tight, reverent.

“Keep going,” she whispered, gripping his wrist.

Roman exhaled like he'd been punched. Inch by inch, he eased in, her body taking him with trembling resistance. Her inner walls clenched around him, soaked and pulsing.

It’s too much. It’s everything. Her mind spiraled with sensation. No one’s ever made me feel this full. This wanted. This… loved.

“Fuuuuck,” Roman groaned, holding himself still once he bottomed out. “You feel that? You’re so fucking tight, baby. So good for me.”

He kissed her jaw, then her throat, breathing her in as her body adjusted. Their foreheads touched, breaths mingling in the space between them.

“Talk to me,” he murmured. “Tell me what you need.”

Shiloh whimpered, voice trembling. “You. Just you. I’ve never felt like this before.”

He started to move—slow, deliberate thrusts that dragged every nerve in her body closer to the edge. Each roll of his hips pulled a soft cry from her lips.

“You’re takin’ me so good,” he breathed, his voice a low rasp, thick with reverence and want. His eyes stayed on her face, watching every flutter of her lashes, every gasp she made.

“This was it. This was the kind of connection he didn’t know he needed—raw, emotional, earth-shaking.” He kissed her shoulder. “Stretchin’ around me like you were made for this dick. For me. No one else gets to see you like this. Just me.”

Her legs tightened around his waist. Her body arched, offering more.

“More,” she gasped. “Don’t stop.”

“You’re so wet, baby. You hear that?”

The filthy slap of skin on skin echoed through the room, a rhythm of sin and surrender. He shifted her legs, folding them to her chest, and drove in deeper.

She sobbed. “Right there—Roman, oh my God—”

“That’s it,” he groaned, sweat slicking his chest. “Let me give it to you. Let me ruin you sweet.”

His dirty talk was relentless, filth-laced worship.

“You take every inch like this pussy was made for me. That’s my girl—take it. Take all of me. Let me hear those pretty sounds, baby. You’re fuckin’ mine.”

Her orgasm built fast and violent, a crescendo of heat and pressure that started low in her belly and surged through her like a breaking wave. Each thrust, each whispered praise, pulled her tighter to the edge.

Her body was still trembling from the aftershocks, legs quivering with overstimulation as the echoes of her first orgasm lingered deep inside her.

Roman was still buried inside her—deep, grounded, savoring every pulse of her walls around him, as if memorizing how it felt to be home. Shiloh couldn’t even speak. Her legs trembled around his hips, her breath short and uneven as she tried to make sense of the way he filled her. Like she’d been made to feel him like this.

He hadn’t slowed down.

He kissed her, slow and grounding, leaning back just enough to grab behind her thighs and press her knees to her chest—folding her open in one practiced, possessive motion.

“Roman, wait—”

“I’ve got you,” he breathed. “Let me give you everything.”

The stretch went from overwhelming to unreal. Her head dropped back against the pillow with a soft, broken moan. Her thighs shook in his grip as he thrust again—deep and heavy, with no mercy.

The stretch stole her breath mid-sentence.

“There you go,” he murmured, sweat slick across his chest. “Feel that?”

“This is what you do to me, baby.”

“You take every single inch of me so fuckin’ good.”

The sound of him moving inside her was slick. Filthy. Constant. His pace turned rougher—hips slamming into hers, jaw clenched, eyes locked on her like she was the only thing tethering him to earth. Shiloh whimpered, fingernails dragging down his arms.

“Too much?” he asked lowly, but he didn’t stop. His voice was rough, reverent. “Or just right, baby?”

She shook her head, but her words tangled in her throat. She could hear the wet, filthy sound of him inside her, could feel the sweat between their bodies, could taste the moment like salt on her tongue. Is this what it’s supposed to feel like? she thought, her mind unraveling with every grind of his hips. Not just taken—but cherished, split open, and worshipped.

“Roman—fuck—I’m coming—”

He didn’t slow. He fucked her through it, thrusts deep, possessive, reverent. His body trembled, muscles quaking as she clenched around him.

“You feel that?” he groaned, voice wild now. “Right there, baby? You’re still so fuckin’ wet for me—so full of me. So perfect like this, stretched out and mine.”

Her fingers clawed at the sheets. Her thighs trembled against his sides. Her body, still trembling from the intense climax he’d drawn from her, now quivered again—anew heat blooming low in her belly, her core already tightening in desperate anticipation.

“Roman—fuck, I—”

“You gonna give me one more?” he whispered roughly, lips brushing her ear. “Let me fuck you through another. I know you can.”

Shiloh's voice was already a mess of moans, choked gasps tumbling past her lips as she tried to form words. “Roman—too much, it’s too good—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he growled, low and full of need. “You’re takin’ all of me, baby. This pussy was made to take all this dick. Say it.”

“I—fuck—I’m trying,” she cried out, her voice raw with pleasure, head thrashing as the sensations overwhelmed her.

“Say it, Shiloh. Say it’s mine.”

“It’s yours—Roman, it’s yours—” she gasped, the words pouring out between cries as her body trembled beneath him.

He slowed for a breath—just long enough to pin her gaze again. His hands cradled her face, his eyes raw. “I need to see you,” he rasped. “Right now. I need to see the face you make when I fucking come.”

“Shiloh—shit—I’m close.” His breath caught. “Where do you want me, baby?”

“Inside,” she gasped. “I’m on the pill—please, I want all of it.”

Roman groaned her name like a prayer. Thrusted once—twice—then broke.

His release hit hard, hips jerking as he spilled into her, gasping, shaking.

“Fuuuck, baby—so good. So fucking good.”

He buried himself deep, arms shaking, his breath ragged and warm against her cheek, the scent of sex thick between them. Sweat dripped from his brow, their bodies slick, hearts pounding in tandem. The air buzzed with the wet sound of him still moving inside her, like her body was trying to keep him there forever.

Roman had never come that hard in his life. Not like this. Not with his chest cracked open and something tender clawing up his throat. She’d undone him. And he didn’t want to be put back together.

His forehead stayed pressed to hers, lost in the high of it. Her body soaked up every drop like she never wanted to let go.

“You got me,” he murmured, voice broken, forehead pressed to hers. “You fuckin’ got me.”

They stayed like that—his chest pressed to hers, both of them trembling. His hand cupped the side of her face, thumb brushing a tear she hadn’t even realized had fallen.

“I’ve never…” she whispered, voice shaky. “No one’s ever made me feel like that.”

Roman looked at her, hand cradling her jaw.

“That’s how you deserve to be felt,” he said. “Every single time.”

And in his head, Roman wasn’t just thinking about this time. He was thinking about the next time. And the next. And the next.

He pulled out gently, like he never wanted to hurt her, like she was something sacred. He kissed her inner thighs, soft and reverent, then disappeared into the bathroom. A moment later, she felt the warmth of a damp cloth between her legs—gentle, slow, tender.

“You okay?” he asked, voice husky but sweet as he cleaned her up.

Shiloh nodded, eyes heavy-lidded and full of something she didn’t have the words for yet. “More than okay.”

When he was done, he tossed the cloth aside and climbed back into bed, wrapping her up in his arms like he couldn’t stand even an inch of distance. They lay there, tangled skin to skin, her cheek pressed to his chest, their legs entwined beneath the sheets. His heartbeat thumped beneath her ear—steady, strong, hers.

He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “You did so good for me, baby.”

“I feel like I’m floating,” she whispered, drowsy and dazed.

Roman chuckled. “That’s how it’s supposed to feel.”

They drifted off like that—bodies sore, limbs tangled, sleep tugging at them both.

Shiloh woke to sunlight spilling across the bed, Roman’s arm slung heavy around her waist. She was still tucked into him, her back to his chest, his breath soft against her shoulder. Her phone buzzed somewhere near the edge of the nightstand. She stretched an arm out without moving too much and grabbed it, blinking at the screen.

Jaida [8:12 AM]: Sooo… you alive? Or paralyzed from the d?

Shiloh snorted, laughter bubbling up from her chest before she could stop it. Roman groaned behind her, his voice a gravelly mumble.

“Tell her both.”

She turned slightly, grinning. “You heard that?”

“Could feel you laughing. And I know your friends by now.”

Shiloh typed back a quick response:

Shiloh [8:13 AM]: Alive. Barely. You and Rhea are banned from shopping cart racing for a month.

Another buzz came instantly.

Jaida [8:13 AM]: Lmaoooo worth it. Did he fold you like laundry or what?? 😭🔥

Shiloh buried her face in Roman’s chest, blushing hard.

“She says hi,” she mumbled.

Roman laughed low in his throat. “I bet she does.”

Shiloh curled closer, her fingers tracing lazy shapes on his chest. There was a peaceful silence, the kind that only existed in moments like this—soft, sleepy, content.

“I’m exactly where I wanna be,” she whispered.

Roman’s arm tightened around her waist. He nuzzled the side of her face with his nose, lips brushing her temple.

“Then stay.”

His voice was thick with sleep but steady, like a promise he meant with his whole chest.

She looked up at him, eyes soft, and whispered, “I think I will.”

And with that, she let herself sink back into his warmth, heart steady, safe, and exactly where it belonged.

[fr0stf4ll]

A court of Shadows and Moonlight - Part 1

paring; Azriel x reader

summary; In the wake of looming war and changing traditions, a gifted healer returns to the Night Court after centuries of wandering the continents. Tasked with stepping into Madja’s legendary role, she must guide reluctant healers, soothe wounded warriors, and face the entrenched prejudice of Illyrian leaders. But as she mends torn wings and broken spirits, an unexpected bond awakens between her and the Night Court’s enigmatic Spymaster. With rivalries simmering and a dangerous threat looming on the horizon, she must reconcile duty and desire, learning that true healing can extend beyond flesh and bone—if she dares to embrace the light hidden among the shadows.

word count ; 4k

notes; Yo everyone, I'm back with another fanfiction featuring our lovely Shadow Singer. Hope you all like it <3 Just a small reminder: English isn’t my first language, so I’ve tried my best. Enjoy the first chapter!

next

The dusk sky draped the House of Wind in soft shades of lavender and rose, its tall windows open to the gentle, jasmine-scented breeze of Velaris below. Rhysand’s office, spacious but not ostentatious, offered a panoramic view of the starlit city, where lanterns were beginning to glow and laughter drifted upward like a distant, cheerful hum. The high shelves, carved of dark wood, were lined with neat rows of books and rolled charts, their parchment edges softened by centuries of use. A low-burning lamp cast warm light over a desk scattered with papers, quills, and a half-filled inkpot.

Madja stood near the window with Rhys, both of them watching as wings and shadows moved quietly through the city’s streets below. The old healer’s posture was poised despite her age; her long, silver-streaked hair was bound in a simple braid. Time had etched fine lines around her eyes and mouth—soft marks of the centuries she’d spent mending flesh and bone, soothing pain, and whispering encouragement into the darkest hours of countless lives.

Rhysand kept his gaze on the vista beyond the glass, arms folded casually, the glow of faelight catching in his violet eyes. He knew Madja had come here for something particular. She wasn’t one to linger unnecessarily, nor did she shy from speaking her mind. The hush in the room was comfortable, respectful of the weight of the moment.

Madja cleared her throat softly, her voice as calm and steady as it had been through all the emergencies and late-night visits to the healing rooms. “Rhysand,” she began, her tone gentle yet determined, “I need to speak with you about a matter of some importance to me.”

Rhys turned his head slightly, giving her his full attention. “Of course,” he said, voice low and reassuring. “What’s on your mind?”

She inhaled and exhaled slowly, as though considering each word carefully. “I’ve served this court for a very long time. Longer than many remember—tending to soldiers, midwives, children, courtiers, High Lords and Ladies alike.” Her gaze drifted toward the city lights, as if recalling memories that danced among those glowing streets. “It’s been my honor and my purpose.”

Rhysand inclined his head, respect and gratitude shining in his eyes. “We owe you more than can ever be repaid, Madja. Your skill, your kindness... You’ve saved so many of us in ways we cannot count.”

She offered a small, affectionate smile. “I know my role has mattered. But Rhys,” she paused, and the name alone carried a lifetime of familiarity that few could claim with him, “I find that my hands are not as steady as they once were. My eyes grow weary by candlelight. My back aches after hours bent over the injured.”

A slight breeze stirred the curtains, and the scent of night-blooming flowers drifted in, a gentle reminder of how time moved ever forward. Rhysand said nothing yet, allowing her the space to say what she must.

Madja continued softly, “I believe it’s time for me to step back. To retire from my duties as the court’s primary healer.” She turned to face him fully, shoulders squared, but her gaze kind and open. “I’ve trained many capable healers over the years. The work will continue. The Night Court does not lack for talent or compassion.”

Rhysand exhaled quietly, pressing his lips into a thoughtful line. The notion of Madja not being there—her swift and sure presence absent from their healing wards—seemed strange. She had always been a constant, a quiet pillar in the court’s foundation. But he would not deny her what she deserved.

“Are you certain?” he asked gently, voice low enough that it felt like they were confiding secrets rather than discussing court affairs. “If you wish fewer hours, or only to train the younger healers, we can arrange that.”

Madja shook her head, a decisive yet kind gesture. “No, Rhys. I’ve thought this through. I’m old, my friend. Old, even by our standards.” A hint of dry humor touched her tone. “My future lies in rest, in tending a garden rather than wounded flesh. I wish to spend whatever years remain in quiet peace, perhaps in a small cottage overlooking a meadow or stream.”

In the quiet that followed, Rhysand reached out to gently clasp her hand, the gesture sincere. “We’ll ensure you have all you need. A place of comfort, security—whatever you desire. And know that you will always be welcome in these halls, never forgotten.”

Madja squeezed his hand, gratitude and affection shining in her eyes. “I expected nothing less. You have all grown into fine leaders, fine friends. It eases my heart to know I leave the court in good hands.”

Rhysand released Madja’s hand gently, taking in her decision with thoughtful acceptance. The room felt quieter, a hush that allowed them both to measure the weight of this change. He crossed his arms and leaned slightly against the desk, considering how best to carry out her retirement. There would need to be someone to fill her role—someone skilled, empathetic, and unshakably capable of handling whatever the Night Court might face.

“Have you thought about who might take your place?” Rhys asked softly, meeting her steady gaze. “I can’t imagine you leaving us without a successor in mind.”

A hint of pride lit Madja’s eyes, a spark of confidence in the future she was preparing to leave behind. “Of course I have. You know me better than that, Rhys. I would never abandon my post without ensuring someone could step into it seamlessly.”

Rhys inclined his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips, as if he had expected nothing less. “And who have you chosen?”

Madja’s grip on the windowsill tightened slightly, not in apprehension, but in anticipation of sharing something long-cherished. “I have someone perfect in mind. A child of the Night Court—an orphan of the first war against Hybern, in fact. I took her under my wing when she was very young, taught her the basics of healing and care.”

Rhysand’s brows rose, curiosity piqued. He could not recall all the children Madja had trained personally, centuries and centuries blending faces and names into a kind tapestry of service. “Who might this be?”

“Y/N,” Madja said, voice warm with fondness. “You may remember her. She was quiet but determined, always studying late into the night, always asking how to ease pain more efficiently or mend a broken bone with fewer scars. A true healer’s heart.” She paused, letting the memory breathe life into the silence. “A few centuries ago, she left the Night Court to travel among the other courts and even beyond Prythian’s borders—visiting unknown continents, I believe. All to deepen her knowledge and hone her healing skills.”

Rhysand searched his memories, vague images surfacing: a young, focused individual hovering near Madja’s side, attentive as a student could be. He had been too busy with rebuilding and healing wounds on a much larger scale then, but he remembered the name faintly, the glimpses of a dedicated figure slipping through the halls.

Madja continued, “I reached out to her a few months ago, requested her return. I told her of my plans, that I would soon step down and that I wanted her to take my place. She agreed. She should be arriving any day now, if my calculations are correct.”

Rhysand nodded thoughtfully, pressing his fingertips together. “So Y/N will take on your mantle,” he said quietly, more to himself than Madja. “If you trust her, then I will welcome her home with open arms. I know the court will benefit from such devotion and training.”

Madja’s smile deepened, an affectionate and proud curve of her lips. “She will do well, Rhys. She’s grown into a capable healer—perhaps even more skilled than I. She brings with her new techniques and knowledge from lands we can barely imagine. It is only fitting that someone so dedicated should stand where I once stood.”

Outside, the city’s laughter and murmurs drifted into the room. Rhysand and Madja stood in quiet agreement. As one chapter closed gently, another prepared to open. The Night Court, always at the crossroads of past and future, would soon meet the one who would continue its legacy of healing and mercy.

The winter air carried a quiet hush as you approached the gates of Velaris. The land slumbered under a light blanket of snow, crystals glittering like tiny fallen stars beneath the moonlight. It had been centuries since you’d last seen this city, and now each lantern-lit arch, each faint silhouette of distant rooftops, stirred memories long tucked away. The cold breeze nipped at your cheeks, but you were well-prepared: a heavy, fur-lined cape draped over your shoulders, its generous folds keeping out the chill. Beneath it, your traveling garb—leather boots crusted with frost, worn gloves, and trousers meant for long rides—hinted at the countless roads you had trodden in your self-imposed exile.

Your horse’s breath plumed in the crisp air, its dark coat standing out starkly against the snowy ground. Every hoof-fall was muffled by that thin layer of powder, giving the night an even gentler hush. Above you, the eagle circled again, a lone sentinel under a sky brushed with starlight and the faint glow of a crescent moon. It cried softly, its voice echoing in the stillness, as if announcing your return.

Velaris—once the place of your youth, where you learned the first steps of healing under Madja’s patient eye—felt both familiar and strange. You had wandered distant courts, continents with different climates and creatures, honing your craft and expanding your knowledge. Yet here, now, the curve of a familiar street corner, the warm glow of lamplight on old stone, tugged at your heart. It was nostalgia mingled with quiet apprehension, the weight of centuries settling gently on your shoulders. Back then, you had left as a young apprentice, uncertain and hungry for wisdom. Tonight, you returned as a seasoned healer, with secrets and skills gleaned from every corner of Prythian and beyond.

At the gate, a couple of sentries wrapped in thick cloaks watched your approach. The lanterns beside them radiated a comforting warmth against the frosty night. They noted your horse’s slow pace, your cape embroidered subtly with practical patterns, the saddlebags heavy with bandages, tonics, and texts. They glanced upward at the eagle, curious, but found no threat in this silent dance of traveler and guardian.

One guard stepped forward, voice muted yet carried easily through the still air. “Late traveler,” he said, respectful but cautious, “state your name and purpose.”

