#the seer of heart speaks! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tarotsoul · 3 months ago

Text

Ghost in the Wind — Part Four

SUMMARY: Struggling to get a grip on your newfound power, Azriel is the only one your magic allows close. And there’s no stopping either of you when you spend the night alone together.

WARNINGS: grieving, mentions of death, swearing, kissing, teasing, fingering, dirty talk, shadow play (hehe)

WORD COUNT: 6.7k

Series Masterlist

Lucien Vanserra knew not to question his mate when she demanded they left for Velaris immediately. Two days of travelling. He had not asked questions—had not doubted his mate’s worry and vision, not even for a moment.

Elain saw the blast before it occurred. She felt the earth quake beneath her feet, felt the soil and life around her stand still. A power had been awoken. A power so fierce it had shook the lands of even the Day Court.

She had known of your presence in Prythian. Feyre had sent word to her, promised it had been nothing to worry about, that Nesta had taken you away from Rafe and that you were finally safe.

Safe.

That feeling in her stomach promised anything but safety. Two days of travelling. Two days of no rest. And despite her seering abilities, despite the far future she had already glimpsed, nothing could have prepared her for what greeted her arrival.

While Velaris remained as beautiful as ever, as busy and bustling as it had before she and Lucien left to travel just over a year ago…there was nothing but desolation in the air. Every breath was hard to inhale, every step on cobblestones and patchy soil a struggle to walk.

Something was very, very wrong.

Those suspicions were confirmed the moment she stepped foot into the River House. An eerie silence settled as soon as she passed the threshold of her High Lord and Lady’s home. Lucien could sense it, too. The hairs on the back of his neck spiked the further he walked through the grand abode.

Rhysand met them in the foyer, a grave and wanton look to his handsome features. Elain did not apologise as she pushed past him and made for her two sisters. Both stricken with tears and pure dread. Elain struggled to loose a breath, struggled to come to terms with the energy that invaded her.

“I came as soon as I felt it.”

Feyre met her gaze, eyes lined with grief. Elain took a step closer. “Where is she?”

Nesta sniffled, raised her head and kept her chin high. But Elain knew her sister, knew she was close to crumbling all over again. She could not speak, could not open her mouth in fear of what animalistic cry might break through.

Feyre spoke instead. “She’s upstairs, Azriel will not leave her side.”

Azriel, yes. Elain had seen those visions, too.

A question rose on the tip of her tongue, one she never considered she’d ever have to ask. She felt Lucien’s presence as he neared, a comforting hand reaching to caress her arm in comfort. She melted into it, though unlike usual, he was not able to settle the dread in her chest.

“Her heart stopped beating after the blast,” Rhysand spoke softly as he entered the room, reaching for his mate. “However, Madja believes her soul is still in her body. She thinks Y/N is still fighting, despite all else suggesting otherwise.”

Elain blinked back her tears. It was never supposed to have gone this way. You were never supposed to have died.

“Madja is looking into some remedies, into the history of your mothers bloodline. For now, all we can do is wait. She has taken samples of blood and hair from Nesta and Feyre, there are no magical markers that match with Y/N’s, though if you’re willing, we’d like to test yours, just to be safe.”

Elain allowed her head to dip in acceptance, though the movement was completely subconscious. This would not be the end of you. Could not be the end. Not after everything Elain had peeked in the future.

Azriel had not left your side in two days. The moment the blast settled, he shot through the skies to reach you. He did not expect to find that stone mountain covered in soil and tulips. He did not expect to find your cold, lifeless body collapsed above the rubble.

He had never felt such fear, such despair. And the moment you were laid in his bed, in his room at the River House, he had not left your side. Not for food, water or rest. Not for anything.

He stayed when Madja came to assess you, when she took samples of your blood and hair, when she smoothed a salve over the marred skin of the crescent moon on your chest. He stayed when Mor came to brush your hair and paint your fingernails. He stayed when Nesta came to read to you, when Feyre laid beside you and prayed.

He could not leave that room, could not leave your side.

And when Madja had returned that morning, with a hopeful gleam in her eye that she may have found something to help, he still would not allow himself to hope.

Fear crippled every ounce of his being. Fear of speaking his hopes into existence, that the mother could be cruel to deny him. So he kept his hope buried deep. So deep that his soul latched onto it and called out to you.

The taste of your lips still lingered on his, your scent still wrapped around him. But Azriel could not bring himself to touch you, could not dare a feel of your cold skin. Your heart had stopped beating, your chest had stopped rising.

But he would not allow the idea of your death to linger in his mind. He could feel you, somehow, somewhere. And deep in his soul, he begged for you to hold on, to use whatever power you had to come back.

A gentle knock sounded on the bedroom door, Azriel did not need to turn to know it was Elain. Though he could not scent Lucien beside her.

She moved like a gentle breeze, every step light and hesitant. He knew how hard it had been for everyone, for your cousins. He wanted to allow Elain a moment alone with you, as he wanted with the others, but just as before, his soul would not allow his leave.

“Hello, Elain.”

His voice, so cold and distant. It had been a long time since he had addressed her in such a tone. She bowed her head in greeting and took a seat on the other side of your bed. He didn’t watch her, neither did his shadows. Both he and those wisps of darkness fixated on your unmoving body.

Elain reached for your hand, a breath parting from her pink lips. “She’s cold.”

Azriel closed his eyes, tried to shut out the anguish he wanted to cry. He remained in silence, so did Elain. They sat unmoving, watching you.

Until Elain spoke again.

“I have seen a field of tulips. Where the air is fresh and the soil is rich.” Always speaking in cryptic words, nothing ever as simple as it should be. “I have seen what lay beyond the forest. There is a promise of something stronger than I have ever felt. Something soul-binding.”

Elain did not look at Azriel as she spoke, she did not take her eyes away from you. Uncurling your hand, she placed three seeds in your palm and then curled it shut tight, her fist caressing yours.

“Did you know that green tulips symbolise hope and rebirth?” She turned to him then, her face void of any emotion. “Brown tulips symbolise resilience and commitment.” Her eyes wandered to Azriel’s scarred hands that sat in his lap.

He watched the middle Archeron for a moment, his mind processing the words she spoke. He watched her gaze travel to your spare hand, the one that seemed to reach for him, palm open in invitation.

His mind screamed not to touch you, not to hurt his heart like that. But his soul. His soul ached to feel you once more.

Against his better judgement, he allowed a shaky hand to reach yours—skin cold and lifeless as he held you again. Azriel bit back a cry, willed the tears not to fall. His shadows followed their masters lead, snaking around your fingers and wrist and up your arms.

Elain removed her hand, her eyes fixated on your fist of seeds. It was then that she opened your palm, and right before their eyes, the seeds bloomed into tulips. One green, one brown, one white. And your chest heaved its first breath in two days.

Time stopped, Azriel froze.

And your eyes blinked open.

The air kissed your skin in a way you had never experienced before. The green of the grass was more vibrant than ever, the fluttering of a robin's wings like music to your ears. The river flowed softly, a hum of a sweet lullaby that soothed your soul.

This is what it was supposed to feel like. The power, the magic. Was this how you were destined to live? To be one with the earth and feel its life beneath your feet?

You felt their eyes on you from feet away, felt the way they itched to approach, to hold and soothe you. Elain had been the one to keep everyone back, to allow you a moment to breathe again.

You felt no pain, no sorrow.

They had followed you out of the River House and toward the embankment, allowed you a moment to let your magic flow. A sweet relief, to touch the soil and watch the buds of flora bloom.

Though, you had no control. You did not wield your power to plant in the soil, you did not ask for lily pads to perch on the gentle waters surface. You had no control, but you would. You would find a way to harness it, to wield it.

Another breath, your final moment alone. You turned to the others, to their hopeful faces and a smile began to stretch across your lips.

Cassian was the first one to grin, the first one to step forward to join you. But his sudden movement startled something in your gut. And a root of sharp thorns shot from the soil and dared to pierce through Cassian’s brown skin.

He jumped back, eyes wide and your lips parted in shock. You had not meant to do that, had no thought to hurt Cassian. Your magic acted on impulse, to protect you.

He stepped back again, hands in the air in surrender. Rhysand watched with a tilted gaze, watched when the vine of thorns sunk back into the ground.

So your magic would not allow others to approach you uninvited. Perhaps if you approached them instead.

Your steps were slow, cautious. You held your breath in an attempt to hold down the power that begged to course through your veins.

You dared another look at your friends.

“It’s okay,” Mor smiled. “Take your time.”

Another deep breath, another step. One foot in front of the other, your teeth gritting to keep the power at bay. Three feet away from them, you took another deep breath. This time to calm your racing heart.

“I have no control over it.”

Rhysand offered a gentle smile. “That’s to be expected. How do you feel?”

Your eyes flittered between them all, lingering a moment too long on Azriel before you gazed at the world around you. A tilt upturned your lips.

“I feel like I can finally breathe. I can feel everything in the soil. It’s like the trees are whispering to me, like the birds are singing.”

You looked back to Rhys, to Feyre. “How am I even alive?”

Feyre dared a step closer, and you willed your power to understand she would not harm you. None of them would.

“Madja is looking into it. For now, you need to take it easy. The smallest thing could make your power spiral or act out.” She looked between her family, returning her gaze to you.

“Perhaps it would be best if only one of us remained by your side, for now. Maybe we can test to see who your magic doesn’t see as a threat.”

“Well clearly I’m out of the picture,” Cassian mumbled, scuffing his feet against the grass.

You considered Feyre’s suggestion, perhaps it would be the safest way for now. One step would be enough to see if your power responded, one step enough to create distance just in case.

“Okay, yeah let’s do that.”

Feyre took a step first, hesitant but with a gentle and excited smile. Her emotions were palpable, you could feel the relief that you were alive, the excitement of the prospect of you having a newfound strength.

No one could ever take advantage of you again.

But your power did not allow Feyre another step closer. It wrapped vines around her ankles, keeping her in place. She did not move, her calmness did not falter. You pinched your eyes shut, begged and pleaded for your magic to release her.

And after a few moments, it did.

Feyre returned to her previous position, and Rhysand cleared his throat as he took his turn.

Your power did not allow him closer. It did not allow Mor, or Elain. Nor Lucien or Nesta. It left only Azriel. And your heart thudded wildly in your chest.

You met his molten gaze, and you could feel the taste of his lips on yours again. Azriel did not move to begin with, he instead sent a lone shadow to reach you slowly.

Your magic flickered, but it did not attack. When the shadow weaved through your hair, daisies sprouted in their wake. You didn’t notice Azriel step closer, did not notice until the toes of his boots were just a foot from you and you finally met his gaze again.

Your breathing hitched, throat tightening. Something stirred in your gut, a simmering feeling of relief and comfort and something you felt far too often in your life.

Shame.

“It’s okay,” he said softly. “You don’t have to hold it back if it’s too much.”

You blinked, only now realising that you didn’t need to hold your power back. It was settled deep within you, no longer begging for a release.

“I’m not.” You shook your head.

His gaze searched your face, shadows touching your hair. He trailed his eyes down your neck, to your chest where he fixated on that marred area of flesh for just a moment. Hazel eyes snapped back to yours.

It was as though your beauty had been amplified tenfold. Your skin glowed, a lightness in your posture by no longer having such a heavy weight on your shoulders. And your eyes, your eyes gleamed with something he’d never seen before.

