#hues of the violet garden

[novaursa]

The Silver and The Gold

- Summary: This was the first time you and Aegon acknowledged the bond between you, and the first time you are truly one.

- Paring: twin!reader/Aegon II

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N and is bonded with dragon called Starfyre. If you want to read this series in chronological order, you can find the list of my works on my blog. The list is pinned to the top. This is currently considered part one. But it can be a part just for itself.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 5 191

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

The sun hangs low in the sky, casting a warm, golden hue over the Red Keep. You and your twin, Aegon, have managed to slip away from your septa’s watchful eye once again, finding solace in one of the many hidden alcoves of the castle. These moments away from the prying eyes of the court are your favorites, the only times when you can be truly yourselves—just Y/N and Aegon, two halves of a whole, inseparable from the moment you entered this world together.

Your laughter echoes softly through the stone corridor as you both rush through a narrow passageway, your hand firmly clasped in his. Aegon’s pale blonde hair glows in the dim light, and when he glances back at you, there’s a mischievous sparkle in his violet eyes. You’ve both been caught sneaking away before, but the thrill of breaking the rules only adds to the excitement.

“Y/N,” he whispers with a grin, pulling you into a small chamber tucked away behind a tapestry. “They’ll never find us here.”

Your heart races, not from fear of getting caught, but from the proximity to him, the closeness you’ve always shared yet lately feels different, more charged. The chamber is small, barely furnished, but it feels like a world of your own. The tapestry falls back into place, cloaking you both in semi-darkness, the only light filtering in from a high, narrow window.

“We’ll be in such trouble if they find us,” you say, though there’s no true worry in your voice. The thrill of being alone with him like this, away from everyone’s expectations, makes it all worth it.

Aegon shrugs, a playful smirk on his lips. “When are we not in trouble?”

The truth of his words makes you both laugh again, and for a moment, it’s just like when you were children, chasing each other through the gardens, getting scolded for dirtying your clothes. But as your laughter fades, a tension fills the small space, thickening the air between you.

You’ve always been close to Aegon, closer than anyone else in your life. He’s been your constant companion, your protector, and your best friend. But lately, there’s been something more—a longing in his gaze, a flutter in your stomach when he brushes your hand, a sense that you both are standing on the edge of something new and terrifying.

“Aegon…” you begin, unsure of how to voice the feelings that have been swirling inside you.

He steps closer, his expression softening. “Y/N, I… there’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you.”

You look up at him, your breath catching as you see the earnestness in his eyes. He’s nervous, you realize, the ever-confident Aegon, unsure of himself for once. The realization emboldens you, and you reach out, your hand trembling slightly as you place it on his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your palm.

“I think I know,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

He covers your hand with his, his touch warm and steady. “Do you?” he asks, his tone soft, almost reverent. His free hand reaches up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly across your skin. The gentleness of the gesture sends a shiver down your spine, and you lean into his touch, your eyes drifting closed.

When his lips meet yours, it’s as though the world stops. The kiss is tentative at first, exploring, as if you’re both afraid of crossing an invisible line. But the moment your lips part and you taste him—sweet and warm and utterly intoxicating—everything changes. The kiss deepens, fueled by the years of unspoken feelings, of wanting and needing but never daring to take.

Aegon’s hands slide to your waist, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you. Your own hands find their way to his shoulders, then into his hair, threading through the silken strands as you press yourself against him. The kiss becomes more urgent, more desperate, as if you’re both trying to make up for all the time you’ve wasted.

You’re not sure when it happens, but at some point, you find yourself lying back on the small bed in the corner of the chamber, Aegon above you. His kisses trail from your lips to your jaw, down the column of your throat, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Your breathing is ragged, your heart pounding as his hands explore the curves of your body, as if he’s trying to memorize every inch of you.

“Y/N,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice rough with desire. “I need you… I’ve always needed you.”

His words send a jolt of electricity through you, and you arch into him, your body responding to his touch in a way that feels both entirely new and utterly familiar. You’ve always belonged to him, just as he has always belonged to you. It’s as if this moment was inevitable, written in the stars long before you were born.

“I’m yours, Aegon,” you whisper, the confession slipping from your lips before you can second-guess it. “I’ve always been yours.”

His gaze darkens, and you see the shift in him, the realization that you’re his just as much as he is yours. The passion between you ignites, and the world outside the small chamber fades away. There’s only Aegon—his touch, his breath, the way he makes you feel more alive than you’ve ever felt before.

Your clothes are discarded in a tangle of limbs and heated kisses, and when he finally joins with you, it’s like the world is remade. The sensation is overwhelming, a mixture of pain and pleasure that leaves you gasping, but the way he looks at you, the way he whispers your name, makes it all worth it. He moves within you, and the rhythm you find together is as natural as breathing, as if you were made for this, for each other.

Time loses meaning as you both give in to the storm of emotions that has been building for so long. And when it’s over, when you’re both spent and breathless, you lie tangled together on the bed, the air between you charged with something new, something that can never be undone.

“I love you,” Aegon whispers, his voice hoarse but filled with a sincerity that makes your heart swell. He brushes a strand of hair away from your face, his touch tender, almost reverent.

“I love you too,” you reply, the words feeling right, like they’ve always been there, just waiting to be spoken.

You’re about to kiss him again when the door to the chamber creaks open. You both freeze, your eyes wide with shock as you turn toward the sound. A servant stands in the doorway, her face pale, her eyes wide with disbelief at the sight before her.

For a moment, no one moves. The servant seems to realize what she’s walked in on, her hand flying to her mouth as she stammers an apology. She backs out of the room quickly, her footsteps echoing down the corridor as she flees, leaving you and Aegon alone once more.

Your heart races, panic and embarrassment flooding you. But when you look at Aegon, you see that he’s not afraid. He’s smiling, a slow, confident grin that makes your heart flutter.

“Let them talk,” he says, his voice steady. “I don’t care what they say, Y/N. You’re mine, and I’m yours. Nothing will change that.”

His words calm the storm inside you, and you smile back at him, knowing he’s right. Whatever happens next, you’ll face it together, just as you always have.

The grand hall of the Red Keep is bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun as King Viserys Targaryen lounges on his throne, a sense of contentment softening the lines of his aging face. His golden crown rests heavily on his brow, but the weight of it seems lighter today as he speaks with Otto Hightower, his trusted Hand. Queen Alicent, ever dutiful, stands nearby, her hands folded neatly in front of her.

The rhythmic sound of booted feet echoes through the hall, growing louder as the doors swing open to admit a pair of Dragonkeepers. They stride forward, their faces marked with the quiet reverence that always accompanies news from the Dragonpit.

“Your Grace,” one of them begins, bowing low. “We bring news of the dragons, Sunfyre and Starfyre.”

Viserys leans forward, his interest piqued. His voice carries the weight of authority but also a grandfatherly warmth. “Speak then, what of the golden and the silver?”

The Dragonkeeper straightens, his voice steady but tinged with awe. “Sunfyre has successfully mounted Starfyre. They have mated, Your Grace.”

A collective breath seems to fill the hall, a hum of interest and excitement threading through the air. Viserys’s eyes light up with pleasure, his mind already considering the implications. “This is indeed prosperous news for our House. If their union brings forth viable eggs, it will be a blessing of great fortune.”

Beside him, Alicent nods in agreement, though her attention wavers as a servant, face pale and anxious, approaches her with hurried steps. The servant leans close, whispering into the Queen’s ear. Alicent’s expression shifts, her eyes widening before narrowing into a tight, painful grimace.

Viserys notices, his brows knitting together in concern. “Alicent, what troubles you? Speak plainly.”

The Queen hesitates, her gaze flitting to Otto before settling on Viserys. Her voice is low, strained. “It is… the twins, Your Grace. They… they were found together, in an intimate situation. They had eluded their septa.”

The words hang in the air, and for a moment, there is silence. Viserys’s face hardens, but there is something else in his eyes—a flicker of understanding, perhaps, or resignation.

“Aegon and Y/N…” he murmurs, his voice trailing off. He closes his eyes briefly, then sighs deeply. “The blood of the dragon runs hot, it seems.”

Otto shifts uncomfortably, but it is Alicent who speaks next, her voice taut with disapproval. “They are young, but such behavior is… unbecoming, Your Grace. They must be reminded of their duty, of what is expected of them.”

Viserys opens his eyes, looking at Alicent with a mixture of weariness and something almost like amusement. “They are twins, born together, bound by blood and by fire. Is it so surprising that they would find comfort in each other, as their dragons do?”

Alicent’s lips press into a thin line, but she does not respond, sensing the futility of arguing with the king on this matter.

Viserys continues, his gaze distant as he muses aloud. “Sunfyre and Starfyre—brother and sister, golden and silver, a union as beautiful as it is powerful. They were born in the same moment, just as Aegon and Y/N were. Their bond is not one of simple affection; it is something deeper, something… ancient. The dragons choose their riders, and perhaps, in some way, they guide them too.”

The comparison is not lost on anyone in the room. Sunfyre and Starfyre, two magnificent creatures, both radiant with their own unique beauty, have chosen to mate, their union a symbol of strength and unity for House Targaryen. And like their dragons, Aegon and Y/N share a bond that goes beyond mere sibling affection, a bond forged in fire, blood, and the shared legacy of their house.

Alicent’s discomfort is palpable, but Viserys waves a hand, dismissing her concerns with a sigh. “They are of age soon enough, and they will wed as is our custom. This will strengthen the bloodline, as it has always done. There is no shame in what has happened, only the inevitability of it.”

The room falls silent once more, the tension easing slightly as Viserys’s words settle over them. The Dragonkeepers, still standing at attention, exchange glances before the king waves them away.

“Go,” Viserys says, “and let us hope that Sunfyre and Starfyre’s union blesses us with eggs, and that the fire of our blood burns ever brighter.”

As the Dragonkeepers leave, Alicent glances at Otto, her discomfort still visible. Otto, ever the strategist, simply inclines his head slightly, acknowledging the situation but offering no further comment.

Viserys, his mind already drifting to other matters, leans back in his throne. “Aegon and Y/N…” he murmurs again, almost to himself. “They are as their dragons, destined to be together. Let them be. They will learn their duties soon enough.”

The conversation moves on, but the parallel between the dragons and their riders lingers, unspoken but understood. You and Aegon, like Sunfyre and Starfyre, are bound by something elemental, something that neither courtly expectations nor the disapproval of others can sever. The fire of your shared blood burns bright, and as Viserys himself has said, it is inevitable.

And as you stand by Aegon’s side, you cannot help but feel the truth of it in your very bones.

The dawn breaks over the Red Keep, casting its golden light through the high windows of the royal chambers. The warmth of the sun does little to thaw the icy tension that fills the room as Queen Alicent stands before you and Aegon, her expression a mixture of stern disapproval and maternal concern.

You and Aegon sit side by side on a cushioned bench, close enough that your thighs touch, your fingers occasionally brushing as though neither of you can bear to be apart for even a moment. Aegon’s hand rests casually on your knee, a gesture of comfort and possession that seems to rile Alicent further. She stands before you both, her arms crossed, her lips pressed into a thin line as she gathers herself to speak.

"Do you understand the gravity of what you have done?" Alicent’s voice is sharp, each word carefully enunciated as though she needs to be sure you both understand.

Aegon lifts a shoulder in a careless shrug, his expression almost bored. "What we’ve done, mother, is what was expected of us. Or will be, soon enough." His voice is tinged with the arrogance of someone who knows his place and feels no need to apologize for it.

Alicent’s eyes narrow at his nonchalance, her voice rising slightly as she responds, "Expected of you? To dishonor yourselves in such a way, before your wedding even takes place? This is not just a matter of propriety, Aegon. You were found in an… improper situation, one that brings shame upon you both."

Aegon scoffs, leaning back against the bench, his arm slipping around your waist, drawing you closer to him. "Shame? There is no shame between us. We are to be wed, and what we do now is no different than what we will do once it’s official. The dragons have already shown us the way—why should we deny what is natural?"

His words are blunt, almost crude in their simplicity, and they make Alicent flinch. She shakes her head, clearly frustrated by her son’s cavalier attitude. "You are too flippant, Aegon. You speak as though this is a game, but there are consequences to your actions, even if you do not see them now."

Aegon tightens his hold on you, his gaze unwavering as he meets his mother’s eyes. "There are no consequences that matter, not when the King himself sees no issue. Father understands what we are, what we will be. Why can’t you?"

Alicent’s cheeks flush with anger, and she turns to you, as though seeking an ally in her reprimand. "And you, Y/N? How is it that you two continue to escape your septa’s watchful eyes? This is not the first time, and yet you act as though your actions have no meaning. What do you have to say for yourself?"

Your heart beats steadily in your chest as you look up at your mother, your expression calm. "We did what we had to, mother. The septa cannot keep us apart, and I would not let her even if she tried. Aegon and I…" You pause, searching for the right words. "We are meant to be together, as our dragons are. We are stronger together, and we find peace in each other’s company. Why should we be made to feel guilty for that?"

Alicent’s frustration gives way to something like despair as she realizes that neither of you feel any remorse for your actions. She looks between you and Aegon, her voice softer but no less stern. "You must understand that your behavior reflects on the entire House. You carry the weight of our name, and with that comes the responsibility to act with honor. Your bond is strong, yes, but it must be guided by duty as much as by affection."

Aegon’s grip on you tightens, and he leans in, pressing a kiss to your temple in a gesture that is both tender and defiant. "We know our duty, mother. But our bond is our own. No one, not even you, can dictate how we choose to honor it."

The intimacy between you and Aegon, your heads leaning toward one another, your bodies close, is a silent but powerful statement. It speaks of a love that is as much a part of you as the blood in your veins, a love that refuses to be shamed or hidden away.

Alicent looks away, clearly uncomfortable with the display of affection before her. She takes a deep breath, her voice trembling slightly as she tries one last time to reach you. "I only want what is best for you both. But you must be careful. The court is full of eyes, and tongues wag far too easily. You must be above reproach, especially as the future of this House."

Aegon’s expression softens slightly, though his resolve does not waver. "We understand, mother. But know this—we will not deny what we are. Not for the court, not for anyone. We are dragons, and dragons are not meant to be tamed."

Alicent studies you both for a long moment, and then, with a weary sigh, she nods. "Very well. But know that I will not be so lenient if this happens again. The next time, I will not hesitate to involve your father directly, and you will not like the consequences of that."

With those final words, Alicent turns and leaves the room, her posture rigid with the effort of maintaining her composure. The door closes behind her with a quiet click, and the tension in the room seems to dissipate the moment she is gone.

You and Aegon remain seated, your bodies still close, but now, the air between you feels lighter, freer. Aegon looks at you, a slow smile spreading across his face. "That wasn’t so bad, was it?" he says, his tone playful.

You smile back, leaning into him as you feel his warmth against your side. "No, it wasn’t. But I wish she could understand. We’re not like everyone else."

Aegon nods, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your arm. "She’ll never understand, not fully. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is that we do, and nothing will change that."

You rest your head on his shoulder, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath. "Nothing will change that," you echo softly, knowing the truth of those words deep within your soul.

The heavy oak doors to your chambers close behind you with a quiet thud, sealing the world outside as you and Aegon stumble into the room. The thrill of the night’s stolen moments pulses in your veins, a heady mixture of wine and newfound desire that has you both breathless with anticipation. Your heart races as Aegon pulls you to him, his lips capturing yours in a fierce, urgent kiss.

The taste of wine lingers on his tongue, sweet and intoxicating, as he presses against you, his hands already working at the laces of your gown. You reach for his tunic in turn, your fingers trembling with impatience as you tug at the fabric, desperate to feel his skin against yours.

“We have too many clothes,” Aegon murmurs against your lips, his voice low and rough with need. There’s a teasing edge to his words, but the fire in his eyes is anything but playful.

“Then we should get rid of them,” you reply breathlessly, your hands finally finding purchase on his tunic and pulling it over his head. His skin is warm under your touch, his muscles taut with the tension of restraint quickly unraveling.

Aegon chuckles, a sound that vibrates through you, sending a shiver down your spine. “I couldn’t agree more.”

In your haste, the two of you stumble over each other, half-laughing, half-moan as you attempt to discard your clothing. Your gown pools at your feet as Aegon steps out of his trousers, the two of you moving in a frantic dance across the chamber, neither of you willing to break the contact of your bodies for even a moment.

Aegon’s hands find your waist, lifting you with an ease born of familiarity as he backs you toward a nearby table. Your back meets the cool wood, and you gasp as he pushes your legs apart, his fingers digging into your thighs as he leans over you, his breath hot against your neck.

“You drive me mad,” he whispers, his voice thick with desire as his lips brush your ear, trailing kisses down the column of your throat.

You arch into him, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pull him closer. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way,” you breathe, your words lost in a gasp as he enters you, a moan of pleasure escaping your lips at the feeling of him filling you.

Aegon’s hands grip your hips as he moves, his movements frantic, driven by the urgency of a fire that neither of you can quench. The table creaks under your combined weight, but the noise only spurs him on, his lips finding yours again in a searing kiss.

“I need more of you,” he groans against your mouth, his voice hoarse as he pulls you off the table, your legs wrapping around his waist as he attempts to carry you to the bed.

You cling to him, your nails digging into his shoulders, but in your haste, his foot catches on the edge of a rug, sending you both tumbling to the floor in a tangle of limbs. The fall jolts a laugh from you, the sound bubbling up between moans as you feel the press of him inside you, undeterred by the sudden change in position.

“Aegon,” you gasp, your voice a mix of laughter and desire as you move together, the hard floor beneath you forgotten in the heat of the moment.

He chuckles, a breathless sound that vibrates against your skin. “I think the bed is overrated anyway,” he says, his hands roaming over your body as he thrusts into you with renewed fervor.

You can only moan in response, your body arching into his as the two of you continue your desperate union, every movement fueled by the need to be closer, to feel more of each other.

Eventually, the bed does beckon, and somehow, in the midst of your fevered passion, you find yourselves on it, the soft sheets a welcome change from the hard floor. Aegon’s pace slows slightly as he pulls you against him, his lips finding yours again in a kiss that is no less passionate but now tempered with a kind of tenderness that makes your heart ache.

“You’re mine,” he whispers against your lips, his voice filled with a possessive intensity that sends a shiver down your spine.

“And you’re mine,” you reply, your voice soft but no less fierce, your hands caressing his face as you look into his eyes, the connection between you deepening with every word, every touch.