You drew the reins gently, bringing the horse to a stop, your dark mount stamping once on the snowy ground. A faint smile touched your lips as you pushed back your hood, exposing features sharpened by experience, softened by understanding. Even now, the cold flushed your cheeks slightly, and a strand of white hair slipped free, catching the moonlight.

“I am Y/N,” you said, your voice steady and warm, echoing with an old familiarity. “A healer returning to the Night Court. I believe I am expected.”

The guards exchanged a glance—this name carried weight, a quiet rumor of a healer summoned home by Madja herself. They stepped aside, allowing you entry, no further questions needed. Beyond them lay Velaris, blanketed softly in winter’s hush. You remembered it bustling with life in greener times, but even now, beneath the snow and distant laughter, you felt the city’s heart welcoming you home.

With a gentle press of your heel, you urged your horse onward. The eagle’s shadow passed over the gate, and then it soared above the rooftops, perhaps to find its own perch. A familiar scent drifted through the crisp night air—something like cinnamon and distant hearth fires. You took it in, remembering quiet evenings of study and healing in warm, lamplit rooms.

You had left as a student, eager and uncertain. You returned a master of your craft, ready to shoulder the responsibilities your old mentor had chosen for you. The quiet crunch of hooves in snow was the only sound as you entered Velaris, a place you had not seen in a hundred lifetimes, yet still knew in your bones.

As soon as you passed through the gates, you swung your leg over the horse’s side and dismounted with a practiced ease. The animal, sensing your familiarity, snorted softly, its breath making small clouds in the winter air. The snow crunched beneath your boots as you took the saddle in hand, leading your horse forward at a leisurely pace. A few onlookers spared curious glances—travelers weren’t uncommon in Velaris, but your arrival at this late hour and in these quiet conditions drew subdued interest.

You let your gaze drift, taking in the sights around you. Velaris had always been a jewel among cities, but under the moon and dusting of snow, it gleamed with a serene kind of splendor. Buildings of carved stone and elegant wood bore soft, golden lights that spilled onto cobblestone streets. The scent of fresh bread and distant hearth fires mingled with the crispness of winter. You noted subtle changes—new sculptures in gardens, fresh murals adorning certain walls, the hum of gentle magic woven into everyday corners. It had grown even lovelier with time.

You had heard the tales, even far away on foreign shores: the once-hidden city revealed to the world, the ferocious attack it had endured, and the grand victory that followed. Rumors traveled quickly among healers and traders, and from what you gathered, Velaris had suffered but risen stronger, its spirit unbroken. The idea that your old home, once so secretive, had been thrust onto the world stage still left an odd taste in your mouth. You’d never imagined such an outcome all those centuries ago.

And Rhysand—when you’d left, he’d only just ascended as High Lord after his father’s passing. You remembered him as calm, shrewd, haunted by new responsibilities thrust upon him too young. Now, you’d learned that he had reigned through wars and alliances, reshaping the Night Court into something more open, more formidable. Most astonishing of all was the whisper that a High Lady stood beside him, equal in power and rank. Such a thing had been unthinkable in the old days, when tradition and suspicion ruled the courts.

You ran a hand along the horse’s neck, both reassuring it and steadying yourself. Time had flowed like a great river, carving new courses in this land you once knew. The Night Court wasn’t just shadows and silence anymore—if anything, it hummed with a brighter, more inclusive magic.

A small smile tugged at your lips, though touched by nostalgia. You wondered if you would still recognize old acquaintances, if any remained. Madja, of course, you would know. She was the reason you had returned. But what about the healers who trained alongside you, or the courtiers who once sought your help for quiet fevers and twisted ankles?

Your breath fogged in the cold as you carried your saddle and led the horse onward into the velvety night of Velaris. In that soft hush, surrounded by lamplight and murmuring streets, you acknowledged what had been and what now was. A thousand changes had come to pass while you walked distant roads, yet here you were again—a piece of the past stepping into the present, ready to adapt and serve once more.

With a gentle tug on the reins, you guided your horse through Velaris’ winding streets until you reached a small inn known for accommodating travelers with mounts. The sign outside bore simple script and a painted image of a horse’s head, letting you know this was a place that catered to riders who needed both rest and a safe spot for their companions. A narrow stable area hugged one side of the building, the wooden stalls visible through an open arch, and the soft whicker of other horses drifted out into the cold night.

You tied your horse securely at a hitching post near the stable entrance, giving it a few soft strokes along its neck and murmuring quiet words of reassurance. The inn’s lights glowed warmly through its windows, promising respite from the chill outside. Carrying only what you needed for the night—your saddle and a small bag slung over your shoulder—you stepped up onto the worn threshold.

Inside, the inn’s atmosphere enveloped you like a comforting blanket. The interior was modest yet inviting, with low ceilings supported by dark wooden beams that lent the space a cozy, intimate feel. A large hearth crackled at one end, its firelight dancing across the polished floorboards and simple, sturdy tables. The scent of mulled wine and hearty stew drifted through the air, mingling with the faint tang of old wood and woolen fabrics. A few patrons sat scattered around, some nursing tankards, others finishing quiet meals, their murmured conversations melding into a pleasant hum.

Lamps hung at intervals along the walls, their warm glow illuminating the simple artwork—landscapes of rolling hills and starry skies, scenes that might be familiar to travelers who came and went. A rack near the door held thick cloaks and traveling staffs, and straw mats by the hearth encouraged weary wanderers to warm their feet by the flames.

Approaching the small counter near the fire, you found a stout figure in an apron waiting, brows lifting slightly at your approach. The innkeeper—a middle-aged fae with kind eyes and a no-nonsense posture—took in your travel-worn attire and the faint smell of stable hay clinging to your clothes without judgment.

“I need a room for the night,” you said, voice low but clear. You placed a few coins on the counter, enough to cover lodging and a decent meal. “And a safe place for my horse,” you added, gesturing out the door with a tilt of your head.

The innkeeper nodded, pocketing the coins and scribbling a note in a ledger. “You’ve chosen the right place, traveler. We’ve a stable hand on duty tonight, and plenty of hay and water for your mount. I’ll have your belongings sent up to your room—top of the stairs, second door on the right. Will you be needing dinner?”

The gentle crackle of the hearth made you realize how hungry you were. “Yes, please. Something hot.” The tension of your long journey began to ease as you spoke. Soon, you would have a warm meal and a quiet room, a moment to gather your thoughts before facing the days to come in Velaris.

The innkeeper nodded again. “We’ll have stew and bread ready for you in a moment. Make yourself comfortable.”

You thanked them quietly and made your way toward a table near the fire. Settling down, you let the warmth seep into your bones. Outside, the snow continued to fall lightly, dusting the night-silenced streets. Inside, the inn’s modest comfort wrapped around you, a gentle reminder that, for all the changes beyond these walls, solace could still be found in simple things: a crackling fire, a hot meal, and a secure place to rest.

You thanked the inn’s attendant who brought your things upstairs—your saddle and bag neatly placed in one corner, your personal items laid out on a small bench. As soon as the door closed, you set about making yourself comfortable. The tiny room was modest but cozy: a single bed with a thick quilt, a wooden chest for your belongings, and a narrow door that led to a private washroom. The lamp on the bedside table glowed softly, illuminating rough-hewn beams overhead and the simple woven rug underfoot.

The bath you drew was warm and fragrant, a rare luxury after so many months on the road. You sighed as the hot water embraced your tired muscles, steam rising to blur the edges of the lamplight. Every ache and tension slipped away, replaced by a gentle calm. You lingered there longer than you intended, letting the warmth and quiet stillness soothe the raw edges of your journey.

Eventually, you stepped out, drying off with a towel that smelled faintly of lavender. Pulling on more comfortable clothes—soft trousers, a loose tunic, and thick socks—you immediately felt lighter, more at ease. Settling into the single chair at the small desk, you opened your sketchbook. The pages bore neat sketches of rare herbs, diagrams of organs and nerve clusters, annotations in your own careful handwriting describing remedies learned in distant courts. You added a few more notes now, clarifying a technique you’d picked up in the Winter Court for combating frostbite injuries—how their healers used crushed frost lily petals to reduce swelling.

You’d barely finished jotting down a final sentence when a gentle knock sounded at the door. Crossing the tiny space in a few strides, you opened it to find the innkeeper’s assistant holding a tray. The rich aroma of stew—savory and warm—wafted into your room. You offered a quiet thanks, voice hushed as if not to disturb the hush of the night. The assistant nodded politely and retreated, footsteps receding down the hallway.

Placing the tray on a small round table by the window, you pulled up the chair. The stew steamed before you—thick and hearty, with chunks of root vegetables, tender meat, and herbs that reminded you of home. Next to it was a small loaf of crusty bread and a pat of butter, already soft enough to spread easily.

As you dipped your spoon and brought the first mouthful to your lips, the flavors bloomed across your tongue—rich, comforting, and exactly what you needed. Your gaze drifted past the rim of the bowl to the window. Beyond the glass, the Sidra River shimmered softly under starlight. Snowflakes drifted lazily through the night, catching in the glow of distant lanterns. Across the water, the Rainbow—Velaris’s famed artistic district—was lit with gentle hues, colors blending seamlessly into the darkness.

The scene was a masterpiece of tranquility: the star-flecked sky, the quiet city, the snow falling softly as if trying not to wake the world. You savored another spoonful of stew and leaned back, allowing the moment to settle around you. Here you were, in a city you’d left centuries ago, come home to take up a mantle left by your old mentor. So much had changed and yet this moment—warm meal, quiet window, gentle snow—reminded you why you returned. Comfort, safety, purpose, and memory woven together in a tapestry of starlit peace.

You finished the last of your meal, wiped the bowl clean with a piece of bread, and gently pushed the tray aside. The steady warmth of the stew had settled in your stomach, making your limbs feel pleasantly heavy. Outside, the snow continued its quiet descent, dusting the rooftops and the narrow streets with sparkling powder. The lamplight in your room seemed softer now, the hush of the winter night wrapping around you like a familiar old cloak.

Rising from the small chair, you crossed the room and extinguished the lamp on the bedside table. Only moonlight and the reflection from the snow-blanketed city remained, sending faint silver shapes dancing along the floorboards. You slipped beneath the quilt, the scent of wool and lavender drifting from the linens. The mattress gave slightly under your weight, a gentle cradle after so many hard beds and forest floors.

Your thoughts drifted naturally to the meeting you’d have the next day. Madja’s voice echoed faintly in your memory—her gentle, steady guidance so many years ago. Tomorrow, you would see her again, no longer as a wide-eyed apprentice, but as a seasoned healer returning to take up her mantle. The idea hummed softly through your mind, a mixture of anticipation and a quiet, nervous pride.

The distant murmur of Velaris lulled you: the soft creak of settling beams, the whisper of the Sidra’s current, the faint call of a night bird. Within moments, the fatigue of long travel and the comfort of a true bed smoothed away the edges of wakefulness. Your eyelids grew heavy and closed, shutting out the gentle glow of stars and snow.

Wrapped in warmth and memory, you drifted into sleep, secure in the knowledge that tomorrow would begin a new chapter—one you were finally ready to embrace.

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[vanteguccir]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤTURNING 21 * MATT STURNIOLO

SUMMARY　::　where Y/N plans a special 21st birthday dinner, but her friends don't show up, leaving her heartbroken. But Matt, while dining nearby, notices her and decides that making her company would be a good idea.

FEATURING　Matt Sturniolo x reader　REQUESTED?　yes.

WARNINGS　::　strangers to lovers trope.

AUTHOR'S NOTE　::　that is my work, I DON'T authorize any form of plagiarism; copy, "inspiration" or translation! | english isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

The flickering candlelight on the restaurant table cast a soft, warm glow over the elegantly set table where Y/N sat, looking radiant in her pink, floral dress that hugged her figure perfectly. Her hair was styled in a glamorous way, and her makeup was done just right, accentuating her sparkling eyes and the excited smile playing on her lips. It had been years since she had celebrated her birthday properly, years since she had allowed herself to hope for a special day dedicated just to her. Today was different. Today, she was reclaiming her birthday.

The restaurant was a stunning venue, with crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, casting a beautiful glow over the plush, velvet chairs, and mahogany tables. A grand piano sat in one corner, the pianist playing a soft, soothing melody that added to the sophisticated ambiance. Y/N had chosen this place specifically because it felt special. It felt like a place where beautiful memories could be made; and that's all she wanted, to be remembered.

On the table before her sat a gorgeous pink cake, adorned with delicate sugar flowers and a scattering of edible glitter that caught the light with every little flicker of the candles. Beside it, she had arranged goody bags filled with small, thoughtful gifts for each of her friends. She had taken great care in selecting each item, wanting her friends to feel appreciated and cherished, even on her special day. Her heart swelled with anticipation as she imagined their reactions.

The minutes ticked by, each one feeling like an eternity. She glanced towards the entrance every few seconds, her eyes lighting up every time the door opened, only to dim when she realized it wasn’t her friends. She felt her heart race every time someone walked by her table, only to look up and see only a stranger.

"Would you like to order something while you wait?" The waitress approached her table with a gentle smile, her eyes kind but laced with concern, her hands holding the tablet that lights up her face full of empathy. This was her fifth time there.

Y/N smiled and shook her head. Again.

"I’ll wait a little longer. They’ll be here soon, I’m sure of it."

The waitress nodded and retreated, leaving Y/N alone with her thoughts. She tried to stay positive, reminding herself that her friends might just be running late. LA was a busy city, after all, and traffic could be unpredictable. She busied herself by rearranging the goody bags and checking her phone for any messages or missed calls, but there were none.

Hours passed, and the restaurant began to fill up with other patrons, groups of friends and families laughing and chatting happily. Y/N’s smile began to waver, but she forced herself to keep it in place. She refused to let doubt creep in, to let herself believe that her friends wouldn’t come. They cared about her, didn’t they? They wouldn't just leave her alone... Right?

"Are you sure you don’t want to order something? Maybe just a drink?" The waitress returned, her expression a little more sympathetic this time, her eyes traveling from the cake to Y/N.

Y/N hesitated, her heart sinking a little.

"I’ll wait just a little longer." Shs replied, her voice barely above a whisper and full of guilty. She knew that she couldn't sit at one of the large tables for hours without consuming any food.

The soft melody of the piano continued to fill the elegant restaurant, creating an ambiance of tranquility that contrasted sharply with the turmoil inside Y/N. She kept glancing at the door, her hope dwindling with each passing minute.

As the reality set in, Y/N felt a lump rise in her throat, her eyes beginning to sting with unshed tears. Her friends weren’t coming. She was alone on her birthday, surrounded by strangers who seemed to be enjoying their own special moments. The weight of past traumas mingled with the fresh sting of rejection, making it harder to hold back her emotions. Her eyes scanned the room, feeling as though everyone was watching her, judging her for being so naive to think her friends cared.

At a table nearby, three brothers were enjoying their dinner, laughing and chatting animatedly.

Matt, the most perceptive of the triplets, caught sight of Y/N just as she wiped a tear from her cheek. It didn't go unnoticed by him since he arrived at the place, the loneliness of the pretty girl surrounded by a cake of flowers and small goodies. But now, her distress was palpable, her attempt to mask it with a forced smile only amplifying her pain. His heart clenched at the sight. His teeth captured his bottom lip in a gesture of nervousness and doubt before a sigh escaped through his nose.

Ignoring the conversation between his brothers, Nick and Chris, Matt focused entirely on Y/N. Despite her apparent beauty that caused small goosebumps to run down his arms every time his blue eyes found her figure, there was something more.

It was clear to Matt that she had envisioned this evening with a lot of love and anticipation, only to have her hopes dashed by the absence of people she, apparently, cared for. He noticed the way she tried to keep a brave face, smiling at the concerned waitress and politely declining to order.

Without a word, he stood up, causing his brothers to pause mid-sentence and watch him with confusion.

"Matt, where the hell are you going?" Chris called after him, but Matt didn’t respond, turning his back to his table and starting his steps.

He moved towards Y/N’s table with purpose, his eyes softening with empathy. As he approached, Y/N, lost in her sorrow, didn’t notice him until he gently pulled out the chair beside her. The sudden presence startled her, and she looked up with wide, tear-filled eyes widening at the sight of the prettiest boy she - probably - had ever seen.

"This seat isn't taken, is it?" He asked with the beginning of a smile on the corner of his lips, watching her closely.

"Oh, uhm..." Y/N looked around the completely empty table, frowning at the obvious answer to the meaningless question, before turning her eyes back to the boy. "No?"

"Right. I’m sorry to intrude." Matt said softly, his voice kind and soothing, settling down on the upholstered chair and resting his elbows on the pure wooden surface, his flaming blue eyes running over Y/N's features. "But I couldn’t help noticing that you seem upset. Are you alright?"

Y/N blinked in surprise, her initial instinct to brush him off, faltering under his genuine concern. She looked around again, still feeling the weight of judgmental eyes, but Matt’s calm, comforting presence made her feel a little less exposed.

The girl raised her hands, her fingers decorated with bright red nails and slightly trembling passed delicately over her cheeks and under her eyes, mentally begging that her makeup hadn't melted from the trapped tears.

"I-" She began, her voice trembling. She took a deep breath, shaking her head while lowering her arms, trying to steady herself. "I’m okay. It’s just… I was supposed to celebrate my birthday with friends, but… they didn’t show up." She laughed wryly at her own misfortune, lowering her eyes in shame.

Matt’s heart ached at her words. He could see the effort she had put into the evening, the beautiful cake, the goody bags. She had planned this with so much love and hope, only to be let down.

"I’m really sorry to hear that." He said sincerely, ignoring the firmness of his brothers' eyes on his back, probably confused. "It’s awful to be let down by the people you care about."

Y/N nodded, her tears threatening to spill over again, causing her to blink repeatedly in an attempt to expel them. She imitated his position, resting her elbows on the table and closing her hands in a sign of prayer, laying her left cheek above it, breathing deeply.

Her eyes found Matt again, taking in his warm, friendly eyes and genuine concern. It felt strange to open up to a stranger, but something about him made her feel safe.

"Thank you." She whispered, smiling brokenly. "It’s just… I haven’t celebrated my birthday in years. I thought this year would be different."

"Well, it still can be. How about I keep you company for a while? No one should be alone on their birthday." Matt smiled gently, observing her reactions closely.

Y/N hesitated, her eyes flicking towards Matt’s table where his - obviously - brothers were watching curiously, eating slowly while Matt's plate kept untouched. The idea of taking up his evening felt daunting, but the warmth in the pretty boy's eyes and his sincere offer made her feel a spark of hope.

"I don’t want to impose." She cleaned her throat, returning her eyes to him, laughing shyly, her voice soft.