Azriel’s chest tightened.

He cleared his throat. “Madja is looking for something to help you learn control. The more we understand your magic, the easier it’ll be.”

You nodded, did not dare to break his gaze. Azriel took another step closer. Just a shuffle of his feet. The toes of his shoes nearly touched yours.

“Don’t be afraid of it,” he advised. “Your power is part of you. If you accept it as such, it’ll yield itself quicker.”

Another nod. Another blink.

A gentle breeze brushed past you, wafting his scent through your senses. Pine and wood and parchment. Mint and a gentle kiss of cinnamon.

You breathed again.

Madja had stopped by to check on you later that afternoon, taking another sample of your blood and hair and asking an abundance of questions you did your best to answer. Your magic had not let her get very close and when she’d pierced your skin with the needle, it took every ounce of self-restraint to keep that power at bay.

Even for just a few moments, it had exhausted you.

Dinner had gone as well as it could. You’d sat at the furthest end of the table, Azriel close beside you but still allowing you some breathing space.

You’d suggested it would be safer for Nyx not to attend, having no control over your power, you would not allow him to be in the same room as you. Not until you harnessed it more.

Your magic flared up twice. Once when Lucien offered you a dish of potatoes. And again when Cassian laughed a little too loudly at something Rhys said. Vines had twisted their way around the legs of the table, creeping over the surface as they slithered to reach the Illyrian.

Azriel placed a hand over yours, his eyes demanding your gaze. “It’s okay,” he reassured softly. And that power began to retreat.

You offered Cassian an apologetic look, though you were certain the warrior was beginning to feel a little targeted. He’d brushed it off, waving a hand and stuffing another spoonful of potatoes into his mouth.

As the night drew to a close, that familiar feeling of discomfort began to bubble in your stomach. The thought of going back to the House of Wind deflated you, suffocated you.

Away from nature, it no longer at the tips of your fingers. You did not want to be confined to the House in the mountains, despite how much it had begun to feel like a home.

Azriel must have noticed as such, because he titled his head to catch your gaze. “Would you like to stay at the townhouse tonight?”

Your eyes widened marginally. “Oh, no. It’s fine. I don’t want to intrude in anyone else's home.”

Azriel’s brows furrowed. “You wouldn’t be intruding. Ever.” There was no room for discussion in his tone. He pulled back slightly, shrugging a shoulder. “Besides, it’s usually empty. I stay there when Nesta and Cassian are…louder than usual.”

A snort slipped past your lips at the innuendo and Azriel had to ignore the way it warmed something in his chest. You’d grown to learn just how loud your cousin and her mate could be. Perhaps the townhouse would be a sweet reprieve from that, too.

Azriel watched the couple quietly, clearing his throat. “Plus, they’ve been drinking,” his voice lowered to a soft whisper, “I can promise you a restless sleep at the House tonight.”

Another breathy laugh slipped off your tongue and Azriel’s eyes twinkled at the sound. Perhaps it was selfish of him to try and convince you to stay at the townhouse. With him and only him. But your power would not let others get closer to you, and he wanted to offer at least one night of peace and comfort.

Especially after all you’d endured.

You bid your family goodnight from a distance, Mor blowing kisses to you across the table and Rhysand reminding you to reach out if anything feels wrong.

The walk from the Riverhouse to the townhouse was a short one, though you enjoyed it nonetheless. Walking beside Azriel as the moon lit your way was nothing short of beautiful, and you did not miss the way his shadows intertwined with your fingers.

“Nuala and Cerridwen have brought some of your things to the townhouse,” Azriel said softly beside you, a lone shadow whispering in his ear.

You offered him a grateful smile, making a mental note to thank the twins whenever you next saw them. Azriel’s lip quirked. “They’ve run you a bubble bath, too.”

Your smile stretched to a grin.

By the time you reached the townhouse, you could smell the lavender oils the twins had used for your bath. Azriel led you into the foyer and a sense of warmth surrounded you.

The townhouse was beautiful. Portraits and trinkets hung on the walls, soft glows of gold and greens as the lamps reflected off the plants. Thick but worn rugs on the floor. You took a breath, your shoulders relaxing.

This felt like home.

Azriel closed the door behind you both and his shadows slinked up the stairs and out of sight. He pressed a very gentle hand to the small of your back. “Come, I’ll show you to your room.”

He guided you with that same hand just above your coxis, up the stairs and to the left and down the hall. It was a large landing, three or four doors that you could see on this side of the townhouse. You wondered how many other rooms were on the other side of the stairs.

You followed the lavender trail, stopping short outside a door and Azriel turned the knob and pushed it open. This room was much smaller than yours at the House, but Gods was it cosy.

A four poster bed in the centre of the room, two slim dressers either side, a high-back armchair in the corner with a little bookcase beside it. And to the left of that, was an open door that led to a private bathing chamber.

You couldn’t help the smile that pulled on your lips. Nor could you help the feeling of comfort that blanketed you.

Azriel cleared his throat. “I’ll let you bathe and get settled. My room is just opposite yours if you need anything.” He pointed to the door behind you both.

You thanked him, watched him disappear into his own room before you closed the door and made your way to the bathroom.

The water soothed every muscle in your body, seeping into your pores and nourishing your skin. A fresh night slip had been left folded on the counter by the sink, a new bamboo toothbrush and a small basket filled with your favourite moisturisers, oils and balms.

After an hour of scrubbing and soaking, you dried and dressed, applied your creams and combed through your hair. It had been a long time since you’d taken such care of yourself, since you felt relaxed enough to take your time.

You could not shake how much this townhouse felt like home to you.

Scrunching your wet hair softly with a cotton towel, you padded into your bedroom when a knock sounded on the door. You didn’t need to open it to know who it was, Azriel had already informed you it would just be the two of you at the townhouse tonight.

“Come in,” you called over your shoulder.

But nothing could have prepared Azriel for what he walked into. Your back to him, your tiny night slip barely passing your ass, your wet hair pulled over your shoulder as he took note of your shoulder blades.

Such a simple thing should not have affected him the way it did. His shadows pinched the mugs of tea from his hands and floated them to a nightstand, returning to their masters shoulders just as you turned to greet them.

Azriel was no longer wearing his leathers, now adored in a pair of grey sweatpants and a dark blue knitted sweater. It was unusual to see him in something other than black, in something so relaxed.

But Gods, was he beautiful. His hair was slightly damp and mussed from his own bath. He cleared his throat, pointing to the nightstand. “I brought tea.” Azriel was nervous, you could sense it. Smell it.

He stood in the centre of the room, large wings tucked close to his back. You almost frowned at the sight and the comment slipped before you could stop it. “Do you feel uncomfortable around me?”

Azriel’s own brows pinched at that. “No, of course not. Quite the opposite, actually.” He tilted his head, taking a slow step forward. “Why?”

A familiar surge of magic bubbled in the pit of your stomach. Not out of fear or anxiety, and it was not the same as before when it tried to protect you. No. This was different, this felt electric. Excited.

You shrugged, jutting your chin to the dark membrane. “Your wings. They’re tight against your back.”

Azrie’s shoulders sagged slightly, a hint of a smile pulling at the corners of his full lips. But he couldn’t bring himself to admit he was uptight because your nipples were pearled and almost cutting through the very thin silk of your slip.

“You’re quite observant,” he noted, “I’m not uncomfortable around you, Y/N. I enjoy your company, your presence. I was trying to give you some space. This room isn’t very big, I didn’t want your power to feel suffocated.”

Your head tilted at that. “You could never make me feel suffocated, Azriel. I enjoy your company and presence, too.”

His smile grew broader, a row of white teeth gleaming at you and you had no control when your face mirrored his. His heart thumped in his chest at the sight, at the way a sweet scent of lavender and jasmine wafted through the air.

“You know that night…in the library?” Azriel did not need to ask to know which evening you were referring to. It took every ounce of self-control not to kiss you that night. Only for you to peck his lips in a hasty goodbye just two days later.

He dipped his head in acknowledgement.

Your brows furrowed just slightly. “You said you’d come to my room later so we could talk.” He nodded once more, his mind having already replayed every interaction he’d ever shared with you.

“Can we do that now?” You fiddled with your fingers. “Talk, I mean. If you don’t have other commitments.”

Azriel would drop any prior engagements to spend the night with you. And by the way he gazed into your eyes, it was as though he was silently begging you to understand that.

He did not need to speak or nod, for you only motioned to your bed and he got the hint. Azriel sat with his wings sprawled across the headboard.

He swallowed thickly, watching you tuck your legs beneath your body, the night slip doing very little to keep you covered. His mind would not stop racing, his shadows would not stop whispering. Dirty thoughts of what you were wearing beneath. If you were wearing anything at all.

Azriel struggled to stifle his arousal.

His shadows moved to reach you, caressing every inch of bare skin they could find. A giggle fell from your lips, warmth coating your flesh.

Azriel could not help himself. “You’re so beautiful when you smile.”

Your grin grew, brows raising, eyes finally meeting his. “Only when I smile?” You teased, a newfound feeling of ease settling in every part of your body.

He was pleasantly surprised by your response and dared lean a little closer. This was easy, talking with you. “You’re always beautiful. I’ve always thought so.”

You had expected a teasing retort back, not something so sincere and…well…romantic. Your smile faded slightly, a breath stuck in your throat. You swallowed around it. “You have?”

Azriel nodded. You took in a breath, allowing him to reach for you. His wings spread behind him, drooping just enough to show he did, indeed, feel relaxed around you. He reached for you, tucking hair behind your now pointed ear.

Your soul began to hum, content and blissful under Azriel’s keen but gentle touch. No male had ever called you beautiful before. No male had ever looked at you the way he was. As though he was besotted, as though he had never seen anything so wonderful in his life before.

“I had every intention of coming to you that night.” His voice was rough, his tone gentle. It scratched an itch somewhere deep in your core. “Had Rhys not sent me on that mission, I would’ve been there, I would have told you.”

“Told me what?” you breathed.

He swallowed, his scarred hand cupping the soft skin of your jaw as his thumb smoothed over the apple of your cheek. It took everything in you to fight the fluttering of your eyes.

“That no matter how hard I try, I can’t stop thinking about you. The moment you crossed that wall, you consumed every part of me.”

Your breathing staggered, your core pulsed.

“I know you’ve only been here a short time, but I can no longer pretend that I’m not drawn to you. That I don’t crave your touch.” Shadows slinked your skin again, curling at the nape of your neck and imitating a scratching at your scalp.

Your lips parted, chest heaving. Azriel’s eyes fluttered closed at the scent that oozed from you. Sweet arousal consumed him, dared to drag him under.

He loosed a breath. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

Your body felt like it was on fire, an excitement you had never once felt before. Your chest ached, your thighs trembled. And you knew if you parted your legs, you’d find a pool of wetness dribbling from your core.

No part of you felt guilty for it. No part of you tried to deny your body what it craved. Your soul sung to his, your body shifting closer. His hand on your face trailed down to caress your neck, lower to graze your collarbone, then lower again to skim over the marred flesh of your mark.

Your eyes fluttered closed, a shaky breath sounding from you. You wanted him, needed him. That power surged in the pit of your stomach, desperate. You breathed deeply, the air thicker than before, and full of something you had never once scented.