The night stretches on, the two of you losing yourselves in each other again and again, until finally, you collapse into each other’s arms, exhausted but satisfied, the fire between you finally quenched, at least for the moment.

As you lay there, your bodies tangled together under the covers, Aegon presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, his hand stroking your hair as you drift toward sleep.

“Nothing will ever keep us apart,” he murmurs, his voice a soft promise in the quiet of the night.

You smile, your heart swelling with love as you snuggle closer to him, knowing that no matter what the world throws at you, nothing could ever break the bond you share. And as you drift into sleep, the last thing you feel is the warmth of his body against yours, the steady beat of his heart a comforting reminder that you are exactly where you belong.

The first light of dawn barely touches the sky, casting a pale glow over the Red Keep. The room is dim and warm, filled with the remnants of last night's indulgence—half-empty goblets of wine, discarded garments strewn across the floor, and the heady scent of passion lingering in the air.

You lay tangled in the silk sheets with Aegon, your bare bodies pressed together under the covers. His arm is draped lazily over your waist, and your head rests comfortably on his chest, rising and falling with the rhythm of his breath. The night had been a blur of laughter, whispered confessions, and the kind of love that leaves you both breathless and content.

But the peace of the morning is abruptly shattered as the door to your chamber bursts open. Before either of you can react, the heavy curtains are yanked aside, flooding the room with blinding sunlight. You groan, burying your face in Aegon’s chest to escape the sudden brightness, while he lets out a disgruntled noise of protest.

“For the love of—” Aegon begins, but his complaint is cut short as the covers are ripped away, leaving you both exposed to the cool morning air and the stern gaze of your septa.

“Good morning, my prince, my princess,” she says briskly, her tone making it clear that there’s nothing good about this morning at all. The septa, a stern woman named Septa Maris, has the kind of face that rarely cracks a smile, and this morning is no exception. Her greying hair is pulled back tightly, and her eyes are sharp as they take in the scene before her.

Aegon squints up at her, clearly annoyed. “Septa Maris, what in the seven hells are you doing here at this hour?”

Septa Maris doesn’t so much as flinch at his language. “I am here under the Queen’s orders, Your Grace. Her Majesty has instructed me to ensure that you both maintain a presentable state until your wedding. And further to that matter—” she pauses, her gaze hardening as she looks between you and Aegon, “—you will no longer be sharing a bed until you are properly wed.”

You feel Aegon tense beside you, his annoyance quickly shifting to anger. “That’s absurd,” he snaps. “We’re to be wed soon enough. What difference does it make if we share a bed now or later?”

Septa Maris raises an eyebrow, her tone unyielding. “The difference, Your Grace, is in the propriety of it. You may do as you wish after your vows are spoken, but until then, you will adhere to the customs of our house. Now, both of you, up.”

Aegon groans again, dropping his head back onto the pillow with a dramatic sigh. “This is ridiculous.”

You can’t help but chuckle at his exasperation, and you reach over to brush a lock of his silver hair from his forehead. “Come now, Aegon, you know she won’t leave until we do as she says.”

He turns his head to look at you, his violet eyes gleaming with mischief. “Perhaps we should just ignore her and see if she gives up.”

Septa Maris, unimpressed by the suggestion, clears her throat loudly. “You will rise, both of you, and make yourselves presentable. I will not leave until it is done.”

Aegon lets out another exaggerated sigh but begins to sit up, clearly not thrilled about being dragged out of bed so early. You follow suit, wrapping a sheet around yourself as you move to the edge of the bed.

“There,” Aegon says with a smirk as he tosses his legs over the side of the bed, “we’re up. Are you satisfied now, Septa Maris?”

Septa Maris’s gaze sharpens as she catches sight of the wine-stained goblets on the nightstand and the scattered clothes. “Hardly. You both look like you’ve been dragged through the Dornish desert. You will wash, dress, and present yourselves properly before the Queen hears of this.”

Aegon rolls his eyes but stands, stretching his arms above his head, entirely unconcerned with his state of undress. You can’t help but admire the way the early light plays across his skin, the easy confidence in the way he moves.

“Fine, fine,” he grumbles as he reaches for a discarded tunic. “But don’t think for a moment that we’ll abide by this ridiculous rule of yours. You might keep us apart during the day, but the nights belong to us.”

Septa Maris’s expression is as stern as ever, but there’s a flicker of frustration in her eyes as she turns her attention to you. “And you, my lady, you should know better than to indulge your brother in such folly. You are a princess, and princesses must uphold the highest standards of conduct.”

You offer her a small, apologetic smile as you gather your own clothes, though you’re not feeling particularly sorry. “Of course, Septa. I’ll do my best to remember that.”

Aegon snorts at your diplomatic response, pulling his tunic over his head. “Oh, we’ll remember it, all right. And then we’ll forget it again as soon as she’s out of earshot.”

Septa Maris steps forward, her patience clearly wearing thin. “Enough of this insolence. Lady Y/N, come with me now. You will bathe and dress properly before the morning meal.”

You and Aegon exchange a look as she says this, a silent communication passing between you. His eyes are filled with defiance and a promise—one that says no septa, no matter how stern, could ever keep you apart.

“Don’t worry, Y/N,” Aegon says, his voice light and teasing as he steps closer, his hand brushing yours. “We’ll find a way, as we always do.”

You squeeze his hand briefly before stepping away, following Septa Maris toward the door. “I know,” you say softly, a smile playing at your lips. “No septa or gods could ever keep us apart.”

As you walk away, you feel Aegon’s gaze on you, warm and reassuring. The two of you might be separated for now, but it’s only a matter of time before you find each other again, as you always do. And the thought of that next secret rendezvous, hidden away from prying eyes, fills you with a thrill that no amount of propriety could ever diminish.

And as you leave the room, you’re already thinking of the many ways you can outmaneuver your septa, the promise of another night together fueling your every step.

[minhosimthings]

Elysian || 18+

Synopsis: you never wanted to fall for the only son of the family yours hated. And yet you did.

Pairings: Mafia boss!Hyunjin × fem!reader

Warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI 18+, mentions of dagger, kind of knife play?, P in v sex, fingering, angst, fluff, forbiddened love, mafia boss au, mention of poison, blood, food and alcohol, reader wears a dress, implied mental abuse, fluffy at the end but it's really angsty in the middle sorry yall

A/N: ahhh this took a lot of time to write because I wanted everything to be PERFECT. and in my opinion this is the best shit I've ever written Mona 2am brain go burr. Also this is dedicated to my beloved @astraystayyh and Hyunjin's photoshoots which have made me go feral approximately 143 times

Red.

You remembered it as a hibiscus, decorating the gardens of your family's estate as child. You remembered it as the ugly hue of your grandmother's rug, the only thing you'd fixate on whenever the stench of blood filled your nose. You remembered it as your family's emblem, in a kingdom of money and roses and whatnot. You remembered red as death.

But you never thought you would have remembered red as the colour which outlined the shadows of the painting in front you.

You never though red would remind you of one of your most favourite persons ever, of his plump pink lips and gorgeous waterfall of hair you would decorate with rose petals anyday.

You never thought red would remind you of Hwang Hyunjin.

Red, as the multifaceted colour it is, fascinated you. It was like an idea in your head, hard to drive out, impossible to kill. What was red truly? What shades did it hide?

Red as a ladybug or red as a lobster? Red as a tulip or red as red as a new bride's cheeks? Red as lipstick or red as a gown? Red as roses or red as blood?

Red as the dominating colour of Hyunjin's palette was the correct answer to you most of the time.

You could recall the first time you had ever met him. Five months ago or had it been a year? You didn't remember much, just the fact that Hwang Hyunjin saved you, the 'enemy' from a bullet wound when he could have let you rot and made his family proud. The Hwangs were nefarious for their merciless behaviour, and yet you found in Hyunjin, a different kind of warmer mercy.

A mercy which you preferred because no one else gave it to you.

And that was how you found comfort in Hyunjin, a sense of familiarity that made you believe that you could be your true self with him and not just another painted version of you. Granted, he did paint you, in various shades of golds, violets and reds.

Painstaking as they were, you loved your short lived secret sessions with him. He was like a thief, quietly sneaking in through a window, and stealing away your heart with his demeanor.

Both of you came from families who despised each other, there was a certain Romeo-Juliet element to it all that both amused and frightened you.

But no matter what thing troubled you, you always had your memories with him to come back to. Especially those soft tender moments when you realised how much you craved a normal life away from the money and the blood.

You remembered one moment better than most others. It was the first time you said the poisonous word. It was that time in Italy...or was it Belgium? All you seemed to actually recall was the time you first walked into the love which Hyunjin gave you.

Dark chocolate eyes flickered over your naked body as it sunk beneath warm water, a bottle of liquid soap shone a bit in the candlelight as Hyunjin poured it into your tub. His ethereal figure was like a God in the pale moonlight coming from the tiny window.

“Just a little something extra to provide you some… relief,” he smiled, dipping his elegant hand into the waters to stir it around.

Hyunjin knew you were an assassin, carefully molded into one by your family, nevertheless he saw more than what he was supposed to. He saw you as a human instead. A human who was tired of all the blood she had spilt.

Your body easing into the water, you barely noticed the ripples of Hyunjin slipping his carved body beside you. It barely registered, his arm wrapping around you, the warm water pouring down your neck to rinse off the blood, the trickles that run down your face as he wets your hair and washed it clean of sweat and more.

You couldn't remember the last time you had felt like this, so relaxed so taken care of. So you said it, you said the word without a moment's waste.

"I love you" you had blurted out without a second thought, "I love you, Hwang Hyunjin." The name mattered to you in ways you hadn't ever fathomed before.

And the worst thing was he said it back. With a kiss to imprint it.

And now here you were, eyes flickering between the ceiling and each other. The warm light of the massive ballroom shone its glory onto you as you clutched your champagne tight to your bosom, making sure to distract yourself with it, whenever your stolen glances at Hyunjin were caught by someone.

You hadn't been forced to attend the ball by any means by your family, in fact you volunteered for it. You had waited eagerly for your target's name, your mother stressed that it was an important one, and as the quietest daughter it would have been easy for you to kill in plain sight and prove once and for all to your father that you were ready to take over as the heir to his 'buisness'. Maybe you'd finally have the fame and the power you craved off as a child, like some starved deer eating its own kind.

But now, you clutched the tiny vile of hemlock close to your hip, carefully dropping it into your pocket, all the while staring at Hyunjin across the room, who was laughing with someone you recognised as a painter Hyunjin adored. His raucous yet polite laughter, gorgeous strands of hair framing his face, your heart sobbed at the thought of slipping poison into his veins.

If you had even a modicum of respect for your own head, maybe you would have sneaked the hemlock into his drink at the slightest moment. Unfortunately though, you didn't and so it came to be that you resorted to dissecting a serene painting until hopefully Hyunjin ultimately noticed you.

The painting fascinated you, it was one you hadn't ever seen before. Dark blue traced the outlines two people, with grey hair and wisened foreheads, holding hands through a rough brown canvas. You smiled at the painting before taking a sip of your champagne. Love, eternally, was one of Hyunjin's most beloved topics to waste all his blue paint on.

Words rushed through your mind as your eyes traced each brushstroke. Whips of harsh sentences and scenes of conversations, contrasting the soft daubs of paint, flashed in front of your eyes.

'The Parks? Mum I can't do that!'

'You want to be useful to this family? Marry him and you'll be more than useful'

'But Mum...!'

'You think you have a say in this? Shut up and do what's good for that useless head of yours'

"Admiring my work, my love?"

You flinched slightly at the different voice, which sounded like spring rain and lily pads. Spinning on your heel to face the source of the voice, you found yourself melting into a pair of beautiful eyes, the kind of eyes that made thieves wonder why they ever bothered to steal pieces of art. His eyes—the color of an intoxicating champagne—beckoned you over with nothing more than a warm smile.

"What?" Hyunjin chuckled, seeing you stare at him, "Did I get fondue on my lips again?"

"No, just..." You trailed off, not finding the correct words, "You look good."

"As you do, my sweet." Hyunjin's hand took yours and brought it up to his lips, "God, I wish I could paint you right here."

"Hyunjin," you gave him a playful look, unsure of whether or not it was hiding your fright, what if someone saw?

Hyunjin's arms went to your waist, pulling you closer to him, which felt like syrup wafting through the air, sweet with a touch of familiarity. He leaned in, you felt his hot breath on your neck as he whispered, "None of your family or their spies are here don't worry."

You took in a shaky breath, as you felt his long, dainty fingers reaching up your thigh, fiddling with something strapped tightly to it. Hyunjin smiled into your neck, as he continued to fiddle with the leather.

"That's how they plan to kill me?" He chuckled, "With a dagger strapped to the ravishing thigh of the love of my life?"

"That's just Plan B." You whispered, shoving his hand off gently, as your eye caught a waiter in the corner glancing at you and Hyunjin, "Just in case the hemlock doesn't work."

"Willing to test that theory?" Hyunjin stepped away from you, leaving your body colder than you wished. His cocky smile, his raised brow and relaxed demeanour, he was like a like a cat lounging in a garden, at peace with watching the world pass on.

"In front of everyone?" You questioned, "don't tell me the only son of the Hwangs is becoming soft for someone like me."

Hyunjin's mouth stretched lazily as he grinned at you, extending a hand for you to take.

"Let's go somewhere private?" He asked, not giving you time to answer as he basically dragged you across the hall, where magnificent stairs led to the upper floors of the luxurious mansion. Gossiping eyes followed your movements, well, more precisely, Hyunjin's movements, as he led you up the stairs, making sure not to step on your tartine dress, as you carried the fabric behind you with regal grace.

"Now," Hyunjin smirked as you climbed onto the last step, now well hidden from the party downstairs, "Shall we?" And he broke into a run, dragging you behind him, giggling maniacally like a child in the summer. You were sure you heard your dress rip, but you had not a care as you ran with Hyunjin down the corridor, to the last door, his bedroom. The walls of the corridors were lined with paintings, Hyunjin's evidently, fading edges of canvases standing out against the ruby of the wall paint and the carpeted floor. You recognised each and every painting. A painting of a woman amongst daffodils, another of the same woman in an abandoned mansion which Hyunjin had always told you would be that women's one day. The day he married that woman to be specific.

'The woman in my dreams', Hyunjin told his family when they asked him who she was. 'The woman in my dreams', Hyunjin told his patrons when they asked who she was. 'You', Hyunjin told you when you asked, though you knew, but you still questioned him, in between chaste kisses on the neck and giggles. Hyunjin came to a halt in front of the oak carved door, a tiny metal label on top spelling his name in cursive letters.

"How about we put that dagger to use then?" Hyunjin pressed your back against the door in no time, devouring your being as he tasted the honey of your elysian lips. His hands went again, to your thigh, fumbling to take the dagger out, but you were quicker in your actions. Your hand had been resting on the door's handle, and as you tugged on it, both of you fell back into the room, lips never wanting to leave each other's company.

"Jinnie," you made a sound of pleasure as you pulled away from him, suddenly aware of the audible music coming from downstairs, "Maybe not now."

"Come now love," Hyunjin laughed, striding into the room, where painting supplies lay cluttered next to a pristinely made bed, "Don't say that after we escaped from the prying eyes of everyone downstairs."

"Hyunjin," you looked at him with reprimanding eyes, how could you tell him the actual reason? "Don't you think it'd be suspicious to my family if I return today with messed up hair and a torn silken dress after merely slipping poison into someone's champagne?" How could you tell him to make you stop falling more for him? "This shit is expensive you know."

"Would it not be more dangerous if you were to return without killing the Hwang family's brightest hope?" Hyunjin's voice, though low, spoke it's volume, as he removed his coat, throwing it onto an empty chair.

Locked in a gaze that spoke volumes, you inched toward Hyunjin, a silent plea lingering in the air. As your fingers tightened around his hair, a palpable tension filled the space between you.

His ethereal eyes held yours, revealing a tumult of unspoken struggles and desires. Your gaze shifted to his lips—slightly chapped yet irresistibly inviting. 

Without even a moment of hesitation, you kissed him.

Hyunjin's initial surprise melted into a shared passion, and for a moment, the world around you faded. His arms encircled you, pulling you close as if trying to etch the moment into his memory. As the intensity deepened, you let go of his soft hair, your hands finding their way to his jaw, pulling him even closer.

He tasted your soft lips and felt your warm skin. He pulled away slightly, breath mingling with yours, lips lingering, an anguished pause in the silent night.

"so pretty..." he mutters, taking in the sight of your body.

Hyunjin's lips attach to your skin, leaving deep marks of love all over which wouldn't go away for days now. You stifled your moan, as his lips sucked on your collarbone, you could feel his erection pressing through his pants to your core, making you accidentally whimper.

Hyunjin's ringed hands made their way up your right thigh, the slit in your dress allowing him to caress the soft skin, the cold metal of the ruby created dagger hitting his skin like soft cotton to a wound.

He couldn't explain how attractive it was to him, the carved golden hilt, the blood red jewel in the centre, and the carefully shaped blade of the dagger, decorating his most favourite muse. You were a painting come to life for him.

You were his painting, his magnum opus, a canvas as precious as an angel's wing.

Your mind, on the other hand, was racing at a hundred miles per the hour. How could you tell him? How could you tell him the truth he'd always known? That your love was one the stars crossed each other to find?

You draw him into another uncertain kiss, this one your confused mind didn't think much about, and trailed a hand up the smooth skin of his exposed chest. Hyunjin signs into your mouth and runs both his hands down your sides, pausing to squeeze your thigh, and the cold blade pressed against your skin again.

“My love, that was by far one of the most sexy things I’ve ever seen.” Voice low and seductive, your lips barely pulling away from him. "I really can't believe you chose this one out of all. You know it's my gift don't you?"

"Hyunjin..." You trailed off, impatiently pulling away from his lips, "we shouldn't, we really shouldn't."

"Why not love?" Hyunjin's lips pressed against yours again morphing into a gentler kiss, he was evidently trying to calm you down.

"Hyunjin please don't." You begged with him, as if you were begging for your mind to stop itself before you went too far. You had to stop falling for him before it was too late. And yet how could you?

"Princess-" Hyunjin began before looking at you with worried eyes, "You're scaring me what's wrong? You can talk to me."