"You wouldn’t be imposing at all." Matt assured her, shrugging slightly. "They can be alone for tonight, you know? I’d be honored to spend some time with you. Besides, it’s your birthday. You deserve some attention."

His words brought a small, genuine smile to Y/N’s face for the first time that evening. She felt a little of the heaviness lift from her heart, her cheeks heating up and her body feeling cozy and hugged.

"I don't even know you, I can't-"

"I'm Matt. Pleased to make your acquaintance." The brunette extended his right arm, his hand open and tilted to the side as a sign of greeting, a sarcastic look adorning his expression.

Y/N's eyes traveled from his open hand to his face and back again, her eyebrows furrowed and her lips slightly parted in surprise. He was stubborn.

A long, amused sigh escaped her red painted lips, giving up, extending her right hand, meeting his halfway, her fingers wrapping around his wrist.

"Pleased to meet you, kind sir. I am Y/N." She responded in an exaggeratedly polite tone, raising her nose in the air and closing her eyes in an attempt to look snobbish.

"Excuse me. Miss, would you like me to box the cake?" The waitress's voice echoed again gently, interrupting their moment. The woman stood a few feet away, her eyes traveling curiously between Y/N and Matt.

The two exchanged a quick glance before the girl looked up at the woman who had watched over her throughout the night, a light smile decorating her features.

"No, thank you. We'll eat it later." She replied, her heart warming at her own words as her eyes dropped to the beautifully decorated cake, knowing she wouldn't have to eat it alone. Not anymore.

"Actually, do you like pasta with shrimp sauce? They have the best one here." Matt's voice sounded before the waitress could leave again, his eyes meeting Y/N's, a gleam of excitement passing through the blue orbs.

"Oh, Matt, you don't have to, your plate is-" Y/N shook her head, pointing with her left hand at the table the boy sat at minutes before, ready to deny the suggestion before being interrupted.

"We'd like two pasta with shrimp sauce and your best wine, please." Matt ordered, a proud smile decorating his features, and his head tilted slightly upward so that his eyes could watch the waitress, who selected the opted meals on her tablet.

"Of course, I'll be back soon with your meals. Enjoy your date."

"Oh, it's not-" Y/N started, eyes widening slightly, interrupting her own sentence when she saw the waitress already walking away. Her eyes met Matt's for a few seconds before laughter escaped her lips, followed by the boy's.

Matt sighed, leaning in slightly, resting his armas above the wooden surface and tilting his face towards her, his big flaming blue orbs observing her as if she were a piece of the rarest jewel, focus entirely on her figure.

"So, tell me about yourself, Y/N. What do you enjoy doing?"

Y/N hesitated for a moment, then started talking.

They talked throug long hours, she told him about her hobbies, her favorite books and movies, the things that made her happiest. Matt listened intently, his eyes never leaving hers, his genuine interest making her feel valued and heard, his eyes lighting up with every word she spoke.

His questions were thoughtful, his comments encouraging, and slowly, Y/N felt herself relaxing, the earlier pain easing away.

In return, Matt shared stories about his own life, his career with his brothers, the things he was passionate about, the moments he went through after leaving Boston.

They laughed together, the conversation flowing naturally as if they had known each other for years.

As the evening wore on, Y/N realized that she was actually enjoying herself. The initial embarrassment and pain were replaced by a warm, comfortable feeling. She felt a connection with Matt that she hadn’t felt with anyone in a very long time, and surprisingly, she didn't feel scared.

When their plates were finally cleared away and their bellies full, Matt turned his attention to the beautiful pink cake sitting untouched on the table.

"That cake looks incredible." He commented briefly, his tone sounding like that of disinterest, his eyes twinkling with a mischievous glint. "It would be a shame not to light the candles and make a wish."

Y/N bit her lip, looking at the cake with a mix of longing and hesitation.

"I… I don’t really want to make a big deal out of it." She admitted. "I don’t want to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ or anything."

Matt nodded understandingly, looking at her attentive.

"That’s completely fine." He assured, smiling openly. "We don’t have to sing or to draw attention at all. But you should still make a wish and blow out the candles. It’s your birthday, and you deserve it."

After a moment’s hesitation, her eyes traveling to the pink cake to Matt and back again, Y/N nodded, her pearly teeth trapping her bottom lip in a light grip.

Matt called the waitress again, discreetly pointing to the cake, receiving an understanding nod from afar.

It wasn't long before a black lighter was in his hands and the cake right in front of them. He carefully lit the lighter, approaching the small and orange flame to the 21-shaped candles, the pink color accompanied by small diamonds shining below the warm light.

Matt placed the already turned off lighter on the table again, turning his attention back to the girl next to him, his eyes brimming with admiration.

"Happy birthday, Y/N." Matt murmured softly, shifting in his cushioned chair to be closer to her. Her delicate perfume wafted to him like a gentle breeze, filling his senses. "I hope all your wishes come true."

Y/N felt a warm sensation spread through her chest at his tender words. Her eyes locked onto his for long, lingering moments, like two planets colliding in a beautiful explosion, before she turned her gaze back to the cake. She closed her eyes slightly, summoning a wish from the deepest part of her heart. With a gentle breath, she blew out the candles, the small flames flickering and extinguishing with a soft puff.

Matt clapped softly, his smile wide and genuine, his eyes widening like the one of a child in front of their favorite candy.

"Well done!" He celebrated, his brunette hair falling slightly into his eyes as he beamed at her. "Now, let me cut this beautiful cake for a pretty girl."

By the end of the night, Y/N left the restaurant with a magical smile lighting up her face, feeling as though she were floating with each step she took on the night streets of LA. Matt, meanwhile, left with his ears full of playful complaints from Nick and Chris, which were drowned out by the sound of his own heart pounding in his chest. His hand carried a pink bag full of goodies, and unbeknownst to him, a small napkin with a phone number written in elegant script nestled among the treats.

© vanteguccir

[idkyetxoxo]

Eight | Sacrifice | The Ruin

Pairing - Rhysand x reader (Mafia Boss Rhysand x Nurse Reader)

Word count - 2.3k

Warnings - Slight angst

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It was hard not to fall for Rhysand.

Not in the way love stories warned you about, not with soft candlelight or whispered promises or the kind of safety that was tame and easy.

No, falling for Rhysand was a slow-burning, sharp-edged thing. Like thawing after frostbite. 

It hurt. It confused. It peeled away everything I thought I already knew and made room for something... terrifyingly real.

Yes, he was possessive. He hovered. He watched the world like it was a loaded gun and he was the only one who knew how to disarm it. 

But he was also gentle in a way no one had ever been with me.

Not gentle like weakness. Gentle like restraint. Like the knowledge of power so absolute it didn't need to prove itself.

And lately... he'd used that power to make space for me. For my recovery. For my mind, bruised and stormy, to settle at its own pace. He didn't rush me. Didn't ask for more than I could give.

But he was always there.

At some point in the endless hours we spent curled in his house, wrapped in blankets and silence and questions I couldn't help but ask—I stopped being afraid of his world. I started listening.

And he never lied. Never sugarcoated the parts that would've been easier to ignore. His work was bloody. Messy. Illegal.

But it wasn't pointless. It wasn't power for power's sake.

Rhysand moved through a world built on rot, and every step he took carved out a little more room for justice. Justice not found in courts or laws but the kind that mattered. The kind that kept the worst of monsters from slipping through cracks the system would never see.

I used to think I knew what 'good' meant. What 'bad' looked like.

But now? Standing in his kitchen watching three fully grown men buzz around like anxious bees, I wasn't sure of anything except this.

Sometimes, the bad guys wear suits and smile for cameras. Sometimes, the good ones are covered in scars and blood and grief and still choose to love anyway.

Rhysand stood at the stove, barefoot in sweats and a black t-shirt, flipping eggs like it was a life-or-death operation. 

Azriel leaned silently against the counter, packing my lunch with the precision of a soldier assembling a sniper rifle. 

And Cassian—gods bless him was juggling strawberries, failing dramatically, and providing unnecessary but highly entertaining commentary.

"Is this really necessary?" I asked, tying my hair up into a loose bun as Rhysand turned and presented me with a plate like he was serving at a five-star restaurant.

His eyes swept over me, soft but still sharp at the edges. "It's your first shift back. Of course it is."

Then he bent, pressed a kiss into my hair, warm and lingering before reaching out and whacking Cassian's hand as he tried to steal an egg from my plate.

"Ow," Cassian muttered, rubbing his hand. "I'm helping."

"You're inhaling," Azriel said without even looking up.

I laughed, the sound surprising even me. It felt good to laugh again. Like air after being underwater too long.

"It's not like I'm incapable of working," I murmured, eyeing the absurdly beautiful breakfast with mild suspicion. "I'm still me."

Cassian snorted. "Sure, you—who was recently kidnapped, beaten within an inch of her life, and somehow still thinks triple shifts at a hospital are a solid recovery plan."

Rhysand's face blanched, the humour draining from his features in an instant. Azriel shot Cassian a glare sharp enough to wound.

But I just smiled. Because I was still standing and because they cared.

"I'm okay now," I said gently. "So back to saving lives."

Before Rhysand could respond, I leaned in, brushing my lips against his in a kiss that was quick but full of unspoken things. He blinked down at me, as if stunned every time I touched him like that.

And I liked it. I liked undoing him.

"I'm driving you," he said suddenly. I opened my mouth to protest and immediately lost the battle.

Because he scooped me up like a damn fairytale, muttering something about not trusting anyone else to get me there safely, and started toward the door.

"Rhys, I have legs."

"Yes, and they've been through enough," he replied, striding past Azriel and Cassian like this was the most natural thing in the world.

The drive to the hospital was quiet, peaceful, even which was saying something, considering Rhysand drove like the world would split in half usually.

He parked like he owned the curb, stepped out, and helped me down as if I hadn't walked into this building a thousand times before on my own.

I let him. I let him brush his thumb over my jaw, fingers trailing for a moment too long on my waist before he leaned in and pressed one last kiss to my lips, soft and lingering, like he didn't want to let go.

"Text me when you're off," he said.

I nodded, forcing a small smile. "I'll be fine."

And then I turned and walked through the glass doors, the fluorescent lights swallowing me whole.

Lucien found me before I even made it to the locker room.

"Manager wants to see you," he said, leaning one shoulder against the wall, expression unreadable.

My brows lifted in surprise. "Why?"

He shrugged, but there was tension in the line of his jaw. "I saw her talking to Ianthe earlier. So I'm guessing it's not good."

A sharp prickle ran down my spine. Ianthe. Of course.

She always smiled too wide, too fake. Always called me her friend but couldn't keep my name out of her mouth if it meant earning points with someone else. 

She wanted Lucien, had for years now and somehow, in the twisted logic of insecure women, that made me the enemy.

I bit down the sigh that clawed up my throat and made my way to the manager's office, my footsteps heavy and strangely hollow.

My manager sat at her desk, phone raised to her ear. She didn't look up when I entered, just raised one finger, signalling me to wait.

So I waited. Stood there in silence, heartbeat beginning to tick just a little too fast. Like I was already bracing for something I couldn't see.

She ended the call with a curt, "Thank you," and finally looked up.

Her eyes flicked over me, not unkind, but distant, clinical. Then they lingered, ever so briefly, on the bruises still faint on my collarbone, the shadow near my temple.

"We've had some concerns," she began, folding her hands neatly atop the desk. "Regarding the company you're choosing to keep. Both inside and outside of hospital grounds."

Confusion unfurled in my chest like a cold mist. "I—what do you mean?"

She tilted her head, a sort of condescension in her expression. "You're a smart girl. Young, sweet. You know exactly what I mean."

I blinked. Once. Twice. Then the implication landed, sharp and ugly. Rhysand.

"You're talking about my personal life," I said, quietly, the disbelief starting to melt into something darker.

"I'm talking about the image you project while representing this hospital," she said, voice still measured. "You've been seen with individuals who are considered... problematic. Dangerous, even. And that association raises questions. From colleagues. From patients."

My fingers curled around the strap of my bag. "So I don't get to be seen with someone because of rumours?"

Her expression didn't change. "Whether rumours or truth, perception matters. Optics matter."

"You mean he matters," I whispered, voice tight. "And you don't like the way he looks."

She leaned back slightly, as if I'd proven her point. "You've worked hard here. And we appreciate that. But we have a reputation to protect. This isn't personal."

The fury building in my chest was molten—too hot, too sharp to keep inside.

"But it is personal," I snapped. "You're punishing me for something that has nothing to do with my job. With how I care for patients. You're punishing me for who I care about."

Something flickered in her eyes, pity maybe. Or the sterile kind of regret that doesn't mean anything.

"I'm sorry," she said, almost gently. "But as of this moment, you're suspended pending review."

My heart plummeted. "What review?" I asked, voice cracking. "What does that even mean?"

She didn't answer. Her phone rang, and she picked it up like I was already gone. Dismissed. Discarded.

"I'll be in touch," she murmured between sentences and then she was waving me off, her gaze sliding to the papers on her desk like I no longer existed.

I stood there for a beat too long, staring at her like I might wake up any second.

Then I turned and left. 

No goodbye to Lucien. No pause to change out of my scrubs. I just walked. Out the hallway. Through the doors. Into the glaring light of day that suddenly felt colder than it had a minute ago.

My fingers trembled as I dialled Rhysand's number. I bit my lip hard enough to draw blood, willing the sobs back down into my throat.

He picked up on the second ring. "Bunny?" His voice was warm, but tight. Alert. "Everything okay?"

I couldn't speak for a second. Just breathed, just tried to not break. Then, in a voice smaller than I meant it to be, I whispered, "Suspended. Pending review."

A long pause. Sharp inhale. The sudden tension in his silence hit harder than any scream.

"What—" he began, but I cut him off.

"I gave everything to build a life on my own," I said, walking faster now, like moving would help me outrun the ache rising in my chest. "Every exam. Every shift. Every ounce of sleep I sacrificed—and now it's all falling apart."

I stopped on the sidewalk, chest heaving.

"Because of you."

There was silence. A silence that felt like gravity, like the edge of something dangerous and fragile. For a moment, I thought he'd hung up.

Then came his voice, soft and hollow. "Then hate me."

I closed my eyes, and it broke me. Because I couldn't. Not even now. "I don't," I said, voice cracking. "That's the worst part."

And I hung up.

Before I could hear his breath. Before I could change my mind. Before I could forgive him for something he never meant to do, and couldn't stop from happening.

I stood there for a long minute, the phone pressed to my chest like it might hold me together. But the weight was too much. I couldn't carry it anymore.

By the time I made it to my apartment, I was crying openly. Quietly at first, then louder—the kind of cry that comes from a place so deep you don't even know how to stop it.

And he wasn't there.

But someone was. 

Cassian. Leaning against the front door like he'd been waiting for me forever. Just him.

When he saw me, he didn't say a word. He just opened his arms and caught me like I was something precious. Like I wasn't broken glass, but something whole that just needed to be held.

He pulled me into his chest, wrapped his arms around me so tight I almost believed the world wasn't falling apart.

"He thinks he ruined you," he said quietly, his voice rough with something unspoken. "That's why he's not here himself."

I pulled back, blinking through the blur. "He's right."

Cassian wiped a tear from my cheek with his thumb. "Then ruin him back," he said, almost gently. "He'd let you."

"I don't want to," I whispered. "That's the issue."

He nodded slowly, like he already knew. Like maybe he'd also loved once in a way that hurt like this too.

"It's not him I'm scared of anymore," I added, barely above a whisper. "It's what loving him might cost me."

Cassian's gaze softened, the usual spark in his eyes tempered with quiet understanding. "The good ones always cost the most."

I stared at the keys in my hand, at the door in front of me, and wondered what it meant to open a life again—after all the locks had been changed.

It wasn't until the quiet hours of the night that my apartment truly felt empty.

The kind of empty that had nothing to do with space and everything to do with silence. The kind of silence that hummed between your ribs like an ache that wouldn't speak out loud.

I lay curled on my couch, a blanket twisted around me, still in my scrubs though I couldn't remember when I'd kicked off my shoes. The TV was on, some mindless sitcom playing, but I hadn't heard a single word.

My phone lay on the coffee table. I stared at it like it might blink first.

I didn't pick it up. Not right away.

But after an hour of pretending I wasn't waiting for it to ring, for him to call, even though I'd ended the last call  we had—I reached for it with a sigh.

The screen lit up. No new messages. I opened our thread anyway.

His name still sat at the top. Rhys <3

Stark and elegant and sharp like the memory of his hands on my skin. Like the way he used to say "bunny" in that voice that felt like velvet over bruises.

I scrolled through dozens of messages.

Some recent, short texts about coffee orders, books, ridiculous Cassian quotes he thought I'd laugh at. Some older, like the first time he texted me. 

I could feel the press of tears at the back of my throat again.

I clicked the text box at the bottom. Let my fingers hover over the keyboard.

Me - I miss you.

Deleted it.

Me - I didn't mean it—

Deleted that, too.

Typed nothing at all, just stared at the blinking cursor like it might say it all for me.

I locked the screen and tossed the phone back onto the table, curling deeper into myself like I could hide from the truth.

I didn't call him. Not that night.

But I dreamed of him, of his voice, low and ruined. Of the way he looked at me like I was the only thing in the room that mattered.

And in the dream, he didn't say "hate me."

He said, "come home bunny."

A/n - Omg, Ianthe a villain in this? Who would have thought, right?

I promise, this is the last little sprinkle of drama before we wrap things up (we're so close now, I swear!) sometimes the story just demands it, but I truly hope it's been worth the rollercoaster!!

Also, shoutout to Rhys, Azriel and Cassian—three kinda scary overgrown bats helping get breakfast ready before a long-ass shift? Sign me up :))

Thank you for reading <3

The Ruin tag list - @queenoffeysand @sttvrdustt @wedonttalkaboutvoldemort @coeurdeveea @maltemp @sillyfreakfanparty @justtryingtosurvive02 @bosssliv5g @hyruledemigod20 @sstrohma @zoeisdreaming6 @shellsarepretty @moonlitlavenders @sherlockholmes08 @lou-diaries @acourtofbatboydreams @talesofadragon @blueeclipsepaperstudent @coffeebooksrain18 @lilah-asteria @bbontenswhhore @thisfireheart @sheblogs

[suunani]

crimson love ( park sunghoon )

you learn that love isn’t always enough and can’t save everything.

❛ content 3.7k words, royalty!au, knight!male reader, prince!sunghoon, impossible love, they are nawt happy, sunghoon is kind of cold at first, reader call sunghoon 'my prince' & 'my love', angst, making out, slightly suggestive, cursing.