It was Azriel’s scent, only stronger. A raw and unfiltered scent that stirred the coil in your gut. Eyes fluttering open, they landed on his lap—on the girth that grew beneath the grey of his sweatpants.

You swallowed thickly, chest heaving. You began to stir, hips shifting and brows knitted. “Az…” You were breathless, almost panting and his jaw clenched.

“It’s okay,” he ground out. His fingers toyed with the thin strap of your slip, goosebumps erecting across your skin as his shadows caressed your arms and neck. Your head lulled to the side, eyes hooded.

“Touch me,” you pleaded through a broken whisper.

His jaw clenched again, his pupils blown and wings outstretched and tight. He did not move, did not look away. You reached for his wrist, daring to guide his hand over your full breast, over the perk of your nipple.

A soft moan slipped past your lips. You had never felt arousal like it. Had never felt so needy that you’d resort to begging. Never had you expected to end up in such a state. You never had for Rafe. But this was Azriel. And everything about Azriel was intoxicating.

With your hand over his, you encouraged him to grope you, to feel you. Azriel allowed you to guide him, would allow you to set the pace so long as you were comfortable and sure. So long as he made you feel good.

The strap of your gown slipped down your arm, and you tugged the other down along with it. A low growl sounded from the back of Azriel’s throat. He was losing whatever control he had left. And you were desperate to see him snap.

You shuffled closer on your knees, almost settling in his lap when you pulled his hand away from your breast and allowed the slip to fall past your chest, baring yourself to him. His eyes remained on yours, his chest rising and falling but you did not look away.

If you want something, despite how wrong that desire may feel at first, take it.

But nothing about this felt wrong. No part of this felt like it wasn’t supposed to be. You did not feel unworthy beneath his gaze, you did not feel guilty for giving into your desires.

Because the way Azriel looked at you, the way his gaze shifted to your chest, the way his eyes fluttered closed and he inhaled your arousal so deeply…you knew he wanted this just as badly as you did.

With his eyes still closed, Aziel blindly reached for your hips and dragged you into his lap. A gasp escaped you, your legs parting to wrap around his waist and your soaked cunt sat over his throbbing cock.

Your fingers tangled in his midnight hair, his head tilting as his breath ghosted your clavicle. Your nipples hardened, back arched. And he swiped his tongue over a pearled nub before suckling it into his warm mouth.

You arched into him, tugging at his hair and rolling your hips against his. Azriel’s grip on your hips tightened, but he did not control you. He allowed you to move at your own pace, allowed you to decide how far you wanted this to go.

You tugged at his hair, beckoning him to look at you. He pulled off your breast, eyes blown with a look of undeniable hunger. You stared at him for a moment, basked in his dark gaze and the feel of him pulsing beneath you.

The weight of your position did not feel heavy, you did not want to stop. But you did not want to rush. You wanted to savour this—him. You wanted to take your time, wanted to understand how sex and intimacy was supposed to feel like.

And Azriel could read as much in just your eyes alone. He leaned close, noses brushing as his lips ghosted yours. “I don’t need to use my cock to bring you pleasure,” he whispered, enveloping your lips in a searing kiss.

Azriel’s hands travelled from your hips, up your waist and to your chest, kneading your breasts and pinching at your nipples. You hummed into his mouth, allowing his tongue to massage yours.

“Let me show you how good it can be. How it’s supposed to feel.”

Your brain felt like it was overgrown in blooms, unable to do anything but nod and hand him the reins. Your magic grew excited, flora sprouting in your damp hair with every kiss he littered down your jaw and neck.

“Turn around for me.” Azriel helped guide your body to how he wanted you, sat between his parted legs, your back to his chest and his lips breezing against the shell of your ear.

“Good girl.”

You were royally fucked.

He let his hands travel down your covered stomach, fingers reaching for the soft skin of your thighs. You welcomed every touch, basked in the rough skin of his scarred hands. You could hardly breath, so pent up in anticipation.

Azriel nipped at your ear. “Can you spread your legs for me, baby?”

A pathetic mewl sounded from your throat and you found yourself nodding obediently and spreading your thighs for him. Azriel’s shadows wrapped around your thighs, down your legs and ankles and slithered back up again. A few rushed back to him, whispering their findings to their master.

Dripping. Excited. Delicious.

Azriel took a laboured breath to steady himself, his cock pressing into your ass. He let his hands grip your waist, fingers reaching the hem of your slip and bunching it in a strong fist.

He pulled it away, exposing your sopping heat and your head lulled back against his shoulder. “Can I touch you?” You nodded before he even finished his question, your legs spreading wider for him.

Azriel snuck a hand between your thighs, cupping your sex as your arousal coated him. His deft fingers rubbed teasingly through your slick folds, spreading the wetness across your entire cunt.

A shuddered breath escaped you. “Please.”

With clenched teeth, Azriel appeased you, reaching up to your clit and pressing the pad of his middle finger against it. A gasp slipped from your mouth, his finger rubbing right circles on that puffy bud.

Rafe had never once touched your clit.

Your hips bucked into his hand and Azriel began to rub faster. But it wasn’t enough. The pressure built in your lower stomach, a feeling only you had been able to get yourself to, and even then never passed.

Azriel could sense your need and replaced his finger with his thumb and reached lower. A single digit probed your fluttering hole, swirling in arousal before slowly sinking between your walls.

You hummed in pleasure, eyes closing as he curled his finger against a spongy spot. Your hips rolled, chest heaving. You had never felt anything so exhilarating in your life. Azriel added a second finger, stretching your cunt deliciously.

“Gods, Az…” you couldn’t find the words to describe what he was doing to you—how he was making you feel. He hummed, nuzzling his nose up your neck and latching his lips to your jaw; kissing and licking and biting.

“You’re so beautiful, Y/N. Look how well you’re taking me.”

Azriel’s praise went to your head, your heart, your cunt. You could feel him everywhere. Shadows pinched at your nipples, Az’s hand working tirelessly against your core. Your hips rolled to meet his movements, your legs shook as he curled and scissored.

You had never imagined it to feel this way.

You rolled your head back, lips parted as you blindly searched for his. Azriel met you in a searing kiss, his tongue licking the insides of your mouth as you fought to meet his pace.

Then the shaking started, and the small whimpers and moans turned to cries as you bucked against him. Azriel only kissed you harder, fucked you harder. The sound of his fingers pummeling your cunt were obscene, wet and loud and spurring you toward the edge.

Your stomach pinched, coiled. A wave of uncontrollable pleasure and power coursed through your very being as you cried out into his mouth. Azriel did not relent his pace, did not offer a moment's reprieve.

He worked you through it, pumping and pinching, sucking and biting. That tight rope in your abdomen snapped, your jaw slacking and eyes rolling to the back of your head.

Azriel watched as you came around his fingers, his own release coating his pants as you clenched around him and cried and thrashed. He had never seen anything so fucking beautiful before in his life.

Your chest heaved, legs trembling. And a flurry of petals rained down on your bodies, clinging to the sheen of sweat on your skin. Azriel reluctantly removed his hand, guiding fingers to his mouth to finally reward himself with a taste.

He regretted it the moment he did it. Because now he did not know how to live without that taste on his tongue for the rest of his life. His cock hardened again at the thought of tasting you properly.

Azriel gazed down at you, fluttering lashes and flushed skin. You were catching your breath, unable to speak a coherent sentence. He leaned down to kiss your mouth slowly, your lips mirroring his. You could taste yourself on his tongue and it only made you crave it once more.

“You doing okay?” He asked gently.

You hummed, chasing his lips when he tried to pull away. Azriel chuckled at your eagerness, he’d given you a taste and now you were hungry for more.

“Not tonight,” he told you.

You couldn’t help the frown, but Azriel planted a kiss to your brow and rested his forehead on yours.

“I don’t want you to rush yourself into these things. You have consumed me, Y/N. There’s no rush. We have all the time in the world.”

A tether tugged at your soul, so light you almost missed it. But your magic had responded, wrapping itself around that thin piece of string and humming in approval.

“You have no idea how scared I was when we found you in the mountains,” he whispered solemnly. “I thought you were gone.”

You strained your neck to look at him, at the silver that lined those molten honey eyes. Your hand reached for his face, fingers gently striking the stumbled skin of his cheek.

“I’m okay,” you reassured him. “Different, now…yes. But this is who I’m supposed to be. I have to believe the Mother intended for it to be this way.”

He hummed, and that feeling tugged slightly once more—a little harder this time. Your gut, most likely, butterflies.

“I won’t let you do something so foolish again.”

Your head fell back against Azriel’s chest, his shadows working to cover your exposed body again before they tugged the blanket over you.

And there, in his arms, you became someone else. Someone you were always fated to be.

A/N: okay so I got slightly carried away with the teasing between Az and Y/N so it ended up a bit longer that the other parts BUT the next part is a very big one and potentially the last :(((( but even if it is, I have some ideas to do some check in fics with them in the future!

If you enjoyed it, please consider giving it a like and reblog, your feedback is always appreciated <3

TAG LIST: @anna-reader-blog @bubybubsters @honethatty12 @angiieguevara @honk4emoboyz @e1jeyy @celestialgilb @rcarbo1 @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @judig92 @moonfawnx @historygeekqueen @idkitsem @horneybeach1 @apenasandorinha @thaynarajejheje @popcornlauncher @mrsjna @fuckingsimp4azriel @kk191327 @babypeapoddd @bluebries81 @secretlyhers @daughterofthemoons-stuff @mixheleee @be-your-coffee-pot @ly–canthrope @acoazlove @camilasstories @yesiamthatwierd @scoliobean @marigold-morelli @mellowmusings @dreaming-lis @prettylittlewrites @optimisticbabydreamer @halo-mystic @curtaincaramba @donnadiddadog @nocasdatsgay @hisonlykiwi @bookishbroadwaybish @peachyxlynch @hungryforbatboys @call-me-evangeline @stqrgirlies-blog @acourtofbatboydreams @pinksmellslikelove @demon-master-zero @more-a-then-i @svearehnn

#gitw #acotar x reader #acotar x you #azriel imagine #azriel oneshot #azriel smut #azriel x reader #azriel x you #acotar #acotar imagine #azriel angst #azriel fluff #azriel fanfic #azriel shadowsinger #acotar fluff #acotar angst #acotar oneshot #azriel acotar #acotar smut

1K notes · View notes

nerdygirlramblings · 13 days ago

Text

another installment of the 141 as ancient gods

In time before, before the drought that caused the crop to fail, before famine wrenched it's hand around your throats, before wars broke out, your people were known for their hospitality. Things are not better yet, but there is hope again. The fields are growing, aided by pleasant weather: sun and rain in turn. The unrest across the area has settled, most villages now sending emissaries to their neighbors to reestablish peace.

So when four strangers arrive, the elders believe these are visitors from a neighboring village. While your village stores are meager, there is enough to share, especially as it has been easier to hunt the forest game and find wild edible plants in recent months. The elders call for a feast to honor your village and the visitors.

Only you know they are not emissaries. Or, if they are, they are harbingers of a different kind.

With much to prepare for a feast, your help is welcomed wherever it is offered. At the river, you clean linens so the elders can offer the men fresh beds for the night. There is one main building in which the village gathers, and after the feast, beds will be brought for the men. As you bring the fresh bedding from the field, where it has sun-dried, to the main hall, you pass the shrines to your gods. The four men stand in the space, unreadable expressions on their faces, when you overhear Elder Agnar speak your name. He is talking about the sacrifice you made and what has happened in the village since.