"What's wrong is we shouldn't be doing this." You tried to feign disgust, but all that came out was pathetic love for Hyunjin, 'Don't let me fall in love again' was what you had meant to say.

"Princess—"

"No!" You all as but screamed, forgetting that you were currently above a party filled with guns and roses, Hyunjin stood shocked in front of you at your sudden outburst, the air around you stilled, as words came out like vomit.

"listen, I am to get married to the Park family's eldest son, and if anyone, anyone, finds out about this," you stopped and took in a breath, "we're dead, Hyunjin, both of us! Or worse shit I can't even fathom to think about!" You took a breath at every word, stressing each note like a violin's vibrato, "And I'd really fucking take this poison myself rather than living in a world where everything tries to stop us from being together. So, please Hyunjin," your eyes held whispers of pained love, "Don't let me fall into this depth of love, because I just know I can never climb out."

The silence that overtook the room was heavy, heavier than you would have liked. You could have endured bullet heads, burn marks, fractures, but this was the greatest wound of all. The greatest pain you'd endured was the one you had always been deprived of.

Love, had it always been such a sin?

Your head felt dizzy as you say down on the bed, letting the soft material of the cover sink in. The dagger round your thigh and the air round your being felt tighter. You felt as if you could have drawn oceans of blood at that moment.

"Love," his voice echoed through your entire being, "look at me.

Your head turned to look up at him, as his hands quickly straddled you onto his lap, one of them squeezing your right thigh, eliciting a quiet moan out of you.

You saw it in his eyes. Felt it in his touch. The ethereal, devilish angel, Hwang Hyunjin had been loafing around on this earth long enough to know how to claim what was his. When his hips knocked yours to lay you flat on the bed, you already knew what was coming next.

"Hyunjin I-"

"I don't care what or who comes in our way. You, my dearest, are mine, and mine alone." Hyunjin growled into your ear, his anger would never seep through to you but on certain occasions it would certainly scare you, the way his anger was cold as an icicle, rather than fiery like a volcano.

A groan rumbles through Hyunjin's chest, and he dips down to give a playful bite to your bottom lip, earning a squeak you will deny if asked about later.

One of his hands moves down to delicately play with your breast, kneading softly before pinching your nipple between his finger and thumb. You break the kiss with a breathless gasp, tugging at Hyunjin’s roots, forcing a ragged groan from him. Hyunjin wastes no time to pepper kisses down the column of your neck. He pushed the hair out of his eyes before he grabbed you by the waist and rubbed his cock up against you. He could feel heat settle in his body as his cock throbbed for you. He wanted you, he needed you more than he needed air. And he was more than willing to let you know that.

Stripping off your clothes and throwing it to the side, Hyunjin climbed up the bed and grabbed your hand on the way, hauling you under him. He wasted no time in lining himself up with you, throwing his head back in a groan as your pussy enveloped him.

Hyunjin groaned through grit teeth as he pushed his cock into you. You tensed and he groaned louder, he held onto the bed under you and moved all the way inside of you. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and held him tightly as he started to thrust. You moaned into his skin as he moved against you.

His mouth went to your neck, leaving dark scars there. His teeth hit the ruby of your necklace, as he took it in his mouth and tugged at it, making you gasp loudly.

Your body felt numb but in a pleasurable way. You could only lie there and accept all the pleasure that he was giving you. He kissed your soft face, he could feel your racing heartbeat under your skin. His face went back to your neck where he left more bruises on the flesh. He felt heat through his body as the pleasure coursed through his veins. It was arousing, he couldn’t deny what he was feeling.

"You're mine." Hyunjin growled through a symphony of soft sighs, "I will never let anything get in between us, alright?"

The only response he got was a pleasured moan escaping from your lips, but he took it. He took pride in the way he could make you feel like this.

Your head fills with pleasures, not a single thought could form in your head. “Fuck you feel so good doll” he groans holding your hips down and slamming deeper inside you. “G-god Hyunjin! Feels…s-so good!” You cry.

Your eyes begin to roll back feeling how good he felt. His tip hitting your G-spot making you ready to cum just as fast as before. “H-Hyune fuck I’m gonna c-“ you are interrupted by his hand gripping your throat, choking you.

“Fuck baby you got wetter just from that… god you're so good” his mixture of degradation and praise had your body a dripping, desperate mess. You couldn’t believe the hold he had over you.

His breathing is labored when he pulls his hips back and thrusts in, he goes slow at first, treating you like you were a fragile statue made from porcelain, but then you’re begging him to go faster, to go harder. His tongue swipes along the roof of his mouth before he speaks, “are you sure, doll? i don’t— fuck— want to hurt you.”

“h-hurt me, it’s okay,” you mumble out, and he truly does hesitate for a second, then his thrusts are suddenly faster, bumping you into the bed with the sheer snap of his hips. Your cries sound like noises formed from a blessed harp, passed down by the gods for him to listen to, each moan getting louder and louder until his ears are ringing, until the music sounds hushed compared to your screams.

He felt you trembling hard, pulsing around his cock as you got close to cumming. He works himself deeper inside you, stroking all the places you need to reach that high point. A few more thrusts and you burst. You gush around him with a long whine.

You squirm and buck as he holds you in place and keeps rutting into you until it becomes too much for him. He also lets loose and shoots his cum inside you. He fucks it into you a bit, before slowly pulling out.

Slightly panting and out of breath, Hyunjin's figure could be seen gracefully outlined by the moon's tears penetrating through the tall, stained windows. He gets up and fetches a towel, gently cleaning you up as your eyes flickered between sleep and consciousness.

"Are you alright, love?" He questioned you, his fingers tracing shapes on your hips as he layed down beside you again, clearly not in the mood for wearing his clothes. Neither were you, so you turned your body towards him, allowing him to wrap you into the cocoon of his warm muscles. Laying your head on his chest, you felt his hand, once again, reaching for your thigh.

"You really do like that dagger don't you?" You laughed, as he caressed the metal.

"You should wear it more often, maybe for a painting?" Hyunjin's suggested, a smile like the air after rain, fresh with the stench of earth and dew, imprinted on his face.

"Hyunjin I-", you began, taking a breath before continuing, "What about—about my family?"

You swore you could have heard Hyunjin gently scoff, but you ignored it as he brought you closer to him, the space in between you practically empty.

"Stay here for tonight." Hyunjin said, "and if they come in search of their 'beloved' daughter," he scoffed once again, muttering a curse underneath his breath, "I'll tell them I stole her away from her tower."

"More like stole her dagger away." You giggled, finding his obsession with the strap on your thigh amusing. Hyunjin merely smiled at that, and silence fell again.

"Y/N?"

"Hm?"

"I love you."

Red wasn't that bad of a colour after all. Not when it reminded you of Hyunjin, not when it reminded you of secret kisses and poisoned paintings, and certainly not when it reminded you of love.

"I love you too, Hyunjin."

[normatural]

Echoes of Souls | A.T

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x f!reader

Summary: In the old, abandoned castle, she found a love letter addressed to her, written by someone who died a century ago.

Word Count: 1.121

A/N: Feedback is always welcome. English isn't my first language so excuse any mistakes but feel free to point them out to help me improve.

Chapter 1: Echoes of a Forgotten Past

The old castle stood quiet and forgotten on the outskirts of King’s Landing, its once-glorious exterior now a ghostly relic of the past. Long vines of ivy climbed its weathered walls, making it appear almost as if nature had attempted to reclaim the abandoned structure. Shutters banged against cracked windows, held only by rusty, old hinges, while the wind whistled mournfully through the broken panes. Even the birds seemed to shun the place, their songs the only absence in an otherwise haunted landscape.

It was this eerie, magnetic pull that had drawn you here—a sense of familiarity combined with an insatiable curiosity for between all the projects the company allowed you to choose, this was the one that stood out for you. As you walked through the creaky front doors into the sprawling foyer, you were struck by the imposing architecture, which still held a sliver of its former grandeur. Your footsteps echoed softly against the hardwood floor as you moved through the house, your fingers lightly grazing the banister of the grand staircase.

A sense of déjà vu washed over you. You paused, trying to pinpoint the origin of this haunting familiarity. Why did every corridor, every room, seem like it held a secret, a memory just out of reach? It was as if you had been here before in another life, another time. But that was impossible—or was it?

As night fell, the castle’s eerie charm only deepened. You made your way back to the trailer with the delivery you had ordered. The moonlight casts silver shadows through the window. Exhaustion soon claimed you after dinner, and you drifted into a deep, dream-filled sleep.

In your dream, the world was different—brighter, more vibrant. Standing on the verdant grounds of the palace, it was no longer an abandoned relic. It was alive, bustling with people, laughter, and the roar of dragons. The skies above were filled with the majestic creatures, their wings casting shadows on the cobblestone pathways below.

You looked down at yourself, your attire reflecting a time long past. Rich fabrics and intricate embroidery adorned your gown, and your hair seemed to be styled in the fashion of nobility. Heart swelled with emotions you couldn’t explain as you walked through the manicured gardens of the castle, the very same one that looked like a dried jungle just moments ago. Everything feels uncannily familiar.

Suddenly, you felt a pang in your heart. A strange vibration in your chest. And then saw him. Your breath caught as you took in the sight of him. His tall, statuesque form was cloaked in regal hues, the fabric of his attire moving subtly with each of his graceful movements. He reached out to touch a blossom, his long fingers brushing the petals with unexpected tenderness, and in that moment, you felt as though she was witnessing a secret part of his soul.

His face, chiseled and strong, held a serene intensity. The angles of his jaw and the line of his nose were softened by the play of light and shadow, creating a portrait that was both striking and ethereal. But it was his eyes that truly made you hold your breath. Piercing violet, it seemed to see right through the world and into the very essence of things. When his gaze shifted and met yours, you felt an electric thrill course through your veins, as if his eyes held the power to unravel your very being.

Slowly, a rare, faint smile touched his lips, transforming his face with a warmth that contrasted beautifully with his otherwise austere demeanor. The sight of that smile, so fleeting yet so profound, made your heart ache with an inexplicable longing.

Something inside you is alarming that the man standing a few meters from you is the very same from the letter whose words haven’t left your mind. Aemond Targaryen.

His silver hair glinted in the sunlight, and his piercing violet eye, filled with a depth of emotion you instantly recognized, locked onto you. He approached with a look of tender resolve, his footsteps confident and deliberate.

“Vaela,” he called you, a name from your past life that felt both foreign and intimate. Familiar. “I was waiting for you. Walk with me.”

You nodded, heart fluttering with a mixture of excitement and calm, and took his offered arm. Something inside you told you to stop staring but how could you avert your eyes from his figure when it was making your heart beat so fast? You strolled through the garden, the scent of blooming roses enveloping you, the sound of dragon wings beating in sync with your heartbeat.

“I have something important to ask you,” Aemond began, his voice steady yet soft. He led you to a secluded alcove where the garden’s flowers seemed to bloom more brightly. He turned to face you, taking both your hands in his. “I have loved you from the moment we met. In you, I found my heart’s true desire, a soul that mirrors my own. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

Tears welled up in your eyes, the emotions flooding through you from both the past and present. Why was your heart-warming so abruptly at his words? Why did they sound so familiar? How the answer seemed to wish to jump out of your lips so quickly. Aemond was strange after all. Perhaps something is created just in your mind. But it couldn’t be, could it?

“Yes, Aemond,” you whispered, your voice trembling with joy. “I will.”

His smile, rare and sincere, was a sight that imprinted itself deeply into your memory. Wishing you could see it again. He lifted one of your hands to his lips, your knuckles being touched so softly and yet intimately by them as his violet eye seemed to stare deep into yours.

You awoke with a start, the remnants of the dream lingering in your mind like the last notes of a haunting melody. You could still smell the scent of the flowers. Feel the touch of his lips on your skin. You realized in that moment that your journey here was no accident. The castle, the dreams, Aemond—they were pieces of a puzzle you were destined to uncover. Meant to find.

Clutching the blanket tighter around you, you knew the first light of day would bring with it a new resolve. You would unravel the past, discover the hidden secrets of this place, and understand why destiny had led you here. There ought to be answers somewhere in those walls. It was not just an abandoned relic; it was a bridge to your past, a testament to a love that had defied time itself.

+

taglist: @donut-seam @strangersunghoon @teasweeter @darktrashsoulbear

[notsofrozt]

Yellow blooms & violet thorns

Amidst a sea of golden dreams we danced, our love a tapestry woven in sunlit hues. But beneath the weight of disillusion, we found ourselves adrift in a garden of thorns, where the once vibrant petals whispered tales of bitter truths

[devonpravesh]

Violet walked through the lush expanse of her garden, her hands clasped lightly before her as she surveyed the preparations for Colin and Penelope’s engagement party. The sun had just begun its descent, casting a golden hue across the carefully arranged flowers and elegant tents. Everything had to be perfect.

As she approached the first tent, Violet could hear the low murmur of voices. She paused just outside, her curiosity piqued. The Featherington servants, who had been generously lent by Portia, were clearly deep in conversation.

"Did you hear about the proposal?" one of the Featherington maids whispered excitedly. "Mr. Bridgerton chased after Miss Featherington's carriage and called it to a halt."

Another servant replied, "And then he got into the carriage with her! The coachman said he could hear sounds from inside."

"Do you think Miss Featherington was fully compromised?" a third voice chimed in, filled with curiosity.

Violet’s heart skipped a beat. She knew better than anyone how quickly gossip could spread, especially when it involved her family. She cleared her throat and stepped into the tent, causing the servants to fall silent and quickly busy themselves with their tasks.

"Is everything proceeding as planned?" Violet asked, her voice calm but firm.

"Yes, Lady Bridgerton," the head servant responded promptly. "The arrangements are almost complete."

"Very good," Violet replied, giving them a reassuring smile before moving on.

As she continued her rounds, Violet couldn’t help but overhear snippets of conversation from the next tent, where the Bridgerton and Featherington servants were working together.

"They say the coachman heard sounds from within," a Bridgerton servant was saying. "But did anyone actually see anything?"

"Not that I know of," a Featherington maid answered. "But they say Lord Debling didn't propose because he thought Mr. Bridgerton was in love with Miss Penelope."

Once again, Violet's presence silenced the chatter. She offered a polite nod to the workers, who bowed respectfully before resuming their duties with renewed focus.

Violet’s thoughts were a whirlwind. She had always known that Colin and Penelope shared a special bond, but to hear the details of their proposal from the servants was disconcerting. She made a mental note to have a discreet word with Colin about ensuring their privacy in the future.

Finally, Violet approached the last tent, where the more senior staff were organizing the final touches. She moved quietly, catching the tail end of a conversation between Mrs. Fairfax, the housekeeper, and Mr. Miller, the butler.

“It seems the Featherington staff are all abuzz with gossip about Miss Penelope and Mr. Bridgerton,” Mrs. Fairfax said, her voice barely above a whisper. “The coachman claims to have heard compromising noises from the carriage. If word spreads beyond the Featheringtons, it could cause quite the scandal.”

“Indeed,” Mr. Miller replied. “It’s said that Mr. Bridgerton asked her if she was going to marry him right then and there. Quite a bold move.”

“Hush now, we mustn’t let Lady Bridgerton hear us,” Mrs. Fairfax admonished as she noticed Violet standing just outside the tent.

With a serene yet gentle demeanor, Violet entered the tent fully. The servants instantly fell silent, their previous conversation hanging in the air like an unspoken truth. Violet’s warm smile and kind eyes put them at ease.

“Mrs. Fairfax, Mr. Miller,” she began, her voice soft yet authoritative, “I trust everything is proceeding smoothly for this evening’s festivities?”

“Of course, my lady,” Mrs. Fairfax replied, her tone respectful and deferential.

“Excellent,” Violet responded with a warm smile. “You all have done such a wonderful job. Thank you for your hard work.”

As she walked away, Violet's mind was racing. The details of the proposal were certainly more scandalous than she had imagined.

Her thoughts wandered back to the preparations for the evening's engagement party, and she decided to check on the arrangements inside. As she approached the house, she heard the soft murmur of voices coming from the drawing room.

Curiosity piqued, Violet stepped lightly across the threshold and paused just outside the doorway. The familiar voices of Colin and Penelope reached her ears, and she found herself unable to resist listening to their conversation.

Inside, Colin and Penelope stood near the grand piano, close to each other. As they drew apart from a lingering kiss, Penelope placed her hand gently on Colin's chest. "Colin, we must stop," she whispered, her cheeks flushed with a rosy hue. "I have only just managed to make myself presentable."

Colin's eyes sparkled with mischief as he leaned in closer, his voice a soft murmur. "Presentable, you say? Pen, you are always the picture of perfection to me."

Penelope shook her head, a smile tugging at her lips. "Flatterer," she replied, her tone a mix of affection and admonishment. "I truly must go home to prepare for the engagement party. There are a thousand things to be done."

Colin chuckled, his hand finding hers. "And here I thought the only preparation needed was to ensure my heart remains steadfastly yours."

She swatted his arm playfully. "If you continue to distract me, I shall never be ready in time. You, sir, are incorrigible."

"Ah, but you love me for it," Colin teased, his grin widening as he watched her eyes dance with amusement.

Penelope sighed dramatically, though her smile betrayed her. "Yes, I suppose I do. But that does not mean you are allowed to keep me here any longer. I must go."

Clearing her throat gently, Violet announced her presence. "I do hope I am not interrupting anything too important."

Startled, Penelope and Colin turned towards her, their expressions a mix of surprise and embarrassment. Penelope quickly withdrew her hand from Colin's, her cheeks flushed a deep pink.

"Mother," Colin greeted, a smile spreading across his face. "You are never an interruption."

Violet walked towards them, her eyes shining with happiness, and her voice warm and filled with genuine affection. "I simply had to see the two of you together. I cannot tell you how happy it makes me to see you both so in love."

Penelope blushed, curtsying slightly as she met Violet's kind gaze. "Thank you, Lady Bridgerton. Your words mean the world to me."

Colin squeezed Penelope's hand, his own smile broad and sincere. "Thank you, mother."

Violet stepped forward, enveloping Penelope in a gentle embrace. "Now, my dear, I will not keep you any longer. I know you have much to do before the festivities. But know that you are always welcome here, in every sense."

Penelope returned the embrace, her eyes glistening with unshed tears of joy. "Thank you, Lady Bridgerton. I shall take my leave now, but I will see you all very soon."

With a final smile, Penelope exited the drawing room, leaving Colin and Violet standing together.

