#reputation young royals | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

theeveninghour · 8 months ago

Text

All My Dreaming

Summary: You came to the Night Court as a fugitive and quickly became a valued member of the Inner Circle. Azriel’s love for you has burned brightly in his chest for nearly two centuries now, but when an unknown force threatens to take you from him, he must fight to keep you at his side.

Pairing: Azriel x Winter Court!Reader

A/N: I don’t use Y/N here just out of personal preference, but the IC do call reader “Little One” because she’s younger than them by like a century or so. Also, slight timeline deviation? I kind of just made the ACOTAR timeline work for me a little bit but the important bits are there mostly. If it’s not totally accurate, please suspend your disbelief and go with it. I also took some serious liberties with Prythian geography and Azriel’s shadows in this. I had to force myself to stop because I could’ve written five more scenes, so let me know if you all want a part two. I got nasty Azriel thots to spare, baby!

WC: 16.1k ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

TW: 18+, Minors DNI, violence, death, descriptive gore, lots of time jumps, torture, smut, p in v, fingering, porn with plot, mating, slow burn, angst, friends to lovers, declarations of love, loving sexy times, miscommunications abound, Azriel being a big ole softie, Azriel being a big ole bitch to bad men, Azriel really going tf thru it emotionally, and Azriel being mouthy as fuck. Just girly things.

Part 2

Azriel hadn’t seen you in four days. Nearly a week had passed since you’d left. Rhys mentioned a mission but no additional details, Cassian avoided the topic, knowing how frustrated his brother got when you were gone, and Feyre was decidedly unhelpful the few times he’d brought you up. His shadows searched aimlessly, they’d found nothing as far south as Winter Court, daring not venture into Autumn, and knowing damn well you’d never step foot into Spring. You were slowly driving him mad; the bond in his chest aching at the loss. Even if you hadn’t recognized the golden thread linking the two of you, he felt it.

Gods, did he feel it. He’d often lay in his bed at night, eyes tracing the intricate foil patterns of the ceiling tiles. When sleep evaded him, as it frequently did, he’d grasp the thread tightly in his minds eye and tug it experimentally, begging you to see, to notice it was him that loved you with a ferocity that rivaled the sun. Try as he might, the responding tug never answered, his call into the void not returning an echo.

The second it snapped for him, Azriel had resolved himself as unworthy, not of someone like you. You were powerful, breathtakingly beautiful, intimidatingly intelligent, and you regularly brought men to their knees, both in political circles and on the battlefield. Rhys relied on you as much he did Cassian and Az, you were a core member of his court, a valuable asset, and the love of Azriel’s life. Azriel avoided the latter subject entirely, choosing instead to silently stoke the ember in chest with unyielding affection; his own private paramour.

When you’d joined the Night Court, you’d been on the run from both Winter and Autumn Courts. Your father was a high fae noble in Winter that had attempted to arrange a marriage to the second youngest Vanserra of Autumn. The family’s brutal reputation was legend and you were terrified. You were young then, barely a century old, and upon your introductory visit to the Autumn Court, Beron sought to make an impression by presenting a welcome gift. That gift? The public torture and execution of a servant he’d deemed traitorous.

His gleaming eyes remained on yours with each cast of the fire whip he’d conjured using his cruel magic. He’d cracked it again and again until blood splattered and the servant was left flayed beyond recognition, flesh searing, and finger tips twitching from the remaining neurons firing in his brain. Only after his death did Beron announce his crimes. He’d stolen a parcel of food from the royal pantry to feed his wife and small child. Your stomach churned at the thought of the now widow and fatherless child waiting at home for the male that would never return.

It had all been a test to see if you were worthy of the most violent and petulant of the broody sons, and you’d passed, holding Beron’s stare and keeping your back straight as you faced his wrath head on. You’d cried yourself dry in your room that night though, sobs wracking your form until your chest ached, grief for the male that was lost. Fear settled into your heart, terror of the family you were set to marry into.

You’d ran at first light, leaving with nothing but the clothes on your back. Your Winter white blonde hair streaking across the red and orange forest as you bolted. Beron sent his dogs after you. You still had the scars lining your calves from where they’d gotten too close, brought you down into the dirt, jaws snapping and tearing at the muscly sinew there. But you’d fought. You’d kicked and clawed like a feral child of the woods, screaming with a sense of self preservation you’d never known you possessed.

Rhysand had found you half dead, starving and a little savage in the mountainous border between the Day and Night Courts. He’d made a bargain with you then; he’d save you, if you worked for him. Word had already spread of the ousted Winter female and spurned Autumn princeling and Rhysand was impressed you’d lasted in the wilds undetected for so long. The small star flecked tattoo of the Velarian night sky that lived on your wrist since was the only evidence of his deal.

You’d long moved past such a bargain. Rhys had offered to lift it half a dozen times in your first hundred years within his court, but you hadn’t minded. A reminder, you’d insisted, a mark of your loyalty to the family that didn’t lead you the wolves with such glee.

You’d settled into a routine in Velaris, training with the Illyrian brothers and charming Amren with your intelligence and wit. But you’d become the closest with Mor, who felt a kinship in your shared traumas. She’d soothed you in those first years, fiercely protecting her friend when Eris Vanserra had shown up in Hewn City as an emissary to inquire on your new position in the Night Court. It was that same night that Azriel realized how fucked he truly was.

Eris smirked at you and your back straightened, face growing cold. He spoke, “My brother was wondering where you’d scampered off to.” A laugh followed, “You couldn’t stomach our court, but found yourself bound to the Court of Nightmares? My my, what a wicked turn of events.”

Rhysand had spoken then, wearing his High Lord mask well, “Watch yourself, Eris. You know not what our Little One can do.” Eris laughed, the sound laced with the dark spark of a threat. “Little One? Fugitive and Night Court whore, I must tell your father. I’m sure he’ll be proud to hear of his daughter’s fate.” Azriel’s wings pricked, then fluttered, he would’ve killed Eris right then for you. Your hand came to rest on Rhys’ arm as you stepped around the throne to level your accuser with a look that should’ve turned him to stone.

“I am no male’s whore and I belong to no court except Night. Report what you wish to my father, to your father, your brother. May you all rot.” You’d spat at his feet then, and the room heated twenty degrees, Eris’ barely kept rage simmering under the surface, fire blooming on the fringes of his figure.

He stepped forward and Cassian, Azriel, and Mor all shifted, prepared to take out the threat. Eris’ eyes tracked their figures, gauging the situation. He knew better. Any attack here would mean war on his court and his father have his hide for that. You stepped forward to meet him, knowing he could make no move without endangering his position. You kept your spine straight and narrowed your gaze at him with such contempt he would’ve been impressed at the show had you been anyone else.

“I will say this once Eris Vanserra,” you held up one long manicured finger, and Azriel traced the action with thinly veiled obsession. “Leave my court or I will be the one to kill you. I’ll rip your spine from your body and I’ll do it with the same glee in which your father,” you’d spat that word, the hatred you held for Beron burning your throat as the words exited your mouth, “killed that male for feeding his family.” You took a step closer, summoning a dagger in your left hand, and rolling it your palm. “Trust that we have no tolerance for your family or your bullshit in these lands.”

Eris had good enough sense to step back then, peering around your form to where Rhysand sat, legs spread, slouched in the throne, smirking at your display of dominance. Azriel to his right looked on in pure male satisfaction, you were a powerful little thing and he was rather fond of you in that moment. Eris spoke up, “Should I note that the Night Court threatens other Courts for sport?” Cassian and Azriel rolled their eyes in synchronous fashion, but it was Mor that spoke with the dark edge of a threat, “Only ones that deserve such brutality.” Her father, Kier, stood in the gathered crowd and sneered at the tone of her voice.

You’d done the unthinkable then, winnowing behind Eris, grasping the male by his red hair and dragging the dagger to his neck, digging in enough to cause the male’s heart to speed, a line of scarlet leaking from the press of your blade. You could feel the heat in his skin, the flame licked at your hand as you released him with a shove.

You brandished your dagger as if it was an extension of your hand, the tip of the silver blade glinting with red from the now healing cut at Eris’ throat. “Come for me again and I’ll kill you.” It was then that Azriel noted the slight tremble in the hand at your right side and he wished on some distant star that he could reach out to you, soothe you, tell you that he was proud and you defended yourself and your court beautifully.

As if his wish was granted, he felt his chest give way to a canyon of emotion, heart stuttering as the bond fluttered and snapped, thrumming with affection for the female standing at the center of the room. He had selfishly allowed himself to hope it would be you, in the dark of the night when he was alone and his shadows whispered to him of your whereabouts. Since he’d met you, he fostered that small romantic notion of soulmates. His most private desire.

Eris whirled on you with a roar, grabbing your throat with hands of fire. Azriel felt the breath leave him, and he took two then three steps forward before he could think, hazel eyes alight with a fierceness you’d not yet witnessed. Your eyes found his and you held up your hand to halt his movements, the one that had trembled seconds earlier, now steady as a stone. You’d looked at Eris then, raising your chin defiantly, a slow smile overtaking your face as you once again spit at the Autumn male before winnowing back to your place in front of the dais. Rhysand raised to his feet then, taking steps down to meet you. His hand grazed your arm this time and his mind reached out, “Very good, Little One, very good.”

“As the lady said, Eris, come to my court in search of her again, and she’ll be the one to kill you.” Rhys circled Eris, tracking like prey. “But not before I sanction it for laying your hands on a member of my house.” Rhysand spoke with such quiet cunning, it was no wonder he excelled as High Lord. Eris snarled then before winnowing out of the Hewn City and Azriel quickly set his shadows to following him, ensuring he was actually gone.

You returned to Mor’s side and the shameless pride that set on your face the rest of the night made Azriel want to kiss you. Gods, he was fucked..

You’d flirted with him constantly in the first century you’d been in Velaris. You had laid it on thick too, dragging a long nail up his arm, your mouth sliding into a smirk after one too many drinks at Rita’s. Azriel had always feigned friendly indifference though, a mask he slipped on that was equal parts protection as it was self soothing. His only crack coming in the form of a slight tremble in his pinky as he tried to gather himself to avoid closing the space between you, touching, grasping, feeling.

He’d worn black leather gloves around you in your first few decades with them. His hands always held the most insecurity for him, the silver scars and warped skin a brutal reminder of his childhood. It was after training one day, as you all packed your small bags and threw towels into bins that you’d asked about it.

“I don’t mean to pry, and feel free to tell me to fuck off, but why the gloves?” You asked quietly leaning against a wall less than ten feet from him. He’d stiffened and breathed tightly, “it helps with the work.” That had always been his excuse, wearing gloves when killing helped reduce the touch memories associated with the act, and it was partially true. But he wasn’t on a mission right now, and you called him on that, “are you spying right now?” Your lips quirked, “should I tell Rhys?” Your words were mirthful, but your eyes held nothing but empathy for the Shadowsinger, sometimes Azriel wondered if that was your Cauldron blessed gift.

You’d reached down then, rolling up the left leg of your training leathers. You’d resumed your full height and rotated your calf outward for his eyes to survey the damage there. Ragged silver keloid scars marked the skin from your ankle to the soft back of your knee— a knee he’d admittedly fantasized about many nights in a row now. He’d selfishly thought about trailing kisses up your leg, pausing to nip playfully at the soft skin at your knee as he made his way north, up your thigh. He breathed deeply banishing those thoughts as he took in the site of your marred skin. Judging by the heavily keratinized markings, the injury had no doubt been painful when incurred originally. Azriel’s fingers twitched again, wanting to touch your face, hold you as he kissed away your grief.

“From Beron’s dogs,” you breathed, rolling you shoulders, as if shaking the memory from your mind. “They wouldn’t heal when I was out there,” you clicked your tongue, “granted I was starving,” you sighed, “but that’s a story for another day.” You looked at him then, and he had to steady himself at the emotions pooling in your eyes.

He’d already planned on killing Beron if the opportunity presented for what had happened with Mor, but for you, he’d make it hurt. He’d drag it out and make it slow. He’d torture him for days, flaying skin from bone, taking fingers then limbs and when at last he begged for death, Azriel would set the dogs on him and laugh as they tore him apart. He felt a long repressed need for vengeance creep up his spine, and he hated to acknowledge what its presence meant in regards to you.

“It’s okay, you know,” you’d said, head lolling to the side as you watched him, eyes swimming with a gentle affection, “I’ll never judge you for something like that.” Azriel squeezed his eyes shut as he turned his head from you and breathed in tightly. How did always manage to be so fucking disarming and vulnerable? That must’ve been a gift too.

He pinched the middle finger of the right glove and pulled it from his hand, grasping his now exposed fingers into a fist, knuckles cracking. He extended that arm out, palm up as he let you view his deepest insecurity, the thing he hated most in his appearance.

You’d stepped forward, looking at his palm. Your hands went to reach but you’d paused, looking to his eyes as you silently asked permission to touch. He nodded stiffly, watching you with the same intensity of an animal being hunted, prey ready to bolt at any moment.

Your fingers touched his hand, and he felt the connection race up his arm and to his chest, settling in his heart. Your eyes studied, and you rotated his hand, fingers gently tracing from his wrist, to knuckle, to fingernail in reverence. You covered his hand with your own, moving your eyes to his hazel ones. “Are they dead?” You’d asked seriously, and he stuttered a shocked laugh. “Yes, Little One, they are,” he answered, a small smile playing at his mouth. The two of you far too similar it seemed. “Good,” you’d said simply before kissing his knuckles and pulling the glove back on for him. The action was quietly intimate, and Azriel should’ve kissed you then. Mother knows he considered it, eyes watching you with rapt attention as his heart sped up and breathing shallowed.

“If you two are done flirting, lunch is ready,” Cassian announced from the doorway, breaking the spell you were both under. You’d jumped and laughed freely at the large male smirking at the entrance. You grasped Azriel’s hand tightly in affection before releasing it to turn on your heel to exit the room, passing by Cass with an eye roll, thumping him square in the chest.

Cassian looked to his brother as he walked into the room and his face split into a shit eating grin. “Let’s go, loverboy,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. Azriel glared, scoffing as he followed behind you, praying to whatever Gods were listening that he’d get you alone again soon.

In your second century with the Night Court, you’d lessened the blatant flirting and settled into loving, easy friendship. You regularly attended balls and galas in Hewn City, fitting into such pomp with practiced ease, but always with a dagger strapped to your thigh, ready to cut a male down in seconds. Those events were almost routine at this point: Azriel would save you a dance, and you’d move together in a slow ritual that you’d both perfected over the years, he’d bow as the violinist played their final note and resume his place on dais at Rhys’ right. His eyes would follow you the rest of the night, as you spoke in an airy manner to various high fae, glaring at any male whose hands ventured too close to his mate.

Nights when the Court held parties at the House of Wind were different though. You were far less rigid, finding it easy to exist without scrutiny. Those were the nights Azriel’s eyes rarely left your form as he watched obsessively from the corners of the room.

“You’re staring,” Rhys chimed from his place next to Azriel, eyes not leaving the crowd as he spoke to the Shadowsinger, mouth smirking. Azriel was staring. You’d worn cobalt blue tonight, a lovely color on your skin. His color on your skin. Mother above, the male possessiveness that crawled up his spine was unreal. Mate, mate, mate, his shadows had sang in his ear. He wanted to pluck the eyes from every male in the room for even glancing in your direction. He wanted so much more than that too. Your breathy sighs as he marked you, your moan as he made you come undone, his name crying from your lips as he ate his come from your cunt after. Azriel had a million and one scenarios running through his head. He yearned to make each one of them come to fruition too.

He hadn’t answered Rhysand, so the High Lord tried again, “you really should tell her, but please,” Rhys closed his eyes with a grimace, “quiet your thoughts first, for Cauldron’s sake.” That got Azriel’s attention, his back straightening and mental shield slamming down. His eyes squeezed shut, almost as if he was in pain. “I cannot burden her with that now,” he said, “not with war at our doorstep.” Indeed, the second war with Hybern creeped ever closer, disappearances of other high fae occurring daily. Whatever they were planning across the sea, it was going to bring Prythian to its knees.

Rhysand sighed then, feeling older than his 500 years. “Be that as it may, we should hold those we love tighter.” Rhysand looked to Feyre at that moment, his eyes meeting his mate’s, as he sent a strum of warm affection down the bond. She smiled and returned it cheerily. He turned back to Azriel, “if it all ends tomorrow, I know my love and she knows me. That’s all we can ask for in this immortal life.” Azriel looked back to you, and your eyes were already on him, tracing the shadows that wound around his chest. You met his eyes and winked, before turning back to Mor and laughing freely.

“I thank the Cauldron daily it was you that found her in those mountains, Rhys.” Azriel spoke quietly, admitting a small secret he’d not told anyone. Rhysand softened, and clapped his friend on the shoulder, “As I am, brother.” Azriel nodded, letting the conversation die between himself and the High Lord as he drained the drink in his hand and moved down the steps in your direction.

You’d been in conversation with Mor when he approached. She was telling you of the seamstress she’d been seeing, and how happy she was. Azriel cleared his throat from behind the two of you and you turned to meet him, taking in his appearance with wide eyes. “Ladies,” he started, bowing to you and Mor, who snorted at the silly formality. “And that note, I’ll be taking my leave. I’ve got a lady to see,” she said with a wink and a flourish of her red dress. You laughed and shook your head before turning back to the Shadowsinger. He’d caught you staring earlier and your heart had nearly jumped into your throat, before Mor mocked you lightly, diffusing the tension.

“Hi Az,” you greeted softly, before dropping your empty glass on a passing waiter’s tray and thanking them. Azriel watched you closely, noting the revealed skin that shifted with each movement, committing every angle and freckle to memory.

“You want to get out of here?” He dared ask, jerking his head toward the private balcony on the House of Wind. You raised a brow, Azriel? Asking you to leave? Together? You heart was back in your throat and you thanked the Mother that you’d taken your time getting ready that evening. Nodding, you grasped his arm as he offered it to you like a proper courtier. He walked the two of you up a round of stairs and away from the eyes he’d threatened earlier in the night. Voices dulled the more space you put between yourselves and them and you couldn’t help but start to sweat a bit at the thought of being alone with Azriel.