When the men murmur your name, in voices too low to carry, your heart lurches in your breast, and your step falters. In all these months, in all your dreams, though you've spoken with the ancient gods - kissed them, felt their caresses, opened your body to them fully - you never uttered your name. Nor had they used it. Jon always called you "my queen" while Tav and Gaz preferred "love" and Si used "mi vida." Names have power, and now these men - if they are who you believe them to be - have even greater power over you.

You quicken your steps to the main building, needing the sanctuary of its quiet and shade. As foods are prepared, you keep yourself away from the men. When the village gathers, much as you would prefer the solitude of your home, your absence would be conspicuous, elevated as you've been to the role of seer, regardless of the lack of any further miracles. You seat yourself as far from the elders and visitors as possible, but as the meal progresses, you hear a rich, honeyed voice ask, "And what of the seer whose tales we heard of in other villages?"

Though you wish you had more composure, you cannot help the sharp intake of breath, and your eyes cut to the older man with the beard. Elder Stigr beckons you over. "Here she is," he says, gently reaching for your hand as you approach.

Elder Agnar leans close and adds, "It was she who built the shrines you saw earlier."

The man who kept his face shrouded throughout the meal rumbles, "She must be truly miraculous, indeed, to curry favor with such formidable gods."

You fear the reproach an elder's comment might provoke and so quickly say, "I am not miraculous, sir. I did what any in my position would have to save their people." You keep your focus on the floor, too unnerved to meet their gazes.

The dark-skinned man lays a soft, slender hand on your wrist. "Not all would risk what you did," he says, voice barely a whisper, but you hear it clearly despite the noise in the hall. His finger rubs small circles against your racing pulse.

The first visitor turns to Elder Stigr, and while looking directly at you, says, "I think we shall impose on your hospitality a little longer than we first expected. It seems we have much to learn from your seer."

series masterlist | main masterlist

#cod #poly!141 #poly!141 x reader #tf 141 #tf 141 x reader #kyle garrick #johnny mactavish #simon riley #john price #nerdygirl says #my works ye mighty #ancient gods au

635 notes · View notes

gay-dorito-dust · 4 days ago

Note

May I have... Dante being a affectionate..towards reader.. 🥺

Most of the demon shit mentioned in here is made up by me because why not.

It doesn't take alot for Dante to be affectionate, he's so full of it that the slip of his arm over your shoulder was just as common as his lips pepper kisses across your cheek, jaw and neck; all the while he easily bats off your feeble attempts to put ditance between the two of you, laughing as he kept you within his strong embrace.

You could simply be exisiting and Dante would find the need to smother you in an abundance of affection, some even resulted in him leaving bite marks upon your skin, some even bleeding a little from his sharp canines digging in a little too deeply to be comfortable nor pleasant for the recipient; ie you as you scold him about it while he smiled deviously, proud of his handiwork.

'i don't see the problem with the biting.' Dante said defensively as you look at the bitemarks within the bathroom mirrior, glaring at him through it.

'sure you don't becuase you don't have to explain to Vergil about how much of a fucking menace his twin is when it comes to my neck.' You winced as you touched one of the bitemarks, mentally making preperations on how you could cleverly cover them up from prying eyes of friends and strangers alike, not that you mind him escenically marking you but certainly not when Vergil was walking the hallways with a knowing look in his icy eyes.

'Hes a smart cookie Vergil,' Dante replies carelessly as he crosses the room to hold you from behind, 'He's aware of the demonic nature that resides within us as well as human, so it's not hard dor him to put two and two together before walking the other way with a face of disgust.' He adds as he resting his head on your shoulder as his smile seems to widen upon seeing your unamused stare.

'How insightful of you, had i not know your brother personally i would've thanked you for that vital bit of infomation, but i do so i don't.' You said sarcastically, trying to show no reaction when Dante buries his head into your neck as he laughs, nosing the bite marks there as though maping them out, before soflty kissing them as if that would heal them.

You found that whenever Dante got affectionate like this you melted like butter within his arms, getting weak in the knees whenever his lips pressed to any part of you, his strong hands holding up on their own as you try to reciprocate his kisses with your own. only for Dante to pull away with a pout that you were certain matched yours, as he says; 'Let me love you sweetheart.'

'isn't it selfish of me to just let you love on me without loving on you aswell?' you asked, not liking leaving Dante out of the wamrth of a kiss, the tender but protectiveness of a hug, or even the serene feeling of having your hand atop of his chest as you felt his heart beneath your palm as though it too was trying to kiss you in some way.

To you Dante was the epiphony of warmth, of strength and protection with every touch he's had seered into your skin and your memories. Yet he was also soft, sweet as the strawberries you could taste upon his tongue from all the sunadaes hes eaten before, it was an addictive taste that you could never get enough of even if you tried, for he would always pull you back in with that stupid smile of his and silly quips that he would make that never failed to have a guilty smile creep upon your lips.

Dante smiles as he kisses your forhead. 'it's not selfish at all when i want to smother you in affection for being too goddamn perfect everyday for the rest of my life.' He admits to you softly, thumbs caressing your wasit. 'since you don't want to be selfish, i'll be selfish for the both of us.' was the last thing he said as his lips descended on yours and you complied to his wishes with no hesitation to speak of. He was your weakness and no one knew this better then the man who was still fruitless in his attempt to kiss away his sore bitemarks.

'im trying to help you here but it seems as though you don't want it at all.' He pouts against your shoulder- his grip on your waist tightning a little- as you wordlessly raised a haid to run through his messy strands of white hair upon his head on instict, making him let out a deep purr like sound that indicated his inner demon's fondness of you coming through however it could.

Speaking of his demoic side, his demon form was only best described as Dante on steroids in terms of affection, something you would've enjoyed had he not run hotter then a thousand furances, neverless towering overyou with it's great height, something that made you feel a multitude of ways as your face was smushed into his hard armoured chest of rough skin. This was not to mention how the ruby red demon was somehow three times more protective over you then Dante was, something Vergil has said in passing was that whatever he or his twin felt in human form, it was twice or sometimes three times more potent in their demon form.

'you often hinder then help.' you say but lift one of his hands to kiss the back of it before resting it back onto your waist. 'Yet each time i try to be annoyed with you and your bites, you come up to me with that puppy dog look, smother me in affection and suddently the words i forgive you leave my lips.' you finished as you looked at the mirror, seeing the fondess and love within your reflections eyes, forever fascinated of how effortless you fit with one another; as though you were two piece mades for each other by the gods above, just as you should be.

Dante moved his head from your neck, smirking to himself when he felt your hand attmept to guide his head back to your neck, not liking the sudden dissapearence of his warmth and wanting to be selfish in keeping him as close as you did now. 'so do you?' he asks.

you furrow your brows. 'do i what?'

'forgive me..and my bitemarks.' Dante says as he presses a kiss to the side of your head, his eyes never once leaving yours through the mirror, shinning like two diamonds or better yet sapphires in the artificial light.

You shrug. 'i don't know, do i?'

Dante groans as he kisses both your cheeks, your jaw and neck much like he always did whenever he knew he was in trouble and wanted to get out of i quckly as possibly. 'Come on! forgive me! pretty please sweetheart,' he kisses the corner of your lip once, twice, three times, 'pretty please with a strawberry sundae ontop.'

You couldn't help but smile at the mention of the sweet treat that you often joked had stole his heart long before you did, something that Dante would take seriously as he often told you that while he loves the sweet treat, you were the truest love in his life and every other life he lives afterwards. 'yes i forgive you, my silly half demon man.' You muttered just loudly enough for the both of you to hear as you then pressed a kiss to his cheek. 'I'll always forgive you.' you add while placing a kiss to his lips, solidifying your words as truth as you felt Dante smile against your lips, huming in content as he holds you tighter within your small but quaint bathroom.

#dmc x reader #dmc imagine #dmc imagines #dmc fanfiction #dmc x you #devil may cry x you #devil may cry x reader #devil may cry imagine #devil may cry imagines #dante sparda x reader #dante imagines #dante imagine #dante x reader #dante x you #dante sparda imagine #dante sparda imagines

520 notes · View notes

bigfatbreak · 2 months ago

Note

It's so cool to see a fellow Kanata Kara fan! It's criminal how little attention it has. I think that the Chimos are really neat, and the Gray Bird Tribe sisters have my heart. What are your favorite parts?

Ps, I also really love all of your mlb comics. Every time I read & reread them, I feel like I'm turning over a favorite rock to see a new awesome side of it.

as someone who's really into the Isekai genre, its legitimately the BEST ONE I'VE EVER READ. Noriko, our intrepid protagonist, literally not even speaking the language of the new world she's in is honestly my favorite part! She's so god damn cute!!

babygirl blind seer Geeta and her "all fumbles" dad Agol are ALSO so cute!!

Izark is also regrettably incredibly hot and we LOVE an overpowered but highly empathetic male protag who's got the social prowess of a deer released into an amusement park

the side characters are also SO charming and recognizable, and have their own distinct personalities to the point that later on, you'll see some familiar faces!

I love that the little psychic animals Chimo are introduced by an antagonist and we spend the story initially thinking they're a force of evil, before meeting some being properly cared for and its like oh no they're just gerbils who are psychic type ok

the gray birds fuck severely, all my homies love the gray birds, ESPECIALLY the twin girlies they FUCK SEVERELY AND I'LL SAY IT AGAIN

I love that some of the antags turn into protags!! we fucking LOVE Barago. BAR A GOOOO BAR A GOOOO

listen man this is me pitching this series. its so good. i just love it so much. its simple, its clean cut, the characters are all unique, the premise is simple for what it is, and our protagonist doesn't have any superpowers other than wanting to try her very best at all times. its so god damn good

#long post #from far away #ill talk about it forever #AND EVER!#god damnit. its so good

574 notes · View notes

entitled-fangirl · 2 months ago

Text

A ring and a cold heart.

Ivar the Boneless x Lagerthasdottir!reader

Summary: Lagertha's gift of a daughter and Ragnar's monster of a son have loved one another for far too long. But things in Kattegat are fragile, and the two now must make choices.

Warnings: mostly spoilers for S4b

A/n: I had to break this into sections. Trust that p2 is gonna get serious real fast.

Masterlist

........................................

The Seer had been right.

Lagertha would never give Ragnar a son, never bearing one after her Bjorn. But when Earl Kalf came into her life, she suddenly found herself with child.

There was little hope that the child would make it. After all, the Seer said so.

But a daughter?

Lagertha's second chance to make up for the death of her sweet Gyda. She held the babe close.

And yet.

No one predicted that she'd one day end up in the arms of Ivar the Boneless.

…

"It seems like a death sentence," she explained to Ivar. "Suicide, even."

"My father wants me to go," Ivar shrugged. "He needs me. I can't say no to that. To the gods."

She sighed. He was beyond stubborn. A true Ragnarsson trait.

She often traveled between Hedeby and Kattegat, staying with Bjorn when here. It was a strange thing to have her around, but Bjorn was the Prince of Kattegat, so others didn't have much room to question.

Plus, the Ragnarssons didn't mind a bit.

