#like the prayer corner in my house

[yinginannoying]

I head canon modern Lan Wangji as smelling of sandalwood incense and medicated oil specifically axe oil and that’s why his sandalwood scent is ‘cool’ and no one can convince me otherwise 😌

[i-mybrunettelady]

it is an ancient ascalonian belief that lighting candles invites the favor of the gods. in every proper home of the ascalonian rites, one is lit for each of the six; as long as it burns, there is hope for that home and for ascalon. candles also invite the spirits of long gone warriors to protect and inspire ; for world is loss and grief, and faith and hope, as balthazar's scriptures teach us. so take heart, o' heretical daughter of ascalon, o' vain godkiller, and rejoin the war eternal. light a candle for those you've lost; say your prayers to the gods you still believe in. and say a prayer to yourself, as you know that death is not the end, but the end of the beginning. did your little adventure to the domain of the lost teach you nothing, after all?

[pacmagician]

I guess it could be the brain noticing negative things more but the Trump voters in my town seem to post like 5 or 6 Trump signs in their yard and no other candidates. It makes their yards look ugly.

[thecameronchronicles]

A Cup Of Sugar

TW: age-gap (reader's over 18.), dirty talk, sex without condom, manipulative behavior.

SUMMARY: Your next door neighbor and crush asks for a favor and leaves with something else...

A Cup of Sugar

The blue house with the white shutters has always been a staple to your cul-de-sac community since you could remember. Block parties pulled everyone together through fake smiles to save face for those who would more than likely be thrilled to not have to speak ever again. But in the politics of jealous wives and HOAs came one glimmer of peace in your existence.

The man in the blue house and white shutters.

Rafe Cameron.

He stood classified to his thoughts, his eyes always dancing over some shaven blades of grass paid to appear so perfect. He offered the waves to those to his caliber and always left you with a kind smile before slipping back inside. And this is how it had been for two decades. Since you were the little girl with pigtails who walked over with your parents to welcome him and his wife to the neighborhood before you could even look him in the eyes. And now, you dreamed of those eyes looking down on you for an entirely different reason.

You were always on the cusp of being noticed, putting increases effort when it was least expected. Even going out to check the mail you made yourself flawless in what you could, only ever getting the politeness from him.

At least until your eighteenth birthday. You caught his gazes lingering, your heart picking up speed, and his words a bit more adult than normal.

-------

A knock pulls you from the mundane afternoon where even the recent slew of TikTok trends over your FYP page do little to pass the time. Once opening the door, you silently curse not giving yourself a once-over in your camera before pulling it open.

"Mister Cameron. My dad isn't here..." The corner of his lips pull upwards.

"I know. I'm sorry to bother you, uh...do you have any sugar?" You stare, helplessly lured and anchored into the beckoning of him. Having always been attracted to the forbidden man across the street of blue eyes full of intimidation and cautious hands silently strong, you find it difficult to keep from showing it.

"Sugar? Um...let me check..." You move inside and hear him follow in uncertain steps before the door finally closes.

Once you come to the cabinet full of baking ingredients seldom used, already aware if you have any sugar it is probably more in brick form than edible, you play the time anyway to keep him in your company.

"Is Madison making something for Cheer or-"

"Let me help..." He stands behind you, shadowing you enough to nearly swallow you in his height alone, as he reaches over the cabinet.

"This cabinet?" You nod, facing him. His smirk remains on you as he makes no effort to actually seek out the sugar and simply holds his hand beside you as if to block you in.

"Mister Cameron..."

"Did you know that when your window is open at night that I can hear you in my backyard?" You blush, trying to imagine if there was anything embarrassing you had done. Played music too loud? Argued with your (now ex) boyfriend and it keeping him awake? Talked to yourself? Only God, it wasn't about him was it?

"Did I? I'm sorry. If I was too loud-"

"I can hear everything from the concerts you put on...to that which you do after you think everyone has gone to sleep..." He leans against you, his cologne dizzying you.

"I..." There is no mystery to his thinly veiled innuendo.

"You heard..." You can't say the words aloud, never having the chance as nobody else has ever been so brazen.

"Everything, Y/N. Or at least enough to know exactly what it is you need..." You blink in disbelief as all words thicken on your tongue, refusing to formulate.

"I-"

"You don't have to deny it. I know exactly what you need....Let me give it to you?" You swallow hard, trying to understand how this is happening. Manifestation truly works if your silent prayers had gone unanswered.

"I don't know-"

You are lifted onto the counter and he stands between your parted legs. It is a quick moment that feels as if it is in slow motion to the feeling of his hands on you.

"You want to know what else I know?" You swallow and nod, curiosity succeeding over logic.

"You can only come with my name on your tongue..." He kisses you with intent. Not to be gentle or loving but to claim. He doesn't wait for you to find breath or even steady against him as he uses the grip on your hips to pull you to him. You hold at his shirt for stability and it only makes him growl as your nails find him instead.

"You need what only I can give you, isn't that right, sweetheart?" You nod, too intoxicated by his touch to want to tempt fate to sober.

"I know nobody will be home for at least a few hours. You know how I know? Because I made sure of it. Now open those thighs for me-" You open and he scoffs, rubbing his jaw as he sees you not only eager but ready as you've completely soaked through your panties.

"I've had to listen for months while you got yourself off thinking nobody could hear you. But I did. And I wondered if you were doing it just to fuck with me or if you were really REALLY that desperate to come...next time, you say my name I'm taking it as a call and I'll make you come. Bet this sexy fucking ass on that." He grips the part of your ass exposed to him before he leans forward.

"Because I've had to hear you and now, you're gonna show me..." He pulls your panties to the side and rubs his cock up and down those lips.

"God, you're so fucking wet, it's almost pathetic." He moans before pushing the bulbous head of his dick closer to your entrance.

"Yesssss." He hisses as you gasp. He's wide, thick, and hot in every sense of the word. The coarse hair usually hidden to the naked eye is now stroking against you as he pulls back far enough to see the slickness you left behind on him.

"That's it....coat my fucking cock." He groans as he continues to thrust brutally and withdraw in almost torturous strides as you are breathless and wordlessly in awe. It is erotic, and almost painful, before he huffs.

"You sound so much better stuffed with me than whatever you were doing. What was it? Hmmm? Your fingers?" You nod, embarrassment rising up your body.

"And it was only me you thought of, yeah? None of those useless boys who can only dream of filling you like I can, right?" When you don't answer, he grips the back of your neck. "RIGHT?!"

You nod as he hoists your flat feet up to the counter so you're completely wide to him. His speed is no longer traceable as he's just pounding into you. Hand stabilizing himself in the cabinet above you, he rams into you with the force awakening something bold within you. You claw at his back and through his hair before kissing him again, instigating it all as he reciprocates with heady excess.

"Trying to get me to notice you in those bikinis and shorts like I could ever ignore you? Fuck, Y/N you're so wet for me aren't you? Gonna come hard? Maybe I should make you wait like you made me." He patronizes behind a humored growl. His head comes back, throwing it in pleasure as his face comforts, mouth wide and almost in disbelief as he grips the flesh of your hips with a punishable clutch.

"You need to come, you come to me. For me."

"Mister Cameron-"

"You call me Rafe when I'm this deep inside of you. Understand?"

"Yes R-Rafe."

"Good. Now scream it while I make you come and then I fill you up." The kitchen shudders around you as he thrusts and retracts, in and out, hard and deep. You were already sore but now you feel expanded and exhausted as he grips the back of your neck and pushes his mouth against yours. Not to kiss, to inform, and maybe even earn through a clenched repetition of "mine".

"Say it!" He calls out as you nod, agreeing in desperation as he showcases his approval on the final snaps of his hips before you feel him flood your womb in all that you were responsible for.

"Ahh fuck, yes I needed that..." He sighs as you keep your eyes on him as he pulls out of you. Without a care to clean up anything more than the space between you, he conceals himself back within his pants and shakes his head.

"So fucking sweet." He walks to the door and you're suddenly left half naked and empty.

"Wh-what about the sugar you needed?" You question, hoping it'll make him stay. With his brilliant smile and tempting lips purposed to a smirk, he grins.

"I got what I came for,. sweetheart." You sit in awe, realizing he took more than he left, including the fact you hadn't come. It was a play for power you gave him willingly and as much as you wanted to be the one in control, you knew you'd falter against him. Having a taste of him, you were eager for the next. Suddenly addicted to the man across the street you've loved and lusted for in equal measure since you could remember...

MASTERLIST

[holybibly]

My bunnies seem to be drawn to the dark side, don't they? And how lucky for you, my sweet babies, that I'm here to fulfil all your darkest desires.

And here's the unholy thought of the day: Your sweet, slightly feminine roommate turns out to be a hardcore yandere dominant obsessed with you.

Seonghwa was a dream come true—gentle, adorable, so caring, a real sweet baby. You had been roommates for over three years now, and you thanked God every day for that.

You shared secrets, talked about dating, watched films together, braided each other's hair, and even did skin care routines together. Seonghwa was your best friend, but deep down inside, you couldn't help but regret that you couldn't go out with him, even though you wanted to. He was the kind of person you fucked, not the one who fucked you.

You could never imagine that Hwa could fuck your brains out or make you squirt until you passed out. His lips were made for blowjobs, not for eating pussy. He was a typical pretty boy, with a soft feminine appearance and lots of admirers. So all you could do was sigh sadly and dream that one day God would answer your prayers and send you someone like Hwa, but in a more dominant and harsher way. Someone who can take care of you like a queen and at the same time fuck you like a whore.

There was only one unspoken rule in your house: never enter Hwa's room. You could use his things without permission, eat his food, and even spend money from his card, but it was strictly forbidden to enter his room. You never minded; everyone had their own quirks, but curiosity still gnawed at you from within.

One day, when Seonghwa was out, you noticed that the door to his room was slightly open. A thin crack of black space beckoned to you like a forbidden sweet fruit, and you could not resist the desire to enter his room.

When you entered his room, you expected to see anything but what you found there—all the walls of his room were covered with photographs—your photographs, or rather, your naked photographs. Hundreds of photos of you showering, sleeping, changing clothes, and even, oh my God, photos of you masturbating, stuffing your pussy with a thick pink dildo. But that was only part of what they found. A pile of your used knickers under his pillow and another all sticky with his cum on the bedside table. You took them off in the shower this morning. Oh shit.

You were so shocked that you didn't even notice Seonghwa's presence behind you.

"You shouldn't be here, darling." His silky voice kissed the soft skin near your ear, and you squealed as you turned sharply to face Hwa.

For some reason, he looked completely different now—darker, more predatory. His usual large, shining eyes narrowed, a thick darkness gathering behind the mirrored black iris. A devilish grin spread across his sensual, plump lips. He looked completely mad; not a trace of your charming, sweet friend left.

"I... Seonghwa, I'm sorry..." A mixture of fear and strange excitement filled you, and you began to slowly back away from Seonghwa to create space between you. But Hwa didn't seem to like that at all as he began to move towards you, pushing you into a corner until your back was pressed against the sharp edge of the dresser.

Seonghwa's arms trapped you, squeezing the dresser on both sides of your body, his hips pressed against you so hard you could feel his erection, and damn, his cock was thick and big. God, the boy was huge.

"Look at you; you're shaking all over. Are you afraid of me, little star?" One of his hands came to your face, cupping your cheek, and you whimpered softly at the touch. You wanted to run away and hide in your room, but at the same time you wanted Seonghwa to do so much more than just caress your cheek. "Need I remind you that you're the one who snuck into my room? What am I supposed to do with a naughty little slut like you now?" Hwa playfully pinched your cheek, making you squeal, before his hand grabbed your throat, cutting off your oxygen supply, and he pushed his cock deeper into your body, moaning deeply in pleasure.

"S-seonghwa... we... we can talk about this..." You croaked, your voice barely above a whisper, muffled by his tight grip on your neck.

"Of course we'll talk about it and more, but first I'm going to take care of you. Take care of you like you always wanted me to. I'm going to take care of that sweet little cunt of yours; make sure it's full and saturated with my cum. Isn't that what you dreamed of, my star, when you moaned my name while you stuffed your slutty pussy with that disgusting dildo?" Seonghwa leaned closer to your face, his tongue poking out of his mouth to lick your parted lips. "I know all your wishes, my shining star, and finally I can make them come true. Don't worry, my love; now I will take care of you the way I always dreamed of."

[bookshelf-dust]

gentle fingers, gentler boy

carmen berzatto x fem!hairdresser!reader

gif by @hotch-girl

word count: 3,589

warnings: swearing, joking mentions of arson, one donna mention, i don’t think anything else??

synopsis: carmy needs a haircut—desperately. or so natalie tells him. she sends him to you, and it’s safe to say carmy never would’ve expected a trim would turn into the best date he’s ever had in his life.

a/n: hello, my loves! don’t even ask my why this fic has taken me so long to write because i couldn’t tell you. but i do imagine it has something to do with the fact that i have the attention span of a goldfish these days. anyhow, i wrote this as a kind of predecessor to this fic, because something about carmy and his hairdresser gf is so special to me. let me know what you think!! happy reading <33

————

“You really do need a haircut, Bear.”

Sugar leans up against the office door frame. Her younger brother is hunched over the desk, an Igor incarnate, flipping through a pile of papers Cicero left for him. 

Richie’s voice booms throughout the kitchen. “I been tellin’ him that, Sug! It needs a wash, too. He’s startin’ to look like Jack…Jack…” He snaps his fingers, searching for a name. “The psycho asshole from The Shining!”

“Jack Torrence,” Marcus chirps.

“Jack Torrence!” Richie claps, making Sugar roll her eyes. She moves closer to Carmen, leaning against the corner of the desk. She crosses her arms. 

“I told you, Carm, you can go see my girl. She’s never done me wrong.” 

That small, gentle smile she has grows on her lips. Natalie gently pushes her brother’s shoulder. “And hey, she stopped me from getting bangs again a few weeks ago.”

Richie’s hands fly upward, pressing together in a prayer pose. “Thank fuck. Bangs were never your look, babe.”

“Shut up, Richie!” Sugar and Carmen’s voices ring out simultaneously, as if they’d rehearsed for this very moment of synchronization.

Carmy’s clogs drag against the tile floor as he braces his palms against the desktop and pushes himself backwards. He scrubs his face with his hands, leaving it tinged red when he finally relents.

He looks up at his sister, a firm wrinkle formed between her brows. Carmen huffs.

“What did you say her name was?” Carmy asks, eyes darting to the clock, searching for the time only to realize no one ever fixed the damn thing. “Hey, Richie! Can you get some fuckin’ batteries in here?”

Sugar’s eyes squeeze shut at the volume Carm’s voice has just reached. But nevertheless, she pinches her nose and says your name. 

“She’s like, fifteen minutes down the road. She went to school for it, she respects shy people, and I promise–she’s not gonna cut your ear off.”

Richie rounds the corner at that exact moment, a pile of double A’s shoved in his pocket. He pulls the analog clock off the wall and pries open the back panel. “Oh, you mean like that time Mikey snipped the tip of his ear clean–”

“Oh my god, enough, Richard!” Sugar’s hands fly around in front of her face. Unfortunately it only encourages Richie further, laughing to himself as he snaps four batteries into place. He’s still laughing—clapping his hands together because he’s so tickled—when he walks back toward the front of the house. 

Carmen’s fist covers his mouth. He’s tempted to laugh himself, but he at least knows better by now. Natalie sighs loud enough for the people across the street to hear. 

“Look, Carm. I’ll even make the appointment for you if that would help, but it’s gotta happen. You look like shit.”

Carmy snorts, standing up from the wonky office chair. “Thanks, Nat.”

Sugar’s phone is already in her hand. 

“So that’s a yes? What time would be best? Actually, I’ll just tell you when you’re going. Settled.”

————

“You getting off, Leigh?”

Your coworker ties her hair up in an artfully messy bun. “Yeah, babe. I took a half day because it’s date night tonight.” She wiggles her eyebrows at you, shimmying her way across the floor so she can plant a sweet kiss on your cheek.

“Your mom got the kids?” You ask, laughing to yourself as you rinse the leftover conditioner from your sink. 

Leigh claps her hands. “All weekend, girl!” 

You toss your gloves in the trash, letting her hug you and bounce up and down in glee. She deserves this. She hasn’t gotten a night out with her husband in months, their three-year-old twins keeping them more than occupied.

“I hope you have fun tonight. Drink something with Irish cream in it for me, will you?” 

Leigh’s hands pat your cheeks gently. “Oh, you know I will. Just wish you were getting out there too.”

You wave her away, and she’s quick to hold up her hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. Is Natalie’s brother still coming in today?”

Your eyes dart to the clock over her head. “Should be here in like, five minutes.”

The doorbell chimes. 

Both yours and Leigh’s heads snap in that direction. 

“Or…now.”

“Oh, fucking Christ.”

Your eyes flick back to each other immediately, having spoken at the exact same time. Leigh is not gonna let your outburst go. 

There’s already a devilish grin growing across her face. “You think he’s hot, don’t you?”

You dart around her. “No. Those words never left my mouth.”

She catches you by the belt loop. “You’re right, I believe your exact words were ‘Oh fucking Christ, he could bend me over right here.’” Leigh’s laughter bubbles up and you fear she might keel over. 

“That is an exaggeration,” you huff. 

Leigh slings her worn out, bright red purse over her shoulder. “Bet you were thinking it though.” She risks a glance over her shoulder. “You’re not wrong though. His arms are huge. And you better go help him before we get a bad Yelp review.”

You start to wave her away. “Yeah, alright.” You follow her towards the front desk. “Have fun tonight,” you shout, “and remember to make sure you have meds for tomorrow’s hangover.”

She fake gasps, pausing just beside where Carmen is standing. “Me? Hungover? Never.” Leigh lowers her sunglasses just slightly and directs her next few words at the man in front of her. “She’ll take real good care of you, youngest Berzatto.”

The doorbell chimes as Leigh makes her way out to her beat up Mustang, leaving you and Carmy alone out front. 

He laughs awkwardly, shuffling towards the front counter to meet you.

“Sorry about her,” you say. “She’s full of it. Anyway, Carmen, right? Natalie told me you’d try and come by today.”

Carmy’s cheeks burn with embarrassment from being put on the spot. But also because you’re so…pretty. He manages to pull together a few coherent words. 

“She really said try?” he asks, the barest of smiles gracing his lips.

You cross your arms and walk over to your station. “No. It was more of ‘He’ll be there at 4:30 tomorrow or else I’m going to burn down The Bear and keep the insurance money for myself.’”

Carmen scratches at his curls. “Yeah, that I believe.”

You gently pat the back of your leather chair. “You can sit whenever you’re ready. I realize I never really introduced myself.” You say your name, and even if it’s a name Carm has heard a hundred times before, it somehow sounds hypnotizing falling off your lips. 

The leather backing is cold through Carmy’s t-shirt. He hopes the shiver that moves down his spine when you thread your fingers through his hair passes off as the coinciding goosebumps. 

“So, what are we thinking today, Carmen?”

His big blue eyes blink at you through the mirror. “Carmy,” he says.

“Hm?” you hum, running a wide-toothed comb carefully through his curls so that nothing snags. 

“You don’t have to call me Carmen. Makes me feel like I’m in trouble.” A low laugh tumbles over his lips. “Carmy is fine.”

You smile at him. “Okay, Carmy. What would you like me to do with your hair today? Buzz cut? Mohawk?” You walk around to face him head on. “Extensions?”

You notice how nervously he plays with his hands. But you get it. You’re hoping to make him as comfortable as you can, and not just for that good Google review.

Carmy runs a hand over his mouth, hiding the sweet smile that’s growing there. The crinkles by his eyes give it away. You’re so fucking charming he can’t stand it. 

He clears his throat. “I was thinking just a trim? It’s kinda long over my eyes, and sometimes it’s good to see things.” You giggle. 

Good god, how’s he gonna get through this?

“Maybe a little shorter on the sides, too.”

“Like a mullet?” You quip.

He snorts. “Nah, not a full mullet. Maybe where it’s barely noticeable that it’s shorter there? I’m also shit at taking care of it, so if you could help with that…”

You take your bottom lip between your teeth. Carmy has to clear his throat, feeling like a deer caught in headlights. “How ‘bout this. I’ll take you to the sink and give it a wash, and then we’ll trim it, and I can have you help me style it so it’s easier when you’re at home?”

Carmy nods. “Yeah, that’d be great, thank you.” 

Your hand slides across the back of his shoulders as you move away and towards the back room full of head-sized basins. “Come on then, Mr. Berzatto. Let’s wash that pretty head of yours.”

————

“That feels so good,” Carmen says, the words leaving his mouth before he has a moment to think them over. “Wait—is that a weird thing to say?”

You laugh from your place behind him. “No, not at all. That’s why I keep my nails a little longer, because my clients always tell me this is the best part.” Your hands are covered in a lavender-scented shampoo, your fingertips massaging the foam into his scalp. “A good head scratch does wonders for the soul.”

You watch Carmy’s lips lift at the corners. His eyes are closed, and you wouldn’t be surprised if he dozed off. You’re always happy to keep a conversation going with clients, but the silence is just as well.

The sounds of foils getting folded in place by your coworker out front, the air conditioner, the radio—it’s all oddly soothing. The radio station Leigh always sets it on has the oddest selection of music choices for one given channel. Not that you mind that either. 

You rinse Carmen’s hair out and apply conditioner to the mids and ends of his curls. You blindly grab a comb, muscle memory putting it in your grasp in seconds.

Carmy swears he’s gonna knock out. He’s trying about as hard as he did in school when he knew he should be paying attention to whatever math lesson but couldn’t keep his eyes open. And when your words reach his ears, he thinks you’ve just read his mind. Sensed the sleep pricking at his eyelids. 

“You do have really nice hair, Carmy. Anyone else in your family have curls?”

You watch the way his brows knit together. “I think my mom? You’d never know it though. She’s straightened it every day since I was a teenager, like even when we weren’t leaving the house.”

You focus on your final rinse of his hair, allowing him to continue. “When I was a kid though, if she showered before bed and I needed her, her hair would be all wet and curly. That’s the only time I saw it like that.”

Carmy sits up when you wrap a thin towel around his head, holding it secure as he follows you back to your station. 

“Leigh, the woman leaving when you came in? She has lots of clients like that. A lot of people weren’t taught how to take care of their curly hair.”

“Is that a hint?” Carmen quips. It makes you snort. 

“Just a gentle one.”

Carmy watches while you cut his hair. Every once in a while your tongue will poke out, or you’ll wiggle your hips to a song on the radio. When you’re almost finished, what Carmen thinks is a Madonna song comes on. 

You start humming, and Carmy knows he’s done for. Richie would call him whipped. He probably will tomorrow morning, just by reading Carm’s face. 

“Out of the sky, I close my eyes…heaven help me.”

Carmy lets out a little laugh because you’re doing this little dance as you sift through his curls. You hear it, and it only encourages you more. 

“Big Madonna fan?” he asks, his hand rubbing over his mouth to hide the boyish grin there. The tattoo on his hand catches your eye. 

“She’s good for the soul.”

You crouch in front of him, rummaging through a cabinet for he doesn’t know what. “Your tattoos are pretty, by the way,” you say. It takes him by surprise. 

“Oh. Thanks.”

You emerge with two bottles. “Do people not usually compliment them?” You spray his hair down with cool water, getting it to the stage of damp you need for the products to work. 

Carmy laughs lowly. Maybe with a little hint of embarrassment. “Nah, they usually ask me what the hell they are or if I was drunk when I got ‘em.”

“Were you?”

He meets your playful gaze. “Only for a few.” Your smile is downright gleeful. 

“M’kay, Carm. Let me give you the rundown.” He straightens and you get a glimpse of the chef he left at The Bear to visit you today. “So this is a leave-in conditioner. After you shower, you put just a little of this in your hands—like this—and kinda run it through your hair all over. Just so it’s in there well.”

You demonstrate, and for the first time, Carmy finally understands how people can look at him and question his ability to cook so seamlessly. That’s the way you do hair. Like it’s as easy as breathing for you. 

“And this is a gel. It’s super lightweight, so it won’t feel gross or anything, and it’s not expensive either. You wanna use a little more of this, but not by much. You can do the same sort of thing, because your hair takes shape really easily since it’s not damaged any. And once that’s distributed, I want you to scrunch it some, just to get any excess product, but also to help any curls that need encouragement.”

You bite your lip because Carmy is nodding along, giving you his complete attention and it’s fucking adorable. 

“And if there’s any curls by your face or anything, you can use your fingers to define them so they look how you want. You think you can do all that?”

Carmy laughs. “Not a chance.” Then you’re both laughing, and it feels so comfortable anyone would think you’d known each other for years. 

“It takes practice. I’m gonna give you these to take home and use.” Your hand disappears in your back pocket for just a moment. “But if you want to put your number in my phone, I can always send you instructions if you need help…”

Carmy pauses. Freezes, even. You look at him nervously, afraid that maybe your ability to read the room has evaporated. Luckily, he proves you wrong. 

“Wow. That was smooth.”

You exhale and laugh into the back of your hand. “I’m never that smooth, I don’t know how I managed that,” you chuckle. Carmy’s fingers fly over your keyboard. 

“Thank you for today, really. I usually avoid the hairdresser at all costs.”

“Sugar did tell me that,” you grin. 

“M-maybe I could make you dinner or something, for putting up with me…?”

Your face warms. “I’d like that, yeah.”

Carmy blinks. His phone goes off where you’ve shot him a text with just your name and a smiley face. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.”

He rubs his hands together. “Okay, cool. Alright, yeah. What do you like?”

“I wouldn’t say no to pasta. Pasta is good in all forms.”

————

“You can tell me if you hate it. I won’t be offended.”

“I think you might have a nervous breakdown though, and you’re too pretty for that.”

Carmy blushes, shaking his head at you. 

“What?” you laugh. “It’s true.” Your voice has a sing-song lilt to it. Over the past few weeks you’ve gotten to know Carmy a bit better. He’s been busy though, so it’s taken longer than expected to have dinner together. 

He made up for it by providing you with pasta and cheesecake for dessert. He’s wearing this thick sweater, your eyes locking on his forearms where he’s rolled up the sleeves. 

Sugar was so excited when you texted her after his hair appointment. 

Natalie B: How’d it go? Was he a total pain in the ass?

You: it went well! got him all sorted out. he offered me dinner as a thank you (after he paid, of course). would that weird you out??

Natalie B: OMG NO!! He’s got such a giant stick up his ass, maybe your charm pulled it out! Go have fun. Leigh was telling me you hadn’t been on a date in forever last time I was in anyhow.

You: brb blocking both of you shitheads ♥���

You hadn’t expected a haircut to lead to any of this, but sitting here, in Carmy’s sparsely furnished apartment, looking at the soft smile on his face and the nervous way he’s fussing with his fingers as you eat the dinner he made you, you’re grateful.

Not that you’ll tell Natalie that. Or Leigh. They don’t need that ego boost. 

You wipe your mouth on a napkin and look up to see that Carmy is gazing at you expectantly. You laugh, his eye contact making you a little nervous. 

“It’s good, Carm. Really good. You can eat.”

He swipes his hand down his face, but when it comes down to grab his fork, he lets you see his smile. “I’m glad you like it. Not too much parsley or anything? I didn’t add lemon because Sugar mentioned you saying you didn’t like pasta with too much lemon juice in it.”

Your mouth drops open. That’s such a small, easy to forget thing. Maybe you will have to give Nat a hug. 

You reach out to touch his hand. Tentatively, just in case it’s too far. “That’s so sweet, Carmy. It’s perfect, really. And honestly the lemon thing is from one very overpowering pasta experience. Maybe whatever you make me will be better.”

Carmen takes a big bite of pasta and a swig of beer so he has time to collect himself. “Maybe we can fix your lemon-related trauma.”

“As long as there’s a backup snack in case the lemon PTSD can’t be fixed.”

You both burst into a fit of giggles. The rest of dinner goes by, filled with conversation about everything and nothing—Carmy’s lack of knowledge about current television, your love of reading and need for someone to share the plots with. 