You’d been friends for nearly two centuries, but you’d always felt a connection with the male. Your heart thrummed with a warm, golden affection when he got close. It made keeping a clear head during training hard. It made sitting next to him at dinner difficult. And when he’d looked at you like you hung the moon as you danced earlier in the night, it made you want to take him to bed and ride him until he moaned your name. You breathed deeply. ‘Focus,’ you chided yourself, ‘he is your friend, for Cauldron’s sake.’

He led you out onto to the balcony and stopped at the railing before looking up at the star flecked sky. “This is my favorite part of the House,” he said eyes scanning the sky before looking back to you as you watched him. A blush crept up his neck, before he cleared his throat again.

“I’ve always wondered what it was like to be able to fly, you know,” you said quietly, removing your hand from his arm, rolling up onto your toes, leaning against the stone railing, and looking out on Velaris before scanning your eyes up to the three stars that shone brightly overhead. “When I was a child, I met a Peregryn from the Dawn Court and thought she had the most beautiful wings I’d ever seen.” You chanced a glance his way, “I’d not met an Illyrian yet.” You reminded with a smirk, bumping his arm with fondness. Gods, he was in trouble.

“I asked her what it was like and she said it was the purest sense of freedom possible.” You glanced down at your feet, “I spent the next year wishing for wings.” He mulled on your words. He wanted to say something cheesy as Cassian would, like ‘I’ll be your wings’ but he couldn’t, so you continued on.

“When I was a little older, I witnessed a blue skinned lesser fae’s wings ripped from his body as punishment and it was the most gruesome thing I’d seen at that point.” You took a shuddering breath, “I cried for him that night. The lost freedom. How maddening it must’ve been.” You looked at him then and he watched you with furrowed brows. “How does it feel for you?” You asked softly, eyes tracing the shine of his wing. ‘Magnificent things,’ you thought. You remembered seeing his wings for the first time and thinking the Peregryn had finally moved to second place in your mind.

Azriel had to gather himself as he spoke, “It’s… everything.” He said quietly adjusting his body to extend a wing. “My ability to fly came in late,” he said, and your eyes widened, you hadn’t known that. “My childhood was… rough and I didn’t learn to fly until I was nearly grown.” He laughed, scuffing the toe of his boot, wings folding in behind him. “It was a lot of crash landings those first months.” You snorted, mental image of a younger Az, landing in a puddle of mud crossing your mind.

“I was never a proud Illyrian, not like the others,” he continued, “it was hard for me to reconcile my heritage and our traditions.” He looked to the cityscape then, “but the stronger I got, the more I understood why flight was so crucial to my people.” He looked to you, eyes shining, “it’s the closest we can get to the stars.”

You leaned over the railing again, staring wistfully at the night sky, the moon reflecting on your skin. “Will you take me someday? Flying, I mean.” Did you not know Azriel would give you the world? Of course he’d take you flying. He’d give you the moon, the stars, walk through fire and back, anything. He nodded, “you say the word, and I’ll fly you the the ocean and back.” The smile that broke across your face crippled him, his knees threatened to give way.

“Yours are my favorite,” you murmured softly, eyes glancing from his wings to his face. Azriel blushed in full, pink speckling his neck and cheeks as he laughed. “Don’t let Cass hear you say that, he’s got an ego,” he said, a smile remaining at his lips. You liked him like this the most. Loose, smiling, free. You reached up then, cupping his reddened cheek, thumb stroking. “I don’t care,” you said smiling, “it’s the truth.” Azriel swallowed roughly, staring at your eyes swimming with an emotion he knew, but was much too stubborn and scared to name.

Just as your hand went to retreat, he grasped it between his own. “You can touch them,” he offered, knowing damn well the implications, “if you want,” he added. Your eyes widened. Mor had mentioned once that Illyrian’s wings were ‘sensitive,’ was the word she’d used. It was a sign of great intimacy and trust to allow another to touch them. You felt the air shift between you two then, as you nodded.

He extended a wing toward you. This felt so much like the first time he’d shown you his hands all those years ago. Your hand crept forward and gentle fingers met the red gold membrane that stretched between two metacarpals. Your fingers traced the membrane in smooth circles, then traced up to the crest. Azriel felt his breath gutter out of his mouth in a loud, choppy exhale, and he felt himself harden at the sensation of your fingers against the most sensitive portion of his wings. You gasped and jerked away at the sudden noise, before apologizing. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have gotten carried away.”

Azriel shook his head, “It’s not that, they’re sensitive.” There was that word again, only it made you think of how they’d been shredded before the King of Hybern, and you opened your mouth to apologize again, but he stopped you short. “I haven’t allowed another to touch them freely since my mother.” The admission floored you, your gut giving way with a breath.

You looked to his eyes then, the air between you had shifted again and you knew this was it. This was the moment you’d waited for, he was going to kiss you. Mother, it felt you’d waited a millennia, and he felt just the same. But that kiss never came. Instead, Azriel went stock still, his eyes now on the House behind you.

“Azriel?” You questioned. “It’s Rhys,” he said tightly, “he’s summoning me.” You understood then. He looked to you desperately, eyes a little wild and apologetic. “I’m sorry, I have to go to him.” You nodded, you both worked for the High Lord, you’d never get in the way of Azriel’s allegiance to his Court. “Of course,” you said quietly, taking a step back and swallowing down your disappointment.

Azriel took three steps towards the entrance then stopped. “I’ll take you,” he turned around, backing his way to the arched stone, but keeping his eyes on you for a moment longer. “When I get back, I’ll take you flying,” he offered. Another smile etched its way across your face and Azriel took a long moment to memorize it greedily. “It’s a date,” you said confidently. He beamed then, turning on a heel to pick up into a jog, Rhys no doubt shouting to hurry up.

That date hadn’t happened though. The second war with Hybern broke out days later and you both barely made it out alive.

When Feyre had come to Velaris after Amarantha’s defeat, you’d accepted her with easy friendship. You saw Rhysand, your longtime friend, overcome with love for his newly found mate, and you couldn’t help but love her as well. You’d shared your story with her and the two of you bonded deeply over her art. She’d offered to teach you to paint, and you began taking lessons in your off time. Rhys had been Cauldron blessed with her and you reminded him daily.

Later, when Feyre’s sisters joined their little unit, you’d been the first one to break Nesta’s tough exterior. The female saw parts of herself in you and you’d gotten her to crack a smile when you mocked Rhys’ High Lord voice at dinner one night. Elain had been a tougher sell, but you’d tried, along with Azriel, to bring the female out of her shell. The day she joined you in the library to read, you knew progress had been made, even if you two had only sat in silence a few feet apart, a small smile gracing her features.

You left her book recommendations with small notes and she began to do the same. Your friendship playing out in the margins of the library’s tomes. You won her over with silent conversation. Nesta noticed, of course, and she looked to you with gratitude as she saw her sister’s eyes brightened and skin began to return to its normal, healthy color. The night Azriel mentioned it as you walked down the hall toward the dining room for the family meal, you’d shrugged. “I met her where she needed me to,” you’d said quietly, glancing to your feet. Azriel smiled, a Cauldron blessed gift indeed.

Dinners at the House of Wind were by far Azriel’s favorite version of you. You’d laugh with abandon, smile splitting your face, showing every tooth as Mor cracked a joke and leaned against you for support, one too many drinks in her system. The first time he’d seen that smile, it blinded him, and he’d gone a little dazed, staring at you in wonderment. Rhys had interrupted his train of thought with an invasive insertion of “How quickly she reduced you to a puddle, brother.” Azriel had scowled at Rhys then, mental shields firming up, but not before he heard the distinct sound of his High Lord laughing at the Spymaster’s defensiveness.

Indeed Azriel was gone for you. When Cassian finally confronted him last year about the truth of his feelings, Azriel saw no point to avoid it any longer, not after his brothers had also found their mates. “Our souls are one in the same, she’s my mate,” he’d said pensively, as if he was letting his deepest secret breath in the light for the first time in centuries. Maybe he was. He’d made Cassian promise on his life not to tell anyone, and despite being the biggest gossip in the Inner Circle, he kept his promise. He was thrilled for his brother, knowing you were the perfect match.

Little did Azriel know, everyone else was already more than aware of his affections. Amren had figured it out a century prior when Azriel had tended your needs as you’d recovered from an injury sustained during a mission. He’d fretted around you like a mother hen, buying you flowers, sweets, and books while you were bedridden. The female had watched and hummed with a raised eyebrow as Azriel exited your room for the fifth time in one day, wringing his hands with worry despite Madja’s clean bill of health.

Feyre had figured it out the same year she’d returned from the Spring Court, just before the second war with Hybern. She’d seen the way his eyes had followed you in the war room Rhys had created to host strategy meetings. Saw him lean towards you when you spoke, saw his wings flutter when you finally cast your gaze to him, eager for your attention. More than anything, she’d seen his shadows, desperate little things, sneaking across the floor each night, sidling up your ankles and wrists, begging for your affection. You always laughed and nuzzled them as the wound their way to your hair and Azriel went a little soft at the sight.

When she told Mor, the blonde had laughed, “They’ve been circling each for two hundred years now, eventually one of them will cave.” Mor leveled a sardonic look at Feyre then, “and when they do, we’ll all have to relocate to the River House for a year lest we be subject to the frenzy.”

This mission should’ve been simple. Rhys had asked you to check out reports of rogue soldiers spotted making their way towards the border of the Night Court from the Day coastline. The intel he’d received had mentioned three to four maximum, all of them drunken ex-Hybern loyalists. It should’ve been a matter of locating them, spying for a day or two, then winnowing in to neutralize any threat. Gods, this was far from simple.

When you’d arrived in the region, the hairs on your neck rose, the air itself feeling off. As you tracked them, you’d noticed intentional attempts to throw you off course. A carelessly trashed map, crudely laid tracks in the opposite direction, Dawn Court wine bottles that had been emptied and tossed about. They knew you were there, and you quickly realized that a trap had been laid. You backed off them then, staying further than you’d have liked, but trying like hell to make them think you’d given up.

On your fourth night following them, you’d drifted away to an inn two towns over, desperately seeking a place to bathe and rest, even for a few hours. As you bathed, you felt watched in a way that discomfited you to your core, and your dagger stayed within arms reach the rest of the night. Suddenly, the role you’d played for the last two hundred years had left you entirely ill equipped for whatever was happening here.

You’d left out before dawn, refusing to lose an ounce of daylight, but as you hit the tree line, readying yourself to winnow out, you’d noticed it. Hanging from a tree, a hundred yards away was a piece of clothing, your clothing. Clothing that should’ve been in the pack at your back. Your breath shuttered out of you as you opened your mind to Rhys, asking for back up. You were in over your head and you knew when to admit it. There was no pride in getting yourself killed.

As you turned to move back to the inn where you could wait out contact from Rhys in a public location, you were met with a pair of shining blue eyes. You stepped back, keeping your grounding, readying for a fight. “You’ve been following us,” the stranger said calmly, beginning to trek in a slow circle around you. You opened your mind to Rhys again, “Help,” you called. Rhys answered this time, “Where are you?!” It was a frantic response, you never asked for help, Rhys knew this. “Just off the coast, beneath the mountain range, Day court border, 400 hundred paces from the inn” you spoke to Rhys in choppy thoughts, trying to establish a location before all hell broke loose.

“I have,” you finally answered the stranger, whose lips quirked at your voice. He stopped circling and resumed his stance in front of you, blocking passage to the inn. “Why?” He asked and you tried to keep your mind steady as you answered. “You’re trespassers in these lands” you stated simply, shrugging a shoulder up. He grinned then, “had your lot not gotten in the way of our King’s plans, these would be our lands. We were promised them. I was personally promised the Court of Nightmares.”

“Well,” you shrugged feigning indifference, “that’s not how the war played out, so I will have to ask you to leave,” you offered in your most bored political tone. The same tone you’d used with High Fae that ran off at the mouth in Hewn City. The stranger cocked his head the side then, eyes twinkling, “I don’t think I will.” At that moment, one by one, additional soldiers appeared from the forest line. One, then four, then ten, until near twenty stood around you, looking on with hatred.

Shit.

“We’d hoped for the Illyrians, but it seems your High Lord sent us a treat instead,” the stranger said with mirth. You steeled your spine, looking down your nose at the stranger, “They’re going to kill you, you know.” He’d laughed at your threat. “I think not,” he said as as arrow was released from your left, finding purchase in your shoulder. You folded over on yourself at the blow, and looked up baring your teeth, before drawing your dagger and rushing the stranger with a feral sound.

Five more arrows hit you before your blade could find its target. One into your hip, two in your back, a fourth piercing your in your upper thigh, until the last burrowed into the back of your knee, bringing you down in front of him — forcing you to bow to the stranger. The arrows were laced with faebane you realized as you’d begun to feel its effects in your blood. Your power waning quickly, thoughts becoming murky.

You released another shattered thought to Rhys then, “Tell him, please,” you begged raggedly. Rhysand came back with a rushed and tight, “Hold on, Little One, we’re coming.” You shook your head, there wasn’t time. “Tell Azriel I love him if I don’t make it, Rhys, promise me.” He responded but it muddled out, sounding like words shouted through a pool of water, then your brain fell quiet. The line severed.

The stranger lifted your head, hand wrapped around your throat, as he bent to meet your crouched form. “I’ll be sure to savor this,” he smiled and the hilt of his sword came in fierce contact with your forehead.

It was the early morning on your fifth day away when Rhys heard you. “Help,” it had come through so clearly that it startled Rhys awake and set his heart to racing. You’d only asked for help once, during the war when you were overrun and near death. You were in danger.

He’d sat up straight in bed, Feyre still sleeping silently at his side, hand resting on her pregnant stomach. “Where are you?!” He’d asked down the line, a little frantic, remembering the state he and Azriel had found you in last time. Gods, you’d been run through on a Hybern soldier’s sword, the damage was astronomical. Azriel had nearly killed everyone within a mile radius at the sight of you.

You recited your location in short bursts and Rhys focused on the bond of your bargain, using it to locate you with more precision. He reached out to Azriel then, “Get Cassian and meet me downstairs. Be ready to fly.” Azriel responded an affirmative and Rhys rushed around his room, grabbing his dagger lined belt, and using his magic to dress in his leathers quickly. He winnowed to the base of the stairs and was glad to find Cassian and Azriel waiting.

“Tell him, please” you begged into Rhys’ mind then, words growing ragged. Rhys’ eyes slammed shut with a wince and he attempted to reassure you, “Hold on, Little One, we’re coming.” Rhys opened his eyes and looked to Azriel, who was watching him with anticipation. You responded again, words growing murkier, a little warbled. “Tell Azriel I love him if I don’t make it, Rhys, promise me.” Rhysand felt sick. “We will find you and you will tell him yourself,” he spoke but the bond was dead, silent, foreboding. Rhys thought he might vomit.

He looked to Azriel again, “It’s her. She’s in trouble. We have to go.” Azriel’s face darkened with a thunderous ferocity. Mother help the males who’d harmed you. “Where?” He asked, voice deep with the threat of murderous violence. “The wilds on the border, off the coast of Day. I’ll winnow us as close as possible.” Azriel nodded his acquiesce and lifted a trembling hand to his hair, running scarred fingers through the strands. Cassian spoke then, “we will get her back,” he’d said softly as Rhysand put his hands to the two of them, preparing for the jump. “And we will kill every last one of them,” Cassian added darkly as blue-black shadows encased them and they disappeared.

You awoke with a start, gasping like you’d been underwater. Your shoulders ached from your position. You pulled on your hands only to realize you were shackled to a tree somewhere deep in the forest, the same forest you’d been on the outskirts of earlier. You looked up to the sky, trying to find the sun to gauge how much time had passed. The sun had long moved past midday and was sinking towards the evening horizon. Your throat tightened. Where was Rhysand?

“Nice of you to join us,” a voice spoke. It was the stranger again, he emerged from the camp set two hundred paces to your left, hidden by shrubs and underbrush. You got a good look at him this time. He was tall, leanly muscular in a way that reminded you of Lucien Vanserra. His hair was a dishwater blonde and lacked any sheen, falling in choppy dry waves around his shoulders. His face was gaunt, eyes sunken, bruised with a lack of rest, and his cheekbones were sharp, giving his face an angle that made him look harsh and unforgiving. Though he carried himself with confidence, you noticed a slight, barely there limp in his right leg, an old wound perhaps, one that never healed correctly. You noted that for later, if you ever got out of these shackles.

You leveled a glare at him that you hoped looked more fearsome than you felt. Mother, your bones ached and your wounds throbbed. “I left the arrows in, but broke off the shaft. Didn’t want to have you healing too quickly.” He spoke with nonchalance, while polishing a dagger, your dagger, you realized as your eyes focused. You pulled at the shackles above your head, and the stranger chuckled at your attempt.

“What do you want?” Your voice croaked, mouth dry from disuse. The stranger laughed, pointing the blade at you, “I want my fucking court and you’re the key to getting it.” You shook your head then, “I am nothing.” The words sounded foreign on your tongue, a lie on some level, you knew this, but you would be damned before you gave up your family. The stranger clicked his tongue at your response, shaking his head.

“Surely you don’t believe that? The High Lord doesn’t trust easily, you’ve been seen with his entourage. The Shadowsinger’s whore.” He squatted a few feet from you, eyes tracing from your tied hands down to your face, pausing at your breasts, before trekking down your stomach, thighs, and calves. He was sizing up how much fight you had left.

Your brain had short circuited though, the Shadowsinger’s whore. Mother above, you’d never even kissed. How long had this male watched you and your family? How had none of you seen it? A bitter laugh wretched from your lungs, “sorry to disappoint, but the Shadowsinger isn’t mine.” No matter how desperately I’ve wished it so, you added silently.