❛ note omg this is the first time i’ve written something like this, but i poured a lot of effort into making the emotions and situations believable, so i really hope it resonates with you!

the flickering candlelight cast long shadows against the cold stone walls of the prince’s private chamber, but the room felt suffocating in a way that no shadow could ever explain.

you knelt in front of sunghoon, your back straight because that's what a knight should look like, but your shoulders hunched because you didn't know how to hold the weight of what you were about to tell him.

“your highness…” you began, your voice a quiet rasp, carefully controlled but laced with something raw — something barely contained. “i'll get rid of her for you.”

the words spilled out, desperate, earnest, and dangerous. you knew they were too bold, too reckless, but in this moment, there was nothing more important than removing the threat looming over him.

you didn't even realize how tightly your hands were balled into fists until you felt your nails digging into your palms. you looked up at him, searching his face for something, anything — but all you got back was that unreadable expression he always wore.

the one that made him feel like he was miles away even when he was right in front of you.

for a moment, the only sound in the room was your breathing, uneven and shaky. sunghoon didn't say a word. his gloved hand hovered near yours, but he didn't touch you.

that, more than anything, made your chest ache.

you couldn't stop yourself. you reached out, your fingers, calloused from years of service and battle, were gentle as they clasped his hand, your touch as tender as ever — so gentle it almost felt wrong — though the rest of you screamed with the weight of your emotions.

you had never dared to show this side of yourself, this rawness. you had always been the strong knight, unwavering, a protector of the prince, of the crown. but now, in this desperate hour, your loyalty, your love, your sacrifice, spilled out in front of him, uncontrollable.

“my prince— my love,” you tried again, your voice breaking on the words, and you hated how small you sounded, how vulnerable.

but there was no hiding from him. not now.

"please. i'll do it. i don't care what it costs me. i would rot in prison if you asked me to. i would go to the ends of the earth, beyond the gates of hell, if it meant keeping you safe. keeping you away from her."

you didn't mean to say that last part, but it slipped out anyway, and now it was just hanging in the air between you, like an accusation. like a confession.

you expected him to get angry. to pull away completely. but instead, something in his eyes shifted.

for the briefest second, his guard dropped, and you saw it — saw him. the sunghoon you'd fallen for, the one who smiled at you like you were his whole world when no one else was watching. the one who kissed you like it hurt to let go.

but it was gone as fast as it came, replaced by that same cold, unreachable mask he always wore. he pulled his hand back sharply, and the ache in your chest turned into something sharper, something that made it hard to breathe.

“you don’t know what you’re saying,” he said finally, his voice tight, controlled.

but you knew better. you knew that the mask he wore was thin, fragile. it wasn’t anger that clouded his features. it was despair.

“i never asked you to do this. not for me. not for anyone. i never wanted you to.”

you didn’t flinch, even though his words cut deeper than he could have known. you couldn’t afford to.

"you don't have to ask," you shot back, and this time your voice didn't shake. you were done pretending. "i'd do anything for you, my prince. you know that."

you wasnt stupid. you were well aware of your place in the world — you always had.

you were a nobody, an orphan, a lost soul abandoned by everyone who had to claw his way out of the streets just to survive. you'd lost everything before you even knew what it meant to have something to lose. you didn't even deserve to be in this room with him.

but sunghoon had chosen you.

he found you in the rain, a chance encounter that had changed the course of your life forever. he had seen something in you that no one else ever had. he had brought you into the fold, given you purpose, given you a future — though you had never dared to imagine what that future might hold.

and somewhere along the way, you'd given him everything in return.

without question, without hesitation.

you had become his knight, his loyal protector, but more than that — his secret lover, when no one else was watching. you had given your body, your heart, your soul to him, knowing full well that it could never be enough.

sunghoon was the prince. his future, his throne, his empire, everything came before you, before your love. and you had accepted that, as painful as it was.

but now, this woman — olivia, the woman sunghoon had been promised to, was the final blow. she wasn’t worthy of him. she couldn’t love him the way you did. she didn't even deserve to be near him.

her every action, her every smile, was a mockery of everything sunghoon stood for. and you, as his knight, as his lover, couldn’t stand to see him bound to someone who would tarnish his name. someone who would drag him into the mud.

“that woman will drag you down with her,” you said, and the words came out harder than you meant them to, but you didn't care.

your hands was still clasping his as if you could somehow hold onto him, keep him from slipping away.

“she frequents brothels. she has not an ounce of loyalty in her. she would make you appear incompetent in the eyes of your people. your enemies would see it, and they will use it against you. she'll destroy everything you've worked for.”

you could see his jaw tighten, his fingers flexing slightly, as if resisting the urge to throw something, to lash out. the room felt heavier with each passing second.

but he didn't say anything. not yet.

“i’ve had her followed,” you continued, your tone fierce now, fueled by the rage and protectiveness you couldn’t mask. “i know what she’s been doing, where she's been going. and i can’t— no, i won’t let her ruin you.”

sunghoon’s breath quickened, his chest rising and falling with each labored inhale.

his entire body had stiffened, the tension radiating from him like a tightly wound cord threatening to snap. you could see the storm brewing behind his eyes — the conflict, the weight of everything he carried on his shoulders.

because deep down, he knew you were right.

you had seen things. heard things. you had watched olivia, followed her every move. olivia was poison. she had seduced every man in her path, her charms a weapon she wielded without mercy.

and her engagement to sunghoon wasn't love — it was a calculated political arrangement. a tool to strengthen the empire, to solidify alliances.

but at what cost? his heart? his future? the very essence of who he was?

sunghoon finally met your eyes, and there was no hiding the conflict swirling within them.

he opened his mouth as if to speak, but the words never came. instead, silence fell between you, heavy and oppressive, as though the weight of his situation was too much for him to put into words.

his father, the emperor, had fallen ill, leaving sunghoon to take the throne far earlier than he had ever expected, far earlier than he was ready. his younger sister had been sent away to marry the tyrant of a neighboring empire, leaving sunghoon to stand alone amidst the chaos.

alone with all with all the expectations and burdens of the empire on his shoulders.

your chest tightened as you watched him, your heart aching with a love so deep and consuming it made your breath catch. you wanted to reach for him, to hold him, to take some of that weight from his shoulders and carry it yourself.

"you deserve someone better, my love," you said quietly, your voice breaking with the emotion you had kept buried for so long. "someone who will stand by you, someone who will love you. not this woman."

at first, sunghoon didn't respond. his eyes narrowed slightly, his gaze growing colder. but it wasn’t aimed at you. it was directed inward.

you could see it, the bitterness and frustration that had been simmering inside him for weeks, for months, for years. it bubbled to the surface now, spilling over in a way he could no longer control.

"i never wanted this," he whispered, his voice so quiet it was almost swallowed by the silence of the room.

the words weren't for you, not really — they were more for himself, a confession dragged from the deepest parts of his soul.

"i never asked for this. i never asked to be emperor. i never wanted to marry her. but my parents, my duty..." his voice cracked, his fists clenching. "they've left me with no choice."

the rawness of his admission struck you like a blow, but you swallowed the ache rising in your throat. this was the ugly truth you had always known, the truth you had seen in the quiet moments when he thought no one was watching.

sunghoon was a man trapped in a cage of his own making, bound by a life that demanded everything from him but gave him nothing in return.

“i would kill anyone who stands in the way of your happiness,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper now, raw with sincerity. “if that’s what it takes… i will do it without hesitation.”

sunghoon didn't say anything. he just stared at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable, but you could see the conflict in his eyes. the way his walls were crumbling, piece by piece.

and then, with a sharp, decisive movement, he broke.

before you could process what was happening, his hands were on you, pulling you up to him with a force that stole the breath from your lungs.

his lips crashed against yours, desperate and hungry, as though kissing you was the only way he could keep himself from falling apart completely.

it was sudden. it was urgent. it was desperate.

it was everything you had been holding back for so long, all at once.

his kiss slammed into you with a force that left you breathless, a bruising, consuming need that neither of you could suppress anymore. you felt it deep in your bones, the way his lips moved against yours with a hunger that bordered on fear — as if he was afraid that if he didn't kiss you now, he'd lose you forever.

you didn't hold back. you couldn't. your hands gripped at his waist, pulling him closer, trying to erase the space between you as if it was the enemy. your fingers curled into the fabric of his coat, desperate to ground yourself in the heat of him, the reality of this moment.

his lips tasted like fire, like the only answer to every prayer you had ever whispered in the dark. and his hands, god, his hands, they clutched at you with the same frantic energy, like you were the one thing keeping him from shattering into pieces.

your fingers traced the sharp lines of his jaw, sliding down to the curve of his neck. every inch of him was warm under your touch, and you were desperate to memorize the feel of him, the way he trembled under your hands.

sunghoon's breathing hitched against your lips, and it only spurred you on. you deepened the kiss, tilting your head, pulling him further into the storm that the two of you had created. his body shuddered against yours, and you knew it wasn't just from the intensity of the kiss — it was the weight of everything unsaid between you. everything that was about to break between you.

but in this moment, none of that mattered.

the kiss spiraled into something more urgent, more primal. you felt all the years of silence, of restraint, breaking apart with each desperate touch. his lips were soft but demanding, moving against yours with a frantic hunger that you had never seen before.

his tongue traced the edges of your mouth, sending a rush of heat through your veins that left you lightheaded. you couldn't get enough of him — his scent, his warmth, the way his hands slid up to your shoulders and clung to you like you were the only thing anchoring him to this damn world.

it wasn't enough. it would never be enough.

you felt the sting of his nails digging into your shoulders through the fabric of your uniform, but it didn't matter. the pain only made everything sharper, clearer. you wanted all of him, every jagged piece of the man who had captured your heart so completely, no matter how much it hurt.

but then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped.

sunghoon pulled back, his breath coming in short, uneven gasps. his lips were swollen and red, his eyes wide and glistening, as if he was trying to process what had just happened. he looked wrecked, like the weight of the kiss — the weight of what you both felt — was too much for him to bear.

and you hated how cold the room felt now, the warmth of his body already fading as the space between you returned.

you didn't let go of him. fuck, you couldn't. your hands were still trembling as they rested against his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your palms. it was wild and erratic, matching your own, but even that wasn't enough to soothe the ache building in your chest.

"sunghoon, my love..." you whispered, your voice barely audible.

but the sound of his name coming from your lips made his eyes dart to yours. there was fear there. fear, frustration and something that looked like regret.

“you— you don’t know what you’re asking of me,” he muttered, his voice tight and strained.

his gaze darted away, his hands falling from your shoulders as though the contact was too much to bear.

“you want me to abandon everything. everything i've ever known. everything i was born to do. everything i've ever been. i can’t… i can’t do that, y/n.”

the words hit you like a knife to the chest, and you felt your throat tighten. you could feel the truth, the brutal reality, beginning to claw its way back into the space between you. sunghoon was trapped. as much as he loved you, as much as he wanted to be with you, he was bound to the empire.

you had known this would happen. you had always known it would come to this, but hearing it from him, hearing the defeat in his voice, the finality of it, was way more than you could handle.

"i can’t lose you," you said, your voice trembling. "you know i would give up everything for you. i would leave this place, leave the kingdom, everything, just to be with you. please. we could escape. we could run away and live a life just for the two of us. i don't care about the empire, about the politics, or about your engagement. i only care about you. about us."

for a moment, his mask slipped. his face flickered with an emotion so fleeting, you almost thought you had imagined it — it was a spark of something that looked like hope.

and then, for the briefest heartbeat, you saw him.

the man beneath the title. the sunghoon who had laughed with you under the stars, fought beside you on countless battles, kissed you in the quiet shadows where no one could see. you saw the sunghoon who had stolen your heart and, in return, made you believe in something greater than yourself.

but the moment didn't last.

sunghoon stepped back, retreating into himself, his expression hardening into the stoic mask of the prince he was trained to be. the weight of his crown, of his kingdom, settled back on his shoulders. he was no longer the man you loved.

he was the heir — bound by duty, by legacy, by chains you couldn't see but could feel pressing between you.

“you think i don’t dream about that?” sunghoon's voice cracked, his frustration spilling through the cracks in his composure.

his fists clenched at his sides, his knuckles turning white as he struggled to hold himself together. his eyes bore into yours, searching for an answer, but there was nothing you could give him. nothing either of you could say would change the truth between you.

“you think i don’t want to run away with you? to leave all of this behind? i’ve dreamed about it every day since i met you. every fucking day. but i can’t. i can’t just abandon everything that’s been entrusted to me. i can't abandon my duty, my family, my people. they're counting on me. i can't be selfish, not even for you.”

his words cut through you like a blade.

you wanted to scream, to beg him to stop, to tell him that he was allowed to be selfish, that he was allowed to choose happiness.

but you couldn't. instead, you stepped closer, your heart breaking as you reached for him, your voice trembling as you tried one last time to reach the man you knew still lived beneath the surface.

“you don’t have to carry it alone. let me carry it with you. let me be the one who stands by your side, always. please, you don't have to do this on your own.”

for a moment, he faltered. his shoulders sagged, and his gaze fell to the floor. the weight of what you were asking settled over him, and you could see the war raging inside him — the push and pull of duty and love, of obligation and desire. and for just a moment, you thought he might give in.

but when he lifted his head again, his eyes were filled with a sadness so deep, so consuming, it left you out of breath.

"if i run away with you..." his voice was strained, barely audible, but you could hear the pain in each word. "i would be nothing. a fugitive, a traitor to my people, to my family. and you... you would be too."

his eyes flickered up to meet yours, and the anguish there made your breath catch.

"you deserve more than that, y/n. you deserve to be free. you deserve someone who can give you everything without holding anything back."

your head shook before you even realized it, tears stinging your eyes as you took another step closer. the space between you still felt too vast, too unbearable.

"i don't care about the empire, sunghoon," you said, your voice breaking as your hands cupped his face. you needed him to hear you, to understand. "i care about you. i always have."

he closed his eyes at your touch, his features twisting in a way that made your heart clench painfully. a shudder ran through his body, and for a fleeting moment, you thought he might finally let go. that he might finally let himself choose you.

but when his eyes opened again, they were filled with a deep sadness — a sadness that had always lingered beneath the surface, but now it consumed him fully.

“i love you,” he whispered, the words barely audible, as though saying them any louder might destroy him completely. “i love you more than anything. but i can’t leave this kingdom. i can’t abandon my father, my people, my duty.”

the finality of his words slammed into you like a physical blow. your chest tightened, your lungs straining to take in air as the truth settled heavily around you. there was no more room for hope, no more room for the dreams of a future you had once dared to imagine.

it was over.

the empire had claimed him.

and you… well, you had always known that you would be the one left behind, hadn't you?

the silence between you stretched out, unbearable. you felt your hands fall from his face, trembling as they rested uselessly at your sides. your heart ached with the kind of pain you didn't think you'd ever recover from, but you knew you couldn't fight anymore.

you had given him everything — your loyalty, your love, your very soul — and now you had nothing left to give. now he was slipping through your fingers like sand.

“i can’t ask you to choose, sunghoon,” you whispered, your voice raw and broken. “but i can’t stay in a kingdom that has no place for me. not when it means losing you.”

his eyes met yours, his face a mask of conflicted emotions that only made the ache in your chest worse. his lips parted slightly, as though he wanted to say something, anything, to stop you, to make this all go away. but no words came.

and you knew, deep down, that there was nothing he could say.

with a shaking breath, you took a step back, letting your hands fall to your sides. the coldness in the air felt like a physical blow, and you felt as though you were standing at the edge of a cliff, the ground crumbling beneath your feet.

“goodbye, my love,” you said softly, your voice trembling but steady enough to carry the weight of your heartache. “i’ll always love you. always.”

his eyes widened, panic flashing in them like a warning flare. but you didn’t wait for him to respond. you turned away, your heart shattering with every step you took away from him.

the door to his chambers opened with a low creak, and you stepped out into the dimly lit hallway, your feet carrying you farther and farther away from the only person who had ever truly mattered to you.

he didn’t chase after you. he didn’t call your name.

you hadn't expected him to.

[okkotsuus]

"YOU'RE AS BEAUTIFUL AS THE DAY I LOST YOU" (katsuki b.) !

features: katsuki bakugo

contents: fantasy au. angst. hurt/comfort/more hurt. mutual pining. barabrian!katsuki. fem!reader. childhood friends to lovers to strangers to lovers again. kidnapping. grief. crying. implied panic attack. major character death. no beta we die like men. 3.9k

notes: i've been yearning desperately to make bakugo say stoick's famous line from httyd2 (my second favorite movie)... if there's interest i'm considering continuing this into the canon verse with it being these two 'reincarnated'.

tagging: @saexy (for enabling and encouraging me in killing off characters) & @meristryker (for enabling me in the gc like a real one)

never in all his life did the great katsuki bakugo think that he would ever love someone enough that he could die. watching the loving smiles of his parents, the gentle caress of his father's hand to soothe his mother's unbridled anger: it made his stomach churn.

yet, at the tender age of seven, while on a trip to a nearby village to discuss the war shifting on the horizon, he finds himself absolutely smitten by their chieftain's daughter. wide e/c eyes peeking out from behind her mother's leg, hands clutching onto the hem of the long skirt.

katsuki finds himself enamoured in that instance, seeing sweet you, looking at the boy with such curious eyes. he stomps over to you: temper even fiery in his youth. his hand grabs onto yours as he hauls you out from behind the safety of your mother.

under the dim candlelight of the meeting room, flickering flames cast dancing rays across your skin. his chubby little face is scrunched into a scowl, tugging you out of the room and into the courtyard with a tenderness that betrayed his expression.