Carmen is making you a plate to take home with you when he’s finally psyched himself up to ask his question. He says your name and you peer at him from your spot against the counter. 

“I-uh…I’ve been trying to do my hair the way you taught me, but I can’t get it right. I was wonderin’ if you’d show me? Maybe? You don’t have to—”

“Of course I can. All you had to do was ask.” You push off the counter and beam at him. “Come on, I’ll help you.”

You’re lucky you already learned the way to his bathroom so that your streak of confidence would continue working so well. And when you squeeze out some of the hair gel into Carmy’s hands, you know he just needed an excuse. He’s got it down pat. 

He runs his hands through his hair, scrunching clumps together every now and then, finger-curling the pieces up front and by his ears. Now you’re just waiting to see what he really wanted to say. 

You cross your arms, attempting to look serious, but you can’t hold back the grin spreading across your face. 

Carmen looks over at you, drying his hands now that they’re free of product. He’s never been great at reading people, but that look in your eye tells him he’s a shit actor. 

“So, that didn’t fool you, huh?”

You giggle. “Not at all, Berzatto. You couldn’t even fake how well you’ve learned to do your hair.”

Carmy takes a step closer to you, rubbing his nose self-consciously. “I’m very bad at saying what I’m thinking. Or saying what I want.”

“I can see that.”

He squints at you, his lips ticking up just slightly. 

“So what is it you want but are too scared to say?” you start. “Do we need to play hangman?” 

That would normally get a laugh out of him, but he’s too on edge. Inhale. Exhale. Oh, just fucking say it, Carm. 

“I wanna kiss you.”

Your ears burn. You release your bottom lip from where it was pinned between your teeth. “I was hoping you’d say that. Please do.”

You push up on your tiptoes, suddenly bursting with excitement and hoping that’ll convey to Carmen that he doesn’t need to be nervous because you want this just as bad. 

It works. 

You put your hands on Carmy’s collarbones the second his fingers slip into your hair. Your nervous system lights on fire, thoughts of how much surface area his palms cover racing through your mind. He kisses you all shy and hesitant at first, like he’s nervous he won’t do what you’re hoping. 

His lips are warm, and you can feel the spots where he’s chewed them raw. You can’t help but think that kissing him might be a good way to break that habit. His nose presses into your cheek, tickling you and making you giggle.

Carmen pulls away, smiling at you. “What’s so funny?”

“Your nose was tickilin’ my cheek.”

“Oh? Like this?” He starts dragging his nose across your face and then down to your neck when he feels you start to laugh harder. He thinks he’s finally cracked the code. It seems like pasta and nose tickles are the proper way into your heart. 

————

note: none of the gifs or images i use are mine! i get most of my images from pinterest or here, and gifs from about the same. please let me know if i ever don’t credit someone properly!

rb banner from @steph-speaks

[lizzyiii]

Hey girl hey. Hope you are still alive and life is treating you well. Just checking in.

you're so sweet for this omg. so ive graduated from high school, have this whole summer, but I can't really enjoy it since a broke girl's got to work. got my very first job and it's sooo draining, but I've got to get that bag

Sevenmas

pairing | aemond x wife!reader

word count | 9.2k words

summary | amid the haunting ruins of harrenhal, aemond's pregnant wife senses the looming threat of alys rivers, a witch whose presence fuels her nightmares and aemond's growing distance.

determined to protect her husband and unborn child, she delves into the secrets of warding magic, reclaiming her bond with aemond as she invites him back into her bed and vows to stand against the witch’s dark influence.

tags | 18+ (MDNI), smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, pregnancy, magic, fluff, soft aemond, hubby aemond

a/n | it's summer, the heat is evident, yet I've only been at work or home. I needdd to leave my house!

likes comments and reblogs are much appreciated ✨

ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ

My Dearest Babe,

It has been a full moon since your father and I arrived at these dreary halls of Harrenhal. It is bleak here, cold and damp, and the walls seem to hold the whispers of the dead.

I have not known a single night’s rest since we set foot in this cursed place. My sleep grew all the more restless when your father saw fit to move me into a separate chamber.

Harrenhal weighs heavily upon him. It has changed him in ways I cannot yet understand. He walks the halls as if hunted, and I see the shadows of his unrest in his eyes.

Each night, his dreams twist into dark things—visions that wrench him from sleep, leaving him gasping as though clawing his way back to wakefulness. He grows ever more volatile, as if the very stones of Harrenhal press upon his mind, threatening to drive him to madness.

One night, he woke from a nightmare so violent, I feared for him. I reached out to calm him, but he struck out, not knowing it was I. I do not hold it against him—he was deep within whatever horror plagued him.

But he looked upon the bruise on my wrist with such anguish, fearing for my health and yours. It was then he resolved to put me in another room, to shield us both from his torments.

Yet, my sleep has only worsened since he made this change. This keep holds no comfort, only shadows and sighs, and I feel that something - someone - wicked watches us, waiting.

The sixth day of Sevenmas dawned in Harrenhal, a day to honor the Crone, she who carried the lantern of wisdom and foresight. How you longed for that guidance now, caught in the maze of cold stone walls and shadows that seemed to stretch into eternity.

The ancient keep, with its crumbling towers and halls seeped in ghosts of past horrors, gnawed at your spirit with every passing hour.

The days bled together, each as gray and listless as the last. Time itself felt suspended, and there was little to fill it but your prayers to the Seven and the slow, meticulous pull of thread and needle.

Embroidery was meant to calm the mind, but here it became another way for your thoughts to spiral into dark corners. How could you not let them when the halls echoed with whispers not your own and the air felt thick, laden with something unseen yet suffocating?

Your husband, Aemond, the prince with a fire in his blood and the shadow of the conqueror in his step, had become a stranger cloaked in duty.

Since Rhaenyra had laid siege to King's Landing, his days were consumed with strategy, flame-bright eyes scanning maps and murmuring with commanders until dawn kissed the horizon.

You would catch glimpses of him, his presence fierce and distant, a sword poised to strike. And still, there was one tether left—he would always return to break his fast with you, no matter the hour, as if the morning meal was a sacred pact he refused to break.

This shared ritual was a brief light in the gloom, a moment where his brow would smooth, and he would offer a small nod, as if to say, I am still here.

Yet even then, the weight of Harrenhal seemed to press upon him, creasing the corner of his eye and stealing the little warmth from his voice.

You wished for the strength of the Crone’s wisdom, to find words that could soothe whatever haunted him, whatever pulled him into those long, silent stretches where he barely met your gaze.

And so, with the sun’s first pale rays stretching over the stone battlements, you whispered a prayer to the Crone. Let me see what he cannot. Let me guard us in ways unseen.

There was another shadow cast over your time at Harrenhal, one that gnawed at your peace like a hound at a bone. Within the first week of your arrival, an attempt on Aemond’s life had been made, a sloppy affair that left more questions than answers.

Yet the mere notion of betrayal and blood sharpened Aemond’s already fierce nature into something perilously close to madness.

In his rage and paranoia, he swept through Harrenhal like a storm, burning and executing every male Strong—lords and bastards alike, sparing none.

The aftermath left the keep haunted by its own silence, populated mostly by women and children who dared not cross his path. Yet among the survivors, there was one who set your skin crawling like no other: Alys Rivers, the bastard daughter of Lionel Strong.

Her gaze, dark and knowing, seemed to pierce through you whenever it drifted your way. The keep’s old women, those who lingered in the kitchens and halls, were full of whispers, speaking in hushed tones about Alys and the tales that clung to her like a shroud.

They claimed she was a wet nurse with no babes of her own, that her cradle stayed empty because she offered her children to dark gods, drawing power from their sacrifices.

The word witch passed between toothless mouths with reverence and fear, a name that conjured images of blood and whispered spells in the dead of night.

You would catch Alys watching Aemond from the shadowed corners of the great hall, her green eyes glistening like the polished scales of a serpent.

There was something about the way she looked at him, a gaze that lingered too long, with a subtle curl to her lips that suggested she saw beyond what others did. Each time, a cold knot formed in your stomach, winding tighter with each day.

Aemond, for his part, seemed oblivious—or perhaps unwilling—to acknowledge her attention. He stalked the halls of Harrenhal like a restless dragon, his eyes always aflame with thoughts of war and vengeance.

But you, kept to the fringes and left with little to occupy your time, had learned to listen. You had overheard more than once the old wives’ tales, how the stones of Harrenhal bore witness to strange sights in the dark of night.

The morning light struggled to filter through the narrow, soot-streaked windows of Harrenhal’s great hall, casting long, somber shadows across the cold stone floor.

You sat at the grand table, an expanse of dark oak that seemed almost too vast with just the two of you seated at its head.

The hall’s emptiness swallowed the small noises of clinking silver and the rustle of fabric, leaving only the low crackle of a distant fire to break the silence.

You glanced at Aemond, his face severe and sharp as ever, eyes narrowed and distant as he picked at the bread before him. His hair, pale as moonlight, spilled over his shoulders, catching the dim glow of morning like polished silver.

You traced the line of his jaw with your gaze, noting the tautness there, the slight twitch that spoke of restless thoughts.

In truth, you did not know this man well—your husband, your prince, and yet a stranger in so many ways.

It had only been moons since you first met, and within days, the marriage vows were spoken, the ink on the alliance barely dry before you found yourself bound to him in name and in fate.

Your father’s fleet had been your dowry, a formidable power that the Greens could not afford to spurn. You understood your role, the politics and power that tethered you to Aemond, but understanding him was another matter entirely.

His silences were as deep and dark as the Blackwater, and he carried an anger that smoldered beneath his skin, an unquenchable flame that whispered of vengeance and old wounds.

But despite the cold armor of his demeanor, Aemond had never raised his voice nor his hand to you. He moved with a kind of carefulness in your presence, a restraint that bordered on gentleness.

He treated you with a respect that was rare among men of power, where wives were often little more than pawns on a board.

And though it was likely due to the child you carried beneath your heart, it kindled a small warmth within you to think that he had not left you behind when he marched to Harrenhal.

Instead, he had commanded that you come with him, a choice that puzzled you even as it comforted you.

Harrenhal was a desolate place, steeped in old, cracked stone and a history that groaned beneath every step. You despised it, with its drafty halls and the air that always seemed to taste of ashes.

Yet sitting here, across from Aemond as the thin light etched sharp lines across his face, you felt a reluctant flicker of gratitude.

The silence between you was not companionable, but it was not cruel either. It was a space where the two of you existed, tethered by duty and an unspoken understanding.

Your gaze lifted from your untouched plate to meet his. “You barely ate anything,” you ventured softly, the words almost swallowed by the great hall’s vastness.

Aemond’s eye flickered to you, just a moment of acknowledgment, before drifting back to the distant, unfocused point beyond the hall’s great hearth. “I have much on my mind,” he replied, his voice low and guarded, as always.

You lowered your gaze, the golden glint of your cup catching the flicker of the fire as you turned it in your hands. “Today is the day of the Crone,” you murmured, the soft words drifting into the vast emptiness of the hall.

Aemond’s eye settled on you again, this time with a sharper intensity, as if he were trying to read the thoughts that played behind your eyes. The violet of his gaze, stark and unyielding, seemed to see through flesh and bone.

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks but pushed on, lifting your head with a tentative, almost sheepish smile.

“I have been holding small celebratory suppers in my chambers for each of the Seven,” you said, the words trembling on the cusp of hope. “Perhaps you would join me tonight?”

Aemond’s expression remained inscrutable, carved from the same marble as the gods whose names you spoke. He was silent, his lips pressed into a thin line as he measured the request. You held your breath, bracing for the sting of rejection, but after a moment, he inclined his head with a slow, deliberate nod.

“I shall see if I am free to attend later, wife,” he replied, each syllable precise, as if spoken under a watchful eye.

A smile unfurled across your face, a small, fragile bloom that brightened the somber air. You nodded, your gratitude silent but deeply felt, and returned your attention to the meal before you.

The hall fell back into its familiar hush, but the silence seemed gentler, softened by the promise—no matter how uncertain—that he might sit with you as the evening drew near.

Throughout the day, you moved with a purpose that had been absent for some time. Excitement flickered within you, casting a rare warmth over the bleakness of Harrenhal’s cold stone walls.

You spent more time preparing yourself than you had in weeks, choosing a gown of deep violet, the color rich and regal, one you knew would match Aemond’s eye.

Your hands worked carefully as you braided your hair, fingers weaving strands with practiced precision. You wound the braids into a half-up style, securing them with thin silver pins, and threaded small pearls between the coils, their soft luster catching the waning light that seeped through the chamber’s narrow window slits.

As the sun dipped lower, you prepared the chamber for supper, eager to cast away the dreariness of Harrenhal’s stone embrace. The table, though small, was set with care.

You placed a modest arrangement of primroses at its center, their pale petals lending a touch of softness to the somber room.

Candles, thick and tapered, were placed with a meticulous eye, their wicks waiting to be lit and offer a warm glow that would banish the shadows lurking in the corners.

Tonight was meant to honor the Crone, a day of wisdom and reflection, yet you could not help but hope for something more—a chance to share a moment, however fleeting, with the man you called husband.

The hours had been long since you’d known any touch of intimacy, any whisper of companionship. The prospect of Aemond joining you, even for a brief supper, was enough to make your heart beat with anticipation.

Time stretched on, heavy and unyielding, as you sat alone at the small table in your chambers, a solitary figure in a room filled with muted light. The food before you, once steaming and fragrant, had grown cold, the sheen of oil on the meats congealing in the chill air.

The candles you had lit earlier had burned down to stubs, their light dwindling as shadows crept up the walls.

The fire in the hearth, once crackling with warmth, had reduced itself to a bed of glowing embers, the last vestiges of heat sputtering as they surrendered to the draft that snaked through the stones.

Your heart, which had quickened with hope earlier in the day, now felt leaden with disappointment. The silence pressed in around you, each passing moment a reminder that Aemond would not come. The anticipation that had kept your spirits aloft now left a hollow ache in its absence.

Pushing your untouched plate away, you rose from the table, your movements deliberate as anger stirred in your chest. It was not the hot, reckless kind, but the slow-burning indignation that came when expectation was met with silence.

You wrapped your cloak around your shoulders and slipped into the dim corridor, determined to find him, to seek an answer rather than stew in this quiet, stinging rejection.

Harrenhal’s halls were a maze of stone and shadow, empty and vast, with only the sound of your footsteps echoing softly in the cold. The castle held a thousand whispered secrets, and tonight, it seemed eager to keep its prince among them.

You turned corners and climbed staircases, the flicker of dying torches casting your shadow long against the walls, until the familiar paths grew strange and your resolve wavered.

Finally, as you entered a lesser hall that stretched toward a wing of old chambers, you spotted movement—a maidservant carrying linens, her head bent as if afraid to be seen. Relief mixed with frustration as you quickened your step.

“Excuse me,” you called out, your voice sharper than intended.

The servant started, nearly dropping her burden before bowing her head hastily, eyes fixed to the floor. It was a common sight in Harrenhal, the way they kept their gaze averted in your presence.

Word of your husband’s fierce reputation as Prince Regent and Kinslayer had traveled swiftly, and it seemed they feared that to slight you was to invite his wrath upon them.

With a lifted chin and a tone that brooked no disobedience, you asked, “Where is my husband?”

Before the maid could stammer out an answer, another voice cut through the dim hallway—a voice that chilled the blood in your veins and haunted your sleep with its whispers.

“I fear the prince is still occupied in the council chamber, my lady,” said Alys Rivers, her tone smooth and deceptively courteous, like the edge of a blade.

You turned slowly, meeting her gaze. Her eyes were dark, unreadable, but a knowing smirk pulled at her lips as she regarded you, taking in the sight of your tense shoulders, the protective way your hand drifted instinctively to your rounded stomach.

There was no warmth in her expression, only the sly amusement of a cat toying with a bird that dared to stray too far from its nest.

Your nostrils flared, and you straightened your back, eyes narrowing as you corrected her in a low, simmering murmur, “Princess.”

Alys tilted her head, feigning surprise, though her eyes betrayed nothing but a cold mirth. “Pardon me,” she said, her gaze sliding deliberately to your abdomen before flicking back up to meet yours, daring you to react.

“I am not your lady,” you hissed, “I am your princess.”

With a final, steely glare, you turned on your heel, the folds of your violet gown sweeping the floor as you made your way back through the shadowed hallways, heart pounding beneath your ribs.

The silence of Harrenhal enveloped you once more, and you did not pause until you reached the safety of your chambers, locking the door behind you and pressing your back against the cool, unyielding wood.

The echo of Alys’s smirk lingered in your mind, but you would not let her see your fear. Not tonight. Not ever.

A scream ripped from your throat, raw and primal, as the pain surged through you, tearing its way up your spine and scattering your senses. It felt as though your very body was being split apart, the agony sharper and deeper than any blade.

“Keep pushing, my princess; the babe is almost here,” urged the midwife, her voice steady but relentless.

You clenched your jaw, wanting to curse her, to scream at her to hold her tongue, but the pain stole all words from you, leaving you breathless and shaking.

It was a torment that came in relentless waves, each cresting higher than the last, only to drag you under when you thought you could surface for air. The burning, the stretching—unbearable, blinding.

“I cannot,” you sobbed, tears mingling with the sweat that drenched your brow. “Please… I can't,” you pleaded, your voice broken and desperate.

The pain surged again, stealing the air from your lungs, and then you felt it—a firm, familiar hand pressed gently to your cheek. Through the haze of pain, you turned your head, and your vision cleared just enough to see the sharp lines of Aemond’s face.

His single violet eye was intent, fierce, a rare expression of vulnerability breaking through his stoic mask. Relief, so profound it was nearly painful, swelled in your chest.

“Aemond,” you gasped, his name a lifeline, an anchor in the storm.

Husbands were not meant to be present for the birth, tradition forbade it. But he was there, and you did not care for any rule or rite that would keep him away.

“Just a few more pushes, my love,” he murmured, his voice low, a thread of steel woven through the gentleness.

You nodded weakly, mustering what remained of your strength. A deep groan escaped you as you pushed once more, the room spinning around you. The midwife’s voice rose above the roaring in your ears.

“The babe is crowning, my lady.”

But the tone was wrong. Too familiar, too cold. Alarm jolted you to consciousness, and you struggled to prop yourself on trembling elbows. Your eyes darted to the space at the foot of the birthing bed, and dread coiled tight in your gut.

There, in the dim light of the chamber, knelt Alys Rivers. Her dark hair framed eyes as green and sharp as glass, eyes that glimmered with a knowing, malevolent gleam. A smile curled at the corners of her lips as she met your gaze.

“No, no!” you screamed, panic twisting your voice. “Get away from me!”

With a surge of fear-driven strength, you tried to kick her away, your limbs thrashing wildly, but Aemond’s hands clamped down on you, firm and unyielding. “Calm yourself,” he commanded, his voice cool, steady as stone.

Alys turned her gaze up to him, a shadow of mock sympathy curving her lips. “You must choose, my prince,” she intoned, each word dripping with false solemnity. “The babe, or your wife.”

A sob wrenched from your chest as you felt your breath come in sharp, shallow gasps. “No. No!” The pain was drowned beneath the torrent of fear that flooded you.

Desperately, you looked up at Aemond, seeking the warmth, the fierce protection that once resided in his eye. But what you found was a gaze distant and unreadable, as though he stood apart, watching from some cold, unreachable place. His jaw tightened. “Save the babe.”

Time seemed to fracture around you. His words, so final, crashed over you like a wave of ice. Your eyes widened, disbelieving, as rough handmaids or shadows, you could not tell—pressed you back, holding you firm as you struggled.

“Let me go! Let me go!” you screamed, your voice raw with betrayal and terror, limbs straining against the iron grip that pinned you.

Pain cleaved through you, and you felt the weight of the babe shift within. But your focus broke as Alys moved, no longer at the foot of the bed but gliding closer, the flicker of torchlight catching on the edge of a cruel, glinting blade.

The chamber seemed to darken around her, the faint cries of the midwives fading into an ominous silence. And all you could see were those green eyes, bearing down on you like a curse whispered in the dark.

You jolted upright, heart pounding and breath ragged, the remnants of your nightmare clinging to your skin like a shroud. A trembling hand reached up to brush the tears from your cheeks, the dampness proof of the terror that had gripped you in sleep.

Your eyes drifted down, catching the soft curve of your swollen belly under the covers, rising and falling with your shallow breaths. A shaky sigh escaped your lips, a bitter mix of relief and unease.

The babe was still safe within you—at least for now. You pressed your palm over it, as if to reassure yourself of its presence.

Beyond the thin light filtering through the shuttered window, the sky remained cloaked in the indigo of night.

The stillness told you it was not yet dawn, that liminal time when dreams and waking often blurred. But sleep would not find you again; not after that vision, nor for many nights to come, you were sure.

The memory of Aemond's cold, detached gaze as he spoke words that sealed your fate in your dream clung to you. It pierced deeper than any blade, a wound festering with fear and doubt.

Yet you forced yourself to swallow the sharp sting of betrayal, directing your thoughts toward another source of your unease—Alys Rivers.

The whispers, the eyes that followed, the dark air that seemed to shift when she was near. Your fears, your husband’s torment, the sense of something wicked gnawing at Harrenhal’s bones—it all traced back to her.

Resolve steeled your spine. You pushed back the covers and rose, the weight of your pregnancy making the motion slower, more deliberate.

Wrapping yourself in a heavy fur cloak, you reached for the candelabra on the nightstand. Its small flame sputtered in protest before catching steady, casting long shadows that danced upon the walls.

The corridors of Harrenhal, once alive with whispered conversations and the hurried footfalls of servants, now loomed around you in cold, watchful silence. The draft that crept through the ancient stones nipped at your cheeks and sent a shiver down your spine.

Clutching the fur tighter against your body, you moved forward, the warm light in your grasp flickering as it met the draft.

The silence was thick, broken only by the soft rustle of your cloak and the creak of old floorboards beneath your weight.

At last, you reached the great doors of the library, their dark wood carved with sigils long forgotten and gnarled from centuries of use. Setting the candelabra down, you pushed against one of the doors, muscles straining with the effort.

It groaned open, the sound reverberating through the stillness and sending a cold gust rushing past you. Picking up the candelabra, you stepped inside and let the heavy door drift shut behind you with a thud.

The scent of old parchment and dust surrounded you, familiar and oddly comforting. Shelves stretched high, towering sentinels filled with the stories of old and the wisdom of those long gone.

On other nights, you would have lost yourself in the tales that wove through these tomes—myths and sagas that spoke of courage and triumph. But tonight, solace was not what you sought.

You moved through the rows with purpose, eyes scanning the spines until they found those few volumes that hinted at the arcane.

The lore of witches, their dark arts, the means by which they could twist men’s dreams and cloud their minds—it all lay within reach, hidden among dusty pages that no one dared speak of.

You placed the candelabra down, its light casting a golden glow that flickered across the cracked leather and faded titles.

With trembling hands, you opened the first book, its binding stiff with age. The parchment crackled as you turned the pages, your eyes drinking in the inked words.

If there was any way to guard yourself, to protect Aemond from the shadows that had seeped into your lives, you would find it here. No longer would you be haunted by that witch’s knowing gaze or the dread that coiled tight in your belly.

With each turn of the page, the flickering glow of the candelabra cast dancing shapes upon the stone walls, warding off the chill that seeped through Harrenhal’s blackened stones.

The words spoke of charms and tokens, of age-old rituals whispered by the smallfolk who feared the unseen.

Marking doors with protective sigils or crosses to ward off malevolent forces. The purifying strength of salt, said to bar dark spirits and their ilk. Rowan wood, revered for its protective properties, best used when tied with crimson thread to seal its potency.

The hours crept by, measured by the slow guttering of candle wax. You read, forgetting the passage of time as the nightmare’s claws loosened their grip on your heart.

Knowledge was your weapon now, and you wielded it with the silent promise that neither you nor Aemond would fall victim to powers unknown.

The day’s first light spilled through the high, narrow windows, a pale and hesitant glow that bled into the room and painted the bookshelves in muted gold.

It was the day of the Stranger, seldom celebrated, yet you paid it no heed. Lost in the pages, you missed the bells that tolled the hour and forgot the warmth of your usual morning meal shared with Aemond.

When at last you closed the final volume, a resolve settled in your chest, resolute and unyielding. You would need these items—symbols of protection—and that meant venturing beyond the castle’s shadowed halls and out into the market.

The fur-lined cloak wrapped snug around you, guarding against the bitter drafts that swept through the corridors as you made your way back to your chambers.

As you reached the windows, a rare sight unfolded before your eyes—snow, soft and unrelenting, blanketing the bleak spires of Harrenhal.

Snow was a rarity in King’s Landing, seldom seen during your girlhood there. For a moment, untouched by fear or doubt, you felt the stir of childish wonder rise within you.

Three knights of the Kingsguard, their white cloaks pristine even in the snow, flanked you as you ventured to the market. The square bustled despite the cold, vendors calling out their wares with voices hoarse from the chill. Your list of protective items, hastily scrawled in the early hours, guided your every step.

Surprisingly, the rowan wood was easy to find, its branches bundled tightly with red thread as per custom.

Charms of polished crystal and talismans wrought from iron and bronze were procured with little effort, their sellers eager to part with them for a handful of silver stags.

The murmured blessings from the old crones at their stalls made the hair on the back of your neck prickle, but you pressed on, their eyes shadowed with both reverence and suspicion.

By the time the sun began its descent, casting a gilded glow over the snow-draped stones of Harrenhal, your arms were laden with your newfound protections. You returned to your chambers with purpose, setting to work immediately.

With meticulous care, you bound the red thread around the twigs of rowan wood and placed them above each entrance.

Salt, precious and fine, was spread across the thresholds, each grain catching the firelight like scattered stars.

With charcoal from your writing desk, you etched intricate symbols—wards against dark magics—onto the cold, unyielding stone walls.

But it was not just your own safety you sought to secure. For Aemond, you had combed the market for a piece both practical and protective. After much haggling, you procured a leather eyepatch, supple and black, unmarred by wear.

Returning to your chamber, you carefully stitched shards of black tourmaline into its edge, each piece glinting with a subtle, protective gleam. Your needlework was steady, each pull of the thread imbued with silent prayers.

Lost in your task, you barely noted the soft knock at your door or the maidservant who entered, setting a tray of supper on the table near the hearth.

The aroma of roasted fowl and warm bread wafted through the chamber, but your focus remained fixed.

As you worked by the fire's glow, the shadows that had haunted your waking hours seemed to lessen, replaced by the steady rhythm of thread and needle, and the quiet resolve that this time, you would be ready.

You were so absorbed in your needlework, fingers deftly stitching the dark crystals onto a supple leather patch, that the sudden clearing of a throat startled you. Your gaze snapped up, eyes wide with surprise as they met the cool, familiar face of Aemond Targaryen.

“Husband,” you said, breathless as you hastily hid the finished eye patch beneath a velvet pillow. Rising to your feet, you inclined your head, though your heart thudded with residual tension.

He stood tall and imposing in the dim glow, the silver-white of his hair catching the light like a crown. For a moment, the room felt smaller, as if the walls themselves pressed in with the weight of his presence.

“What brings you here?” you asked, voice touched with confusion and a hint of sharpness. Exhaustion dulled your sense of propriety, leaving the question more pointed than intended.

Aemond’s lone violet eye narrowed, an unreadable glimmer within its depths. “To have supper with you,” he replied, as if such a thing were the most natural answer in the realm.

Your eyes flickered to the table, where two silver plates now sat, the steam rising lazily from the dishes set by the silent servant moments before.

You pressed your lips into a thin line and sighed, murmuring, “I believe my invitation was for yesterday.”

A shadow of regret crossed his face, so brief that another might have missed it, but you saw. As you moved past him to take your seat, you caught the soft murmur that slipped from his lips, “I deserved that.”

Aemond followed and took his place across from you, the creak of the chair echoing in the quiet chamber. For a moment, silence hung between you, broken only by the faint crackle of the hearthfire. His gaze settled on you, sharp and searching.

“I have not seen you at all today,” he said at last, the words carrying a hint of something that might have been longing, tempered by pride.