The stranger grinned then, “if you are truly nothing, then I’ll make this a little sweeter.” He took steps towards you, raising the dagger to rest at your chin, the blade pressing to the underside painfully. “You’re far too pretty to be nothing.” He ran the blade along the column of your throat, resting it against your sternum, between your breasts. You pushed yourself further into the tree, back protesting as the arrows burrowed deeper with the movement. You didn’t like the new angle this interaction had taken and your fight or flight instincts were screaming.

You attempted to reach out to Rhysand, but the bond was dead silent. Your breathing hitched at the realization that you were truly alone in this. The stranger chuckled, dragging the blade down your chest, slicing the leathers, letting the fabric fall open and reveal your undergarments to his greedy view. Your legs moved to kick, but you realized quickly they too were tied. The blade came to rest at your bare stomach, and the stranger dug it in below the navel, causing blood to pool there. You winced, but made no sound.

“Ah, I was hoping you’d be louder than that,” the stranger smirked, “I’ll have to try harder.” He backed up then and pulled a whip from his back pocket, unfurling it with a crack. Your eyes widened and you brain went silent, fear overtaking your senses. “There it is,” his smile gleamed with violent delight, “there’s the reaction I was hoping for.” He reared an arm back before cracking the whip in your direction. The leather made contact with your torso, a stinging slice appearing along your rib cage. You jerked, but bit your tongue.

He cracked it again and again until you were bloody, slices in your leathers, festering wounds along your breasts, ribs, and stomach. You’d counted to 25 lashes before your brain gave out and your vision blurred from the pain. You looked up to the sky wearily. The sun was gone and the stars were slowly appearing. You smiled at them, remembering Azriel’s words from that night all those years ago.

You hoped he’d forgive you for not telling him. You hoped he’d understand your fear in revealing that secret, that the bond had snapped for you during the war. When that Hybern soldier’s sword pierced your armor, running through your body to the hilt, and he’d let out a fearsome bellow from across the field at the sight. You felt it then, the golden strumming taking the form of a fated thread linking you two. You been near death when he and Rhys had found you and the only thing you could do was smile. Such an ironic thing it was to die in the arms of your mate.

Your head lolled to the side as exhaustion threatened to overtake you. “Azriel,” your thoughts ventured, calling down the bond he didn’t even know existed, “I love you.” Darkness swam in the corners of your vision but you swore you felt his responding tug. The Mother was kind for granting that hallucinative mercy in your final hours. Your body gave out, slumping against the shackles and darkness overwhelmed you.

Azriel was furious. No, furious wasn’t the word, he was a walking time bomb. You were gone. His mate was missing and he was going to explode. As he’d arrived with Rhys and Cassian to the location you’d given them, he could smell you. His eyes searched frantically around the scene before him until they zeroed in on an item hanging from a branch a few dozen paces out. Cloth of some sort? He approached and could detect your scent on it, realizing quickly it was your clothing. A ripped cotton blouse. His fists clenched and he vaguely heard Rhysand speaking to his left. “They must’ve captured her here.” Rhys crouched down to the ground, two fingers swiping the dirt there, before bringing them eye level to examine sample. “Blood,” he muttered, rubbing the hand on the leg of his pants, “she was injured.” Azriel’s heart thundered, he was going to fucking explode.

He set his shadows work, surveying the forest with rapid precision. They’d cover more ground this way, an army of three operating like a whole infantry. By the time the sun rose to midday, Azriel was ready to begin screaming. They trekked further into the forest, following a line of smoke that was miles deep, originating at a camp somewhere far into the wilds. His shadows murmured to him of a small band of males there, of you, shackled to a fucking tree, arrows buried in your back. He’d nearly lost the contents of his stomach at the information and set to a run alongside Rhysand and Cassian.

As the three approached the encampment, the sun was nearing dusk. Rhysand had commanded the halt and strategize. There were roughly twenty-five men, all armed. They couldn’t enter this blindly and infuriated, they would lose if they weren’t careful. Azriel hated admitting he was right, his instincts screaming otherwise. Mate, mate, mate, his heart pounded.

They backed off to a thousand paces out, close enough that they could hear if the troop vacated the premises. As Rhysand and Cassian spoke quietly, Azriel felt his heart thrum. The golden thread there had pulled him closer to you and he could tell you were still alive. Though Rhys couldn’t reach out through your bargain, Azriel’s bond was still alight and warm, he stroked it with gentle affection. You might not feel it, but Gods he would try.

As the trio retraced their steps to the camp, stars were just beginning to light overhead and Azriel grasped his daggers tightly, knuckles cracking around the hilt. He was going to kill them. Kill them all brutally for taking you, for touching what was his. When they were within a stones throw from the camp he heard it, heard you. “Azriel,” you whispered into his mind. He went stock still, spine ramrod straight, fingers trembling as they gripped his knives. The golden bond vibrated in his chest, and he felt you reaching out through murky waters, against all odds. “I love you,” you said with a soft exhaustion before your side went dark. Azriel’s breathing guttered and he felt high on mirthroot, sick from fae wine, and enraged to the point of explosion all at once. His blue siphons flared brightly from the surge of power. He closed his eyes and reached out to you through the bond, tugging on the thread connecting your souls. He was coming. He was going to save you.

Rhysand looked to him then, curiosity swimming in his eyes as he took in the Shadowsinger’s sudden stop. Azriel opened eyes, irises alight with fire and shadow, voice grinding with dark threat, “Let’s go.” Rhys nodded and Cassian drew his knives.

They moved with brutal efficiency, killing male after male until none remained alive. Some had begged, others shouted and scattered their belongings as they set into a run. His shadows had caught them, twisting around their ankles and dragging them back to meet their fate, daggers slicing throats from ear to ear until blood poured like a prized hunt being slaughtered, the Illryian’s hands grasping and snapping necks like twigs. It was a practiced routine for the three of them, who’d trained since they were teens.

As they stepped through the shrubs to find you, Cassian gasped and Azriel felt his lungs threaten to collapse at the sight. You’d been shackled to a tree at the wrists and ankles and whipped within an inch your life. Wounds glistened with blood along your thighs, soft stomach, ribs, breasts. There had to be thirty lashes. A knife wound was visible at your exposed navel. Your head hung forward unconscious and Azriel’s heart pounded. He wanted to vomit and his hands shook.

“She said you’d come,” a voice said, emerging from behind the tree you were bound to. The male held a dagger to your throat. This new stranger had to be the leader of this band of idiots. Azriel’s eyes followed the tip of the blade up his arm to the male’s eyes and a growl escaped him as he bared his teeth. The male laughed, “to think she said she was nothing and yet I have both the Shadowsinger and the Lord of Bloodshed before me to save her.”

Azriel’s mind latched on to that piece of information, turning it over in his head. You’d told this male you were nothing? Did you not know Azriel would do anything for you? You were everything. You were his love, light of his life, keeper of his soul, his mate. How alone you must’ve felt, how scared. Azriel’s eyes narrowed, he was going kill him.

Rhysand spoke then, emerging from behind the two Illyrian brothers, “And may I ask why you’ve abducted a member of my court?” He was in High Lord mode, tone bored, fingers picking at his sleeve. The Hybern male’s smile gleamed at the introduction, “just who I was hoping to see!”

“Hybern, the old fool, made a few promises in his last days as King,” the male spoke, digging the blade down to your chest, where it rested over your heart. Azriel stared at the blade, eyes tracing to the the hilt. That was your blade, the one he’d given you when you first arrived in Velaris, the one you wielded against Eris, the one you kept strapped to your thigh. Your own knife had been used against you.

“One of which was that I would inherit these lands after your lot were annihilated.” Azriel wanted to laugh at the male’s words, was he serious? “A dead king cannot honor empty promises,” he ground out eyes shifting to the male’s blue eyes. “A dead and headless king cannot gift you shit,” Azriel spat. The male smiled then, a feline grin growing on his lips. “Precisely Shadowsinger, a dead king cannot give me my due, but this little thing can help.” You’d made a noise then, something akin to a whimper as you came to. Eyes wincing then fluttering open as your irises found Azriel’s immediately, some preternatural magnetism existing between the two of you. Then you looked to Cassian and Rhysand, and your eyes swam with apology.

“She awakens!” The male sang, looking to you. Azriel jumped at the opportunity to send his shadows out while the male’s attention was elsewhere. They traced over the ground to you, circling the tree and working at your binds. He sent two others towards the distracted male. “Who knew the Night Court was so attached to a whore,” the male laughed, “I want my lands,” he fixed Rhysand with a glare, “you can have your plaything back in exchange for my seat, High Lord” he sneered.

Rhysand looked from you to the stranger to the shadow now creeping ever closer to the male. “You must be mistaken,” Rhys said then and Azriel’s shadows wrapped around the male’s neck and wrist simultaneously, whispering violence for touching their mate, forcing the dagger from his grasp and air from his lungs. Azriel tightened them until they heard bones crack in the male’s arm and choked sounds exit his throat, face reddening as oxygen was cut off. “I do not make deals with dim witted cunts,” Rhysand said darkness beginning to surround him, High Lord voice encroaching, “I do not entertain terrorists and I do not take kindly to threats on my family.”

‘Finish him,’ Rhysand said darkly into Azriel’s mind and the Shadowsinger moved with lightening precision, dagger find purchase as the male’s neck was sliced open and his right hand was removed from his body. The male’s body toddled forward with a choked gurgling, before falling to the ground, lifeless, blood pooling.

Azriel’s gaze fell to you and he softened. His shadows finished picking the lock of the shackles that held your arms and they clicked open, allowing your body to fall into his. “Azriel,” you breathed, voice weary with exhaustion, “I didn’t— I—“ you stuttered, pulling a shaking hand to his face. You swallowed, tracing his cheek with trembling fingers, “I didn’t think I’d see you again,” you murmured, your watery eyes searching his face, memorizing the details of his visage.

Azriel picked you up in his arms and unfurled his wings protectively. “I will always come for you,” he said vehemently, eyes watching your face with intensity. You smiled, a weepy trembling smile as you nodded. Rhysand reached the Shadowsinger’s side then and your eyes moved to his violet ones, “Hi Little One, I’m so sorry we’re late.” You let out a single watery laugh before wincing as the sudden expansion of your chest burned the wounds littering your chest and back.

“The arrows,” you gasped, “at my back,” you twisted in Azriel’s hold, “please get them out.” Rhysand leaned down to inspect the wounds. “Faebane,” he surmised, that’s why his connection to you had been severed. “We need to get her to Madja, now.” Azriel nodded, allowing Rhys and Cassian to move closer so the High Lord could winnow them home.

Landing back at the House of Wind had been chaotic. Rhysand shouted immediately to get every healer available and the dining room table had been lined with a sheet, turning the warm family room into a medical ward. You were laid facedown on the table and Azriel took to your side, scarred hands touching your face, keeping you awake as Madja worked to remove the six arrows burrowed in your body.

You’d screamed. The sound would haunt Azriel for centuries. You begged to make it stop and Madja had apologized softly as she worked faster to remove them while minimizing damage. “I’ve got you,” Azriel said softly, “eyes on me, alright?” He rubbed the hollow under your eye with a scarred thumb and you opened your eyes to lock on his. “No gloves,” you said, smiling tightly, before wincing as Madja applied local anesthetic to an arrow wound. Azriel smiled, eyes a little watery. “Not with you,” he whispered shaking his head, “never with you.” You smiled at him and the sight set Azriel’s heart to fluttering.

Later, after the arrows had been removed and wounds bandaged, you’d been given a strong herb tonic for pain that set your head swimming as exhaustion overtook you. Azriel carried you his room, laying you gently onto the mattress and covered you with the duvet. He leaned down then, breathing in your scent as he placed a kiss to your forehead, nuzzling his nose to the Winter white hair there. He would tell you. When you awoke, he would bare his soul to you.

You woke with a groan. Fucking Gods, your body ached with the effort it took to roll over. “Easy,” a voice came from the corner of the room. Your breath gasped out of you as your eyes raced to the figure there. “Azriel,” you breathed. The male smiled warmly at you and stepped forward to rest at the edge of the mattress. You pushed up in the bed, the wound at your shoulder screaming from the exertion. Once in a sitting position, you rested your back on the headboard as you looked at him. “For taking out a small militia, you seemed to be decently uninjured,” you said smiling tightly, memories of the stranger and his whip haunting your mind. He snorted a small laugh, “Yes well,” he looked down then, thumbs fiddling with each other, chest heating, “I had something worth fighting for.”

He looked back to you and your cheeks had grown pink, a small pleased smile at your lips. “I heard you, you know,” he said softly, turning enough to rest a hand on your thigh, thumb drawing small, soothing circles there. The heat generated in the touch sent a spark to your belly. Oh, you were fucked. “I heard you in my head, through the bond,” he said eyes watching his thumb as it traced on your bare skin hypnotically.

“You know then?” You whispered, breath skittering out of you. You were scared to death of the trajectory the conversation was taking, your heart preparing for the best and the worst simultaneously. Azriel’s eyes dragged up your form to your face and a smile broke over his lips, one that caused your heart to ignite. Your Mother had once told you the heart was an organ of fire and you’d laughed, never having cause to believe such a statement. You understood now.

“I—“ Azriel started, before clearing his throat, turning his body to face you in full, a knee pulled up on the mattress, touching yours. “In the whole time I have known you— two centuries, Little One,” he looked at you pointedly, “you have been my dearest friend, my greatest comfort, my confidant, and the person I admire most in this Gods forsaken world.” He breathed deeply, a whoosh exiting his lips as his hand tightened around your thigh. “The times when you were lost to me have been some of the most painful moments I’ve experienced.”

Your eyes began to water, and you moved a hand to rest atop his own, thumb circling the scarred skin at his wrist. He took a breath then and the air shifted between you, his mouth opening and closing, as if he was gathering his confidence for what he was about to say next. “I have loved for you so long that I’d given up all hope of reciprocation.” The words shattered through you as all air escaped your lungs, guts swooping down as heat alighted there. “I felt the bond the night Eris came for you,” he continued, eyes watching your entwined hands. Your body went still and a startled laugh exited your mouth. Azriel’s eyes flew to yours questioningly.

“Sorry,” you chuckled again, “I’m just realizing how fucking stupid we’ve been.” You lolled your to the side, watching him with loving eyes. “I’ve been in love with you for almost two centuries, Azriel,” you smiled, “I thought you wouldn’t want me.” Azriel’s eyes widened, his mouth opening and closing in disbelief, two then three times. You thought for a second to compare him to the guppy fish that swam in schools along the banks of the Sidra but refrained.

He pushed forward then, hands coming to cup your face, pinky and ring fingers resting in the hollow below your ear, thumbs stroking your cheeks. “How could I not? You’re everything,” he whispered, searching your face, conviction showing in his eyes. You couldn’t stop the smile that overtook your mouth as you spoke, “and you’re my mate.” His eyes moved to your lips, glazing before they moved back to your eyes. “As you are mine,” he spoke confidently.

Your eyes watched each other for a long second, “I really hope you’ll kiss me this time,” your hand trailed up his arm, fingers teasing. “Mother knows I’ve been dreaming of it for far too long.” He surged forward, lips meeting yours and you thought you might float away. You gasped and his tongue moved in, claiming your mouth, your taste with his own.

He pulled away minutes later, a little breathless, “Sorry to have kept you waiting, my love,” he spoke, resting his forehead to yours with a smile, watching your dazed expression, pink cheeks, as your lips split into a grin. Your hand moved to the front of his button down, fisting in the material there, giving an experimental tug. “Kiss me like that again and I’ll consider forgiving you.”

The laugh that came out of him was golden, and you pushed yourself to memorize it. Azriel, Lord of Shadows, Spymaster for the Night Court, Rhysand’s right hand and Illyrian warrior was soft for you. He loved you. He was your mate. You’d be giddy about it for the rest of your life.

Your healing had been slower than you would’ve liked. The faebane had done serious damage but with Madja’s help, the scarring was minimized. The lashes at your front took two weeks to heal, the arrow wounds took three. Three fucking weeks. Meanwhile all you could think about was your mate. He hadn’t left your side in the interim. Helping you take steps, applying the wound creams that Madja had left in small glass pots, keeping you fed, making you laugh, telling you how much he loved you daily. Mother above, you were going to ruin this male.

You walked into the kitchen at the end of week three, the only evidence of your wounds now in the slight limp of your right leg and twinge in your left shoulder. The marks at your stomach and chest had diminished into barely there, silver scores. Cassian was sitting at the small table in the corner as you entered. “Hi Cass,” you greeted, “seen my mate around this morning?” It was fun calling him that, a small part of your chest swelling with pride each time.

Cassian smirked, “He’s been…… out.” Your eyes narrowed, he was being evasive. “Out where?” You asked, grabbing an apple and hopping up on the counter to watch the male. He shrugged, “No idea, Little One.” You smirked, “I know where you sleep Cassian,” you started, “is it really wise to lie to me?” Nesta strode into the kitchen, “What’s he done now?” She asked laughing. “Hey! I’ll have you know I’ve done nothing!” The male exclaimed, “She’s interrogating me on the whereabouts of her maaate.” He dragged out the vowel of the last word mockingly. Nesta took her seat next to Cassian and laughed, “Ah, him.” She looked to you then, “he’ll be around to collect you soon.”

You looked between the two, suspicion dripping from your features as you took another bite from the apple in your palm. “You two are being weird,” you stated. Nesta shrugged, nudging Cassian who smiled at her. “Just wait,” she said softly, “maybe cook yourself a meal.” Cassian’s mouth quirked with a laugh he restrained. “Right, I’m leaving, cause whatever this is,” you waved a hand at them, “is deeply odd.” You hopped off the counter and strolled to the exit. You heard them laughing softly once you were out of the room, making you roll your eyes at their antics.

