#winding circle temple

[whimsicallywiddershins]

ACAB Frostpine my beloved. He's also so careful to keep Daja from getting taken advantage of when it comes to her magic in her book too. He's so untrustworthy of authority, I love him.

[kanansdume]

I read a post recently discussing how great Tamora Pierce's Winding Circle Temple from her Circle of Magic series is both as a school and a home for the people who live there and oh boy did it give me Jedi vibes like nothing else. I'm going to straight-up admit I was more of a Tortall universe fan as a kid than an Emelan universe fan, but I recently went back and re-read all of the Circle of Magic books as an adult, so I still feel qualified to discuss this a little.

The post discusses how a religious Temple is actually such an interesting place to use as a location for the main characters' adoptive home, with the little routines and philosophies and general lifestyle woven into the worldbuilding. It's not just a school, although it very much is a place of learning, but it's a HOME. There are people who just come to the Temple to learn, of course, but a large amount of the people who are learning there also consider the Temple their home. And it's this community built of people who have CHOSEN to be there and/or have been cast out of other societies for things they cannot choose or change about themselves.

While Star Wars has not truly delved into what life is like in the Jedi temple (not in high mainstream canon at least), I've seen plenty of fans coming up with detailed headcanons about what life would be like in the Temple, what kind of holidays the Jedi might recognize or practice, what the classes would look like, what kind of food they'd eat and the routines and traditions surrounding their food. Because the Jedi Temple isn't just a boarding school, it isn't a university, it's a HOME and a community made up of people who have chosen to be here above anywhere else and those who were cast out of their own societies. The people who live there consider each other a family.

The adults at the Winding Circle temple aren't PERFECT, but they are genuinely good teachers who take care of the children they have adopted. They're responsible and loving simultaneously.

The Jedi all encourage their children to question things, to tease each other, to take responsibility for their own emotions and their own actions, but also simply to enjoy the moment as it happens rather than getting caught up in thoughts about the future or the past. They love each other and are perfectly capable of being playful, but they also ensure their children learn discipline and good mental health, as well.

Each main child character is raised relatively communally by the Temple, capable of being taught by just about anyone, but are also being housed with two specific Masters and then each taught their specific magical abilities by one teacher who has more of a specialty in their type of magic. We see a similar set-up among the Jedi who have the children brought up by Masters who are specifically assigned to taking care of their physical needs, but are eventually matched up to a Master who can help them hone their SPECIFIC skills, and all the while they are being raised pretty communally with access to every Jedi Knight, Master, and Padawan in the Order who might have something to teach them. The Winding Circle Temple takes a very adoptive/found family approach to their relationships, same as the Jedi do.

What's interesting is I don't know if I've ever seen as much discourse about Tamora Pierce setting her series at a religious Temple as I've seen aimed at the Jedi. I don't know that ANYBODY who's read Pierce's works in the Circle of Magic series would claim these characters not to be a family or that Winding Circle isn't their home or that it was repressive and abusive because they asked their members to take responsibility for their actions, especially when they have such large amounts of power at their disposal.

[readingcircletemple]

What do you think Sandry's medallion looks like?

[pellucid-constellations]

Of Oblivious Minds (2)

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: You're positive Azriel is in love with Elain. It seems so obvious. But Cassian is laughing at you and suddenly nothing makes quite so much sense anymore.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: Angst!! More pining and yearning

a/n: Here is part two! I love writing this little series :) There will definitely be more! let me know what you think ♡♡

Part 1, Part 3

~~

Sometimes you hated being a scholar. 

There were plenty of upsides to having such a cushy job, especially when your employer was the high lord himself. You got paid generously, got free access to the best libraries, and never had to pay rent. Millions of fae would kill to have your position. 

But as Cassian punched you in the ribs—for the third time—you found yourself questioning your role within the night court’s inner circle.

“Okay,” you breathed out, hunching over with a hand cradling your side. “Okay, please, Cass. Can we take a break?” 

Unfortunately, Cassian didn’t appreciate quitters. So, your feet were abruptly swept from under you and your back made contact with the floor. With a soft oof, the wind was knocked from your lungs. 

“C’mon, y/n, you’re better than that. I know you are.” 

You responded with a wheeze, blinking into the pale sun. 

This morning had been rough.

You’d been having some trouble sleeping, but that wasn’t necessarily unusual. Being alive for so long meant you had seen quite a few things, so nightmares came and went with the tide. You were going through a rough patch with them at the moment, and the lack of sleep was starting to catch up with you.

“You planning on laying there for the rest of the day?” Cassian asked, his large silhouette coming to block the light. 

You squinted up at him. “Maybe.” 

“Yeah, not happening.” 

You fought back a whine as the Illyrian pulled you up by your shoulders and steadied you. He nodded, giving you a moment to ready yourself back into position, and then bent his knees. Gods, you were going to be so sore later. 

It didn’t take long for you to end up on the floor again, this time on your stomach. Your chin cracked against the padded ring, your teeth snapping together at the impact. The sound made your brain vibrate as you rolled onto your side and held your temple. 

Cassian crouched down to the floor beside you and you could make out his worried brow amidst the shakiness of your vision. 

“What’s going on with you?” He brought his hand up to brush against your already bruising jaw. “We’ve been working on that move for weeks. You had it a few days ago.” 

You breathed through your nose and tried not to groan at the ache rolling through your body. “I think I’m just tired. I haven’t been sleeping very well.” 

At that, Cassian plopped down to a seat, keeping a hand at your elbow as you brought your own body up to mirror his. 

“You want to talk about it?” he questioned. 

“There isn’t much to say. I can’t remember them this time. It’s kind of strange—usually I remember them too much and that’s what makes it worse.” 

Cassian hummed in contemplation. He was always the one you went to the morning after a sleepless night. Cassian would listen as you talked through your nightmares, and you would do the same for him. He was a logical pillar in your life. 

But it was always Azriel you went to in the midst of them. You never talked about what you saw and he never asked. But it was always Azriel in the middle of the night. His shadows were a comfort in the pitch black and he was always quick to wrap his wings around you when it became too hard to breathe. 

You hadn’t gone to him these last few times.

The fact that you couldn’t remember your dreams was an unfortunate factor. Because if you knew what was causing you to wake up in a cold sweat every night, at least then you could talk about it. Or take a moment to rationalize. 

There was no rationalizing when the only thing you had to go off of was fear and hurt. 

“What does Azriel think?” Cassian asked after a small lapse in silence.

“What do you mean?” 

“Well, when you go to his room at night. What does he have to say about you not remembering?” 

You scoffed. And then scoffed again. “What? I don’t know what you’re talking about, I barely do that.” 

Cassian stared at you with a blank expression. “So we’re still doing that then. Got it.” He heaved himself up from the ground and then yanked you up alongside him.

“Still doing what?” you asked, trailing behind him as he reached for his canteen. He didn’t answer you, favoring the long gulps of water he was taking. You waited for him to finish and then asked again. He chose to unwrap his knuckles instead. “Cassian.” 

The man sighed. “Nothing, y/n. It’s just… It wasn’t a secret that you would go to his room after you had a rough night. Why do you think I never dragged you out here those mornings?” You cringed at his words. He shook his head. “There’s nothing wrong with that. Why do you hide it?” 

You didn’t have a good reason—well, you didn’t used to. You’d always sneak out of his room after the sun rose and never bring it up again. And there was never a solid explanation for why you evaded the topic. You knew Azriel would never hold it against you and you weren’t embarrassed for others to know that you sought out comfort in a friend. It just seemed like something you should keep to yourself. 

Now, though—now there was a good reason to wipe your actions from memory. To pretend they never happened and to never repeat them. 

“Cassian, Elain is my friend. Even if I did that in the past—in a friendly way—it would be wrong now.” 

A muscle in Cassian’s jaw twitched. “Right. Have you ever actually talked to Elain about her feelings?” 

“I don’t need to.” You reached down for your own water, ignoring the twinge in your side and the pulsing in your head. “She never stops talking about him. And they’re always together. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were already seeing each other.” 