Violet placed a hand on her son's arm, her eyes twinkling. "You have chosen well, Colin. She is a remarkable young woman."

Colin nodded, his gaze still fixed on the doorway through which Penelope had just disappeared. "I know, mother. She is everything I could ever wish for."

A shadow of concern crossed Violet's face as the servants' words echoed in her mind.

"Colin," Violet began, her tone turning serious, "there is something I must ask you."

Colin turned to his mother, noticing the shift in her demeanor. "Of course, mother. What is it?"

Violet hesitated for a moment, searching her son's eyes. "There have been rumors, Colin. Rumors that you have... compromised Penelope. Are they true?"

Colin's cheeks flushed, and he looked down, momentarily at a loss for words. He took a deep breath, his voice steady but tinged with guilt. "Yes, mother. But I assure you, that is not the reason we are getting married."

Violet's eyes softened, a mixture of understanding and sadness in her gaze. She stepped closer, placing a gentle hand on Colin's arm. "I see. I can see how much you love her, Colin. It is clear in the way you look at her, speak to her. But I must know that this marriage is born out of love and not obligation."

Colin met his mother's gaze, his eyes sincere and unwavering. "I love Penelope with all my heart, mother. I would marry her regardless of any scandal. She is everything I have ever wished for and more."

Violet studied her son for a moment longer, then nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. "I believe you, Colin. And I believe in the love you and Penelope share. It is rare and precious."

Colin's expression softened, and for a moment, the tension seemed to dissipate. But then, a thought struck Violet, and her eyes narrowed in contemplation. "Is this the real reason Lady Featherington has been trying to push up the wedding date?"

Colin chuckled, the sound breaking the somber mood. "Lady Featherington does have a flair for the dramatic," he admitted. "But perhaps moving up the wedding date isn't such a bad idea, especially considering the afternoon Penelope and I just had."

Violet raised an eyebrow, a mixture of curiosity and amusement on her face. "What do you mean?"

With a sheepish grin, Colin replied, "Let's just say that there might be another Bridgerton baby on the way."

Violet gasped, her hands flying to her mouth in surprise. Then, she burst into laughter, the sound echoing through the room. "Well, in that case," she said between giggles, "we had better start planning the wedding sooner rather than later."

And as a mix of Violet's and Colin's laughter filled the room, she couldn't help but feel that everything was going to be just fine.

(@nightshadedawn violet's pov! hope you like it :))

[mya-valentine]

Echoes of the Sun

Synopsis: Years after parting ways, Kamisato Ayato reunites with his childhood friend, only to find her cold and distant. However, when the crowd disperses and the formalities fall away, she surprises him by calling him by the cherished nickname she once gave him, revealing that the warmth of their past still lingers beneath her carefully constructed façade.

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden hue over the Kamisato Estate, its gardens buzzing with life as visitors from respected clans across Inazuma gathered. Ayato Kamisato, the head of the Kamisato Clan and the Yashiro Commissioner, stood tall amidst the chatter, his elegant demeanor radiating calm authority. He listened intently to the small talks, his violet eyes scanning the gathering out of habit, when suddenly, a name from the servant's whisper caught his attention—your clan.

It had been years since you left Inazuma. Ayato still remembered the day your family had sent you away for schooling in another nation, ending the frequent visits to the Kamisato Estate and the long afternoons spent together. You were his childhood friend, the one who could make him smile even when the weight of his duties felt too heavy. And now, after all this time, you were here, standing in the courtyard, looking as breathtaking and poised as ever, though there was something colder in your posture.

He approached you, his heart beating just a little faster than it should. For the head of the Kamisato Clan, Ayato was always calm, always in control. But the sight of you stirred something unfamiliar in him—an anxiety he hadn’t felt in years.

"Lady [Name]," Ayato greeted, his voice steady, his usual composure firmly in place as he gave you a respectful bow. “It has been too long.”

You turned your head toward him, your eyes, once so full of warmth, now distant, almost cold. You were dressed impeccably in the attire of your respected clan, your bearing one of formality, every inch the noblewoman.

“Lord Kamisato,” you responded coolly, bowing slightly in return. There was no warmth in your tone, no trace of the girl he had once known. “It has, indeed, been quite some time.”

Ayato couldn’t help but feel a pang in his chest at the formality, the distance. Where was the teasing smile that used to light up your face? Where was the playful glint in your eyes that had always softened his edges? He swallowed the questions, masking his confusion with a small smile.

“I trust your family is well?” he asked, attempting to ease the tension.

“They are,” you replied with a curt nod. “And I hope the same for yours.”

The conversation felt stilted, as though you were both walking on thin ice, neither willing to break through. There was no mention of the time you had spent together as children, no acknowledgment of the bond you once shared. You were formal, distant—almost as though he were a stranger to you.

For the rest of the evening, Ayato found himself preoccupied. Though the discussions about politics and clan matters demanded his attention, his thoughts kept drifting back to you. How could things have changed so much? Was it time? Circumstance? Had he done something to drive you away?

As the evening began to wind down and the guests started to depart, Ayato excused himself from his duties, watching as the crowd thinned. His eyes found you again, standing at the edge of the courtyard, looking out at the horizon. You were waiting for something, or perhaps someone.

Ayato hesitated for a moment before walking toward you, his footsteps soft on the stone path. “Lady [Name],” he called, his voice a little gentler now.

You didn’t turn to face him immediately, but when you did, there was something different in your eyes, something that told him you were no longer in the company of others and didn’t need to wear the mask of formality. For a moment, there was silence between you, the world around you fading into the background.

“It’s strange, isn’t it?” you finally said, your voice softer now, almost wistful. “How time changes things.”

Ayato blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift in your tone. It was still guarded, but there was a crack in the wall you had built between you.

“It is,” he agreed quietly. “But… it doesn’t always have to change everything, does it?”

You let out a soft sigh, turning your gaze away from him. For a moment, Ayato thought you might walk away, leave him standing there with more questions than answers. But then, just as the last of the guests disappeared beyond the estate gates, you spoke again.

“Taiyo,” you said, the name slipping from your lips like a memory. “Do you still remember?”

Ayato froze, his heart skipping a beat. Taiyo—the nickname you had given him when you were children. You used to call him that because, to you, he was like the sun, always bright, always warm, always shining, no matter how hard things got. No one else had ever called him that, and no one else had ever been allowed to.

He turned to you fully now, his eyes wide with surprise, but before he could say anything, you finally looked up at him, and there it was—that smile. The smile that could light up the darkest room, the one that had always melted away his worries. It was the smile of the girl he had known, the girl he had missed more than he had realized.

“I’ve always liked calling you that,” you said softly, your expression brighter, as though the cold exterior you had worn all evening was nothing more than a mask. “But I couldn’t in front of everyone. They’d think I was being disrespectful.”

Ayato stared at you for a long moment, the emotions swirling inside him almost overwhelming. He had spent the entire evening wondering where you had gone—wondering if the person he had cared for as a child had disappeared entirely. But here you were, standing in front of him with that same smile, calling him the same name, as though the years between you had been nothing more than a blink of time.

“I’ve missed you,” he said quietly, his voice more vulnerable than it had been in years. He didn’t need to pretend with you, didn’t need to be the composed leader of the Kamisato Clan. Not right now.

Your smile softened, and for the first time that night, you stepped closer to him, your presence warm despite the cool evening air.

“I’ve missed you too, Taiyo,” you whispered, the distance between you now nothing more than a memory.

And in that moment, it felt as though no time had passed at all. The years, the formality, the coldness—they all melted away, leaving just the two of you, just as you had been when you were children. And for the first time in a long while, Ayato felt a warmth spread through him, the kind only you could bring.

He reached out, gently taking your hand in his. “Let’s not let time get in the way again,” he said, his voice firm but soft, his violet eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made your heart race.

You squeezed his hand, your smile never wavering. “Never again,” you promised. And with that, the future felt a little brighter, like the sun rising after a long, cold night.

.

.

.

Masterlist

[sluttysanemi]

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍮 ⋅ ☆

GENYA ‘N SANEMI

a/n: analysis of the shinazugawa brothers. manga spoiler warning !

i’ll go over the symbolism of the brother’s colour pallet, and and give an analysis of their anger.

The symbolism of the colour pallet of the shinazugawas brothers.

Sanemi is the sole member of the Shinazugawa family that has white hair. White signifies purity, cleanliness, and sincerity. The allusion of sanitation could refer to his subsequent strong desire to cleanse the world of the evil known as 'demons'.

With black holding overtones of evil, mourning and death, Sanemi also being the only individual to not hold the colour could allude to the reality that he is the only one in his family who has lived.

As i previously referenced, whilst Genya's hair hue may predict his subsequent demise, it could also represent his ability to momentarily shift into a demon— He embodies the flesh of the evil in the world.

—

The Shinazugawa brothers possess violet eyes. Purple is recognised to signify ambition. This could represent their great desires— Sanemi seeks to eradicate demons, whereas Genya aspires to be stronger and receive his older brother's approval.

The reason to anger of the shinazugawa brothers.

Nothing indicates that the Shinazugawa brothers had always been inherently angry. There appears to be a cause to it.

Though there had been an incident in the Half-Winged Butterfly novel that Genya had lost his temper, it appeared to be an act of impulse. He would later cower, implying regret to his conduct.

It's facile to imagine Sanemi's rage stemmed from his extreme loathing of demons. He had spent (an estimated) five to six years slaughtering demons with the gardening implements he had acquired, neglecting other matters. Perhaps emotions of anger had grown to be his normalcy?

Though, it seems as Sanemi's excessive animosity has harmed his relationship with Genya.

However, Genya's rage is not as easy to comprehend. I have numerous theories to it.

It's possible that Genya is mirroring Sanemi. He feels that acting on anger is a symbol of strength. After all, that's how his brother behaves. (It wouldn't be unreasonable given how much he cherishes Sanemi.)

However, Genya's rage could also stem from negligence.

According to the field of neuroscience, children with a history of emotional neglect are 1.3 to 2 times more likely to experience issues with anger. Even though negligence is never directly stated, we can infer that Sanemi spent the majority of his time concentrating on demons.

In addition, we are aware that Sanemi detested the notion of Genya becoming a demon slayer. If he was taking care of Genya properly, How could he have allowed him to proceed to the final selection?

I enjoy ranting about these two. If there is anything else you would like me to cover, I will gladly do so.

[mellifluouaamor]

TANJIROU KAMADO ⍣ FEMALE READER

synopsis. tanjirou thinks you're like a flower.

you're just like a wisteria flower, TANJIROU would always think to himself. beautiful and elegant, kind yet resilient - and your beauty was akin to that of a blooming flower. there's an air of tranquility around you whenever you're on the battlefield, the smile you'd wear soothing your frazzled teammates and reassuring them that everything will be okay.

tanjirou never regretted meeting you that day - the day he saved you from being devoured. you were the only survivor of the squad that was sent to the inn infested by a formidable demon, and he clearly remembered witnessing you struggle to live as you fought with a breath style that he had never seen before: the breath of ayatori style. it appeared to branch off from the breath of love style as it heavily involved agility and flexibility, and the blade of your nichirin sword was also identical to the love pillar's. watching you fight was like watching a dancer perform, and he had never been so mesmerised by graceful movements meant to kill.

after his first meeting with you, the two of you grew closer to each other, and slowly but surely, stronger feelings blossomed in your hearts.

when the sun rose from the horizon, marking the break of dawn, tanjirou was prompted to pick up his pace and ended up jogging the rest of the way to the butterfly estate. he had received worrying news of you returning from a mission severely injured just as he completed his, and he wanted to check up on you as soon as possible.

as he approached the familiar gates of the butterfly estate, he spotted a particular flower growing amongst yellow daffodils. its striking purple colour reminded him of you, causing him to stop in his tracks. would you like this? he could bring it as a small gift since he didn't think of bringing anything for you until this moment.

without another second to waste, tanjirou knelt down and plucked the sweet violet.

❀

tanjirou spotted you lying on your side on the veranda. you were fast asleep, eyelids drawn shut and lips slightly parted as soft breaths slipped past them. traversing the garden, he soon came to a stop in front of your resting form before reaching out to brush away the stray strands of hair covering your face.

he hesitated to wake you up because of how peaceful you looked. although he could have just left the violet for you to wake up to, he wanted to give it to you in person, all so he could see your expression light up like the sky at dawn. tanjirou released a long, drawn-out sigh and then lowered himself on his knees, eyes never leaving you. he subconsciously moved his free hand to cup your face, his thumb tenderly caressing your cheek.

as if on cue, you drifted out of your slumber, your eyelashes fluttering against the tops of your cheeks. a slight frown etched itself onto your countenance when you tried to figure out who was in front of you.

"tanjirou...?" you mumbled, recognising his scarlet hair, "what are you doing here?" stifling a yawn, you carefully propped yourself up on your elbow, kneading one eye with a fist.

"why are you sleeping out here?" he asked, chuckling, "the mornings are still cold."

"i was stargazing last night... i guess i accidentally fell asleep," you replied, scratching your lower cheek sheepishly. you then gave tanjirou your signature smile and added, "welcome back by the way! you must be tired from your mission."

he beamed. "thank you! but i'm probably not as tired as you. you should sleep on a proper bed since you're still healing from your injuries..." his gaze swept over the bandages on your body as his red hues flashed with concern. "how are you feeling?"

"some parts of my body are sore, but i'm generally feeling okay. kochou-san said i should avoid strenuous work for now," you said, shifting your body to sit properly.

suddenly remembering the flower in his grasp, tanjirou presented you with the sweet violet he had intended to give you, making your eyes widen.

"it's for you!" he chirped, "i found a flower that reminded me of you on my way here. i... think it suits you."

your cheeks heated up at his remark. with a shy "thank you", you happily accepted the flower and inhaled its sweet scent. "it smells nice... and it's so pretty."

"just like you," tanjirou blurted out before covering his mouth upon realising what he just said.

instead of getting embarrassed, you surprised him by leaning over to kiss his cheek, eliciting a blush from him.

"you're so cute~" you cooed, giggling.

tanjirou let out a huff. before your brain could register what was happening, you found yourself being carried like a princess in his strong arms. you immediately clung to his shoulders with a squeal, afraid that he might drop you (even though you knew that he wouldn't) as he strode away.

"h-hey! put me down!" you exclaimed, kicking your legs.

feeling a bit bold, tanjirou leaned towards your face and lightly bumped your nose with his, smiling. your breath hitched in your throat; that little gesture was effective in silencing you as he brought you inside the infirmary and tucked you in bed.

truly, you're a flower he wants to protect with his life.

[wannabepoeticischiya]

if I can stop one heart from breaking

[ 01 ] — the offer

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He existed in the morning dew, in the afternoon haze, within the illusions of twilight. He was there. In the silence of midnight, in the wake of dawn... he was there.

Hoshina Soushiro was everywhere... except right here. He existed in every corner of the cosmos-just not in the space beside her.

pairing: hoshina soshiro x f! reader genre: romance, angst wc: 46.5k status: completed art by: keumza on twitter

“Hoshina-dono, thank you for accepting.”

“Nonsense, Uehara-san! The union between our clans will open many opportunities for the future!”

Empty-eyed, the offering of the Uehara Clan stared far off into yonder: tired, hopeless, shackled by the thought that this would be nothing but a marriage of convenience—and it will. One that is fated to leave her on her death bed, reminiscing memories of unhappiness and regret, leaving in her wake a catastrophe of regrets; plagued by the thought of what it could have been—who she could have become—the life she could have been living… if only she had done things differently.

If only you did not come to me that day…

The Uehara heir was not ignorant; often being told that she was too intuitive for her own good—that her own self self-assurance would one day be her downfall.

So, when her father had called upon her that fateful day, she knew that the fate her family had set for her would soon begin, and she would—without question nor reluctance—obey what they wished.

Because that is what they expected of her.

… if only you had left me to this cruel fate.

As twilight faded and the canvas overhead was dyed with midnight, life echoed by the city stilled into silence within the grounds of the Hoshina estate. The late winter breeze rustled the undergrowth that littered the gardens, taking the blossoms of the cherry trees into a never-ending waltz towards the horizons of the sky. Moonlight flooded through the cracks left by the clouds, flowing like water over the cheerless hue painted upon the face of a girl still restless at this unearthly hour. Slender fingers trapping a handful of golden fabric in between their grip, soiling her once pristine kimono.

“Who are you?”

Without a single second to spare, the woman had crossed the distance separating her from the intruder—nothing but a knife to his throat standing in between them.

[Name] swore she could feel her heart itching to escape from its entrapment, her blood circulating far too fast for her head to catch up—her weapon, slowly but surely, crossing the gap to meet the flesh of the poor soul that had carelessly walked in on her, stopping only when the voice raised once more to put a halt to her intentions.

“Hey—Hey! Relax. I only asked who you were…”

Urgency rippled in the waters of her stomach, certainly not having expected such a warm tone to flow from the lips of the trespasser. The Uehara heir expected a nosy servant, or at the direst of situations—an assassin. A frightened protest or even a calm proclamation would’ve been the anticipated outcome, certainly not… whatever this is.

[Name]’s gaze lingered on her hands that threatened to take the life of the person before her, rising like fireworks on New Year’s Eve; painting the abyssal canvas overhead with their trails of fire, disappearing momentarily into the heavens, leaving silence in their wake—only for them to burst forth into multitudes of color. Illuminating the darkened sky even if it was for just a few moments.

And she felt the same.

[Name]’s kaleidoscope of colors exploded at the sight of him. Moonlight shaded his face in a warm hue, decorating the eyes that looked at her with a thousand glimmers, as though the stars nestled in the depths of the cosmos were made just so they could replicate the shimmer in his irises. Threads of violet covered the distance above his forehead, swaying with the gentle gale gifted by the season of autumn. Carved upon his lips was an anxious smile as he looked at the weapon pressing against his neck before trailing his gaze to the one holding it.

He did not hold it against the woman that the initial thought she had having discovered his existence was to take his life. How could he? When he had every intention to observe her undetected; failing shortly because he could not stop the foolish question from leaving his curious lips.

It wasn’t every day that a visitor stepped foot into the estate… much less a woman.

Wine-red irises reflected the eyes that glowered at him with such ferocity. Eyes that shone like fire in the darkened room, like they could cover him in warmth yet burn him if they so ever wished. Her hands that looked as though they did not work a single day in their life, smooth with no remnants of scars, but held a blade like they’d known the harsh territory of the enemy.