"i'm katsuki and you better not forget it!" his pitchy voice calls, still dragging you behind him. he looks over his shoulder, soft red eyes narrowed in what was an attempt to be intimidating.

but when he sees the relaxing of your eyelids, falling slightly in contentment, with a warm smile that rivals any feeling of victory: the mask of indifference slips in a blink of an eye. red dusts over the slops of his face, baby-fat painted the same carnelian as his eyes. his small hand grips tighter onto yours, as if he never would let you go.

your chubby little face stretches as your smile widens into a toothy grin, eyes crinkling at the corners. "got it, katsuki, i'm y/n!" he swears your voice is just like the lullaby his mother would hum while rocking him to sleep, bringing a rush of warmth through his chest.

that day, katsuki bakugou falls terribly in love with y/n l/n.

the two of you are deemed inseparable, hands always connecting like opposing poles of a magnet. pinkies intertwined stronger than any woven cloth. it's as pure and innocent as it can be.

if one were to see y/n, then it was irrevocably certain that katsuki was a few steps away. it sends rumors spiralling through the lands that there will be a union between the bakugo barbaricum and l/n dynasty. you're only eight when there's an attempt made for your hand.

the thought of two families as powerful as you and katsuki's joining was a fearful thing to many. it spelled doom for many weaker civilizations, those who had dug their own graves with their actions.

your family, blessed be you to have been born to loving parents in a world such as this, easily rejects the many proposals. the l/n dynasty is in a state of power where they are not forced to fend for their village: allowing you this freedom.

running through the streets of his stronghold, chasing each other for the sake of some game that was the farthest thing from either of your minds. katsuki feels whole when you are at his side. the world doesn't seem so ugly, he doesn't feel so angry, everything sings the hymns of the heavens.

he can't pull his ruby eyes off of your form by the age of fifteen. the katsuki you had known, baby-faced with a slight stutter, has began to fill out into a man. his shoulders broaden and begin to carry thick cords of muscle. the chubbiness of his cheeks begins to give rise to sharper angles. his whiny voice is pushed aside by a more gravelly tone. he shoots up like a sprout, hunching over slightly in faces that used to fit him so easily.

but he isn't the only one who is growing into his frame. your shoulders soften at the corners, collarbones visible with every slight movement. your baby fat begins to settle and collect on your hips, rounding them. those toothy grins of yours become framed by pretty lips, always looking soft as a pillow. clothes that used to drape over your like a sheet now feel tighter in certain places, stretching over curves that popped up overnight.

the two of you don't know what to do with yourselves, stolen looks when the other isn't looking. you still hook pinkies, but the touch sends flares of heat running up the back of your neck. it's like you were just meeting each other for the first time all over again.

katsuki feels like a damn sap with the way his heart thunders under his skin: threatening to burst out. he's too taken to notice the heat that was rising to your face whenever he was around, the way your hands nervously would grip onto the swaying fabric of your skirt. too blind to see that you were just as infatuated with him as he was with you.

hurried words, lingering touches, sneaking glances, the two of you had every hint of love right in front of your faces. yet, there's a hesitance that lingers in the back of young minds: afraid that falling in love would end up with no one catching them.

unsurprisingly, katsuki is the one who jumps first. it's a quiet night, the moon is high in the sky. his breath puffs out in front of him like smoke, winter beginning to show herself once more.

you looked too beautiful under the soft azure glow that the celestial sky casts upon you, he simply couldn't bear another moment without you known how much his very soul ached for you.

on the eve of his sixteenth birthday he whispers the words like a prayer, voice softened and gentle for once in his life. "y/n... you plague my every waking thought, i cannot let my heart beat any longer without it being yours."

e/c eyes widen as your head snaps to him, lips parting in shock. katsuki beats you to it, rough palms (once baby-soft) cupping your cheek with a tenderness he was unaware he possessed.

the stars illuminate the sunkissed slopes of his cheekbones, showing the fine lashes that fan out over his eyes. katsuki was ethereal, in every sense of the word, it catches your breath in a hitch. your mind stumbles through everything you could say right now, desperately trying to find the perfect response.

but when the pads of his thumbs drag over the apples of your cheeks, leaving a buzz in the wake of his touch, all rational thought leaves as you allow words to flow like a stream. "i have loved you longer than i have known you, katsuki." your voice is hushed, only filling the small space between the two of you: like a secret that only he and you would ever know.

it sends a trill up your spine when his eyes visibly soften, his face had been growing more and more sharp by the day but only when he was with you did the curve of his cheeks soften. he turns back into a boy around you, as you turn back into a girl when held so gently between his hands.

katsuki surges forwards, nose clumsily knocking against yours, teeth colliding with your own. he's inexperienced, never having kissed a girl, much less even though of kissing anyone but you. you both are a mess, giggling softly through messy pecks smearing over each other's faces. it feels like you're both those giddy kids once more, chasing the other through the cobbled streets of your village. he makes your heart sing.

it was even harder to be apart from him now, hands fully clasped together as you walk through the streets of either of your hometowns. yet, no one is surprised. neither of your parents nor his even bat an eye when you announce the courtship at a family dinner.

love is as natural as breathing for you and katsuki. inherently you have always known exactly what the other needs. he knows just how much you like the wildflowers that grow en-route between your homes. you know just how much he likes when you rise on your tiptoes and press a kiss against the corner of his lips.

it's young and dumb, a rush of big emotions and smiles that stretch your cheeks so far they ache. once you both are eighteen, katsuki turns the courtship into a betrothal. an elegant gold ring, with a garnet slotted right in the center, it sits pretty on your ring finger. his band is thicker, small e/c gemstones scattered along the surface. when in battle he loops it through a chain around his neck: pressing a kiss to the ring before charging forwards.

the world has known y/n l/n and katsuki bakugo have been in love for nearly twelve years, official for three, and betrothed for one. the bakugo barbaricum and the l/n dynasty have began making their plans to unify upon the wedding. it sparks a wave of unease in the badlands.

all it takes is an emissary sent from the dark forest for your world to crumble into shambles. a demon who seems to be the land's scourge reincarnated, hand that turn all to ash, pillages your beloved village. he comes in tow with a mimic and a fire mage. destruction rains as you are brought to the center as their singular demand is you.

your eyes lock with the demon's red eyes, a color that had made you feel so safe until now. the hair on the nape of your neck stands pin-straight as his hand extended towards you: palm up.

a flurry of emotions rush through you like a burst dam, memories of katsuki at the forefront. you want to be selfish, to damn him and his band of criminals to hell, to fight back despite the gravity of the situation. but he is bringing terror upon the people you swore to protect with your life.

so, you step forwards, soft hand sliding into his own. never had a rough palm felt like daggers against your skin, never had you so violently despised the way carmine shines in the light of blue flames.

to save your people, your family, the home you have known your entire life: you go. swept away in black mist. the last thing you see of that place is the bakugo horde rushing towards the gates, your eyes lock with katsuki's before the void claims you.

katsuki lets out a guttural scream as her charges head first into the miasma, falling onto the ground as the last wisp flows just through his fingers. his fist slams against the ground, hands gasping at the dirt you had just been on. he allows himself to cry in front of someone other than you, a wail echoing through the ruins of your village.

that day, you disappear off the face of the realm. no matter how many search parties are sent into the dark forests in the badlands, they all return empty-handed (if they return at all). katsuki keep his ring around his neck, so it beats against his bare chest with every movement: like a reminder of how it felt when his heart actually beat .

scars wind around his arms, around his biceps, over his forearms, across his shoulders. his face is hardened, permanent frown on the lips you used to kiss so tenderly. he's angrier than ever, fuse short as his attention span.

he is a shell of the man he had been, going through the motions of survival but never truly being alive.

this persists for a grueling two years. for seven-hundred and thirty days. for seventeen-thousand five-hundred twenty hours. he is separated from the only person that has ever felt like home, the woman he has loved longer than he knew how to read.

he masks it behind his ego, boisterous laugh to hide the ringing in is ears that hadn't been able to stop. he's more violent the field, less forgiving when in training with kirishima. the explosions that thunder from his palms produce a blackened smoke that lingers and settles in his lungs like a fog.

yearning hits him late at night when he lays alone in bed, a bed that you had once shared with him. silent tears pour, running down the sides of katsuki's face as he stares blankly up at the ceiling. his breath feels short as his chest heaves to get air in. the man's mind is clouded with the look on your face as those bastards took you. he can still remember every single little twitch of your expression when you finally saw him. he remembers the way your breath hitched. he remembers the tears that began to pool at the corners of your eyes.

but, most of all, he remembers not seeing you: for what feels like the first time in his life.

katsuki cannot recall when he finally fell asleep, or if he ever even truly did. his dreams are plagued with you anyways, so the line between memory and dream is thin as a tightrope.

he has a dream that he makes it in time to save you and wakes up alone. that one sticks with him for months, hanging over him like a shadow. if he was only a minute sooner, a stride faster, reacted quicker. maybe you would be in his arms right now instead of gods know where.

relief comes in a rumor that circles in a tavern that a woman with h/c hair and e/c eyes was spotted wondering through the dark forest. katsuki doesn't hesitate, he makes no effort to send out a scout party. he rides at dawn, horse hooves beating against the grass in a frenzied gallop as he makes his way into the badlands.

none of the rouges or thieves hope to stand a chance with him, the smart ones don't even try. he vanquishes the less fortunate with a single swing of his cutlass. the man doesn't stop to rest, only to water his horse and allow it to graze while he catches a brief nap.

his horse comes to a stop right outside the dark forests, whinnying in rejection to enter. katsuki doesn't blame the poor thing, this was the kind of place people went with no intention to come back from. he dismounts, not tying his horse off: it would return with a whistle.

the forest is eerie, yawning opening that is reminiscent of a gaping mouth. but he didn't fear. because at this point, he'd rather not come back if it meant he wasn't coming back with you.

footfalls crunching against leaves and sticks echo through the dim lit treeline. the canopy is so thick that it completely obscures the bright sunlight katsuki has just been under: the perfect place for criminals to hide. the trees creak and groan, as if the land itself was breathing and living.

only when he hears the snap of a twig does he stop, his head snaps around, a flash of h/c darting just out of the corner of his visions. the man's heart stops as he stumbles to pursue, not minding the whipping of low handing branches against his face. not when he could see you darting through the underbrush.

he finally sees you in the full when you run into a path dead-ended by brambles. it's really you. y/n, his y/n.

but you look over your shoulder with such a forlorn look it makes his heart ache in his chest. you don't believe that it's really him. "toga, this isn't funny, it's cruel to keep making me see him." your voice is rougher than he remembered, as if your throat had been worn. it makes his fists clench at his sides.

the mimic had been wearing his face, just to torment you?

just the thought of it sends a rage burning deep in his chest. he has no way of knowing what you have been through. katsuki couldn't protect you: like he always feared he would fail to do.

his steps toward you are hesitant, ruby red eyes softening the second he sees your face. his heart is pounding out of his ribs, it makes him wonder if you can hear it.

a rough hand reaches up to roughly tug the chain that held his engagement band around his neck, the links snapping and clattering to the ground. he doesn't even look at it. with a gentleness, he holds out the ring to you.

your eyes dart back between the metal and him, hands tentatively reaching for it. the thundering race of your heartbeat is all you can hear. your hands, once soft, now rough as his bush against his own as you roll the ring between your fingers.

katsuki's heart breaks when he feels the callouses on your fingertips. he lowers slowly to his knees in front of you, tears fighting their way to prick at the corners of his eyes. he looks up at you like you are the light in the world, a goddess before him. in a way, you are, because he had prayed to every deity to hold you again, even if it was only once more.

"you're as beautiful as the day i lost you." his words come out in a rasp. thick emotion coursing through his chest; nearly choking him.

he watched your eyes widen, tears pooling as you too crash onto the ground. your arms wrap tight around his neck, face pressed side-by-side with his own. strong arms encircle your waist in an instant, pressing you closer with an urgency.

"katsuki... oh gods, katsuki..." you don't even know what to say, just repeating his name like a desperate prayer. your cheeks are wet and your chest aches but you don't care, because he's finally here.

lips clash desperately, just as messy as the kiss the two of you first shared five years ago. it's a mess of teeth and tongue as your fingers tangle into ash-blonde hair, his hands finding the back of your head and your hip. he sucks the breath out of you, as if wanting to absorb you into his being.

and you'd let him if he asked.

carmine eyes search for e/c, his hands cupping your cheeks as he pulls back to study your face. it's like you never left. your eyes are tired, there's some grime on your cheeks, a soft scar above your eyebrow that you've had since you were thirteen.

the softest smile spreads on his face, forehead pressing against yours as his lashes flutter shut. katsuki lets out a deep sigh, one he had been holding for nearly two years now.

warmth blooms in your chest as everything finally settles back into place like puzzle pieces. your hearts beat in sync, you draw breath when he exhales, everything is right in the world once more.

but your heart skips a beat as your eyes open to see that cursed white hair with horns peeking out from below it. tomura shigaraki. a wicked smirk on his lips as he's leaned back against a tree, simply watching.

your hands grip tighter onto the back of the shawl draping over katsuki's shoulders, breathing turning shaky and ragged.

no. no. no. they couldn't take this from you. not again. not after how hard you fought to escape the league just at the fleeting chance of being able to see the man you love. this had to be some cruel joke, right? a trick of the light, maybe...

even you aren't naive enough to believe that, your eyes close as you lean against katsuki, head burying into the crook of his neck. your fiddle with his hands to slip the ring back onto it's rightful place on his third finger. a part of you had already resigned to being ripped away again.

after two years with the demon, you learned firsthand what shigaraki was capable of. and you were not going to allow katsuki to find it out as well.

your legs shook as you stood, a weak smile given at your lover's confused look. "i'll always love you, 'suki, you know that." his eyes widen as his head nods, brows furrowing.

"then let me keep you safe."

carnelian irises widen in realization as his head turns to look back, growl ripping from his chest at the sight of the scourge of the realm's protege. his hands immediately reach for the hilt of his sword, explosions popping in his palms.

but you're already beginning to approach. katsuki seizes you in one arm, hauling you away like the day you first met. he runs through the forest with you: knowing that shigaraki would not allow the both of you to leave.

he bounds over winding tree roots, holding you steady and tight against his chest. the impending sense of doom begins to crawl up the back of his neck, but he needs you to be safe.

with you in his arm, he stumbles out of the forest, shrill whistle leaving his lips as the sound of hooves grows closer. with ease he sets you up on the saddle, but he does not join. you realize immediately what is about to happen. "katsuki-"

"no. it's my turn to keep you safe, y/n. i've always loved you, and i always will. in every life i will find you, and in every life, i will protect you." his words bring tears to your eyes as you desperately stake your head, sobs bubbling past your lips.

shigaraki creeps out of the forest and he delivers a harsh smack to the horse's haunches, sending it galloping away. within a second later a hand is reaching through katsuki's chest, mocking laugh against his ear.

"how heroic. i'll make sure you die slow, barbarian."

never in all his life did the great katsuki bakugo think that he would ever love someone enough that he could die.

that was until he lay on the edge of the forest floor, lifeblood leaking from the gaping hole in the center of the chest. but he wasn't anguished: because he died for you, the only person who he would ever love.

okkotsuus 24

[luvly-writer]

Aretia: The importance of Light and Hope

Xaden Riorson x Gamlyn! Reader

Masterlist

The night was still, the distant sounds of scouts patrolling and dragons breathing in their sleep just barely audible beyond the quiet crackle of the fire. Violet stood beside Brennan in one of the many balconies of Riorson House, her eyes catching on the flicker of movement near one of the stone walls.

Xaden was leaned back against it, dark cloak draped lazily around his shoulders. Y/n stood in front of him, laughing as she tried to fix the twisted braid in her hair, only to have Xaden reach forward and begin undoing and redoing it himself, his brows furrowed in concentration. Every so often, she’d laugh again—light and soft and so devastatingly human—and he’d glance at her like the sound alone could keep him breathing.

“They’re insufferably cute,” Violet muttered, sipping from her cup with a crooked grin.

Brennan smiled faintly beside her, but it was quieter, more thoughtful. “Do you see it?”

Violet looked at him. “See what?”

He nodded subtly toward the pair. “How she’s brought light back into him.” He paused, eyes distant with memory. “There was a time Xaden didn’t laugh. Not really. He did what needed to be done—always calculated, always commanding. And then… Y/n came along. And somehow, despite everything—despite death and war and that infernal weight he always carries—he’s warmer now. Lighter.”

Violet’s gaze softened, her heart pulling just a little.

Brennan glanced at her again. “You don’t realize how much that matters until you see what it does to the people around them. How it gives others permission to feel more than just fear or duty. She’s managed to bring a little light into the heart of all this darkness, Violet. And she did it just by loving him.”

Violet looked back toward them, and this time, she watched differently—saw the way Xaden tucked a strand of hair behind Y/n’s ear with such gentleness, how her smile steadied him like an anchor in a storm.

She nodded slowly. “Yeah… I see it now.”

Later that night – Inside the Riorson Estate, after most have gone to sleep

Y/n had just finished tying her hair up, the Tyrrish silk from earlier now woven gently into the braid that rested over her shoulder. She was curled up in one of the cushioned window alcoves in the war room, a book open on her lap, soft candlelight painting her features in gold.

Violet walked in quietly, a blanket draped around her shoulders, her silver hair slightly tousled from the wind outside.

“You okay?” Y/n asked, offering a small smile as Violet settled across from her.

Violet nodded, then hesitated—eyes flickering over Y/n’s face as if trying to find the right words.

“Brennan said something earlier,” she finally said, voice soft. “About you.”

Y/n raised a brow, closing the book but keeping a finger between the pages. “Should I be worried?”

Violet laughed, shaking her head. “No. Quite the opposite, actually.” She paused again. “He said you’ve brought light into all this. Into Xaden. And… I think he’s right.”

Y/n blinked, surprise flickering across her features. “I—” she faltered, because that wasn’t something she’d ever aimed to do, not intentionally at least. “I just… love him.”

“I know,” Violet said. “And that’s the thing. You never made it about proving anything. You didn’t try to change him or fix him. You just… stood beside him. Kept showing up. Kept being you.” She gave a breath of a laugh. “And somehow, without trying, you’ve given him back pieces of himself he thought he’d buried.”

Y/n was quiet for a moment, heart tight in her chest. “He’s done the same for me,” she whispered.

“I believe that,” Violet said, smiling. “But I just wanted you to know—I admire you, Y/n. Truly. For your strength, your heart, the way you lead without even realizing it. You’ve become part of this rebellion in more ways than one.”

Y/n swallowed hard, the emotion hitting deeper than expected. “That means more than I can say.”

Violet reached forward and gently squeezed her hand. “You’re not just the girl who loves the brooding heir anymore. You’re the one the rest of us look to now, too.”

That night – Their shared room in Riorson Estate

The fire had died down to a soft glow. Xaden was already in bed, one arm tucked behind his head, the other resting on Y/n’s hip as she curled into his side. Her fingers traced lazy patterns along the scar on his chest, the silence between them warm and comfortable.

“You’re quiet,” he murmured, voice low, barely breaking the stillness.

Y/n hummed, then tilted her head slightly so she could look up at him. “Violet said something earlier.”

“Should I be concerned?” he teased, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

“No,” she said, smiling softly. “She told me Brennan said I bring light into all of this. That… I bring light into you.”

Xaden’s hand paused on her back, fingers flexing slightly before he exhaled through his nose, quiet. “Sounds like her brother’s been paying too much attention.”

She laughed softly and nudged his ribs with her elbow. “I’m serious. Violet said… she admires me. That I never tried to fix you, just stood beside you. And that without realizing it, I’ve helped give you back pieces of yourself.”

His throat worked as he turned toward her fully, brushing her curls back from her face. “That’s because you have,” he said quietly, almost reverent. “You didn’t just stand beside me, Y/n. You walked straight into my chaos and didn’t flinch. You’ve seen every dark, broken piece and loved me anyway.”