“Who’s seeing each other?” 

The cool tone of Azriel’s voice washed over you and you whipped around to find him standing at the foot of the training ring, blades in hand. 

A nervous laugh fell from your lips and you fought the urge to slap your hand over your mouth. “Um, no one, just some friends I know.” 

“Who?” he asked again. 

“Oh, you don’t know them. Old friends.” 

The Shadowsinger raised a brow, sending Cassian a fleeting look. “I thought I knew all of your friends.” 

“You don’t. I know way more people than you. Even though you're older than me. Not by that much, though. Have you talked to Elain lately?” Words were spewing from your mouth in the worst combinations. You were never nervous around Azriel. What in the cauldron was wrong with you?

Azriel’s raised brow turned into a furrowed one and he blinked, assessing your face with a scrutinizing gaze. “Do you have a concussion?” He turned the Cassian, expression going from confused to provoked. “Did you give her a concussion?” 

“Honestly, maybe.” 

“I don’t have a concussion,” you rushed out, cutting off Cassian’s admission. “I was just leaving though. I’m tired. You guys can fight each other.” 

There was so much sudden pent-up energy inside of you that you had no intention of sleeping, but just seeing Azriel made you feel like you were intruding on something. Which was absurd. Azriel was your friend and had been your friend for centuries. Just because he loved Elain didn’t mean you had to avoid him. 

But this energy had to come from somewhere, and that somewhere was telling you to avoid him like the Illyrian flu. 

Making a break for it, you freed yourself from the training ring and attempted to skate past Azriel with a quick side smile, but he apparently had other plans. He caught your wrist as you walked past, glancing up at a “preoccupied” Cassian before turning to you with his wing out, giving the illusion of a private conversation. 

“You’re not sleeping well?” he asked, voice low. 

You warped your smile into one that met both sides of your mouth. “I’m okay.” 

Shadows crept over his shoulders and along his ears. His expression shifted and pinched and then returned neutral. “You know you can come to me if you need it.” 

“I’m okay, Az. Really.” 

“Would you tell me if you weren’t?”

Maybe before. 

“I’m a paper pusher, Az. I’m not out in the throes of battle,” you jested, scrunching your nose as you smiled up at him. “Nothing is that serious for me.” 

A lie. Something was that serious—serious enough to keep you up at night for the past week—but you couldn’t figure out what it was. 

“That is not what I asked,” he countered, sliding his hand up from your wrist to turn your chin. “You need to ice your jaw. Cassian shouldn’t be so rough with you.” 

“I’m okay,” you said again, words a pathetic repetition because your heart was beating so fast now and you needed to leave. Something was pulling at your chest and you needed to leave. 

“As you’ve said,” Azriel muttered, his fingers brushing down along the column of your throat. When his eyes flickered up and met your own, something inside of you lost its alignment.

You looked away before the feeling could return. Everything righted itself. You took a wobbly step back. 

“Have a good training session.” 

You turned on your heel and stalked away, feeling equal parts the betrayer and the betrayed. 

~~

“You mean that girl off-continent? The one from a century ago?” 

Cassian hummed. “Yeah, her. What I wouldn’t give for a visit from her.” 

“You’re a pig,” Mor replied, a scoff sharp on her lips.

“She didn’t think so.” 

You were eavesdropping. You didn’t like to, but somehow, in the time you’d spent in the inner circle, you’d picked up the habit. Oops.

Technically, you weren’t really eavesdropping. You had been in the room first. It wasn’t your fault Cassian and Mor decided to speak very loudly with only a few shelves separating you. If they wanted privacy they should have checked the area. 

“Is it that hard for you to get laid? You have to search off-continent?” 

Cassian’s responding laugh was almost defensive. “I’m sure you’d love to know about my sex life.” 

“I really wouldn’t, actually. You brought it up.” Mor paused. You heard her shift on the lounge chair. “I am, however, interested in Azriel’s.” 

“Aren’t we all,” Cassian droned. “Pretty obvious that he doesn't have one at the moment. Hasn’t had one in a while.” 

You felt your neck jolt at the reveal of that information. Azriel always kept his partners discrete, but you’d always known he’d had them. Many of them. You had no idea who they were or where he met them, but you would hear the girls occasionally... smell their perfume on a few rare nights. 

“You think? This whole time?” Mor asked, curiosity raising her voice an octave. 

“Mor, I think the sight of other females makes him want to vomit.” 

The book in your lap was all but obsolete. 

“Don’t be so dramatic.” 

Cassian tsked. “I’m not. He’s told me.” 

“I suppose that’s what having a mate does to a person.” 

Your fingers became abnormally cold, the center of your chest caving slightly.

Azriel had a mate? No, he would have told you.

He would have told you. 

Mor’s sweet voice slammed against your ears, harsh despite its nature. “Do you think he’ll tell her soon?” 

Cassian’s reply had you standing on shaking knees. “Hope so. He’s so in love with her it's suffocating. You should see when—” 

You were out of the room in a wisp, sliding out the small back door. The book you’d been reading was still clutched in your frozen grip and you held it against your chest as breathing became impossible. With a hand pressed to the wall and your head hung low, you sucked in air, greedy for some type of reprieve. 

You were happy for him. You were so, so happy for him. 

Right? 

The book fell from your grip, clattering to the floor. The pages collapsed in on themselves as it fell face down, and you listened to the paper crumple as your throat closed. Both hands now pressed to the cold wall. Why were you freezing? 

This made sense. It made sense. 

Of course Azriel had a mate and of course it was… Elain? 

No, it couldn’t be Elain. Elain was Lucien’s mate. 

Now you were confused as well as consumed. Your body was left aching from training and your mind was in a frenzy and you couldn’t even understand why you were reacting the way you were. 

It was completely plausible that Azriel had a mate and didn’t tell anyone about it. He was a private male who kept his lovers to himself, so of course he would keep his mate to himself as well. But he did tell someone about it. He told Cassian. And Mor knew. 

Your fingernails dug into stone.

Azriel didn’t love you. 

The thought came on so suddenly that you almost looked over your shoulder. It was as if the words had been whispered in your ear by some cruel, vicious wind. 

You had never cared if Azriel loved you before, because you knew that he did love you. Like a sister. You were Azriel’s family and he was yours. 

But as the thought of Azriel having a mate invaded your mind once more, your shaky legs propelled you forward, running from the creased book and the hallway that contained all of the worst things. 

You ran until you couldn't, until your toes hit the edge of the balcony on the far side of the house and the cool air of winter hit your cheeks. You had been so cold inside, but somehow the breeze felt even colder across your skin. 

“Y/n?” 

You gasped, whipping around and gripping the railing as it pressed into your spine. You couldn’t formulate words as Azriel stood before you. His hands raised up to his waist, reaching for you as he took in the way your chest heaved.

“What’s happened? What’s wrong?” he rushed. 

You only shook your head, squeezing your eyes shut. Embarrassment and confusion and a twisted sort of fear coursed through you. You couldn't look at him, afraid you would somehow see the bond connected to his chest—somehow notice things about him you hadn’t before. Maybe another shade of hazel in his eyes or a softness to his lips that you had never looked for. 

As you considered it now, it was obvious that you’d never let yourself look. 

Azriel was never supposed to be yours. 

“Talk to me, angel.” Azriel’s sweet whisper brushed against your skin. He was so close to you. You could feel him, but you refused to look. 

To see how everything had changed. 

“Let me fix it.” 

You heard the rush of wind from his wings as he expanded them outwards, followed closely behind by the whirling of his shadows, and it all clicked then. 

The images came quickly, dissipating just as fast. But they did their job, sending heavy, hot tears past the tight scrunch of your eyelids. 

Azriel with Elain. Azriel with Mor. Azriel with random, faceless women.

Him, in every iteration, with everyone that wasn’t you. 

That’s what had kept you up—the dreams plaguing your every resting moment. And you realized then that nothing had really changed at all. That you’d been in love with Azriel for longer than you’d been in love with anything. 