At the sight of her, he wondered… would they someday slip through his own? Would her fingers twine with his like vines should the threads of fate decide to weave the tapestry of her destiny into his? Would her gaze burn through him and send him to damnation? Or would they envelop him in mellowness for the rest of eternities to come?

“I should be the one asking you that—who are you?” A harsh tone shattered his reverie, dragging him back to reality where he stands with a blade being pressed further into his neck. It split his skin open, and flowers of crimson blossomed into waterfalls—far from the daydreams of his life in happily ever after.

“Did someone send you?” The woman coerced; for every step he took to get away from her blade, she took one equal step forward. And this would progress until he would find himself cornered with nothing but an answer deemed worthy by her as his decree for freedom.

“Mark my words, I will have your head before you even think of stepping foot outside this room.”

As someone from a clan whose prowess lies with the blade, he found it pathetic that he could not get the upper hand in this situation: here, in his own household, with a weapon that was supposed to be his claim to fame now being used to threaten to snuff out his life.

He knew he could overpower her in a single move, one small gesture would’ve been enough to turn the tables in on her. But he stood there, frozen. Like he could be everything, but he still chose not to be anything.

Because for a small moment, it felt like all the hardships and failures he endured to perfect his abilities… had faded into serenity. The tears he shed, his hands that bled for heaven knows how many times, the callouses—scars—wounds—everything… they all dwindled into a dull ache until they remained as nothing but a distant echo. All the hurt and the pain… stilled into silence. Like they didn’t matter… or that he simply had no use for them anymore.

Because when time came to a standstill—there was no Kaiju, no Defense Force, there was nothing to prove, and there was nothing to gain.

There existed only him and her.

In the infinite grandeur of the cosmos, of all the stars and galaxies to have ever formed, every rift in time, the universes he could’ve been born in—here, in this moment… he found her.

“Hey, calm down—” He tried to bargain, attempting to grab the knife from [Name]’s hold. Because despite feeling at ease, she still had a weapon, and he didn’t. But he soon found himself with the world trailing upside down at a rate he was not used to, his front colliding with the floor he stood upon not even a second ago, with just enough luck to not have bitten off his tongue in the process. A weight was dumped on his back, from both the woman and her ridiculously heavy clothing.

“Ack. Ow. Get off. You’re really heavy.” He wheezed, trying to push her off; finding that his limbs were being pressured by her kimono. Seriously, how many layers do those things have?

A rhythmic tune echoed within the four corners of the room, seemingly putting everything to a stop; fleetingly distracting the man submerged in the sea of fabric from his impending demise. The silence stretched on for what felt like forever, before a muffled voice spoke the words, “Uehara-sama? Are you alright? I heard something fall…”

The man underneath [Name] looked towards the door in hopeful glee, glad to have another path paved to liberty. But his sanguine daydream of salvation shattered as a spine-crawling breath rattled his body into full alert.

“Servants.” she whispered, her lips grazing just above the lobe of his ear, the contact sending pins and needles all the way to the tips of his toes. “Now you have nowhere to run. Speak of your intentions and I will give you a painless death.”

“I would—but you’re... you’re crushing my windpipe.” He tapped the floor in desperation; it was an action he saw his opponents would often do. Berating them for being over dramatic, or that they needed to work on their breath control if they lost it to something as measly as being sat on. Now, he was the one feeling the consequences of having his oxygen circulation cut short, and it wasn’t pleasant.

As a last resort for a chance of deliverance, he tried to yell to the other person behind the door, “Aoi—” only to have a cloth intercept his cries for aid.

“Shh.”

“Uehara-sama?” Aoi, or so he had called, remained behind the screens.

[Name] grabbed a fistful of what looked to be violet hair and raised his head to give him a clear view of the door, where the light from the hallway met the closed shoji screens, letting in enough luminescence to see the shadows of the two figures on the floor but dull enough not to be able to put a face to them. “You’re really asking to be killed.”

The head [Name] held by the hair shook in refusal, his vision blurring and clouding over, feeling his chest rise in an erratic manner as he tried to catch the breath he was losing, fast.

Lost in the fields of her thoughts, [Name] failed to hear the warning of the servant behind the door, nor was she quick enough to stop Aoi from sliding it open.

“I’m coming in, my lady—Hoshina-sama?” [Name] stared at the silhouette of the attendant standing by the threshold, startled by both her sudden appearance… and the name that flowed from her tongue.

Did she just say Hoshina?

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pls believe me when I say this was supposed to be a one shot... but someone went overboard someone is me.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 37

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: wowee, it's snowing here a lot.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Loki… Mr. Laufeyson doesn’t linger. As you lay in a sheen of foggy afterglow, he dresses and mutters to himself. You want to ask him to stay. To tell him it’s okay but you’re scared he might say no. So you prop yourself up on your elbows and watch him button his shirt.

“We both require a good night’s rest to contend with my family,” he says.

You nod and sit up, sliding your legs beneath the blankets. He looks up as you do and a line creases in his forehead. His worry makes you worry. You’re starting to get the feeling that something bad is looming.

“In the morning,” he avows before he turns away. “You will not emerge until I fetch you.”

“Yes, Loki,” you answer.

He stops at the doors and lowers his head, “here, behind these walls, I am Loki, beyond, Mr. Laufeyson. Understand, pet?”

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson,” you murmur.

He pulls open the door and steps out swiftly. The mechanism clicks into place and you fall back onto the pillows. You deflate beneath the downy duvet and close your eyes. He confuses you. One moment, he’s all over you, all-consuming and insatiable, the next he’s distant and icy to the touch. 

You hug the top of the blanket and cling to his lingering warmth. Your thighs tingle and your core plucks as you clench, thinking of how his fingers delved deep into you. Why couldn’t he stay? You could have done more. You think you’re ready to.

It’s never what you want. You will await his signal and as always, you will take his lead. That is better. His words ring in your head from that fateful day, ‘obey and serve my every need and you will have all you ever longed for.’

What do you long for? That question follows you into your subconscious. You sink into the void, the knot of anxiety bound around your chest. Visions of rich greenery and fluttering petals fill your head, birds winging and critters chirping all around. The magical garden is a shrine of rosy sunlight.

Your mind builds a paradise and all at once, it falls around you. Your eyes roll open as you float back to the surface. Your lashes stick together as you blink and groan. It’s early, too early. Dawn paints a violet hue across the room. You lift your head and search around. Something must have woken you but there’s nothing but shadows.

You drop your head back down and groan. You turn onto your side and curl up, tucking a hand under the pillow. You squeeze your eyes shut, reaching for the last dregs of drowsiness. Your head swirls as you feel yourself descending again. 

You’re brought back again. This time, you catch the noise. Your ears prick and you lift yourself to look over at the door, a gentle scuffing on the other side.

What’s happening? 

You squint, your vision dulled in the lowlight. You sit up and push back the blankets as you sidle to the end of the bed. You see a black spot beneath the doors, darker than the rest of the slatted shadow. It moves. There’s someone out there.

The bed creaks as you bend your legs over the edge. Who could it be? Mr. Laufeyson?

A tap on the wood makes you flinch. The handle wiggles but doesn’t press down. Your heart thumps in your chest. A whisper comes through, “pet…”

Your spine goes rigid. Pet? It must be Mr. Laufeyson, but why doesn’t he just let himself in? You don’t recall locking the door before you went to sleep. You get up and creep forward.

“Pet, let me in,” the whisper is sandy and low. Is it really him? Who else would it be?

You unzip your bag in the dark and pick out a nightgown from the bottom, jostling the rest of the clothes. You slip it over your head and rub your eyes. You shiver as the air is cooled in the darkness.

You near the door and grab the handle so it stills. There’s tension as you twist it. It releases and unlatches easily. The lock is not in place. You pull it open a crack and squeak at the large, looming silhouette on the other side.

“Ah, pet, you’re awake,” Thor rasps.

“What–” you gulp, “what are you doing?”

“You didn’t come say hello,” he drawls, “so, hello, pet.”

You blink at him and push on the door. He slaps his hand against it, the wood shaking between you. You know he’s much strong, you can’t close him out.

“What is the matter?”

“Nothing, I– I’m trying to sleep,” you eke out. If Laufeyson knew…

“You are funny, pet,” he chuckles.

“Please, go, I’ll see you in the morning–”

“But I am here now,” he jerks the door, just a little, just a statement: he can open it if he wants.

“Why?” 

“Why?” He huffs, “you haven’t very good manners, pet. My brother has trained you poorly–”

“Please leave me alone,” you beg, jittering. Just the mention of his brother has your heart in your throat. He said to avoid Thor but what do you do when he seeks you out.

‘To the right of your door…’ you pluck the words from your memory and shudder.

“I just want to talk,” he edges the door in another inch and you stumble back.

You spin and run to the wall, pounding on it with your fists. You must seem crazy but you don’t care. You hit it over and over, “Mr. Laufeyson! Mr. Laufeyson!”

You’re wrench back as a large hand frames the back of your neck. Thor turns you and claps his other hand over your mouth, hushing you. You whimper as you shrink in his shadow.

“What are you doing? I’ve only come to talk–”

You wriggle and put both your hands around his wrist. It’s so thick, neither hand can fit all the way around. You kick out as he keeps you pinned to the wall.

“Haven’t I been nice to you?” He growls, “so why do you treat me as a villain, little maid…” he leans in, “perhaps because your thoughts have corrupted me, hm? Naughty little maid.”

His voice lightens playfully as he tilts your head up. You squirm as your hand slides down his forearm. Your other swings out to hit his chest.

“What do you think I’d do? If I am so evil, what could I do?” He taunts as he pulls you from the wall. He drags you towards the bed, “what have you done, eh?” He says as he edges towards the bed, “you’ve already made a mess.”

He throws you back onto the rumpled duvet and you squeak. You push yourself up on your elbows and bring your heels onto the mattress. You push yourself back as he looms over you.

“Aren’t you supposed to take care of messes, little maid?” He bends and puts his hands on the bed, snarling through his teeth. He catches your ankle and pulls your leg straight, tugging you down to your back as you yipe. “Let’s make a mess–”

He grunts and suddenly staggers, releasing you as a dark blur crashes into him. He hits the night table and sends the lamp to the floor. He deflects Mr. Laufeyson as he charges again and they tangle each other up in their arms.

“You beast,” Laufeyson hisses, “get out!”

“Ah, brother, lovely to see you here,” Thor chuckles, “we were only just talking about you–”

“Shut up!” Laufeyson snaps, hooking his leg around his brothers. 

“Don’t be so… dramatic,” Thor heaves as they struggle, pulling back and forth as each tries to overturn the other, “I was only getting to know her–”

“Get out!” Laufeyson repeats, “or I will truly be dramatic. Let mother see the cretin you truly are–”

“Speak for yourself–”

“Get!” You throw out your foot and kick Thor’s shoulder, immediately regretting it as he barely reacts. You scurry back and hug your legs.

“Aye, little maid,” Thor sounds amused, “isn’t that cute?”

“Brother, I tell you one last time–”

Thor cracks his elbow into Laufeyson’s ribs. The slimmer man lets go with a wheeze but doesn’t falter long as he slides between the burly blond and the bed. He coughs out another warning, “go.”

“I’m going,” Thor says lightly, “you always were so serious, brother.”

He waves off Laufeyson and steps away, sending you a look through the rising dim. You cower and watch him stalk away. Mr. Laufeyson follows and swiftly shuts him out, turning the lock with a loud click.

You push yourself to the edge of the bed and lower yourself to the floor. You pick up the lamp and straighten the table. You flip the switch and the light radiates around you. You turn to Mr. Laufeyson as he holds his ribs and scowls, slumping back towards you.

“Are you alright?” You ask as you rush towards him, “Mr. Laufeyson…” you reach to touch him but think better of it, retracting your hands to fold your arms over your chest, “I… Thank you.”

He sniffs and sits on the side of the bed. He pushes back his dark hair and winces. You hover before him nervously, shaking like a hummingbird.

“You did well… calling for me,” he says quietly, “that was very good, pet.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Laufeyson, I thought it was you knocking. I didn’t mean to–”

“I said, you did well,” he interjects as he outstretches his arms, beckoning you closer. He touches your upper arms and draws you straight, “are you alright?”

You quiver and nod, “I think…”

“Good, good,” He pulls you closer and leans forward to kiss your forehead, “I will sleep here then. Just until the morning comes.”

✨

Mr. Laufeyson leaves as you dress for the day. He bids you to lock the door behind him. He’s been silent but not in his usual way. Pensive but not dour. You put on a poppy red blouse with a brown skirt. 

You ready out of habit, your mind still trapped in the night's events. First, Laufeyson and the wonderful way he made you feel. Then Thor and the horror he brought into your room. It almost feels like a bad dream.

You go to the door but don’t emerge. What if Thor is waiting? You shudder as you think of what he would’ve done if you hadn’t called for Mr. Laufeyson. If you hadn’t been heard.

The door shakes as a tap rattles you from your trance, “darling,” Frigga calls through, “are you awake?”

You inhale deeply, throat tight, and unlock the door. You pull it open and force a smile, “yes, I was just… about to come out.”

“Wonderful,” she trills, “we are having tea in the garden.”

“Oh?”

“Come,” she takes your hand, “after tea,” she drags you out as you pull the door closed with your other hand, “we will go into town and get a few things for the celebration. Flowers, as I said. And perhaps a new outfit.”

“Okay,” you agree meekly.

“Did you sleep well?” She asks as you get to the stairs, “you are quiet.”

“Fine,” you answer.

“Yes, I do find it difficult to sleep in new places,” she hums, “well, we only want you to feel at home so do let me know if I can do anything.”

You press your lips together and nod. Could you ask her to make Thor leave you alone? Or to make Mr. Laufeyson a little less stormy? No, but you suppose you could ask for some chamomile before bed.

She takes you through the grand foyer and into the next room, winding around to the elaborate dining room and the back entryway that opens onto an equally awe-inspiring veranda. The railings are wrapped in ivy and flowers, marble pots on plinths hold bunches of gardenia and the big square table at the center has four chairs on either side. Much too big for the meagre party at it.

As you approach, you see Mr. Laufeyson’s shoulders, straight and stiff as he grips the armrests. He glares across at Thor who smiles dopily at the sky. As you get closer, his eyes find you and you wilt down. Frigga draws you onward as Odin stands from the table to offer you the chair beside him.

“There she is,” he says, “come, sit.”

You obey, claiming the seat to his right as Frigga skirts around to take his right. Laufeyson sits along the side just to your own right and leans forward as you wiggle in the chair. He gives you a look and you bow your head slightly.

“What do you like? Milk? Sugar? Honey?” Odin offers as he pours a cup and places it on a saucer before you.

“Just milk,” you answer.

Thor puts his arm on the table as you feel him watching you. Laufeyson clears his throat but his brother doesn’t acknowledge him. You look down at the tea as it clouds with dairy.

“Isn’t this nice?” Thor booms, “I apologise, I was errant yesterday and hadn’t a moment to welcome you.”

You flinch and Laufeyson squeezes the armrest tighter, bristling visibly.

“Now,” Odin sits back, “boys, this is a special week for your mother. She’s working hard, you will not ruin this.”

“Wouldn’t dare think of it,” Thor puffs, “I was only being polite and welcoming the little maid.”

Little maid… the words make you recoil.

“Little maid?” Odin echoes, “don’t be so demeaning. She has a name or perhaps she should call you the big oaf.”

Thor tilts his head and snorts, peering between you and his father. “Forgive me, I thought that’s what she was.”

“Regardless, she is a person and a guest. You will remember your manners,” Odin reproaches.

“Yes, father,” Thor utters dryly and receives a sigh in return.

“Oh, let’s not spoil such a lovely day,” Frigga chimes, “isn’t it so nice to be all together ag–”

“Ugh, must the sun shine so goddamn bright,” the silty voice undergirds Frigga’s chirp. You look over as Hela struts in, a large pair of geometric sunglasses over her eyes, “remind me next time not to finish the bottle.”

“Hel,” Odin greets curtly as Frigga blinks in surprise.

“When did you arrive?” Frigga asks, “Hilde didn’t say.”

“I slept in my car,” Hela answers and struts to the table, sitting next to Laufeyson, “well, I woke up there, at least.”

“Oh my,” Frigga mutters.

“I got here early though,” Hela preens, “when’s that ever happened, mother? And all for Walpurgisnacht, though I guess Midsommar is some time off.”

“Yes, very timely,” Frigga agrees softly, “well, you can come along with us to town. You’ve always had a keen eye.”

“Oh, I may,” Hela smirks, “who is us?”

Frigga looks at you and you give a tiny wave. Hela grins and takes off her sunglasses, winking at you, “I almost didn’t notice the little mouse. Well, I think I shall join you.” She squints and shades her face before putting the glasses back in place, “tell me we have some breakfast wine.”

“Have some tea,” Odin insists, “and a bit of decency.”

[feyhunter78]

Chapter Fifteen - Your aunt has news, and you find you quite like the taste of blood on your fangs. Ch 16

The air finally returns to your lungs when Tommen proclaims Jon a Dayne, trueborn, of noble lineage. You had been waiting, anxious, your nerves on edge, since Ser Arthur and Jon entered the hall, but now, now you feel yourself calming.

Your Uncle Jaime looks as if he will be sick, and as Jon makes his way towards you, your uncle makes his way toward Ser Arthur. You knew the older man was something of a mentor to your uncle, that he revered the man, and you know not how this new knowledge will truly sit with your uncle.

“My Lady.” Jon says, taking your hand in his and pressing it to his lips, a beautiful smile on them, his touch lingering a moment too long as judged by your aunt’s sharp cough.

“Lord Dayne.” You say, returning his smile. There is a new confidence in his eyes, the violet hues peeking through the gray, like amethysts within stone.

“Lord Dayne, my congratulations.” Margaery says as she makes her way out of the hall, throwing you a quick smile.

“Thank you, My Queen.” Jon says, bowing his head.

Your Aunt Cersei takes your hand from Jon’s. “Lord or not, you are still her sworn sword not her suitor, it would do you well to treat your charge with the respect of her station.”

You purse your lips but say nothing in retaliation, simply smiling up at your aunt. “You must excuse us, dear Aunt, we were simply caught up in the excitement. It is similar to how Uncle Jaime names you Queen of Love and Beauty each time he wins a tourney.”