Your eyes dropped to your hands, fingers fiddling absently with the edge of your gown. Remorse pricked at your heart—you had broken your shared morning ritual, the one part of the day reserved just for the two of you.

“I was very busy,” you replied softly, the excuse feeling thin on your tongue.

Aemond’s expression remained unreadable as he tilted his head slightly. “I heard. Visits to the market square,” he said.

You hesitated, holding back the details of the charms, the salt, the ancient warding sigils you had traced with trembling hands. He would only deem you foolish or worse, mad.

“I needed fresh air.”

His eye narrowed, a flicker of displeasure passing over his sharp features. “It is too dangerous for one in your condition to wander beyond these walls,” he said, the admonishment clear, though his tone held an undercurrent of concern.

You lifted your chin, meeting his gaze with defiance. “That is why I took three of your White Cloaks,” you retorted, the fire in your voice matching the spark in his eye.

For a heartbeat, the tension crackled between you, the weight of unsaid words pressing down like a heavy cloak. Then, Aemond’s lips quirked, almost imperceptibly, as if some silent battle had been waged and resolved within him.

“Good,” he said at last, a faint smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “You are no fool, wife.”

The tautness in the room eased, and though unspoken, an accord was reached.

Aemond leaned forward, and placed a carved wooden box on the table between you. “I’ve brought you something,” he said, his voice a measured calm, yet there was an undercurrent of something softer. “An apology for last night.”

Your brows knit together, skepticism clear in your eyes. “My forgiveness cannot be bought with trinkets, husband,” you said, your tone edged with defiance. Yet even as you spoke, curiosity stirred within you.

One of his silver brows arched at your remark, and a small smile ghosted his lips. “Let us see if it is worthy,” you murmured, reluctant to give ground but unable to hide the intrigue that tugged at you.

With a careful hand, Aemond lifted the lid of the box, revealing a necklace of silver and sapphire. The deep blue stone glimmered like the sea under moonlight, capturing the room’s faint candle glow.

Your breath stilled for a moment, eyes tracing the intricate work of the silver links, each carved to mimic dragon scales.

Your fingertips brushed over the gem, the cool surface grounding you as warmth bloomed in your chest. Unbidden, a soft smile tugged at your lips, an expression so rare that even you felt its presence.

“Thank you, husband,” you whispered, your voice softened by genuine gratitude.

Aemond’s face shifted, pride flickering across his sharp features. There was something triumphant in his half-smirk that you could not allow him to savor unchallenged. You rose from your seat, skirts rustling as you moved.

“I, too, have a gift for you,” you said, your tone now light with a note of playfulness.

“Oh?” he replied, one silver eyebrow lifting in surprise, though the glint in his lone violet eye revealed his interest.

“Mm,” you hummed, stepping to the chaise where a small cushion lay. Your fingers slipped beneath it, retrieving the item hidden there. Turning back to him, a touch of shyness colored your expression, a rare sight that softened the lines of your face.

With both hands, you presented him with an eye patch, the black leather supple and embroidered with fine strands of broken tourmaline crystals, catching the dim light with a subtle shimmer.

Aemond took it, surprise giving way to careful scrutiny. His fingers traced the delicate work, the weight of the crystals and their arrangement thoughtful.

“Black tourmaline,” you said quietly, watching his gaze flick between you and the patch. “It is said to have powerful protective qualities.”

You hesitated, unwilling to speak of how it was also believed to ward against dark energies and unseen dangers—of how it might shield him from threats both known and hidden.

For a moment, silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken words. Aemond’s mouth quirked into a faint smile, rare and genuine. “Thank you, wife. 'Tis a very thoughtful gift,” he said, voice low and sincere.

A moment passed, and you froze in silent shock as Aemond reached up to remove the eye patch he wore. Of course, you had seen what lay beneath—the striking sapphire set into the hollow of his missing eye—but Aemond was never keen on showing it.

In King’s Landing, he would only take it off moments before sleep and replace it the moment he awoke.

Before he could put on the new eye patch, you placed a hand over his arm. “You know you don’t have to wear it around me, yes? I have no issue with it, and you should not either.”

Aemond stared at you for a long moment, his nostrils flaring slightly. For a heartbeat, you feared you had overstepped, but then he nodded, leaving both eye patches on the table.

A small, victorious smile touched your lips as you felt the weight of this unspoken understanding between you. “Allow me to have the maids bring us some dessert,” you said, the tension lifting.

Aemond nodded, his gaze lingering on you as you turned to the doors.

Stepping into the corridor, you quickly found a maid and requested something sweet to be brought to your chambers. When you returned, your heart faltered at the sight before you. Aemond stood at your desk, his tall frame hunched slightly as he leaned over an open book—your journal.

Panic surged within you, and you strode forward, slamming the book shut with a sharp motion. “What are you doing?” you demanded, your voice sharper than intended, eyes wide with both shock and alarm.

Aemond straightened, holding the closed journal in his hand. His expression was unreadable, though his eye bore into you with quiet intensity. “What is this?” he asked evenly, tilting the book slightly for emphasis.

“My private journal,” you answered quickly, reaching for it, but he lifted it just out of your grasp, his superior height giving him the advantage. “Give it back, husband. It is mine.”

Aemond’s voice was steady but carried an undertone of something raw, almost fragile. “Then why,” he began, his eye fixed on you, ignoring your protests, “do you write to our babe?” There was an ache in his tone, a depth of emotion he hadn’t yet voiced.

The question caught you unprepared, stealing the breath from your lungs. Your fingers tightened around the fabric of your skirts, and your shoulders sagged as you avoided his penetrating gaze. “In case,” you whispered, the words trembling as they left your lips.

“In case of what?” he pressed, his voice low and edged with a demand for understanding.

His gaze bore into you, unrelenting, as though he could uncover your secrets by sheer will. Unable to face him, you closed your eyes and let out a shaky sigh. “In case I’m not there,” you admitted at last, the words barely audible, like a confession carried on the wind.

Aemond’s brows drew together, confusion shadowing his features. “What do you mean if you’re not—” He stopped mid-sentence, his breath catching as realization dawned. The tension in his posture shifted, his shoulders falling ever so slightly. “…There.”

His sharp features softened, a rare vulnerability settling over his face. “Women do survive the childbed,” he murmured, his voice gentler now, as though he feared the weight of his words might shatter you.

“Not every time,” you countered, your tone edged with resignation. “And there’s also… that choice.” Your voice broke on the last word, and you felt the tears prick at the corners of your eyes.

The room fell into a heavy silence, broken only by the faint crackling of the fire. Then, with a tenderness that made your heart ache, Aemond reached out and cupped your cheek.

His touch was warm, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin as he tilted your face toward him, forcing your eyes to meet his.

“There can be more babes,” he said softly, his words a promise etched with fierce determination, “but there is only one you.”

His eye, a storm of violet and sapphire, held yours with such intensity that you felt as though he was laying his very soul bare. A tear escaped and traced down your cheek, but Aemond caught it with his thumb, his touch steady, grounding you in the moment.

“I would not choose otherwise,” he said firmly, the weight of his vow lingering in the air between you. “Not for all the heirs in the realm.”

Your lips trembled as you whispered, “You swear?”

“I swear it,” he replied, his voice low and resolute. “I will not lose my wife.”

The ache in your chest eased slightly, the warmth of his words wrapping around you like a shield. You placed your hand over his, pressing it gently against your cheek.

With a soft breath, you tilted your head upward, letting your lips meet his in a gentle caress. The kiss was tender at first, a quiet exchange of affection that carried the weight of your unspoken fears and his unyielding promise.

Aemond responded eagerly, his lips pressing more firmly against yours as his hand slid from your cheek to cradle the nape of your neck.

His other hand found your waist, gripping you firmly as he pulled you closer, as if the mere thought of distance was unbearable. His tongue brushed against your lips, seeking entrance, and you granted it willingly.

As his tongue met yours, the kiss deepened, a slow, fervent dance that sent warmth coursing through your veins. A soft moan escaped your lips, and you felt his grip on your waist tighten in response, his fingers digging into the fabric of your gown.

Your hands moved up his chest, tracing the hard planes of muscle beneath his tunic, before curling into the fabric as if to anchor yourself.

The world around you faded, leaving only the press of his body against yours, the taste of him on your lips, and the heat that built between you like the fire crackling in the hearth.

When the kiss broke, it was with a reluctance that lingered in the air between you. Your breaths came in shallow pants as you gazed up at him through hooded lashes, the corners of your lips curving into a teasing smile.

“My love,” you purred, your voice sultry and laced with affection, “you’ve left me wanting… again.”

Aemond’s gaze darkened, the stormy hue of his violet eye smoldering with barely restrained desire. “Have I now?” he murmured, his voice low and velvety, the faintest smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “Then it seems I must remedy that, wife.”

You guided his hands lower, to the swell of your belly, then further down to the hem of your nightgown. “Will you show me how much you desire me?” you asked, your voice a sultry whisper. “Make me forget everything but the feel of you inside me...”

A low growl rumbled in Aemond's throat as his hands moved beneath your gown, fingers tracing the curves of your swollen belly before dipping lower to find the damp heat of your core.

“You have no idea how often I dreamt of this,” he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. “Of burying myself deep within you, feeling your walls clench around me...”

With a swift motion, he lifted the hem of your nightgown and pulled it over your head, throwing it aside, revealing your naked form.

His gaze devoured every inch of you, from the full breasts that rose and fell with each ragged breath, to the soft, rounded hips and the glistening folds of your sex.

“Tell me what you want, my queen,” he commanded, his voice husky with desire.

A shiver ran through you at Aemond's bold appraisal, your nipples hardening into tight peaks as his hungry gaze seared your skin. You reached for the fastenings of his breeches, your fingers fumbling with urgency to free his straining erection.

“I want you,” you murmured, your voice low, thick with a desire that lingered like a soft melody in the air. Your eyes never left his, the depth of your longing laid bare in the way your breath hitched.

Aemond’s violet gaze darkened, the flicker of a smirk ghosting his lips. His head tilted ever so slightly, a predator’s grace, as though savoring your words before acting upon them.

You took a step back, your movements slow and deliberate, your footsteps light against the floor as you inched toward the bed. The flicker of the firelight cast a warm glow across the room, the shadows dancing across the carved posts of the bed.

As you reached its edge, you let yourself fall gracefully onto the soft mattress, your body sinking into the luxurious furs and silks. Propping yourself up on your elbows, you gazed at him through lowered lashes, a sly smile curving your lips.

“You beckon me so boldly,” he murmured, his voice a low, velvet drawl, the faintest edge of amusement laced within it. “Have a care, wife, for I am not a man to resist such temptation.”

Aemond watched, transfixed, as you sank onto the bed, the mattress creaking under your weight. His cock throbbed in time with his racing heart, the tip already glistening with precum.

He shed his clothes the rest of the way, letting them fall carelessly to the floor as he stalked towards you, muscles rippling with each step. By the time he reached the bed, he was fully erect, his shaft jutting proudly from a nest of silver curls.

Lying beside you, he reached out to cup your breast, thumbing the sensitive peak before leaning in to capture your mouth in another searing kiss.

His free hand trailed over your round stomach, pausing to tease the edge of your slit before delving deeper, fingers probing your slick folds.

“You're so wet for me already.”

You gasped into the kiss as Aemond's fingers found your entrance, your hips bucking instinctively to meet his touch. “Please,” you whimpered, breaking away from his mouth to gaze up at him with pleading eyes. “I need you inside me. Fill me up, make me yours again.”

As if sensing your desperation, Aemond positioned himself between your thighs, the broad head of his cock nudging insistently at your opening. With a deep groan, he thrust forward, sheathing himself to the hilt in one powerful stroke.

You cried out at the sudden intrusion, your back arching off the bed as waves of pleasure-pain crashed over you. It took a moment for your body to adjust, to relax and welcome the thick length filling you so completely.

Aemond's breath hitched as he bottomed out inside you, your velvety walls gripping him like a vice. For a moment, he simply savored the exquisite sensation, reveling in the tight heat enveloping his throbbing cock.

Then, with a slow, deliberate withdrawal, he pulled almost all the way out before slamming back in, setting a relentless pace.

The bed frame creaked ominously beneath the force of his thrusts, but Aemond paid it no mind, lost in the primal rhythm of rutting his mate.

“Yes, just like that,” he growled, his hips snapping forward with increasing urgency. “Take my cock, my queen.”

You wrapped your legs around Aemond's waist, heels digging into his firm behind as he pounded into you with wild abandon.

Each brutal thrust sent shockwaves of ecstasy coursing through your veins, your inner walls fluttering wildly around his pistoning shaft.

“Aemond!” You wailed, your nails raking down his back as you met his ferocious pace.

The obscene slap of flesh against flesh filled the room, punctuated by my wanton cries and Aemond's guttural grunts. You could feel the pressure building within you, coiling tighter and tighter like a spring ready to snap.

Suddenly, you were hurtling over the edge, your orgasm crashing through you like a tidal wave. You screamed his name as your cunt clenched rhythmically around him, milking his cock for all it was worth.

Aemond's eye rolled back in his head as your velvet sheath spasmed around him, your climax triggering his own. With a hoarse groan, he buried himself to the hilt and came undone, his seed erupting in thick, pulsing jets.

He continued to thrust through the aftershocks, prolonging your shared bliss until he was spent, collapsing beside you with a grunt. For a long moment, the two of you lay entwined, chests heaving as you struggled to catch your breath.

The chamber was awash with the warmth of the firelight and the quiet hum of your contentment. As you lay entwined, your bodies barely a breath apart, your gaze lingered on Aemond’s face.

His sharp features, so often hardened by duty and war, were softened now, his violet eye fixed on you with a tenderness rarely seen.

Your noses brushed lightly, a quiet intimacy, as his hand rested possessively over your waist while yours splayed across his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart.

Almost as if drawn by a spell, he leaned forward, pressing a feather-light kiss to your lips, a gesture so gentle it felt like a whispered promise. When he pulled away, he settled back onto the pillow beside you, his arm still wrapped protectively around you.

You shifted, nestling closer, your head finding solace in the crook of his neck. Your hand lay over his heart, its steady rise and fall a soothing cadence that began to lull you into slumber.

His breathing slowed, each exhale a soft brush against your hair, and soon, the quiet comfort of his presence drew you into a deep, dreamless sleep.

But the peace did not last.

You jolted awake, startled by the sudden thrashing of Aemond’s body beside you. His face, so serene moments ago, was now contorted in anguish, his brow slick with sweat.

His breaths came in sharp, uneven gasps, and his hands clenched the sheets as if warding off some unseen terror.

Your heart clenched at the sight. He had spoken little of his nightmares, but you knew they haunted him—a torment born of battles fought, losses endured, and burdens carried.

Pushing yourself up, you moved with as much haste as your swollen belly would allow, the weight of your pregnancy slowing you only slightly.

Grabbing the robe draped over the chair, you wrapped it around yourself, its soft fabric barely warding off the chill of the room as you padded toward the small table where you had placed your new goods.

Your hands rummaged through the items with purpose, your fingers finally curling around a small vial. You held it up, peering at its contents even in the dim light. The faint, familiar scent already began to calm your racing heart.

Lavender oil.

You returned to the bed, the vial clutched firmly in your grasp. As you sat beside him, Aemond's thrashing began to subside, though his breaths were still ragged, and his jaw clenched tightly.

Carefully, you uncorked the vial, the soothing aroma of lavender wafting into the room. You poured a small amount onto your hands, warming the oil between your palms before leaning over him.

With gentle, deliberate movements, you began to anoint his temples, your touch light yet firm as you traced small, calming circles.

The oil left a faint sheen on his skin, its scent filling the space between you. "Aemond," you whispered softly, your voice low and steady, a tether pulling him back from the depths of his nightmare.

His breathing began to slow, the tension in his body easing under your ministrations. You moved to his wrists, massaging the oil into his pulse points, your hands steady despite the ache blooming in your lower back.

“You are safe,” you murmured, your lips brushing against his ear. “I am here.”

You whispered a silent prayer under your breath, invoking the gods for protection and peace. Your gaze stayed fixed on him, your heart clenching as you watched his features begin to soften, the tension melting away.

You held your breath, waiting. When his form finally stilled, his breathing evening out, you let out a soft sigh of relief. The lavender and your quiet vigil had worked.

Exhaustion weighed heavily upon you, and you slid back into bed beside him, pulling the covers over the both of you. But just as you were about to lay your head against Aemond’s chest, you froze.

A chill ran down your spine, and the hairs on your arms stood on end as an inexplicable sensation swept over you.

You were being watched.

Your eyes darted to the chamber doors, which you now noticed were slightly ajar. Beyond them, barely visible in the darkness, you caught the faint glimmer of glowing green eyes.

Your heart raced, a primal fear coursing through you. The air seemed to thicken, heavy with an unseen presence.

But you steadied yourself, your breathing slowing as you reminded yourself of the protections you had set in place earlier that day.

You had taken every precaution, warding the chamber with runes and incantations, ensuring that no ill intent could cross its threshold. Alys Rivers might wield her strange gifts, but she would not claim Aemond—not without a fight.

With a courage you hadn’t known you possessed, you tightened your arms around Aemond’s sleeping form, drawing strength from the warmth of his body against yours. Lifting your chin, you stared directly into the glowing eyes, refusing to show weakness.

“I won’t let you have him,” you whispered fiercely, your voice a low, steady vow. “Not without a fight, witch.”

For a moment, the air seemed to hold its breath. The green eyes lingered for a moment longer, unblinking and cold, before retreating into the darkness.

Only when the oppressive feeling lifted did you allow yourself to exhale. A trembling sigh escaped your lips as you lowered your head, nestling into Aemond’s chest. His heartbeat, steady and strong beneath your ear, became a soothing rhythm, lulling you out of your fear.

As the night enveloped you once more, you clung to him, your resolve unshaken. Whatever forces sought to disturb your peace, you would face them.

For Aemond, for your babe, for the family you were building together—you would fight.

Hope You Enjoyed!

[na0koz]

jinx getting jealous and makin u pay for it :P

nsfw!!! MDNI. cw: blood, knives, kinda dubcon i guess?, strap use

anon request! wouldn’t let me respond to it in a post. this is my first time writing proper smut sorry if it’s bad

toxic!jinx masterlist

today was one of the few days you weren’t planning on hanging out with jinx, but obviously you ended up doing just that. jinx was just checking up on you, watching you work from the very back corner of the cute little coffee shop you were studying in (sometimes she is baffled by the fact that you have never ever noticed her stalking you. she is in plain sight half the time) when someone from your class comes in and approaches you at your table.

you smile up at them, moving your bag so they can sit opposite you and the two of you start chatting. several minutes go by, your studies long forgotten as you get to know your classmate, someone who you hadn’t really spoken to much before. jinx on the other hand, hasn’t moved a muscle and has barely even blinked as she watches the interaction unfold before her, eyes flickering between the two of you before noticing your classmate pulling their phone out.

jinx damn near gets up out of her seat when she sees you take their phone and type what jinx assumes was your phone number. she finally moves, though only to start bouncing her leg up and down, waiting for an opportunity to question you. she’s bitten her lip so hard that it bleeds.

after what feels like an eternity, your classmate leaves. jinx already knows their name and perhaps even their address after somehow finding a list of everyone in your class and researching each of them. they will face their punishment in due course. as soon as the door closes behind them, jinx is up and stomping towards your table.

the sudden movement opposite you as she sits down causes you to look up again from your laptop and you exclaim upon seeing her. “oh! hey jinx.”

jinx doesn’t say anything in return, just licks the remaining half-dried blood from her lip.

“who was that?” she questions, leaning on her forearms over the table. she sounds annoyed, and you really really hope she isn’t as angry as she sounds.

“someone from my class. they just wanted to borrow some notes they had missed,” you explain as you gather your stuff up and put it in your bag. you know she’s gonna make you leave with her so you might as well prepare.

“hm. whatever, let’s go.”

you follow jinx out of the shop and she grabs your arm to pull you along beside her while she thinks of the quickest route back to either of your houses.

you end up at her house, the door locked behind you as you push your shoes off. jinx tugs your bag off your shoulder for you, dropping it to the floor with a thud before leading you to her room.

she starts yanking off your jacket, your clothes and finally your underwear. she sheds a couple of her own layers, but pauses when she’s just in her underwear and a tight cropped tank top. you can’t say you’re not turned on, and you brace yourself for the teasing that will likely follow when jinx forces your legs open.

in the time you imagine how she’s going to chide you for how wet you’re getting over literally nothing, she’s managed to get her strap on and pulls you onto your stomach, bending your knees for you so you’re face down, ass up on her bed. she continues wordlessly as she begins tying a turquoise rope around your wrists behind your back.

jinx lines up her dick with your already dripping hole and pushes in, making you whine into the mattress. still without a word, she starts fucking you, and hard.

you quickly build up to your orgasm, chanting jinx’s name like a prayer begging her to let you cum.

she replies with a simple “go on.” and you cum hard on her dick, a few tears escaping your eyes and soaking the sheets below.

tonight, it’s her goal to make sure you know she’s the only one who can give you what she can, as well as she can.

jinx coaxes a few more orgasms from you with her strap before she decides to opt for a new method to make you feel so good you cry.

she pulls your fucked out body into her lap and drags your arms behind her head so they looped around her neck, still bound together by the blue rope. she kicks her legs under yours to force them open and keep them that way. then, she shoves two of her fingers into your mouth.

instinctively, you start to suck, tongue curling around her slender fingers.

“mhm, that’s it. good girl.” jinx muses as she watches your lips puckering around her digits. it surprises you how much she can change when she’s fucking you, becoming dark and dominant over you.

she pulls her now wet fingers out of your mouth with a pop and traces them down the valley of your chest, along your stomach down to your pussy. she teases your clit and your puffy folds for a second before plunging her fingers into your sensitive hole. you cry out and squeeze your eyes shut, failing to notice jinx reaching behind her as she grasps for her assault knife. the one with the hot pink and turquoise handle she made herself.

as she curls her fingers inside of you, she gently prods your inner thigh with the knife and you twitch at the sudden pain. you open your eyes and look up at her, not being able to restrain the whimpers coming from your throat as jinx continues fingering you with her knife still poking you, threatening to pierce your skin.

“ji-… hurts..” you can barely get a word out from how tight the coil inside of you is.

she’s not letting you reach your orgasm on purpose. you hear her giggle at your whining through the haze of your pleasure.

“you gonna cum?” she sings at you. she’s just teasing your for her own pleasure now. freak.

“please…jinx. wanna cum so bad..” you plead with her.

“y’know no one else can make you cum like this, baby. no one else can do what i do.” she begins to drag the knife up to the space between your tits.

jinx doesn’t feel like drawing any blood from you today, but she doesn’t need to tell you that right now. she just needs to make you know that you’re hers. she owns you and she needs to punish you for making her jealous.

“tell me i’m the only one who can make you cum.” she presses down with the blade, hearing you moan even louder. she’s changed her mind now. she pulls the knife down a little, drops of blood blooming on your chest.

you’re writhing in her grip now. you’re so so close to cumming but she just won’t let you.

“go on. tell me.” jinx says bluntly before dipping her head down to lick the blood off you.

“yo-..! you’re the only one jinx! the only one who can make me cum! please- please let me..” you cry as your sentence dies on your tongue, brows furrowed and eyes shut.

she hums. “see, baby? wasn’t so hard.” she puts the knife down and finally fucking you just that little bit harder.

the band in your belly snaps and you cum so hard you see stars. your hot juices spurt out of your convulsing hole over jinx’s palm and her bedsheets. she licks the tears from your cheeks and strokes your hair with her free hand.

you relax against her, breathing heavily as she wipes the small wound she made with a cloth she had on her nightstand. she lets you calm down a little more before cleaning up your soaked pussy.

you think it’s probably best to ignore any texts from your classmate, and pretend you typed your number wrong. for their sake, not yours.

[kyokutsu-sama]

Headcanons

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Their reaction when you tell them you're pregnat

Characthers: Rengoku, Gyomei, Sanemi, Tengen

A/n: Posting one of my thousands of Headcanon drafts for kny characters😅 This one is also to celebrate 1k followers❤️

I hope you like it✨️

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Rengoku :

He had been away for a few days on a mission and you were feeling a little anxious. Especially after the moment you found out you were pregnant. "Well, it seems like the night before his mission had paid off..." You thought But now you were a little afraid since you carried something very fragile inside you and you were alone at that moment. "Come back to me, Kyojuro." You whispered as you walked around inside the house When the front door opened, you felt your heart lighten but soon after you remembered that you had something to tell him but didn't know how to say it to him. And then you started to get nervous again. "Honey, I'm back." Rengoku said with his usual cheerful and loud voice as he took off his shoes and put his sword aside "Kyo!" You smiled and ran into his arms when you saw him. "I'm so happy to have you back. I missed you so much." You said, hugging him tightly "And I've been missing you so much too. How are you?" "I'm fine." You said, moving away from him and looking down, trying to avoid meeting his big, flaming eyes that were watching you. The hashira noticed that you were acting a little strange and that you were hiding something, so he couldn't help but insist. "Are you sure? You seemed a little downcast just now." He said, holding your hands and caressing them, and you just nodded. "Yeah, I'm really fine" You said, looking at him now. You stared at each other for a moment until you realized that you hadn't convinced the flame Hashira. You then sighed and closed your eyes for a moment before giving him the big news. "Kyo, I have something to tell you..." You said a little nervous "Tell me then?" "I'm...I'm pregnant" You said and he was completely speechless "No, wait, are you seriously?" He said with shining eyes and a huge smile on his face. "Are you really? For real?" "Yes" You nodded and he took you in his arms, spinning you around as he celebrated the new If there was one thing he wanted most one day it was to have children and after what you had told at that time, he had never felt so happy. "I love you so so much, my dear." He said kissing every corner of your face and putting you on the floor "I love you too." You said, hugging him "I will protect you from any danger. You, and this precious little thing here." He said caressing your belly and you smiled, feeling your eyes watering "Thank you" You smiled at him

Gyomei :

Gyomei had left very early that day to go to a quiet place outside, to pray. You woke up a little while later and he still hadn't come back. You sat down on the futon and felt very nauseous and ran to the bathroom to throw up. You knew the reason for that and it wasn't just nausea. There was something more. Gyomei didn't know anything yet and you hadn't thought about telling him either. You didn't know how he would react and besides, you were afraid after what he had experienced in the past with those children that he hadn't been able to protect. But you didn't want to do that to him and you couldn't bear the idea of ​​hiding something so serious from the man you loved so much. He had the right to now. When you left the bathroom and went to the bedroom, you were taken by surprise when you came across the big man in the middle of the room. His size never went unnoticed. "Oh Gyomei, you're back!" You said, trying to hide the nervousness. "Did everything go well?" "Yes, the outdoor spaces are great for giving you more concentration during prayers. What about you? Do you still feel nauseous?" He asked, sitting down on the futon, next to you "Yes, yes, I'm feeling better now." You said. The hashira had already noticed that you hadn't been well for a few days and he also knew about the recent symptoms, but unlike you, he didn't know the cause behind it. But you were about to tell him in that moment. "Gyomei...I need to tell you something." You approached him, sitting on his lap and holding one of his hands "Is something happening to you, Y/n?" He asked, worried about your low voice "It's nothing bad, but it's just..." "What?" You then guided his strong, veiny hand to your belly and left it there for a while. He could tell it was your belly through the touch but he still hadn't realized what you were trying to say. "Is this your belly?" He asked, gently caressing your skin "Yes,"You nodded with a little smile. "and I'm carrying your child here." You said and he paused for a moment, processing the words you had just said It didn't take long for you to see the tears falling from his eyes and running down his cheeks. He was easily moved but that news made him more sensitive than anything else he had witnessed. "You...You're carrying something so fragile and so innocent here? Something so tiny and that has no perception of the world around it. Poor thing," Gyomei said, crying and making you cry too."I'll protect you two with my life. Even if I couldn't protect the others that night, I'll protect you. Thank you for giving me such beautiful new, you are everything to me."He said, hugging you "You too, I love you so much." You said, hugging him and feeling his arms wrap around you, keeping you safe. You were so relieved to know that he was happy with the news. He would undoubtedly be a great father and very protective.