Your jaw trembled, your body rejecting the anguish that swept through you. Wind softly flowed from the west, swaying your skirts with a gentleness that made your breath shudder. That kind of gentleness was impossible. The world felt so cruel. 

“Y/n, tell me what happened. Should I get someone else?” Azriel pleaded. “Should I get Rhys?” 

Rhys could knock you out, and that would surely be a relief. You felt paralyzed by this overwhelming array of devastation. But Rhys would also have access to your thoughts. 

You shook your head. “No,” you said, but the word was lost in the wind. Azriel seemed to hear it anyway. “No, I want—I need to—go to sleep.” 

“You need to go to sleep?” He touched you now, something he seemed to have been avoiding. His hands came to rest behind your neck, thumbs at your jaw, and you pried your eyes open at the contact. You’d never seen the shadowsinger look so ruined, his hair askew, his eyes wild and panicked. “That doesn’t make any sense.” 

His expression was beseeching you for something you couldn’t give him. You hiccuped your next words out. 

“I’m—’m tired.” 

You wished you’d stayed oblivious. That you had never become privy to the depth of your feelings. 

This pain was immeasurable.

[yanderenightmare]

TW: NSFW, yandere, f!reader, bondage, abuse, punishment, intense spanking/whipping-ish

gn reader

“Please- plea- m’so- sorry-” You sob, voice cracking on its own blubbering. Chest full of panic – heaving for a fix but achieving little less than spurring even more hysteria.

“Haah…” He sighs. Casually fixing your bonds tighter around your wrists, hoisting them a little higher above your head until you were properly stretched up on your tippy-toes.

Shivering in just your undies in anxious wait of his anger.

Stroking your back while holding your belly in a steady hand, he thinks he’s never felt fear quite like it, but unfortunately, “Y’broke the rules, Sunshine… and now yer’ gettin’ punished.”

He unbuckles his belt. Your eardrums burn at the crisp sound, so much spiked blood rushing about, making you go dizzy. 

You think you might pass out.

“What did I say the rules were, hm? ‘You remember ‘em?” He mumbles in a steady tone, speaking awfully softly with his lips pressed against your temple. Waiting for your answer.

You give a sob and a pitiful nod, and he hums in return, rubbing calm circles into your shivering, goose-fleshed skin.

“Recite them for me.” He requests, nose rubbing your hairline as you shiver from his touch.

Voice unsteady, filtered through tears and a hopeless sense of terror – chin tipped up, needing to gasp for breaths. “N-no fighting, no- no arguing, no run- running-”

“Mh…” He hums, taking in the scent of your shampoo with a sniff of your crown, placing a kiss there as though in kudos – or as a small mercy before getting started. “And you managed to do all three in one night. ‘You feel proud, hm? ‘You feel accomplished? Hm? Was it worth it?”

You whimper under the interrogation, feeling smaller and smaller by the second – so exposed where you are, practically hanging from the ceiling like dead meat. Stripped of everything that might’ve protected you – or that would have at least cushioned the coming onslaught of pain you knew to dread.

“Nah… it’s written all over your body. Goosebumps and cold sweat, shaking from tits to toes. You regret it, don’t you?” He murmured, winding his belt around his fist once, then twice, leaving a looped tail. “Mh, maybe you’ll think twice about it next time... or maybe you’ll finally learn your place.”

He finished with a soft bite to the chub of your cheek, then grabbed your chin just as gently, holding your face up to look at him as he sidestepped to your front. Leaning his forehead against yours, he stroked your jaw with his thumb – lips hovering just short of yours.

“I'm gonna hurt you, Sweetie.” He purred, stroking your asscheek with the cool leather in his grip – in such gross contrast to what you knew he planned on using it for. “I promised I would, and now I will…”

He kissed your lips then – slowly, sweetly – suffocatingly so as you cried – tasting your tears and doing a terrible job at withholding his grin as you felt it pull giddily at the corner of his mouth.

He licked his lips once he pulled away, walking a circle around you like a shark.

“How many hits do you deserve?” He mused. “I guess one for each rule you broke is fair, but it seems a little scant…”

He stopped behind you, placing a chaste kiss on your arm before nuzzling around it.

“Should we say thirty?” He offered, and your eyes immediately widened.

Shaking your head furiously, prayers already coming out in splutters. “No- please-”

“No? Too many?” He pouted, not bothering to mask his glee now. “Okay, okay, calm down, baby. Breathe.” He soothed with no effort. “I think…”

There was a pause – a hum of thought as he wrapped his arms around your front and swayed you back against his chest in a hug.

“Ugh fuck, I'm no good makin’ rules on the fly…” He feigned - sinking his jaw into the grove of your armpit before cuddling the soft flesh with his chin-stubble.

He sucked his teeth in a further display of thought before releasing an exasperated sigh.

“I really didn’t think you’d break ‘em, y’know? I thought you’d be a good pet…”

You trembled, eyes looking down at the belt held between his big hands – whimpering at the sight of him simply playing with it – psyching you out like a true sadist.

“But you just had to disappoint me, didn’t you?”

You bit your lip to stop a sob.

“Had to be difficult… and now I gotta make difficult decisions…”

He slinked off you, leaving you to wobble – toes barely grazing the cold basement floor.

You try your best to prepare yourself for the next events, but the more you brace yourself the more tense you get and the harder you cry. “Please- I’ll be good- promise- m’real- really sorry-” 

“I know, baby. I know~ I am, too.” He coos, kissing your spine while rubbing circles into your sides – feeling your ribs rattle with sniffles, struggling for air through your panic. “I wanna make sure we never have to be sorry again.”

He wraps an arm around the front of your hips, steadying you while stroking the loop of his belt over your plump cheeks – tentatively teasing the soft flesh with what was soon to come.

He licked his lips at the promise – already imagining the flawless flesh blooming with his marks.

“I think thirty is fair.”

“No- no please- please, don’t-” You thrash – but do so little more than in place.

“Don’t squirm.” He interrupts, his hand curling into your hip with blunt nails denting the fine skin, keeping you still, pushing your side snugly against his front – holding you intimately while gruffing out eerie murmurs still much too softly for what he was saying. “Remember, it’s another ten hits if you fight me and another ten if you argue.”

At least he doesn’t make you count....

You wouldn’t have been able to even under threat – too busy wailing.

Each hit like the lash of a whip, smacking you fast, one on top of the other. It’s enough to make you throw up after half of it – though it's mostly just water and acid.

He takes pity enough to allow you a small break. Wringing off his wife-beater and wiping your mouth with it – also brushing some of the sweat off your brow before kissing your forehead. 

“Halfway there, Sweetie- you’re doing so good~”  He whispered soothingly, holding your cheeks to pick your face up from hanging – looking into the hopeless look of your opium-blown eyes – so lost he didn’t know if you could even hear him.

He acts as though he’s sorry after, but the boner he’s got nudged against you doesn’t lie – desperately dry-humping your thigh for some sort of relief.

His breaths are tight and hot, puffed against your arm where he now mouths wet kisses. “Good-” He swallows thickly, brows tight-knit, voice thick with lust. “Good pet.”

You hadn’t noticed he was done. And the relief doesn’t register either. There isn’t much comfort in it to grasp, not with the pain still so numbingly intense that you can’t feel anything but the raw sting. 

He drops the belt to the floor and struggles his fly open, shoving the trousers down along with his boxers, stepping out of the heap in a rush – all the while sucking sloppy kisses on your shoulder and nape, mumbling praise. “Y’were so good- so good fo’me- gonna reward yah- my good fuckin’ baby- gonna make yah feel so fuckin’ good now-”

The flesh of your ass burns with welts and split skin, ugly marks already lining the once-pretty color with horrid shades of bruise-dark. Your throat’s ripped raw from all the wailing – only weeping harder when he takes your hips and sways you back to meet his fat erection.

He shamelessly rubs himself between your cheeks – frenzied with his mouth gaping, releasing a filthy shuddering moan while leering at the beautiful sight of his handiwork – feeling so proud he was blushing just from sheer sadistic enjoyment – even letting slip a breathy laugh now.