Your aunt’s face becomes unreadable, and she turns on her heel, storming away.

Jon offers you his arm. “Shall we talk a walk through the gardens, Lady Lannister?”

You take his arm, ignoring the stares of the others as you lean ever so slightly into him. “That sounds delightful, Lord Dayne.”

You find yourselves sitting on the large flat rim of a fountain, water spurting from the mouths of various animals, flower petals floating peacefully atop the water collected within the basin. You trail your fingers through the water, the cool sensation feeling quite pleasant as you release a deep breath, your face tilted up towards the sun.

“How does it feel to be a true Dayne?” You ask Jon, your eyes closed against the bright light of the sun.

“Is it strange if I say I do not feel any different? People still stare, they surely will still whisper.”

“It has not even been a day Jon, allow the news to travel, soon dozens of young ladies will be vying for your hand.” You tell him, a soft smile on your face when you feel his fingertips ghost over the apples of your cheek.

He laughs softly. “They shall be sorely disappointed then, for my hand has already been taken.”

“They shall be.” You agree, opening your eyes and tilting your face towards Jon. There is no one here, no one is looking, it would be so easy, so simple to lean forward and kiss him.

“Y/N…we should not, someone might see.” He says, reading the look in your eye even as his own drift down to your lips.

You nod, even as you lean forward ever so slightly on your hand, your lips a hairsbreadth from Jon’s. “We should not, and yet…”

“And yet I find myself quite compelled.” He breathes, closing the distance, his lips soft against yours, a blissful moment before he pulls back.

You give him a confused look, but he nods towards his direwolf. Ghost’s ears have perked up, his ruby eyes turned towards the far entrance of the garden.

You scoot away from him, clasping your hands in your lap, as Jon stands, his arms behind his back.

Then Ghost darts forward, quick as a whip, a crunching sound makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, fills the air, then the direwolf trots back over, dropping a squirrel at Jon’s feet.

You cover your mouth to stifle your laughter, and Jon groans. “Ghost, why?”

Ghost simply nudges at the squirrel with his nose.

“I think he wants you to throw it, like the ball Tommen throws for his kittens.” You snicker.

“I will do no such thing.” Jon says.

Ghost whines and Jon sighs, shaking his head.

“Go on Ghost, your master will not play with you, might as well eat your kill.” You coo at him.

Ghost picks the squirrel up and trots a few feet away before he begins to eat, nearly swallowing it whole.

“You spoil him.” Jon remarks, taking a seat beside you once more.

“How can I not?”

“It is quite simple, you simply do not. ”

You roll your eyes. “Ah yes, I did not think of that, what a brilliant suggestion.”

You wish you had not encouraged Ghost to eat that squirrel because now you wished him to eat a rat instead.

“My dear, Lady Jayne Westerling, told me what she saw. That Jon had you pinned against the wall like a barbarian.” Your Aunt Cersei says, her voice laid thick with faux sympathy and concern.

“Jayne Westerling is nothing but a bored little girl with no spine, or mind of her own. Clearly this is the work of our enemies, seeking to drag down the reputation of House Lannister.” You say, keeping your expression neutral as your aunt taught you, though you were unable to keep the venom from leaking into your tone.

You are glad Jon had gone to visit with his father, he would tear himself apart with guilt hearing your aunt’s words.

“Many say she is sweet, if not a bit dull, certainly not a liar.” Your aunt says, looking up at you from her place at the table. It is small, round, set in the solar she inhabits while you all remain at Highgarden.

You grip the back of your chair, still not yet sitting as she had bid you to when you entered. “And I am?”

She smiles, it is supposed to be gentle, ones she directed at Sansa when her marriage to Joffrey still remained on the table. “No, no, but you are protective of him, and I understand. You care for him, but y/n you cannot care for him over yourself, that is foolishness.”

“Listening to Jayne Westerling is foolishness. ” You snap, keeping your head held high. “And I thought you smarter than that. A useless daughter of one of our bannermen is attempting to slander our name, she must be punished.”

Your aunt’s smile turns sharp, a lioness bearing her fangs proudly. “You will be the lady of a great house someday soon; I have taught you to deal with slanderous servants, have I not?” There is blood dripping from her fangs, her claws.

It ignites the bloodlust within you, and you smile, bearing your own set of fangs. “You have.”

“Then I trust you to deal with this Westerling waif.” An indirect order from the leader of the pride, one that sets you into motion, stalking down the halls until you find Jayne.

You can almost laugh, Jayne has found herself with Jon somehow, standing, flirting with him in the gardens, Tommen and Margaery at a table in the far corner enjoying pastries with Margaery’s grandmother.

Jon sees you first, gratefully breaking away from Jayne. “My Lady, you should have sent a servant to fetch me once you had finished speaking with your aunt.”

You go to respond, but Jayne beats you to it. “I am sure the Dowager Queen advised her to keep her distance, a shame she has not followed such wise advice.” The look in her eyes, and the disgusted wrinkle of her nose, is not well hidden, and you nearly laugh at the sight.

“Yes, well, I simply reassured my aunt that she should not believe such slanderous lies.” You say coolly, looking down at Jayne.

“Is it slander if I merely repeat what I saw with my own eyes?” She asks innocently, batting her eyelashes at Jon, as if he too was not implicated in the deed she spoke of.

You take a step forward, a sickeningly sweet smile on your face. “You saw nothing, a trick of the light perhaps, and it does you no good to run around spreading lies about your liege lord’s family.”

“I do not lie.” Jayne snaps. “I saw you, pressed up against the wall like a common whore.”

Your eyes narrow. “You speak of a Lannister, to a Lannister, you will watch your tongue you little chit.”

Jayne smirks. “It is not my fault you could not rein in your lust; it must run in the family. You, the Dowager Queen, King Joffrey, the Kingslayer, all horrid and perverse, tell me is it true that while in Winterfell you let Robb Stark and Theon Greyjoy take turns with you before you let the bastard into your bed?”

You taste blood on your tongue and lunge, grabbing at her hair, your fist connecting with her cheekbones. “You bitch, I will have your head for those words.”

She screams but tries to kick at you, hands flailing wildly. “Lord Dayne, help me!”

“He is mine, he will not help you.” You snarl, twisting the hair caught in your fist.

Jayne gets a hand in your hair, yanking hard, getting in one good shot. You claw at her, cursing under your breath as the fight devolves into a rabid struggle. Your rings make cuts and indents in her skin, your lip bust open and bloodied.

Your vision is red, Lannister red, bleeding royal blood, purging your mind of any doubts, any hesitations. You are a lioness, you will taste blood, you will darken your claws and fangs with it.

Then you are ripped away from Jayne by Jon and you fight against his hold as Tyrell guards rush forward to carry Jayne to a maester.

“I want her tongue ripped out for her words.” You scream after them, sounding so like your Aunt Cersei for a moment you think she has spoken the words not you.

“Y/N, please, calm, calm, you are not thinking clearly.” Jon urges, setting you down and turning you to face him.

“Vile, what she said was vile, and untrue, you must know that.” You say, trying to make him understand. The world feels as if it is spinning, a frantic, manic energy ricocheting beneath your skin.

“I know, I know my starlight, I know.” He reassures you, gently running his fingers through your tangled hair.

Your father confines you to your chambers while the maesters look over Jayne, but not without giving you a kiss on the cheek and a fond pat on the hand. Your aunt visits you next and strokes your cheek, with a small but proud smile.

Tommen visits you next, wringing his hands, he should not be having to deal with these things, not when he is so young. Guilt runs through you, washing away any lingering anger.

“Tommen I am so sorry; I should not have lost my temper.”

He shakes his head and buries his hands in his pockets. “I cannot take her tongue y/n, it is too mean, but I can send her home if that would make you feel better?”

You pull him into your arms, he is still a baby in your eyes, sweet Tommen who has never harmed anyone, who loves kittens and his family. “It will, thank you.”

He nods but does not remove himself from your embrace. “I do not think Margaery likes me very much.”

You stiffen, but smooth your hand down his back. “Why do you say that?”

“She never wishes to play with me, she spends all her time writing letters to her cousins, and she only smiles when we do things that she likes, and she likes boring things.”

You release him and sit cross-legged on your rug arranging your skirts out before beckoning Tommen to sit as well as lean his head against your shoulder, fitting himself into your side. “She is quite older than you, which you know, and that can make it difficult for her to find the enjoyment in the things you do. I do not think that means she does like you, though.”

“I see…”

You card your fingers through his hair, you wish Myrcella was here, she always knew what to say to brighten Tommen’s mood. “Is there anything else you wish to speak of?”

“I do not like being king.” He whispers, holding onto your skirts as he did when he was a toddler and wished to be everywhere you were.

“It does not seem to be much fun, but it is a great honor, and you are doing much better than Joffrey did.” You poke him in the side playfully, trying to get him to laugh.

“Do you think you could talk to grandsire and see if he will take me with him back to Casterly Rock?” Tommen asks, looking up at her with tears brimming in his eyes.

“Who would rule then, silly boy?” You ask softly, squeezing him tightly.

“Margaery is better than I at ruling, she is a good queen, she can have the throne I want to go back to the Rock and take Ser Pounce with me.”

Gods you wish it was that simple.

“I will speak with grandsire and see if we cannot spend some time in our ancestral home, once we return to King’s Landing, perhaps you and I can go together.”

Tommen nods and rubs his eyes before laying his head back down on your shoulder. “Can I sit here for a little longer?”

You rest your head atop his, wishing you could spare him this pain. “You can sit with me for as long as you would like.”

Note: Tommen is like 8-9 at this point he's a babyyy, and his life is so stresful :(

TL: @mostclevermiss, @solacestyles, @2valentines, @sharknutz, @idohknow, @bdudette, @pluraldoggo, @legolastheleafyelf, @faerie-film, @wifiatthetrainstation, @duskypinki, @tartine-de-pain

[velarisdusk]

Garden of Eden

Day 27: Tentacles | Tamlin word count: 2k author's note: this was not as fleshed out as i wanted it to be so best believe i will be writing another MUCH BETTER tentacle fic some day. forced submission is just so.. sighs lovingly. add an entity of unknown origin to that and im folding. ✦ . Kinktober Masterlist . ✦

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm, golden light over the vibrant fields of the Spring Court. Tamlin moved through his lands, his heart heavy with unspoken fears and looming shadows. Thoughts of his court's safety swirled in his mind, a relentless storm of responsibility that tightened its grip with every passing day.

Today, he sought answers—felt whispers of a naga lurking in the depths of his territory. A part of him felt drawn to the hunt. But as he ventured deeper into the forest, his mind tangled in a web of thoughts, he felt the burden of his duties pressing down on him.

He followed a narrow, winding path, surrounded by wildflowers swaying gently in the breeze. But as he walked, a peculiar scent began to fill the air, thick and sweet, like honey and earth mingling together. It was intoxicating, drawing him forward until he stumbled upon a sight that halted him in his tracks.

Before him stood a plant unlike anything he had ever seen, its deep emerald leaves unfurled, shimmering as if kissed by morning dew. At the center, a large, iridescent bloom swayed softly, its petals shifting through shades of violet and blue, mesmerizing in their beauty. The heart of the flower pulsed with a strange, inviting glow, as if it were alive, beckoning him closer.

Compelled by an overwhelming curiosity, Tamlin stepped forward, his instincts momentarily dulled by the plant’s enchanting presence. He reached out, fingers grazing the soft, velvety petals, and in that instant, the world around him shifted.

The ground trembled beneath him, and a low hum resonated through the air, vibrating against his skin. The plant responded to his touch, its petals curling inward while sinuous tendrils unfurled from the bloom, reaching toward him. The tendrils were glossy and deep green, glistening in the fading light, moving with a grace that made his breath hitch.

Tamlin’s heart raced. He had faced countless threats, but none like this. The tendrils coiled around his wrist and panic flared within his chest, but as he tried to pull away, the plant constricted with a force that belied its delicate appearance, unyielding as it pulled him closer.

“Let go,” he commanded, his voice laced with authority, but a flicker of uncertainty betrayed him. The tendrils merely tightened, pulling him closer as the flower opened wider, revealing a deeper, darker core that pulsed with a hypnotic rhythm. He struggled against the plant, but it only responded with a seductive caress, winding around his arm, coaxing him to surrender.

A sharp panic surged through him, primal and wild. He reached for his magic, desperate to shapeshift, but the power remained deadened, unreachable, like it had been snuffed out. He stared at the tendrils binding him, a bluish hue woven through the green, and a dawning realization struck like a bolt of lightning.

Faebane.

The tendrils pulsed with a dark energy that seeped into him, suppressing his magic and rendering him vulnerable. Desperation surged through him, and he instinctively swiped at the nearest tendril with his free hand, determined to free himself. But as he moved, another vine snaked up his arm, clamping around his wrist with a fierce grip.

“No!” he shouted, but the word came out in a breathy gasp, infused with frustration and a flicker of something deeper—a sense of vulnerability he loathed to admit. The plant tightened its hold around both arms, wrapping him in an embrace that felt alarmingly possessive, their warmth igniting fear and desire within him. 

He struggled against the restraints, feeling them dig into his skin, yet the more he fought, the more they seemed to delight in his resistance. They caressed him with a softness that belied their strength, weaving around him like an intricate web, holding him captive in a dance of temptation.

The flower’s glow intensified, and the tendrils coiled around his legs, lifting him from the ground with a disturbing ease, his body left with no choice but to surrender to it. Each one teased along the contours of his body, tracing the lines of his chest and abdomen with tantalizing touches that sent jolts of warmth coursing through him. They moved with an unsettling intimacy, slipping beneath the hem of his tunic, curling against his skin, igniting every one of his nerve endings.

Tamlin gasped, his breath hitching as he felt the fabric of his clothing begin to tear. The plant’s appendages worked slowly, shredding the material until it hung over him in tatters. Exposed to the cool air, he felt the heat of the plant’s energy wrap around him even tighter, each brush against his skin igniting a fire deep within.

“Stop,” he tried to command again, but the words came out as little more than a breathy plea, the urgency lost amidst the waves of sensation flooding his senses. The plant responded to his struggle, the tendrils flexing and tightening as if to remind him of its power. They explored him with an insistent curiosity, sliding along his thighs and brushing tantalizingly against the growing heat of his desire.

As the appendages continued their teasing dance, one curled around his nipple, squeezing gently before drawing back. Tamlin shuddered at the unexpected pleasure, a moan escaping his lips. The sensation only heightened as it returned, this time latching on and sucking softly, pulling at him with a rhythmic insistence that left him gasping for breath. Another wrapped around his neck, its touch both gentle and possessive, as if marking him as its own.

The plant seemed to relish his reactions, feeding off the heat radiating from his body. The appendages glided down his torso, wrapping around his cock with a teasing grip, stroking him slowly, eliciting soft groans that echoed in the stillness of the forest. Tamlin writhed against the bonds of the plant, frustration and arousal coursing through him. 

“Please,” he gasped, desperate to break free, but the words were little more than a whimper lost in the haze of sensation. The plant tightened its hold, squeezing rhythmically as it continued to suckle at his chest, drawing out every sound of pleasure that threatened to escape him.

Before he could process what was happening, another verdant stalk began to push at his lips, seeking entry. “No,” he managed, clenching his jaw, unwilling to yield even as his body betrayed him, aching for release. But the plant was relentless, the tendril wrapped around his cock shifting its focus, no longer just stroking but sucking with an urgency that left him breathless. Tamlin's body reacted against his will, hips thrusting forward as he sought more of that delicious pressure. His mouth fell open involuntarily, a gasp escaping as he felt the heat of the plant’s energy radiating through him.

At that moment, another—how big was this plant?—took advantage and thrust deep into his mouth, forcing him to take it down his throat. The sensation was overwhelming and invasive, and he found himself gagging around it. 

With his mouth full and his body bound, Tamlin felt utterly helpless as the plant began to thrust, pulling him deeper into its grasp. The rhythmic sucking on his cock synced with the relentless thrusting in his throat, the pleasure and pain sending jolts of arousal through him. 

As if sensing his submission, the plant began to explore further, another appendage sliding down to the only place it hadn’t yet ventured, teasingly prodding at the entrance. Tamlin's eyes widened, panic flooding his senses. He wanted to protest, but the words were swallowed by the plant, muffled in his throat as it pressed deeper, refusing to relent.

It pushed in slowly, and he felt the initial pressure, a mix of discomfort and undeniable pleasure igniting within him. He writhed against the bindings, feeling helpless and utterly at its mercy. Each inch it filled him sent waves of heat crashing through his body, forcing moans to escape past the appendage filling his mouth.

The plant’s movements were relentless, driving deeper inside him, stretching him in ways he had never thought possible. The sensation was exquisite, intoxicating—each thrust igniting a fire within him that threatened to consume everything else. 

The thrusting intensified, each powerful stroke driving deeper into Tamlin, the appendage stretching him in ways he never imagined. The appendage in his mouth thrust deeper, hitting the back of his throat with a force that made his eyes water, but it was a sensation that drove him wild, urging him to surrender. The warmth radiating from the plant enveloped him, igniting every nerve ending as it continued to coax him toward release. He could feel the heat building within him, an insistent pressure that begged for freedom, a fire that demanded to be unleashed.

“Please,” he thought, lost in the haze of ecstasy, his mind swirling with confusion and pleasure. “Not like this.”

The rhythm of the plant’s thrusts quickened as if it sensed his impending climax. The sucking on his cock grew more urgent, and Tamlin felt a wave of pleasure crashing over him, sending him spiraling into a world of bliss that consumed him entirely.

His body responded wholly, muscles tightening as he finally surrendered, a choked moan spilling from his mouth around the appendage that filled him. Pleasure surged through him like a lightning bolt, electric and all-consuming. He was lost, engulfed in a sea of sensation, the plant’s relentless movements pushing him beyond the brink. 

At that moment, the plant shuddered around him, a deep, resonating pulse coursing through its appendages as it released its own offering. Warmth flooded him, filling him with a sensation that was both foreign and intoxicating, pushing him deeper into the depths of his own climax. Tamlin gasped, feeling the weight of whatever the plant was depositing inside him, the rounded sensation stirring a mix of confusion and pleasure. He writhed against the bindings, feeling the plant continue to fill him. It was overwhelming, each wave of warmth igniting a desire that kept him teetering on the edge, even as the plant began to slow its movements.