She was neither the daughter of Ragnar or Aslaug, but because of her connection to Bjorn, she was a sister to all five of them.

Well, four of them.

Ivar's love had always gone beyond that. As did hers for him.

"What if you go with Bjorn instead?" She tried. Her hand stretched out over his. "To the Mediterranean."

His head lulled. "My brothers have always doubted me. Not my father. He knows what the gods have in store for me."

"And what if all that is store is your death?"

He ran his tongue across his teeth. "Then I will die."

"Marry me before you go," she rushed out, immediately caving in once it was uttered.

"I will not risk making you a widow before you get to truly be a wife."

She felt tears well up in her eyes. She was never the strong one around. Lagertha swore to have a peaceful reign when she became Earl. There was no need to teach her daughter the hardships of being a shield maiden. She had no need to- Lagertha on one side and Bjorn on the other always. Gyda was so soft. So kind. Y/n was no different, only older. She had a chance to grow up kind.

"Don't cry," Ivar huffed. He had no idea what to do with tears. "I'll be back soon enough."

"Swear to it."

He shook his head. "I will not swear if I don't know the will of the gods."

"Then swear you'll marry me if you return."

He couldn't stop another scoff, "woman-"

"-Ivar, please."

"Ivar!" Aslaug's voice interrupted.

The queen stepped into the room, her worry turning to amusement at the sight of the two. She'd always had an odd relationship with Lagertha. How strange was fate to bring their children together?

"Let me speak to my mother," Ivar gently waved.

Y/n nodded and stood, but her wrist was caught by him. "I swear to it," he remarked, looking her firmly in the eye.

…

Lagertha had come to Kattegat with the help of Torvi and Margerette. She hadn't dragged Y/n into the plans.

So when she took Kattegat, Y/n stood at the sidelines in shock, even letting out a shriek when Aslaug fell to the ground dead.

She wanted to feel betrayed by her mother. She should have. But she couldn't find it in herself. Lagertha had sat on the sidelines for too long as her world was taken away.

So she was torn when Ubbe and Sigurd had come to her privately.

"How are you not angry," Ubbe lectured his brother. "Our mother is dead."

"And it is for the best," Sigurd huffed. "Y/n's mother is the only one around here that knows how to truly mother. Look at Bjorn."

"Y/n?" Ubbe questioned.

She sat with her head in her hands, utterly confused by it all. "I won't choose sides."

"We all know it will come to it eventually."

She lifted her head with a heartbroken look. "Then I side with Bjorn. The side he chooses, I follow."

Ubbe nodded. "Very well. So, we wait for Bjorn."

"No," Sigurd shivered. "We wait for Ivar more."

The three exchanged nervous glances.

…

Ivar had returned first. Carried by soldiers of King Ecbert's guard, he was set onto the wooden dock of Kattegat.

She couldn't muster the strength to go welcome him. He wouldn't find out such devastating news from her.

But the next day, Ivar crawled his way into the feast hall with his picks. The entire room quieted as they waited for what the angry son of Aslaug would say.

His eyes slowly trailed from Lagertha, to Torvi, to Astrid, then finally, Y/n.

She stood to the side, a completely guilty expression strung across her face.

No one was immune to noticing the way his eyes glued themselves to her in every room.

It had been like that since her first visit to Kattegat.

It's what finally drove the stake between Sigurd and Ivar. The love Bjorn had for Y/n that he never had for his own daughter, Siggy. And how Sigurd had loved little Siggy.

Y/n's life was always a comparison to one's already dead. All did it but Ivar. Perhaps that is why she was so content to be stuck in his web.

When Largertha refused Ivar's challenge, he was becoming angrier. He knew his easiest chance to kill her was by hand-to-hand combat. Ivar was a cripple, but a damn good one.

"I will kill you, Lagertha. Your fate is fixed," he growled.

Content with his threat, he looked back to Y/n, pulling a chain from around his neck.

A ring.

She felt something in her stomach twist at the shimmer that crossed her vision. His fingers rubbed over it a few times, egging for a reaction from the girl he promised to marry.

He let the chain drop to his chest with a smirk. Especially when her eyes followed it.

…

As soon as the meeting was adjourned, she rushed out to Ragnar's old cabin. The children had found it when he'd left, and it was their designated space away from the rest of the world. Plus, that was all the boys had to live in now. Ivar would be there.

She rushed in, not caring that the other brothers were gathered around. "Ivar?"

The three others looked at one another with questioning glances before completely packing up and walking out. The brothers weren't about to intervene.

The door closed before Ivar finally spoke. "What do you want?"

"Are you not grateful to be home? To be back? To be the only survivor?" She sat next to him, her voice lowering. "Are you not happy to see me?"

He scoffed, turning away.

"I didn't know, Ivar. I swear to you."

"Seems like we enjoy making swears we don't intend to keep, hm?" He mocked.

Her eyes moved down to the chain again. She sat up straighter and brushed a hand over his chest. Over the ring. "You truly won't marry me now?" She asked softly.

His hand wrapped around her wrist gruffly. But after the initial touch, his grip softened. His jaw was clenched, his anger unchecked. But he couldn't help the flutter that still moved through his chest. "I don't know," he answered honestly. "I don't know if I want children with traitor blood."

Her fingers twiddled with the ring. "You know better than I that we don't choose our mothers. The gods do."

"And yet, you'll never help me get my revenge."

"No," she agreed. "I won't."

His eyes wandered over her face. The anger bubbled under his skin. But not at her. And that frustrated him more. "I'll still marry you. But you cannot fault your future husband when he has his revenge."

"But Bjorn will-"

"-That is my offer to you, my love. If you want this ring," he offered, pulling the chain from around his neck and setting it on the wooden table, "Then that is your choice. I have taken my stand. You know what I will do. Will you still marry me?"

She stared down at the jewelry. She'd longed for this for years now. Being his wife.

This could make or break everything.

"I… I don't know," she admitted back to him.

"You don't know?"

"I should wait. For Bjorn to come back. And Hvitserk."

He set a heavy hand on her thigh. Not menacing, but not softly either. "Will you ever choose things for yourself? Or will you wait on Bjorn hand and foot as he decides your fate?"

"Ivar-"

"-No. I do not mind if you must think on it more. But do not do what Bjorn says purely because you think it is right. He makes mistakes." His head tipped down and his gaze turned menacing. "You will choose."

She nodded. "I need time."

"Good," his voice lightened. He even managed a smile. His body leaned forward like he was thinking of kissing her, but he paused and gave a quick nod of his head in acceptance. Then he looked at the ring and her one last time before pulling himself down to the floor and leaving.

She exhaled a long breath, taking the chain and placing it around her neck, tucking it away.

…

Another feast, another problem.

Y/n wasn't far off from Torvi and Astrid, hearing them speak about something being wrong as the large doors closed.

"Like what?" Astrid asked.

"I don't know, but something."

Sigurd let out a small grunt as someone grabbed him from behind and held him at knifepoint. That began a whole group coming forward and grabbing at Lagertha's shield maidens and earls alike, restraining them all.

A hand grabbed Y/n's wrist, holding it out.

Ivar's ring was wrapped around her finger. She'd chosen.

Whoever it was dropped her hand entirely and stepped away from her, meaning she stood amidst the chaos, entirely left alone.

Everyone began to part, and Y/n tucked away towards Sigurd. Her hand grabbed the wrist of the man holding him in an attempt to pry him away.

Ivar and Ubbe approached Lagertha's throne. Lagertha was rather unfazed by it, standing and grabbing her sword slowly. She was a fighter to the end.

Ivar was impressed by her willingness to face him. He sat up with his spike as Ubbe circled around the queen.

The tension could be cut with a knife. Waiting for someone to make the first move.

The door burst open, and in walks Bjorn.

"If you kill her, my brothers," he sauntered, "you'll have to kill me too."

Y/n and Sigurd both let out relieved sighs. The argument was far from over. But with Bjorn there, the fight would not be one-sided.

"Maybe we should," Ivar warned.

"Shut up," Ubbe immediately countered. He respected Bjorn immensely, and starting conflict with Ironside was like starting to dig your own grave. "She killed our mother," he mentioned. Bjorn would see where he was coming from. Surely.

"I know. You want revenge. So would I." He took in a deep breath. "But more importantly, we have to avenge our father. That is why I came back. And that," he tapped his axe against Ivar's cheek, "is what we are going to do."

Lagertha smiled and threw down her sword, prompting the rest to follow.

As Sigurd was let go, Y/n immediately tended to him, rubbing a soft hand over his neck at the irritated skin.

Frustrated, Ubbe and Ivar left.

She was torn between following them and staying with Bjorn and Lagertha.

But after speaking to the new queen, Bjorn spotted her. That made the decision. She approached him, smoothing out her dress as she weaved through everyone.

Within a few minutes, the feast began again like nothing had happened, but Bjorn was still far from jovial.

She wasn't even sure the viking knew what that word meant.

"So, I travel all the way past Frankia, through pirated seas and storms, I keelhaul my own uncle, and still," he grumbles, "things turn to ruin here the moment I turn away."

"You hated Aslaug," Y/n points out. "You always have."

"Since I watched her sleep with my father the first time they met, yes. Yes, I have," he complained. "But our mother has caused a rift that I'd rather not have now. I have revenge of my own to get and I need my brothers in order to do it."

"You have your brothers," she pointed out. "Of Ragnar's wrongful death, you all agree."

"I will not play guard to mother's kingdom more than I did before. I want to sail. To travel."

"Then don't."

He let out a long sigh. "This is why I love the sea. It is predictable. People are not. Like you," he pointed his cup towards her.

"Like me?"

"You wear a ring and you say nothing about it. You have not asked for my allowance. Let me see it." He held out a large hand, to which she slipped the band off and gave to him.

Bjorn flipped it in his palm a few times before a daunting thought came over him. "Where did you get this?" He questioned roughly. "Who is proposing with this ring? I'll kill him."

"Brother," she scoffed. "Why the sudden rage?"

"Does mother know?" He asked in complete ignorance of her previous question.

"No. No, and she won't. Not right now."

"I'll ask one more time," Bjorn growled, leaning across the table. "Who is proposing with Mother's ring?"

Oh.

Where had Ivar gotten Lagertha's ring?

"Our mother wore this ring until the day she and I left Ragnar. Her wedding band. Now answer the question, sister."

"Give it back, Bjorn." She tried to muster up confidence. It didn't quite work.

Bjorn's lips quirked up at that, all too amused. "I don't think I will. I think I'll hold onto this until you decide to ask for my blessing."

"That is cruel!"

He shrugged. "I don't care. Either you tell me now or he can come get it from me himself."

She let out a tantrum-like grunt and stood up, her chair scrapping against the wood. She weaved through the crowd and finally out into the cold air.

…

The journey was a little harder in the dark than she'd thought. The air was cold and frigid, and she was far from dressed for it. The wind chilled her immensely, traveling down her bones. Her chattering teeth exhaled a visible breath when she saw the cabin.

"Ivar? Ivar!" She called out as she neared.

Hvitserk was the one to come out with a concerned brow raised.

Y/n felt guilty, still not welcoming Hvitserk after the raid. She all but collapsed into his chest, wrapping her arms around him and finally relaxing.

Hvitserk froze for a moment. Touch was never his thing. "You miss me?"

"Like hell," she mumbled against his chest.