He hung his tongue out and let his drool drip onto the shaft, then placed another kiss between your shoulder blades. Gliding his tip down and, with the help of a hand, pushed it between your cheeks until it caught your entrance. 

A rugged groan blew hotly down your spine, and another cry was ripped from your chest as he sunk inside without a single spare second to waste.

He laid his face to rest against your back, nudging up inside you slowly with both arms wrapping around you like before – holding you snugly before he began the intimate pace, fucking only the deepest coziest parts of you.

“I love you, Sunshine- you’re mine- only one I give two shits about- rest can just fuck off for all I care- as long as I have you- right here… forever.”

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Shoto, Kirishima, Dabi, Hawks, Aizawa, Overhaul ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Nanami, Geto, Gojo, Naoya, Toji ♡ HQ – Iwaizumi, Matsukawa, Sakusa, Miya twins, Suna ♡ CSM – Aki ♡ BLLK – Reo, Isagi, Kunigami ♡ DS – Doma, Sanemi

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[sonolynn]

Thou Shalt Not Covet.

summary | Aemond loved her first, and it would be Aemond who loved her last.

pairing | Aemond Targaryen x Niece!Fem!Reader

tags | infidelity (cheating), cussing, alludes to smut, mentions of drinking, whores etc (normal Aegon things), typical Targcest, jealous and possive Aemond

w.c | 1.2 k

note(s) | This is my first Aemond fic! I haven't read the books, and have only seen the show so if Aemond is ooc then I'm sorry!

______________________________________________________________

She was his. By the way of his mind she belonged to him. His brother, first to everything and last to nothing, got everything Aemond wished he had. The iron throne, the crown, her. The marriage between her and Aegon was strictly political; there was no love, no affection between the two. If Aemond was honest with himself he liked that, liked how her affection could be saved and harboarded for him only. 

Aegon had his spoils. He had bastards, he had whores, he had wine. He did not need her, nor did Aegon particularly want to have her. But Aemond did. 

Because of Aegon’s particular disdain for his wife, the times that she was left alone and in the confines of her chambers were more than not. On these nights, Aemond would find himself climbing up the stairs, his hands shaking slightly, and his mind racing as the guards opened the door and let him enter his niece's chambers. 

______________________________________________________________

“Uncle.” Her voice rang out over the fire in her chambers, and Aemond felt his heart rate pick up. She held a book in her lap, no doubt trying to wrap her mind around the philosophies written into the texts. Aemond felt himself shiver lightly, the sound of her voice seemingly always doing things to him. 

He said her name softly, and he smiled to himself as he walked over to sit next to her. She smiled, her hand wrapping around his and her voice soft.

“How do you fare?” That is how all of their nights began. The light conversation of “how do you fare?” eventually led to her bed. 

Aemond’s eyes caressed her skin, his hands worshiping her body as his voice sung praises of her victories over his mind, soul, and body. He would not ravish her like his brother did, no. He would worship and glorify her body before him as if she was a temple, he would exalt her pleasure to the highest of highs before he even thought of his. Aemond treated her like a goddess, and she was reminded of this every time her name fell from his lips and his seed spilled inside of her.

When he would finish he wouldn’t leave her to clean up on her own, or fall asleep. He would kiss her body softly, his hands rubbing soothing circles on her back as she came down from her high. He would hold her until she fell asleep in his arms, and in the morning he would wake, admire her body and her face that still shone in the glow of intimacy, before he would dress and leave. 

______________________________________________________________

She liked the garden. She, truthfully, adored the garden. It was, she thought, the only place where she would be free from listening to the moans of Aegon’s whores and the drunken laughs that would escape his lips. 

She found solace in the way the leaves swayed in the wind, the way the sun shone lightly through the cracks of the trees. But, what she truly waited for was Aemond. Once his duties were done he would come into the garden, and they would walk, and talk with one another for what felt like hours. 

On this particular day, the two walked and talked about nothing in particular-just how both of them liked it. But, a pair of seething eyes followed the two as they walked. Angered and betrayed, Alicent turned and walked away.

______________________________________________________________

When Aemond entered his chambers later that night, he was met with the burning gaze of his mother. His face remained stoic, and he slowly started to take off his belt that held his sword. 

“Mother. I did not expect you.” He spoke, his face illuminated by the fire as he sat in a chair, getting comfortable. His mother stood, standing in front of him as she glared down into her son's stoic expression. 

“You do not hide it well.” 

“I do not know what you speak of, mother.” 

Alicent gave Aemond a look, seeing straight through his stoic expression and hardened gaze. 

“You know what I speak of. You covet what is rightfully your brothers-” 

“Rightfully?” At these words, Aemond stood, glaring down at his mother with a complexed expression. “She is not rightfully Aegon’s. She is not rightfully the crowns-”

“She is his by law,” Alicent got right into her son's face, her hand pushing against his chest as she spoke. “By the law of the seven kingdoms she is his! You cannot parade around the castle, promenading as if you are an enthralled teenage boy courting a noble girl! She is married-” 

“You do not think I know what she is, mother? You do not think I see the ring she wears, or the name she bears now as a continuous tie to my brother?” The pain etched into the cracks of Aemond’s voice were subtle but not unnoticed. The way he spoke of his brother's wife with so much undignified and raw emotion made it clear to Alicent what he truly felt. Despite herself she sympathized with her son, trying to take his hands in hers as she spoke. 

“I understand, Aemond, how you feel. But you cannot go about so shamelessly coveting your brother's wife-the queen!” 

Aemond roughy pulled away from his mother, a sharp look hidden behind his amethyst  eyes as he spoke. 

"Do not speak to me as if my sorrows where your own!" Aemond seethed, pulling back a few paces as he glared at his mother, “Aegon is no husband! He may be my brother-my closest kin but he does not know how to properly care for her as I do. I know her mother, I know her wants, her desires, I know her more than Aegon has ever even tried to comprehend so damn all the gods and fuck Aegon because I would soon rather feed myself to Daemon’s dragon then let a man like Aegon sew his seed into her and ruin the beautiful women that the gods have given to me!”

The words coming out of her son’s mouth shocked Alicent. She never knew him to be so passionate about something-someone-so fiery as, gods be good, his brother’s wife. 

“Aemond she was never yours-” 

“She was,” his voice dropped and he stepped closer to his mother, breathing down as he glared, “The gods gave her to me, they made her for me! Her body was made to fit with mine, her soul was mine to know! Mother, it was all for me! But you? You are the one who gave her away to my brother. You are the one who took her from me.” 

Wishing for no more of this, Aemond turned, feeling himself breaking a little as he went. He knew he would never be hers, that she would never truly be his. 

______________________________________________________________

“You are troubled tonight.” 

She knew him better than he knew himself. Aemond’s head rested on her lap, her hand gently stroking through his platinum white hair. He breathed out slowly, his thumb idly stroking her knee. 

“I am thinking, sweet girl.” 

“I know that you are thinking, I just wish to know what it is you are thinking about.” 

At this he went silent. He knew no matter what lie he told her that she would always know the truth between the lies. So, instead, he sat up slowly and he gripped her cheek, kissing her softly. As if the words would be lost, and the meaning behind them burned. He made love to her like she was truly his, like she was his wife. As if..she wasn't even able to be coveted.

______________________________________________________________

[mirouie]

thinking about cuddling with riki.

it's been a long day. the kind of day that's just a little more draining than most—it leaves your shoulders a little more slumped, feet slowly trudging along, fatigue a little more evident in the circles under your eyes. you're tired.

riki doesn't hear you when you come in. he's curled up in bed, controller snug in his two hands, looking like he's ready to jump into the tv and beat the bad guys in his game himself. he's passionate.

it's only when you mutter a small, "hi," that tapers off at the end the wrong way does he turn to look at you. he feels his heart ache at the sight of your shriveled up figure standing by the doorway—dejected, hesitant to approach him even though you want nothing more than to dive under the covers and wrap yourself around him. you're afraid to disturb; he thinks it's silly.