Tengen :

The other wives had already started to notice signs in you that something wasn't right. The vague suspicion was already in the air, but you still hadn't told them anything even after knowing what was happening to you Although Makio is very suspicious that it might be true "But haven't y'all seen it yet? It's obvious that she's pregnant!" Makio said to you and to Hinatsuru and Suma, who were looking at you "But how do you know? It could just be something I ate that made me sick." You replied. "You're joking right ? How could someone spend almost a month throwing up as soon as you wake up, feeling nauseous because of smells or having food cravings that would make anyone else sick. Go head, tell me?" Makio crossed his arms and you looked away "Come on, don't argue. That won't solve anything," Hinatsuru said, trying to calm the situation. "Y/n, did something happen between you and Tengen before he left for the mission?" She asked, turning her gaze to you and you snorted "Yes..." You nodded and looked down. "At least two weeks before he left and the day before the mission." "See? Don't you think that's more than enough to confirm it? Why do you still deny it?" Makio said, crossing her arms "Jeeez Makio, don't talk so rudely. Can't you see that she's not feeling well?" Suma scolded Makio. "Why? Did I lie ?" "Stop it already!" You shouted and everyone went silent."She's right. I found out a few days ago." You finally confessed "Oh, so it wasn't something you ate after all..." Makio said with a little, wry smile "I didn't want to say anything because you'd start making a fuss like you are doing now." "Ladies, your flashy husband is home!!" Tengen shouted from the entrance and the four of you quickly changed expressions."Look who's gathered here! Waiting for me? Where are my hugs at?"The sound hashira smiled and opened his arms to y'all The three wifes ran into his arms but you just sat there feeling a little nervous because of his presence. "Y/n, what's with that face? Come here." Tengen said approaching you and you stood up to hug him. "Are you okay?" He leaned in to whisper in your ear but you just pulled away and looked at him with your lips curved up in a tiny smile "Tengen, I have something to tell you." You said holding his hands "What does my dear wife have to tell me?" "I'm pregnant." "WHAT!!?" Tengen's eyes widened and his mouth dropped open in surprise "Yes, you're going to be a father." You smiled at him "I can't believe it. That sounds so flashy. Come here, princess!" Tengen picked you up and kissed you with joy "Tengen, put me down!" You said, patting his shoulder, but he ignored you "My son will be the most flashy ever." He said with a wide smile and kissing you again "Give me a kiss too, Tengen!!" Suma whimpered from the back of the room "Me too!" Makio said Hinatsuru just chuckled at the two of them. She was so happy for you and would do anything to take care of you and keep you safe.

Sanemi :

Sanemi hadn't been home all day and you had just arrived from the Butterfly Mansion after asking Shinobu to run some exams on you after you had been feeling unwell lately. You thought it was nothing special, never even imagining that it could be something as serious as pregnancy. You sat on the couch looking at some random corner still trying to process what she had told you before. It wasn't like you weren't already expecting it (because there was a reason for that), but it was still a surprise for you. You thought a lot about his reaction and what he would say. You weren't sure if he would like it or if he was ready to be a father. You looked so confused at that moment. Your thoughts were gone when the front door closed and Sanemi came into the house. You got up from the couch and a short while later he entered the living room. "Sanemi, I'm glad you're here." You went to him and hugged him "Yeah, it was a hard and tiring day..."He gave a long, tired sigh."If you keep hugging me, you'll start to smell like sweat and disgusting demon blood." He said, caressing your back with one hand "Disgusting!" You giggled. "You're really dripping with sweat." "I told you. I need a shower, are you coming with me?" He looked at you with a suggestive look, but you looked away. "Nemi, I need to tell you something first..." "What?" "Remember when I said I had to do some exams at the butterfly mansion a few weeks ago?" "Yes, why?" "The results came out today." "So?" "Nemi... I'm pregnant." You said, looking into his eyes, which widened in surprise at your words "You... You what?" The wind hashira was still confused by the news. "Is this serious?" "Yes." You confirmed again The wind hashira was speechless, he just pulled you towards him to hug you tightly and give you the greatest sense of security you had ever felt. You could have sworn you felt his heart melt at that moment. Sanemi wasn't the type to show affection as proof of love, he spoke with actions, but they could be harsh and rigid sometimes. Although it was different with you. He had a horrible father in his past. Both for him and for his siblings and his mother. All that mistreatment left its mark on him, but he swore not to repeat the cycle if he were to be a father one day. "I will protect you with my life. You are carrying my son now, I will not let any creature get to you, much less any person to hurt you. You are under my protection, you and my little brat." He whispered next to your ear as one of his hands went to your belly. "Are you happy about this, Sanemi?" You asked, lifting your head to look at him "You have no idea how much." Sanemi said before kissing you with passion. "You are giving me a family. Why wouldn't you be happy, huh?" He poked your nose and you smiled."Come here, let's take a bath." He said, carrying you in his arms

[lunaritex]

𓏲࣪ ִֶָ ︎ִֶָ THE ETERNAL OFFERING 𖤐. — nishimura riki

(๑>◡<๑) ৎ୭ nishimura riki + fem! reader immortal x immortal trope explicit suggestive content implied mature content 𐙚 warning mentions of reader being a sacrifice in the start religious themes god themes implied romantic relationship fighting . . !? & 10991 — m.list

note. i wanted to write something for riki and then the thought of him being a god came to my mind and that was how this was born... i might have gotten carried away though, whoops! i would like to say that im kinda proud of this so uh yeah. this is for you! @riekiss

The village had been bustling for days with preparations, each corner alive with whispered prayers and hushed conversations. The townsfolk moved with purpose, weaving wreaths of wildflowers, crafting intricate charms, and marking the paths leading out of the village with symbols meant to call for protection. For as long as you could remember, this ritual had been woven into the very fabric of your lives—a grim promise to the gods in exchange for your survival. 

The choice of the next offering was as natural as the changing of the seasons. From the moment you were old enough to understand, it had been gently yet unmistakably instilled in you that you were the one. The elders and your family had called it a blessing, stating how you are their savior and how you would be remembered for many years down the road. You, on the other hand, did not think much about it. 

Your village has gone through one natural disaster after another. At first, it was raining cats and dogs to the point that your rooftop collapsed, nearly crushing you and your parents who were taking shelter. Followed by the blight, stealing your precious food and water sources, leaving the villagers on the verge of starving to death. Anyone with eyes could tell everyone was reaching their limit and they had to do something, fast. And that was how you came in. 

As the sky turned a bruised shade of twilight, the leader of your village, accompanied by a few elders, arrived at your doorstep. Their expressions were somber but resolved. The leader, a man with deep-set wrinkles, nodded in acknowledgment as you opened the door. 

“We’re here to remind you, child,” he began, his voice soft but unwavering, “that tomorrow will mark the day-” 

“Don’t worry, I won’t run,” you interrupted, knowing the implications behind his words. Your response had an immediate effect on him, judging from how his shoulders sagged with relief and he nodded before leaving, allowing you to close the door. 

The night before the offering, your family gathered for what you knew would be your final meal together. None of your parents uttered a single word to you, both were frighteningly calm despite how their one and only daughter would be sent away and never returning. But you have grown used to their silent treatment. In your eyes, they were not your parents but instead, just a couple who had taken it upon themselves to ensure you grow up well enough to fit the role of a sacrifice. Nothing more and nothing less.

The next day, you were dressed in simple, white robes—an offering garb provided by the village elders. It felt surreal, as if you were watching someone else preparing for this cruel fate that was bestowed upon you; an unfortunate victim. You stepped out of your house, turning to see your parents standing by the entrance with unreadable expressions on their faces. As much as you wished to just turn and walk away, you could not. 

“...Thank you for everything,” you bowed and left without waiting for their response. Although, your ears picked up the faint sounds of muffled sobbing but you did not bother to turn around. 

You continued walking to the main entrance of the village, where the priest and a small group of elders waited. They said little as they guided you along a path toward the mountainside, where legend held that the gods sometimes descended to receive their offerings. Finally, you reached a quiet clearing surrounded by ancient trees, their trunks thick and twisted, casting shadows that seemed to deepen as the sun began to rise. 

The air felt thick, almost alive, as if the shadows themselves were watching, waiting. The priest performed a brief ritual, murmuring words that faded into the air. There was only silence when he finished, broken by the faint rustling of leaves and the distant call of a bird. 

The shadows in the trees seemed to grow darker, the light around us dimming until the forest was bathed in an unnatural twilight. The air stilled, a deep, suffocating silence settling over everyone. Then, a gust of icy wind swept through, sending chills down your spine. You felt a presence—a weight that pressed down on the space around you, as if the shadows themselves had taken form. Whispers seemed to drift through the darkness, soft and unsettling. Your heart hammered as you scanned the treeline, searching for any sign of movement.

And then, he appeared. 

Riki, the God of Shadows, emerged from the dark like a living specter. His figure seemed to dissolve into the surrounding shadows and then coalesce again, each step a silent ripple across the ground. He wore black robes that seemed to move on their own accord, the fabric shifting and swirling around him as though woven from darkness itself. His face was otherworldly—beautiful, yet cold, with eyes like polished obsidian. Those eyes settled on you, sharp and unyielding, his gaze as penetrating as a blade. 

Gasps and stifled cries echoed behind you as the villagers took in the sight of him. No one had ever seen the God of Shadows before. Legends spoke of him as a faceless presence, a mysterious deity who commands fear everywhere he goes. But here he was, standing in your midst, as real as the earth beneath your feet. His piercing gaze swept over the trembling villagers for a fleeting moment before settling on you, his eyes holding a strange, unreadable expression. 

Your body felt frozen, caught between terror and awe. As he approached, the shadows seemed to bow to him, the darkness shifting and folding around his every step. He stopped just a few centimeters away, studying you with an unreadable expression. His silence stretched, heavy and oppressive, as if he was measuring your every soul. 

“You must the offering,” he said, eyes fixated on you and for a brief moment, you wondered if he had the ability to look into your soul. 

You struggled to find your voice, but somehow, you managed to nod. "Yes… I am."

His expression softened ever so slightly, though his expression remained unreadable. “Do you understand what this means?”

His question hung in the air, but before you could speak, someone amongst the crowd of villagers had spoken up, interrupting the tense silence. 

The elder who had paid you a visit yesterday, stepped forward. “No,” he said, his voice trembling yet determined. “This is not right. You should not be here, Riki.” 

His words wavered, but he pressed on, his gaze fierce as he continued. “You are not a god. You are nothing but a shadow, a curse cast upon this world. You are not worthy to be a god.”

Murmurs of uncertainty rippled through the gathered villagers. Some looked on in silent awe at Riki, while others shrank back, afraid but unwilling to show it. Riki’s eyes shifted, his gaze cold and unwavering as he turned his attention to the elder, a sharp, disdainful sneer pulling at the corners of his mouth. 

"And what would you know of gods, old man?" Riki’s voice was like the quietest whisper, yet somehow it seemed to resonate over the crowd, filling the air with a foreboding chill. "I have existed longer than your ancestors have drawn breath. You speak of what you do not understand."

The elder, visibly shaking now, stubbornly held his ground, puffing himself up with a courage born of desperation. "You are not welcome here," he insisted, raising a hand as if he could ward off the god of shadows with a single gesture. "I command you to leave."

Before anyone could react, another elder, perhaps emboldened by his comrade’s words, lunged forward, a crude charm in hand. He thrust it toward Riki, chanting something incoherent, his voice trembling with conviction. But before he could close the distance, Riki merely lifted a hand, his expression unfazed and almost bored.

A dark shadow surged from Riki’s fingers, swift and effortless. The elder was caught mid-step, swept off his feet by an invisible force. The charm slipped from his fingers, falling uselessly to the ground as he was thrown back, landing in the dirt with a gasp of pain. The villagers gasped, horror dawning on their faces as they watched the elder struggle to sit up, visibly shaken.

"Any other brave souls?" Riki’s voice dripped with mocking amusement as he scanned the crowd, his sneer deepening. Shadows coiled around him, dark tendrils that seemed to pulse with his heartbeat, amplifying the unsettling power radiating from him. No one dared to move. Whispers rippled through the villagers as they shrank back, clutching each other in fright, eyes wide as they took in the extent of his power.

You stood frozen, caught between terror and awe as you observed the scene unfold itself from head to toe. Riki turned back to you, his expression softening just a fraction, his gaze still intense but tempered with something unreadable. 

“Now,” he murmured, his voice only for your ears. “Do you understand the gravity of the situation you are in? The moment you agree, you have to leave your old life behind and you will not return anymore.” 

You opened your mouth to speak, but the words would not come. How could you even explain your choice? The pressure of so many watching eyes, the weight of your village’s expectations… In truth, you had not understood what it truly meant to be an offering until this very moment, standing before a god. 

Riki’s eyes flickered, as though picking up on your hesitation. His voice softened, though it held a strange kind of power. “You are not here by accident. You were chosen—whether by fate or by their desperation." He glanced at the huddled villagers, his gaze unreadable. "But what you offer is not mere obedience. To stay by my side is a choice that you, and only you, can make. Are you ready to accept that?"

As you looked at the villagers, you saw no sign of your parents. You remembered how the villagers had treated you and that was when you made up your mind: you will leave this life behind and start a new life, this time with Riki by your side. 

“I will accept that,” you said, your voice a whisper meant for him only, “but on one condition.” 

Riki arched an eyebrow. “And what would that condition be? Tell me, and I will make it come true.” 

“Let them die,” you said, voice unwavering. “Let the village fall. I am no longer tied to them. If I am to be your offering, then they deserve nothing from you. Not your protection, nor your mercy.” 

Riki’s expression shifted, a glimmer of surprise in his gaze, followed by an intrigue that darkened the depths of his eyes. He regarded you in silence, his lips curving into a faint smile that carried both admiration and something darker—a recognition of your resolve.

“You would see them perish?” he murmured, studying you with a newfound intensity. “The very same people who raised you, who sheltered you? You wish to abandon them to their fate?” 

You nodded, your voice growing steadier with every word. “They have abandoned me first. If they are so willing to sacrifice me to save themselves, then let them face the consequences of their choice. They should no longer be your concern… nor mine.” 

A flicker of satisfaction flashed in Riki's eyes, as if he found something in your words that pleased him. His shadows pulsed, swirling like a storm gathering in the depths of his power. He steps closer and closer, only stopping until you are within distance. You fought the urge to flinch when he reached out a hand to caress your cheek with such gentleness that you would have assumed you were lovers. To your surprise, his palm was not cold but instead, it was warm. Warm like a regular mortal’s palm. 

“Very well,” he said, his voice a low, velvety whisper that sent a chill down your spine. “Consider your condition accepted.” He paused, leaning close enough that you could feel the faint, icy touch of his power radiating from him. "You are bound to me now, and I will have no ties to this village. They will be left to face whatever comes without my hand to save them."

A strange sense of relief settled within you, a liberation that was both terrifying and exhilarating. You had severed the final thread that connected you to your past, embracing a future that lay in shadows you had yet to understand. The villagers watched in stunned silence, as if sensing the shift between you, but unable to grasp its meaning. Some tried to call out, murmuring half-hearted words of comfort or farewell, but you did not look back.

With a single gesture, Riki enveloped you in his shadows, his power sweeping over you in a cold, dark embrace. The village, with all its fears and demands, disappeared behind a curtain of darkness. You felt nothing as it vanished from sight—no regret, no sorrow.

~

The shadows dispersed, revealing a spacious bedroom unlike any place you have ever seen. A wall of ceiling-to-floor windows stretched along one side of the room, offering a breathtaking view of the ocean below, where waves rolled in dark blue and silver under a twilight sky. The horizon stretched endlessly, blending sea and sky in a seamless, misty line. 

The room had a refined yet faintly modern touch. The floor was a smooth, polished stone with a subtle shimmer, and a plush, oversized bed was positioned in the center, draped in soft black and charcoal fabrics. Subtle touches of luxury were scattered throughout—a glass vase on the nightstand with a single dark rose, polished wooden panels along the walls, and a sleek, minimal chandelier that hung above, casting a warm, muted glow over the space. The ceiling was high, while rich, heavy curtains hung beside the window panels, ready to enclose the room in complete privacy when drawn.

Through a set of glass doors, a balcony beckoned, offering an unobstructed view of the vast ocean below. The air was crisp, carrying a hint of salt and mystery, as if this place existed on the very edge of the world. You took a step forward, unable to hide your awe at the majestic space. Turning, you found Riki standing beside you, watching you intently. His gaze held an expectant glimmer, and you noticed him fidgeting slightly, shifting from foot to foot. 

He seemed almost…nervous, an unusual expression for someone who commanded such fear and awe from others. It was almost as if he was waiting for you to say something—anything—that would affirm your approval. For a moment, he looked less like a god and more like a young boy eager for praise, his shoulders tensing, fingers brushing against each other absently. He glanced at the room, then back at you, a flicker of insecurity passing over his face. 

“What do you think?” he asked, his voice soft but carrying a faint, hopeful note. It was a huge contrast to his intimidating demeanor earlier, but it puts you at ease—knowing that he trusts you enough to show another side of him. 

You took a slow breath, allowing a small smile to creep onto your face as you met his gaze. “I think you did a wonderful job.” 

Your praise seemed to have an immediate effect on him. His expression softened, relief and a hint of satisfaction crossing his face. The shadows around him settled down, as though your approval had brought him a sense of calm. But curiosity still tugged at you, and you could not hold back the question forming in your mind. 

“But why would you do all of this for someone like me?” You asked, voice almost a whisper. “I’m just…a mortal.” 

For a moment, the god seemed almost taken aback. Then, a faint smile touched his lips, and his gaze softened, a shadow of something like nostalgia flickered in his eyes. He approached you, closing the distance with every step he took. The shadows around him grew smaller and smaller, until it was only his silhouette being reflected on the floor, making him more humane. He stopped in front of you, maintaining a small distance but he was close enough to make your heart stop beating for a moment. 

“You think you’re just a mortal,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with an emotion you could not quite place. His eyes caught the dim light, almost glowing as he continued. “But I have watched you long before you ever knew of my existence. From the moment you were born, I’ve been there… drawn to you in ways I couldn’t explain.” 

You looked at him, startled, and he gave a small, almost bashful smile, as if he, the God of Shadows, was admitting a secret. 

“Every year, I would watch you grow, seeing glimpses of your life,” he continued. “Your kindness, your loyalty… even your pain. I’ve seen it all.” His voice softened as he looked down for a brief moment, as if remembering the countless moments he had witnessed.

“And as you grew,” he went on, “I couldn’t help but feel… connected to you. Bound by something more powerful than time or distance.” He lifted his gaze, and in that moment, his eyes held a warmth that seemed to pierce through the very shadows surrounding him.

"Perhaps that’s why I’ve prepared all this for you,” he finished, his tone barely above a whisper. "You may think you’re merely human, but to me… you have always been someone significant. Someone worth waiting for."

You were speechless as you listened to him. If he was not a god, you would have assumed he was a regular human being, just a simple boy who had finally plucked up his courage to confess. But the mere fact that he was a god, someone who deserves respect and someone who can destroy anything and everything standing in his path, is spilling his heart out to you: a mortal, does wonders to your heart. 

“I… I don’t know what to say,” you stuttered over your word and Riki chuckled, finding great amusement in your embarrassment. 

“You don’t have to say anything. The last thing I want is to pressure you to make the wrong choice,” the smile he gave you does not meet his eyes and for a moment, you felt remorseful for your response but he continued. “How about I give you a tour of the apartment? I’m sure you'll find it to be a lovely and comfortable place to stay in.” 

The entire apartment was enveloped in a faintly modern elegance that mirrored the bedroom’s luxurious yet mysterious design, with muted tones, shadowy corners, and fine details that hinted at his taste. It was grand yet inviting, a place built to impress without overwhelming.

You walked beside him as he led you out of the bedroom. Both of you had to walk a short distance to the flight of curved stairs. You almost slipped and would have ungracefully tumbled down the stairs if Riki did not steadied you in the nick of time. You felt your ears flushed red when you felt his large hands rested on the sides of your waist, his fingers nearly touching. Your back rested against his chest, upper body slightly tilted backward. 

“You should be more careful, unless you want me to carry you around to prevent you from slipping,” he teased, his hot breath grazing against the back of your neck with every word he spoke. The angle was awkward, considering how he was standing a few steps behind you, making him tower over your figure. 

“No thank you, I don’t want to be a bother,” you apologized, straightening yourself as you moved away and continued your descent down the stairs until you reached the first floor. 

The living room was stunning. Expansive floor-to-ceiling windows stretched along the far wall, allowing the view of the dark ocean to blend with the room itself. The ocean shimmered faintly under the evening sky, casting a soft, silver glow over the space. A set of deep charcoal couches framed the room, their plush cushions adorned with silken pillows in shades of obsidian and slate. The furniture was both elegant and comfortable, almost inviting you to sink into its embrace.

In the center of the room was a sleek, low glass coffee table, artfully arranged with a few ornate candles and a bowl filled with obsidian stones. Nearby, a minimalist fireplace embedded within the wall flickered with a cold, bluish flame, casting an ethereal glow that filled the room with a soft warmth.

Bookshelves lined one side of the living room, filled with volumes bound in leather and delicate metalwork. A series of framed, abstract paintings in muted grays and blues adorned the walls, blending seamlessly with the room’s monochromatic theme. Elegant, unobtrusive lighting was scattered strategically across the ceiling, casting a soft, almost magical glow that danced along the floor and highlighted the darker elements of the decoration. 

Riki glanced over his shoulder as you took it all in, his eyes glimmering with a quiet, almost bashful pride. He waited for you to take in the details, his posture relaxed yet attentive, as though he was searching your face for any sign of approval or delight.

He gestured subtly to the window, where the balcony beyond opened to the endless expanse of ocean and sky. “This is your view,” he said, his voice barely above a murmur, “as long as you’re here.”

You stepped forward, getting closer to the opened row of windows as you rested your hands on the railings. You took in the jaw-dropping view with awe and amazement written all over your face. Riki stood by your left but you were too entranced by the view to even notice that he was admiring your expression, with a soft smile on his face. 

“Why do you make it sound like I have a choice in the first place? I came here on my free will,” you replied in a light-hearted manner, although that was not the implication Riki got. Instead, he looked rather guilty for a moment before he composed himself. 

���Do you regret coming here?” He murmured, sounding almost afraid the moment the words left his lips. 

You turned to him. “No, I don’t,” you paused, forming your jumbled thoughts into proper sentences. The god was surprised at how easily you answered his question as you continued, “I don’t feel any connection to the people there. To them, I was nothing but merely a disposable pawn, nothing more and nothing less. That’s why I chose to leave my old life behind and start a new life from scratch.” 

Riki hums in acknowledgement. “You might not believe me, but I think that’s very brave of you to forgo your past.” 

“What’s this? I didn’t expect to hear a god praising a human being,” you teased. Your remark was enough to make him exasperatedly roll his eyes, “but thank you, Riki. That means a lot coming from someone like you,” you continued, your voice filled with sincerity as you thanked him. 

He smiled and with the way a gentle gust of wind blew past, causing his hair to fly about combined with the setting sunlight hitting his face in just the right angle, made your breath hitch in your throat. You were momentarily caught off-guard with how attractive he looked, especially with how he had bangs partially shielding his left eye. Realizing you were staring at him in prolonged silence, you awkwardly cleared your throat and tore your eyes away from him. 

“W-Well, I think it’ll be best for me to uh, take a shower,” you squeaked out, dashing back into the living room without waiting for his response, leaving the amused god behind. 

~

You spent the next few weeks familiarizing yourself with the apartment, exploring every inch to your heart’s content. Your relationship with Riki was unknown. It was neither romantic or platonic, at least that was what you think. He treats you well and you are living a comfortable and luxurious life, thanks to his status. Being a god has many advantages, and one of them means whatever you wish for, it will appear before your face. All the god had to do was to snap his fingers and be it clothes, food or accessories, it will appear out of thin air. 

You knew his title but yet, you could not help but be curious of his other abilities, other than the ones you have seen and heard of, bringing you to your current situation. You were laying on the sofa in the living room, your head resting on the armrest with your right leg propped up as you rested your left leg over your right knee. You were engrossed in reading a book to the point that you were oblivious that Riki had made his appearance. 

“What are you reading?” 

You visibly flinched, dropping the book and yelped when it landed squarely on your nose. Groaning, you removed the book to see the culprit responsible for scaring you appearing in your sight. He stood near the armrest of the sofa, looking down at you, amused with your reaction. You shot him a glare as you pushed yourself up, placing your bookmark between the two pages you last stopped at. 

“Don’t do that again or I might die due to a heart attack,” you scowled, lightly smacking his shoulder. 

“That won’t happen, and even if it did, I can merely make it start again,” he shrugged his shoulders. Riki sat on the armrest with one knee resting on the edge. He leans over slightly to get a glimpse of the book cover, only for him to quirk an eyebrow when he recognized the title. 

“I didn’t know you’re a romantic at heart,” he commented, silently patting his lap. 

You rolled your eyes, adjusting your position so you could rest your head on his lap, as per his request. He preens at your obedience, running his hand through your hair and your eyelids fluttered close at his touch. 

“Where were you?” You asked, eyes glancing up to him. You closed your eyes when he poked your forehead. 

“I was busy with something, nothing you have to worry about,” he casually replied but you were not pleased with his vague response. 

“Tell me, unless you’re hiding something from me,” you accused, narrowing your eyes as you pushed yourself up, turning to face him. He dropped his hand, resting it on his clothed knee and stared at you, the corners of his lips threatening to curl upwards. 

You frowned, “Did you went out there killing—” 

You were cut off mid-sentence when Riki cupped your face, tilting it up for him to slot your lips together. This was not the first time he had kissed you to silence you and it always works. His lips pressed against yours, firm yet tender and you felt your heart leap in response. The kiss was unhurried, as if he were savoring each moment, each breath. When he finally pulled away, his eyes held a mischievous glint, an unspoken answer lingering in his gaze. 

“Some questions,” he murmured, voice low, almost teasing as he drew circles on your cheek, “are better left for another time.” 

You blinked up at him, feeling a mix of frustration and curiosity swirling in your chest. You furrowed your eyebrows slightly, the beginnings of a protest forming on your lips as you opened your mouth to speak. But Riki’s expression softened, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. Before you could utter a word, he leaned in again, silencing your unspoken question with another kiss; more intense than the previous kiss. His arms traveled down to wrap around your waist, pulling you closer as his lips moved against yours, warm and coaxing, unraveling any resistance you might have. 

You could feel your body going pliant in his grip. You rested your hands on his shoulders; a habit you had gained as you parted your lips upon feeling him asking for permission. A breathy whine was ripped from the depths of your throat when his tongue explored your cavern with one, thorough lick. You grabbed a fistful of his abyssal-like hair, roughly tugging it when he teasingly bit down on your lip. Your action elicited a pleased sigh that you eagerly swallowed. 

His fingers threaded through your hair, anchoring you as his touch grew a shade more intense, deeper, making your heart race. Riki slid his hand underneath the shirt you wore—his shirt, to be exact, teasingly moving upwards on your spine. His touch leaves goosebumps in its wake and you shudder; the movement making him smile into the kiss. When he finally pulled away, his previously styled hair was now messed up, with some strands stretching out at different angles. His lips curved into a soft, satisfied smile, his gaze holding yours with a silent promise. 

“Trust me,” he murmured, his thumb tracing a gentle line along your swollen bottom lip. “The answers will come in time. But not today.” 

You huffed, moving your hands down to grab him by the front of his shirt and tugged him forward. Your sudden action caught him off-guard. Riki’s eyes widened momentarily, his hands tightening around your waist. You shot him a teasing grin, looking at him with half-lidded eyes as you leaned in until your lips were brushing against one another. 

“If that’s the case, then how about we picked up where we left off?” You cooed, taking note of how the god’s eyes darkened. 