He chuckled and circled his arm around her. "Already using Christian phrases, hm? Don't let Ivar hear you. Congratulations, by the way."

It was her turn to freeze, her head tilting up until she looked straight up at him. "What?"

"You're to be married, are you not? He said so." At her hum of agreement, he rubbed a hand down her back. "You're freezing, sister. You'll catch a chill if I don't get you inside."

He guided her in. The warm air from their small fire immediately caused a shiver down her body. Hvitserk frowned and held a hand to her forehead. "Gods. I'd think you were half dead like this."

That caught Ivar's attention. His head snapped up, his entire body relaxing at the sight of her. "Did you travel this far like that?" He questioned, his hand motioning to her lack of heavy clothing.

She stepped to the fire, sitting down next to Ubbe. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, trying to transfer some of his heat. After all, he'd been scheming over the flames for a while now. He could afford to give some of the warmth up.

Ubbe gave a small glare to Ivar, effectively telling him to drop the question. "Let me see this ring Ivar said so much about."

Her face dropped. "Oh. I… it's…"

One by one, the siblings realized that something was not quite right and Ubbe should have minded his own business. In all honesty, it was a fair ask. One that usually is fine to ask to an engaged woman.

Ivar let out a long, loud breath. He seethed from his place at the table. "Where is it? I was told it was on your finger only hours ago."

How to explain that Bjorn had taken it without Ivar immediately growing angry? After all, Ironside didn't know that it was Ivar's. It wasn't personal at all. But that's not how Ivar saw things.

"Where is it?" He asked in a firmer tone. His head tilted. His tongue ran over the back of his teeth. "Did someone take it from you?"

"Don't be angry-"

"-No I AM ANGRY!" He yelled. "Tell me yes or no. Have you gone back on your word?"

"Ivar," Ubbe scorned. "Let the woman speak." He pulled a piece of hair from her face. "Go on."

She sniffled and moved closer to the fire to warm her hands. She stared at her ring finger longingly. "I do, Ivar. I want to marry you."

Hvitserk smirked widely, peering at his brother in a tease. His brother. In love.

Ivar exhaled in a hidden form of relief. "Alright."

"I did not tell Bjorn about it yet. I wanted to wait…"

"-But?" Ubbe interrupted.

"But Bjorn saw it before I could." She frowned. "Where did you get Lagertha's ring?"

Every head shot to Ivar in shock.

He shrugged. "Father gave it to me. On our way to Wessex. I told him that we would marry when I returned and he gave me the ring. Chain and all. He said he'd worn it around his neck since the day your mother left him."

............................................

641 notes · View notes

sky-scribbles · 2 months ago

Text

Next up on Things I Liked About Veilguard: the faction leaders. We all know some of the factions and their NPCs did not get anything like the amount of content and character that others did (Strife and Irelin I'm so sorry, I still love you), but sometimes I take a step back and realise how wonderful the stuff we did get was.

I mean - Evka and Antoine. Everything about them is so heartfelt. I hadn't read the supplemental material, but they barely needed to interact before I understood why this sweet, smart guy and this tough, smart woman loved each other. They affirm each other constantly. They respect each other so deeply. They have written letters for the other to take to their Callings: a cipher only Antoine could read. Je t'aime. Je t'aimerai toujours.

I love how Myrna and Vorgoth are introduced, suddenly and unsettlingly there in the Lighthouse. I love Vorgoth speaking in all caps. I love the fact that nobody knows what they are. I love that they raised baby Ingellvar. I love how Myrna is calm and polished while every so often coming out with the absolute wildest shit. They're fun.

The Viper and Tarquin? Top tier. They might be my favourites, just because of how much they have going on. Each of them has a backstory, and you can see exactly how those backstories produced their personalities. Ashur has a secret identity you can piece together from notes and codexes (and it's the funniest identity possible). I love their argument over Ashur's paranoid investigation into Tarquin, because it shows that the world goes on when Rook is not in the room, and the NPCs have relationships that go through ups and downs.

I'm mildly insane over the level of devotion, with Tarquin's desperate letters to the Wardens if Ashur is blighted, begging for a cure Ashur won't take. Him standing over Ashur to defend him in the final mission, or else his devastating reaction if Ashur dies: 'It should have been me!' God, these NPCs are alive. (fun fact: I wrote most of this post, and then Sheryl Chee confirmed these two were written as being in love with each other and stupid about it. I'm so happy.)

Speaking of NPCs who love each other: Teia and Viago, my beloveds. Again, I was coming in without the supplemental material, and I was sold on them so fast. The way Viago tenderly cradles Teia from behind as they mourn Caterina. The way they're so involved in Lucanis's personal quests - they're his family, they're there for him, they love him. I love Teia's fierceness and her heart. I love their banter - so much mutual understanding, exasperation and affection mixed together. 'We know each other too well to be strangers.'

Isabela is as wonderful as she always is - I especially appreciate how her depiction in Veilguard makes it clear just how loving she is. But can we also talk about Rowan? (I don't know if she's technically considered a faction leader, but meh.) I love her poetic speech patterns; I love that she's a scholar who wrote a bunch of codex entires; I love her calm, soothing voice. I love getting to see a Rivani Seer at last. And I love how she'll suddenly turn around and say, still calm and soothing, 'Spirit of Determination: may your enemies die bitter and in pain.' Perfect, no notes.

Strife and Irelin, sadly, drew the shortest straw when it came to being fleshed out in-game. But what I do love about them is their relationships with your companions. I love the tiny detail of Irelin, Bellara's ex, helping her pack for the Lighthouse; I love how she writes to Bellara to beg her to take care of herself, because she still matters to her.

And while I am a profound Emmrook lover, I appreciate Emmrich/Strife so much too. I love their shared curiosity and sense of adventure; I love thinking that Emmrich might give Strife tenderness that his life has lacked, while Strife could help nudge Emmrich toward boldness. I love the idea of two older men who likely think love has passed them by suddenly going, oh. If the Veil Jumpers didn't get a deeper relationship with Rook, at least they got relationships with Rook's friends.

Dragon Age games always give us a fun roster of companions, but honestly? Veilguard got me invested in the non-companion NPCs more than any other game in the series. Yes, there should have been more - but what we got was so much fun.

tl;dr: Faction leaders, my beloveds.

407 notes · View notes

iassignpeoplehomestucktrolls · 1 year ago

Note

Boop! :3

Boop <|:3

#fave mootie #BOOP!!!#the void talks #the seer of heart speaks!

2 notes · View notes

qwimblenorrisstan · 7 months ago

Text

To Be Known | Azriel x Reader

Summary: You’ve always been afraid to confess to Azriel about your feelings for him, but after a hookup gone wrong, everything begins falling apart, and he’s there to pick up the pieces.

Word Count: ~ 2.4k

Warnings: Drunk ppl, drunk fem reader, allusions to smut, std mentions, bloodwork (doctors), guy being an ahole + taking advantage of drunk reader, scars, angst to comfort

A/N: this request was so good (ty to anon!!), I feel like az always pairs really good with angst to comfort, anyways hope you enjoy<3 (also sorry for lack of posts recently I just had a math+science test back to back and have spent the past few days studying😭)

Requests are open!

Unlike the rest of your friend group, you weren’t special.

You weren’t a High Lord, Spymaster, General, High Lady, Seer, or any special title. You weren’t funny like Mor, witty like Amren, or even talented in much like all of your friends were.

But then again, like your mother had said, opposites always attract.

Maybe that was why had always had a small crush on the Spymaster who was withdrawn and secretive, the opposite of your friendly personality. You could befriend just about anyone, knowing their name, age, and at least a few background details on them in a few minutes, while Azriel was the exact opposite, getting his information on people through other ways.

With his job and his centuries of experience for two different High Lords, it was a wonder he didn’t already know about your crush on him. Maybe it was because, like everyone else, he was focused on the central characters in your friend group.

The three sisters and brothers. It was hard to overlook them, with all their achievements and accomplishments, not to mention the things they’d overcome and their pasts.

Tonight you were all out at Rita’s, Cassian telling awful jokes to Nesta as she rolled her eyes, playfully swatting him on the shoulder, Rhys and Feyre having a drinking competition, Azriel brooding somewhere in the corner, alone because of Elain visiting Autumn Court with Mor for “political purposes” even though everyone knew she wanted to see Lucien.

You were taking a sip of your drink, idly standing at the bar, elbows propped on the table as your eyes raked through the crowd, searching for someone who could offer a decent hookup. Drunk Fae stumbled about, laughing loudly with genuine joy that made your lips twitch up a bit, the music playing in the background also helping your mood as a cool breeze blew through the open area.

“Looking for someone?”

You choked on your drink, alcohol coming back up to sting your throat a second time before you swallowed it all backdown, one hand over your heart as you sighed in relief, looking at Azriel who’d somehow approached without you knowing.

“Mother above, Az, you scared the shit outta me.”

You replied, taking a few more breaths to calm down, turning to face him, back now against the bar table as the shadowsinger looked down at you, hair falling into his eyes in a boyish way that made you giggle as you tried to brush some behind his hair.

“Someone needs a haircut,”

You teased, and a hint of a smile graced his lips.

“I’ll make sure not to go to Mor this time.”

He said, grimacing for a moment at the memory of the awful haircut Mor had given him, insisting he needed it, only to butcher his beautiful dark locks. You could still remember how distraught he’d been after, looking like a puppy that had just been kicked.

“I could do it, my mom used to cut hair, taught me a thing or two,”

You offered with a little shrug, taking another sip of your drink, one you’d already refilled by now. Maybe twice. You couldn’t remember, all you knew was that the hangover in the morning would be brutal.

A chuckle from Azriel made you rub your thighs together as he shook his head in fond exasperation. He swallowed, almost nervously, odd for him, before speaking.

“Maybe next time, though I wouldn’t object if you-“

He was cut short by another male strolling up to you a tad bit too confidently, one arm going to the right of you on the bar table as his eyes met yours.

An old partner. Particularly a fuck-buddy.

The best solution for tonight, really, since Cauldron knows you weren’t bold enough to push anything with Azriel. He was a friend, nothing more, or at least you tried to convince yourself. He still hadn’t gotten over Elain, or you thought he hadn’t yet, and you didn’t want to risk ruining your friendship or making things awkward between the two of you because of your desires the the crush you’d kept secret for years.

Your fuck-buddy’s eyes met yours, and you swallowed, glancing at Azriel as he watched the silent interaction the two of you had before giving a terse nod and walking away. You would’ve noticed how his eyes narrowed, or how he looked stiff if you hadn’t taken a few too many sips between talking with those at Rita’s tonight.

“Want to take this back to my place?”

The male drawled, arm sliding around your waist as he began guiding you to the exit around the side, where people could discreetly leave. Neither of you was beating around the bush, and you rarely did anyway. You both just needed a release, or at least you did.

“Mm..sure.”

You murmured, body hot now, thinking about Azriel instead of the male leading you to his old home, wishing it was Azriel’s hands on you, wishing you knew what it felt like to know him more, deeper than just the tip of the iceberg you’d touched.

Weeks had passed since that night, you’d woken up cold and alone in the male’s bed, gotten up, and collected your clothes before walking your ass back to the townhouse while your head had felt like someone split it open.

You had vowed not to go drinking for a while now.