"hey, bub," he calls out, out of the sheets in one big wriggle and closing in on you in three big steps. you've barely opened your arms out for him when he wraps you up in his, firm but not unkind, squeezing you tight. it leaves you breathless for a second, but you wind your arms around his waist and squeeze back.

"are you okay?" riki whispers, lips brushing against your temple. you close your eyes and relish the feeling. "i'm okay. i missed you."

he heaves a great sigh. one, two, three kisses trail down to your cheek and jaw, light, fluttering things that have a few butterflies come to life in your tummy. he never fails to make you feel that way. you smile a little at the fact.

"i missed you more, angel. so much more, you won't believe it," he kisses you again before tangling your hand in his, tugging you towards the bed. he flops down and you follow suit. it's routine by now the way you instantly melt into him, perfectly fitting in all his cracks and crevices like you're made to be there. he thinks you are; perfectly made for him.

you're engulfed in a whole lot of him. in the sheets and his pillows that smell like him, in his clothes, and in his presence. you feel yourself deflate the longer he holds you close to him, a reprieve for the burdens that weighed down on you the whole day. there's just something about him that makes you feel in such a way. a comfort only he holds, and that saved especially just for you.

[br0kenangel]

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ 𓇼 ࣪ 𝐌𝐲 𝐝♡ve 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ⭒⠀

Pairing: Unhinged Aegon x Therapist Reader part 3

Summary: after that night, no matter what you do, no matter what you say, no one believes you. You're done. You want to quit being his therapist but you still haven't seen the worst part...

Warning: paranoia, abuse, mental illness.

˚꒰♡꒱‧ Hi there! Before you read this, you should know that English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

PART 1, PART 2, PART 4

It had been days since that night—days since the dead doves, the blood on the walls, the police visit to the Targaryen home. Days since Y/N last felt normal.

Now, the walls of her apartment seemed to close in on her. The curtains remained drawn, blocking out the light of day. The once-cozy space was now a prison, suffocating her with silence, except for the incessant scratching at the back of her mind. The feeling of being watched, of not being alone. Every creak, every whisper of wind against the windows made her jump.

She couldn’t eat. She couldn’t sleep. Her body felt weak, and her mind was clouded in a haze of paranoia. Her hair was greasy, her skin pale and blotchy. Dark circles framed her eyes—eyes that were wide with fear, darting around the room, always expecting him. Expecting Aegon to appear from the shadows. She had stopped showering, afraid that if she closed her eyes for even a second, he’d be there when she opened them. Her reflection in the mirror was foreign, ghostly, a stranger trapped in a body consumed by terror.

And her boyfriend…he was tired. More than tired. He was done.

"Y/N, for fuck's sake, you have to stop this," he snapped, his voice breaking the silence like glass shattering on the floor. He stood in the kitchen, staring at her with a mix of frustration and pity, while she sat at the edge of the couch, her legs pulled to her chest, her arms wrapped tightly around them.

"You don’t believe me. You never believe me,” she muttered, her voice hoarse from days of crying, of pleading. "I saw him. It was him. I know it was him." Her eyes were wild, flicking toward the corners of the room as though Aegon might materialize from the shadows at any moment.

Jacob sighed, rubbing his temples. "Y/N, we've been over this a thousand times. The cops checked him out. There was nothing—nothing—to suggest he did anything. No evidence, no signs, nothing. He’s just some guy going through a rough time, and you're his therapist. You’ve taken this too far."

She flinched at his words, the sting of them sinking into her chest. "No…you don’t get it. You don’t see him like I do. He’s dangerous. I’m not safe. He knows where I live. He wants me." Her voice trembled as she spoke, each word a desperate plea for him to understand.

But he didn’t. He was tired of this, of her, of everything.

"You're obsessed, Y/N. Obsessed with this guy. You spend all your time thinking about him, talking about him, dreaming up this whole fucking scenario in your head like you're the main character of some horror movie. But this isn't a movie—this is real life, and you're making shit up!" His voice grew louder, angrier with every word, his patience long gone.

Y/N shook her head, her body trembling. "I'm not making it up. You have to believe me—please. I’m not crazy. I’m not—"

"Yes, you are!" He cut her off, his face twisted with frustration. "You’re fucking crazy, Y/N! Years of being a therapist have finally caught up with you. You’ve absorbed all the bullshit from your patients, and now you’re projecting it onto this guy. Aegon didn’t do anything to you—he’s just some poor bastard who had the misfortune of being assigned to you."

Her stomach lurched at his words. The pain of his accusation was worse than anything she’d felt before. It was like a knife twisting inside her, carving out the last remnants of hope she’d clung to. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think.

"I'm not crazy," she whispered, her voice broken, fragile. She didn’t even recognize herself anymore.

Jacob slammed his hand on the counter, his eyes blazing with frustration. "Then why are you acting like it? Why can’t you just let this go? You're ruining your life—our life—because you’re so fixated on this guy. You won’t eat, you won’t sleep, you’re a fucking mess, Y/N! I can't keep doing this! Every time I try to help you, you just spiral deeper into this delusion!"

Tears streamed down her face, but she barely felt them. "I’m not delusional," she repeated, but her voice cracked, betraying her.

"Yes, you are!" He shouted, stepping closer, his face red with anger. "You’re making this shit up because you’re obsessed with him. Admit it! You’re obsessed with Aegon. You’ve let him get into your head, and now you’re the one who’s losing it."

"No!" she cried, her voice raw. "I’m not obsessed with him! I don’t care about him like that! I’m scared—he’s going to hurt me! I know he is!"

He scoffed, rolling his eyes in exasperation. "Oh, give me a break. You’ve been so wrapped up in this guy, you probably want him to do something, just so you can play the victim. Just so you can have some sick thrill of being the center of his attention. It’s pathetic, Y/N."

His words felt like a slap in the face, each one tearing at her like claws. She stared at him, wide-eyed, unable to believe that this was happening—that he was saying these things to her. The one person who was supposed to protect her, to believe her, had turned against her.

"I can’t do this anymore," he said, his voice quieter now but still laced with anger. "I can’t keep pretending that you're okay, because you're not. You need help. Professional help. Maybe you should check yourself into a fucking psych ward, because right now, you’re acting like a fucking lunatic."

Her breath hitched in her throat. The room seemed to spin around her, her vision blurring with tears. "How can you say that?" she whispered, her voice shaking. "How can you say that to me?"

He ran a hand through his hair, clearly done with the conversation. "Because it's the truth. And deep down, you know it. You're spiraling, Y/N. And I’m not going to stand here and let you drag me down with you."

Silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. She felt as though the world had collapsed around her, the last piece of her sanity slipping away.

"Fine," she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. "If you think I’m crazy…then just go. Leave me."

He stared at her for a long moment, the anger still simmering in his eyes. Then, without another word, he turned and stormed out of the apartment, the door slamming shut behind him, leaving Y/N alone in the dark.

And for the first time in days, the silence felt more dangerous than ever.

Y/N stood in front of the mirror, her eyes red and swollen from sleepless nights. She hadn’t heard from her boyfriend in days, and each missed call had sent her deeper into a pit of despair. But today was different. Today was the day she would finally face Aegon.

Her hands shook as she brushed her hair, her fingers trembling with every stroke. Her reflection looked haggard—dark circles under her eyes, skin pale and sickly. She barely recognized herself, but she needed to pull it together. She had to pull it together.

"He’s just a man," she whispered to herself, her voice shaky but determined. "Just a man… I’m in control. I have to be in control. I can’t let him win."

Her eyes flickered toward the closet. She needed to choose something to wear, something that made her feel strong, confident. Something that would hide how utterly broken she felt inside.

She reached for a black turtleneck, one of the few pieces of clothing that didn’t feel too vulnerable, too exposed. The fabric clung to her body in a way that was both comforting and suffocating, but she convinced herself it was armor. Something to shield her from the weight of Aegon’s gaze. She paired it with dark jeans and boots, feeling the weight of each step as she slipped them on.