You’d gone to the library after leaving the kitchen and found Elain already there. Her eyes moved to you upon your entrance and she closed her book, middle finger marking her spot. “How are you feeling?” She asked softly, eyes surveying your body for lingering damage. You sighed, falling into the sofa across from her. “I’m better,” you said quietly, “the pain is gone, scars are minimal.” You turned your eyes to her, she looked brighter than the last time you’d seen her. “How are you?” You asked in return. She smiled sweetly. “Better,” she echoed you and you wanted to laugh. “I’ve been exchanging letters with Lucien,” she added and your ears perked up.

“That’s great, Elain,” you rest your chin on a closed fist, watching her. She shifted and sat her book to the side, page forgotten. “I want to tell you something,” she said quietly, fingers twiddling with each other. She looked... nervous? “I’m all ears,” you said softly.

“I had a vision while you were gone,” she started and took a deep breath. “It was so muddled at first, I couldn’t tell who it was, but then I saw you. Your hair was longer, you stood taller, and your belly was round.” The breath left your body in a powerful exhale. She looked to you again, eyes watching yours, “You were pregnant and happy and in love,” she said quietly, as if the words in themselves were fragile. Your hands trembled and you moved them under your thighs, her eyes didn’t miss the action.

“I couldn’t understand why the Mother would send me a vision like that, I saw Feyre’s pregnancy, but we’re sisters, you know?” You nodded. “Then I realized I recognized the tattooed arm I’d seen wrap around you, knew it was Azriel.” Your eyes watered, and you hiccuped out a small laugh. “I’ve known for a while you two were fated, but the Mother was telling me for certain. I hope you know how happy we are for you.” She finished and moved to sit next you, small hand touching your knee.

“When they brought you in that night, I thought the Mother had lied to me, that it was a vision of what could have been, that you wouldn’t make it.” You’d never heard Elain speak at length in this way, and you thought you might stop breathing. “I’ve never been happier to see you than when Azriel brought you in to read days later, my sweet friend.” You surged forward, throwing your arms around the female and she returned the gesture warmly.

You sat back and looked at her then. “Thank you,” you said, voice small, a little watery. She nodded before turning to resume her original spot at the end of the sofa, picking up her book and opening it to the page she’d left off.

In the hours that followed, you’d returned to the kitchen, grateful to find Cassian and Nesta had left. You took Nesta’s advice, gathering the ingredients to build a small berry tart. It had just gone in the oven when your mate appeared in the doorway.

“Hello love,” he said casually, leaning against the door jamb. You startled, turning on your heel to find him smiling at you. “Where have you been?” You asked walking towards him and running your hands around his midsection in a hug, head resting against his chest. His arm came around your shoulders as he pressed a kiss to your hair, breathing in your scent. “That, my dearest one, is a surprise.”

You looked up chin resting against his chest, watching his face. “It’d better be good, I baked for you,” you said, smiling softly at the Spymaster. His eyes moved to the oven then and back to you, irises darkening, as his pupils blew a little wide. “You… baked?” He asked disbelieving, “didn’t know you knew how to bake,” he followed up playfully. You gasped and shoved him, “for that, you can starve, have fun finding another mate to bake for you.” He laughed heartily and caught your hand, bringing your knuckles to his lips, eyes swimming with warm affection as he pressed a kiss there. Gods, the action made lust swoop in your stomach, heat spreading.

“The fool I’d be to turn away such a female,” he said, voice deepening, lips running across your knuckles with each word. “Azriel” you breathed. “Yes?” He offered in return, still smiling, moving your knuckles back and forth against his hot mouth. “Please tell me this surprise involves you bedding me.” A growl creeped out of his throat, the thought of you under him sending lust racing down his spine and to his groin.

“It might,” he said quietly, lips resuming their exploration, tracking small kisses from your knuckles, to the joint of your thumb, the inside of your wrist where Rhys’ tattoo lingered, up the soft skin of your arm, to your elbow, until he reached the skin of your shoulder. His lips traced over the raised skin there, a small nip above the scar as he traced north to your collarbone. You’d gone to putty in his hands, head rolling to the side to bare your throat. He pressed soft kisses there, pausing at your pulse point to trace the area with his warm tongue, a whimper escaping your mouth.

“If this is going to become a regular thing, I’ll need you two to relocate to the River House,” a voice came from behind you and you jumped in shock, but your mate, he let out a possessive growl before turning on the intruder. Rhysand laughed airily and folded his arms over his chest. “Easy, brother,” he smiled, causing Azriel to roll his eyes. You blinked a little dazed, and pulled away from the Shadowsinger. “You’re gonna make me burn my fucking tart,” you shoved him with an arm and laughed as you turned to resume your place at the oven.

Azriel instructed you to dress comfortably and be ready in a hour as he kissed your knuckles one last time and exited the kitchen. Butterflies roamed freely in your stomach at the thought of what he had planned. You��d returned to your quarters after removing the tart from the oven and portioning it into a small travel sized container. You were going to accept the bond, and your nerves were alight with anxious excitement. After you dressed in a lightweight linen dress, you packed a small bag with your remaining creams, and the boxed tart you’d prepared earlier.

You descended the stairs to find Azriel waiting at the base, his wings standing proudly behind him, shadows skittering around his feet. At the sight of you they raced to meet on the bottom step, running up your legs, around your waist and into your hair. A laugh escaped you as one nuzzled into the space behind your ear. Azriel watched fondly. “They love you,” he said smiling, taking a step to meet you, “ever since the bond snapped, I’ve had the hardest time reining them back from touching you.”

You reached a hand out to meet his, interlacing your fingers. “They’re cute, but you’re cuter,” you said with gentle affection. A shadow pinched at your waist and Azriel’s cheeks went a little pink as he laughed.

“Will you tell me what the surprise is?” You asked as he walked you toward the training balcony. “I’m afraid I’m very poorly dressed for training,” you joked. He snorted, “no, we’re not training.” He came to rest at the railing and then turned to you, running a hand up your arm, fingers moving to hold the back of your neck, warm palm heating the skin there, thumb grazing your jawline. “Amongst many things I’ve been terribly late for recently, I realize I owe you a date.”

Your face went a little puzzled and you looked to his eyes. “A date?” You questioned. He nodded, “I was supposed to take you flying.” Realization dawned on your features and a smile overtook your lips, each tooth shining in the setting sun. “I wanted to kiss you that night too,” you admitted laughing, remembering how desperate you’d been for his touch and attention. He smiled softly, “you have no idea how angry I was with Rhys for calling me away.” Your eyes widened, still in disbelief that this male wanted you return. It seemed both a millennia in the making and still so new and fragile.

Azriel snuck an arm around your waist and brought you up into the stretch of his firm body. His other hand tracing down your hip, then thigh, to curve under your knees as he picked you up. His wings unfurled and he shot into the air. A shaky laugh startled out of you and you gripped him tighter, your arms winding around his neck. His wings flapped in thunderous bursts, taking you higher, until you could see the entirety of Velaris spread below, the Sidra flowing like a snake through the winding city. Your breath left you in awe. “The Peregryn was right,” you said loud enough for him to hear and he smiled, pressing a kiss to your temple.

The flight was short, but it took you to the rural banks of the Sidra on the outskirts of the city, just before it emptied into the sea. You could see ships sailing into the harbor, moonlight beginning to trickle across the water. This was undeniably special, you thought, no one would see you up here and you felt like this was the edge of the world itself. You turned to Azriel, finding his eyes already watching you. “Thank you,” you said softly, leaning into him, his chin meeting your forehead as you moved your body to rest alongside the length of his. His hand came to rest at the small of your back, pinky stretching to graze the curve of your bottom. Wherever this was going, you were very interested.

He turned and grasped your hand, pulling you back up the hill and away from the view, towards a field of wildflowers and grasses. There, in the middle, a blanket had been laid out, small candles lit to illuminate the setting. A basket sat in one corner, a bottle of fae wine held within with an assortment of pastries, breads, and cheeses. You realized quickly that your mate, the male you’d loved for damn near two centuries, was courting you. The thought thrilled you.

He led you to the blanket and motioned for you to sit next him. “I must confess, I never took you for a romantic,” you said looking from the candles, to the basket, and then to him. He was watching you again. He smiled, laughing a bit nervously, “I’m a lot of things,” he said and your eyebrow quirked. “Oh yeah? Like what?” You challenged him and he loved you for it. You made him feel easy to love, you made loving fun and freeing. Azriel had once only thought freedom could be found in fucking and flying, then he’d found you and he knew it was there too. In the smile of your lips, in the thrill of your touch, in the ease of your love.

“Well,” he started, moving his wings to lean into you, pressing a kiss to your exposed shoulder. The action caused you to shiver. “I’m a spymaster.” You snorted, “no shit.” A laugh rumbled in his chest. “I’m a bit shy as you well know, I’m quite fond of dancing, I’m—” he hummed the last letter, pausing his thoughts and moving his lips up your neck. “I’m in love with you,” he said biting into the flesh at the juncture of your collarbone and throat, cock hardening at the sound that rolled out of your mouth. “I’m going to take you right here, on this blanket, under the stars.”

You gasped, your hands moved find purchase in the hair at the back of his head, fingers winding through the strands, nails dragging at his scalp. His nose ran the length of your jawline before his lips found yours. He rumbled a small hum the instant his mouth touched your own. At first it was a gentle press, teasing you as he had done today in the kitchen at the House of Wind. The adrenaline racing up your spine made you feel like you might vibrate out of your skin. His hand reached up then, threading broad fingers into your hair as he took the kiss deeper. Tonguing the bottom of your lip until your mouth opened, his tongue stroking your own. Humming with contentment, he tilted your head, deepening the kiss at a new angle that had heat swooping down to your core.

You brought your left hand to his shoulder, fisting your fingers in the fabric there and pulling him closer. He understood your intention and leaned you back into the blanket, pleasure alighting each nerve as his body pressed into your own. He eased up on your lips and began a slow trek south, pulling the strap of your dress down the curve of your shoulder, leaving a love bite there that had you gasping. He kissed down the bust line of the dress, laving his tongue at the swell of your breast. Your breath was coming in pants and you pressed yourself up on your elbows as he moved further south, fingertips tracing the hem of your dress that had risen to the middle of your thigh.

He looked back to you and smiled, mischief playing in his eyes as he ran his hands up your thighs, the slow drag pulling the dress with it. “I’ve been thinking about your cunt for centuries,” he said, his lips on your knee, pressing insistently as they moved north. “I’ve been dreaming of making you come on my tongue since I met you.”

Your breath leaves you in one fell swoop as you feel his tongue at the juncture of your hip and thigh. His mouth was insistent at skin there, tonguing the lace of your panties before pulling them down your legs and off entirely. He picked up a foot, placing it to his chest as he traced the long line of your body with hungry eyes. You were panting already, dressed rucked up around your waist, straps fallen down your arms and breasts heaving. His gaze flowed south and landed on your pink cunt, glistening, begging for him. His eyes went back to your face then, and his titled his head to the side, “Will you let me eat your pretty little cunt?” He asked fingertips tracing the scars of your calf with reverence. He brought your foot up, kissing the inside of the ankle, then nosing his way over your scarred calf, suckling at the skin there. “Please,” he added, eyes moving back to yours as his mouth continued his ministrations.

“Mother above, Azriel,” you breathed and a laughed startled out of you, “you are mouthy.” He chuckled darkly then, nipping at your knee, taking special care to press a gentle kiss at the new scar there. “Is that a no then?” He said softly and your head fell back with a groan, exposing your neck to his view. “As if,” you said, head pulling back up and lolling to the side to rest on your shoulder. “I’ve thought about it too, and if you back out now I will explode.” He laughed again, freely this time, forehead resting on your thigh.

His eyes find yours again, and he kept them there as he traced his lips north. He nosed the juncture of your cunt and inner thigh, running a tongue along your mound. You gasped and eyes narrowed, watching him with rapt attention. He pressed a kiss to the top of your slit and his hands come up to open you to him, pulling the lips apart and tonguing the collected moisture there. Your head fell back as your elbows gave way, falling flat against the blanket.

“You taste better than I imagined,” he said before wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking. The moan that left you had his hips pushing into the ground to find relief as his cock begged for release. His tongue flicked against your clit as he sucked and hummed. He thought this might become his favorite place in all of Prythian. He thought that every bad thing that had happened in his life seemed insignificant now that he was able to worship freely between your thighs. He traced fingers up and paused to wet them on his tongue, before pushing his middle and ring finger in to the second knuckle, pulling them out and scissoring them back in again. His tongue found your sweet little button for a second time that night and he laved at it, listening to your cries as he pushed you to the brink. Azriel’s life had been a nightmare, but between your thighs, mouth on your cunt, walls fluttering around his fingers, he thought he’d been blessed by the Mother herself.

Your hips rocked up in time with his fingers and you cried as your gut twisted, the coil there tightening. “Az-“ you gasped. “Azriel,” you went a little whiny on the vowels of his name, and your hand reached down to thread your fingers into his hair, nails scratching and tugging the strands. He hummed, the vibration sending shocks up your spine. “Azriel, baby,” you gasped, coming up on an elbow again, rutting your hips into his face as he took you higher. He didn’t let up, suckling at your cunt, fingers finding the spongy spot on the backside of your clit that made the world go blank “Azriel!” you gasped again, hips stuttering out, “Fuck, fuck— oh.” In seconds you were reaching your peak, hips faltering, thighs twitching, toes curling into the hard planes of his back.

He pulled his mouth off of you, pressing kisses to your pubic bone as he moved north up your stomach. He eyes were alight with desire, the male was pure want and you were his last meal. He pulled his fingers from your cunt and trailed them up to rest at your neck as he slotted his body between your thighs and kissed you. The hedonism of tasting yourself on his mouth made you wetter, cunt pressing into the hard line of his cock, still restricted in his trousers. He moaned at the contact, mouth leaving yours to rest his head against your chin and gather himself. The sound sent a pleasurable shock directly to your core. You grasped the hand at your throat and brought his fingers up and to your mouth, tongue laving at them before taking them to the knuckle, and pulling back slow, hollowing out your cheeks and sucking, keeping your eyes on his. He bared his teeth the sight and ground his hard cock into you, the friction on your clit making your thighs twitch.

“My sweet little mate,” he cooed. “Love of my life,” he nosed your cheek, his fingers still in your mouth. “All my dreaming has been put to shame it would seem,” he pulled his fingers from your mouth and replaced them with his tongue, his hands flying to his belt. He growled in struggle and you ventured a laugh. His eyes found yours and his jaw ticked, “keep laughing, sweet girl, I’ll fuck your throat next and you won’t come.” Your eyes went a little wide and a feline grin appeared on your face. “Mouthy indeed,” you said with glee as he finally got the buckle undone and pushed the pants down and off.

His shirt went next and your fingers traced up his exposed arms to his shoulders. “I’ve seen you shirtless a dozen times, and you still take my breath away,” you said softly, a hand resting on his pectoral. He laughed and went a little pink, before he pushed your dress up your body and over your head, leaving you bare. “I’ve always been impressed by your ability to so disarming,” he said, mouth finding the space above your breast as his hands came to cup them, fingers toying with the nipples. “It’s my favorite thing about you, you see me in a way I can’t even see myself,” he followed up.

Your eyes watered at the admission and your hands found his face, bringing his mouth back to yours as you kissed him again, tongue entwining with his. Your hands grasped his shoulders, as your leg found his hip and you pushed him over, onto his back. Your hands came to rest on his chest as you settled your weight on his lower abdomen. You could feel his manhood standing to attention, insistent at the curve of your ass and you reached around to grasp it, pushing your chest out for his greedy eyes. Taking him in long strokes, you ran your hand up and down, circling your thumb around the head. His eyes screwed shut as his breathing shallowed.

“Wanna know a secret, baby?” You offered, rocking your hips in time with your strokes. He whined then, the Lord of Shadows keened a little whine for you that had you ready to come right there. “Last time we hosted a gala, that night before Hybern,” you were panting, “all I could think about was taking you to bed.” His eyes opened and hazel was gone blacked out in pure desire. His hands found your hips and his own began to move in time with you. “I thought about riding you,” you said, twisting your hand in a way that had his breath guttering out of him. “I thought you might love me in the way you looked at me.” His eyes softened and he leaned up, hands tracing up your spine as he pressed kisses to your chest.

“I loved you that night and every night since,” he said before tonguing a nipple and sucking it into his mouth. “That dress you wore, my color, had me hard for a week.” You laughed then removing your hand from his cock and bringing both to his face, so you could kiss him. His hands slipped to your ass then, palming the cheeks as his tongue moved in tandem with yours. When you moved back from him, a string of salvia still connected you two, you reached up to comb fingers through his hair gently.

“I brought you something,” you said quietly, looking to the corner of the quilt where your bag had dropped ages ago. His brow furrowed, confusion showing in his features. “You don’t have to, but I brought some of that tart. If you want,” you offered the statement nervously, as if there was still a chance for rejection. Azriel’s heart went soft and his brain turned to mush.

“You want to accept it?” He questioned, hands sliding up your back and to your waist. You smiled and looked at him incredulously, “Of course I want to accept it, it feels like I’ve waited a millennia for you.” You’d laughed a bit and that feeling of home raced through him again. Gods, he was fucked.

You leaned off his lap, pulling the strap of your bag to you and unzipped it. There, packaged in a little glass container, lay a small slice of the berry tart you’d fretted over earlier in the day. “Nesta made some stupid comment about ‘cooking’ when I’d asked where you were,” you laughed in hindsight at the female’s leading words. “She knew because Cassian knew, he helped me with the food and candles,” Azriel murmured pushing your hair up and over your shoulder.

He pulled the container from your grasp then and opened it before picking the pastry up with his fingers, the same fingers that had been inside you minutes ago. Eyes on yours he took the first bite, your heart thrumming as the golden thread of your bond lit up like the sunrise. His eyes never left yours as he consumed the pastry in four bites, swallowing and pulling his fingers into his mouth at the remaining sweetness there.