“You’re playing a dangerous game here,” he chuckled, easily carrying you in his arms in one fluid movement. Squeaking, you clung onto him for dear life as he led you to where the bedroom was, “but fine by me, I guess it’s my responsibility to indulge in you once in a while.” 

~

You woke up, feeling much refreshed than usual. The thought of the reason made your cheeks flushed red as you squirmed about on the comfortable bed. Your ears picked up the rustling of sheets from behind, only for you to be pulled backward. Your back hit a firm chest and you made no point to turn, not when you knew who it was. Shivers ran down your spine when you felt butterfly kisses planted on the back of your neck. 

“Good morning, did you sleep well?” Riki asked, his voice raspy. You remained silent, eyes closed as you pretended you were still sleeping. Although, both of you knew that he could see through your facade. The only form of warning you got was the curl of his lips against your skin before he launched his attack.

“Riki—wait—no!” You managed to squeak out before laughter overtook you. 

His fingers moved with relentless intent, tickling you mercilessly. You twisted and turned, trying desperately to escape, but his grip on your waist only tightened, holding you in place. 

“Stop! I—can’t—breathe!” You choked out between fits of laughter, swatting at his hands in a futile attempt to fend him off.

His face lit up with a playful grin, a rare boyishness breaking through his usually composed demeanor. “Stop?” he teased, voice lit with mock innocence. “But you look like you’re having fun.” 

You glared at him through your laughter, breathless and utterly helpless. Your attempts to wiggle free only seemed to amuse him further, his hold steady as if he were effortlessly taming the chaos he had created. 

“Riki, I mean it!” You said through gasps, your voice shaking with laughter as tears pricked the corners of your eyes. “You’re going to—ah—pay for this!”

“Oh?” He smirked, pausing for just a second, his hands still resting on your waist. “And how exactly do you plan to make me pay?” His playful tone and raised brow made it clear he was not the least bit threatened by your empty threat.

You seized the brief moment of reprieve to catch your breath, your heart racing from both the tickling and the laughter. “I—I'll figure it out!” You shot back, squirming away the moment he paused, wanting to create as much distance as you could. 

“Good luck with that,” he quipped, deciding to show some mercy. 

Riki remained where he was, now sitting up on the bed with the crumpled sheets covering his lap as he observed you getting out of bed. He could not help but snicker when he saw how your legs trembled slightly and how you had to hold onto the nearest surface for support. You shot him a death glare but the god was unfazed. Instead, he sends you an infuriating smirk that makes you have the urge to wipe it off his face. 

“Need any help?” He asks, resting his chin on his left fist. 

“No thank you, I can handle this by myself,” you retorted, limping your way to the bathroom and pointedly closed the door, shutting out his laughter. 

~

When you finished getting dressed, you went to the living room and were greeted by a familiar face who was engaged in what seemed to be a serious conversation with Riki, judging from the solemn expressions on their faces. You moved to the kitchen, wanting to pour yourself a glass of water when your appearance caught their attention. 

“Good morning (Name), did you sleep well?” Jay greeted you, giving you a polite and friendly smile as he waved at you from where he sat. 

You returned the smile and wave, “Good morning Jay, and yes I did, thank you. What brings you here? It’s rare to see you dropping by,” you asked after greeting him, entering the living room after pouring two glasses of water; one for yourself and one for him. 

Jay accepted the glass with a grateful nod of his head while Riki scoffs. “You didn’t have to do that for him,” he said in a sulky tone, pulling you down so you could sit on his lap, his hand resting on your thigh. 

Jay blinks at the sight of the two of you before looking at Riki, who took it upon himself to rest his chin on your shoulder before answering you. “It’s nothing you have to worry about, just the regular stuff about our responsibilities.” He downs the water in one go, leaving the now empty glass on the coffee table and rises to his feet. 

“I should get going, I wouldn't want to disrupt your time together,” he said, making your ears turn red.

“You weren’t disrupting,” you protested, but the grip on your thigh tightened at your response. Jay merely smiled, biding the both of you farewell before he left without you seeing him out. 

“Now that he’s gone, how about we head out today? I think the weather’s perfect,” Riki asked, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he greedily inhaled your scent. 

“Where are we going?” You asked, leaning back against him. 

“We can descend to the mortal realm and visit a town if you’re keen. I heard there’s a festival happening today,” he proposed. 

Hearing this, you instantly turned and your face lit up with excitement at the mention of the festival. “Then what are we waiting for? We should get going.” 

You jumped off his lap, rushing up the stairs to the bedroom to get changed. Riki remained where he was, leaning back with his hands resting on the sofa behind him. He observed your retreating figure with a soft smile on his face, endeared with your behavior. It did not take you long to get dressed, choosing comfort over style and when you were done, you went back down to the living room. The god had changed out of his usual clothes, now cladded in black from head to toe. What piqued your interest however, was a pair of thinly-framed glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. 

It was unfair how Riki looks even better when all he did was to wear glasses. He smirks when he sees how you were staring at him, mesmerized by the sight. “As much as I’d like for you to keep looking at me, I think we should go before we’re too late.” 

His response brought heat to your cheeks, flustered that you were caught red-handed. You held his outstretched hand as he used his ability to bring you to the town where the festival is taking place. Despite having experienced it a few times, you were still not used to the feeling. It was strange, for it feels like all of your senses were ripped away from you, only for them to abruptly return to you when you arrived at your destination. 

The shadows dissipate, revealing a lively town with people everywhere. You took in your surroundings with awe, watching as some stopped to look at the store displays that were set up along a straight path. Overwhelmed with excitement, you wasted no time in dragging Riki along to visit one of the nearest stalls. You stopped by the front and were instantly hit with the fragrance of skewers being roasted by the side. Your mouth waters and you point at the row of sticks.

“Hi, I’d like to get two please,” you requested, and the owner nodded, turning two sticks back and forth before handing it to you. Thanking him, you paid the appropriate money and handed one stick to Riki. 

“Here, you should try it,” you said, pushing the stick closer to his face. The god scrunches his nose as he warily eyes the food. He ended up leaning forward to take a small nibble and you observed his reaction. You observed how he slowly chewed, eyebrows furrowed with a thoughtful look on his face that was eventually replaced with genuine surprise. The sight of his expressions changing made you laugh. You playfully elbowed him as he took the stick from your grip. 

“It’s good, right?” You asked and he nodded, now taking a huge bite out of it. 

“Yes, it’s better than I imagined. You seem awfully excited about coming here. Have you never been to a festival before?” He quirked an eyebrow, gently pulling you along so the both of you could venture down the streets to explore the other stalls. 

You shook your head with a sad smile, “No, this is my first time. Ever since I was born and the moment I was told I would be used as an offering, my parents forbid me from stepping out of the house. I was practically locked up and they had stolen my freedom.” 

Riki hums, running his thumb along your knuckles. “On the bright side, you have your well-deserved freedom now. That doesn’t sound too bad, does it?” 

You laughed, squeezing his hand and you felt him return the gesture in a heartbeat. “Yes, I’m as free as a bird now and it’s all thanks to you.” 

The next stall that caught your attention was a stall selling charms. Intrigued, you stopped to admire the displays and it seems like the owner was busy with another customer. Riki stood behind you, watching over your shoulder as you purse your lips, pondering on which design to choose. You leaned back to rest your back against his chest, turning your head slightly towards him. 

“Do you see any you like?” You asked. He was about to reply when a horrified gasp interrupted your conversation. You faced the front, surprised to see the owner; an elderly woman pointing a bony finger at Riki. 

Her lips parted in a gasp of pure horror. “It can’t be…” she whispered, her voice quaking with a mix of fear and disbelief. Her frail frame seemed to shrink further as she pointed a bony finger at Riki, her eyes wide and wild. “The God of Shadows,” she breathed.

Your confusion deepened as you turned to Riki, only to find his expression eerily calm, though a subtle smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. The tension in the air was palpable, as though the shadows around you had grown heavier, darker. The woman’s voice rose in a shaky accusation. “You… you cursed her!” she cried, her words dripping with terror and despair. “That poor girl—she has no idea what you’ve done, does she? How her soul is bound to your darkness!”

You blinked, startled and utterly lost. “What is she talking about?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper as you looked between her and Riki.

But Riki only sneered, the amused glint in his eyes contrasting starkly with the woman’s trembling outrage. “Old habits die hard,” he said lazily, his tone dripping with indifference. “You always were good at spinning tales to scare the gullible.”

The elder woman’s hand shook as she clutched the talisman tighter, her gaze never leaving Riki’s. “This is no tale,” she hissed. “You’ve marked her, haven’t you? She’s yours now, whether she knows it or not.”

Riki’s smirk only widened as he turned his full attention to the elder woman, his shadowy aura growing thicker, almost tangible. “Marked her?” he drawled, his tone dripping with mockery. “Why don’t I show you just how marked she is?”

Before you could react, Riki leaned in, his breath warm against your skin as he pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to your cheek. The gesture was light, fleeting, but it sent a jolt of shock through you—and absolute terror through the stall owner. A blood-curdling scream erupted from her lips, her eyes widening as though she had witnessed the world itself shattering. “No! Stay away from her, you vile creature!” she screeched, her voice cracking with panic.

Her trembling hands fumbled for something on her stall, and in a blur of desperation, she grabbed the nearest item—a ceremonial dagger. Its blade glinted in the dim light, etched with ancient symbols that seemed to hum with power. With surprising speed for someone her age, she lunged at Riki, her face twisted with both fear and determination. “You won’t take her, demon!” she cried as she swung the dagger.

Riki stepped back with effortless grace, but not fast enough. The blade grazed his cheek, leaving a shallow, crimson line in its wake. A single drop of blood trailed down his face, stark against his skin. The crowd around you gasped, a ripple of shock spreading as the tension escalated. But Riki did not flinch. If anything, the sight of the dagger and the sting of the cut only seemed to amuse him further. Your eyes widened at the sight of the crimson liquid. You quickly moved, hands reaching out to cup his face and your left thumb gingerly wiped the blood away, leaving a smudge behind. 

“Are you alright?” You murmured, only focused on the god standing before you, despite how you were in the center of everyone’s attention and how they were observing your every movement. Your sudden action caused whispers and murmurs amongst the growing audience but you turned a blind eye to them. None of them were worth your attention. Not when Riki is in front of you. 

He leaned into your touch, like a touch-starved cat and nodded, “I’m fine, don’t worry. It’ll heal within seconds.”

The elder woman’s expression twisted in disbelief and fury. “You… You’ve bewitched her!” she spat, pointing the dagger toward him again. “Get out of here, the both of you. I don’t want my business to be ruined.” 

Riki smirks, his hand snaking around your waist, pulling you gently yet possessively toward him. “If that’s what you wish. Good luck with your business,” he raised a hand as he directed you away from the stall, raising a hand to bid the fuming woman farewell. It was only when you were out of sight then you questioned him. 

“What was that about?” You inquired, curiosity getting the better of you. 

“I think she was a shaman and she must’ve seen through my disguise,” he sneers, eyes facing forward as he makes a turn to the left, leading you further away from the crowded street. The people around you were oblivious to the fact that a God was walking amongst them. All of them were too busy minding their respective lives. 

“Perhaps I should’ve killed her,” he continues, sounding almost as if he was deep in thought. 

You raised an eyebrow at his sentence. “And how would you do that?” 

“I have my ways and besides, I’m not the God of Shadows for nothing,” he shrugged his shoulders. “But never mind that, do you still want to continue or are you feeling tired already?” 

You sighed, “Let’s go home. My feet are starting to hurt from all the walking we did.” 

“Of course.” 

~ 

A few weeks passed but the encounter with the elderly woman has never left your mind. You could not focus on any of your tasks, be it as something simple as reading a book or making yourself a snack to eat. Riki was the same as always, showing no signs of indifference. A part of you wanted to ask him for answers but another part of you knew what his response would be. He will avoid your questions like the plague and provide vague answers, choosing to beat around the bush instead of getting to the point. 

The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the night outside, the soft glow of the moon filtering through the window. Riki stood close, his dark eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. His hand reached up, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering.

“Why do you always look at me like that?” he murmured, his voice low and teasing, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Like what?” you whispered, barely managing to find your voice as your heartbeat thundered in your ears.

“Like you’re trying to figure me out,” he said, stepping closer, his hand now tracing a feather-light path along your jawline. “Spoiler alert: you never will.”

“Riki…” You let out a pleased sigh when your lips brushed against one another, eyelids fluttering close. 

Your arms loosely wrapped themselves around his neck, using it as an anchor to ground yourself as your body grew limp in his hold. The god smiles into the kiss, taking his sweet time in tasting you. The pace heavily depends on his mood. It could be sloppy and messy and sometimes, it could be gentle and delicate, as if you were a piece of fragile glass that could shatter anytime. You whined when he nipped your bottom lip, making you tug his hair as a form of warning. He apologized by running his tongue along the seams of your lips before pulling away, chuckling at the sound of protest you made. 

This time, you were the one to close the distance and he allows it, allowing you to be greedy. Riki’s hand slid to the back of your neck, tilting your head slightly to deepen the kiss, while his other hand snaked its way underneath your shirt, running his hand up your spine, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. The kiss grew desperate and you sensed it before it actually happened. The temperature in the room changed and you were being pushed back onto the bed with Riki now hovering over you, who has not pulled away the entire time. 

You melted into him, arching your back off the bed to press yourself against him, wanting to feel his body. Your hands gripped the fabric of his shirt as he forcefully parted your lips with his tongue. Muffled sounds akin to whimpers and mewls dripped from your lips. The taste of him was downright intoxicating and ever since he touched you, you were beyond addicted to his touch. Perhaps it was due to how touch-starved you were that made you drunk on Riki, where all you could think about was him and only him. 

He kissed like he fought—with precision, passion, and the undeniable intent to leave you utterly breathless. His lips trailed to the corner of your mouth, then along your jaw, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. “You drive me insane, you know that?” he whispered against your skin, his tongue darting out to lick your neck. 

“Good,” you managed to tease, your own breath hitching as you tilted your head back, granting him more access to your unblemished skin. You felt him mouthing the area just below your jawline, not low enough for the collars of your shirts to conceal it but not high enough for you to easily hide it either. 

You bite down on your lips, suppressing the whine when you feel Riki sucks on your skin. The sensation was nearly enough to make your eyes roll up. Your grip on his shirt tightened when you felt him moving to another area to leave another hickey. 

“R-Riki, what are you—” You asked, only to let out a pathetic mewl when he teasingly bit down on your skin, not hard enough to draw blood but hard enough to elicit a reaction out of you. 

“Sorry darling,” he chuckles, his hot breath grazing against your skin. The god pulls away to admire his handiwork, taking note of the marks he left behind; a firm and visible reminder that you belong to him. 

“You’re impossible,” you grumbled, lips curling down in a pout. Riki’s eyes softened at the sight. He leans in to kiss you on the lips and you gasped when you felt him pushing your shirt upwards, revealing more of your skin to him. 

“Sounds like you don’t accept my apology. Perhaps I can show it in another way instead,” he grins and you could only gulp, mentally preparing yourself for the incoming torture from him. 

~

You took a deep breath, inhaling the salty scent of the ocean and the fresh air. You squint your eyes when a strong gust of breeze blows past, only to yelp when your hat is blown away. A hand shot out, appearing in your sight and managed to grab the hat before it was gone. The figure moved to stand before you and he placed the hat on your head. 

“You should be more careful. What if you get blown away next?” Riki teased. 

“If that happens, you better catch me,” you retorted, leaning in to press a chaste kiss on his lips. You laughed at how he chased after your lips when you pulled away. 

“You know, as cute as the two of you are, I’ve been standing here for a solid five minutes and I’m starting to think I’ve turned invisible.” 

You turned to your left and saw Heeseung standing a few feet away. He was dressed in casual clothes; a plain black undershirt with a denim jacket over it and a pair of pants. No one would be able to tell he was the God of War. Smiling, you waved at the approaching figure as you moved away from Riki. 

“Heeseung, what brings you here?” You greeted him once he was closer and gave him a hug, to which he returned the gesture before pulling away. 

“I’m here for Riki actually. I need to talk to him about something,” the other replied, eyes glancing in his direction. 

You looked between the two and nodded in understanding. “I see, well I guess I shouldn’t be listening then.” You were about to walk away but Riki stopped you by grabbing your wrist. Heeseung raised an eyebrow at that, bemused. 

“No, you can stay. I have a feeling what he wants to say concerns you,” he replied, narrowing his eyes at Heeseung who sighed, nodding in agreement. At this point, you were confused but you obliged, remaining where you were and waiting for him to speak. 

His expression turned grim. "I've been hearing whispers," he said, his gaze flickering between you and Riki. "There are minor gods—restless, envious ones—who’ve taken notice of her. They’ve been talking about her purity, how untouched her soul is. And the fact that you," Heeseung looked directly at Riki, "turned her immortal only makes her more desirable to them. To them, she’s an anomaly. Something extraordinary. They’re determined to get their hands on her, no matter what it takes."

Your breath caught, and you glanced at Riki, feeling the tension rising instantly. His jaw clenched, shadows pooling around him like living creatures as his anger began to take form. His eyes darkened with an unspoken fury. This was the first time you had seen him getting angry. But when he spoke, his voice carried a chilling confidence.

“Let them come,” Riki sneered, his lips curling into a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll show them what happens when they try to take what’s mine.”

The air seemed to darken around him, his shadows weaving and coiling as if responding to his anger. Though his expression was sharp and his tone dismissive, there was a feral edge to his presence that made you shiver. Heeseung raised an eyebrow, clearly unfazed by Riki's display, though there was a trace of amusement in his knowing gaze.

“Just don’t underestimate them,” Heeseung warned, leaning forward. “You might be strong, but so are they. And they won’t play fair.”

Riki’s smirk widened, his anger simmering just below the surface. “They’re welcome to try. I’ll make sure it’s the last mistake they ever make.”

Heeseung took his leave after that and the tension vanished once he was gone. You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “Well, I guess the mood’s ruined now. What are you planning to do?” You turned to him. 

“I could find them first and kill them but I don’t want to leave you here alone,” he replied, furrowing his eyebrows. 

“But I won’t be alone, I can stay over at either Jay’s or Heeseung’s—” 

“Do not say another man’s name, not after we’ve had sex,” he deadpanned, scrunching his nose as if it was too painful for him to say that. 

You rolled your eyes, amused with the way he starts sulking like a little kid, “Are you jealous?” 

“No,” he instantly replied, which sounded way too suspicious, “why would I be jealous of them? It’s not like they’re better than me. I’m better than them.”

You eyed him in silence until Riki sighed, “Well, I don’t think there’s anything you need to worry about in the first place. I’m perfectly capable of handling them myself.” 

“I didn’t say anything though?” You innocently blinked your eyes. The god was unamused with your facade. 

“You’re going to be the death of me.”

“Technically, you can’t die so.”

“...”

~

The next few days passed in tense silence. Riki was unusually quiet, only answering you with either a nod or a hum. He was on constant high alert, eyes doing a quick scan of his surroundings as he stood close to you, shoulders tensed. As much as you appreciate him looking out for you, it was starting to get to you. You no longer had the freedom to wander around on your own. He insisted on you informing him about your whereabouts and to always update him if you were moving to another location. 

Whether it was a stroll along the beach or simply sitting at the backyard, his shadow never left yours. His gaze followed every movement, his steps always just a fraction behind yours. At first, you tried to ignore it. You told yourself it was his way of ensuring your safety. But as the days passed, the constant presence began to gnaw at you. It reminded you of your life in the village—how your freedom had been stripped away the moment they decided to send you as an offering. You were tired of feeling like a fragile thing to be protected, like a prisoner wrapped in silken chains.

Today was your final straw. 

You whirled around abruptly, cutting Riki off mid-step as he trailed behind you. The frustration you had been bottling up finally spilled over. 

“Why do you keep following me?” you snapped, your voice sharper than intended. “Everywhere I go, you’re there, watching, hovering like I’m some hopeless child. I can’t even breathe without feeling like I’m being watched!” 

Riki blinked, clearly taken aback by the sudden outburst. His usual calm demeanor flickered, and for a moment, there was a flash of something deeper in his dark eyes—something like worry, or maybe guilt. But then, just as quickly, he composed himself, his expression hardening.

“I’m doing it to keep you safe,” he said evenly, though there was a quiet intensity in his tone. “The minor gods… they’re always watching. If I’m not around, they’ll try to get to you.”

You clenched your fists, frustration boiling over. “Do you really think I’m that weak? That I can’t take care of myself? I’m not some fragile thing, Riki. I don’t need you—or anyone—constantly looking over my shoulder!”

His jaw tightened, and for the first time, there was a hint of anger in his voice when he responded. “You don’t understand,” he said, stepping closer, his eyes darkening like the very shadows he commanded. “They want you. Not for who you are, but for what you represent. And I refuse to let them have you.”

You went silent, watching him and the god took this to continue by taking a step closer. “I’m not trying to take your freedom. I just don’t want to lose you. Please, trust me.” 

The vulnerability in his voice made something in you ache and you could not find it in yourself to be mad at him. Not when he had given you a new life from scratch. Not when he had treated you as an equal. You took a shaky breath, your anger softening but not entirely gone. “Fine,” you whispered. “Protect me if you must, but just don’t cage me.” 

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The wind whispered through the trees, and the shadows danced around you, swirling in the space between frustration and understanding. Finally, Riki let out a quiet sigh, his shoulders relaxing just slightly.

“I’ll try,” he said, and though his voice was quiet, it carried the weight of a promise. “But don’t expect me to stop caring.”

~ 

A few days had passed since your confrontation with Riki, and the uneasy truce you had reached left the air heavy with unspoken tension. He had kept his distance—mostly—but you still felt his presence lingering in the shadows, watching from afar. You told yourself you were relieved to have a bit of space, but deep down, the quiet was unsettling.

That morning, the world felt different.

You woke abruptly, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. The apartment was eerily silent, the usual creaks and hums replaced by a stillness that felt unnatural. You sat up, the blanket slipping from your shoulders as a chill ran through you. Something was not right. And then, you heard it. A soft, almost inaudible whisper, like the sound of wind through dead leaves. It was not coming from outside. It was inside. 

Your pulse quickened as you climbed out of bed, your bare feet touching the cold floor. The air felt heavy, suffused with a strange, oppressive energy. Shadows pooled unnaturally in the corners of the room, shifting like they were alive. You took a cautious step toward the doorway, and that was when you saw them. 

Figures, barely human in form, their bodies twisted and dark, like shadows given flesh. Their eyes glowed faintly—dull, malevolent orbs that locked onto you with predatory intent. The minor gods. Your breath hitched, and panic surged through your veins. They should not be here. You were supposed to be safe. Riki’s presence had always kept them at bay. But now, without him near, they had come.

“Stay back,” you warned, though your voice trembled. You grabbed the nearest thing—a lamp—clutching it like a lifeline.

One of the figures stepped forward, its voice a hollow echo. “You thought you could escape us?” it hissed, its tone dripping with malice. “The God of Shadows is not here to protect you now.”

Your heart pounded. You backed away slowly, trying to think, trying to find a way out. “I don’t belong to any of you,” you spat, though fear laced your words.

They laughed, the sound a chorus of hollow, empty echoes. “You don’t understand,” another one sneered. “You are more valuable than you know. And now… you’re ours.”

Before you could react, a shadow darted toward you, too fast to dodge. But just as the figure reached out, the room plunged into deeper darkness—a suffocating, cold void that swallowed the light whole. A familiar voice, low and deadly, echoed through the darkness. 

“No, she’s not.” 

Riki. 

The shadows writhed and recoiled as he stepped forward, his form emerging from the darkness like a force of nature. His eyes glowed with an eerie gray light, his expression cold and furious. 

“You’ve made a mistake coming here,” he said, his voice dripping with quiet menace. “And you won’t leave this place alive.” 

With a wave of his hand, the shadows around him surged forward, crashing into the minor gods like a tidal wave. They shrieked in fury and pain, their forms twisting and disintegrating as Riki’s power overwhelmed them. The air grew heavier, darker, as if the shadow themselves were suffocating the light. You stood behind Riki, your heart racing, thinking it was over. The silence that followed their destruction was short-lived. More gods appeared out of nowhere, spawning one after another.

They seeped from the walls, the floor, anywhere that creates a shadow. Minor gods, their twisted forms multiplying, each one more grotesque and menacing than the last. Their eyes glowed with hunger, and their whispers filled the room like a sinister chant. 

“You thought you could protect her?” One sneered, its voice dripping with malice. “You’re just one god, Riki. You can’t fight us all.” 

Riki did not flinch. The glow in his eyes intensified as he stepped forward. The air around him shimmered with power, the darkness bending to his will. “I’ve defeated worse,” he said, voice cold and unyielding. “And I’ll destroy all of you, no matter what.” 

With a sharp gesture, he unleashed a torrent of shadows that moved like a tidal wave, slamming into the advancing gods. They howled as the darkness consumed them, but for every one that fell, another took its place. The battle raged on. The apartment became a battleground, walls cracking under the strain of divine power. Riki moved like a dancer in the dark, graceful yet brutal, every strike precise and devastating. He was relentless, his power unfurling like an endless abyss, swallowing the minor gods whole. But they kept coming, wave after wave, their determination growing more desperate.

“Riki,” you called, panic seeping into your voice as you saw the strain beginning to show. His breath was ragged, sweat glistening on his brow, though his eyes never lost their fire. 

“I’m fine,” he gritted out, though his voice wavered slightly. “Stay close to me.” 

But you could see it—he was reaching his limits and at this rate, he was pushing himself over it. Anyone with eyes could tell it was taking its toll. The room trembled as more shadows collided and then, light pierced through the darkness. Not from outside, but from the god himself. The temperature dropped, frost curling along the edges of the walls. A faint, otherworldly glow began to pulse from his body—a cold, radiant light like the silvery hue of moonlight. 

“No…” one of them hissed, its voice trembling. “Impossible, you’re not just the God of Shadows. You’re something more.” 

Riki smirked, though his voice was hoarse. “Took you long enough but it’s too late.”

The room exploded with light and darkness entwined. Silvery beams of moonlight cut through the shadows like blades, illuminating the dark corners and banishing the minor gods' forms. Where once his power had been cold and suffocating, it was now an ethereal mix of grace and fury. The light clashed with the darkness, bending both to his will.

With a single, fluid motion, Riki raised his hand, and tendrils of shimmering shadow-laced light spiral outward, crashing into the minor gods. They shrieked, their forms unraveling like fabric torn apart by an unseen wind. One by one, they disintegrated, obliterated by the overwhelming force. You remained rooted to the ground, awestruck by the display of power you had just witnessed. Compared to the few times he showed you his ability, this was on another level. 

Riki turned to you, his eyes still glowing with that silvery light, but it was softer now and less dangerous. He looked almost ethereal, both equally terrifying and beautiful in the aftermath of the battle. You caught the way he staggered, his body swaying with exhaustion, but before he could face-planted to the ground, you caught him, pulling him into your arms. 

“You did it, you saved us,” you whispered, running your hand through his hair. 

He leans against you, his breath ragged but a smile stretched across his face. “Told you I would.”

Tears stung your eyes and you laughed, “You’re unbelievable.”

He chuckled weakly, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you close despite his exhaustion. “I’m just glad you’re safe.”

You held him tightly, the fear and chaos of the night finally melting away into a profound sense of peace. “Thank you,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “For everything.”

Riki pressed his forehead against yours, his eyes softening as he looked at you. “I’ll always protect you,” he promised, his voice tender. “And that’s a promise from me to you.” 

[stxrvel]

the cliff (1)

hi guys! this is the first azriel fic i post here. i mainly do marvel but i just couln't stop thinking about this so i decided to take it forward. i hope you guys like this! see u next time <;33

summary: you never thought that the road to your mate could bring so much suffering… pairing: azriel x f!reader words: +4k warnings: briefly descriptions of torture, bad words, descriptions of sorrow¿?, angst but a happy ending, i think. also, English is not my first language and i actually read acotar in another language, so sorry for any mistakes! and also!! i haven't read a court of silver flames, so probably the facts around cassian and nesta's bond and feyre's pregnancy aren't accurate, sorry for that!

part 2: the house

part 3: the court

part 4: the routine

You were sure that the decisions you had made shouldn't have led you to that place. With your limp legs dragging against the grass, the wet feel of the mud drying coldly on your skin with each gale, increasing the chills that ran through your body, not only because of the dread and fear you had for your life, but because of the scorching frost on the top of that cliff.