"It’s just another session," she muttered, pulling her hair back into a tight ponytail. "I’m going to confront him. I’m going to tell him it’s over. He can’t do this to me anymore."

She stared at herself in the mirror, trying to find some semblance of the person she used to be. Her hands gripped the edges of the sink, her knuckles white from the pressure.

"You're not crazy," she told herself, her voice stronger this time. "He’s messing with you, but you can stop this. You can end this. Just get through today, and then you’re done. You’ll quit. You’ll never have to see him again."

Her heart raced at the thought of being in the same room with him again, but she forced herself to breathe.

"In and out," she whispered, taking a deep breath. "Just…in and out. You can do this. You have to do this."

She tried to picture how it would go. She’d walk into the room, sit across from him like she always did, but this time, she wouldn’t let him get to her. She wouldn’t let his twisted words sink into her skin like poison.

"I’m the therapist," she reminded herself, pacing back and forth now, her boots tapping against the hardwood floor. "I’m the one in control. He’s just a patient. He’s just…" She trailed off, the image of Aegon’s wide eyes and the way he had silently told her to shut up flashing in her mind.

She shook her head, trying to push the memory away. "No, no… Don’t think about that. You’re stronger than this. You’re not scared of him. You can quit. You can walk away."

But her hands wouldn’t stop trembling. She stared at them, willing them to be steady. "Breathe," she muttered, forcing another deep breath into her lungs. "Just breathe."

She grabbed her bag and slung it over her shoulder, the weight grounding her for a moment. "You’ve got this," she whispered one last time, trying to convince herself.

But as she headed for the door, the creeping sense of dread wrapped around her, cold and suffocating.

Y/N sat at her desk, staring at the door, the silence of the room pressing in on her. Every second that passed felt like an eternity, and the knot of anger in her chest only grew tighter. She gripped the edge of her desk, her fingers turning white. She was done with Aegon. Done with his games, his manipulations, his stalking. Today, she was ready to confront him—she was ready to make him understand that she wasn’t going to be his victim anymore.

The memory of the dead doves, the blood, still haunted her. Every night, she barely slept, feeling like his eyes were on her, even when she knew she was alone. And yet, despite all of it, he had gotten away with it. He had made her look crazy, gaslighted her in front of the police and her boyfriend, made her question her own reality. But not anymore. Today, she was taking control. Today, she would end it.

Her jaw clenched as she imagined him walking through the door, with that smug, twisted grin. Her mind raced with the confrontation she had been playing over and over in her head. She would scream at him, shout at him until he admitted what he had done. Until he finally stopped pretending to be some innocent victim.

The minutes dragged on, her heart pounding in her chest as she stared at the clock. And then, finally, the door creaked open.

Aegon stepped in, but something was different. He wasn’t the man she was used to seeing—there was no smirk, no defiance. He looked… broken. Shattered.

Her eyes widened in shock. His face was a mess of bruises, swollen and discolored, with dark bags hanging under his bloodshot eyes. His clothes were disheveled, stained with dirt and blood. He walked with a limp, his steps small and hesitant, like every movement hurt him. His hands were clasped tightly together in front of him, shaking as they fidgeted against each other. He kept his head down, glancing around the room like a trapped animal, flinching at every noise, every movement.

Y/N blinked, completely taken aback. This wasn’t the Aegon she knew—the arrogant, unhinged man who had stalked her, terrorized her. No, this was something else, something… disturbing. He looked like someone who had been run over, like life had chewed him up and spat him out, and now he stood there, fearful and fragile.

For a split second, she felt something almost like pity creep into her chest. But then she remembered who he was. What he had done. And the anger surged back to the forefront.

"What the hell happened to you?" she asked, her voice dripping with disdain.

He didn’t answer. He just stood there, eyes darting around, avoiding her gaze. His lips trembled, but no words came out.

She slammed her hands on the desk, the sound echoing through the room. "Aegon!" she snapped. "What the fuck is wrong with you? What kind of game are you playing now?"

At the sound of her raised voice, Aegon jumped, visibly flinching. His body curled inward like he was trying to make himself smaller, his shoulders hunching as his knees gave way. He dropped to the floor, hugging his knees to his chest, rocking back and forth like a scared child.

Y/N’s anger faltered for a moment, replaced by confusion and a creeping sense of dread. "Aegon, what the hell is going on?" she asked again, but this time her voice was quieter, uncertain.

He didn’t respond. Instead, he started muttering under his breath, his voice shaky and broken. "What’s the matter?" he whispered, his words barely audible. "What’s the matter, Aegon?"

Her heart sank as she realized he wasn’t talking to her. He was talking to… himself? His voice trembled as he repeated the words, like a broken record. "What’s the matter, Aegon? No. I’m not gonna hurt you. Come here. Come on. What’s the matter?"

Y/N felt her stomach twist as the phrases spilled out of his mouth over and over again, each repetition more unsettling than the last. It wasn’t Aegon’s voice. It was someone else’s, echoing through his broken mind.

She watched in horror as he hugged his knees tighter, his entire body trembling. "I’m not gonna hurt you, Aegon. See? That wasn’t bad," he whispered, tears streaming down his bruised face. "That wasn’t bad. That wasn’t bad."

It hit her like a punch to the gut. This wasn’t some act, some manipulation. Aegon had been abused—horribly, painfully, to the point where his mind had fractured. And now, as he sat on the floor, shaking and crying, he was reliving it. Over and over again.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. She had never seen him like this. She had never imagined this side of him—the scared, broken side. The side that had been hurt so deeply that he could only repeat the words of his abuser like a mantra.

Her heart pounded in her chest, her hands shaking as she stood there, unsure of what to do. Part of her still hated him—still wanted to scream at him, to blame him for everything. But another part of her… felt something else. Something terrifying and sad.

She knelt down beside him, her voice soft and hesitant. "Aegon…"

He didn’t respond, just kept rocking back and forth, his tears falling faster now.

"I’m not gonna hurt you," he whispered again, his voice trembling. "See? That wasn’t bad."

She swallowed hard, her mind racing. "Aegon," she said softly, "I’m not going to hurt you either. It’s okay."

He didn’t seem to hear her. He was too far gone, lost in whatever memory had taken over his mind. His eyes stared blankly at the floor, wide and terrified, as if he were seeing something she couldn’t.

She reached out slowly, carefully, placing a hand on his shoulder. He flinched at the touch, his whole body recoiling, but she didn’t pull away.

"Aegon," she whispered again, trying to keep her voice steady. "It’s okay. You’re safe here."

But he wasn’t safe. Not really. Not with whatever had broken him, not with the darkness that clung to him like a shadow.

He rocked back and forth, mumbling, "Come here. Come on, what’s the matter, Aegon? No, no, no, I’m not gonna hurt you."

Y/N felt a chill run down her spine, her heart pounding in her chest. Whoever had done this to him—whoever had hurt him—had left a mark that ran deeper than anything she could understand.

For the first time, she realized she wasn’t dealing with just a stalker or a psychopath. Aegon was something much darker, much more broken than she had ever imagined.

She swallowed hard, trying to push the fear out of her voice. "Aegon," she said quietly, "It’s okay. You don’t have to be afraid."

But as his sobs grew louder, as he curled tighter into himself, Y/N knew that nothing she said could reach him.

The real Aegon—the one who had tormented her, who had done horrible things—was still there, somewhere. But so was this… this terrified boy, trapped in his own mind.

And she didn’t know which one scared her more.

Y/N swallowed down the terror rising in her throat, her hand trembling as she reached out to softly pet Aegon’s head. At first, he flinched, his body jerking away from her touch. But then, as if something clicked in his broken mind, he looked up at her—really looked—and his tear-streaked eyes seemed to recognize her for the first time. His lips trembled as he whispered her name, broken, like a child.