And things had gotten weird between you and Azriel Joe, too. He was avoiding you, and no matter how much he tried to deny it, you could tell.

When he heard your footsteps, he left the room almost immediately, hell, even his shadows were avoiding you, not following you like loyal dogs per usual, just one or two to make sure you were safe at all times like he did for every member of the Inner Circle. His jaw was clenched every time he was in a room with you, and he wouldn’t look you in the eye, maybe couldn’t.

You barely remembered what had happened that night other than a few blurry memories of conversations and whatnot; so you didn’t know if you’d said something stupid and messed it up, or he thought you were a whore for going out with that other male and leaving him all alone.

The more you thought about it, the more you thought the latter was more likely.

It didn’t help that just a few days later, amidst all your worries, you’d decided to take a little walk through Velaris to get some outside time and a serotonin boost, only for the exact opposite to happen when you were met with your previous fuck-buddy from that night weeks ago screaming in your face, yanking you down a small alleyway to properly yell at you.

“Nasty bitch, gave me a disease! If you’re going to be a whore, at least keep your fucking viruses to yourself-!”

Horror shot through you at his words. You didn’t have any sort of STD, not that you knew of at least, and if you’d spread the theoretical disease to him…He might be an asshole, but no one deserves that.

Unsure what to do as tears welled in your eyes and fell, you began trying to ignore him as you turned and dashed out of the alleyway, the loose clothing you were wearing helping you to slightly outpace him through the streets, avoiding the children and Fae on them, not to mention the vendors and toys strewn about.

He pursued you, screaming still, and hot tears of embarrassment pouring down your cheeks as you began to sob, you didn’t even realize you’d outrun him until you were already at the steps to the House of Wind, ascending them, not even bothering to count out the 10,000 steps in your head.

Somehow, through either pure anger or sadness, you reached the top right when your knees gave out, only for Nesta to catch you right before you fell, dressed in her training leathers, weapons strapped to her. Her forehead wrinkled in confusion and already-building anger as she saw you crying your eyes out.

“What’s wrong?”

She demanded, shifting to hold you up fully, carrying you bridal style as she started walking into the House, snapping her fingers once she got inside, and the House listened to her as always, making a warm cup of tea in your favorite flavor, and a comfort meal she knew you loved as she slowly sat you down at the table. The House must’ve deemed it necessary when it added a cushion beneath your butt on the chair, considering your aching legs.

You tried to blubber out an answer amidst the tears, but couldn’t manage to, and her eyes softened as she sighed, sitting down next to you on your right, before seeing that she wasn’t making much progress, and getting back up.

“Eat, we can talk about this later, I’ll go get him.”

You were about to ask who she was going to get, even though a part of you already knew as you saw her walking off in the direction of his room. You began slowly digging into the food, finding yourself to be much hungrier than earlier anticipated. Then again, you’d skipped out on breakfast, expecting to get a big lunch while out and about in Velaris.

Azriel arrived only a moment later, shadows swirling, concern evident on his face as Nesta gave him a stern look and pointed to you before she mouthed “You’re welcome.” to you, and strolled out of the door.

“What happened?”

He asked, smooth voice soaked in worry as he quickly pulled out the same chair Nesta had just been sitting in, sitting in it as it groaned under his weight. One of his wings stretched out in your direction, just barely curling around you.

You swallowed a bite of your food, tears coming back up.

“It’s embarrassing.”

You managed to croak out, and he shook his head.

“I won’t make fun of you, I promise.”

He pledged, and you trusted that promise as you sniffled again, wiping the wetness from your eyes with one hand.

“Me and that male from Rita’s, we slept together, and he just accused me of…of giving him an STD.”

You said, before breaking into sobs again, hands going to cover your face despite the warmth that burned in your cheeks from the shame of being in this situation. His large palm gently brushed over your back as he scooted closer, raising an eyebrow at the cushion in your seat for half a second before his wing curled fully around you; and he pulled you into a surprisingly warm hug.

“I’m sorry.”

He murmured, and your sobs slowly subsided until you had no tears left to cry, but you still held onto him in the hug, hands fisting the back of his shirt, the cloth bunching up beneath your fingers.

“What if I do, though? Have a..virus?”

He gave a little hum of thought.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. For now, do you want to go get tested?”

You gave a sad little nod, a small pout on your lips that made him want to rip apart the male that made you feel this way. He gently picked you up, careful with your sore legs, figuring out what had happened rather quickly after some of his shadows informed him what they’d seen. They also quickly informed him on the full story, and what that male had done. Another job for another day, but he would make sure he paid for it.

Nearly two hours later, you’d had to pee in a cup for Madja to check, and now were getting blood taken to get that tested as well, as well as any other necessary bodily fluids. Symptoms were noted if there were any. It was uncomfortable at best, but Azriel held your hand the entire time, not even wincing when you squeezed his hand a bit too hard for all the scars covering it.

He quickly winnowed the both of you to the House of Wind afterward, having been told the results would take at least a day to get back. He winnowed the both of you straight into his room.

It was dark, curtains drawn and everything, with the barest essentials in it as well as a desk for work, a few maps hanging from the walls, and assortments of fancy knives you knew he must’ve collected over the centuries.

You turned to leave, but his hand grasping your wrist quickly made you turn, tilting your head sideways in mild confusion.

“Stay.”

He begged, looking terrified of what you might say, but also hopeful. You sniffled again, nodding and tentatively following him as he gently led you over to the bed, each move like a new dance, one that neither of you had practiced before, but were willing to try.

He slowly stripped his leathers off, letting you see his scarred body and wings for what it truly was. And for once, the sight of his bare body, while very attractive, didn’t just make you horny or craving him. It made you appreciate him, who he was at his core. The years he’d spent training and honing his body to protect his Court, the scars he’d suffered protecting his loved ones and serving them; even willing to take it to the end.

You appreciated him. Even in the bad lighting of the room, or the thick shadows swirling everywhere, you appreciated Azriel.

And so, in turn, you began slowly tugging your clothes off, leaving only your undergarments on. His eyes ran over you, respectfully as always, but taking in your vulnerability; who you were beneath the covers, before he gave a small nod.

He walked over to his dresser, pulled out one of his more casual shirts; one that was clean that he hadn’t worn in a good while, and walked over to you, standing in front of you as he helped gently tug the opening over your head, guiding your hands to the arm holes, adjusting it for you.

No words were exchanged, and none needed to be, not ad you both crawled into his bed under the blankets, and he enveloped you in an embrace; wings and arms wrapped around you with his head tucked into your neck.

And tonight, you knew for sure that you wouldn’t wake up cold and alone like that night so many weeks ago.

No, tonight, you didn’t need the warmth of passion or lust to keep you from the biting cold, now you had Azriel by your side, and that was more than enough.

455 notes · View notes

simp-ly-writes · 1 month ago

Text

The Prophecy

─────── · · Dreams of Dragons (pt.2)

PAIRING: Daemon Targaryen x Fem!Targaryen!Reader

SUMMARY: Knee-deep in growing family tensions, you continue searching for the answers to your 'sleepwalking condition.' And in this search, you find yourself learning more about your ancestors, an uncle obsessed with his eldest niece, a king who struggles to be a father, and a young princess determined to invoke change.

TAGS: alternate universe, canon divergence, no use of y/n, second person perspective, female pronouns used, coarse language, emotional hurt/comfort, protective!Daemon, angst, soulmates, time travel, targ-cest, engine-translated high valyrian, not beta read. MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 3,257 | PRIOR | NEXT A/N: thank you all for the support on the first part, I hope you enjoy this next part! (I also used a translator for the high valyrian- so apologies for any inaccuracies).

─────── · ·

A DOZEN HUSHED WHISPERS SOUND FROM AROUND YOU YET YOU REMAIN FROZEN. You force your eyes closed- pretending to be asleep to try and focus on the words being spoken, "not ill... no symptoms... magic, sorcery..." you frown, I am most certainly ill if I am experiencing this, you think to yourself in yet another one of your dreams.

"...dreamer?" a whisperer asks before another confirms, "a dreamer, a seer, but how?- it has been decades..." And suddenly a frustrated whisper silences the room as you feel the bed dip by your knees, a hand picks up your own and holds it gently. "Mandia (older sister), do you hear me? Show me a sign that you are still with me like you promised me so," Rhaenyra calls out to you, head dipping to closely watch your face for any reaction- she gasps seeing your eyes fly open as you stare at the top of your canopy bed.

"Where am I? When is this?" your voice horse as you rub your eyes- thankful that your parents taught you the dying language of high valyrian back in your times.

"You are in the Red Keep and it is the year 104, your highness," a maester calls from the corner of the chamber, head dipping once meeting your gaze as yours soon widens at the sight of a much younger Princess Rhaenyra who sits by your side, she signals for a pitcher of water to be brought forward whist stacking a few pillows behind your back- helping you to sit upright before tiping the cup slowly against your lips.

You bring your hands forward, trying to take the cup from her yet her grip is strong for her small hands, "please, let me help you get better." And you can't help but comply in seeing her violet eyes turn a light shade of blue.

Setting the cup back down, Rhaenyra takes both of your hands in hers, placing them on her cheeks that silent tears stream down steadily. "Why must everyone be so sick? First you and then mother, is just not fair!" her head falls forwards and into your lap, "its just not fair..." her sorrows muffled into the bedding and as if on muscle memory you bring a hand to her head, threading your fingers gently through the knots and hum gently, unsure of how to answer her pleas.

You look up seeing as the maesters around you shuffle awkwardly, "you all are dismissed," your head tilting back in surprise for your own commanding tone watching as they hesitate for a moment before beginning to file out of the room, shutting the door softly behind themselves.

Rhaenyra's sniffles slowly fade as she looks up at you, "Kepus (uncle) was so worried for you, he always is and so was father... yet he was more worried that his brother would scare the maesters to death before they could treat you." She watches your eyes, trying to gage your reaction before you speak it, your heart aches seeing how earnestly she awaits your words- like they would soothe every ache in her mind.

"Kepus always needs a busy mind, Rhaenyra, worrying is just another distraction for he grows bored easily," you recite from one of the many records you read on the Rogue Prince while in school.

You watch as your supposed sister frowns at your words, eyebrows pinched together, "Don't let him hear you say that, Mandia, he may get offended." You snort before leaning in closer and whisper, "he is quick to offend." You laugh at Rhaenyra's short gasp before she giggles and shakes her head, pushing your face away.

"Is that laughter I hear? What are you two up to now?" a new voice calls from the doorframe that has you both freezing in your spot. Rhaenyra sits quickly upright as you force yourself not to bow at the sight of King Viserys, your supposed father. Gosh I need to wake up soon, you think to yourself.

"As you were," the King raises his hand, moving to stand at the foot of your bed. Hands gripping the footrest for support as he smiles down at you both, "you seem well," he acknowledges with a soft smile, "what did the Maesters do this time?" Viserys looks towards his youngest daughter expectantly who watched your whole procedure closely, she basks in her fathers attention.

"They used the same ointments as the last time but she woke up on her own again," Rhaenyra explains, quickly side eyeing you to agree in which you slowly nod, curious as to why she was not telling the full truth from what you briefly heard.

Viserys hums to himself while looking between you both before sighing and standing up straight, fixing the coat he wears like an anxious tick, "I'm sure your mother would be in better spirits if you both gave her a visit now that you are awake."