There was something magical about wishing upon a shooting star. You knew it, your parents were living proof that it worked. They had met just after your mother had wished upon a dying star. Mates. And they promised you it would be the same for you. You hoped it would be the same for you when, encouraged by your same parents, you wandered Prythian in search of meeting the other end of the bond that you knew connected you to someone beyond, in search of a connection greater than you could ever understand.

You firmly believed in that magic one night, in the midst of the lonely and almost desolate journey from end to end, when lying watching the night sky you saw it pass by. A helpless shooting star.

You made your wish with your heart in your hand, closing your eyes and whispering as if it were a prayer. Maybe it was. You didn't know if that was what had gone wrong.

All you knew was that, the next day, your journey was over.

You hadn't finished waking up when you found yourself being dragged across the ground of the Day Court, right at the border it shared with the Night Court, from the hands of Ilyrian soldiers who wouldn't listen to your shouted words. Or simply preferred to ignore them.

You weren't sure how much you had screamed at them, even as they took you in the most savage way possible and furrowed you through the wind, the cold gusts of the Nightmare Court piercing your skin. But it had to have been a good while, because the next time you were above ground your throat was so dry you could barely breathe.

You didn't know what was going on, not even when days later, after feeding yourself with only mush and water, you met the first person willing to tell you something and not turn his face away from you. It was a man, Ilyrian too, with gigantic black wings that covered almost all the light in the small room where you were held captive. His constant presence invoked darkness.

He never introduced himself. He would only ask “who sent you?”, waiting for a sane answer from you, one that you couldn't give because every time you tried to say something that was not remotely like what he wanted to hear, he would move two fingers of his left hand and two more soldiers would enter the room and grab you roughly by the arms, pulling you closer to a barrel with water that was in the corner of the room. That was the water you usually drank, and it was never as cold as when they entered the room.

Needless to say, after a couple of days, you couldn't even go near the water anymore.

It could've been a couple of days, weeks or months… you weren't sure anymore. Time had become an insignificant concept compared to your desire for freedom. You had explained countless times to the Ilyrian the reasons why they had found you wandering near the Court, but that wasn't enough. Not even when you told him that they could confirm it with your family in the Summer Court. No excuse was good enough, the Ilyrian seemed to simply want to find a culprit, whatever he had to do, whoever he had to point the finger at.

And then, one day, you thought you saw a glimmer of hope. Another lone shooting star, which you barely caught through the bars the room had for windows. The memory of your parents flooded your memory, a dark cloud settling over you and drowning out any sense of calm you were able to collect after the ilyrians left. Through tears and sobs you begged the star for a way out, hoping its magic was powerful enough to fight the savage soldiers.

The next day more ilyrians than usual appeared, but they did not enter the room. Not after the High Lord of the Night Court did so first.

And you thought the star had heard you.

“She didn't say anything?”

His dismissive, indifferent tone almost made you shudder on the icy floor, but you didn't let that take away your hope, kneeling in front of him with dried tears and dirt on your face. With your hands clasped in front of you, as if he were a deity personified, you begged him to listen to you, but you had to watch him send you a disinterested glance before he turned in the direction of the entrance.

“Take her away.”

You didn't know why you had expected the high lord to intercede on your behalf, knowing the stories that brimmed through the Courts in Prythian. Your parents had warned you. They encouraged you to pursue the bond on your chest, but begged you to go no further than Court Day if the bond demanded it. They made you promise to return, and that they would then seek a way to find your mate if he or she was beyond the Night Court. You should've heeded, of course you did. When you saw the cold, emotionless eyes of the high lord's face, you regretted every decision you had made.

Even though you knew it shouldn't have been that way, because you had never done anything wrong. You had never tried to harm someone. Maybe that made it harder. Wondering every night why. Why did you deserve to go through that? What evil was it that you were paying for?

There was something magical about wishing on a shooting star, but that magic wasn't guarded for you.

-

Azriel had been spending sleepless nights for weeks now, without explanation. Things were quiet in Velaris, even in the Court of Nightmares. But when he entered the darkness of his room at night, when he tried to close his eyes with his wings spread across the bed, a knot stirred in his chest. Tears would well up behind his eyes and a sadness would engulf him from head to toe. It was so overwhelming that there were few nights when Azriel could contain the feelings and despair of his shadows.

He tried not to let that deficiency interrupt his work, but it was difficult when his eyes would close at the table during breakfast, or in the middle of the room when Rhys talked about the weekly goals. Several times his friends would start asking questions, but it was easy for Azriel to say he had trouble sleeping because that was never an uncommon occurrence over the course of his long life.

It was once Rhys told him that he had told Madja about his problem and she had sent him some herbs that it all started to get weirder.

Yes, Azriel was able to fall asleep. But every night he had strange dreams. Dreams of a life that was not his own. Memories of someone else he didn't even know. Another woman's life, somewhere Azriel could barely remember when he woke up, with more people who must have been close to her, but not to him, who shared her day to day life, who celebrated together with her, who were happy. Azriel didn't wake up much better in the mornings than when he spent the whole night without sleep.

Now he not only had to deal with the heaviness of lack of sleep, but with the questions. He could never think they were random dreams because he heard the same laughter every time, the same voice, the same place. He felt the same tranquility before waking up.

Azriel believed Madja would be his source of answers then.

“Your mate is looking for you,” the old woman answered him, one sunny day in Velaris when he chased her through her tent hoping she would answer his one question. That stopped him abruptly on his feet, his body from the abdomen upward leaning forward a bit from the suddenness of the movement.

“Mate?”

Madja barely hissed in response, a sound of affirmation that would haunt Azriel for several days afterward.

“How is that possible?”

“What?”

Madja was turning her back to him, her small body hunched over as she inspected the medicinal plants she kept for sale. Azriel watched them along with her, his mind moving through the threads of thoughts, between every memory of his dreams and every memory…of her.

“How can she do that?”

Azriel heard Madja sigh and the sound of metal followed as she dropped the gray watering can she had kept for years into place. Azriel could still remember the first time it had been seen, shiny and pompous in the Velaris sunlight. Madja's brown eyes roamed over his face and Azriel hadn't felt this way since the time when Rhys's mom had looked at him with loving motherly eyes.

“Don't ask me how the bond works, Shadowsinger. The Cauldron knows how it does things.”

Azriel could sleep less after that. Madja had left him with more questions than answers. And, on that note, Azriel began to fly over Velaris more often. For some reason, he felt she was close. The bond hadn't snapped into place yet, but he knew that the time was near when that would happen. He didn't even know if it had snapped for her yet, all he knew was that he had a mate over there, too far away from him, and too scared for him to stand idly by.

Eventually, Azriel had to talk to Rhysand. Rhys, his high lord, his best friend, his brother. Probably the only person in the Inner Circle who could fully understand how he felt at those moments. Because Azriel felt he was going to lose his mind if he didn't find his mate and end whatever suffering she was going through. The uncertainty was eating him alive and the hours of hopelessness and fear that were going on inside him, around that emptiness in his chest, did not ease things at all. If he felt this way from the comfort of his home, he didn't want to imagine what she was going through.

Rhysand agreed to allow him more outings to enlarge the perimeter of his search, but the passing days proved his effort fruitless.

“Everything okay, brother?”

Cassian had met his mate. Nesta, Feyre's sister. Azriel was very happy for him, very happy that his brothers had found their life mates and that he could realize the good they brought into their lives. But there was a huge shadow that haunted him, beyond the darkness he carried with him, and it had much to do with the guilt of not being able to find and deliver his mate from suffering. He no longer knew how much time had passed. His shadows stirred restlessly every day, with every memory, with every gale.

Azriel sighed when he felt Cassian's hand on his left shoulder, as they both stood watching Velaris from the top of a mountain.

“I don't know what to do anymore, Cassian,” Azriel let out, his shoulders slumping under the pressure and stress.

He usually didn't talk about the subject of his mate with his brothers, not as often as someone would think to be so close. It was something Azriel held close to his heart and wanted to resolve on his own, but so many failures were beginning to weigh him down.

Cassian patted his shoulder and then gave it a squeeze, trying to silently comfort him, though he knew that would do little to soothe the clamor in his soul. Because, though the bond hadn't snapped for Azriel, he could well believe that he had had it tugging at his chest in an unfamiliar direction for months now. Even if he didn't feel the bond, the mere acknowledgement of its existence was agony, especially when it didn't help him find his mate.

Cassian sighed beside him, letting a few seconds pass in silence before speaking again, his gaze fixed on Velaris' expanse and his heart shrinking at the visible suffering on his brother's face.

“Rhysand is traveling to the camp, will you accompany us?”

Azriel lately had little desire for anything other than touring Velaris and the surrounding area of the Court of Nightmares looking for his mate, but this time he decided to accept. For some reason, Azriel decided to accompany them.

The Night had been feuding with the Summer for a couple of years. Tarquin and Rhysand… were not on the best of terms. The last time Feyre had traveled to the Summer, pregnant with Nyx, Tarquin and his army had held her captive because of a misunderstanding in the information they had obtained from the Spring Court and the Mortal Lands. Rhysand almost destroyed the entire Summer Court with his bare hands if not for Cassian and Azriel, who were able to broker a deal between the two as mediators. It was a very tense time at the beginning.

Mind you, Rhysand did not leave without letting Tarquin know that it would be years before they would return to the same trade, diplomatic and friendly relations as before, if they could ever speak of forgiveness. Azriel remembered how the only person from the Night Court who could cross Tarquin's lands, for a time, was Mor. They were all warned and the meetings of the high lords were suspended, at least with respect to attendance.

For that reason, Rhysand became extremely wary of anyone connected with the Summer Court and for him, being the high lord, it was not too much work to know who wandered near his lands. They had already captured a handful of Summer Court spies in recent years and held them captive in camp with the Ilyrian soldiers.

Of course, the Night Court was much more careful with their spying, having Shadowsinger himself on their side. Azriel had visited the Summer Court a couple of times by stealth, handing Rhysand reports and any strategic breakthroughs he could decipher.

There was one, however, that they could not foresee. Someone Azriel never knew was coming out of the Summer Court. It had been a couple of years since then and it seemed the Ilyrians had been unable to break the spy's stone will.

“Are you going all the way to the mountain?” Rhysand had stopped in front of Azriel as soon as his feet touched the grassy ground, a few feet from the entrance to the camp. His eyes flicked briefly to the bustle behind his high lord, his shoulders tensing unconsciously as he took slow steps towards Rhysand with his hands in the pockets of his tunic and his wings tucked neatly behind his back. Cassian landed behind him, kicking up a layer of wet grass and mud that soiled his boots.

“Argh.”

“I think I'll be at a distance this time.”

Rhysand nodded, with no intention of convincing Azriel to accompany him to give the imprisoned spies of the Summer a death scare.

“I hope the screams are worth this mudslinging,” Cassian spoke up, moving closer to his two friends, forming a small circle. Rhysand barely gave him a glance before turning on his heels and beginning to make his way to the entrance of the camp, where some of the soldiers were clustered to see the high lord. “You're going to be in the bay?”

“Yes,” Azriel walked alongside Cassian, scowling at the entrance through which Rhysand had just crossed, the Ilyrian soldiers freezing in front of their high lord. “I'll watch from afar. Right now I don't have the stomach for anything.”

“I understand, brother,” Cassian squeezed his shoulder again amicably, sending him a tight-lipped look. Cassian was quite good with words, despite many labeling him as insensitive for being Ilyrian, but he knew Azriel well enough to know when he wanted to talk about something and when he preferred not to. “See you then.”

Cassian followed in Rhysand's footsteps, approaching in long strides, while Azriel paused watching his companions disappear into the distance.

Sighing, the knot in his chest tightened. It was so strange to have a void that could feel so many things. Azriel often wondered how it was possible that he still didn't feel the bond, when his emotions had expanded out of his head and there was no longer a feeling he didn't sense inside his bones.

Flapping his wings to take flight, Azriel set off towards the bay, close to the cliff where Rhysand planned to take the Summer Court spies. He was a few yards away, close enough to make out figures, but not too far away that he couldn't hear the screams.

As soon as his feet touched the ground, damp despite the early rising sun, his shadows began to stir around him, restless. They must've sensed his nervousness, the anxiety that ran through his chest like electric currents to his fingertips, causing him to spasm and break out in a cold sweat. Azriel could barely see them moving around him, separating from his body and stirring on the ground just a few centimeters before turning back.

At the top of the cliff he could already make out the figures of Rhysand and Cassian, walking menacingly towards the inmates, leaving them no choice but to keep walking backwards until they fell into the void, where Cassian would then land them, one by one. Azriel could hear them if he wanted to, but his mind and his shadows kept him a bit distracted.

He barely made out the first screams and the sound of Cassian's wings when his shadows began to whisper, much more restless.

Close.

Close.

Help.

Fear.

Help.

Azriel raised his head and his eyes stopped just short of Rhysand's figure in front of about three spies. At that moment, Azriel's shadows took off, moving at great speed across the grass and stones, with the Shadowsinger unable to do anything to stop them, though he tried. His confused gaze swept over the small figures on the cliff, with such speed that his head was beginning to ache, but he couldn't recognize anything.

He was about to fly in the direction his shadows had gone, when a strange, overwhelming sensation, somewhere between irrational fear and deep sadness, sent his back to the ground moving across his chest, as one of the figures slipped and fell into the void. Azriel felt all the air stolen from his lungs, opening his mouth to try to catch his breath, as those sensations coursed through his entire body and settled in his chest, taking strong root as if they belonged there. They were so overwhelming that they caused him physical pain. The ache he must've been feeling for months.

The bond.

The few remaining shadows beside him whispered endlessly.

Help.

Help.

Help.

Azriel raised his head, breathing hard. He felt his chest split open, as if with great force they were breaking his sternum to pull out his heart. It was such an overwhelming and painful sensation that, but for his strong will, he would surely have lost consciousness.

Help.

Help.

Mate.

Mate.

Azriel thought afterwards that he had never moved so fast or with such force as that moment, when he realized what was happening. The adrenaline that coursed through his body, even feeling electric currents run through him from head to toe from the precise moment he felt the bond, didn't allow him to think too much about how the air hurt his eyes because he already knew exactly where he had to go. He had spent so much time flying without direction, walking the wrong paths and searching in empty places. At that moment, when he had a reason and a direction, Azriel couldn't think of anything else. He didn't want to.

He could only look at the figure falling off the cliff from the moment he raised his head. He could only head blindly towards it. The overwhelming fear that threw him backwards was the fear she felt as under her feet she felt the void, her hands moving forward trying to hold on to something that would allow her to live.

Azriel felt like he was about to die with her.

He met Cassian halfway from afar, who seemed to be about to fly in her direction to catch her when he ran into his friend, but Azriel moved too quickly and with anticipation without losing sight of his mate. The chill that ran through his body could've paralyzed him with fear, but how could he stand by and do nothing when his mate was falling to her undisputed death.

He thought he heard Rhysand's scream. Surely it was so, but in his mind there hovered only the thought that he must reach her, he must get there in time. Her hands were outstretched and Azriel stretched out his hands, hoping that would help him move faster.

Mind blank, Azriel felt like he had just pulled his head out of the water, his chest opening in an unfamiliar thrill as his body felt the warmth of his mate's body crashing against him and his arms wrapped around her in a promise to never let go again. His wings wrapped around her immediately after his arms, impacting a few seconds later against the muddy ground.

He was too close to not catch her. The thought left him breathless.

For a moment, he only heard his and her labored breathing, with the whistling of the wind through the trees and the movement of the water of a stream a few feet away. For a moment, Azriel went completely blank. Whether he was there or dreaming, he didn't know.

His hands clamped tightly around her arms, encircling her entire back, feeling the reality of what had happened sink in on him bit by bit. Fear gripped him once more then, considering that there was a chance he hadn't been there to stop that. To prevent it.

He didn't want to move. Still adrenaline coursed through his body and he was so alert that he could clearly hear the voices of his friends in the distance. Seconds later, when he heard their wings, he finally moved.

Azriel met your eyes and with that look alone he knew you had felt the bond as well.

“I'm sorry,” was all Azriel could think of, his eyes crystallizing, voice breaking. “I'm so sorry.”

You were transfixed. Azriel felt you looking at him with fear and that motivated him to move away from your body, but you gripped his arms tightly to hold him in place.

Azriel felt a great heaviness in his chest as he examined your face and what he saw did not please him at all. Guilt swelled on his shoulders, a great weight that ascended with each passing second and he could hardly imagine all that you had had to go through in that camp. You were right under his nose and he couldn't find you. What kind of a partner was he to let all that happen?

When he heard the footsteps of his friends, his shoulders tensed. But it didn't go unnoticed the way you also became aware of their presence and let go of his arms, rushing to hug yourself as you moved to sit behind Azriel. scared. Still breathing rapidly, Azriel sent a warning look. Cassian and Rhysand stopped a short distance away, noticing the obvious hostility emanating from their friend's body, but Rhysand just stopped for a second.

“Azriel, what the fuck?”

Rhysand was so angry that he seemed to have a little red tinge over his face. Good, he was angry, maybe then Azriel wouldn't feel so bad about breaking his face.

“Rhys,” Cassian frowned, quickly picking up on the tense and hostile atmosphere around him. He grabbed the arm of his high lord, who jerked angrily and turned his gaze back to the Shadowsinger.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? Are you aware of what you just fucking did?”

“Rhysand,” Cassian stopped his high lord, raising his voice and holding his arm tightly this time.

Rhysand turned to look at him with a frown and it seemed that, through his mind, Cassian spoke to him. The next time Rhysand looked back at him, his expression was unclenching, but Azriel stood stone-faced in front of you, his hands clasped at his sides and ready to face anything.

“No way,” was all Rhysand muttered, moving to run his hands through his hair.

Azriel felt one of your hands on his back, his senses splitting in half to try and attend to you as he kept an eye on his brothers on the other side. He moved his head to look at you, your frightened expression trying to hide you from Cassian's curious eyes.

“Is this real?”

Azriel felt his heart crumple. Tears welled behind his eyes and burning hurted the back of his throat. He wanted to say so many things, apologize for a million other things, but in that moment he only responded, moving to squeeze your hand:

“It's real.”

[santaasi]

santa doesn’t know you like i do

pairing: jj maybank x fem!reader

summary: in the warmth of christmas, amidst love, healing, and a new beginning, jj and you find your imperfect paradise, where home is wherever you're together

warnings: fluff fluff fluff, establish relationship, talking about kids, no use of y/n, jj calls reader angel, english isn’t my first language

word count: 5.4k

a/n: it's kinda part two to die with the smile. but I think you can read it as a stand alone. requested by this ask. thank u for request, love <з.

ᯓ★ now playing…

sabrina carpenter – santa doesn't know you like I do

Santa Doesn't know you like I do I've been there through the good and bad Know how to make you laugh Kiss all your tears away, babe Ooh, only I can do that

JJ MAYBANK ALWAYS LOVED CHRISTMAS. It was, perhaps, the only holiday that truly felt magical to him. The colorful lights that danced against the dark winter nights, the shop windows adorned with glittering displays, the endless loop of silly Christmas songs filling the air — each element wove a comforting cocoon of warmth around him. Christmas had a way of making the world seem softer, more forgiving, and in those moments, JJ could almost believe in something like peace.

But it hadn’t always been this way.

In the broken Maybank household, Christmas was just another day — unmarked, unnoticed, and devoid of joy. The house sat like an unlit beacon in a sea of festivity, its cold walls and empty halls an unspoken testament to everything JJ lacked. There were no strings of lights, no wreaths on the door, not even the faintest scent of pine. It was an iceberg of indifference, floating through a season of cheer.

His father rarely even bothered to come home during Christmas. Sometimes he was locked away, serving another term; other times, he was lost in some forgotten corner of a bar, drowning his bitterness in cheap whiskey, unaware — or perhaps unconcerned — that his son was alone.

Yet, despite it all, every Christmas morning, there was always something waiting for JJ. Beneath the sad excuse for a tree — a cactus he’d once rescued from the roadside and jokingly dubbed "the Maybank pine" — he’d find a small gift and a postcard. The presents were modest: a toy car from a roadside stall or a bag of store-brand candy. The cards bore messages scribbled in rushed handwriting, sometimes just his name. But to JJ, they were everything. Those tiny, clumsy gestures felt like a fragile thread connecting him to something hopeful, something magical.

Even in the coldest, loneliest moments of his childhood, Christmas held onto him. It was his reminder that even in a life as messy and cruel as his, there could still be flickers of wonder.

But as the years passed, the childish magic of Christmas began to fade. JJ found himself watching from the sidelines as families like John B’s, Pope’s, and Kiara’s gathered around large tables, their homes alive with laughter, love, and the glow of holiday cheer. He watched them string lights and hang delicate ornaments on real Christmas trees — the kind that had once mesmerized him through storefront windows. And as much as he tried to bury it, a quiet ache settled deep in his chest.

It wasn’t just envy. It was the sharp sting of absence, a longing for something he’d never truly had. JJ had never known the comfort of a family coming together, the warmth of being part of something whole. He’d never sat at a big table on Christmas Eve, hands joined in prayer, giving thanks for love and blessings. He’d never felt the security of being surrounded by people who cared for him simply because he existed. And though he masked the pain behind his signature grin and easy bravado, it festered inside him — a quiet storm of hurt and resentment.

He wanted what they had. He wanted it desperately. But instead, his Christmases were spent alone. A pack of chips served as his feast, the flickering light of a static-filled TV his only companion. Lying on his bed, he would flip through the sparse free channels, hoping for some distraction, some escape. And always, in the back of his mind, he clung to the faintest hope that come morning, he’d find a small gift beneath the cactus — his father’s feeble, unspoken attempt at connection.

For years, this was his Christmas: quiet, lonely, and hollow.

But then, one year, everything changed.

JJ was fourteen when his father was imprisoned for the first time for an extended period, leaving him utterly alone. John B. and his father did what they could to help, but JJ bristled at the idea of being anyone’s charity case. The weight of feeling indebted was too much for him to bear. That summer, he decided to fend for himself, searching for his first job.

It wasn’t easy. JJ quickly discovered that no one wanted to hire a scrappy, imperfect Pogue with a tarnished family name. The shadow of his father’s reputation loomed large over the island, and people assumed that the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. He could still recall the sting of rejection, the way doors closed in his face, and the cold, judgmental eyes that dismissed him before he even had a chance to speak. With each failure, his hope dwindled, until desperation weighed heavy on his young shoulders.

And then, like a ray of sunlight breaking through storm clouds, your father entered his life.

JJ often saw him at the docks, heading out for early-morning fishing trips. A few times, when the catch was plentiful, your father had even handed JJ a couple of fish — no questions asked, no pity in his eyes. Your family wasn’t wealthy like the Camerons, but you weren’t struggling at the bottom of the Cut either. You lived modestly, running a small fishmonger’s shop that was well-loved by locals for its unmatched quality.

That day, as JJ sat dejectedly on the pier, contemplating yet another fruitless search, your father approached him. With a kind smile and no hesitation, he offered JJ a job. Weekend mornings spent fishing, helping with traps and unloading — the kind of honest work JJ had been searching for. It felt like a lifeline, a stroke of fortune for a fourteen-year-old boy who had nearly given up.

From that moment, your father became more than an employer. He became a steady presence in JJ’s life, someone who saw the good in him when others refused to look past the Maybank name. In time, he even became a friend — a surrogate father in ways JJ hadn’t realized he desperately needed.

Your family’s kindness extended beyond the job. Your father often invited JJ to join your family dinners, but JJ rarely accepted. The idea of intruding on something so warm and whole made him uncomfortable. He already felt like he owed your father too much, and the last thing he wanted was to overstep. Still, on the rare occasions when your mother’s insistence won out, JJ would find himself sitting at your table, silently marveling at the life you lived.

And then there was you.

At every dinner, JJ’s eyes inevitably found you. You were radiant, an unapproachable beauty that reminded him of the star atop a Christmas tree — brilliant and captivating, yet forever out of reach. The two of you didn’t talk much, just polite exchanges and fleeting smiles, but it was enough. For JJ, it was more than enough.

He fell for you quietly, deeply, and without reservation. To him, you were a dream — a glimpse of something he could never quite have but couldn’t help but long for.

But one day, everything changed — and with it, JJ’s love for Christmas was born.

It was the same year, during the heart of winter. JJ wandered aimlessly through the deserted streets of Kildare, his hands buried deep in his pockets as the howling sea wind tugged at his threadbare jacket. Shop windows, darkened in honor of the holiday, glimmered faintly with leftover lights, their cheerful displays feeling like a world apart from his reality. Everyone else was inside, basking in the warmth of family and celebration. His friends were home — John B. spending the day with his father, Pope and Kiara with their own families — while JJ walked the streets, searching for something he couldn’t name, a place where he belonged.

His own house was cold and hollow, a silent reminder of all he didn’t have. John B. had invited him over, but JJ declined, unwilling to intrude on his friend’s rare moments of peace with his dad. So, he drifted through the morning, each step pulling him deeper into an abyss of loneliness.

A sudden chime shattered his thoughts — the soft jingle of a shop bell as its door swung open. JJ looked up, his breath catching as the sound of laughter echoed down the street.

It was you.

You stepped out of the grocery store with your dad, your voice lilting with a joy that made the bleak morning feel brighter. A red knit hat perched on your head, mirroring the one your father wore, and you both sported matching festive pajama sets. The sight was almost absurdly charming, but to JJ, you looked radiant — more beautiful than ever. The soft sunlight seemed to halo around you, making you seem like an angel come to life.

As if sensing his gaze, you turned toward him and waved, your smile lighting up the frosty morning. JJ’s heart stuttered, and before he could fully process it, you were already standing in front of him, your breath visible in the chill air, your cheeks flushed pink.

“Merry Christmas, Jay,” you said warmly, tilting your head slightly. A strand of hair escaped from beneath your hat, brushing your face. JJ had to fight the overwhelming urge to reach out, to tuck it back behind your ear.

“Merry Christmas, angel,” he murmured, the words slipping out before he could stop them. It was only when he saw the faint blush dust your cheeks, your gaze darting downward with a shy smile, that he realized what he’d called you.

“We... my dad and I were thinking,” you began hesitantly, your voice a little rushed, “do you want to spend Christmas with us?”

JJ blinked, caught off guard.

You bit your lip nervously, shifting your weight. “We haven’t opened presents yet, and Mom made that cherry pudding you love, and we always watch a movie after that and-”

You were rambling, your nose wrinkling slightly as you spoke, and JJ couldn’t help but smile. He didn’t want to impose, didn’t want to accept and risk feeling like a burden. But the nervous hope in your voice, the way you avoided his eyes as though bracing for rejection, made it impossible to refuse.

“Thank you. With pleasure,” he interrupted softly, his smile widening.

Your eyes snapped up to meet his, wide with surprise, and then they lit up with excitement. Before JJ could react, you grabbed his hand, tugging him toward the car with a burst of enthusiasm. “He said yes, Dad!” you called out, beaming.

That Christmas was the best of JJ’s life.

The warmth of the fireplace, the soft glow of the Christmas tree, the unexpected gifts waiting under its branches — all of it was magical. But none of it compared to the feeling of being part of something he’d always longed for. Sitting with your family, sharing laughter and stories, tasting your mom’s cherry pudding, JJ felt something he hadn’t dared to dream of: belonging.

And then there was you.

You, who had reached out when no one else had. You, who had brought him in from the cold, both outside and within. You, who had become his Christmas angel, saving him with your kindness and warmth. That day, you didn’t just give JJ a happy holiday — you gave him a family.

You became his home.

And now, JJ sat on the bed in the bedroom you shared, in the house you’d built together — not the grand mansion with big windows and a sprawling garden he had once promised you under a starlit sky, but a modest, white, slightly weathered two-story home. It had a cozy front yard with space for flowers yet to be planted and a back door that opened onto the soft sands of the beach. It wasn’t the picture-perfect dream you once painted together, but it was real. It was yours.