“Y/N…”

Before she could react, he clung to her, his body collapsing into her lap, his head pressed against her chest. He sobbed quietly, his whole body shaking, his hands clutching her as if she were the only thing keeping him grounded. She froze for a moment, completely caught off guard, but then instinct took over, and she wrapped her arms around him, holding him tightly. His tears soaked through her clothes, and she could feel the tremors in his frail, battered form.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, stroking his hair, trying to calm him. “It’s okay, Aegon. You’re safe now.”

His sobs eventually began to quiet, his breathing slowing as she rocked him gently, her voice soft in his ear. “Shh… it’s okay. I’ve got you.”

For a long time, they stayed like that—her holding him, him clinging to her like a lifeline. The moments stretched into eternity, and Y/N could feel his grip slowly loosen as the storm inside him settled. He pulled away slightly, his eyes red and swollen from crying, but he refused to meet her gaze, his head turning away as he tried to wipe at the tears that continued to fall.

“Aegon…” she began softly, “What happened to you? Who did this?”

He didn’t answer. He just stared at the floor, his jaw tight, struggling to control the tears still running down his face.

“Aegon, please…” she pressed, her voice gentle but firm. “You have to tell me.”

For a moment, it seemed like he might respond, but then he muttered something, barely audible. “I… I hate it. When she… when my mother does horrible things to me.”

Y/N felt her breath catch. His mother? She had always known that Aegon’s relationship with his family was fraught, but this? There was something darker here, something that had broken him in ways she couldn’t fathom.

“But it’s okay,” Aegon continued, his voice shaking. “Because I love her. And that’s what matters, right?”

“No Aegon–”

"I didn’t mean to hurt you, Y/N," Aegon said suddenly, his voice softer now, almost childlike. "I was angry that night, but I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just wanted to hurt him. I didn’t like the way he looked at you. The way he touched you."

She swallowed hard, her voice barely a whisper. "Aegon…"

He turned to her then, his bloodshot eyes wide and full of sincerity. "You can hit me, you know. I won’t stop you. You were so angry, I could see it. You can hit me if it makes you feel better."

Y/N’s blood ran cold. "What? No, Aegon, I’m not—"

"You can," he repeated, almost eagerly. "It’s okay. You’re mad at me. You can hit me." He smiled then, a soft, unnerving smile that made her stomach churn. "I won’t even flinch. I promise."

"Aegon, that’s not—"

“You can beat me if it makes you feel better,” he continued, his voice unnervingly soft, as though he were offering her a gift. “It’s okay. I’ll let you do it. I deserve it, right?”

The pit in Y/N’s stomach twisted. His words, his tone—it was as if he was trying to convince himself, not her. Like he was rationalizing the abuse he had endured.

He turned his head just slightly, enough to glance at her from the corner of his eye. “You’re like me,” he whispered.

Her body tensed at his words. “What… what do you mean?”

He wiped at his face with trembling fingers, still not fully meeting her eyes. “Even though your boyfriend hurt you… you still think about him, don’t you?”

Y/N’s blood ran cold. She felt the fear creeping back in—the terror that had been gnawing at her ever since the day the dead doves appeared at her door. The stalker. The horror. It was all coming back.

Aegon finally looked up at her, his eyes glittering with something dark, something sinister. “You love him… don’t you?”

She opened her mouth to say something, but the words wouldn’t come. Her heart was hammering in her chest, the air thick with a suffocating dread.

Aegon’s lips twisted into a smile—that smile. The one she had seen before, the one that sent chills down her spine.

“I hate him,” Aegon said softly, his voice dripping with venom. “I hate the way he treats you. The way he talks to you. Hurts you. He doesn’t deserve you.”

Y/N’s breath hitched. She could feel her pulse quickening, her mind racing, trying to piece together what he was saying—what he was implying.

“Do you know,” Aegon asked, his tone disturbingly calm, “why he hasn’t answered your calls?”

Her stomach dropped.

She hadn’t heard from her boyfriend in days. He had stormed out after their last argument, refusing to answer her desperate calls or texts. She had been terrified, worried sick about him—about what he was thinking, about whether he’d come back. But now, sitting here, listening to Aegon, that fear morphed into something far worse.

He couldn’t have. He wouldn’t have.

Her entire body went cold.

“What… what do you mean?” she stammered, her voice barely a whisper.

Aegon’s smile widened, his eyes gleaming with something inhuman, something evil. He didn’t answer directly—he didn’t have to. The look in his eyes told her everything.

He leaned back, his voice light and playful now, like they were discussing a joke. “Did you open the gift I left for you?”

Her heart nearly stopped.

Gift? What gift? She hadn’t seen anything—hadn’t thought about it. But then, the morning came flooding back to her. The moment she had left the house, her mind too wrapped up in her terror and paranoia to notice anything out of place.

Her blood ran cold as her mind raced with horrible possibilities. The gift. What if it wasn’t just some harmless object? What if it was—

No. No, no, no.

She stood up so fast that she almost tripped, her eyes wide with panic. Aegon was laughing now—a soft, eerie laugh that filled the room, the sound making her skin crawl.

“Oh, Y/N,” he cooed, his voice mocking. “You really should check your door more carefully in the mornings.”

Her mind was spinning, her heart racing. She had to get out. She had to leave. She couldn’t stay here—not with him, not with his laughter ringing in her ears, the sick grin spreading across his bruised face.

She grabbed her keys from the desk, her hands shaking so badly she nearly dropped them. Aegon was still sitting there, watching her with that horrifying smile, his eyes gleaming with delight.

“You’ll thank me later,” he called after her as she bolted for the door.

Her mind was screaming, her heart pounding in her chest as she tore through the office, slamming the door behind her. His laughter echoed in her ears, following her down the hallway, filling her with a terror so deep she could barely breathe.

And as she ran, the only thought in her mind was the horrifying possibility of what she would find when she opened that gift.

@ 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒. 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚, 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒆𝒃𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔.

[twola]

Prone bone with Arthur….especially high honor

Smothered

Arthur Morgan x F!Reader Smut (18+), MDNI

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link

There is something you like about being smothered by him - being covered in the mass of muscle and sinew and bone that comprises your lover. That the arms that wind around you also tear men apart - that the thighs that press against yours hold on to a horse with the law in hot pursuit.

“Y’sure you're alrigh’?” he hoarsely whispers in your ear, tucking a strand of your mussed hair behind it. The long lines, the arcs, the shapes and angles of his body presses against yours.

You nod and murmur in the affirmative, your head laying against the pillow of this hotel bed - the dollar Arthur had paid to get out of camp for the night was certainly going to be put to good use.

He presses his lips against your cheek, the scratch of stubble makes you smile against him as he settles in, hands moving down your sides starting your ribcage, where the swell of your breasts are pressed against the mattress. Down, down the curve of your waist to the flare of your hips. His hand grasps your thigh, your skin indenting against the strength of his fingers. He presses your thigh outward, and you give a soft, quiet moan as you feel your folds parting as he spreads your legs. Another shift of his body, strong, large, hard, against yours and you feel the hot, blunt head of his cock press against the rim of your cunt, slipping in as he shifts his hips forward. Your voices cracks as he begins to push himself into your body, and he rumbles in response, the deep timbres of his voice echoing out from his chest, smothered against your back.

“Oh my girl-” Arthur groans out as he slides forward, his hips finally flushed against your rear, your cunt stuffed full of his hard flesh. You stretch your legs outward just a little more to accommodate him, and he grunts in approval. One of your hands grasps at the pillow like a lifeline, and its not a moment more before he covers it with his own, pulling it away from the pillow and interlacing your fingers.

“Oh honey, are you sure yer alrigh’?” he whispers into your ear, squeezing your hand affectionately.

“Yes-” you raise your head, craning your neck until you press your temple against his jaw, “Please, Arthur-”

He moves - and each thrust of his hips, each notch of his cock back into your cunt, its like the first time he fills you - that pain-pleasure of carving a space for himself in the very core of your body. His elbows land on either side of your shoulders as he curls himself over you completely. Oh, to be underneath him is to be surrounded completely, to be walled off from the world, for anyone or anything to get to you, it would have to go through all of him.