Her breath caught, and she pressed a hand to his cheek, thumb stroking the sharp line of his jaw.

“I never thought I had to fix you,” she whispered. “You were never broken to me.”

Xaden leaned down, kissed her forehead, then her temple, then the edge of her mouth like he was memorizing her all over again.

“You are light, Y/n. And I’d be lost without it.”

She curled tighter into his chest, burying her face there as his arms wrapped securely around her. “You’d find your way back to it,” she murmured.

“Not if it’s you I’m trying to find,” he said against her hair. “Because then I’d never stop searching.”

She didn’t say anything else, just pressed a kiss to his skin, heartbeat steady against his, and slowly, slowly, they drifted off to sleep—safe, wrapped in each other, and seen.

A few days later...

Riorson Estate – Council meeting hall

The heavy doors creaked as they shut behind the king’s envoy, the last of the formalities sealed with the gilded stamp on parchment.

“By decree of the crown,” the envoy had said, “Xaden Riorson is to have his rightful title restored. Duke of Tyrrendor.”

There had been no celebration yet—just the weight of history settling on his shoulders. Centuries of Tyrrish pride, the ongoing rebellion, and ruin etched into the stone of the estate that now belonged, once again, to the rightful heir. He stood in silence, gaze flicking toward the tall windows overlooking the path into the village, already longing for the only thing that would make this moment mean something.

As if summoned by the ache in his chest—she appeared.

Y/n.

Walking through the open gates with the afternoon sun wrapped around her like a blessing. Her hair was braided in intricate Tyrrish knots, woven with threads of red and gold. Flowing crimson silk swept behind her, a traditional Tyrrish dress billowing gently in the breeze. Gold jewelry kissed her neck and wrists, and the sigils embroidered into her robes shimmered like runes of ancient power.

Xaden didn’t move. He didn’t breathe.

Ridoc let out a low whistle. Bodhi actually clutched his chest. Garrick muttered a stunned, “You’ve got to be kidding me.” The women of the squad just giggled, some whispering about how unfair it was for two people that attractive to exist in the same timeline.

And Xaden?

He just stared, absolutely ruined.

As she approached the steps, she looked up and spotted him—her expression softening with a smile that shattered him.

“You—” His voice caught, rough and reverent. “Gods, Y/n…”

She blinked, surprised. “What? Is everything alright?”

“You’re…” He stepped down the stairs toward her like a man in a trance. “You’re dressed like Tyrrish royalty.”

“I wasn’t going to wear it,” she murmured, tugging at the sleeves. “But the ladies insisted. Said I looked like a duchess and—”

He didn’t let her finish. He cupped her face gently and kissed her—deep and slow—like she was air in a room he hadn’t realized he’d been suffocating in.

When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against hers.

“They were right,” he whispered. “You look like my duchess.”

Y/n’s eyes widened, and she looked around. “Wait—did they…?”

Xaden nodded. “The king returned the title.” His hands slid down to her waist, pulling her closer. “But I don’t care about any of that unless you’re beside me when I carry it.”

Her smile was slow and glowing. “You’re stuck with me, Duke Riorson.”

From behind them, the squad groaned in unison.

“Too much,” Ridoc said, fake gagging.

Y/n just laughed and kissed Xaden’s cheek. “Let them suffer.”

Later that evening...

Riorson Estate – Xaden’s Chambers

The golden light of late afternoon filtered in through the tall windows, casting warm glows over the stone walls and catching in the red and gold threads of the robes she wore. Y/n stood in front of the mirror, fingers gently undoing the ornate pins in her hair, her expression unreadable—too quiet.

Xaden leaned in the doorway, watching her with that familiar, unshakable reverence. But as the last silk wrap slid from her shoulders and she stood there in the simple black undershift, he noticed it.

The tension in her shoulders. The way her jaw clenched, her brows furrowed. Something inside her was unravelling far faster than the gold silk on the floor.

She turned toward him slowly, arms folding across herself—not to tease, but to shield. Her voice was quiet. “I shouldn’t have worn any of that.”

Xaden’s eyes narrowed. “Why not?”

She let out a small, humorless laugh. “Because I’m not a duchess. I’m not royalty. I’m a second-year cadet from a coastal village in Navarre. A fighter. I’m supposed to be on the sparring mats, not letting old ladies braid my hair in silks while the world is burning.”

She looked away, eyes glassy with guilt she hadn’t voiced before. “And I know I haven’t missed a class or a session. Not one. But still—I feel like I shouldn’t enjoy this. Like I'm betraying the war by… breathing in moments like this.”

Xaden was in front of her before she could finish that thought.

His hands came to her face, gentle but firm, tilting her chin up until their eyes met. His voice was soft, but steady. “Y/n. You are allowed to hold joy and responsibility at the same time. You’re allowed to fight like hell and still let yourself live.”

She blinked rapidly, and he pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“You wearing this doesn’t make you any less of a warrior. Doesn’t make you any less the woman who’s bled and sweat beside me in every battle and training yard.” His thumb traced her cheek. “You are both, love. A girl from the coast who clawed her way here with steel, silk, and stubbornness. And the woman who’s won over every room she walks into, including this entire gods-damned providence.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but he kissed her softly—slow, grounding.

“You didn’t choose this life for comfort. But you do deserve the moments that remind you what you're fighting for.”

Y/n let out a shaky breath, pressing her forehead against his chest as his arms wrapped around her, anchoring her.

“Then don’t let me forget,” she whispered.

“Never,” he murmured into her hair. “You are the fiercest woman I’ve ever known, and that’s with the silk.”

The next day...

Riorson Estate – Inner Courtyard

The midday sun filtered gently over the estate’s gardens, where Y/n was seated on a stone bench, her hair half-done and her laugh soft as one of the older maids fussed over the silk ribbons she was weaving into it.

Around them, the gentle buzz of daily estate life carried on—guards training in the distance, dragons flying,cadets training, and the muffled clatter of a pot being stirred in the kitchen wing. But here, under the shade of climbing jasmine, it was peaceful.

“She’s nearly finished,” said Kaia, one of the estate’s longest-serving maids, eyes twinkling as she gently tied off the braid with a twist of vibrant gold and scarlet silk.

Y/n smiled at her in the mirror of the hand-polished silver plate on the bench beside them. “You’re spoiling me again.”

“Oh, darling,” Kaia said, voice warm and just a little teary as she adjusted the silk with the care of someone handling precious memories. “We should’ve spoiled you more. You come in here all sharp edges and fight-hardened eyes, and yet—yet you still smile at us like we matter. You say please and thank you. You smell like fruit and sunshine even when you’ve been training all morning. Your perfume? Like the summer harvest—pineapples and bananas and the sweet tang of island fruit. It follows you like your shadow, and even that’s become a comfort around here.”

Y/n’s cheeks warmed bashfully, but Kaia pressed on.

“You are everything a Rider must be—fierce, quick, clever with your blade. But you are also everything a girl is allowed to be. Your bows and ribbons. Your perfume. The way you paint your nails even if they sometimes chip after a sparring session. And now, you’ve let us tie Tyrrish silk into your hair and wear the old braids of our mothers without blinking, like you were born to carry them.”

She paused, her fingers grazing the final silk loop gently, reverently.

“I used to worry this house would never feel like home again—not after the apostasy. But then you came in, and suddenly there’s color in the hallways again. Laughter in the kitchens. And now—” Her voice cracked just a little. “Now I see the woman who will one day walk these halls as our duchess, and it makes me believe that maybe, maybe, we will survive this war. Because how can darkness win when someone like you stands against it?”

Y/n, who had remained quiet the whole time, reached out and squeezed Kaia’s hand.

“You’ve given me a home I never thought I’d have,” she said softly. “And I swear, I’ll protect it. All of you.”

Kaia just beamed, brushing a tear from her cheek before gently nudging her to stand. “Now go show that brooding man of yours how lucky he is.”

Y/n stood, braid trailing down her back like a banner of fire and silk, and laughed. “He already knows.”

Later that night... – Private Balcony off the War Room

Xaden stood with his hands braced on the balcony railing, eyes fixed on the horizon beyond the Tyrrish cliffs, wind pulling through his hair. The weight of the rebellion’s planning still lingered in his tense shoulders, the recent meeting with Brennan filled with supply chain concerns, new strategy routes, and looming Venin movements.

But then he heard the softest of footsteps behind him—and the shift in the air that only she ever brought.

He turned.

Y/n stepped out, the braid trailing down her back wrapped in red and gold silks, lips painted with the faintest hue of red, and the wind catching the flow of her sleeves like something out of a myth. She looked radiant—his radiant light—and something in his chest loosened just at the sight of her.

“Gods,” he breathed, taking a slow step forward. “You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

She smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Not yet.”

He reached for her waist and pulled her flush against him, his hand curling possessively over the silk at her hip. “What’s the occasion?”

She hesitated for just a beat. “The maids braided my hair and started talking. Said they love that I’m… that I’m both a fighter and feminine. That I smell like fruit and sunshine, that I smile even when the war feels heavy. One of them said that seeing me—like this—makes them believe they’ll survive this.”

Xaden stilled, hand tightening slightly.

“That’s what pretty much everyone see in you,” he murmured. “Your light. That hope.”

“I didn’t know how much I needed to hear it,” she said quietly, looking up at him, “until they said it.”

His thumb gently stroked her waist. “They’re right, you know. You’ve changed this place. You’ve changed me.”

Y/n leaned into him, letting her forehead rest against his chest. “I’m just me.”

He wrapped his arms fully around her and kissed the crown of her head. “Exactly. You. The girl who fights like a storm and still wears bows in her hair. Who smells like fruits and bleeds in war. You’re everything I never thought I’d be allowed to have, allowed myself to wish. Everything I didn’t realize I needed.”

She looked up at him, teasing now. “So you like the perfume?”

He smirked. “I’d bottle it and wear it as armor if I could.”

She laughed and kissed him softly, and Xaden melted into her like he always did—utterly, entirely.

And down in the courtyard, one of the maids peeking up through a window grinned and whispered, “Told you. Already the duchess of Tyrrendor.”

Author's note: Ugh! I adore these chapters so painfully. When writing this, I had the idea of making her his balance (light/shadow; sunshine/grumpy; soft/harsh), which inevitably progressed into making her the other half of leadership. Xaden is the protector, lieutenant, war minded, strategist, and prepared to fight constantly. Even if Y/n has that too, I wanted her to differentiate from Violet by making her walk amonst people. In the word's of President Snow, "Fear does not work as long as they have hope" and that is Y/n. A ruler who give hope, while her counterpart gives safety. She is still a fighter by all means, but she is sweet and light by nature. I don't know how many people will catch/ read this, but if you do, highly appreciated. They are literally yin and yang.

Taglist: @eepyfaerie @dreamdragonkadia @hiraethjules @nikfigueiredo @galaxystern08 @taleiaargenis @minidemont @poeticbookwormcat @eternallyrosyfire @shadowhuntyi @bubble300 @messageforthesmallestman @iheartshopping @lagrandeourse @readinf @barbreadsbooks @optimisticsoulstarfish @locatinginspo @lxnvmvrzx @im-a-weirdo-for-life

If you want to be added to the taglist, leave a comment. <3

[hopelesslygaysstuff]

October 02 - Wax Play

pairing: dom!Wanda x sub!Reader

summary: Wanda teases you with wax.

content warnings: none

word count: 1k+

masterlist

comments and reblogs are always appreciated! happy reading ♡

A pleasant ache courses through you, your skin trembling as you feel the wax that is rolling down your stomach harden slowly. Looking down, your eyes widen at the sight of dark red wax decorating your torso. 

“Lay back down, sweetheart,” Wanda says, her voice soft and hand steady around the candle. “I want you to enjoy every second of this.”

Nodding, you smile at her. She leans down to kiss you gently on the lips before her hand is on your sternum and pressing you back against the pillows. You let her guide you down, your muscles flexing slightly as you tense in anticipation. 

She hasn’t been gentle tonight, but it’s not rough. It’s more sensual than anything. The low light in the bedroom with flickering shadows on the walls from the numerous candles scattered around setting the mood. The anticipation builds with every second, the slight burn of candle wax against your skin sending white-hot pleasure racing towards your core. 

Her hand tilts, and you watch the wax drip down onto your skin. You hold back a sound, your breath hissing between your teeth as pain spreads briefly near your breasts. She aims the wax directly over your ribcage, and you watch your chest rise and fall rapidly as the heat courses through you. 

It’s sharp and dull at the same time, the gentle heat spreading and smothering the sharp prick of pain when the wax hits your skin. You feel goosebumps rising along your arms, your hands gripping the sheet below you as you watch her hand tilt the candle once more. 

“Fuck, Wanda,” you hiss, your breath shaky as you close your eyes. The wax hardens on your right breast, almost directly on top of your aching nipple. It stands at attention, practically begging to be touched, phantom pleasure coursing through you as you pant slightly. 

“Too much?” Wanda asks, her voice almost as soft as the candlelight flickering over you. 

You shake your head, feeling your heart rate calm slightly. “No, it’s just… a lot.”

“In a good way?”

Smiling, you take a deep breath, enjoying the way the red wax looks on your rising chest. “In the best way.”

Wanda doesn’t respond, simply smiling and moving the candle over to your left breast. Her rings catch in the candlelight, the warm glow making them shine. You watch those fingers slowly tilt, holding back a whimper as the wax drips directly on top of your left nipple. 

It hardens, the sensation burning in a pleasant way as you feel your back arching. You feel the wax drips increase in rate, your heart speeding up with them. The slight burning sensation travels down your stomach, tickling you slightly as it rolls down your sides and cools. 

“Fuck, baby. I can smell how much you’re enjoying this.” Wanda’s voice is almost reverent, hunger evident in her tone as she gently swipes a finger through the arousal at your core. 

Orange light catches on her rings, and you barely have time to prepare yourself before her hand is tilting the candle and dark red wax hits the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. 

You squirm slightly, her other hand resting on your hips in a silent command to remain still. Her green eyes catch yours, hardening slightly until you relax back into the mattress. The light of the candle reflects off her face, making her features soft. 

Watching as she slowly tilts the candle again, you feel the anticipation building as wax slowly drips onto your thighs. It’s pleasant, and having so much sensation that close to your overheated core is making your head spin. 

“Oh, please.”

“Please, what?” Wanda tilts her head, a small smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth. 

A pathetic whimper drops from your lips, and you find yourself not caring. “I need you… fuck. I need you to touch me, Wanda. Please, put the candle down.”

“Oh, but I’m having so much fun,” Wanda replies, splashing more wax over your hips. 

You jerk, your knuckles white from gripping the sheet beneath you. You reach out with one hand, grabbing Wanda’s shirt and attempting to convey your desperation with your eyes. 

“Fine,” Wanda says, smiling and rolling her eyes slightly. “I’m almost done, just let me finish and then I’ll fuck that needy hole of yours, okay?”

You don’t even have the energy to blush at the vulgar language, nodding and slowly releasing your hold on her shirt. Your fingers leave small wrinkles in the fabric, but Wanda pays it no mind as she carefully spills a continuous stream of wax over your lower stomach and onto your mound. 

The heat spreads, the sharp pain so blissfully close to where you need stimulation the most. Her green eyes watch the path of wax as it drips onto your skin, focused on the way you squirm slightly as your hips thrust up subconsciously. By the time Wanda finally sets the candle down on the nightstand, you’re panting and trembling from the effort to remain still. 

“You did such a wonderful job for me, sweetheart,” Wanda says proudly, looking down at you with a smile. Her fingers graze over your skin, ghosting over your glistening core. 

You gasp, feeling her fingers dig under a piece of wax now hard on your inner thigh, pulling it off slowly. 

God. That feels even better than when she was dripping it onto your skin. It burns yet feels soft at the same time, and you moan from the sensation. 

Wanda’s eyes darken, her breaths becoming heavier as she slowly peels another piece of wax from your chest, your nipple achingly hard. She leans down, her lips caressing yours for a moment while you moan softly against her tongue, before she sits back up and rests her hand on your thigh. 

She tilts her head, fingers pulling up another piece of wax, and you let out a breathy whine at the look on her face. 

“Now it’s time to take it all off.”

[100jewels-between-teeth]

18+ Oneshot

Word count: 3055

AO3 ¤ Ko-Fi ¤ Masterlist

~ Summery: They both could not truly understand if this was the reality they were gifted, or elaborate hells that they were still stuck within. But through late night reassurances before their final fight, they both find themselves grounded in a crazed reality that could only be blissful as long as they are with one another.

Lucanis x f!Rook de Riva

Cw: Smut, just pure lovemaking smut, overstimulation AN: So... this is my first smut posting here so... well enjoy. Im def not nervous. Huge massive shoutout to @enterthedreams for the beta!!! Honestly youre my favorite person.

Something about the sound of his steady heartbeat harmonizing with the calm breathing that caressed her damp, flushed face, was nothing short of bliss. The couch had been abandoned at some point during their second round. Now they were just content to lay on the floor, surrounded by blankets and candles bathing them both in a romantic glow. Between that and the reflective veins of the aquarium above, Avantika could not help but think this all looked to be the most ethereal dream. 

To see Lucanis like this, to even hear him like this, made him more godlike than any of the Evanuris could think to achieve. Lucanis must have noticed the silent adoration that Rook was giving him. A brow arched as he reached to move some hair that remained stuck to her skin away. His hand did not immediately retreat, taking a moment to trace the outline of her cheekbone. It followed down until the tip of his finger was resting at the bottom of her chin. Without even a silent command, Rook leaned in to have her lips grace his own – a kiss of gentle tenderness and love. “What has your mind distracted, mi diosa?” The look of concern on Lucanis’s features immediately tugged at her heart, wanting to eradicate any kind of emotion that was not happiness in this moment, in this little world they had created. 

Concern was for what would take place in the morning, not now. Not here. “Would you believe me if I said you?” The smile that she gave him was one filled with dimples on her cheeks and teeth. 

Lucanis’ own reflected straight back, a smile that would tear down the heavens. It was a privilege to Rook that she had been gifted his smile. His trust and comfort. That kind of smile could only be reciprocated with another kiss, moving from his lips to the bags under his eyes. For the first time, Avantika felt the exhaustion in those beautiful eyes was warranted. They both had given up on sleep a long while ago. 

Lucanis was right. 

How on earth could either sleep when the other was like this? “I could only hope it is good. I know it has been a while so my skills might take some ti – ” Before Lucanis could even finish the sentence, Avantika was quick to cut him off. “Oh, shut your fucking mouth.” 