The bond between you two was shining, strong and thrumming with love. ‘Hi,’ you tried, your thoughts reaching out to him. He smiled, laughing freely, and his voice came through clearly, ‘Hi, Little One.’ You choked out a laugh, eyes watering as you leaned forward to kiss him, tasting the berries on his tongue. ‘Can I make love to my mate now?’ He questioned down the bond and you laughed again. His hands were already tracing your hips as you leaned forward, hand reaching underneath to guide him into your cunt. Lowering yourself down, you rocked forward once then twice in order to take him to the hilt.

Mother above, he was big. His cock was thick and filled you wholly, pushing against your cervix making your eyes flutter in pleasure. You thought of the comment Mor had made about wingspan once decades ago and you heard him laugh, “I’m flattered, truly,” he said playfully, reading your thoughts and nipping at your shoulder.

You rose up again and set to riding him slowly, hips moving in long strokes as his hands traced your ass, pulling at the flesh there in time with your movements. You gave a experimental squeeze of your walls, and he keened a loud moan that had you speeding up your flow. “You keep that up, Little One and I won’t last,” he panted at your throat. “That’s rather the point,” you laughed breathlessly, your own hand moving to cup your breast, the other sliding down to circle your clit. His eyes traced the view greedily, moving down to the point where you connected, watching your cunt take him in full, his cock glistening with your shared wetness. He bared his teeth at the sight, a rumble lighting in his chest.

Just as your walls began to flutter with your impending orgasm, he grasped you and flipped you to your back, pulling your hands from your body and entwining your fingers with his own on each side of your head. He ground his pelvis in deep and your legs hitched higher around his waist. “Azriel, fucking Gods,” you called out at the switch in angle, the tip of his cock grinding into your cervix. He hummed at your throat, teeth marking you there as his hips pulled out and pushed in, grinding each time he bottomed out into you. His wings flared behind him and you thought you’d never seen a more beautiful sight.

“You take me so well, my love,” he panted, “you were made for me.” You whined then, cunt fluttering around him as he bottomed out deep and held it there, grinding his pubic bone into your clitoris. The pleasure raced up your spine and you thought you’d never be able to leave this place, might have to keep him inside you forever. He growled, reading your thoughts. “You want me to fuck this cunt forever?” He asked aloud leaning up, pulling his hands from yours.

You whined at the loss, but the sound died as he pulled your legs up his waist to his shoulders, kissing the scarred calf. He drew his cock out, only to slam back in. “Fuck,” you moaned out, voice going up two octaves. “You want me between your thighs for the rest of my days?” He said again, hips moving faster, your hands moving to your tits as they bounced from the impact. His eyes watched the movement and he bared his teeth again, turning his head to bite into the flesh of your calf.

“Azriel!” You called out again, pleasure zipped up your spine and you felt your stomach tighten. “Az, baby, I’m so close.” He chuckled darkly. “Be a good girl and come on my cock,” he said as his fingers traced down your leg to find your clit, rubbing the bundle in quick, timed circles. “Az- I-,” you barely got the words out before your orgasm overtook you, a long moan exiting your mouth as your cunt tightened around him, he ground into you and worked you through it, before dropping your legs back to his hips and pistoning deeper.

“My sweet mate,” he gasped at the skin of your throat, mouth tracing up to find yours, hands finding purchase on your thighs as he pulled you open, allowing him dive deeper. “My darling love,” he moaned and his tongue moved with yours, your hips pushing up to meet his thrusts, walls fluttering against his velvet length with the remnants of your orgasm.

You ventured your hand up his shoulder to the base of a wing and traced your fingers up the membrane to the bone. His eyes twisted shut, and he keened a low primal whine that had your cunt ready to come again. At the tightening of your walls, he groaned dark and deep, shadows seeping from him, as he pushed in, grinding against the innermost portion of you. His hips pulled out slightly and then pushed back in as his cock kicked, come spurting against your walls. He panted against your throat as his hands released their hold on your thighs and moved up your body before grasping your throat. He moved up to lean over you and his eyes found your own. He gave an experimental thrust of his hips and your eyes widened. Fucking Cauldron, he was still hard.

He laughed then, nuzzling at your mouth as he nipped at your bottom lip. “I’m giving you five,” his voice was deeper than you’d ever heard it, “and then I’m eating my come from your cunt and fucking you until the sun comes up.”

You gasped out a laugh as your arms wrapped around his shoulders. ‘They call it frenzy for a reason,’ you thought, kissing along his cheekbone and to his mouth. Gods, you were fucked.

2K notes · View notes

yanderefarm · 22 days ago

Note

I need us pretending/threatening Emil with a divorce even after saying we wouldn’t 🙏🙏

this is a part 2 to this story

in your villain arc fr. i know if emil knew how you were manipulating him and playing him like a puppet he wouldn't even be mad he'd be like "thats hot wtf"

cw;; drugging, cheating, non-con (implied), abuse, manipulation

oh your poor husband, he's so pathetic and easy to break.

after your brutal breaking of his body with the cheating scandal you had been oh so generous to help him rebuild his all his lost favour. his ever loving husband who loved him past his worst flaws gave him a better reputation just by staying by his side. all he had to do was give into you, take you places, stop holding you at arms length like he was afraid of you running away and getting close to him at the same time. really all you wanted was more of his love and if that meant you had to break him down to nothing then you guess that's what you would do.

you walked into his office to find him surrounded by people, a familiar sight since his last scandal. you pushed past them to his desk, watching emil flinch away from your presence. you didn't need to yell and get angry this time, you knew exactly how to break him.

"i want a divorce."

you placed the newspaper on the desk to punctuate your sentence, the headline was a young noble woman's testimony of how the king had cornered her at the last royal banquet. another lie you had paid a pretty penny to get out there. you knew emil's head had been fuzzy since the last scandal, all it took was hiring a woman from a family desperate for money to force herself on him and then lie about it. he didn't even remember the night, he couldn't argue with you about it.

you heard his pathetic sob. that sound he would never usually make in front of anyone else. you turned back to see him still surrounded by his advisors and other noblemen but among their shocked faces you could see your husband had tears in his eyes.

"out." you ordered and they very quickly filed out leaving you two in a familiar position.

you walked back to the desk and stared down at him. your husband, already a broken and confused mess, hung his head like a kicked puppy dog so you couldn't see his eyes you could only hear him crying. you let out a heavy sigh.

"what am I supposed to do, emil? you clearly don't love me."

"that's not-"

"how many more women do i have to find out about before you admit it?"

"i don't remember that night... i don't think- i-"

a silence formed between you both only interrupted by his crying.

"i remember that night. i remember you left the party early to get some fresh air and you didn't come back."

he was shaking.

"..... if you had just talked to me we could have come to an agreement about concubines. if you didn't want to be with a man all you had to do was tell me. you don't have to keep humiliating me publicly and then lying about it."

"im not ly-"

you slammed your hands on the table making him flinch.

"you are. you're lying to me. you slept with the maid and then you lied about it and i forgave you. i forgave you because i thought you would learn your lesson."

"please... please punish me again please anything else... kill me, torture me, hate me, anything but leaving me..." he finally looked at you and you could see his pink eyes were cloudy and confused as tears dripped down his face.

".... that's pathetic emil. you want me to beat you but..." you forced your own tears along with your voice cracking. "you can't even say you love me."

emil tried to stand up, stumbling against the desk as his legs wobbled underneath him.

"don't leave me. please." his hand weakly grabbed your wrist

"do you love me?"

"yes."

"how am i supposed to trust that? how am i supposed to trust you? can you even say it? can you tell me you love me?"

"i...i...."

you ripped your hand away from him making him stumble again.

"I'm going to get the divorce papers ready. you're going to sign them."

you turned on your heel and left your husband sobbing in his office.

your plan to make the great emil landorr your mindbroken bitch was going along perfectly. it was going to be harder to drug him when you moved into the queen's palace but you were confident that the separation would drive him just as crazy.

#replies #yandere oc #sub yandere #yandere x male reader #male reader #top male reader #dom male reader #yandere x reader #yandere king

476 notes · View notes

smileysuh · 2 months ago

Text

knight of roses

🌙 starring. Jeong Jaehyun x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. The Knight of Roses looks so beautiful as he says his piece, and the idea that he’s already committed to you is one that makes your heart race in your chest. He’s so beautiful- and you’ve tried to deny it for too long. You hate being the girl who falls for the same man that everyone else has their eye on, and Jaehyun has no lack of suitors, especially in court. However, you suppose there’s always legitimacy in the looks of a man who has captured the hearts of many.

tw/cw. Unprotected sex, virgin!reader, first time, dirty talk, praise, power imbalance, Jaehyun unties her stupidly royal corset, armor removal, hand job, pussy eating, fingering, stretching out, multiple reader orgasms, etc… I pet names: (hers) princess.

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 9.1k

🍭 aus. Fantasy au, fairy au, royal au, knight!Jaehyun, princess!y/n, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. So this is a fae au, but that’s more the kingdom fantasy side than any overt faerie wings or powers- Jaehyun’s hair is naturally pink, and Yuta has white hair, so that’s going to be the extent of the faerie aesthetic in this- I just wanted to do something royal, and I wanted a unique kingdom set up :)

Prologue:

Tourneys of this caliber are unusual. The northern reaches that expand through the Winter kingdom, as well as the Fall lands in the West, are known for their bad weather, not for their celebrations. While the Spring Royals host events, it’s with little regularity. No, this kind of lengthy drinking and fighting fest is a uniquely Summer type of pride and joy.

It’s the Summer Kingdom’s Prince John’s birthday, and only a princely celebration could merit the expense of this sort of event.

All the royals, from all four reaches, are here, as well as a host of knights from all sorts of families. Everyone is intent on proving themselves, but none more so than the Princes Yuta from the North, and Doyoung from the West.

The Winter Prince has a reputation for upholding the traits of his house. He’s fierce, white-haired, and hardened from the cold temperatures and unforgiving terrain he was made in.

The Fall Prince carries some of those more ‘Northern’ aspects, however, where Yuta is more brazen, Doyoung is regal in every sense of the word. His motions are calculated, his blade as sharp as his eyes.

They’re both formidable fighters as the tourney day drags on, however, another favourite has emerged in the past two days that has shocked everyone. ‘The Knight of Roses’ they call him, in reference to the emblem on his chest plate, a man from a lesser house in the Eastern lands.

With pretty pink locks, this Jeong Jaehyun has stolen the hearts of many, however, you’re not so easily swayed, and your brother, John, knows it.

“Who will you be giving your favour to?” Johnny asks, leaning on his watching throne to get closer to you in the royal box where your family sits to watch the tourney.

“I’m not sure yet,” you admit, although, your gaze shifts to Prince Yuta as he pulls on his black dragon helm.

“Don’t even think about it,” Johnny grins. “Yuta is a savage. You don’t want him to get any ideas.”

“Ideas?” you counter with a smirk.

“First it’s your favour he asks for, then it’s your hand,” Johnny points out.

“I’m too young to marry,” you insist. “Maybe I’ll never take a husband.”

Johnny sighs. It’s a well-known fact within your close family that you don’t want to adhere to political protocols. You have a wildness in your heart, and your mother has always attributed it to a touch of winter that had coldened her family line many years ago.

“But if you must, it can’t be Yuta,” Johnny says firmly. “The North might be exciting now, but summer and winter don’t mix well. You might think of yourself as a savage, with your sword-wielding, and your dislike for ‘things befit of a princess,’ but you’re still too sweet for a man like him, believe me on that.”

Your lips pull tight, and you refuse to respond, focusing your attention on the tourney as the announcer begins to read out the names of competitors.

Yuta is one of the first, as is his right as a royal, and he approaches the elevated stand you’re sitting on. “I’m hoping for a favor, from the princess,” he says loudly, holding out his joust.

You stand, holding a small garland of wildflowers picked from the King’s wood. “Good luck, Prince Yuta,” you call, leaning over the rail to toss your favor onto his joust.

Yuta nods respectfully, and you’re taken by his striking eyes.

You go back to sit with your brother and he lets out an annoyed sound, but doesn’t pester you further.

Soon, the final tournament, the last of three days, is beginning.

You’re glued to your seat for all of it, eyes fixed on the commotion as rider after rider is bested. The royals hold their own, but once again, the Knight of Roses shows off his skills with a joust, defeating Prince Doyoung in the semi-finals.

You feel, as Yuta and Jaehyun size each other up, that the victor should be obvious, you’d given him your favour after all- however, the day ends with your bet not paying off.

The Knight of Roses finishes on top, and as you and your brother leave to head to the final departing feast, Johnny pulls you close. “That Jaehyun guy is no joke,” he muses. “I want him in my court.”

One:

“In light of our mother and father going to The Bright Lands,” your brother sighs as he’s fitted into his coronation robe, “I think it’s best you finally get a proper bodyguard.”

“Jungwoo is doing the job just fine,” you muse, fingers clicking on your glass of wine while numerous maids fuss over the future king.

“Jungwoo is my guard,” Johnny corrects. “And now that I’m about to be correnated, I want him back. He was a loan.”

“A loan,” you laugh.

“I knew you wouldn’t agree to a new guard, but in an hour, I’ll be your king, so you’re going to make this easy on me, okay?”

You roll your eyes, but you don’t protest. “And who are you planning on assigning to baby sit me?”

“The Knight of Roses.”

Your heart skips a beat.

It’s been five years since Johnny recruited Jaehyun to come to your palace and train. Five years of you seeing the pink-haired man work at becoming an even better swordsman. Part of you had assumed that Jaehyun would step into the role of Johnny’s protector, not your own.

“I don’t need him,” you say.

“Yes, you do,” Johnny sighs. “Trust me, I think you’ll like his style of protection.”

With one last flair of his furred robe, Johnny turns to the door, and it’s clear the conversation is over.

The two of you exit his royal chambers, and you’re immediately flanked by guards. Jaehyun falls into step right behind you, and you do your best to ignore him as you make your way to the grand hall.

The Knight of Roses sticks to your side the entire ceremony, and it’s hard to focus on your brother with this pretty, pink-haired man practically breathing down your neck.

You’re ready for some alone time as the coronation closes. Tonight marks the eve of a three-day celebration to solidify the start of your brother’s reign, and you know you’ll have many duties in the coming seventy-two hours. You can skip the feast, especially while Johnny is swarmed in the great hall at the dining table.

As you slip away, you’re cognisant of the spring shadow following you. He’s silent, and you appreciate that as you make your way to your room. Once in the safety of your bed chamber, Jaehyun waits outside respectfully.

Two handmaidens join you, and they’re a little shocked at your request to be helped with putting on the armor your father had gifted to you three years ago. He’d known at that time that there was no way of squashing your wild heart, so he’d made sure you’d have the proper gear to protect yourself if you decided to live dangerously.

You exit your room fully adorned in royal armor. It’s similar to your elder brother’s, all golden, and stamped with the Summer house’s royal sunshine mark.

Jaehyun continues to say nothing, continues to shadow you as you make your way down to the courtyard and into the King’s wood.

It wouldn’t be ‘becoming’ for you to practice swordsmanship where others could see you, so your father had made a training section of sorts for you a short way into the treeline, in a clearing where you’ve since spent many hours.

You expect Jaehyun to continue his silent streak as you approach a practice dummy, expect him to sit back and watch you the way Jungwoo always has- but as you ready your first blow, Jaehyun speaks his first words. “Do you come train here often, Princess?”

You pause, turning to look at your spring shadow. “Excuse me?”

“This practice site, is it yours?”

“Yes,” you respond, striking the practice dummy, “it’s mine.” You hear something of a scoff- or maybe a smile, and you turn to find the pink-haired man grinning. “What?”

“King John said you’re an unusual girl, but I never expected this.”

“Sorry to ruin your expectations,” you sigh, lining yourself up to take another hit at your training dummy.

“Has anyone ever given you any formal training, Princess?” Jaehyun asks next, stepping toward you.

“Johnny has tried to teach me a few times,” you confess.

“Are you open to pointers, Princess?”

You let out a deep sigh. “My last guard would simply watch.”

Jaehyun nods, looking down at the ground. It’s clear he’s going to drop this, that he’s taken your response as a rejection. You’re his Princess, he won’t question you, and you kind of like it. But, at the same time, as you begin to hack at the dummy, you wonder what Jaehyun might be able to provide for you that Jungwoo couldn’t, or maybe wouldn’t.

The Knight Of Roses has proven himself, and his swordsmanship, many times over. There are worse people you could accept constructive criticism from.

“Fine,” you sigh. “What am I doing wrong?”

Two:

You’re elated from your impromptu training session with Jaehyun. After allowing him to teach you a few tips, you’d sparred for an hour or so before he’d insisted it would be a good idea to go back to the banquet. So here you are, all tightened in your gown and corset, your heart racing every time you think of how much you’ve just learned from your new protector.

Your brother is seated next to you, and as the dinner commotion quiets down a little, he leans closer to you. “How are you feeling?”

“Good.”

Johnny scoffs at your one-word response, his eyes shifting to the guard behind you, to the great hall full of people there to celebrate his coronation. “How do you feel about the familiar faces here tonight?”

You sigh, knowing who he means. Prince Doyoung and Prince Yuta are seated at their royal tables, one poised, the other relaxed and holding a cup of wine between his fingers.

“We just had a royal wedding,” you muse, looking at Johnny’s new wife as she sits on his left.

“And as much as I like the Spring King, I don’t need Taeyond as a brother-in-law twice over,” Johnny agrees. “I remember a few years ago, you had an eye on Prince Yuta.”

“That was a few years ago.”

Johnny nods, and he looks contemplative for a few seconds. “I won’t force you to do anything you don’t want to do. You’re a summer child, but there’s always been an untamable side to you.”

“I appreciate that.”

“However,” Johnny lifts his fingers to his lips, leaning his elbow on his large chair. “I would like for you to dance with a few people tonight.”

“And what would be the point in that?” you counter.

Johnny shrugs. “Fun? Intrinsic value? Because your older brother, and King, wants to see you smile?”

“I doubt many of these men could make me smile.”