The final thrusts were deep and purposeful, and Tamlin felt himself spilling over once more, a mix of his own release mingling with the warmth of the plant’s deposit. He was utterly spent, every inch of him humming with a strange satisfaction as the plant finally stilled, leaving him suspended in a haze of pleasure and confusion.

After a moment, the plant’s appendages began to retreat gently, loosening their hold on him. It cradled him for a brief instant, almost tenderly, smoothing down his hair as if to comfort him before allowing him to slide back down to the ground. The warmth dissipated, and he felt the cool air against his skin, a stark contrast to the lingering heat of the plant’s embrace.

Tamlin scooted back, instinctively distancing himself from the now dormant flower, his mind racing as he processed what had just happened. Heart still pounding and clothes hanging precariously on him in tatters, he pushed himself to his feet, every muscle trembling from the intensity of the experience. He needed to leave.

As he walked away, a narrative began to take shape in his mind. He would tell Feyre and Lucien that he had encountered a naga. It was a simple enough tale, one that would obscure the truth of his vulnerability and the strange, intoxicating magic he had just experienced. They would accept it without question.

He couldn’t bear the thought of revealing the depth of his experience, the pleasure intertwined with the fear that had gripped him. They wouldn’t understand. They couldn’t understand.

Yet, as he stepped away, he couldn’t help but glance back at the plant. The flower had returned to its original state, serene and unassuming as if it had never transformed at all. The glow had faded, leaving only the soft colors of its petals swaying gently in the breeze. Curiosity tugged at him, mingling with the remnants of pleasure that still danced at the edges of his consciousness.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Taglist <3

@starlightazriel @nvdax @halo-hanging @paleidiot @kismet27

@mellowmusings @gracielacie @d3ad-ins1de @loviseamms @inkedinshadows

@natasha153 @deathdoordoctor @spacebananabud @secretsicanthideanymore @edance2000

@lorosette @alykatv @honethatty12 @hellabizzy @serena-capella

@acoazlove @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @scorpioriesling @hannzoaks @confusedsezure

@elenapri0502 @anneas11 @mrsjna @lilah-asteria @anarchiii

@julesvanslutta @fourthwing4ever

[mncxbe]

What looking in their eyes feels like♡

𝒇𝒕 𝑭𝒚𝒐𝒅𝒐𝒓, 𝑷𝒐𝒆, 𝑵𝒊𝒌𝒐𝒍𝒂𝒊 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑻𝒆𝒄𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒖

°☆○

𝑭𝒚𝒐𝒅𝒐𝒓

like looking at a reflection of all your sins and finding absolution

Your boyfriend has always been a people watcher and you knew that. Wherever you went, his cold gaze scanned the setting; analysing, weighing possibilities, reading people like open books. He understood human nature better than anyone; with just one look he could determine the true nature of one's heart, one fleeting look was all it took for him to know everything.

And yet here you were, legs loosely draped over the armrests of your blue velvet couch as you flipped through the pages of your book. On the other side of the room Fyodor idly plays the cello; bow sliding swiftly across the strings, coaxing mellow octaves. This was a song reserved for you only, the melody of his soul.

When you rose your head from the yellowing pages you met his violet eyes, petals of hydrageas piercing your soul like shards of glass. But there's something comforting and warm about this feeling, a knowing that he sees you for who you are and doesn't judge. No, he never judged you, he always loved you~ and if you looked close enough you could even see that adoration pooling into his eyes like honey in honeycomb.

𝑷𝒐𝒆

like the soft glow of the moon cast over a wisteria tree on a foggy night

You tossed around among the crumpled sheets, relishing the warmth of the morning sun on your skin; like a lover's embrace.

"Good morning sweetheart" mumbled your boyfriend in that sleepy morning voice you so adored. A mellow smile made its way to your lips as you turned to face him, shifting your body closer.

"Good morning to you too. How did you sleep?" you asked merrily and he nodded, sighing gently.

"As usual. But it's good to wake up next to you."

Reaching a hand to brush away his disheveled bangs you met his gaze- those pretty eyes of his, glazed in adoration- and your heart skipped a beat.

For a moment you watched as the soft rays of sunshine shifted the hues of his irises: silvery grey, foggy blue-violet, flakes of liliac; like a Garden of Eden bathed in moonglow.

"You're so beautiful you know" you whispered as you moved closer to press a chaste kiss on his forehead, causing the man to blush.

"I uh- thank you dear. You are too, my treasure"

Sweet. It was sweet how his face turned a rosy shade and his eyes sparkled. No matter how long it passed since you got together you were still not used to how expressive they were; conjuring up all the love he held for you.

They say there's no deeper love than that of a poet and looking into his soulful eyes you can't help but agree.

𝑵𝒊𝒌𝒐𝒍𝒂𝒊

like watching the waves roll onto the shoes of the Mediterranean Sea~ blue and green

"Y/N" whined your partner from across the bathroom "Hurry up dove I wanna see how I look"

While still searching through the plush makeup bag, you turned your head to face a pouting Nikolai; perched on the edge of the marble bathtub- arms crossed over his chest.

"Just a second love I'm trying to find the liner" you reassured him before procuring a black stick from the bag.

Walking back to your boyfriend you nesteled yourself between his thick thighs and seized his chin, slightly tilting his head backwards.

"Now hold still. If I mess this up I'll have to do the whole look again"

A faint giggle rolled past his lips as he took in your concentrated expression; brows slighty furrowed and lips pursed as you drew sharp wings at the corners of his eyes. It was routine already, you doing his makeup on Halloween.

Once you were done you took a step back to admire your work, nodding contently. The black eyeshadow contrasted with his silvery hair, making his eyes pop; the emerald green of one and icy blue of the other were like the surface of the sea on a hot summer day: always warm and kind as he gazed at you yet still showing a shadow of a wild sparkle.

"So? How do I look" asked your boyfriend, interrupting your train of thought.

"You look like an emo snowflake" you replied nonchalantly, leaning in to press a kiss to the tip of his nose; but before you got a chance to do it Nikolai rose to his feet and slid his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against him.

A mellow smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he pressed his forehead against yours, hot breath fanning over your lips.

"Perfect dove. That's all I wanted" he chuckled, gently pressing his lips against yours.

𝑻𝒆𝒄𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒖 (for the anon that requested Tecchou content♡ I got a bit emotional with it)

like crisp yellowing autumn leaves filtering the afternoon or morning sun

Friday morning. Mid October. You watched the little white marshmellows slowly melting into the cup of hot chocolate. Outside, golden leafed trees lined the sides of the boulevard where you studio apartment complex was, the home you shared with your boyfriend.

As you rose the cup to your lips to take a sip, the faint sound of footsteps echoed behind you. A strong pair of arms wrapped loosely around your waist.

"What are doing angel?" asked your partner in a mellow voice.

You couldn't help but smile when you felt him resting his chin on your shoulder, warm lips peppering a string of chaste kisses on your neck. You reached a hand to ruffle his hair, soft locks sliding through your fingers like cashmere.

"Good babe. By the way I made you breakfast" you smiled, pointing at a plate on the counter where a simmering omelette lay folded. Your partner languidly moved his gaze to the plate and nodded before spinning you around and pressing a kiss to your lips.

"Thank you dear. You truly are an angel"

His sweet words and beaming smile had you weak in the knees. There was nothing you loved more than seeing Tecchou happy, because despite his gentle personality he always wore a stoic expression, as if he viewed the world from a faraway place. But not now, not when he was with you in the comfort of your shared apartment.

His gentle, amber eyes glimmered with adoration like pearls. They somehow reminded you of the yellowing leaves hanging from branches outside your condo, bathing in the morning sun and you felt your chest swelling with love.

You wanted to tell him how much you adored him, how happy and whole you felt beside him; as if he were the missing piece of the puzzle that was your soul, how he changed you in ways you never imagined were possible, how he mended all the parts of you that have been broken by others and that you knew he was the one for you- now and for all eternity.

But the langour brought on by your slumber was still there, fogging your brain and you pushed those thoughts somewhere in the back of your mind, saved them for another time. So you resolved to simply handing him your cup of hot chocolate with a smile.

"Go and eat your breakfast, love. It'll get cold"

[bright-side20]

Guilty as a sin

This is a scene of Elain inspired by the song 'Guilty as a Sin.' I hope you enjoy it ❤️

Elain stood alone in her room at the townhouse. She often preferred to spend time here for some privacy. The moonlight streamed through the window, casting a glow across her delicate features. Her heart ached, a deep pain that seemed to echo the loneliness of the night. Her thoughts were a mix of desire and doubt, all centered around one person: Azriel.

She leaned against the window frame, her fingers tracing the cool glass as she gazed out into the garden below. The flowers were bathed in shadows, the same garden where she had spent so much time with him, sharing comfortable silences. She often wondered how his rough, dark warrior features contrasted with the garden, yet he seemed to fit perfectly in it. Her mind replayed every stolen glance, every brush of their hands, every moment where their eyes met and spoke a thousand unspoken words. She missed him... missed their little conversations, his understanding, gentleness, and sense of humor that matched hers. She hated how they had just pretended nothing happened that night and how their relationship had become so formal.

Elain shuddered at the memory of that night: the way his eyes had darkened with hunger, the way she couldn't do anything but yield to his touch, the way he had made her body react. Heat spread through her as she recalled the memory. She longed to feel his hands on her skin again. What would have happened if they had kissed? Would they have stopped there or craved more, done more? But did it really matter? It was a mistake, he had said.

She belonged to Lucien. The bond that tied her to him was undeniable, an unbreakable thread by fate itself . What she felt for Azriel, what she wanted to do with him, was wrong. It was unacceptable. It was a sin. She should feel guilty, shouldn't she? What would the others think if they knew she was aroused by another male in the family room while her mate was sleeping upstairs? Shame.

Why? she wondered, her heart aching with anger and sorrow. Was it her fault to be bound to a stranger she had no feelings for by a bond she neither wanted nor asked for? Was she even allowed to cry? It wasn’t fair. She hadn’t chosen Lucien, the Cauldron, or whatever cruel twist of destiny, had decided to bind her to him without her consent. She was a pawn in a game played by forces beyond her control.

"I'm no one's property," she whispered fiercely. "I have the right to fall in love, to give my heart to whom I choose." She looked up at the sky, as if it held the answer, as if someone were witnessing the battle in her mind... the Mother, perhaps.

In a moment, she was in a different place, under a starry night in a field of roses and violets, standing in front of Azriel, who was dressed in one of the suits he wore on special occasions. 'Sorry? You're sorry? It's not about apologizing. I thought you understood me!' she said, her voice breaking. Azriel looked at her with a pleading expression. She couldn’t bear it anymore. 'I didn’t choose it, and it doesn’t define me. I thought you, of all people, would understand that,' she said, frustration filling her voice. 'I want you. I want to be with you. And I thought you wanted the same, but it was a mistake, wasn’t it?'

"Elain, you don't really understand," he said, his voice tight.

"No, you don't understand!" she shot back, stepping closer, her heart racing. "I have spent too long being told what I am and who I should be with. And you..." She shook her head, "You have no right to stand here now and act as if I misunderstood."

He closed his eyes, his jaw clenching as if he felt offended. She turned her back to leave, but then he grabbed her arm and pulled her against him. She gasped at the contact of their bodies, the heat of him sending shivers through her. He looked at her, his gaze so intense she could see the different hues of his eye color under the moonlight. Then he grabbed her jaw, leaned in, and captured her lips in a burning kiss, all the anger and desire, the time they had spent holding back, resisting, poured into the act. It was consuming, almost punishing, but she met him with equal fervor, standing on her tiptoes and holding his neck as she pulled him closer. The kiss was a delicious clash, as if each of them were trying to prove something to the other.

Azriel buried his hand in her hair and pulled it until he broke the kiss, causing her to open her eyes and whimper in protest. 'You think I don’t fight myself every damn day?' he growled. 'You think I don’t dream each night about you, about touching you, holding you? You think I’m not dying each day for not being able to spend time with you, to talk to you like we used to?'

Why can’t you? she wanted to ask, but she couldn’t voice anything at the moment. "You think I wouldn’t fight the world, damn the Cauldron, just for a taste of you?"

"Is that what you want, Elain?" he whispered softly, his breath hot against her mouth, his cedar scent filling her lungs. "To be consumed by this? By us?"

She scanned his eyes, searching for any sign of what he was feeling, she saw a storm of longing and desperation, a deep ache that mirrored her own. There was a a raw intensity that spoke of how much he yearned for her, and a hint of resolve, as if he was finally allowing himself to act on his feelings. "Yes," she breathed, her voice barely audible. She saw a flicker of relief in his eyes before he leaned in and deepened the kiss further, his tongue exploring every inch of her mouth. She arched against him, her breasts pressing into him as his hand gripped and kneaded her ass possessively. Then he pulled up her dress parted her legs, gripping her thighs as he lifted her. She immediately crossed her legs around his waist, careful not to touch his wings.

Gods, she could feel his arousal pressing against her core. She broke the kiss and looked at him, her breath quickening. He smiled at her, his eyes so luminous. At that moment, She was lost in him, she didn’t know where she was or who she was, all she knew was that Azriel was claiming her, and she was gladly surrendering her heart. This was everything she desired, no one else could ever make her feel this way. She only realized she was biting her lip when his teeth replaced hers, and she moaned into his mouth as his tongue soothed the sting. Shadows gathered around them. Would they lay here in the grass, or was he taking her to his bed?

Elain blinked and came back to reality, frustration washing over her. She was alone in her room. Her legs shook with need, her skin felt unbearably hot, and she could feel the silkiness between her thighs. Why did it feel so real? His touch, his scent, the kiss... Was it a vision or a dream? Was she losing her mind? Her fingers tightened around the window frame, her knuckles white with the effort to hold on to her sanity.

"What if I'm just being selfish?" she wondered, guilt stabbing through her. "What if I'm hurting everyone around me by wanting something that isn't mine to have?"

But another thought rose defiantly. "It's my right to choose my own happiness. What if the bond is just a cruel trick, and I deserve to find love where my heart truly lies?" She held her head, trying to concentrate for a moment, then made her decision: If she was doomed to be shackled for the rest of her life to someone she didn’t love, she would at least let herself live the desire consuming her. How could she be guilty as a sin when she wasn't even touching Azriel?

She turned away from the window and crossed the room to her bed. She lay down on her back, closed her eyes, and placed her hand on her throat, gently stroking it with her thumb while recalling how Azriel had done it that night. She remembered exactly how it had felt, never forgetting the way her knees had trembled with desire and how he had easily made her soaking wet. She moved her hand from her neck to her breast, squeezing it until she gasped, imagining it was Azriel instead. She began slowly pulling up her nightgown with the other hand until it reached her stomach, drawing lazy circles around her belly button. She could feel the pressure building in her core as her heels dug into the mattress.

Her hand reached her underwear. She slipped two fingers underneath it and audibly moaned,oh she was ablaze, then rolled onto her stomach. She had never dared to say his name out loud, but here she was, screaming it into her pillow: "Azriel, Azriel, please," she whimpered. She could vividly picture him moving inside her, her hands gripping his arms, her nails digging into his biceps, drowning in his eyes, his glorious wings spread behind him and moving with each thrust. He growled, "Come for me, Love," and waves of pleasure crashed through her as she whispered, "You're mine, Azriel."

He was hers, even if it was only in her mind.

She opened her eyes, breathing heavily and sighing. Her cheeks and chest were flushed. She was still unsatisfied, but deep down, she knew the answer. What if Azriel reciprocated her feelings? What if what she saw earlier was real? Even if it was just a dream, it was a dream that made her feel alive and gave her hope. She had always been a quiet dreamer, hadn’t she? If there was even a small chance that this forbidden love could become a reality, it was certainly worth the risk. Maybe, just maybe, dreams could come true. And if they did, no matter the cost, she would choose him… Religiously.

[vivalabunbun]

The Aftermath of Summer

Summary: Who stays to watch the credits roll at the end of a film?

Word Count: 3.4k

Tags: Alhaitham X Fem!Reader, Modern AU, Vampire AU, Contract Marriage, Fluff, Angst, Grief, TW: Talks about death, themes about death, sfw, slight! reincarnation themes, broke student life.

Authors Note: The aftermath of looking over the garden wall to see the flowers. I hope this piece brings to rest the questions that may or may not remain unanswered. Enjoy!

The garden was empty tonight, the sun had long been chased away by the dark entourage of the night and her stars.

The gates should’ve been sealed, locked by chains and heavy locks to separate the hearts that still beat and those that have decayed. 

However, as a creature that’s born forever outside the delicate balance, how can these gates stop him?

Or simply the watcher who wanders about these grounds looks the other way, to give this pitifully foolish vampire a semblance of privacy. 

Even the moon covered herself with clouds, trying not to peek as Alhaitham knelt down next to a polished rock.

There were double as many flowers in his arms tonight, the fragrance carried by the late breeze was twice as overbearing. 

It doesn’t bother him, after all, his senses have been steeled against this. 

A variable walked through the sliding doors at the office tonight, disrupting Alhaitham’s treasured routine with a bitterly sweet bouquet. 

–

“Secretary Alhaitham.” A voice called as a hand knocked against the wooden frame of his office. 

Said vampire responds with a grunt of acknowledgment, pen only pausing when a familiar fragrance fills the air. 

“You have a visitor.” Faruzan steps to the side, nose scrunched up at the unaccustomed scent. 

Familiar scarlet locks shuffled into view of teal eyes, hands fiddling with the ends of a silk ribbon that contained the bundle together.

It’s hard to not put a name to that shade of hair, Nilou, it’s been a while. 

When was the last time he saw the faces of your dearest friends? Perhaps a few months back, while a coffin was lowered into the cold ground alone. 

That day was mockingly clear, the sky showing off her most vibrant hues of orange, violet, and pink, brilliant colors competing with those of the blooms thrown into the lonely pit.

No words were exchanged between him and the guests. The same faces of those who once danced and smiled with you within the decorated walls of a wedding venue are now deep in mourning. 

So much so that they collectively overlooked the immortal creature who stood amongst them, or perhaps they were too self-absorbed in their own sorrows to extend any grace to him.

After all, in their eyes, how could a creature like him ever understand the grief experienced by those with finite time? 

It was for the best, Alhaitham is never in the mood to engage in meaningless small talk, there’s no need for them to give him their hollow condolences.

Instead, he shall stand guard just off to the side, eyes observing every toss of cold dirt until the lacquered box was no longer visible. 