Rhaenyra jumps up, hand extending to help you up, frowning when you don't budge, "I am in my sleeping clothes, sister," you explain, "let me get dressed and then I shall meet you in the hall," you compromise and then you are finally alone.

Falling back onto the covers you bite your lip before looking out to your balcony, the doors are slightly open, a warm breeze drifts in carrying the sheer curtains with it that wave to you in greeting like the world is teasing you, withholding the very answers you desire so you curse the air, standing and heading towards your wardrobe. Let's hope those historical fashion classes were worth the money.

─────── · ·

You were out of breath by the time you were finished lacing up your garments, no wonder they needed a second army to get ready, you scoff before starting to twist the door handle and become startled as it seemingly twists itself in your hand and flys wide open.

Hands find your hips that pull you close to a broad frame draped in black robes, a silver dragon rides across their chest- its head framing their shoulder. Next you feel as their forehead knocks against your own, their breaths hot and heavy against your nose that you crinkle in confusion before seeing the light scaring on pale skin and a flash of silver hair reflecting in the sunlight, Daemon.

"I thought you had died when I saw the maesters dart out of the room," his whisper is like sandpaper to your ears, coarse and rough from unshed emotion, "like they were running from their fate by my hand." You hesitate on how to respond, unlike when Rhaenyra looked for your comfort- you didn't know what to do with your uncle so you mirrored his hold with your hands slowly moving to circle his hips- pulling yourselves closer together and in for a hug.

His arms are like a weighted blanket around your frame, you can feel his long stuttering sigh in relief as every muscle relaxes knowing you are in his arms. You flush, feeling flattered before rubbing circles with your palm against his back and wait for him to pull away yet he squeezes you closer, resting his chip to the top of your head, you feel as his fingers play with a loose thread of your dress, curling it around his finger before letting it fall.

Footsteps soon echo from down the hall, you try to shuffle away yet Daemon continues to hold you, squeezing his eyes shut to savour the moment as long as he can before the footsteps near and he pulls away and leaves a lingering palm that rests against your lower back.

A young guard stops before you both, his eyes sneak a glance at you before casting forwards, looking to an invisible point on the wall between your heads. Your uncle catches the stolen glance with a scowl, his hand rests upon the hilt of dark sister as he takes a step forwards, mouth opening to make a comment before you silence him with a smile and touch to his arm, a sudden rush of confidence clouding your better judgement.

His head tilts back, eyes in a silent demand to let me do this, for you, yet you shake your head firmly to vanquish his actions, "do you have a message?" The guards eyes go wide in remembrance, "y-yes, your highnesses. One reminder for the princess from the Queen. She requests your immediate presence in her drawing room."

You raise your hand, dismissing the guard while not meeting Daemon's accusatory stare, "he should be taught a lesson for his actions."

You feel the air shift in the corridor as he takes a confrontational step forwards- trying to sway your answer yet your feet remain planted in spot- not meeting his eyes that try and connect with your own, "what if I said I didn't mind his eyes, Kepus?" You drag out the title- choosing then to raise your chin, clashing violet with violet. You smirk upon seeing his nose flair- eyes sharpening to slits.

"Iksā daor olvie funny, Qēlītsos, (you are not very funny, little star)," his words are spoken in a cold charismatic poise, a double-edge sword of playful commentary and threat that has your adrenaline spiking with a desire to drink in more of his bubbling rage that warms you from within.

"Gaoman daor pirtiapos, nyke nūmāzma ñuha udra, (I do not joke, I mean my words)," you speak with determination and take a half step forwards, placing your hands behind your back as you lean forwards, enunciating every word, drinking in every minute reaction his chiselled features provide you, a seemingly endless entertainment as you stand toe-to-toe.

Daemon growls, his head tilts, peering down at your amusement that irks him beyond belief, "Yn ao sōpagon rȳ issa protection? (but you laugh at my protection?)."

Your smile softens to something bittersweet as you know the fate for this body like all the other women of your current position throughout history; having to face the looks in order to gain a marriage for the betterment of the throne, "sir gaoman yn issa ñuha future se konir sagon mirros ao daor keligon, (now I do but it is my future and that is something you cannot stop)."

"ao doubt ñuha kostion? (you doubt my ability?)," Daemon confidently poses his shoulders back and tone teasing. Accepting yet another challenge to keep himself amused with, you think to yourself with a shake to your head, "daor, Kepus, nyke sepār daor skorkydoso ra mōris, (no, uncle, I just know how things end)."

You gently knock your arm into his own as you pass him in the narrow corridor. Daemon does not answer nor move, brows furrowed as he contemplates your words. He turns and opens his mouth to speak only to find you already gone.

─────── · ·

After a few wrong turns and directions from servants and guards alike, you arrive in the Queen's drawing room where your sister sits opposite of your mother. A set of tea is set at the centre of the table, an assortment of fruit displayed in a bowl just beside as you take your seat, a servant rushes forwards to fill you a cup in which you politely take with a soft thank you for their service.

"It is good to see you alive and well, dear," Queen Aemma Arryn smiles at you, yet her eyes are filled with hurt, raising her cup to chime against your own, and it is then when you realize the Queen is pregnant.

"I am...." you pause before remembering you are not who you are in this body, "...glad to be back, I have missed you both without knowing I was in the first place." And then a knowing smile raises the corners of Rhaenyra's lips.

"You took some time to get here, sister... was there anyone-" she clears her throat, "anything that kept your attention?" You shoot your sister a glare that has her smile turning into a grin, troublemaker, you shake your head, cheeks warming. Aemma leans forwards, grabbing a grape while looking between the two of you expectantly.

"I sense a silent conversation that I don't understand the language to, do let me be a part of the talk," your mother chimes in. You and Rhaenyra share a look, go on, her eyes say and you sigh, finishing your cup of tea before placing it on the table and smoothing out your skirts.

"Kepus kept me from coming right away, I apologize," you state, pleased now? Rhaenyra nods enthusiastically, looking for the Queen's reaction that looks nothing but pleased as she looks you over.

"He cares for you more than his own lady wife, I think your uncle needs a reminder of his position- don't you think so, dear?" the once affectionate term now sounds like an insult as you swallow deeply and lower your head, a pain shoots through your chest that you choose to silence, "yes, mother-"

Yet Rhaenyra chimes in before you can finish your sentence, setting down her empty cup, "but he has always cared long since before I could remember, he is only trying to be a good uncle, why-"

"You have not matured enough to see my reasoning, Rhaenyra," Amma shuts down your sister, "what he thinks to be protection borders on obsession, it is not a good look for either of them."

Rhaenyra looks towards you yet you solemnly nod, agreeing with your mothers words. She appears more saddened by the words than you do, "but wouldn't Kepus get even more mad?"

"He can get mad all he wants sister but there is little he can do," you refill everyone's cups with a heavy sigh, "there is little any of us can do." You look towards your mother and down towards her stomach, a sickening feeling sits deep within you already knowing their fate.

But your words seem to spark something in the young girl as she stands, tipping her head down to you both as she moves to exit yet stops just before the doors, "then I will do something about it."

But seeing as one door closes, another opens as King Viserys walks over and grabs the Queen's hand, sharing a look before they both regard you, "with my new heir on the way, you must marry to ensure an alliance to strengthen the throne," Viserys says to you not from a position of your father, but as your king and so you bow your head, "I understand, father."

While in reality you did not, in all your studies you never read anywhere of a second princess, an older one nonetheless... your look of contemplation your parents take as devotion, smiling down upon your determined self.

"May you find a good husband," your mother wishes, placing her hand atop your fathers. "For the betterment of the seven kingdoms," your father adds, extending his other hand for you to grab and hold, "for the betterment of the seven kingdoms," you echo, squeezing his hand, "I will do my best," you promise equally yourself to finding answers and to your father.

─────── · ·

Night falls upon the castle as you walk the halls, studying the various tapestries hung underneath candlelight, no matter so little survived, you think to yourself before pausing in front of one detailing Aegon the Conqueror's invasion of Westeros that spans the entire length of the dining hall.

The vividness of the full spanning narrative is breathtaking from the little remnants you remember viewing in the museums of your time, you feel blessed by the gods in being able to see the real work so closely and without damage. Your hand gently taps one of the tassels at the corner of the work, watching as it swings before taking a step back and into someone.

You quickly try and turn around, apologizing for your lack of sense yet their arms wrap around your front, a chin rests upon your shoulder, "Aegon the first had two sister-wives as he was taking over Westeros." You place your hands atop of Daemons, "yet they were not treated equally," you counter, trying to pull his arm away yet they remain locked in place, "I am not some doll, Uncle Daemon, I am allowed to move on my own terms-"

"Then move," he deadpans, watching as you move your head to look up at him, "I am trying to," you growl, twisting and turning with a huff.

"You must try harder, fight, Zaldrītsos (little dragon), I promise you won't hurt me-" you force your elbow straight in between his ribs, winding your uncle as he staggers backwards. You dart forwards, grabbing the swords from one of the guards hips, your arms shake at the weight of the steel that you point at his heart with a scowl as he claps slowly at your outburst.

"So you can protect yourself... but you still will need for me," he quickly unsheathes dark sister, tipping the top of your sword that bends your wrist and forces you to yield. He kicks your sword back towards the guard, you listen as it screeches against the stone floors before stopping and all that is to be heard are your heavy breaths and the flickering of flames coming from the dozens of torches within the hall.

“Skoro syt gaomagon ao worry sīr olviem kepus? (why do you worry so much, uncle?),” you whisper, eyes trailing up from his boots till your meet eyes. You see as he hesitates to respond, teeth gritted in an internal battle, his words are spoken with careful precision as the back of his hand caresses your cheek before he kisses the top of your head, “Kesrio syt iksā se mērī run nyke refuse naejot ojughagon, (because you are the only thing I refuse to lose).”

You watch as he quickly drops his touch as if you burned him, pain shoots through his eyes before he turns and storms out the room leaving you under the watchful eyes of Aemond the Conqueror once more. If the Rogue Prince cared so deeply for this Princess… then why was she not kept on any records, you think to yourself, turning back to the tapestries and watching as Dragons fly high over the burning rubble of cities below and the mangled corpses of hundreds of thousands that lay in the foreground only to end with the missing image of your time; a still of Aemond being crowned in front of his men and wives.

His stitched eyes bore into your own, the flickering light of the flames makes his appearance appear animated before you, his mouth moving to read the faint inscription that circles his head, The Song of Ice and Fire, the prophecy you had read and seen played out before you in textbooks but the next words were new and uncharted, is the equal dream and fate I see across conquered lands. Silver must sit upon swords by the guidence of another conqueror- a dreamer, or all shall eternally sleep.

Your head spins at this information, a voice calls to you, their presence close yet you feel so far. Your feet waver as you reach forwards to stabilize yourself, unknowingly grasping the tapestry and pulling it down alongside you towards the floor. A sudden heat rushes across your skin, a torch must have fallen as you smell the smoke and feel the flames surrounding you as shouts echo through the hall yet you do not scream in pain, allowing the fire to encapsulate you as sleep closely follows.

─────── · ·

PRIOR | NEXT

A/N: I would be passin' out too if I read that, all we wanted to do was look at cool old stuff! lol

─ · · DREAMS OF DRAGONS TAGLIST: @blkmystery @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters

163 notes · View notes