Jaehyun is close behind you, and he listens to this exchange, a smug grin working it’s way onto his face. As familiar as he is with Johnny, it’s clear your brother doesn’t know very much about you. If he wishes to see you smile, he just has to see you with a sword in your hand.

The Knight of Roses has always thought you were beautiful, but seeing you dressed in full royal armor, wielding a blade- he’d realized that was your element. You’re happiest while battling, unladylike sweat dripping from your brow, eyes fixed on your task, the smell of deep concentration practically wafting off of you.

Jaehyun would be lying if he said he wasn’t affected by the small training session that had just taken place. He wasn’t sure how to gauge what your relationship as princess and guard would be like, but now- if tonight was any suggestion of what’s to come- he thinks this might suit him just perfectly.

The feast is cleared away by servants, and large tables are pushed to the sides of the great hall to make way for dancing.

Jaehyun shifts on his feet as he watches, holding his breath at what’s to come.

He’s not surprised when Prince Yuta approaches the royal table.

“King John, Princess,” he nods, his gaze lingering on you, “I was wondering if I might have this dance.”

For something of a winter savage, Prince Yuta can be surprisingly well-mannered when he wants to be, and it’s no shock when you stand to your feet, allowing the man from the North to pull you to the dance floor.

Each kingdom has its own color scheme. While Fall is depicted with bronze and blue, Jaehyun’s own kingdom sports rose gold and green. Yuta however, is silver and black, and it is starkly contrasted by your gold and white dress. The two of you stick out like a sore thumb on the great hall floor, and there are many eyes that watch you humour the prince from the North with a dance.

Jaehyun has his opinions about this potential union, but he’ll keep them to himself.

Three:

It’s the second day of Johnny’s coronation celebration. The Summer equinox is approaching tomorrow, and the days are long. The sun is hot, and it makes you sweat in your suit of armor as you and Jaehyun train by the lake in the King’s Wood.

There had been a tourney today, and you’d slipped away from the crowds to find a spare hour or two before the nightly banquet. You’re aware that you’ve been sparring for some time already, and the summer heat is making you exhausted faster than you’d anticipated.

With a sigh, you let your sword fall to your side, and your guard immediately mirrors the movement. “I think I’m done for the day,” you muse.

“As you wish, Princess,” Jaehyun nods.

You pull off one of your armored gloves as you move closer to the rocky shore of the lake. “Come sit with me.”

Jaehyun nods again, following you.

He’s quick to unclip his rose gold and green embroidered cape, setting it along the rocks for you to sit on. You and Jaehyun have found a way to communicate with motions more so than words, and you nod a thank you to him as you get seated.

You release a sigh as you continue to take off parts of your armor, relieved by the coolness that washes over your skin after being cooped up for an hour.

“I have something to ask you,” you tell him.

“Whatever you need, Princess.”

He’s still standing, and you sigh. “Sit.” Jaehyun does as he’s told. “I’m sure you noticed me dancing with Prince Yuta last night.”

“I think it’s safe to say everyone noticed,” Jaehyun nods.

“I know what is expected of me as a princess, and I guess I’m wondering what your feelings are on love and marriage?”

Jaehyun looks out at the lake, and he’s quiet for a moment while you assess him.

“I don’t have the same pressures that you do when it comes to marriage,” Jaehyun admits. “I’m your guard, my only duty- my only commitment, is protecting you, and even though it’s only been two days, I think I can be content with that.”

The Knight of Roses looks so beautiful as he says his piece, and the idea that he’s already committed to you is one that makes your heart race in your chest. He’s so beautiful- and you’ve tried to deny it for too long. You hate being the girl who falls for the same man that everyone else has their eye on, and Jaehyun has no lack of suitors, especially in court. However, you suppose there’s always legitimacy in the looks of a man who has captured the hearts of many.

“Thank you for saying that,” you nod finally.

“How about you, Princess? If I might ask… what are you thinking about your future?”

“My brother says he won’t pressure me, so for now, I think I’ll just lean on that,” you admit, letting out a sigh. “For now, I want to be free.”

You stand up abruptly, and Jaehyun is quick to his feet as well, looking at you with a question in his eyes.

“Help me take my armour off,” you tell him. “I’m going for a swim.”

“Excuse me, Princess?” Jaehyun freezes, and you can see a hint of pink blossoming on his skin.

“I’m going for a swim,” you repeat. “I want to be one with the water. It’s good for your muscles after training.”

“But- you have nothing to wear-”

“So I’ll wear nothing,” you say simply. “We’re in my brother’s King’s Wood, no one will come here, only royals can, and every royal has been drinking since this morning. We’re alone, and I wish to be free.”

Jaehyun lets out a breath. “Respectfully, Princess, I don’t think this is a good idea.” Regardless of his words, Jaehyun begins to help you take off your armor.

You’re wearing a white shirt and pants beneath your metal plating, and Jaehyun’s gentle as he helps undress you. When it comes down to the final layers, Jaehyun bows his head and turns around, giving you privacy to get naked on the banks of the lake.

You find it comical how respectful he is, and you kind of love it as you strip completely and step into the water. The summer heat has made the temperature seasonably warm, so it feels lovely on your skin as you wade in.

Once shoulder deep, you begin to swim, and when you turn back to the shore, you find Jaehyun watching you.

He’s standing there, guardian you from afar.

You know there’s no way he would join you, so you don’t bother to ask. Instead, you just enjoy the water, allowing your muscles to relax, your body decompressing.

Once you’ve had your fill, you begin to swim back to shore- and that’s when you notice motion in the treeline.

Jaehyun is quick to turn around, and you watch as Prince Yuta stalks onto the beach, taking one look at your guard, and then at you in the water.

“What is this?” Yuta asks loudly.

“The Princess wanted to go for a swim,” Jaehyun responds calmly.

You can see Yuta’s gaze shift to your pile of clothes, and even from a distance, you note the change in his expression.

“And you let her go for a swim?” The Prince from the North growls.

“I don’t let my Princess do anything, that’s not my job,” Jaehyun retorts.

“Your job is to protect her. Her body, her virtue as a princess- Do you have any idea what future suitors might think if they were to find out about this?!” Yuta is yelling now, and it sets your teeth on edge.

This is one of the first times you’ve seen his brash, hot-headed winter features in a situation outside of a tourney, and you’re beginning to see what your brother has always meant when he said Yuta wouldn’t be good for you.

“If my future suitors are so pigheaded that they judge a swim in the lake in my brother’s King’s Wood, then they aren’t good suitors to begin with,” you yell back. “Maybe I never want to get married! And I won’t marry any man just because he’s royal or it’s expected!”

Yuta stares at you in shock, lips parting then closing again- it’s clear he’s at a loss for words. Finally, with a scoff, he turns and leaves, a flurry of black and silver as he gets back on his horse, disappearing into the trees.

Jaehyun’s shoulders relax when the Prince departs, and he turns to look at you in the water. He doesn’t say anything, but you get the feeling that he’d wished you’d stayed out of the altercation.

“Are you almost done in there, Princess?” he calls.

“Uh huh.”

“I’ll grab a blanket from my horse,” Jaehyun announces, swiftly turning.

He comes back with the blanket, and you watch Jaehyun close his eyes as he holds it outstretched for you. You wade back to the bank, cognizant of your nakedness as you allow yourself to approach your guard.

You take the blanket from him, wrapping it around your body to dry yourself.

His eyes are still closed. Jaehyun is so pure- you’re little Knight of Roses.

“How, may I ask, are you protecting me if you can’t see?” you ask.

“I’m listening to the forest,” Jaehyun responds softly.

You admire his beautiful face, and you can’t help but lean forward, slowly closing the distance between the two of you, testing his ability to sense things-

Jaehyun takes a step back, brows furrowing. “What are you doing?”

“Just testing you,” you muse, leaning back and taking a breath. “I’ll put my clothes back on now, then you can help me with my armor before we go back.”

You hope Yuta hasn’t made a scene about all of this, but only time will tell.

Four:

Jaehyun supposes he’s getting used to the sight of you dancing with other princes, and it’s easy for him to ignore the feeling bubbling inside of him, his mind wandering to what had just happened an hour ago at the lake.

“Jaehyun,” Johnny’s voice drags the knight away from his watch. The King makes a motion for Jaehyun to lean closer, so he does. “I heard something happened in the King’s Wood.”

“What did you hear, your highness?” Jaehyun asks.

“The Prince from the North came to talk to me, he gave me a warning about my favorite knight stealing the virtue of my sister.”

Jaehyun’s skin runs cold. “You Highness- nothing happened, on my life, on my honor- your sister wanted to go for a swim, I kept my eyes shut-”

“I never doubted you,” Johnny interrupts, waving his hand. “Although, I do see the way you two look at each other… I don’t want to force my sister into anything, let alone a loveless marriage.”

Jaehyun considers his King’s words. It almost sounds like Johnny is giving Jaehyun permission to court you.

“Anyways, I trust you.” Johnny leans back in his chair. “There’s a reason I chose you to be her protector, and what is a husband if not the ultimate protector?”

Jaehyun wonders if he’s something of a knight in shining armour to you, roses and all.

“I appreciate what you’ve said, your Highness,” Jaehyun nods, and they both shift their gazes back to the dance floor where you’re wrapped up in Prince Doyoung.

It’s clear to Jaehyun that the smile on your face is fake. He’s seen your real smile, when you’re wielding a blade. You haven’t been faking it with Jaehyun, and he hasn’t been faking it with you.

“Jungwoo?” Johnny’s voice disrupts Jaehyun’s thoughts. “If you wouldn’t mind cutting in with my sister, it looks like Lord JYP is about to ask her to dance, and he’s much too old for her. I think she deserves a savior.”

Five:

You focus on your breath, trying to anticipate Jaehyun’s movements. He’s hard to read, even though you’ve done your best to recougnize his tells. The Knight of Roses might put his weight onto his left foot, only to lunge from the right.

He’s very adept at this, and you think you must have gotten better in these past few days at swordsmanship than you have since you picked up a sword.

You’re entirely focused on Jaehyun, so focused, that when he suddenly pauses, you don’t know what’s happening. That’s when you feel a presence behind you, and you swing to find the Fall Prince standing there.

“So this is where you run off to every day,” Doyoung muses, sizing you up. “You’re quite good with a sword, Princess.”

“Thank you,” you nod, a little shocked that he’s praising such a non lady like pass time.

“Your brother, the King, told me where I might find you,” the Prince explains. “I’ve come with an offer.”

Your heart sinks in your chest, and your gaze shifts to Jaehyun. He’s looking at the ground, doing his best to be respectful of this royal exchange while still manning his post.

“I’ve noticed Prince Yuta’s interest in you,” Doyoung starts, “and I’m civilized enough, even as a man from the Eastern reaches, to know that no summer girl should be thrown to those Northern wolves. A union of the Fall or Spring kingdoms would be better suited for you, and since your brother just married into the Spring’s royal line, I feel as if I might be the next best option for you.”

You swallow thickly. There’s a “No” that bubbles along the back of your tongue, willing to be let out- but despite your distaste for political things, you’ve been trained well enough to know not to be so blunt with the Fall Prince.

“Thank you for your offer,” you say curtly. “I’ll have to consider your proposal. I can’t make any decisions without first discussing them with my King.”

Doyoung nods. “I understand. Thank you for your time, Princess.” He reaches for your hand next, and you allow him to bring your armoured fingers to his lips.

You watch as Doyoung leaves, and once he’s gone, you let out a deep breath.

“Are you alright, Princess?” Jaehyun asks.

“Just flustered,” you admit. “I’m impressed by his confidence to ask for my hand like that. I’ve always liked a man who knows what he wants... I might be a princess who swings her sword and swims naked and free- but I’m still just a girl who wants to be pursued, to be wanted- for more than just a political alliance.”

Six:

It’s been such a short time that Jaehyun’s been guarding you, but already, you’ve opened up to him numerous times. He’s beginning to understand you, and his feelings for you have been growing in a way he could have never imagined.

He can’t get the thought of what you’d said about being courted out of his head.

You want to be pursued, to be wanted- for more than your name, your title, your family- You want something real, and as much as Jaehyun’s never wanted to admit it to himself, he’s wanted the same.

He’s had hundreds of women throw themselves at him at this point- but they always liked him for his exterior, nothing more.

The two of you are like different sides of the same coin. Wanted, admired- you for your rank, and him for his looks. It’s a difficult way to go through life, to feel like you’re never truly being seen.

But Jaehyun sees you, the real you, the you that you only show in your vulnerable moments. As fearsome as you think you are when you’re wielding your sword, there’s a side of you that is also open to being taught new things, and the ferocity in your approach to protecting yourself is more than admirable to the Knight of Roses.

He’s deep in thought, but his eyes never leave you as you dance around the great hall for the final night of the celebration, an endless line of suitors waiting for a turn at the Summer Princess.

There’s a flash of bronze, and Prince Doyoung catches Jaehyun’s gaze. The regal man from the West is cutting through the crowd, side stepping the line as is his right as a royal.

There’s no doubt in Jaehyun’s mind as to what Doyoung wants to discuss as he cuts into your dance, and your guard sees the micromovements in your brow, the twitch of your lips as your smile momentarily falters.

Even so, you accept the prince’s offer of a dance, and Jaehyun broods while he watches.

Was it not just yesterday that King John asked Jungwoo to step in between you and a high born for a dance?

Jaehyun’s gaze shifts to the King, and something inside of him snaps.

It’s the Knight of Roses’ duty to protect you, and maybe he’s let this farce of a party drag out too long. John won’t be mad at him for finally stepping in, of that, Jaehyun is certain as he steps down from his post.

People part to allow the armoured knight to pass, and Jaehyun can hear the blood rushing to his ears as he closes the distance between himself and you.

He stops just a foot short of you and the Prince, both of you looking at him with questioning eyes.

“May I cut in?” Jaehyun asks, and he’s pleased that his voice sounds more confident than he feels.

“I-” Doyoung opens his mouth, but you’re quick to cut him off, “You may.”

There’s a clear anger in the Fall Prince’s expression as he reluctantly relinquishes you to your guard, and there’s a curious arch of your brow as Jaehyun takes you in his arms.

“What was that about?” you ask, once Doyoung has retreated.

“I thought you looked like you needed to be saved.”

“Is that what you’re doing?” you question with a grin. “Saving me?”

“It’s my duty, Princess.”

You narrow your eyes at him, and then you laugh. “Maybe you’re just jealous. Are you jealous, my good knight?”

Jaehyun tries to act innocent, to pretend the idea is stupid, but his scoff lacks conviction, and it’s clear you both know it.

“There’s something I have to tell you-” Jaehyun starts, but you cut him off in very much the same way you had the Prince just seconds ago.

“Not here, not now, not with all of these eyes,” you whisper. “I thank you for saving me from this dance, I think the night ends here for me.”

Jaehyun nods, releasing you and stepping back respectfully.

You turn to head back up to your King, and Jaehyun follows three steps back.

“John,” you say, skipping the formalities for your older brother, “I’ve grown tired, and I’d like to go back to my room.”

“As you wish,” Johnny brushes it off, his gaze fixed on the great hall infront of him.

“Please tell Prince Doyoung that I reject his offer of marriage,” you continue, and this draws the attention of the King. “Would you let him know that I’d like to stay in the Summer Kingdom, at least for a little while longer, before I make any big decisions.”

John looks between you and Jaehyun, who averts his eyes. “If that’s what you want.”

“It is.” You look so determined, so powerful as you stare down at your older brother, and in that moment, Jaehyun is proud of you. He’s proud of how much you’ve grown in the years since he first came to your Summer court- proud of the way you’re obviously following your own heart now that your brother is on the throne and allows it.

However, something tells Jaehyun that even if Johnny wasn’t so supportive of you, you’d still be making waves for yourself.

“I’ll talk with Doyoung,” John says finally. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” You curtsey for your king, and then you’re swiftly leaving the great hall with your knight closely behind you.

The walk to your quarters feels dualistically long and short at the same time. Jaehyun’s mind is running a thousand miles per minute, and his heart is racing like it only does when he’s fighting.

He stops just outside your room, and you look back at him. “Well? Aren’t you coming inside?”

“I-”

“Come.” You leave no room for argument, and Jaehyun nods before stepping after you, closing the door.

“Well?” you ask, heading to your nightstand to pour yourself a chalice of water. “What did you want to say to me?”

“Hmm?”

“Just now, when you cut into my dance with the Fall Prince, it looked like you had something important to tell me.”

In the heat of the moment, seeing you with Doyoung had spurred something inside of Jaehyun, but now, in the privacy of your quarters, the Knight of Roses feels tongue tied.

“Princess-” Jaehyun swallows thickly, and you set down your cup to move closer to him.

He can’t meet your gaze, so he looks at the floor, and he watches as you reach out to take his hand.

“Talk to me,” you plead, your voice near a whisper.

Jaehyun looks up at you.

Gods, you’re so beautiful. He likes you in your armour, but the dress you’d chosen for the final evening of your brother’s coronation celebration is truly ethereal, and Jaehyun thinks he may have never seen a prettier sight in all of his life.

Your gaze shifts to his lips, and Jaehyun’s breath catches.

You move closer- like you had at the lake yesterday-

There’s a knock on your door, and Jaehyun practically jumps out of his armor. He tears his hand away from you, turning toward the intrusion as one of your ladies in waiting steps into the room.

“I’ve come to help the princess remove her gown for bed,” your maid announces.

“Yes, thank you,” you sigh.

The maid looks to Jaehyun next. “Marcus Lee is also outside, to relieve you of your position for the night, Sir Jeong.”

“Right.” Jaehyun nods, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Goodnight, Princess, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, good knight,” you bow your head.

It almost pains Jaehyun to walk away, but he has to. He steps outside of your bedroom, joining the knight who takes care of your watch while Jaehyun gets his rest.

Mark nods to Jaehyun, and Jaehyun returns the motion, not saying a word as he sets off toward his own room.

The Knight of Roses’ skin is practically buzzing, a fire raging inside of him. He thinks of all the things he’s wanted to say, all the things he’s wanted to do-

You’d been so close to kissing him, and Jaehyun can feel it.