Sealing the gates to an unexplored sanctuary that held answers untold.

Alhaitham places his pen down, turning his full attention to the young lady who brought a physical memory into his office. 

“Hello, Mr. Alhaitham… um, I’m sorry if I’m bothering you.”  

Giving a curt nod to Faruzan, he dismisses her from his office, giving him and the guest some privacy.

The polite silence encouraged her to finish stating her purpose this late evening, the ashen-haired vampire awaits patiently with his hands folded atop the desk. 

“I… I know there isn’t a reason for you to keep in contact with us, but… I felt it’s only right to show gratitude towards you for everything you’ve done.” 

The scarlet-haired lady closes her eyes, chest expanding with a deep inhale, mind stringing together her unrehearsed lines. 

“Originally, I wanted to bring Dehya and Candace along, but… their jobs kept them busy.” 

It’d be quite the sight, two hunters thanking the very creatures they’ve spent their whole careers ripping the hearts out of. Even if it might seem like a thinly veiled excuse, Alhaitham knew Nilou’s words were sincere. 

The firm hand on the shoulder Dehya gave him at the end of committal service, once the mourns finished shedding their tears over freshly dug dirt, was enough for him to understand. 

As expected of a hunter, the strength in her grip on his shoulder stung, but she didn’t let go and he didn’t make any moves to brush her off.

A moment of silence for two grieving beings to communicate their shared pain, both caused a by void that can never be filled. 

After a few breaths, the flame-mane hunter releases her hold, wordlessly parting from him. As his teal gaze moves back up they connect with heterochromatic eyes.

Candace simply steadies her stare, then closes her lids as she nods in silent understanding. He mirrors her actions, and she then joins her mortal companions. 

The only gestures he accepted that horrid day, olive branches handed over by two sides.

“She used to always close her eyes when she smiled, but after she married you, she smiled with her eyes open.” 

A clever habit you had, concealing the apathetic vacuums of your irises when your lips curled, otherwise it’d distract from the radiant grin.

A brilliant technique utilized by an actress as skilled as you. 

“Thank you, thank you so much for making her happy, she really was happy.” 

The air remains silent, but his hands were gripping each other just a tab bit tighter. 

Alhaitham’s pride would never allow him to confess the truth, it’s embarrassing to admit that a creature who’s lived through multiple lifetimes couldn’t decrypt the actions of a mere mortal. 

Your performance was just that captivating, blurring the distinction between a daydream and reality. Bravo. 

Nilou carefully places the bouquet upon a vacant spot on his desk, they gave each other a nob in acknowledgment before parting ways yet again.

Perhaps the final applause after the credits have rolled. 

–

Brushing away the wilted bouquet before setting down the bright blooms still fresh with the vigor of life. Gathering the debris to ensure the soft glow of the night could reflect off the glossy surface, you always liked watching the stars.

In the empty silence of the garden offered Alhaitham the serenity of a deep reflection.

Away from the rowdy city streets and obnoxious office phones. He reviews the past seven years, emending his past assessment of your character.

You weren’t a capricious breeze nor were you a delicate flower. You were a human, a strange human, but a human nonetheless. The purest embodiment of mortality. 

That’s how Alhaitham will remember you, that’s how you wanted to be remembered. It’s his final duty as your husband,  he’ll carry it out with the same dedication. 

Technically speaking, not all clauses were truly fulfilled. 

The ashen-haired creature stands by the grave for a few beats more, before his feet finally broke free from their trance.

Redirecting his body towards the gates, his back facing your headstone. But it’s fine, he has to wipe down the polished stone tomorrow night. 

For now, let the stars keep your company. 

Readjusting to the tediousness of a solitary life was unexpectedly troublesome. Alhaitham never realized just how quickly dust loves to accumulate upon untouched surfaces.

How can objects still get dirty even when there’s no interference with their existence? A question not even the universe can answer. 

For his idle eyes to be bothered by the subtle hints of dust and misaligned book spines, you truly did an outstanding job in your household duties, honoring the agreements printed on the contract.  

The dryer sings its tone, Alhaitham places the dust cloth down to attend to the laundry before wrinkles can settle in. It's strange really, how certain scents can never be replicated by teams of scientists.

No detergent could ever truly hold the fragrance of a morning star.

However, it would be far too tiresome for a creature of the night to voluntarily embrace the stinging light just for a familiar whiff of solace.

He’ll just have to get used to the artificial aroma of fresh linen, after all these years, Alhaitham has gotten comfortable with the notion of change, an experienced expert in adapting to the times.

Nothing is immune to change, nothing can remain the same when the hands of a clock tick forward.

Thus, the clothes you once owned no longer hold the scent you once dawned. Yet, if he were to remove them… the closet would be too empty, best to leave them there.

With the laundry now checked off the list, Alhaitham returns back to the living room where he left one responsibility unfinished. Picking up the cloth square once more, he wipes the layer of dust from the neglected remote. 

Some of the print among the rubber buttons were faded, signs of wear from indecisive fingers as they debate which show they should settle on for the night.

Something passionate? Comedy? Dramatic? Which genre did you prefer the most?

His firm motions with the cloth absentmindedly pass over a certain button, allowing the large screen a long-awaited chance to flicker back on. Accompanying the bright flash of colors came the crisp audio of a rehearsed conversion between the two characters on screen.

Alhaitham stills as his head turns toward the TV. 

It must be a newly released drama, one with fresh faces and a carefully selected cast. It’s such a shame that all their efforts are wasted in vain, for there’s no audience upon a worn coach to appreciate their work. 

With that thought, Alhaitham sets the remote down as his ageless body settles into the sofa just adjacent to the centered coach.

The night is still young, dust will accumulate nevertheless, it wouldn’t make a difference in taking another break. 

-

There’s a line of distinction between a mind that’s been cultivated by the pages of a book and a mind that’s been entertained by artistically framed scenes.

When one crosses the other, the gap in understanding reveals itself, manifesting in the confusion of how to appreciate such things. 

It’s how you felt when trying to interpret the texts written long before you were born, face scrunched up in focus as your eyes move across the aged paper. 

It’s how he feels as he observes the two lead actors as disembodied laughter rang out. 

The pacing was slow, dialogue uninteresting to an immortal that’s long-lived past the experience of university. But, it’d be a waste to not finish something he intended to do from the start. 

The cushions were soft, supporting his settling frame as the tension leaves his muscles, beckoning his eyelids to lower, luring him into the darkness that lay behind them. 

“Haitham~ are you alive?” A voice brushes against his face. 

The presence of someone intruding upon his personal space made his body alert again, the wisps of sleep vanish.

Slowly he lifts up his leaden lids, blinking the haze of sleep away, vision gradually clearing to reveal your grinning face. 

“Are you finally done with the assignments you’ve procrastinated?” 

“I didn’t procrastinate, I knew I could finish them in time for the deadline and I did.” His voice still gruff with sleep. 

“Your breath stinks of coffee.”

“What an observation, coffee is a common beverage consumed by all walks of life.”

“Haitham, it’s 10 pm.” 

“It isn’t exclusive to one time.” 

An exaggerated huff leaves your lips as you folded, plotting your body right on top of his, the aged couch creaking in protest.

Instinctively, his arms opened to catch your frame, embracing you gently against his chest. Feeling the rhythm of your heart beating in time with his. 

“Stubborn.” You muttered. 

“Summarizing yourself?” Alhaitham bites back a chuckle as a balled-up fist gently knocks against his torso. 

It’s been a while since you’ve had a tender moment like this. Deadlines and exams brought on by the warming air of a concluding semester keep you both on a tight schedule. Only able to exchange brief greets during quick breaks of packaged meals. 

You sink deeper into his arms as he rests his face against your neck. Enjoying the warmth generated between your two bodies, coaxing the exhaustion away from each other’s limbs. 

‘I miss you.’ A silent sentiment wordlessly conveyed by the extended entanglement. 

“You didn’t eat dinner yet.”

Alhaitham lets a soft chuckle escape in the form of a quick huff, how perceptive you are when it comes to his well-being.  

“Skipping meals isn’t healthy,” You scolded as a finger jabbed against his shoulder. 

“I’m aware.” 

“Good, the noodles should be ready by now, c’mon.” 

Reluctantly, Alhaitham allows you out of his arms, letting his heavy body follow your tugging hands toward the old and stained kitchen table.

Teal eyes notice the freshly placed cups of noodles, steam leaking out from the sides of their paper lids held down by two forks. 

“It’s the fourth night we’ve had cup noodles this week.” He states the obvious. 

“So?” You quirk a brow at his announcement. 

“We’ll get sodium poisoning.”

“It’s fine, Haitham, our bodies are young, we'll live.” 

“And these choices will come back to bite us in the future.”

“Shush and eat your food.” You plotted down at your spot at the chipped table, cheek puffed out. 

An absolutely endearing sight. So much so that Alhaitham will rein in his sardonic quips for now, joining you in his spot just across the stained surface.

Ripping the flimsy top off the styrofoam cup, the artificial chicken flavoring sedates his ravenous appetite as he takes a bite.

A sacred respite for any student on a tight budget, empty calories that suppress the growling of stomachs. 

From across the table, his teal gaze watches as you savor your last bite. 

“You can have the rest of mine.”

“No, you’re a growing boy, you need to eat.” 

“The male body fully develops by age eighteen-”

“Shush and eat your food.”  

Your soft lips formed a frown once again, how could he not cave into your demands? Alhaitham takes another bite of the noodles. 

In just a few more semesters he’ll get his hands on a flimsy piece of paper, proving his qualifications to some white-collar job.

He'll earn a paycheck big enough to treat you to a nice steak basted with red wine.

Away from this cluttered box with creaky floors and rumbling pipes.

Then after a few years, the two of you could follow a realtor through a spacious house atop a hill, yard fenced in nicely, and located a reasonable distance away from the bustling city. 

Just endure the endless assignments and demanding exams for a little while longer. 

Styrofoam cups carelessly thrown into the trash, forks washed and set out in the drying wrack. The minimal effort of house cleaning was achieved.

As a reward, two figures found themselves pulled back to the worn cushions of a couch. Melting into each other's touches, fingertips trying to memorize every curve and edge. 

From outside a window left ajar, its hinges rusted with age and neglect, came the first symphony of the crickets. Singing to celebrate the new season which breathes back life into the trees and their leaves. 

Your hands tenderly cupped his face pulling him closer, cheeks touching as your noses perfectly rested against each other.

The leaden weight pulling on his eyelids returned, head dozing into your gentle warmth.

“I love you.” Your whisper so soft it was almost lost in the wind.

Fighting against the droopy pull, his sight centered on your content expression, tranquil gaze reflecting the teal of his irises as you await his response. 

Alhaitham’s firm arms pulled your frame flushed against his, burying his face back into the crook of your neck. Deep breath intaking the light fragrance which held hints of a sunny day. 

“I love you… to the extent it’s unfathomable.” His full truth. 

A truth that couldn’t be left untold. 

“Pfft! You and your fancy words again,” you giggled.

The tickling sensation of your bell-like giggles vibrating against his frame cause the corners of his lips to curl.

Your fingers found their way to his ashen hair, tracing faint patterns along his scalp as you tussled his messy locks. 

Mesmerizing motions making him lose the battle with the sweet call of sleep. The stone-faced man allowing your trailing fingers to beckon him deeper into the temperate waves of dreams. 

Alhaitham’s eyes opened again, lids dawdlingly fluttering open and shut again as the rolling credits of tonight’s spontaneous episode played against the glass screen.

His arms rested unfurled by his sides, nothing in the space against his cold hands. 

Closing his eyes shut once more, efforts now conflicted between prying open the doors of sleep to plunge back into the cloudy waters of dreams or blinking the lingering traces away.

Lungs not daring to take another breath in case they distract from the task at hand.

1… 2… 3

A low sigh leaves his lips, ashen lashes opening up to observe the teal eyes staring back from the dark credit screen.

It seems the keeper of dreams felt this vile creature has overstayed his welcome for tonight.

Locking up the iron gates as they stood mockingly on the other side dangling the key between their fingers. 

It doesn’t matter. The dream has already served its purpose. Allowing Alhaitham to say the lines in a script that he wasn’t able to complete in time. 

It made the void ache just a bit less.

It seems that Alhaitham has unraveled the truth behind your daydreaming habits. 

The itch in his palm has long faded away, the ailment cured by clarity only attainable after one processes the cold truth. Analytical mind returning to rationality untainted by the desperation of false hope. 

To be condemned to forever wheeze at each gasp of air, to be bound to a bed by agony searing your every cell. Who is willing to pay the price of eternity?

Stopping the hands of a clock wouldn’t be much different than a punishment delivered from the deepest depths of hell.

How could mortal medicine ever turn back the hands of a clock? Simple, it can’t.

Nothing can. 

To forever freeze a sinking ship between the thundering skies of life and the endless pits of death, doomed to never drown but never be resuced for eternity.

A fate worse than anything on the two polar opposite sides. 

It’d be plain cruel. Childishly cruel. 

Alhaitham wouldn’t do that to you, he couldn’t do that to you. 

Instead, he simply held your hand tight. Taking away any fear, any anxieties, any regrets as your body sank deeper beneath the waves, until the furrow between your brows disappeared.

Watching the peace gracing your features as your head descends into the murky depths. 

Letting your fingers slip through the gaps in his as he stays atop his floating raft of immortality. 

Letting your gold bands catch on each other one last time. Letting the laws of nature and unnamed gods pull you away from his side, forever concealing you behind a wall he’ll never be able to peer over. 

As it was fated to be, he knows. 

If you had a healthy body, one that could live up to 80 years… maybe a little more, you wouldn’t have chosen him.

You never would’ve signed a contract.

You never would’ve cast a passing glance at him on the street. 

You would’ve embraced another, one who could walk hand and hand with you through the garden gates.

You didn’t ask to be born with that body, and he didn’t ask to be born with his. 

Paths predestined at birth to never fully merge, a wall forever dividing them. 

Yet, during the brief time they touched, the scenery was breathtaking.

If he had finite time, a body exhausted by late nights of piled-up assignments, with nothing but twenty mora to his name. 

He’d choose that over sitting in an empty house with luxurious furniture, excessive assets sitting to rot in bank vaults, and a silk-covered bed too big for a singular body. 

He’d choose to be the one who could walk through the gates of the Pardis Dhyai, hand and hand with you. 

--

Only in a mirage could that exist. 

Sitting across a small kitchen table, him with his instant coffee, you with your dining hall stolen tea.

Notepad given out by some random campus event being scribbled on. Ballpoint pen jotting down the items carefully calculated: Milk, eggs, and more cup noodles. 

Only in a dream could he sit in the bright rays of a star, enjoying its warmth side by side with you. 

Alhaitham shuts off the TV, the greeting songs of birds from outside closed curtains now creeping through.

Slowly his frame emerges from its sedentary position, the dust cloth long forgotten to the side. 

A sofa is no proper place to rest. Maybe clean sheets can replicate the purpose of cold dirt.

Such futile thoughts, unbefitting of such a noble creature. 

But, he's been craving sleep lately, longing for the warmth of a fantastical sun. 

Fin~

©️vivalabunbun DON’T PLAGIARIZE, REPOST, OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS. 

[talonabraxas]

Aura colours and their meaning.

The aura is an extension of a person’s personality and emotional, mental and physical landscape, so it will change from day to day. It can be affected by external factors as well as the general disposition and character of the individual.

There are no hard and fast rules as to what these visual variances ‘mean’, as, with all psychic practices, it depends on the intuition and knowledge of the reader. But there are certainly common themes. For instance, those who practice yoga tend to have a ‘still’ aura or people with serious illness have a fainter aura than someone vital. Moreover, auras tend to have a ‘texture’ to them. They may be sparkly, treacly, in lines, waves or arcs.

Below, I have given a rough guide to how you might interpret auric colours only, but it is no mean a fixed manual:

The Aura Colors Meaning Chart:

Red ~ Pertains to circulation, the heart and the physical body. In its higher aspect, it is an indicator of a healthy ego, stability and being strong-willed. In its lowest aspect, red energy can give way to anger, unforgiving, anxiety or nervousness.

Orange ~ points to the reproductive organs and feelings. It is the colour of vigour, vitality and enthusiasm. In its higher aspect, orange energy shows creativity, confidence and gregariousness. In its lowest aspect, it can give way to stress and addictions.

Yellow ~ represents life energy – qi or prana. The colour of optimism, awakening, inspiration and intelligence. It has no lower aspects.

Green ~ connects to the heart centre and lungs. It is the comfortable and healthy colour of nature, representing growth, balance, healing, and depicting a love for all sentient beings and Mother Earth.

Blue ~ Pertains to the throat and the thyroid and is therefore indicative of communicators. Writers, public speakers and linguists will often have a lot of blue in their auric field. It is also a cool, calm and collected energy.

Indigo ~ Pertains to the third eye and therefore is a colour of deep feelings, intuition and sensitivity.

Violet/Lavender ~ Relating to the crown, pineal gland and the nervous systems. It is the most sensitive colour in the aura. People with a lot of violet in their auras are usually highly artistic, psychic, intuitive, visionary and magical.

“The aura is an extension of a person’s personality and emotional, mental and physical landscape, so it will change from day to day.”

Other Aura Colours:

Turquoise ~ is associated with the immune system and usually found in the auras of healers and therapists. It is a sensitive, compassionate colour.

Silver ~ pertains to spiritual and physical abundance. A lot of bright silver in an aura may indicate a spiritual awakening or financial gain.

Gold ~ typical of divine protection and enlightenment. This colour points towards strong spiritual and universal guidance, intuition, wisdom and inner peace.

Black ~ points towards pulling, capturing and transforming energy. It can indicate unreleased anger, grief or health problems. It also shows an unforgiving nature (to themselves and others) and possible past-life issues that remain unresolved.

White ~ linked to protection and deflecting other energies. Flashes of white within the auric field often signal that angels are nearby. As with most associations with white, it symbolizes purity, truth and a healthy individual.

Earth Tones/Brown ~ Colours of soil, wood, minerals and plants highlights very grounded energy and someone who works with the earth, such as a gardener or farmer. However, a more brownish hue can point to greediness, self-absorption or ignorance in its lowest aspect.

Rainbow ~ auras with stripes of colour emanating as beams of light from the hands, heart, or head indicate someone who is a healer.

Solar Aura Peter Solarz