She all but pounced on his broad chest, attacking his face with her lips while tenderly pecking and nipping as his own laughter filled the room. Strong arms wrapped around the woman as he took her in a roll, accepting this defeat as he got Rook on her back. The sight of him above her, eyes filled with nothing but love looking into her own almost brought her to tears. But in this light, the reflections of water mixed with the flickering candlelight, she could not help but have her eyes drawn to that silver puckered skin on his chest. Which only brought her eyes to all the others that littered his body. It came with the job, the scars. 

Lucanis probably noticed at some point with all the clothes flying off that Rook had her own. Some Crows – usually Viago – would tell anyone that scars meant a sloppy job. Crows were meant to be clean. Quick in and out performances. From what Avantika could assume, neither her nor Lucanis were exactly fitting that description. 

Catching the direction of her eyes, a small smirk grew. He raised himself into a seated position on her lap as Avantika rested upon her shoulders. “My cousin gave me that one, funnily enough.” Lucanis shrugged, the pad of his thumb tracing over the two inch long pinkish line. “We were sparring in the garden, and snuck a couple of Caterina’s knives. You know how it goes, stupid kids playing with knives.” “So what you’re saying is that he beat you?” It took everything in Avantika not to let out a little snicker. “What?! No! I beat him and he gave me this because he is a sore loser!” Lucanis placed his hand over his heart in mock offence. But the flint in his eyes gave away that jovial mischief. “I killed a god, Rook! You think my cousin is going to best me?” “Okay, okay!” Rook lifted her hands in surrender, seating herself up more so that they were both level with each other. Lucanis made sure not to keep his whole weight on her legs or hips. “I'm just saying it only took until the second chance and – ” “And I did not have a demon, nor a woman like you, distracting my thoughts then, pequeña cuervo.” Lucanis’s voice dipped to a playful low growl, taking her face in his hands as he traced the tip of his nose against hers. “I'd say that is unfair.” 

For as much as this man tried to play that intimidation game, they both knew with Avantika, he could only be this soft man. “Ah yes. My fault, I see your game, Dellamorte.” Avantika playfully pushed the man away, moving to stand with the destination of nowhere in mind. “I see how it is.” 

The arm that wrapped around her waist was expected, Avantika letting Lucanis pull her back as he assaulted her neck with kisses. 

“Forgive me diosa, I mean it as the greatest compliment.” His nose buried in the thick wild mass of her hair as he took a deep breath of her scent. 

Rook felt him rock their bodies back and forth, his bare chest pressed against her bare back as his face travelled from her neck to the line of her shoulders. Avantika had learnt much from this night. Like how this man could spend literal hours just memorizing every dip and valley of her body. How there was not an inch of skin he would leave unappreciated, unadorned with his branding lips and igniting breath. How Lucanis could be so determined to find every spot that made Avantika shudder, whimper, bite her lip to suppress that moan he was chasing. 

Maybe it was for the thrill of the sexual experience. That carnal desire both had suppressed for however long in their lives, let it be their choice or otherwise.  

It was so much more than just a simple desire. It was reassurance, to make sure that what they were tasting, kissing, loving, was real and tangible. That what they were trusting with their most vulnerable hearts was real, that the safety and love they both wanted to shelter them was truly existing. 

So the lingering touches, whether it be to explore a desire or just for the comfort of feeling they were there, helped the both of them. When Lucanis kissed from one shoulder blade to another, humming happily to himself as he felt the trail he left behind bloom in blush, she smiled, nuzzling into the skin. “And the others? Were those Illario too, or do you just have that many sore losers you fight?” Rook could not help but giggle at the small bite Lucanis left in warning following a growl. 

She turned around in his arms. Now Avantika sat in his lap with both legs on either side. Leaning back, she could hear that stifled whimper Lucanis gave, not wanting her too far away from his adoring touch and gaze. Her fingers went to his lips, playfully hushing him. Those wide brown eyes looked to her with deepest reverence, his lips automatically capturing the pads of her fingertips between his lips and his beard tickled the skin he kissed softly. Finally breaking her focus away from that beautiful face, her amber eyes fell back to those scars decorating his body. Some were jagged, rough, and others seemed so precise and delicate. It truly was a strange kind of tapestry of his life he bore. Where some were faded, only a ghost of a story lingering, others seemed quite new, possibly no less than a year old. That thought made Avantika swallow the sudden lump in her throat as Lucanis reached to gently brush her cheek. Rook’s eyes flickered back to him. 

A silent question being asked as her hand fell away from his face, instead ghosting over the scar they both had just focused on. Compared to the others, it was rather tame. Of course, if touching such wounds was far too fast, too personal for Lucanis to deal with right now, Avantika would stop immediately. But with a shivering breath, goosebumps appearing on his skin, he nodded. His right hand took hers softly, directing her to another, far more jagged scar over his right bicep. Her touch was featherlight. As if Lucanis would just shatter like glass if she applied any more pressure. Whether it was her touch, or his scar being touched specifically, Lucanis let out a shudder, his breath hitching in his throat as Avantika slowly traced over every curve. His hand fell away, letting Avantika fully explore the canvas of this man. 

“Ambushed on a job.” For how jovial he sounded, Lucanis's voice was almost breathless. “Not that the target had any backup, but the attic I chose to enter seemed to have a hermit also residing there. Maybe I deserved it for disturbing the peace of his sleep.” 

When he finished speaking, a few deep breaths followed. Avantika’s hand traced over the valley of his chest, finding a scar just on his shoulder. This one was much different – not a stab or a cut, but instead a burn just slightly smaller than her palm. “A couple years ago, one of my targets really didn’t want to go down without some sort of blaze of glory.” Something in Lucanis’s voice became quieter, more wistful as Avantika’s finger traced small circles within the taut skin. “Burnt their entire estate to the ground. Still managed to get him, but I didn’t really consider the falling debris.” 

“Viago had told me about that incident.” Avantika could not help but snicker and flick the nose of the man whose expression went from light to deadpan. “Said that is the reason if you take a contract, make sure you case the home for the smell of oil.” 

But hearing the woman laugh, he could not stop the smile reappearing. Seeing the smile too, Rook nuzzled her nose to the corner of his lips, eliciting another low chuckle from the Crow as she continued her discoveries. That finger of hers trailed from the shoulder down his arm, asking about every little story Lucanis could remember. Some were from little accidents; falling from roofs, lost drunken bets, Illario being the cousin that he is. 

Others, she could feel his body stiffen at the stories, some much harder to stir in his memory than others. For those particular reflections, Avantika’s hand would reassuringly stroke Lucanis’s hair, not wanting such memories to take over his heart and mind from the small bubbled world they had created. There came a point where Avantika stopped asking. Where both of their voices just somehow drifted away as she traced over the scars over and over. 

Then she felt, to herself at least, her touches were not enough. That just a lingering touch could not help heal the wounds of memories left behind. She may not be able to heal them completely, but the least she could do was make sure he was never alone in facing the dark. At this point, Avantika had homed herself behind Lucanis, the man’s back to her chest. When her finger disappeared, and for a moment there was just the ambient air around them, a soft and fleeting whimper escaped Lucanis, having grown so accustomed to her adoring touches. But what was once just the feeling of a featherlight finger became replaced with the burning warms of Rook’s lips, capturing the puckered flesh of the healed wound between her lips. 

Where Lucanis had just let out near breathless whimpers before, this touch had made those sounds change to something far deeper, more guttural. The sound sent shivers and pleasured waves through Avantika’s body, only able to take that as the go ahead to keep moving forward. 

For the next blissful eternity, Avantika worshipped every scar, every physical remnant of a memory on Lucanis’s body. Her lips, tongue, even teeth did everything they could to kiss away whatever metaphorical demons lingered within them. It did not take long for Lucanis to lose whatever sliver of control he had over himself in this moment, his body shuddering every time her lips graced another scar. 

Bit back moans became guttural growls and whined pleading, words incomprehensible. But, slowly, so agonizingly slowly, Avantika made her way around the man’s body. From his back, down the length of his arms. Even his hands and fingers did not escape her worship, those small worn knicks and weathered callouses receiving nothing but love from her mouth and breath. By the time Avantika returned to straddling Lucanis’s hips, he had become a shivering, opened mouth mess. Gasping open-mouthed breaths, skin fire-hot and oversensitive. Avantika could only assume not once had this man ever felt this kind of care, this kind of much deserved appreciation given to his body. If together meant forever showing this man the love and adoration he deserved to feel for the rest of his life, Avantika would willingly take it. 

For the next million lifetimes over. Her lips finally broke away from her journey. Then Lucanis’s arms shot up to hold her own, white knuckled like she was the only lifeline he could cling to. For a moment, Avantika saw the panic in his eyes – one that the two seemed to share. The panic that this was not real, that the two were in some elaborate and cruel dream. His mind still in the Ossuary partly, this being some new method of torture concocted by Calivan. 

To her, this could have been another visage in the Fade. Solas being cruelly sympathetic and letting her live out the rest of existence in the Fade in some warped, tortured dream. But as his breath once again caressed her face, his heartbeat thrumming in his chest, Avantika knew that this was true. 

This was real. 

This was their eternity, together. And if she had to prove that, by the gods she would. Before he could speak of their worries, her hand found his lips again. Lucanis’s eyes rolled to the back of his head at the contact, his breath shuddering. Rook kept her own mouth nearly a breath away from his, drinking in every gasp and moan that he fed her with. His arousal was already quite prevalent against her thigh, exhausted and oversensitive from the prior adorations of the night, but still somehow more. 

For a long moment, Avantika just kept herself still, falling into the abyss that was his gaze. A stare filled with love and pure bliss at what was being held in his arms. Letting her hand slowly slip away again, she silently allowed Lucanis to help lift her waist, their faces not breaking the miniscule distance from each other. Both wanted to drink this in, drink each other in. To witness their eyes, their breaths, their very beings connecting as one. And so it did. 

Slowly, he sheathed himself within her warm walls once more. The overstimulation of the night prevented him from fully entering completely, letting out a long whine at the surge of overwhelming pleasure that shot through him. Avantika could not blame him, her own mewl following as her sex automatically tightened as much as it could from the entrance. 

Both were well spent, well satisfied, but this coupling was far more than just sex, just chasing pleasure. This was the two solidifying themselves in reality, within each other. Drinking in her moans, Lucanis canted his hips upward, sharply letting the rest of himself become engulfed. The cry that ripped through his throat was quickly devoured by Avantika’s kiss. Not a kiss of precision, but one full of teeth and tongue – one that just needed to devour him completely. 

He groaned into her mouth, his own kiss sloppily reciprocating as the two began to move together as one. Both of their hips rolled simultaneously as they cried out in a frenzied ecstasy. Rook finding all the scars again to drag her nails along, eliciting the most erotic and passionate cries from the Crow beneath her. That is when the first tear fell from Avantika’s face. 

She did not know what exactly made her cry through all this. The immense pleasure he was giving her with every stuttering thrust, the wailing cries and whimpers they both fed each other, or just the knowledge that he was here with her. 

That all of this was real. That their love was real. 

So when the tear fell to his cheek, he immediately latched his lips to her face, kissing away every exhausted tear she produced as his own materialized. Neither knew how long they rocked with each other, neither really seemed to care. Avantika had let herself go, losing count on how many times Lucanis had made her unravel into jaded oblivion. He had come with her, his seed filling her core and overflowing, dripping like the tears on her cheeks, thighs slick with the physical representation of Lucanis’s adoration. It could have been an hour, to them they did not care if it was days spent like this either. But pulling away one more time, collapsing on their side to the floor as their legs were wrapped in a tangled heap, Lucanis kissed the remaining tears away, Avantika following suit. “Diosa mía, mi vida, mi corazón y mi ser son sólo tuyos. Te amo, mi pequeño cuervo.” Lucanis followed his words with a long, lingering kiss, one that carried the love of his words.  Avantika could not help but let out a choked sob at the beauty of his words. A language she had to learn, that she thanked every god above she kept remembrance of. With her own reciprocating kiss, capturing his lower lip between her teeth, she looked up into his eyes, her hand wiping away the remaining tears staining his cheek.

“Lucanis… You're really here, we are really here. My love for you, truly, is here.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

mi diosa - my goddess pequeña cuervo - little crow Diosa mía, mi vida, mi corazón y mi ser son sólo tuyos. Te amo, mi pequeño cuervo - My goddess, my life, my heart and my being are yours alone. I love you, my little crow.

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Loyal as a Hound

12/12: Candlelight & Collaring - Aemond Targaryen Word Count: 1.3k~ | Warnings: sub Aemond, collaring (obvs), degradation, candle wax kink

A/N: Welcome to Smuffmas!

12 Days of Smuff Masterlist

“And what did your brother call you?” 

She smirks, her silken robe slid almost entirely off her shoulder, nipples half-hard in the low, dim room, lit entirely in candlelight. This room was like a womb. Throbbing with life, primal, but safe, secure. Encompassed with warmth that did not judge.

Oh how highly they held royalty.

They lived high above them, looking down at the smallfolk with contempt down their noses. Wrapped in lavish clothing, eating the finest foods whilst wasting most of it without thought and sleeping in the softest of beds. Never having known discomfort and cold.

It was no secret King Aegon sought pleasure on the Street of Silk. But that was because he was a drunken, lust-filled beast, thinking he could find validation in the eyes of whores with their sweet words bought with coin.

But Prince Aemond? He sought something she would have never anticipated.

Humiliation.

If she were a scholar, she would commission a Maester to write a book on how those with all the privileges and power in this realm went out of their way to seek pain. To seek that feeling of smallness. Of vulnerability.

“As loyal as a hound.”

His voice was low, firm, but only because he was currently on his knees, hands on his thighs and palms facing upwards. His clothes were thrown carelessly about the space, eyepatch long removed, but his gaze was trained forwards, to the floor, away from her seated at the other side of the room. As if he did not wish to look upon the whore he paid to feel small.

A man so tall, cut with rigid muscle after so many years of training, of perfecting himself, was kneeling, naked, before her.

She hummed, her finger circling over the rim of her cup, a smile rising to her features.

“As loyal as a hound,” she repeats, her voice soft and lilting, smooth as Dornish wine.

She stood slowly, the fine clothing rippling across her body like sand. Gliding across the room to him, looking down as he has done to every commoner all his life, she smiled down at him. His hair loose around his shoulders, the angry scar down his cheek and through his eye, the sapphire sat there, there was a strange beauty to him.

“A hound,” she mused, “needs a collar. Does he not?”

She reaches across, upon the side table, her fingers brushing against something smooth and sturdy. A collar, dark leather with gold accents, gleams under the dim light. She holds it out before him, letting the cool metal rest against his skin for a brief moment, savouring the way he flinches.

“Such a pretty thing,” she murmurs, her hand sliding gently around his neck. 

The collar is placed carefully, as if she’s fastening something that belongs to her, her fingers brushing the delicate skin of his throat. She tightens it slightly, feeling the subtle pulse beneath her touch.

She can see the gentle swallow of annoyance as the leather is tightened around his neck, enough to dig into his moonlight, pale skin. But not so he cannot breathe at all. And at the sound, between a wince and a growl, she sharpens her eyes at him, but he does not meet them.

“Tell me, My Prince,” she says with a soft, amused lilt, her finger scooping through the ring at the front of the collar, “how does it make you feel?” She asks with a small tug, “to be a hound, beckoned only when you are needed. And then kicked to the side once you have done your dirty work.”

Aemond swallows hard, his jaw clenching as her words strike something deep within him. His pride demands he bite back, but the collar around his neck reminds him of the precarious position he is in. The one he pays her for.

“I do what is required of me,” he says finally, his voice low, though it wavers slightly. He doesn’t meet her gaze, his eye fixed somewhere over her shoulder as if looking at her might shatter what little pride he has left.

“Oh, how noble,” she purrs, leaning closer. Her breath ghosts over his cheek as she whispers, “But you didn’t answer my question, did you? How. Does. It. Feel?”

Her hand tightens on the leash, tugging it sharply, forcing his head up to meet her eyes. “Does it make you feel small? Weak perhaps?”

His brow twitches slightly, lips press together as if he restrains himself from breaking this act that teeters on the edge of his control. She sees it. Knows that he could stop at any moment and he would be back to his usual stiff-backed, stoic princely self. 

But he does not. 

“Did you want to say something?” she asks with a smirk, evident in her tone. “Perhaps it’s this”, she tugs once more on the leather, “you’re realising how perfectly it suits you.”

She steps back suddenly, releasing a fraction of the tension in the leash, rounding his kneeling form to circle him, she retrieves the candle from a nearby table. The flame flickers as she holds it delicately in one hand, looking down at him through her lashes, how the muscles of his shoulders catch the light.

“Or perhaps,” she pauses, lowering so she ghosts at his back, “we should test your limits?”

Aemond turns his head slightly, following her movements out of the corner of his eye, his breath quickening. He feels the heat of the candle before he sees it, the flame casting a warm glow against his skin.

“You’ll tell me, won’t you,” she murmurs, holding the candle aloft. “Tell me when it becomes too much.” Her voice is low, teasing, a cruel edge hidden beneath her soft tone, her breath against his ear as she leans over his shoulder. “Or perhaps you’ll beg me for more instead.”

She tilts the candle ever so slightly, and the first drop of wax falls. It lands on the bare skin of his shoulder, sharp and searing, making him suck in a breath through his teeth. His back stiffens, his hands clenching into fists. 

“There it is,” she breathes, her eyes gleaming with delight as she watches his reaction.

Another drop of wax falls, this time trailing down the side of his neck, just below the collar. His hiss of pain is sharper now, but so is the way his breath catches, the way his body betrays him. From where she hovers, it’s easy to see, his member hard and throbbing between his legs, aching for touch as if he had never felt it before.

“You’re trembling,” she observes, her voice almost gentle now, though her smirk never wavers. “Does the pain humble you? Does it remind you of your place?”

“Yes,” he breathes, the word slipping out before he can stop it. His pride feels like ash in his mouth.

The relief is clear on his face when she rounds him again, standing before him, she settles onto his lap, the only thing separating his aching cock from her warmth is the fine silk of her robe. One he would have no difficulty ripping had the tables been turned. The pupil in his seeing eye dilates, and she finds herself looking between them, finding something quite beautiful about the darkness of desire in one, and of the sapphire in the other. 

She smirks, tugging at the leather to pull him slightly closer, the candle still held deftly in her other hand. “Good,” she says, satisfaction dripping from her tone. “Then we’ll continue.”

She tips the candle again, letting the wax drip deliberately along his collarbone, close to his nipple, each drop a burning brand. He shudders beneath her touch, his breaths uneven, and she laughs softly. Watching as his eye slips shut, and she takes that one singular moment to relinquish her hold on the leather, to his length, giving two mere languid strokes before guiding his hot cockhead to her centre. Sinking down as if to surprise him, engulfing him in her warm, pulsing cunt. 