When he gets back to his quarters, Jaehyun is quick to tear his armor off, the metal feeling constricting and like a furnace against his heated skin.

He falls into bed with a huff of exasperation, the thought of your lips never leaving his mind.

Seven:

There had been a huge morning going away party, in which you and Johnny said goodbye to everyone who had come to celebrate his birthday. You’d been doing your duty, and you and Jaehyun have yet to discuss last night. When you’re finally alone and head back to your room, you turn to your Knight of Roses expectantly, waiting for him to break the ice.

“Would you like to train today?” he asks in the doorway to your bedroom.

“Get in here,” you instruct. “We’re finishing our conversation from last night.”

With a nod, Jaehyun closes your door behind him, standing awkwardly a few meters away from you with his head bowed.

“Well?” you ask expectantly.

The knight takes a deep breath. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” you urge. “What you’re feeling. Tell me that last night, if we hadn’t been interrupted, you would have kissed me the way I’ve been wanting to kiss you.”

Jaehyun’s eyes meet yours, and you see his expression break a little. “I talked with the King,” he starts, and you let out an exasperated sigh, not knowing what this has to do with anything. “He told me that he doesn’t want to push you into a loveless marriage, and then he noted that we look at each other the same way-”

“How do we look at each other?” you ask, wanting to hear him say it.

You watch him swallow thickly. “We look at each other like we care about each other. I know I care about you, more deeply than I ever thought I would- and in such a short time-”

“It has been a short time that you’ve been my guard,” you agree, “however, you’ve been in court for five years. It’s not like we’re strangers. I feel as if I already know you. I’m comfortable with you, and I’m not comfortable with many people, Jaehyun.”

Your knight nods, staying quiet.

“I care about you,” you confirm. “I care about you too.”

He looks up at you hopefully, and you have the sense that he’s waiting for you to elaborate.

“I’ve had these feelings, these longings-” you try to explain, clutching at your chest, where your heart is beating rapidly at the thought of how this might change your relationship. “But I have worries too.”

“Worries, Princess?” he inquires.

“It’s just… this power imbalance,” you motion between the two of you. “I’m your Princess, and you’re my Knight- I’d hate for you to grow to resent me as my protector if we were to ever take this leap.”

“I could never resent you,” he promises, words softening. “Princess- Never.”

“Never?” you repeat, stepping closer to him.

Jaehyun shakes your head. “I admire you, more than I’ve ever admired anyone. You’re a princess, but you don’t let your title define you. You are so singular- in the best of ways.”

“Keep telling me sweet nothings,” you whisper, reaching out to play with the belt that holds his sword.

“I’ve never met someone like you, man or woman,” Jaehyun tells you, his breath hot on your face as he looks down at you. “You’re so fierce, yet there’s a softness to you too- a softness I don’t think you want to show many people.”

You look up to meet his gaze. “You think so?”

“Yes, Princess.” Jaehyun nods solemnly. “I want you to feel safe enough to show me that soft side. Want for you to feel safe and know that I’ll always protect you, all of you.”

You cup his cheek, and Jaehyun leans into the touch, his eyes closing as he lets out a shaky breath.

“Kiss me,” you tell him.

“You’re a princess,” Jaehyun sighs. “Prince Yuta was right about not tarnishing your virtue-”

“Well, if you ask me to marry you, and I say yes, then my virtue is yours regardless of whether you take it now, or on our wedding night,” you point out.

Jaehyun opens his eyes, and you can see his resolve faltering. You can see him crumbling for you, and it’s a dazzling sight. This strong knight, breaking.

“I don’t have a ring,” he whispers.

“I don’t care about a ring.”

“We’ve not known each other intimately for very long.”

“My mother met my father on their wedding night, for royals, it’s not uncommon to meet your betrothed until you��re at the alter.”

“Are you sure you want this, Princess?”

“My Knight, my dear, sweet Knight,” you move closer, until your lips are just an inch away from his own, “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my entire life.”

Jaehyun kisses you then, his arms wrapping tightly around you. He’s all hard metal, but his lips are soft. You’re sure he knows that this is your first time kissing a man, and he’s gentle as he wordlessly guides you through it. His tongue strokes your bottom lip and you hesitantly open up for him, allowing him deeper.

You mewl as he lifts you off the ground, carrying you toward your bed.

“You’re sure?” Jaehyun asks again, setting you down.

“Make love to me, Jaehyun, your Princess commands it.”

Jaehyun lets out a laugh, and his smile lights up his entire face. “Should we worry about a maid coming in to check on you?”

“They’ll just assume I’m off in the King’s Wood somewhere,” you tell him, fingers going to the fastenings on his armour. “Once I get this metal off of you, we can close the blinds on my four poster bed, a little more privacy that way.”

“Whatever you say, Princess,” Jaehyun nods, lips attaching to yours again as you work to undress him.

You’re not generally accustomed to undressing yourself, let alone others, and it’s clear that you’re struggling. “Here,” Jaehyun gently takes your hands, placing them by your sides. “Let me do the work.”

You sit down on the bed, watching as he expertly removes his armor.

Soon he’s just in his under armour white shirt and pants, and you reach out to remove those next-

“Your turn, Princess,” Jaehyun tells you, gently pushing your hands away again.

“My turn?” You cock a brow before rolling onto your stomach. “Hope you're good with laces,” you grin, baring the corsetted back of your gown to him.

Jaehyun laughs. “I think I’ll manage, Princess.”

“You better.”

Jaehyun’s shaky fingers find the laces, and he undoes the top bow carefully. Then he slowly begins to tug on each section, gently working his way down your back to open you up for him. You can feel his breath on your shoulders, and there’s something so erotic about it. He’s unwrapping you, his perfect little Princess present.

“You’re sure about this?” Jaehyun asks again, pressing a kiss to the nape of your neck, sending a tingle down your spine.

“Please stop asking me that,” you breathe, practically writhing under his touch.

“Is that a command, Princess?”

“Yes.”

Jaehyun chuckles, returning to his task as he gets the last of your corset undone. You hold the front of your dress close to your chest as you sit up, facing him. The sleeves are falling off your shoulders, and you look up at the knight, curious to see his expression.

Your guard looks stunned, and then he says, “Wait, I never officially asked you to be my wife.”

“I thought that was a given,” you admit.

Jaehyun gets down onto one knee. “Princess, would you do me the great honour, and make me the happiest man in all four kingdoms-”

“Yes, Jaehyun, yes, I’ll marry you.” You press your lips to his and he kisses you desperately, his hands balling up in the thick fabric of your skirt.

“I want to taste you,” Jaehyun whispers.

“What?”

“I’ll talk you through everything,” The Knight of Roses promises. “You trust me, right?”

“I trust you,” you confirm.

Jaehyun presses one last chaste kiss to your lips before moving down to your throat. You love the feeling of it, and you throw your head back, moaning. You love the way he’s taking his time with you, his mouth descending. He ghosts his attention across your chest, and then, he gets onto his knees on the floor.

You watch him curiously as Jaehyun lifts up your skirt. “Lay back for me, Princess.”

You do as you’re told, gingerly relaxing back against the bed as Jaehyun pushes your dress even higher to your hips.

His breath fans across your core, and you wiggle desperately. The Knight of Roses hooks his fingers in your panties, dragging them down your legs.

“If you want me to stop-”

“Just do it Jae,” you whisper. “Do whatever you want.”

He doesn’t say anything else, his lips teasing up your inner thighs.

Your pussy is throbbing like it’s never throbbed before. You’ve touched yourself a handful of times, but nothing has ever felt like this.

“I’m gonna marry you,” Jaehyun tells you, pressing a kiss to your clit that has your toes curling deliciously. “You’re going to be my wife.”

You can only moan as he licks a stripe of your pussy, teasing his tongue around the sensitive bud. Your hands bunch up in the blanket on your bed, and you writhe beneath Jaehyun’s motions, prompting him to press a hand to your hips to keep you pinned.

He licks at you for a while, working you up, before his lips suction around your clit again, applying more pressure and stimulus than before.

“Oh my Gods-” you groan.

Jaehyun returns your sound with one of his own, and the vibrations make you dizzy.

You can feel something building in the pit of your stomach- you’re not sure what it is, exactly, only that it feels amazing.

Your moans are getting pitchier, and Jaehyun sucks harder on your clit-

That’s when the tension in your tummy snaps, and all of the sudden, summer waves are washing over you. It’s a pleasure unlike any you’ve felt- and it takes your breath away as you gasp and moan in the sanctity of your bedroom.

You quite literally see stars, your eyes clenched shut as Jaehyun continues his motions, keeping you on that pleasure cloud until you can’t take it anymore.

“Jae-” you whimper, pushing at his head.

He’s quick to draw back, and you open your eyes to see him looking up at you, licking his lips. “Was that good, Princess?”

“That was amazing,” you tell him.

“I’m not done with you yet,” he warns, rubbing his fingers through your wet pussy lips. “I’m going to stretch you out now.”

You can only whimper at his words.

“Relax for me, Princess, I’ve got you.”

You lean back against the bed again, trying to breathe deeply as he begins to push his pointer finger into your wet hole. The feeling is foreign, but not unpleasant. In fact, as he begins to thrust his digit, it begins to feel heavenly.

Gods, your inner walls have never been stroked like this-

“You’re so wet, Princess,” Jaehyun muses. “Are you ready for another finger?”

“Yes,” you moan, eager to please him.

Jaehyun’s mouth returns to your clit, and he gently pushes a second finger into you. You groan at the feeling, your walls stretching to accommodate him.

“So tight for me,” Jaehyun tells you. “So perfect.”

You mewl, hips pushing toward his hand as he begins to curl his fingers inside of you.

He works you open, and you can feel yourself relaxing more and more by the second. His mouth finds your clit again, and that sensation in your tummy returns.

You close your eyes, enjoying everything Jaehyun is giving you.

“I think you’re going to cum again,” Jaehyun says, lips ghosting past your clit. “You going to cum for me, Princess?”

“Mmmm, yes, Jae,” you whimper, ready to agree to anything he asks of you.

His mouth suctions around your sensitive bud, and he sucks lewdly, triggering the release that’s becoming all to familiar.

You squeal with delight, reaching down to tangle your fingers in his soft hair as your high overtakes you again. Your pussy is throbbing desperately, body alive with a sensitivity you’ve never felt.

This is what heaven must feel like, you decide, as you writhe beneath the Knight of Roses, reveling in the way he’s taking care of you. You’ve always wanted someone to love you for more than your royal status, but this feeling of being worshiped is something you could get used to.

When the sensation is over, Jaehyun pulls away again, and you take a shuddery breath.

“I’m going to take your dress off now, Princess,” Jaehyun tells you, and you feel like a loved up, limp doll as he undresses you slowly, pressing soft kisses all along your body.

You’re fully naked for him, and you don’t feel an ounce of shame.

Jaehyun’s eyes betray his feelings, and you can tell he’s as hopelessly in love with you as you are with him. There’s a connection here, one neither of you had admitted, but now that you have-

This is your person, and he’s going to be your person, forever.

Your Knight of Roses begins to undress, and you can’t help the greedy way in which your eyes devour each piece of newly exposed flesh.

He’s so perfect- his abs especially- or wait, no, just, everything.

You feel shy for the first time when you take a peek at his cock, your skin heating with embarrassment.

“It’s okay,” Jaehyun assures you. “I’ll go slow with you, Princess, I promise.”

“Come here,” you prompt him, crawling up to your pillows so you can be in the centre of your large four poster bed.

You watch Jaehyun draw the blinds, allowing you some inkling of privacy before he returns between your thighs.

He’s already rock hard, and you can’t help but reach out and touch him, stroking him gently while Jaehyun releases a groan of pleasure.

The Knight of Roses leans over you, pressing his elbows into the bed while his lips meet yours.

You let go of his cock in favour of tangling your fingers into his hair, deepening the kiss.

His length teases your pussy, bumping by your clit as he begins to slowly rock his hips.

“Are you-”

“Yes, I’m sure,” you groan. “Jaehyun-”

“As you wish, Princess,” he tells you, kissing you again before grabbing the base of his cock, lining it up with your pussy.

He teases the tip inside of you, and you groan at the stretch. Jaehyun pauses, allowing you to get used to his size a little before pushing more inside your aching core.

He’s very gentle, his mouth hot on your throat, a welcome distraction as he opens you up for himself the way no man ever has before.

Finally, he’s fully sheathed inside of you, and he releases a groan. “You’re squeezing me so tight, Princess-”

“Sorry-”

“No, it’s a good thing,” he assures you. “Feels good.”

“Good,” you grin, drawing his lips to your own.

You kiss him fiercely, getting lost in the feeling as he begins to move, slowly rocking in and out of your core.

The sensation of his cock along your inner walls turns pleasurable quickly, and soon you’re moaning against his lips.

Jaehyun’s hand finds yours, and he links your fingers as he makes love to you.

That tension is building in the pit of your stomach again, and you whimper. “I think- I think I’m close again,” you warn him.

“Want you to cum for me, then I can cum too,” he tells you, releasing your hand so he can bring his thumb to your clit.

You’re so sensitive from two orgasms that the brush of his digit across your bud has you mewling, grabbing at the sheets desperately. “Jaehyun-”

“I know, I’m here, I’ve got you,” he promises.

You open your eyes, gazing up at your new lover, your protector, your future husband.

You’re overwhelmed by a feeling of complete joy, and it fills your entire being as he works you closer and closer to the edge, fucking you harder-

“Jae, I’m gonna-”

“Let go for me,” he whispers, nuzzling into your neck. “Let go for me, Princess, I’ll take care of you.”

With a whine, you release the tension in your abdomen, and for the third time tonight, your high washes over you.

You gasp, back arching, pressing your breasts up toward his chest.

Jaehyun groans deeply, hips unrelenting, fucking you through the feeling.

As your orgasm subsides, Jaehyun pulls out of you, pumping his cock as he coats your abdomen in his own release.

He lets out curse words under his breath, head bowed, eyes focused on the mess he’s making. You lay there, keeping still and watching in awe at the beautiful man in front of you.

Finally, Jaehyun lets out a grunt, his motion stopping.

He’s breathing heavily, you both are. Then, Jaehyun runs a hand through his hair. “Let me find something to clean you up with.”

He stumbles out of the bed, and it’s the first time you’ve seen him not fully composed. You love the effect you have on him, and you lay there, in a state of complete bliss.

Jaehyun returns with a wash cloth, and he cleans the cum off your skin.

“I’ll get dressed, and when I leave, I’ll find your maid. I’ll let her know you want a bath,” Jaehyun explains.

“A bath sounds really nice,” you admit, feeling sleepy.

“I know, Princess.” Jaehyun kisses you one last time, and you lazily watch him put his clothes and armor back on.

Part of you hates to see him go, but you’re exhausted, and after your maids come in to help you with a bath, you fall into a deep, love filled slumber.

Eight:

Jaehyun knows he’s doing the right thing as he approaches the King’s quarters.

Jungwoo and Haechan are outside, standing guard, and they nod to their fellow knight as he passes through, knocking on the door.

The King’s authoritative voice calls a, “Come in!” and with a deep breath, Jaehyun enters.

“Didn’t expect to see you tonight,” Johnny admits, looking up from his book at the Knight of Roses.

“I have news,” Jaehyun says, his throat dry already.

“Let’s hear it.” Johnny leans back in his chair, eyeing Jaehyun suspiciously.

“Well.” The Knight lets out a deep breath. “The Princess and I-” His voice cracks, and it makes Jaehyun look at the floor.

“Are you two engaged now, or what?”

Johnny’s question makes Jaehyun’s eyes rise again.

“It’s about time,” Johnny continues. “You know, our family has always loved you. Even before you were officially my sister’s guard, there was something there. My mother could see it. She left her engagement ring before she went away with my father, I guess she always figured that one day, you could give it to her daughter.”

The King stands, going to his bedside table, where he pulls out a tiny box.

“Here,” Johnny says, holding it out to Jaehyun. “Give this to her.”

“I-” Jaehyun doesn’t even know what to say. “I couldn’t possibly accept this-”

“You can, and you will, your King demands it,” Johnny teases. “You know, the whole ‘sending Doyoung to ask my sister to marry him’ thing was just a ploy to get you to act on your feelings, but I never imagined it would happen this fast.”

“You orchestrated this?” Jaehyun asks in shock.

“Of course. My sister always had this weird thing about ending up in a wild Kingdom, the North, or the West- I wanted to show her that she’d do better with someone from our own kind of land, someone more peaceful, less headstrong, that sort of thing.” Johnny sighs, forcing the small engagement ring box into Jaehyun’s hands. “She’s a summer girl, and everyone knows Summer works best with one of their own, or someone from the Spring Kingdom. All I’ve ever wanted for her was happiness, and I think she can attain that with you. You have my blessing, Jaehyun, don’t mess this up.”

Jaehyun nods.

He won’t mess this up. There’s no way he would ever intentionally hurt you. The Knight of Roses will guard you with his life, as your husband, and your ultimate protector.

☀️ mlist + an. Thank you so much for reading! I had so much fun with this fantasy au, and now... I'm going to plan my Halloween fic for this year, cuz I've gotta match how good Ghostie was from 2023

🍭 support me by. sending a tip here or here - or become a patron to access monthly bonus content and extensions for fics like this one :) find the Patreon teaser below!

🔮 preview. The Knight of Roses is so adept with his tongue- he’d spent hours eating you out on your honeymoon, taking the time to learn every inch of your body. He knows exactly what makes you tick, and you adore that he puts an effort into all things.

cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, exhibitionism (sex in the forest), oral ( f recieving), body worship, multiple sex positions, multiple reader orgasms, fingering, dirty talk, praise, power play, etc…

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 1.8k I teaser wc. 135

🌙 starring. Jeong Jaehyunl x afab!Reader

bonus

In the year since you and Jaehyun were wed, very little has changed. You’re still head over heels for him, and he’s still completely obsessed with you. It’s a beautiful little life- the two of you spending much of your time in the castle or the King’s Wood, where you’re currently training.