This house had become his sanctuary. Each day, he came home to your arms, finding solace in your laughter and warmth. Each morning, he woke beside you, basking in the light of a love that grounded him. And tonight, you would celebrate your first Christmas in the home you’d built — not just of wood and stone, but of trust and shared dreams. It wasn’t perfect. Neither were you. But it was home.

For JJ, it was more than he had ever thought he could have. The boy who once wandered lonely streets at Christmas, who stared longingly at shop windows and dreamed of belonging, had found it here — with you. The memory of those cold, empty nights and his childhood filled with longing still lingered at the edges of his mind, but they no longer haunted him. You had rewritten his story, replacing loneliness with joy and pain with purpose.

He glanced toward the living room and leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed as he watched you bustle back and forth between the kitchen and dining room. You were radiant, your hair cascading down your back in soft waves as the skirt of your red dress shimmered with each step. A familiar Santa hat perched on your head, the same one you wore on the Christmas that changed everything—the one where you gave him the gift of belonging for the first time.

The air was filled with the mouthwatering aroma of the turkey roasting in the oven, mingling with the faint, sweet scent of pine from the decorated tree in the corner. Your favorite Christmas playlist hummed in the background, and you hummed along softly as you worked, pausing to adjust the napkins on the table with a perfectionist’s touch. JJ’s lips curled into a smile. You were always like this, always striving to make things special for everyone else, pouring your heart into the smallest details.

He could see the excitement in your every movement — the way your cheeks were flushed from the warmth of the kitchen, the way your eyes sparkled with anticipation. It reminded him of the first time he saw you that Christmas morning years ago, standing on the icy street in your matching pajamas with your dad. Back then, you had invited him into your family, into your world, without hesitation. Now, here you were, creating that same magic, not just for him but for the friends you both cherished.

JJ felt his chest tighten with gratitude. He didn’t need the mansion or the grand promises anymore. He didn’t need a perfectly landscaped garden or the white picket fence. He already had everything he’d ever dreamed of — and more. You were his dream, his home, his Christmas angel.

Pushing off the doorframe, he walked toward you, his steps soft against the wooden floor. You didn’t notice him at first, too focused on the final touches of the table. But when he slid his arms around your waist from behind, you let out a small gasp, laughing as you turned to look up at him.

“Jay,” you chided playfully, though your smile gave you away.

He pressed a kiss to your temple, his lips lingering as he breathed you in — the scent of cinnamon, the faint traces of your perfume, the essence of you. “You know,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with affection, “you don’t have to do all this. It’s already perfect.”

You shook your head, a strand of hair falling into your face, which he gently tucked behind your ear. “I just want it to be special,” you said softly.

“It is,” he said firmly, his blue eyes locking onto yours. “Because of you. Everything you touch becomes special.”

Your cheeks flushed deeper, and you bit your lip, momentarily speechless. JJ smiled, leaning down to capture your lips in a gentle kiss. The chaos of the kitchen faded, the playlist in the background becoming nothing more than a faint hum. In that moment, there was only the two of you, wrapped in the warmth of the home you’d built and the love that had carried you here.

As if jolted from a dream, you broke the kiss and stepped back slightly, your hands pressed firmly against JJ's chest. His heartbeat thrummed under your palms, steady and sure. You tilted your head up to meet his gaze, your brows furrowed in a mix of exasperation and amusement.

“JJ,” you scolded softly, your voice tinged with urgency. “This isn’t the time. The Pogues are gonna be here soon, and we’re not even close to ready!”

JJ’s lips curved into that infuriatingly smug grin of his, the one that made your heart race despite yourself. He leaned back as if he hadn’t a care in the world, his eyes flicking upward with deliberate mischief.

“Relax, angel,” he drawled, his voice warm as honey, smooth as the waves lapping the Cut. “It’s tradition. Had to honor it.”

Your gaze followed his, and you gasped. A cluster of mistletoe hung innocently above you, tied with a red ribbon that swayed gently in the air. You turned back to him, jaw dropping, and gave his chest a light shove.

“When the hell did you do that, Maybank?” you asked, laughing despite yourself.

He shrugged, a picture of nonchalance. “Doesn’t matter. What matters is you’re under it, so-” He grinned wider, tugging you back a step. “Less talking, more kissing.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hold back your smile. “You’re impossible.”

Yet even as you said it, your lips met his again, soft and lingering. Kissing JJ was like freefalling into the ocean, exhilarating and all-consuming, like the scent of salt air in the morning or the taste of wild blackberries in summer. He was chaos wrapped in warmth, the kind of boy who made you believe in stars aligning and fates intertwining.

As his hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing the corner of your lips, you felt the world tilt for a moment. It was easy to forget the chaos of the house, the mess still to be cleaned, the impending arrival of your friends. But you forced yourself to pull away just as he began to deepen the kiss.

“Uh-uh,” you teased, breathless but resolute. “Get busy, Maybank. We’ve got work to do.”

JJ groaned dramatically, his pout almost childlike as he tightened his grip on your waist. “I am busy. Busy kissing the prettiest girl in the Outer Banks,” he purred, his lips brushing against your cheek, then trailing to your neck.

“JJ,” you protested weakly, though your hand found its way into his hair, tugging lightly at the golden strands.

Before he could retort, the sharp chime of the doorbell broke the spell.

You froze, your brows knitting together. “What the-” you murmured, glancing at the clock. It was still an hour before Sarah and John B. were supposed to show up. Kiara was stuck at the diner until late, and Pope and Cleo were busy helping out at the store.

Your eyes snapped to JJ, who was now grinning like the cat who’d caught the canary.

“What did you do?” you demanded, narrowing your eyes.

His smile only widened, his blue eyes sparkling with a secret he wasn’t ready to share. “Guess you’ll just have to find out, angel.”

It wasn’t good. Not one bit.

“Go on, angel. Open the door,” JJ said, his voice low and teasing as he let you slip from his arms, giving you a gentle nudge toward the entryway.

You turned back to him, eyebrows raised in suspicion. His smirk was maddening, and his ocean-blue eyes sparkled with mischief, like he knew something you didn’t. “JJ…” you warned, taking slow, hesitant steps.

“Trust me, angel,” he said, leaning casually against the doorframe, his arms crossed. The way he looked at you — like you were the only thing that mattered in the world — made your heart skip. His eyes always held that same soft, unspoken promise, and you couldn't help but feel a rush of warmth spreading through your chest.

Biting your lip, you reached for the doorknob, casting him one last skeptical glance before opening the door. The cool winter air rushed in, bringing with it the scent of pine and saltwater from the sea just down the road. At first, you saw nothing unusual — just the empty driveway, lined with snow that glimmered faintly in the moonlight, and the quiet stillness of the evening. But then, something shifted near your feet.

You froze. The soft sound of rustling paper followed by the creak of a box wobbled slightly on the porch. You jumped back with a startled squeal, your pulse racing. “JJ! JJ!” you called out, your voice a mix of fear and excitement. “There’s… something out here!”

Your eyes darted to the object on the porch — a large box tied with a perfect red bow. It didn’t move at first, but as you took a tentative step closer, the box wobbled again, and a muffled noise came from inside.

Behind you, JJ’s laugh rang out, low and warm, like he was thoroughly enjoying your reaction. “Relax, angel. It’s not gonna bite… much,” he teased, the grin on his face devilishly charming. You could almost hear the glint of mischief in his voice as it wrapped around you, tugging at your nerves.

You whipped around to glare at him, your arms crossing instinctively over your chest. “This is your doing, isn’t it? What is it, JJ?”

His grin widened. “Why don’t you open it and find out?” he said, shrugging like it was the simplest thing in the world. “Pretty sure Santa dropped off an early delivery for you.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, still skeptical, but the curiosity was too strong to resist. Slowly, you lowered yourself to your knees, inching closer to the box. Another sound came from inside — a soft, almost pleading whine that made your heart skip a beat. You shivered, but couldn't stop your hands from reaching for the bow. Your fingers trembled slightly as you untied it, the red ribbon falling away like the final barrier between you and whatever lay inside.

“JJ, if this thing jumps out and eats my face, I swear-”

“Just open it, angel,” he said, crouching beside you now, his voice soft and coaxing, like he was trying to keep you calm, though you knew he was just enjoying the show. You could feel his breath tickling the back of your neck, his presence so close that it made your skin heat up despite the cold night air.

With trembling fingers, you tugged the bow loose. The moment it fell away, the lid popped open with a gentle creak, and out came a tiny white muzzle, followed by two shiny black eyes that sparkled like polished onyx. You gasped, covering your mouth with your hand.

“No way…” you whispered, your heart racing as the fluffy creature let out a tiny bark, its tail wagging furiously, causing the box to shake slightly.

JJ chuckled beside you, resting his chin on your shoulder, his laughter warm and full of pride. “Told you Santa came through this year.” His voice was teasing, but there was something deeper there too — a tenderness that you didn’t always hear. It was the same tenderness that had drawn you to him all those years ago, when everything in his life had been so broken, but he had found a way to build something together with you. The soft thrum of your heart matched the beat of his, and it felt like time had stopped just for you two, here in this small moment of joy.

You turned to him, your eyes wide. “You said no dogs. You said the house wasn’t ready!”

JJ shrugged, completely unbothered, his grin stretching wider, a glint of mischievous pride dancing in his gaze. “Guess I lied. Couldn’t resist, angel. I mean, look at him.” He leaned forward, his finger brushing against the puppy’s tiny, soft ears. “He’s got ‘JJ Maybank’ written all over him.”

The puppy let out another excited yip, struggling to climb out of the box. Gently, you lifted him, his soft fur warm in your hands. His tiny paws pressed against your chest as he wiggled excitedly, licking your face with reckless abandon, causing you to giggle uncontrollably.

You laughed, the sound light and free, the way it hadn’t been in years, your heart so full it could’ve burst. “Oh my God, JJ. He’s perfect.”

JJ watched you with a lazy smile, leaning closer to press a kiss to your cheek, his lips lingering there just a moment longer than usual. “I think he’s already got a favorite human,” he teased, brushing your hair behind your ear with a tenderness that made you feel as if the entire world had stopped just for you two.

You cradled the little ball of fluff in your arms, his tiny paws pressing against your chest as he snuggled closer, his warmth filling the empty spaces of your heart. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes, but you didn’t care. For the first time in a long while, you felt whole — like all the pieces of your life had finally clicked into place. You looked back at JJ, your voice soft and filled with gratitude.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your heart swelling as his smile deepened.

“Anything for you, angel,” he murmured, his hand brushing over yours as he leaned in to kiss you again. It wasn’t a kiss full of urgency or passion this time, but one that was slower, deeper — full of a love that had built up over years of quiet moments, of shared dreams, of both the good and bad times that had shaped you. A kiss that spoke of promises made and promises kept.

His arms were wrapped around your waist, his fingers tracing slow, soothing patterns along the back of your neck as the soft, playful puppy nestled in your lap. The warm weight of the small creature was a perfect contrast to the warmth of JJ’s body pressed against yours. He kissed the delicate curve of your neck, his lips lingering as if he could never get enough of you. He moved to your cheek, then your cheekbone, leaving a trail of tenderness that sent shivers down your spine.

You turned in his arms, your lips finding his in a kiss that spoke volumes. It wasn’t hurried, it wasn’t filled with desperation — no, this kiss was full of everything you’d wanted, everything you had built, everything you had fought for. After everything that had happened in Morocco, the terror, the near loss of him, you never thought you'd find this peace, this quiet joy. But here you were, wrapped in his embrace, feeling more alive than ever.

After that incident, after the nightmare of nearly losing him, JJ had changed. He was different. More gentle, more mindful of your every need, and more focused on building a life with you. You had always known he loved you, always felt the weight of his affection even when he didn’t say it aloud, but now — now it was deeper, tenfold. His love was a constant, a steady presence that made you feel safe in a world that had once felt like it was falling apart. And it was enough. More than enough.

His lips met yours again, soft and slow, each kiss full of meaning, of promises he’d made to himself to make you the happiest woman in the world. And as he kissed you, he whispered against your lips, his voice rough with emotion.

“I love you,” he said, each word wrapping around your heart like a warm blanket.

You smiled, your chest swelling with love as you pulled him closer. The puppy, now content in its new home, wandered around the living room, sniffing at the new surroundings with an inquisitive gleam in his eyes. You didn’t care that the front door was wide open or that you were making out on the living room floor, in full view of anyone who might pass by. There was no one else in the world but JJ and the life you were building together. You just wanted to show him, to remind him, how much you loved him. How much you appreciated him.

“What's the next step?” you teased, pulling away just enough to look into his eyes. Your hands, without thinking, brushed a lock of blond hair away from his forehead, your heart fluttering as you took in the depth of his gaze. “A house, a dog... what's the next thing in our list?” You giggled, the sound light and free, like a melody you could listen to forever.

JJ’s smile deepened, and his voice softened, filled with a warmth that had once been so foreign to him. “Oh, that’s easy. A mini you or a mini me — or a mini us,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear before he kissed you again, this time with a little more passion. You shivered at the thought of what he wanted — a family. Your family.

The idea of children, of a future together, made your heart race. It wasn’t a dream you had ever imagined for yourself. But now, with JJ, it felt right. It felt like it was meant to be.

“But first,” he continued, his voice playful as he broke the kiss, “we deal with this dog, because it seems to me he’s already gnawing on our pillow.”

You laughed, shaking your head, your heart full as you watched the puppy eagerly attack the pink pillow you had bought from the flea market, its fluffy stuffing spilling out onto the floor. The mess didn’t bother you, not at all. You were too caught up in the joy of the moment, in the warmth of JJ’s arms around your waist, in the paradise you had built.

It wasn’t perfect. The house was small, a little worn around the edges, but it was yours. Your home. A place where laughter and love filled the air, where memories were made, and where the future you dreamed of was slowly taking shape. It was paradise. Small, imperfect, but paradise all the same. And you couldn’t have asked for anything more.

But then, something shifted. You smelled it before you saw it — the faint scent of something burning, sharp and sudden. Your heart skipped a beat, and your eyes snapped open as the realization hit you.

“Damn, Jay, the turkey!” you exclaimed, your eyes widening in panic as you bolted upright, the puppy’s ears perked up in alarm as you scrambled to your feet.

JJ laughed, deep and carefree, lying back on the floor as he watched you rush toward the kitchen. He felt like the happiest man on earth, like everything in the world had finally fallen into place. But as you disappeared into the kitchen, he let his mind wander for a moment, and he couldn’t help but think back to the time before all of this.

Back to the dark days when Morocco had nearly torn you apart, when you had held him in your arms, desperate, praying he would survive. You had nightmares for weeks after, haunted by the memory of him almost slipping away from you forever. The weight of that fear had lingered, thick and suffocating, even after you returned to Kildare, when everything should have felt safe again. But it hadn’t been easy. It had taken time. It had taken effort. It had taken healing.

You both had scars from that experience. You, from the sleepless nights and the anxiety that gripped your heart whenever you thought about the what-ifs. And JJ, from the deep, quiet trauma that you knew he didn’t always talk about. But despite all of that, you had found your way back to each other. You had found peace. Together.

Now, as he lay there on the floor, listening to the sound of your frantic steps in the kitchen, he smiled softly to himself. The memories of Morocco were still there, lingering in the background, but they no longer defined him. No longer defined you together. You had rebuilt your paradise, and no amount of darkness could take that away.

JJ Maybank had always been reckless, wild, untamed. But now, he was grounded. Not because the world had suddenly become perfect, but because you were his. Because he had found his anchor in you. You were his home. And no matter what happened, he knew you would always be there, side by side.

He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the peace of the present wash over him. There was no place he’d rather be. No place but here, with you. His family. His paradise.

And for Christmas, that was all he could ever ask for.

The smell of burning turkey wafted in from the kitchen, and he couldn’t help but laugh. Maybe paradise wasn’t perfect, but damn, it was perfect for him.

thankx for reading <3

it's beginning to look a lot like Christmas...

okay, this work my first kinda christmas special and I like it so much. also 'santa doesn't know you like I do' is such a beautiful song and maybe the meaning of the song is not connected to the whole vibe of this work but first lines is so jj and angel coded, idk.

but thank you again for reading my work and as usual you can always share your opinion in comments or my inbox :3

                                    – your santi 🪐

masterlist

[livelaughlou]

Devout

for Day 1 of @bucktommypositivityweek - Things they love about each other.

bucktommy - Words: 675 - Rating: M - Complete

Buck wraps his arms around Tommy’s neck as Tommy buries his face in Buck’s shoulder. He takes a deep, deep breath and says, “Wow.” He can feel the vibrations of Tommy’s laugh. “A ringing endorsement.” “Oh, always,” Buck says emphatically and when Tommy goes to move off of him, he tightens his hold, wraps his legs around Tommy’s hips again, and holds on. He loves this. He loves everything about Tommy, but this... It’s the way he got to come to Tommy’s house, which feels far more like home than his loft ever has. It’s the way Tommy was excited to see him, it’s the way he fills him, covers him, kisses him, and touches him...it’s almost sublime. Every aspect of their relationship is something to be savored. Buck knows that he has had great sex before, but this, what he has with Tommy is true intimacy. Someone he can make love to and laugh with all in the same time span. The thing is, he hasn’t told Tommy any of this. Not yet. It’s only been four months and he’s spent a hell of a lot of time wondering just when he can tell Tommy all of this, tell him that he loves him, but he’s got him in his arms and well, he can’t hold it in anymore. “I’m not crushing you?” Tommy mumbles against him and Buck runs his fingers through the hair on the back of his head. “No,” he says softly. “Hey, can I tell you something?” Tommy leans far enough back to look him in the eye. “Of course. Everything okay?” “Oh yeah,” Buck insists, cupping his face in his hands and kissing him. He’s still got his legs wrapped around Tommy’s hips so he can’t go far. “Everything’s great, I just...I...I love this, you know? I love coming to your place and knowing you’re here. I love the way you kiss me hello. I love the way you got me out of my clothes like I’m something precious-” “-you are,” Tommy insists gently. Buck smiles. “I love the way you kissed every single part of me like you couldn’t get enough-” “-I can’t-” “I can’t get enough of you either, but my point is, uh, if that wasn’t quite clear is that I love you. Like, I’m ridiculously head-over-heals for you.” Tommy's smile is soft, but bright, crinkling the corners of his eyes and scrunching his nose in a way Buck always finds totally irresistible. “Yeah?” “Yeah,” Buck says, remembering a night four months ago when they said those words when Tommy was looking for confirmation and found his courage and more when Buck kissed him back. “Evan,” Tommy whispers, searching Buck’s face, like he’s looking for confirmation then too and Buck hopes he’s giving it. He knows he is when Tommy leans forward and up and kisses his birthmark. “I love you too,” Tommy says simply. Like it’s not even something he has to think about. “Hmm,” Buck breathes. “Know what else I love?” Tommy chuckles, fond and happy. “What?” Without any warning, Buck braces himself and flips them over so that he’s on top. He buries his face in Tommy’s neck, sucks a bruise there. “I really, really love the way you say my name,” he whispers lowly into Tommy’s ear, gratified when Tommy shivers against him. “Wanna see how often I can get you to say it tonight?” “Please,” Tommy whispers and Buck won’t deny him anything. He moves down Tommy’s body, kissing every piece of skin he sees. When he gets to his goal, he hears it, deep and guttural, like a prayer. ”Evan.”

[gurugirl]

Don't Speak

*images are for aesthetic only

priest!harry x subby!reader | soft dom!harry x bratty/sub!reader

Summary: Y/n accidentally says something in front of everyone at prayer group that gets her in trouble with the priest.

A/N: I know it's been so long since I gave y'all any priestrry but I missed him and his pet so I was compelled to write this! Hope you enjoy! And if you're tagged it's bc you are either on my main general taglist or you asked to be tagged in anything for priestrry (even tho it's been so long) just let me know if you want to be removed and I will! xoxo

Word Count: 2,692

Warning: 18+ only, NSFW, religious mentions, smut, sub/dom dynamic, spanking, punishment

Forgive Me, Father masterlist

She hadn’t meant to say it in front of everyone during prayer group. It didn’t have to mean anything if no one read too much into it. She was only responding to a simple question but she said we.

We plan to eat after the meeting.

We, as in the mention of herself and Harry. The two of them doing something together. She hoped they interpreted it as her saying -with someone other than Harry. But she also looked at Harry directly when she said it. Maybe no one saw that.

But Harry certainly did. And the look she received from him was scalding. She knew she was in for it once everyone had gone.

No one followed up to ask who was the other part of this we she spoke of. She wished they would. She could say anyone and make up a little lie. Her brother. Her roommate. Anyone. But no one asked.

And she wasn’t sure if the room felt tense or if it was just her. Because after she said it, she felt like everyone was suddenly looking at her differently. And of course, the way Harry was warning her with his eyes wasn’t helping matters.

So she kept her head down and her mouth closed until the end. And when everyone began to leave, like always, she walked out of the house and to the side to wait until everyone was gone.

And even when the coast was clear she hesitated for a moment. But ultimately going back inside with Harry to face whatever kind of reprimand he was going to give her was better than waiting and wondering about what he might do. Perhaps she could plead her case.

Stepping into the living room she found Harry folding up the metal chairs and placing them tidily in their little wooden cubby behind the couch. He walked across the room without even a glance in her direction and into the kitchen with a glass. Standing still in her spot she could hear the glass being placed in the sink and then his footfalls as he began to walk back to the living room.

“Father, I’m sorry. It just slipped out. I don’t think anyone noticed–“

“Go stand and face the corner. Don’t speak.”

She gulped and gave a quick nod as she scurried toward the corner of the living room and let her limbs fall loose as she waited for the priest to finish what he was doing. She wanted to protest. To tell him it was an accident and to go easy on her but she knew better than to resist.

Minutes stretched on as she listened to Harry cleaning up and moving back and forth from the living room to the kitchen before she heard him approaching behind her and then stopping.

She could feel him standing behind her but he kept silent for a beat or two before she felt his breath at the back of her neck, “Tell me what happens if someone finds out about us, Y/n.”

She inhaled a shaky breath and squeezed her eyes closed, “Well, you could face expulsion from the church. Everything you’ve worked so hard for that you love the most would be gone. Or they’d transfer you and after penance, you’d have to promise to permanently end our relationship.”

The floorboard creaked as Harry stepped in closer and she felt his warm hands at the tops of her arms, “I could lose what I love, yes. But if it came to choosing you or the church do you know what I would do, pet?”

“Father, I would like to believe you’d choose me. But I would understand if you chose the church.”

“Do you doubt how deep my love for you is?”

Y/n opened her eyes and took a deep breath, the plaster of the white wall in her view, “I don’t doubt how deeply you love me. I feel it every moment. But I also know how deep your love is for God and for your vocation.”

“I’m angry that you let it slip out like that so freely in front of everyone. But I know you didn’t do it on purpose. I want you to know that I’ll always choose you. Over everything else. Over my priesthood. Over God. You’re the most important thing I have.

A stray tear escaped her eye as he pressed his chest into her back and suddenly lifted his hands and she felt her red leather collar being placed on her neck as he adjusted the buckle, “Besides, I’ve slipped up too haven’t I? When I thought no one was watching. But you slipped up in front of many sets of eyes and ears. Let’s hope they didn’t notice the way you looked at me when you said it.”

She turned to look back at him to respond but one of his hands gripped the back of her neck, “Face the wall. I’m not done with you yet. As much as I understand it was a mistake, there are consequences for your actions, pet. Take off this dress.”

Biting her lip she silently pulled the fabric over her head and Harry noted she was not wearing panties. He imagined she did that on purpose. She often enjoyed leaving things uncovered in case they were in a situation where he could just take her. But she was cheeky too so maybe it was just to get a rise out of him.

“No panties while we were all sat here praying to our Lord. Fucks sake, Y/n.”

The first strike to her bottom had her wobbling forward, palms on the walls, and bending slightly at the waist. She was used to being spanked and when he did it with his hands it was a treat. She loved his hands on her. No matter how they were touching her.

Another open-palmed swat and then another had her dipping her head and closing her eyes as she braced herself.

She felt his hand smooth up her spine and press down between her shoulders, “Bend down further. Keep your hands on the wall, legs together. Think about what you can do to not make the kind of mistake you made today while I get your paddle.”

A big gulp was pulled down her throat as Harry stepped away. What could she have done differently? Maybe just be on top of her thoughts at all times? Never waver in front of people? She wasn’t sure. How was it possible to not accidentally slip up once in a great while? She had been so good all this time. Never doing anything that would really tip anyone off. The slip-up was bound to happen at some point.

When Harry returned she felt a kind hand rub over her bottom, “You get five on each side and no crying. Once I’ve given you five you’ll tell me what you could have done differently and if you haven’t come up with something you’ll get another five on each side. Understand?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Count for me.”

Every strike to her sensitive bottom had her keening and gasping. She counted each one, five on each side (so ten really and she would have complained but now wasn’t the time).

“Now, tell me. What can you do to make sure that never happens again? How can we avoid it?”

She took a deep breath, still reeling from her stinging bottom and knowing she was about to get five more (ten more) because she hadn’t come up with an idea quite yet.

“Uhh… I just need to think harder and not let myself really look at you… uh… I can keep my mind sharp so I don’t say things I shouldn’t on accident.”

“No. That’s not it. Count for me.”

The next round hurt more. The smooth leather landing against her sore ass had her arching her back away from him and hissing between numbers she pushed from her lungs. Every one biting a little more than before.

But when she got to her final five (ten) she thought of an answer that she felt would suffice and nearly hopped up with a grin, but knowing better she stayed in her position.

“Have you come up with an answer for me?”

“I can just not speak. I’ll say my throat hurts and keep my mouth closed the whole meeting.”

“That will only work once or twice. But every meeting, pet? You can do better than that. Count for me.”

She let her tears slip out of her eyes as she racked her brain for the answer he might want. Every number she counted got lost in her fuzzy brain and the ache from the paddle on her bum started to numb and the shift in how it made her feel manifested in arousal, which the priest did not miss as he could see her pussy with the way she was bent for him; That obvious glisten beginning to seep out from her labia.

“Tell me what you can do to avoid making comments like you did today.”

She inhaled and moaned softly, “I think that I should maybe not come to all the prayer meetings. I can stay in my cage if I’m feeling a little off maybe? Then I won’t have the opportunity to at all. And me not being at all the meetings would be good I think. Because no one is always at every meeting. Probably good for me to sit back for a while.”

The paddle fell to the floor and she felt Harry’s hands gently caressing her bottom, his fingers gliding over the raised skin left behind from the paddle, “You are so smart, pet. See? That’s perfect. Don’t move from your spot. Keep your thighs together.”

She heard the clank of his buckle and smiled to herself. She loved it when he had his way with her. She didn’t even care what he was about to do, she welcomed him wherever and however he wanted.

When his hands returned to her back and gently pressed over her bum she sighed as he leaned over and kissed her shoulder blade, “I love you. I know you didn’t do it on purpose,” she listened as he spoke and could tell he was stroking himself behind her the way his voice was wavering, breathy. “No matter what happens, you’re mine and I’m keeping you, okay?” His voice hitched up just a bit as he scraped his cockhead through her folds. She was tempted to spread her thighs but she resisted since he’d been very clear with her to keep them together.

“Yes, Father,” she breathed as she felt his smooth tip collecting her arousal, gliding up and down through her crease.

“And since you didn’t do it on purpose and I’ve given you 15 spanks as punishment,” 15 on each side, she corrected in her mind, “I’ll let you come but you may not move. I don’t want you spreading your legs to keep steady either. I’ll hold you up if you start to fall.”

The sudden slicing of his wide cock through her delicate pussy entrance had her groaning and dropping her mouth wide open. She was so wet and gushy already. She felt her arousal seep down to the back of her thigh as he began to thrust into her, juices leaking down from her opening.