“You take it so well,” she murmurs, leaning close to whisper in his ear, her own voice strained as if to mirror the feeling of how his girth stretches her around him.

“Such a good little hound, aren’t you?”

General Taglist: @1lluminaticonfirmed @aemondsfavouritebastard @all-for-aemond @bellstwd @blackswxnn

@blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch @castellomargot @cl-0-vr @eddieslut69

@emmaisafictionwhore @eponaartemisa @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @justbelljust

@minholy223 @mochi-rose @natty2017 @nenelysian @nixiefics

@primonizzutto @qyburnsghost @randomdragonfires @risefallrise @sheshellsseashells

[novaursa]

Hey would you ever do a Helaena fanfic maybe yn is Helaena's older or younger brother and they get married or while Helaena is married to Aegon she falls in love with yn or something like that

Beyond Duty

- Summary: Helaena refuses to marry Aegon because her heart was already given to someone else. You.

- Pairing: brother!reader/Helaena Targaryen

- Note: This short story will be expanded with the second part adding a marriage ceremony between the reader and Helaena.

- Rating: Mild 13+

- Next part: marriage

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @literaturedog

The candlelight flickers softly in the chambers of the Red Keep. The night air is warm, carrying with it the faint scent of the gardens below, where jasmine and roses intertwine. You find yourself seated by the window, a book resting idly in your hands. The words blur together, your thoughts distracted by the events of the day.

A soft knock at the door draws your attention, and before you can respond, it creaks open to reveal Helaena. Her presence is like a breath of fresh air, her silver-gold hair cascading over her shoulders, the pale lavender of her gown catching the low light. She hesitates at the threshold, her violet eyes meeting yours with a shyness that belies the strength within her.

“May I come in, brother?” she asks, her voice gentle and uncertain.

“Of course, Helaena,” you reply, setting the book aside. “You’re always welcome here.”

She steps inside, closing the door softly behind her. There’s something different about her tonight, a quiet intensity in her gaze that you can’t quite place. She moves to the window beside you, looking out over the sprawling city below.

“I saw something today,” she begins softly, her hands clasped before her. “A dragonfly caught in a spider’s web.”

Her words are typical of her, cryptic yet filled with hidden meaning. You’ve always admired her peculiar way of seeing the world, her ability to find beauty and truth in the smallest things. You wait for her to continue, sensing there is more she wishes to say.

“I freed it,” she murmurs, glancing at you from the corner of her eye. “It struggled so fiercely, but I could not bear to see it trapped like that, its wings torn and tattered.”

“Did it survive?” you ask, leaning closer, your interest piqued not by the insect but by what her words might signify.

She nods, a small smile playing at her lips. “It did. It flew away, its flight uneven, but it was free.”

There’s a pause, the silence between you filled with unspoken words. You can feel her gaze lingering on you, and when you meet her eyes, there’s a softness there that you’ve never noticed before, a vulnerability that catches you off guard.

“Do you ever feel like that, Y/N?” she asks quietly. “Trapped, struggling to break free?”

You’re taken aback by her question, the raw honesty of it. You’ve never spoken of such things before, not with anyone, and certainly not with her. Yet here she is, her eyes searching yours, as if she sees past the carefully constructed walls you’ve built around yourself.

“Sometimes,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “There are times when it feels like the expectations, the duties, they weigh down on me. It’s hard to breathe under it all.”

She reaches out then, her hand resting lightly on your arm. The touch is unexpected, sending a jolt through you, and you realize how close she’s standing. You can see every delicate feature of her face, the slight curve of her lips, the flecks of gold in her eyes.

“I know what it’s like,” she says softly. “To feel trapped, to want something more, something different. But you’re not alone, Y/N. You don’t have to carry it all by yourself.”

There’s something in her voice, a depth of emotion that makes your heart ache. You’ve always cared for her, your sweet sister, but this is something else, something new and terrifying in its intensity. You can feel the bond between you shifting, deepening in ways you hadn’t anticipated.

“I don’t know if I’m strong enough,” you confess, the words spilling out before you can stop them. “There’s so much expected of us, so many eyes watching, waiting for us to fail.”

She steps closer, her hand moving to cup your cheek, her touch gentle and warm. “You are strong, Y/N. Stronger than you know. And you have me.”

Her words wrap around you like a promise, and for the first time in a long while, the weight on your shoulders seems to lighten. You lean into her touch, your eyes closing briefly as you savor the moment, the quiet intimacy of it. When you open them again, she’s watching you with an intensity that makes your breath catch.

“Helaena,” you murmur, your voice rough with emotion. “I—”

But before you can finish, she rises up on her toes, her lips brushing softly against yours. The kiss is tentative, a question as much as a declaration, and you find yourself answering it without thought, your hands coming up to cradle her face as you deepen the kiss.

It’s everything and nothing like you imagined, the taste of her sweet and intoxicating. There’s a softness to her, a gentleness that contrasts with the fierce passion you can feel simmering beneath the surface. When you finally pull away, you’re both breathing hard, your foreheads resting together.

“I’ve loved you for so long,” she whispers, her voice trembling. “I was afraid to say it, afraid it would change things, but I can’t keep it inside anymore.”

Her confession leaves you stunned, your heart pounding in your chest. You’ve never allowed yourself to consider the possibility, the idea that she might feel the same way you do. But now that it’s out in the open, there’s no going back, no pretending that this moment, this connection between you, doesn’t exist.

“Helaena,” you say, your voice thick with emotion. “I love you too. I don’t know when it started, but I do.”

She smiles then, a brilliant, radiant smile that lights up her entire face. And in that moment, everything else fades away—the expectations, the duties, the suffocating weight of your lives. There is only her, only this moment, and the love that you share.

For the first time in a long while, you feel free.

The Great Hall is alive with the soft murmur of conversation and the clink of silver against porcelain. The long table is set with an elaborate spread of roasted meats, freshly baked breads, and delicate desserts, the air heavy with the rich scents of a feast. Candles burn brightly in their sconces, casting a warm glow over the gathered family. King Viserys sits at the head of the table, his face lit with a rare smile as he looks upon his children.

Alicent, seated beside him, wears a tight-lipped smile, her eyes flicking between each of you, as if gauging the temperature of the room. Aegon lounges lazily in his chair, his goblet already half-empty, his gaze distant and bored. Aemond sits stiffly, his one good eye focused on the plate before him, his expression unreadable. Helaena, across from you, seems lost in her own world, her fingers tracing the rim of her cup in an idle, absent-minded fashion.

You sit quietly, observing the scene, the tension beneath the surface palpable. These dinners have always been fraught, the weight of expectations and unspoken words pressing down like a physical force. Tonight, however, there is an added edge, an anticipation that crackles in the air like a storm waiting to break.

Viserys clears his throat, drawing everyone’s attention. “I have been thinking,” he begins, his tone casual but carrying an undercurrent of something more, something final. “It is time we spoke of betrothals.”

Alicent’s smile tightens, her hands folding neatly in her lap. “Yes, Your Grace. It is a matter that has been on all our minds.”

Aegon lets out a sigh, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Must we talk of such things now?” he mutters, earning a sharp look from Alicent.

“Hush, Aegon,” she hisses, her gaze flicking nervously to Viserys, who either does not notice or chooses to ignore his son’s insolence.

“Yes, we must,” Viserys continues, unperturbed. “It is the duty of the royal family to secure the line of succession, to ensure the strength and unity of House Targaryen.” He pauses, his gaze settling on Helaena. “Which is why I believe it is fitting that Helaena marry Aegon, as befits our eldest son and only daughter.”

The silence that follows is deafening, the weight of his words settling over the table like a shroud. You feel a sharp pang in your chest, your gaze shifting to Helaena, whose face has gone pale. Her eyes, usually distant and serene, are wide with shock and something else—fear, perhaps, or defiance.

“No.”

The single word falls like a stone into the still waters of the room, the shockwave of it rippling through the silence. Everyone turns to stare at her, stunned. Alicent’s face drains of color, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Aegon blinks, his drunken haze momentarily cleared by sheer disbelief. Even Aemond looks up, his single eye narrowing as if trying to decipher a puzzle.

Viserys’s smile falters, confusion knitting his brows together. “What did you say, Helaena?”

She lifts her chin, a steely resolve settling over her delicate features. “I said no, Father. I do not want to marry Aegon.”

The words hang in the air, shocking in their boldness. You’ve never seen her like this, so fierce and determined. There’s a fire in her eyes, a strength that belies her usual quiet, ethereal demeanor. It’s as if a veil has been lifted, revealing a side of her that none of you have ever truly seen before.

Alicent recovers first, her voice trembling with a mix of shock and anger. “Helaena, you cannot speak to your father this way. This is a matter of duty, of family. You do not have the luxury of choice.”

Helaena’s gaze shifts to her mother, and there is a flash of something—hurt, perhaps, or betrayal. “Do you think I do not know my duty, Mother?” she asks, her voice steady, though you can see the effort it takes for her to maintain it. “I have always done what was expected of me. I have obeyed, I have been quiet, I have been good. But this—I cannot do this.”

Viserys looks bewildered, his eyes searching Helaena’s face as if he’s seeing her for the first time. “But why, Helaena? Aegon is your brother, your family. It is a union that would strengthen the realm, ensure the Targaryen bloodline. What reason could you have for refusing?”

Helaena’s gaze flicks briefly to Aegon, who is staring at her with a mix of irritation and confusion. “Aegon is my brother, yes, but he is not the man I would choose to be my husband. He is not the one I—” She stops herself, a flush rising in her cheeks, and you realize, with a jolt, what she was about to say.

Your heart pounds in your chest, the implication of her words hitting you like a blow. Could it be…?

“Helaena,” Viserys says, his tone gentler now, almost pleading. “You know what is expected of you. This is not about personal feelings. It is about duty, about family. Please, my dear, do not make this harder than it needs to be.”

Her gaze shifts to you then, and there is something raw and vulnerable in her eyes, something that makes your breath catch. “I understand duty, Father, but I also know my own heart. And my heart does not belong to Aegon.”

The room falls into stunned silence once more, the implications of her words hanging heavy in the air. You can feel the weight of everyone’s gaze on you, the unspoken question burning in the space between you and Helaena.

Aegon snorts, breaking the tension. “Well, that’s a fine thing to say. Who, then, Helaena? Who is it that you think you love, if not me?”

She doesn’t answer, her eyes still locked on yours, and you realize, with a shock that sends a shiver down your spine, that it’s true. That all those moments, those glances, those touches that lingered just a little too long—they weren’t just in your imagination.

“Helaena…” you begin, your voice hoarse, unsure of what to say, of what to do.

But she shakes her head, a small, sad smile touching her lips. “It does not matter, Y/N. I know this is not something I can change. But I needed to say it, even if only this once.”

Alicent rises to her feet, her face pale with fury. “This is madness,” she snaps. “Helaena, you will do as you are told. You will marry Aegon, as is your duty. This foolishness—”

“Enough, Alicent,” Viserys interrupts, his voice sharp. “Helaena has spoken her mind, and I will not force her into something she so clearly does not want.”

His words leave everyone stunned once more, even Helaena. Alicent looks as if she’s been struck, her mouth opening and closing as she struggles to find the words.

“But Viserys, she—”

“No, Alicent,” he says firmly. “I will not have my daughter miserable, not if there is another way. We will find a solution, one that suits us all. But she will not be forced into a marriage she does not want.”

Helaena’s eyes fill with tears, and she rises slowly, bowing her head. “Thank you, Father,” she whispers, her voice choked with emotion. “I will not forget this kindness.”

With that, she turns and leaves the hall, her steps quick and unsteady, leaving a stunned silence in her wake. You stare after her, your heart pounding, a thousand thoughts racing through your mind. Everything has changed, and you’re not sure what comes next.

[m4rv3l-girl]

Forget Me Not

Bucky x Y/N

Bucky wants to pop the question. Except, he’s forgotten one very important thing…

Requests Open!

Warnings: None. Just fluff!

The night was perfect.

From the clear autumn sky dusted with stars to the way the city seemed to glow just for them, Bucky could tell this was their moment. He’d spent weeks planning, going over every little detail to make this evening unforgettable. But as he adjusted his shirt for the hundredth time, nerves began prickling down his spine.

Across from him, Y/N looked stunning. Her smile was warm and knowing, and Bucky could tell she’d noticed his antsy energy. She seemed suspicious, maybe even expecting something big, and he couldn’t help the soft grin tugging at his lips as he watched her. She always knew him too well.

“Kitten, you’re staring,” he teased, breaking the silence and reaching for her hand across the table.

She raised an eyebrow, giving him a playful look. “Me? You’re the one who’s been adjusting your shirt for the last five minutes. Is something up?”

“Just want to look my best for you,” he said smoothly, though his heart was pounding. He could feel the tiny box in his pocket, a little weight pressing against his chest with each beat. “Can’t a guy want to look sharp for his girl?”

“You always look sharp to me,” she replied, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “But there’s something else, isn’t there?”

Bucky swallowed, trying to find his calm. “Maybe. But I think it’ll be worth the wait.”

As the dinner continued, Bucky did his best to act natural, though every word and every touch felt like a countdown to the question he was about to ask. The restaurant was quiet, with soft music playing in the background and a gentle hum of conversations around them. He’d chosen this place because it felt intimate, a cozy spot tucked away from the rest of the world where it could be just them.

They had fallen into a comfortable rhythm, sharing memories, laughter, and quiet looks that spoke volumes. Bucky smiled, watching as Y/N took a sip of her wine, and felt his heart nearly burst with the quiet joy of being here, in this moment, with her.

“So, remember that time you tried to teach me how to cook?” she teased, raising her eyebrows at him over the rim of her glass.

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Oh, come on, Doll. I wasn’t that bad.”

“Not that bad?” she echoed, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Bucky, you set spaghetti on fire. Spaghetti. I didn’t even think that was possible.”

“Hey, the stove was more complicated than it looked,” he protested, his lips quirking into a grin. “Besides, who needs fancy pasta when I make such a good breakfast-for-dinner?”

“True,” she admitted, laughter still in her eyes. “I will give you credit for those pancakes. I mean, only a man as charming as you could convince me that a plate of slightly burned pancakes was a five-star meal.”

“‘Slightly burned pancakes,’” he muttered, feigning offense. “I prefer ‘crispy edges.’ And let’s not forget, you said they were the best pancakes you’d ever had. I still remember that.”

“Did I really?” she asked, a hint of a blush creeping up her cheeks as she glanced away.

“Oh, you absolutely did. It’s one of my fondest memories, Doll,” he said, leaning in slightly. His voice softened, carrying the weight of his sincerity. “Anytime I can make you smile like that…those are the moments I want to remember forever.”

She stilled, looking at him with wide eyes before a gentle smile softened her features. “You always say the sweetest things.”

“Only for you, Kitten,” he murmured, his voice low. He couldn’t tear his eyes away, captivated by the glow of the candlelight on her face, the way her eyes shone with laughter and warmth. In that moment, he knew without a doubt—this was it.

This was where he was supposed to be.

As they finished their meal, he decided it was time. He reached into his jacket pocket, feeling for the small box, but instead, his fingers met…nothing. His heart stilled, and a sense of dread clawed its way up his throat. He checked his other pockets quickly, all while keeping his expression neutral.

No box.

Panic settled in as he realized what this meant.

The ring—the one he’d spent days picking out, picturing the exact moment he’d slide it onto her finger—it was sitting at home, in his nightstand drawer. He’d been so focused on planning every single detail of tonight that he’d forgotten the most important part.

Y/N’s voice broke through his thoughts. “Bucky, you alright?”

His gaze snapped back to her, and he realized he was probably giving her the most ridiculous, deer-in-the-headlights look. He tried to smile, but he could feel the strain. “I…uh, yeah. Just…y’know. Maybe I’m just nervous.”

“Since when does Bucky Barnes get nervous?” she teased, her eyes sparkling with affection. She reached across the table, taking his hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. “You can tell me anything, you know that.”

His shoulders slumped slightly. There was no use hiding it from her, especially not with her looking at him like that. He took a deep breath, brushing his thumb over her knuckles as he held her hand.

“Alright, so, full disclosure,” he said, his voice low and a little sheepish. “I had this whole night planned out, Doll. Every little thing, down to the music they’d be playing and the wine we’d drink. And I was gonna…ask you something really important.”

He paused, watching her expression carefully. Her eyes widened slightly, a faint blush rising to her cheeks, and he could tell she was already piecing it together.

“You were going to propose,” she whispered, a smile beginning to form.

“Yeah,” he admitted, letting out a chuckle that was equal parts relieved and embarrassed. “Except…I forgot the ring. Left it right at home in my nightstand.”

For a moment, there was silence. Bucky braced himself, half expecting her to be disappointed or to tease him mercilessly for messing up such a big moment. But instead, she broke into soft, melodic laughter, her eyes filled with the same warmth that made him fall for her in the first place.

“Oh, Bucky,” she said, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. “Did you really think I’d care about a ring?”

He blinked, his heart hammering in his chest. “I just…I wanted it to be perfect. Wanted everything to be just right for you.”

She reached across the table, resting her hand on his cheek, her thumb brushing over his cheekbone. “You don’t need a ring to ask me. I’d say yes a thousand times over, even without it.”

He swallowed, a rush of emotion catching him off guard. Here he was, standing on the edge of everything he’d ever wanted, and she was telling him it was already perfect, just because they were here together.

“Doll…” he began, his voice rough with emotion. “You’re sure? No fancy ring, or the big speech…?”

She smiled, nodding. “Positive. Just you and me, right here.”

He got up from his chair, kneeling beside her with a grin, his hands cradling hers as he looked up into her eyes. “Then let’s make it official. Y/N, will you marry me?”

Her answer came in the form of a radiant smile, a simple “yes” whispered through her tears.

He pulled her into his arms, the two of them laughing and holding each other, oblivious to the other diners. She was everything he needed—everything he’d ever wanted—and in that moment, nothing else mattered.

They left the restaurant hand in hand, walking down the quiet street with the stars shining above them. Bucky looked over at her, feeling that familiar warmth flood his chest as he squeezed her hand.

“When we get home,” he murmured, pulling her close, “I’ll give you that ring. Promise.”

She laughed, leaning into him as they walked. “You could’ve proposed with a ring pop, Hun, and I’d have said yes..”

He grinned, pressing a kiss to her forehead, then her cheek, then her lips. “Doll, you’re my best girl..”

“Damn right.” She stated.

And as they strolled through the city, wrapped in each other’s arms, Bucky knew that forgetting the ring had been the best mistake he’d ever made.