You’ve gotten so much better with your swordsmanship, and you can see the pride in Jaehyun’s expression every time you even slightly get the best of him.

You get the sense that he’s still holding back- your husband would never, ever, ever hurt you, not even while training, and it fills your heart with love every time you see him adjust himself or use less power in a blow.

“Don’t be scared, my love,” you tease. “You don’t have to hold back today.”

☀️ to read the full fic AND 1.8k bonus NOW, subscribe to my Patreon, then click here

👹 or check out what else is on my patreon here

🔮if nothing strikes your fancy, check out my m.list

general taglist

@gotshinct - @runahways - @milkteade - @mocha000

@anothershorthuman - @notbeforelong - @darthlunaa

@chogiwapadada - @meowniee - @pandabur666

@just-here-to-read-01 - @shiningnono - @lovelyhan -

@grilledbananas - @quennlenn - @zezedoesshit

@unlikelysublimekryptonite - @wonwoothinker

nct taglist

@peachyjaemin - @sehunniepot - @shailasthings

thank you to those who interacted with the teaser

@theworld-accordingtocasey - @peachfulnight - @babbymochiiii

@guesswhatimthinking - @nosungluv - @babieculture

@changbinlov3r - @jeffreysleftdimple - @dvalities - @bobathi

@peachroseabyss - @im-gorgetastic - @soonnypeach

@itallstartsfromhome - @ollieollieoctopus - @got-sum-badhabits

@amazinggraxia - @jaessunflower214 - @axo-l0tl - @theunknownct

@cherrybbycheol - @btsreadss - @hqech - @kjwoozz

@markgeollie - @justwonus-recs - @ghostskilledmyaddiction21

#jaehyun #jaehyun smut #jeong jaehyun #jeong jaehyun smut #nct #nct smut #nct 127 #nct 127 smut #jeong jaehyun x reader #jung jaehyun #jung jaehyun smut #jaehyun nct #nct jaehyun #nct jaehyun smut #jaehyun nct smut

712 notes · View notes

sapphiremusings · 6 months ago

Text

when i’m down on my knees, | aemond targaryen

summary: with their wedding only a few days away, aemond eases his betrotheds fear of him.

cw: explicit sexual content, oral sex (f receiving), teasing, baratheon!reader, no use of y/n

this is the first in a 2 part series! let me know if you want to be tagged in the next part :)

The rumors concerning Lady Baratheon’s betrothed are not lost on her. No, she is well educated on Prince Aemond ‘One-Eye’ Targaryen’s unsavory reputation, just as much as every other lord and lady in Westeros.

Before she was shipped off to King’s Landing in preparation for her royal wedding, her sisters had made it their duty to tease her. They made sure that she was well aware of her prince’s cruel attitude, and the monstrous look of him, with a sharp scar down the left side of his face. By the time she had arrived to the Red Keep, she was teeming with fear as her sisters’ words echoed through her mind.

Prince Aemond is known to be a cruel yet dutiful man. He is said to be a skilled swordsman, besting his mother’s sworn knight, Ser Criston Cole, on many occasions. He rides the largest— and oldest— dragon, the same one that the conquerors sister-wife, Visenya, had rode into battle many times. He had claimed the she-dragon at a young age, losing his eye in the process to his young nephew. His missing left eye is another topic often whispered about in court. Some say that he had cut out another man’s eyeball, and placed it into his empty socket. Others say he has a large jewel in its place, something so peculiar and off-putting that he is forced to cover it up with a leather eyepatch.

All of this is to say that any sane lady would be terrified of their betrothal to Aemond Targaryen. Of course, Lady Baratheon is well aware that most Westerosi marriages are born out of duty, not love. If anything, she should feel blessed by the gods that she is betrothed to a young prince, and not some measly lord old enough to be her grandsire. Yet, she cannot help her feelings of terror at the thought of her upcoming wedding, and even more so, her soon-to-be husband.

From a young age, her septa had installed in her what was to be expected of her when she became of age. Being a dutiful wife was the only thing she was to worry about, and then being a dutiful mother to her husband’s heirs. She would often have nightmares about an old lord running his eager hands down her gaudy wedding gown, pushing her onto the marital bed where she would be forced to lay under his big gut as he ruts into her, witnesses to the dreaded bedding ceremony snickering behind the sheer curtains. Her ladies-in-waiting would comfort her after these night terrors, smoothing down her hair and promising that no harm would come to her. Even with their sweet words, she knew the truth; she would be forced to marry a stranger, and endure all the hardships that came with having no freedom of her own.

Now, with her wedding only a few days away, she can barely sit still. Her mind incessantly spins around various scenarios that can take place on that special day, and she worries over her impending future. She has taken to walking along the Keep’s gardens, and throughout the various twisting halls; anything to keep her moving. Her father always scolded her for this habit, as to him it was the equivalent of running away from your problems. Still, she can’t help it as the big day draws forward, her anxiety swollen inside her.

It isn’t that she doesn’t want to become a wife. It is merely her irrational fear of her husband-to-be. Even now, as he walks behind her, quiet in his sure steps, his gaze burns through all her layers, settling deep within her core. She feels as if she is on fire, and the longer he stares, calculating and as if she is a foreign creature, the more this inferno swells. Every move she makes is with caution, in fear that he will strike her down and show off that unforgiving nature that he is known for. So far, he hasn’t, but she believes this is merely a false front. Surely, he is waiting for when they are finally married to show his true colors, knowing that she will be his and unable to do anything about it.

She begs to the Seven to release her from this torment, her spine rigid as they continue their walk through the Keep’s halls. She had wanted to be alone, as she often has been since arriving in Kings Landing, artfully dodging any attempt at courting that Prince Aemond tried to enact. Truthfully, it has been his queen-mother, Alicent, who has pushed her son towards his betrothed, and to Lady Baratheon, he hasn’t seemed that worried over the fact that she has been avoiding him. No, he merely stares, violet eye darting over her face and figure as if she is a puzzle he is trying to solve.

Really, she doesn’t understand why he is still walking behind her, steps steady and calculated. They haven’t spoken a single word to each other since their initial greeting that morning, when he had been waiting outside her chamber doors, ready to escort her on her walk. Even then, it had merely been a “good morn” recited, both tense in their separate ways. Aemond couldn’t look more annoyed even if he tried, seemingly uninterested in anything she could potentially offer him. Not that she was offering anything.

Growing bored of wandering aimlessly around the Keep, Lady Baratheon pauses with a sigh. Tersely, she turns to the side, not daring to look at her betrothed, who has halted behind her. “I’d like to retire to my cha-“

“I want to show you something, my lady.”

Her heart nearly stops beating at his words, sudden and surprising as he takes a step towards her. She wishes to flee, but her feet stay planted on the floor, and she watches from the corner of her eyes as he brings a hand up to grab ahold of her elbow. Though the fabric of her dress sleeves acts as a barrier between flesh, she still feels as if she was scalded. She flinches, almost imperceptibly, but Aemond seems to notice as he lets out a hum.

She knows she mustn’t deny him. No, her septa had taught her well. So, she meekly nods her head, cheeks flushed in apprehension.

They walk back through the halls, towards a place she has never dared to step foot near, a dark alcove lit only by torches and candles. She lets out a gasp at the sight before her; the giant skull of the largest dragon known to Westeros. If she wanted to, she could walk straight into its jaws and past the many rows of sharp teeth. Her breath catches in her throat.

Aemond’s voice comes out in a whisper, right next to her ear. “This is the skull of Aegon the Conqueror’s dragon, the largest who’s ever lived. His name was-“

“Balerion. The Black Dread,” she interrupts him, immediately regretting so afterwards.

Instead of scolding her like she expected him to do, he merely breathes out a small laugh. Still, she feels the need to apologize, even as she stutters over her words.

“I apologize, my prince. At Storm’s End, we had a few tomes about the Conquest, and they interested me greatly.”

He hums. “Do not apologize. I like to know what you are thinking.”

She doesn’t know how to reply to this, heart pounding against her chest as she feels him step closer behind her, pressing into her back. He towers over her frame, hard and lean against her. His head bends, lips coming close to her ear.

“Are you afraid of me, my dear betrothed?”

“N-no,” she stutters out, the lie tasting bitter on her tongue. Her eyes focus on the dragon skull before them, willing her heart to calm down. “No, my prince.”

He seems amused by her answer. “Liar.”

Another gasp escapes her mouth as his lips flutter over the shell of her ear, trailing down to the crook of her neck. He smells of smoke and steel, leather and something else she can’t put her finger on— but it’s intoxicating as it enters her nose, and she feels like nuzzling against him. Her fear won’t let her, nor will it let her move from his grasp, even as she shakes like a leaf under his hands, now resting atop her forearms.

“You avoid me. You can’t even look me in my eye,” he muses, lips still pressed against her skin. “You are shaking… am I so fearsome, Lady Baratheon?”

She whimpers, shaking her head, eyes growing wide as his grip tightens. “I’m sorry…”

His hand suddenly grabs ahold of her jaw, making her flinch, in which he lets out a disappointed tsk. Slowly, he turns her face towards his, fingers gentle against her rosy cheeks. She trembles as she meets his dark gaze, his lilac iris now a small ring, overtaken by his widened pupil. His eyebrows are furrowed, and his stare travels across her face, stopping on her lips.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispers, blinking. “No… quite the opposite. Will you let me show you?”

Deep within her stomach, something sharp twists, turning her blood hot as it pools within her veins. She is afraid, but another feeling unknown to her is slowly creeping up her spine, turning her brain into mush as she continues staring up at her betrothed. Her fingers reach up to grasp on his arm that’s wrapped around her, tightening around the leather of his sleeve. His gaze doesn’t move away, nor does he. Instead, he seems to draw closer, pressed against her back as his lips near hers. She can’t help but flutter her eyes closed, and before she can fully think about what she is agreeing to, she dips her chin down into a small nod.

Aemond’s lips immediately find hers, warm and plush, eager in his exploration. She has never been kissed before, and the feeling is foreign, but her pulse begins to thrum within her, and she opens her mouth to take more of it. He seems pleased by her reciprocation, groaning softly as he brushes his tongue against her teeth, his hand that still cups her jaw growing harsher. Their tongues slip against each other, a jolt of lightning hitting her every time they touch, her skin pebbled with goosebumps.

Growing restless, she spins around in his arms, hungry for something she doesn’t yet have a word for. Her arms wrap around his neck, and she has to push herself up onto her toes as she meets his lips once more, a clashing of teeth and spit. Between her legs, it grows hot, pulse thumping at her very core. She wants to climb on top of him and devour him, her fear of her mysterious prince melting away with every flick of his tongue. Is it supposed to feel like this?, she thinks, whimpering as she pulls him down closer by his neck.

When he pulls away, panting, she whines, her own chest heaving as she tries to breathe, but the throbbing between her thighs is so strong, she merely steps into his arms once more. He chuckles at this, looking down at his eager betrothed, flushed and nearly ravaged.

“I haven’t even shown you yet, and you’re already begging for more,” he muses, clicking his tongue mockingly. “What happened to my fearful little betrothed, hm?”

This sobers her up, her already flushed face turning a deeper shade of scarlet, and she staggers back on her feet. Aemond doesn’t let her go far, though, immediately grabbing ahold of her waist and pulling her back in. His hand brushes her hair back from her face, forcing her to look up at him once more, fingers firm in their hold. He smirks at the dazed look in her doe eyes, glassy as his words work through her mind on a loop. Though he should feel bad, he can’t help but relish her embarrassment. Hadn’t she been embarrassing him since her arrival, every time she would dart away from him and cower in fear just from his gaze?

“Please,” she whispers, swallowing a lump within her throat. His eyes seem to sparkle at her pleading.

He softly laughs. “Do you want me to touch you?” When she nods, eyebrows furrowed, “Use your words.”

Shame pools within her chest, squeezing around her heart as she continues to look up at him. Something inside her is begging to be released, pounding against her skull until every bone in her body rattles under its force. She doesn’t know what it is, or how to stop it, but her body draws itself closer to Aemond like he is the cure. Even now, as she gazes at his handsome face, all harsh lines and pouted lips, silver hair long and pulled back behind his head, eye a deep shade of violet, this thing within her only grows stronger in its fight to leave its prison. He is her betrothed, and a Prince of the realm, so who is she to deny him?

“Yes,” the word tastes like the sweetest poison on her tongue, and when he still makes no move to touch her, she continues. “Please, Aemond… touch me.”

She nearly cries when he smiles, leaning down to catch her lips, but her elation plummets when he doesn’t meet her embrace. Instead, his lips attach themselves to her jaw, tender as he licks and nips at the skin, traveling down her neck. Though she wants nothing more than his lips on hers, she still keens at the strange feeling, fingers tangling themselves into his long hair. His hands squeeze her hips, running up and down her sides, brushing against the bottom of her breasts. She arches into his touch, soft pants leaving her lips as he groans against her flesh.

Her feet start to step backwards as he pushes her, until she hits the stone wall behind her. His lips move to her heaving bosom, where the tops of her breasts sit within her dress, while his hand moves under her skirts, trailing along the bare skin of her thighs. They tremble beneath his touch, shutting close and trapping him there. He merely brings his leg between them, prying them back open so his hand can continue its journey to her weeping core. She shakes beneath him, sweat gathering at her brow, eyes pleading.

Aemond shushes her, bringing his lips back to hers, sighing as she pulls him closer and slips her tongue between them. When his hand slips under her undergarments, fingers nestling among her damp curls, she almost sobs, hips bucking up in shock. His other hand grabs onto her waist, stilling her movement as his fingers glide through her wetness, gathering the pool of arousal that sits along her hole. Her chest heaves, head dizzy with the new feeling, and she feels as if a bolt of lightning, white hot and blinding, has struck her. Hands grasp onto his shoulders for purchase, nails digging into the dark leather of his tunic, frantic as she looks for something to steady her racing heart.

“Seven hells, you’re soaked,” he gasps, fingers pressing against the apex of her, rubbing tight circles. “And here I thought you were afraid of me…”

She can barely comprehend his words, feeling as if her head is stuck in a cloud of smoke, heady and all-consuming. Her hands run down his shoulders and arms, now gripping onto his slim waist, pressing his body closer to her. His pale neck hovers over her face, and she can’t help but gravitate towards the unmarred skin, pressing her quivering lips to the base. Her tongue darts out to taste him, whimpering as she tries once more to move her hips. Aemond grunts, moving his fingers down to circle her leaking hole, the tip of his middle finger pressing in slowly.

As he presses the digit fully inside her, she presses her teeth into the nape of his neck, muffling her cry as he finally allows her to move her hips. He moans softly, grunting out her name at the feel of her bite, and she can feel something hard against her lower stomach, burning as it presses itself more to her. Tears spring to the corners of her starry eyes, tongue coming out once more to lick at the stinging bite mark she left, before resting her lips against him, panting. Her hips jolt upwards continuously, his name leaving her mouth like a prayer.

“Will you let me taste you?,” he nearly whines, rough voice cracking. His nose nudges against her temple. “Hm… ivestragī aōha dārilaros sylutegon ao, dōna riña.” (Let your prince taste you, sweet girl).

She gasps out, head nodding, though she’s not sure what she is agreeing to. Even so, she still wretches out, “y-yes.”

Aemond groans once more, pressing his lips to her forehead, before removing his fingers from her core. He’s quick to bend down on his knees, hands lifting up her skirts, dipping his head under the heavy fabric. She furrows her brows in confusion, but her question dies on her tongue as she feels his hot mouth press against her cunt, warm and wet. A strangled moan leaves her, and she throws her head back to stare up at the darkness above, lips parted as she gasps and whines. His tongue feels hot as it slips through her folds and circles her entrance, slurping up her arousal which practically pools out of her.

She can barely comprehend what is happening, her knees wobbly and her brain turned to mush, and all she can remember is his name. It leaves her lips like an incantation, continuously and fervently. Her hands try their best to gather her skirts, lifting them up and away from Aemond’s face, wishing to see him between her thighs. First, she spots a sliver of silver hair, and then, when she pulls the fabric back further, the rest of his head comes into view. His eye is closed, his focus solely on her cunt and how his tongue dips in and out of her. Fingers come up to rub at her once more, a deep grumble leaving him and vibrating through her core.

Something foreign begins to bubble up inside her, burning in its trail and cutting her open like a sharp sword. Her breath catches in her throat, chest heaving and heart stuttering against her ribcage, hips bucking up to chase the rising wave within her. Aemond flattens his tongue against her, another rumble leaving him, making her cry out. He opens his eye, staring up at her disheveled figure, his gaze molten and hungry. This look, and the feeling of him crooking a finger inside her once more, breaks her, and she moans and shudders, vision turning blurry as she’s pulled down under her cascading pleasure.

“Sȳz riña…” he groans, lapping up her essence as it flows out and onto his tongue. “Good fucking girl.”

Once she comes back down, she can barely keep standing, legs weakened and eyes heavy with sleepiness. Aemond stands, a satisfied hum leaving him as he pulls her against him, nose nuzzling in her hair. Instead of fear, she feels comfort as she rests in his arms, head resting on his chest, listening to his racing heartbeat. When he begins to trail kisses down her face, before capturing her lips with his own, she feels like swooning. Is this what she had been missing all along? Her betrothed… not someone to fear, but someone she could grow to love?

Aemond pulls away, fingers coming up to rest against her lips. “Taste yourself, dārilaros.” (Princess).

Timidly, she wraps her lips around his two digits, tongue cautious as it swirls around them. His gaze is dark as he watches her, and when he removes his fingers, he replaces them with his mouth, hot as it claims her own. On her hip, she can still feel that same stiffness against her, but she doesn’t question it as he finally steps away from her, a small smirk on his handsome face.

“In just a few days, we will be wed, my lady. When I take you to my bed, I will spend all night showing you why you shouldn’t fear me.”

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x reader #house of the dragon

815 notes · View notes