Harry’s hand landed on the wall next to her head as his other clutched her hip tight, thick crown splitting her in half, and it all felt even tighter inside with her thighs pressed together. But her legs started to sway as he took heavy strokes, hips smacking against her ass. A deep moan vibrated from his chest and the way she was squeezing around him was like heaven. If he had to go to hell for his sins it would be worth it. She was worth everything to him.

When the priest noticed his pet having difficulty keeping steady he pushed into the brim, filling her completely, and gently nudged and nudged deeper into her, rutting in with hips pasted to her ass, “Being so good for me, pet. Keeping your legs together as I asked. Feels so good with you around me…”

She could hear the tightness in his voice. Her priest was enjoying her pussy. His pussy. Everything was his. All of her belonged to him. She kept her palms on the wall as he fucked into her, keeping his body tucked against her, spreading her open completely and fitting right up against her cervix like she needed.

“Want to be good for you, Father. Want to make you happy and give you everything I can. You own every single part of me.”

He groaned and rutted forward making her inhale sharply, “I do own you don’t I pet? That’s why I call you my pet. Because you’re mine and you always will be. Isn’t that right?”

No one would have ever guessed the pair stood together in the corner fucking in the small living room had the kind of secret they did. No one would have ever guessed the man was a priest and the girl on his cock with the red leather choker was his dirty secret. His divine secret. No one would know the kinds of sinful things they did together every day. If they glanced at the marks on her bare bottom they wouldn’t have assumed they were from the hands of a priest.

“Yes! Father, I’ll always be yours. I’m your possession, your property…”

They both panted as Harry’s cock worked its magic inside of her hot cunt. The wetness of her walls surrounding him and coating him was the perfect spot for him to snug into and spill his seed into.

Her lip curled up as she coughed out a loud moan and arched her back, eyes closed and in sheer bliss from her insides being rearranged. She was weak for him and her orgasm couldn’t wait any longer.

“Please! Can I come, Father? Oh my god…”

He could feel her shaking, thighs trembling so hard he had to hold her hips on both sides so she didn’t tip over.

“Aww poor thing. It aches, doesn’t it? Little pet needs to have her release, doesn’t she? Got all stressed out after misspeaking. You can come. Give me your orgasm, Y/n. Let me feel you… want to feel you milking my cock…”

Harry’s own strong thighs were beginning to quiver as his balls began to squeeze up against his body, his release just moments away.

She cried out and tensed as she spasmed and clenched around him, wave after delicious wave of wet orgasm gushing from her until she felt his grip tighten and then his chest brush into her back, his lips on her shoulder, “Come for me, pet. Holy fuck…”

He groaned at how her walls pulsed, beckoning him to come, sucking his cock deep into her tummy with every squeeze until he growled and bit down on her skin, cock pumping and throbbing inside of her.

The priest had considered not letting her come at first. But he was glad he changed his mind because there was nothing better than to have her siphoning his come from his cock as she fluttered around him and her pretty voice whined and begged…

His hot come began to leak out of her pulsing hole as he thrusted in and when he stood back to watch as he pulled out and plunged in again he saw her cream coating him.

Her legs were still wobbly as he pulled out and gently turned her in his arms and pushed his lips to hers. She felt his warm hands on her face and she knew she had nothing to worry about with her priest. He loved her and she knew it without question. Misspeak or not, he wasn’t going to just give up on her because of an accident.

Bumping his nose to hers he whispered against her lips, “I’ll always choose you. Over everything. Don’t ever doubt my love for you, pet.”

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[dontexpectmuch]

Jude with a mechanical engineering student, and she's working on f1 and is a good friend of the drivers and jude gets jealous and hard launches at a race? She works for redbull and is friends with the real Madrid guys, ty, God bless

jude is aware of how much attention he gets, no matter where he goes or whom he talks to. so many people shy away from talking to him due to all the eyes that were on him, yet he tries to stay positive and look at the bright side of the picture. as a rising star, it can be hard to meet someone that would willingly hide their relationship from the world, though when he got to know you, he felt like his prayers have had finally been answered.

it was the miami grand prix he had been invited to, ferrari have shown their interest about his appearance multiple times and when his other friends finally had the time to come along, he immediately went to the race and enjoyed his time there.

it was also the place where he met the cute engineering student that was walking out of the rivals garage, cute cap with the official team shirt on, baggy pants and a book in hand. he sneaked away from the group and followed you to the water fountain in the middle of the two garages, desperately trying to look cool yet uninterested.

so when you two fall into a conversation [slight argument] about the team and who would win the race, jude knew that he had to keep in touch with you, exactly what he did.

now, two years later, the two of you have been in a private and secret relationship, something both of you enjoyed at the beginning. the relationship blossomed quietly, only his most trusted friends knew about it, same with you. having an intelligent partner who works for one of the best sports team ever is something that jude is incredibly proud [and turned on] of, it’s like a match made in heaven. no one could disturb your little bubble of happiness and peace, and you would like to keep it that way as long as you can.

but these days, jude really wants to post about his relationship, just to mark his territory. just to let all of those sneaky, weird, [and attractive, fuck] drivers know that their ‘friend’ slash engineer was off the market.

especially now, when all you talk about is the garage and the people you work with.

“well, and then i told max to-“

you immediately stop talking when you hear jude let out an annoyed sigh, eyes wide as you look at your boyfriend.

the atmosphere around you is quite comfortable, you’d say, or at least it is to you. it has been quite some since you were able to sit down and have a nice, home cooked meal together. normally your schedules clash during the week, and weekends were spent outside the house, exploring new places and trying new things.

and normally, jude would love to hear you talk about your week, about the new stuff you learned that he definitely did not understand, but the sparkle inside your eyes made it all worth it. he didn’t know why he is so annoyed about you talking about the person you literally work with, more likely work for, but just hearing the name drop from your lips makes him want to go and shoot a ball at all of their heads.

“uh, you okay, my love?” your concern for him makes jude melt, and he wishes that he could just ignore this negative feeling growing inside of him, yet he simply can’t.

he shrugs, corners if his lips turning slightly down, “don’t know, why don’t you ask your little friend max. that’s what you always do, right?”

he knew that this was the moment he royally fucked up, no turning back now.

when you frown and look at him with those confused eyes, jude gets even more worked up than he should.

as if you don’t know what he is talking about.

“i beg your pardon, jude?”

you called him ‘jude’, meaning you were also getting worked up about the situation, well, his behavior.

he scoffs again, getting up from the table to put his empty plate away.

it was delicious, he would say, but right now he just wants to be pissed about this whole situation [that he started].

you copy his movements, actually quite sad that your usual chat time after eating is interrupted by this petty argument.

“hey, ‘m talkin’ to you.” your confusion does not seem to go away, no matter how you try to look at the situation. jude simply takes your plate from your hands and places it inside the dishwasher, before he dries his hands to continue the conversation [discussion].

“all ‘m sayin’ is that you love to be seen with your little racer buddies instead of with me.” he moves out of the kitchen back to the dining table to pick up the other dishes and the drinks.

“what the fuck?” is all you can say about his statement as you take the drinks from his hands to put them into the fridge, “what do you mean i ‘love to be seen’ with them? i work with those people and actually get along with them, just like you do with your teammates.”

the tension [not the hot one] between you rises by the second and jude is once again walking around the apartment, “that’s not the same.”

“the fuck you mean it’s not the same? it literally is?”

a few minutes ago jude would have [maybe, probably not] admitted that he might have gone too far with what he had said to you, but now seeing you getting so offensive about something that bothers him, he no longer feels like he should back off. instead he wants to win this, he wants you to understand that he is right and that you being seen with others could be, no it is, disrespectful to your relationship.

“you are my girlfriend, why would you want to be seen with other guys?!” raising his voice was something he rarely did whenever you guys argued. he preferred to keep calm in order to avoid hurting you in any way. but right now, his voice was getting louder with each argument he made, heating up the whole conversation even more.

you genuinely did not understand why he would come up with this argument all of a sudden, it is not the first time that you are seen at max’ side at races or maybe even next to others. you had a healthy relationship with most drivers and pleasant conversations with them in between races and breaks. everyone knew that you are the intern who will soon work for the redbull racing team, and jude actually was the one to be the proudest of you. it is literally how and where you guys met.

“the reason why i am seen with them is because, one; i work with them. we have to talk a lot because of the development of the car and i still have to learn a lot from the other engineers. two, i get along with them, you know, like normal co workers do, because, fuck, why not? you know all of this.” you feel your throat straining with how much and how loud you are talking, but the rage inside of you somehow numbs the pain.

“so people thinking that you are dating one of them also comes with the job, yeah?”

jude now stands tall in front if you, nostrils flared and eyes wide. he isn’t mad at you entirely, he knows it, but more like at the situation and the people that dare to pair you with someone that is not him.

but you cannot know that he isn’t mad at you, because in your eyes it seems like he is blaming you for the stuff the media puts into the news. your heart beats faster than ever and this whole situation makes your head spin.

“i don’t control what the media says? like, it’s not in my hands? to them i am a single woman who is successfully working for a motorsport team, rumors are bound to happen?”

“well, there is always some truth behind rumors, right?”

something inside you snapped, “what about you, huh?!”

jude almost flinched when you suddenly raised your voice at him, a sight he has never seen before.

“you also get paired up with a new woman every fucking day, jude. do you see me complain about it? no! because i trust you.” right now, you really wished to cry. was it that hard to understand?

the comfortable atmosphere from a few minutes ago vanished entirely, coldness and a bitter feeling on your tongue seem to have replaced it. during the two years you and jude havr spent together, you never had such an argument to this extent.

“but i am never pictured next to those people! i never even talked to them ever in my life!”

suddenly still, your eyes widened, mouth dry as you speak up, “are you accusing me of cheating on you?”

silent.

jude looks at you with his mouth open, feeling like a deer caught in headlights.

“no, never…” the stark contrast between your voices now compared to just a second ago is almost cinematic, as if you had practiced this scene multiple times already. silently looking at one another, eyes dancing around the others faces in order to understand what just had happened.

“do you also think that way when i talk to aurelien and eduardo?” your voice breaks as you speak up, a defeated feeling replaces the rage inside, “do you actually think like this of me?”

judes shoulders sack down as he listens to you speak, this is absolutely not something he ever thought of, nor would he ever dare to accuse you of such thing.

he wants to speak up, yet you quickly cut him off, “just for your information, to the media and the rest to the world, we both are single individuals who don’t even know each other. and all the guys on the grid know that i am a taken person, they would never do such thing.”

you scoff as you shake your head, turning around to go to the front door.

jude panics as he watches your fast steps, immediately following you, “what- uh, where are you going?”

you quickly put on your shoes and put your bag on your shoulders, not in the mood to continue any of this, “wanna go home.”

“but this is home-“

your head snaps to his direction, eyes cold, “apparently not. at least not now.”

jude closes his hand around your wirst, not wanting you to go away when the situation between you is so heated.

“let’s find a solution, babe, c’mon.” he begs, voice husky and desperate. he did not know that it would escalate like this, but now he regrets to even bring up this topic.

you sigh, all of this arguing took a toll on you and now you want to do nothing more but lay in your bed and not to think of anything anymore.

inhaling deeply, you look at jude, his big brown eyes never left yours anyway, and he truly does look like he wants to fix this, which you do too.

“listen,” you begin, taking one last deep breath, “you cannot accuse me of such thing and then expect me to do nothing about it-“

“i don’t want you to do anything, just, let’s stop arguing.”

scoffing, you tighten the grip on your bag, “you started all if this because apparently, you do not trust me, jude.”

“it’s babe-“

“it’s jude right now, don’t test me.” you threaten him, not in the mood for his little jokes.

shaking your head, an almost mocking laugh leaves your lips, “we decided to keep our relationship a secret. you, by the way, wanted to do it this way the most. i would have launched our relationship ages ago, because i trust you and i trust our bond. y’know, communicating and stuff.”

judes voice cracks slightly as he speaks up, deep sigh leaving his body as he tries to hold your hand, a sign that he is getting desperate, “i trust you, too, babe. ‘t’s just- i don’t know, like, rumors and shit and i don’t want you to have reporters on your neck at all times, y’know.”

you frown at his words, “but that does not explain why you literally sprung at me for mentioning max, or the others. when we first started dating, i already knew what would come along with being with you, and i would take it all, jude, everything.”

jude smiles at your words, now looking down at your hands, so you continue, “all those annoying rumors about me, people following me and what not, i genuinely will take it all, because i love you. not max, not lando nor charles or whomever you’re jealous of.”

“i ain’t jealous.” he rolls his eyes, slowly stepping closer to you.

“don’t lie to me, belli.” you smirk at him.

jude chuckles, his thumb dancing across your knuckles help you to be at ease.

“soo.”

“sooo?” you look at him confused, waiting for him to continue.

“do we just post a picture together? or like, do a sex tap-“

“shut it.” you pinch his waist, chuckling as he squirms away from your touch, “we will do a, hm, maybe a soft launch? yeah, something like that.”

jude groans, throwing his head back, “that takes way too long.”

“well,” you shrug, “ that’s what you get for literally yelling at me for doing my job.”

“and i’m sorry, love.” judes hand now caresses your cheek softly, head tilted down as his bog brown eyes apologetically look at yours, “next time, i will calmly ask you about something that bothers me, okay?”

“okay.” you smile at him, leaning into his touch.

“you have a race this weekend, no?”

“yeah, in belgium this time, why?”

“just because.”

-

“still trouble in paradise?” you hear landos [annoying] kind voice from behind you, making you draw your eyebrows together.

turning around, you tilt your head in question, “wait, how do you know?”

lando innocently smiles at you, shrugging his shoulders, “max and i are somewhat besties, y’know.”

“max.” you grumble, already planning on how to get your revenge from him.

“so? everything okay now?” lando questions again, this time in a slightly more serious manner than before.

“it’s always okay between us, just rocky at times.” you tell him, not stopping yourself from smiling when you think of your boyfriend.

lando nods his head at something behind you, “seems like goal-machine over there still wants to rip off my head, though.”

“goal-machine-?” you turn around and are immediately met with the sight of jude leaning against some tires in the garage.

he looks good, you must admit. sunglasses on too of his nose, oversized shirt with the first few buttons undone, night dress pants and matching shoes, a real snack.

a snack that should not be here, or well, a snack you did not know that would be here. so, you bid your goodbyes to lando and walk closer to jude, coming to halt a fee steps in front of him.

“eh, hi?” you greet him, confused but happy.

he smiles down at you, taking off his glasses to get a better look at you, “hey there, sexy lady.”

you scoff, rolling your eyes as you cross your arms in front of your chest, “not now, i am working, y’know.”

“chatting it up with little lad over there is quite some work, huh?” jude points at lando with his head, who still, you don’t know why, is standing inside the redbull garage, subtly [nit really] glancing at your direction every now and then.

“lando just likes to annoy me, nothing more.” you explain, smiling as you watch jude stand up straight.

“well, let’s annoy him back.” he smirks down at you.

“how-“

jude cuts you off by placing his soft lips on top of yours as his muscular arm sneaks around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. at first you feel like resisting, but the more he deepened the kiss, the more you could not get enough of it. tilting your head to gain better control, you feel up his chest before you place your hands at the back of his next, enjoying this public display of affection more than ever. maybe because it is the first time you’ve ever done something like this in a place like the garage-

you immediately push jude away, eyes wide open, “jude! there are cameras everywhere!”

he just smiles down at you, that little tease, before taking your hand into his, “you wanted to go public anyway.”

“i wanted a soft launch, though! i always wanted to soft launch a relationship.” you whine, moving closer to out your forehead against his chest in defeat.

“you can still soft launch it, love.”

you shake your head, still against his chest while you feel his hand move up and down your back, “no, let me grieve in peace, please.”

“love you too, babe.”

“shut it, you ruined my dreams.”

“you’re welcome.”

———————————————————————

enjoy 🥰

[honeybeefae]

Strawberry Wine (Tamlin x Reader)

KINKTOBER DAY ELEVEN: APHRODISIACS

Summary// Calanmai was something you knew about but never took part in, preferring to stay on the sidelines or at home. It would be your luck that tonight, right at the Great Rite began, you would get picked right as you tried to sneak away. Before you can refuse, a sweet-tasting wine is given to you that makes your mind fuzzy, thighs clench, and Tamlin look better than ever. 

(I said I was picking back up on Kinktober and in celebration of Earth Day, why not celebrate with the High Lord of Spring? This is my first time writing for Tamlin, and I’m lowkey excited! I hope you all like it <3)

WARNINGS: Smut, 18+. Aphrodisiac Usage (so Dubcon), Biting, Slight Breeding Kink, 

You have attended almost every Calanmai since reaching your maidenhood but always stayed in the dark. Watching your friends and others drink and be merry, giving back to the land and magic was fun, but you were the notorious wallflower. 

Of course, you fantasized just as much as the other maidens about getting picked to help Tamlin in the Great Rite. It was always an honor to be picked, but after everything that happened over the last few years, this Rite was important. It would be the ultimate test of whether Tamlin could remain High Lord. If he could produce enough magic to heal the land…and hopefully himself. 

Working as one of the servants in his house, you saw firsthand how Feyre and Hybern had made him a shell of his former self. Whispers of his weakening power were heard in every corner of the house. You hadn’t been under him when everything had happened, only the aftermath, but it hurt you to see someone so low. 

Even if it were his own choices that led him to that place.

As the drums sound out, signaling the beginning of the Rite, you awake from your thoughts and begin to weave through the crowd. You did dream about being picked, but given the circumstances now, you pity the girl who was chosen. She was as much as responsible as Tamlin in the ritual.

Fire dances along the cave walls as you murmur apologies, trying to squeeze past the crowd that only seems to get louder and louder. A cool breeze whisps past you, almost as if it were trying to whisper something, but before you can focus on it, you feel a rough, calloused hand grasp your wrist. 

“You.” 

Time freezes along with your body as you recognize the rough, low voice. All eyes are on you, taking in every detail of your body as they try to decipher what made you stand out before they all come to their senses and cheer.

Tamlin doesn’t wait for your excuses that were already building on your tongue, turning back to stalk further into the cave that you had only seen in the darkest corners of your mind. You swallow, wondering if you could turn to dash, but before you can, several hands start to push you forward. 

Your stomach lurches, and your vision blurs as you stand before several friends, family, and fellow court members. One of them, an elder, smiles warmly at you and holds up a single gold goblet. She whispers something akin to a prayer, though it is so loud you can barely hear her, before she brings the cup to your lips. 

“Wait, please,” You raise your hand to push it away, staring at her pleadingly. “I’m not the right one. I was leaving. I’m the wrong girl.”

“Fate is never wrong, young maiden.” She hums, her fingers brushing away your stray hairs. “Drink. You will feel better.”

And despite every alarm bell going off in your head, you obediently open your mouth. It was as if she put a spell on you. The drink, a sweet wine that tastes faintly of strawberries, goes down your throat easily. Your tastebuds seem to explode at the richness of the alcohol, craving more as you grab the goblet yourself and tip it all the way back. 

There were chuckles behind you as you frown into the empty cup, looking back up to the woman only to realize she looks slightly fuzzy. In fact, now that you think about it, everything seems blurry. 

A warmth blossoms in your belly that makes you sigh, your eyelashes fluttering as the heat goes further down. You’re distantly aware that you are in public and should definitely not be rubbing your thighs together like you’re doing, but the shame is nowhere to be found. In fact, the only thing you can feel is desire. 

“What’s…what’s happening to me?” You mumble, mouth going dry as the woman takes your hand and guides you to where Tamlin had gone.

“It’s an aphrodisiac, my dear. Something to lower your inhibitions and anxiety. It will allow more magic to flow through you and into the Earth.” She explains. You know it makes sense. A lot of people are held back by their own fears and cannot access their full potential. 

The light dims the further you go until you feel her let go of your hand. You want to protest, to turn and run, but something otherworldly seems to push you forward until you see a small campfire flickering. The people you heard cheering and singing earlier had fallen silent, the air itself stilling as you peek around the corner to see the man waiting for you. 

However, in the state he was in, you would describe him as more savage than man. His clothes were all but shredded, symbols painted onto his skin that seemed to glow as his hair fell out of its braids. You couldn’t see his face but knew his pupils were dilated, his canines probably sharper and longer. 

“I can smell you,” Tamlin growls, turning his body so that his intense gaze meets your eyes. “I picked you out immediately.”

“I can smell you too…” You whisper, the wine heightening most of your senses as the scent of cedar, rain, and faint honeysuckles fills your nose. It makes your mouth water. “I’m sorry, I don’t know how to do this. She gave me-”

Suddenly Tamlin was in front of you, your eyes immediately falling to his hard cock before he grasps your chin and pulls it up so that he could look into your eyes. There is a wide range of emotions, but the most dominant one is anger. 

Anger?

“What did they give you?” His jaw clenches as he turns your face from side to side, taking in your glassy eyes and disheveled appearance. “They gave you the wine, didn’t they?”

“Why are you angry?” You skip over his question, raising your fingers to smooth over the frown lines on his forehead. 

“Forgive me for not being thrilled that you are currently under drugs in order to sleep with me.” He snaps, pulling away from your touch. “I would never take advantage of you like this. And for them to think that you needed this…that no one would…”

You might be out of it, but you could feel the pain in his words. He didn’t know about the wine. His mind was spiraling, not only for your safety but also for the fact that his court members thought no one would want him anymore. That this was something they would have to force someone to do. 

It confirmed all the worst things he thought of himself and his court. 

But you weren’t forced here, not truly. Of course, you were hesitant at the beginning because you had never done something like this before, but now that you were here…you were sure that even without the aphrodisiacs, you would still feel this yearning. 

This was sudden and not how you expected the night to go, but you weren’t upset. In fact, it was something you had been dreaming about. You hated seeing Tamlin holed away, to see how broken he was. You just wanted to heal him. 

“Tamlin…” You say softly, taking the same approach one would do for an injured predator.  “Tamlin, look at me.” 

He does, and it damn near breaks you. All the pain, sorrow, anger, disappointment, grief, it was drowning him. 

“This may not make sense because my mouth feels numb,” You smile, cracking a joke. “But first of all, please understand no one is forcing me here. I know I could leave any time, I know I could have refused the wine, I know what this means, and I chose it.”

“But-” He starts to protest, but you hold up your hand and smush your finger against his lips. 

“Shhh, listen to me,” You soothe. “I cannot imagine what is inside your brain right now. The pressure, the memories, it sounds like hell. Just…let’s just forget about it tonight. Let this be the distraction you need, the healing this land needs, and tomorrow, we can worry about the rest.”

Tamlin gazes down at you, green eyes holding you still as he cups your face with shaky hands. The wind picks up around you, tickling your thighs and arms, before it pushes you forward and up to meet his plush lips.

Somewhere, distantly, you swear you hear fireworks going off as you immediately return the kiss. Your arms wrap around his neck, pressing your body impossibly closer as his fingers thread through your hair. His warmth only adds to yours, making you feel like an inferno as you swipe your tongue along his bottom lip teasingly.

You meant what you said about tonight being a distraction. You are going to take full advantage of sleeping with the High Lord. 

His chest rumbles with a growl that resonates to your core, pulling away for a brief moment to look you over before he claims your mouth once more. This time, it is much more passionate. Teeth clash, his once gentle fingers in your hair become a harsh grasp as he pulls your head to one side to expose your neck and shoulders. 

“Cauldron save me,” He whispers into your skin, peppering open-mouth kisses to the column of your throat. “You’ve no idea how much I’ve craved this.”

“Likewise-ah!” You yelp as he bites down on your shoulder, just hard enough to make you wince. This doesn’t deter him. Instead, it spurs him on as he lifts you up effortlessly and pushes you against the cold cave wall. 

“Look at you, petal,” Tamlin smirks as he cups your face again, running his thumb across your flush cheeks. “And we’ve barely even begun.”

“Please,” Your voice is high and needy as you feel his cock rut up against you, your panties already soaked through. “Please, I need more.”

He clicks his tongue and slips one of his hands between your bodies, his eyes screwing shut as he feels just how wet you are. You moan loudly when he shoves your underwear to the side and teases your cunt, brushing over your clit before shallowly dipping two fingers inside.

“Tamlin!” You groan, resting your head against the wall as he chuckles. 

“Trust me, I want to bury myself as deep as I can inside this delicious pussy,” He moans, pushing his fingers in deeper to stretch you out. “But I have to make sure I won’t hurt you. I want you to take all of me, love. Every. Fucking. Inch.”

Hearing him use such crass language only makes your whines increase as he curls his fingers, playing with your body like he knows every cord. You pant as his pace increases, feeling his precum leak onto your thigh as you beg and plead for him to just fuck you. 

It’s only after what feels like an eternity that he pulls out his fingers and nudges the head of his cock against your entrance. You want to close your eyes, to make sure you feel every sensation, but Tamlin maintains eye contact as he presses his forehead against yours. 

“I want to watch your face as you swallow my dick, petal. I want to watch those beautiful eyes tear up from the stretch and pleasure, to feel those little shakes as you take more and more.” He says lowly, kissing you one more time before he starts to thrust into you. 

You couldn’t hold the moan in even if an arrow was notched against your head. Your cries bounce off the walls as he sinks deeper and deeper into you, his breaths coming out in pants as he finally bottomed out. His hands fall to your hips, digging into them with his emerging claws as he looks up at you. 

The pupils were so round that you could barely see the green in his eyes, his teeth clenching as he pulls out slowly and thrust back up. The sensation pulls out a string of curses, and that is all the encouragement he needs to start fucking you. 

He isn’t gentle, not caring that your back was scraping painfully against the cave wall or that his claws were almost piercing your flesh. Tamlin seems to be more beast than man, and you were no better, the wine enhancing everything as you swear you can feel him pulse inside you. 

“Yes, yes, fuck right there!” You cry out, arching your back to try and get closer to him. 

“That’s it, love, scream for me.” He growls as everything around him sharpens. You could feel something tingle in the back of your mind, like a gentle kiss, but he hits your spot, making your mind go blank. 

And you do. You are certain they could hear you all the way in the night court as you feel your cunt tighten around him. Your orgasm had snuck up on you, but now that you were on the edge, you knew it was going to drown you. 

Urgency begins to grow between you as he thrusts faster and harder. It was stealing the breath from your lungs as you chant his name, wrapping your arm around his neck and pulling him into your sweaty chest. Tamlin waste no time in kissing and sucking on your breasts, tugging on your nipples as his own balls start to throb. 

“Cum in me, please, Tam,” You whimper, grinding down so that your clit is rubbing against his abs. “Fill me up with your seed, please!” 

Before you can even blink, you feel him snap his hips up so sharp that it sends you hurdling over the edge. The tides of pleasure fill your lungs and drag you into darkness as your eyes screw shut, your orgasm so powerful you swear you can feel the ground shake. 

And when Tamlin follows right behind you, his teeth connecting to the juncture of your neck and shoulder, you actually do feel it shake. It sends the two of you falling down, but he is quick to catch you, cradling your head while continuing to fuck you full of his cum. 

He pulls away long enough to roar before he kisses you fiercely, your own blood mingling with his saliva as you slowly start to come down. Tamlin rolls to the side and brings you with him, laying you across his chest while remaining inside you. 

The sound of music is the first thing to stir you to look around, realizing the wine is starting to wear off as your gaze falls back to the High Lord. He looks positively sinful, his chest red and sweaty from exertion while his lips hold a playful smile. 

“It’s nice to see that again.” You smile, suddenly bashful now that the liquid courage is gone. 

“I have a feeling you’ll see a lot more of it in the future.” He responds, brushing away the strands of hair stuck to your forehead. “Are you okay?”

You look yourself over, noting the bruises and scrapes, but you know they will heal soon. Mentally, you felt…well, those feelings were better saved for another day. Instead, you nod and rest your head on his chest, not wanting to spoil the moment. 

He kisses your head, and when you nuzzle down further, your sensitive sex gives a small clench, and his chest rumbles with a warning. 

“What? Are you already ready for round two?” You tease, lifting your chin to look at him. 

Tamlin smirks again and pokes his tongue against his cheek, giving a weak thrust inside you so that you can feel him harden. 

“You’re in for a long night, petal.”