He leans on one elbow and snakes his other hand under your hip, forcing you to arch your lower back slightly, until his fingers find that nub of pleasure just south of where he spears into you. Immediately, you throw your face into the pillow, hoping to smother the embarrassingly loud moan that escapes you.

“Tha’s it-” he grinds his cock into you, as deep as he can go, and mercilessly circles that nub of flesh, even despite your gasping, begging, pleading.

It’s too much, the heady inches of him stilling within the vicegrip of your cunt. Its too much, his fingers pressing and squeezing and teasing your sensitive hood. Its too much, caught beneath all six foot of the gunslinger, caught between him an a mattress of the Rhodes Parlour House. Its too much, your lover giving you everything.

When you come, it's like he’s wrung you dry, your legs shaking, your voice crooning into the pillow, tears collecting under your eyelashes. He groans when you convulse around him, and there is no end of you, no beginning of him. Wetness seeps from the stretched rim of your cunt, leaking out upon the stem of him, dampening the curls at the base of his hard flesh. He cannot last but a moment more, gasping as he pumps his hips one last desperate time, filling you with the dripping warmth of his release. Your lover stutters himself into you, possessive, your body completely hidden by his, his panting breath hot in your ear.

At some point, he pulls himself from you, and you keep softly as you feel the combined moisture of your love drip from your body.

He squeezes your hip affectionately, and you smile into the pillow. The long line of his body lays next to you, and those calloused, worn fingers draw hearts into your skin.

[bookwormjust]

Allergy reaction with the IC

The House of Wind was alive with the warm, familiar sounds of the inner circle—laughter, conversation, the clinking of silverware. You sat next to Azriel, his presence beside you a comforting anchor, though his shadows whispered around the room, as they often did, staying alert for any threats. 

Dinner was a casual affair tonight, with everyone relaxed after a long day. Rhys was at the head of the table, Amren and Mor teasing each other across from you, Cassian boasting about some sparring victory over Feyre, who only rolled her eyes and smirked. Everything felt light, like nothing in the world could go wrong.

You took a bite of the food in front of you, the rich flavor of spices and herbs filling your mouth. But then, as you swallowed, a faint, tingling sensation started in your throat. You blinked, trying to brush it off as nothing at first, but then the tingling turned into something more—a burning.

It hit you like a punch to the chest. Your breath quickened, your throat tightening as panic began to rise in your chest. Bell pepper. You knew that taste. And you were allergic.

Azriel, ever in tune with you, noticed immediately. His hand that had been resting casually on your leg beneath the table stiffened, his shadows stilling as he glanced over at you. “Are you alright?” His voice was soft, but there was an edge of concern to it. 

You tried to respond, but your throat constricted further, making it difficult to breathe, let alone speak. Your chest began to tighten, and you could feel your skin flushing, a telltale sign of the allergic reaction you’d experienced before.

“Y/N?” His voice was sharper now, his shadows curling protectively around you, tightening like a warning. 

You gasped, struggling to catch your breath as your vision began to blur. The room fell silent in an instant—everyone’s attention snapped toward you.

“What’s happening?” Feyre asked, her voice alarmed, and Rhys was already halfway out of his chair, his face a mask of concern.

Azriel was out of his seat in an instant, his wings flaring as he scooped you into his arms. His shadows swirled around the room, the panic in his eyes barely contained as he looked at you. “Allergic reaction,” he growled, his voice low and urgent. “Bell pepper.”

“Shit,” Cassian cursed, pushing his chair back roughly as Mor and Amren both stood, ready to help if needed. 

“We need the healer,” Feyre said quickly, but Rhys was already moving, likely winnowing to get someone.

Azriel didn’t wait. He was already carrying you toward the door, his arms strong and steady, though you could feel the tension in his body. His heart was pounding, and you could feel his fear radiating through the bond. 

He kept whispering your name, over and over, as if saying it enough times would keep you with him. You could feel his panic now, his thoughts racing, though his face remained calm. He couldn’t lose you. Not like this.

By the time he reached one of the sitting rooms where the healer would meet you, your vision was swimming, your throat closing tighter. Azriel held you close, his lips brushing your temple as he whispered, “Stay with me, Y/N. Please, stay with me.”

His voice cracked, just once, and it broke something inside of you. You hated seeing him like this—Azriel, who was always so calm, so composed, now barely holding it together as his shadows lashed wildly around him.

“I’m here,” you rasped, managing to get the words out despite the pain, though they came out weaker than you intended.

“I’ve got you, love,” he murmured, his voice breaking again, though he tried to hide it. “I’ve got you.”

The healer arrived not long after, and in a blur of movement and magic, the tightness in your throat began to ease, your breath slowly coming back. Azriel didn’t let go of you the entire time, his arms wrapped protectively around you as the healer worked. You could feel his fear through the bond, his silent prayers that you would be okay.

When it was finally over, and the healer assured him you would be fine, Azriel’s grip on you didn’t loosen. He held you in his lap, his arms wrapped around you as if he couldn’t bear to let go. 

The others trickled in quietly, relief evident in their faces, but they gave you both space. Feyre sent you a soft, comforting smile, and Rhys squeezed Azriel’s shoulder in silent support before retreating with the others, leaving you and Azriel alone.

You rested your head against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear. His hand gently stroked your back, but his grip remained firm, like he needed to remind himself that you were still there.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice still a little hoarse.

His grip tightened ever so slightly. “Don’t you dare apologize,” he said, his voice low but fierce. “I should’ve noticed sooner. I should’ve protected you.”

You shook your head, lifting your gaze to meet his. His hazel eyes were dark, swirling with emotion, but there was a tenderness there too, a love so deep it made your heart ache. “Az, it’s not your fault.”

He exhaled, his breath shaky as he pressed his forehead against yours. “I was so scared,” he admitted quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t— I can’t lose you.”

“You won’t,” you whispered back, reaching up to cup his face, your thumb brushing against the stubble on his jaw. “I’m right here.”

For a long moment, he just held you, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath steadying as he grounded himself in your presence. His shadows curled around the two of you, their usual restlessness now a gentle, protective cocoon.

“I love you,” he murmured, his voice soft but full of emotion.

“I love you too,” you whispered back, feeling the bond between you hum with warmth and affection.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there as if to reassure himself that you were really okay. “I’m never letting you eat anything without checking it first,” he muttered, the possessiveness in his tone softened by the love behind it.

You couldn’t help but smile, feeling the warmth return to your chest. “Deal,” you whispered, resting your head against his chest again, letting his steady heartbeat lull you into a sense of peace.

Safe in Azriel’s arms, you knew that no matter what happened, he would always be there to protect you, fiercely and without hesitation. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[whimsicallywiddershins]

Something I enjoy about Tamora Pierce's Circle of Magic series is that the children have real, normal flaws, and are never blamed for having them, only gently corrected over time and with experience.

Sandry doesn't have that many, she's very open minded, but has some flaws in her teens. But the other three have flaws and prejudices when they arrive at Winding Circle.

Briar is slightly sexist. He protests at living with girls, and doesn't really believe they are much use in a fight until later. He complains about female stereotypes that don't really apply, such as the girls sticking their noses into his business, talking excessively, or being weepy and emotional.

Daja is xenophobic to anyone who isn't a Trader. She openly calls people a slur, even Sandry in the beginning. It takes some time to accept others not of her people as her family. She still carries that orginal xenophobia a long ways, though.

Tris is very prejudiced, she was raised that way. She is horrified to share a house with a Trader, a noble and a former street rat. Several times in the books she disparaged people she thought as lesser, such as the poor and Traders. In Briar's Book she calls street kids animals, and blames the poor for the pox.

None of these traits are super obvious, and they aren't called out right away. They are also perfectly normal prejudices and problems for children to have, especially those raised by prejudiced adults. The books doesn't encourage you to hate these children for it, nor do the kids change right away. It's a slow process fueled by their teachers and their experiences, as well as each other.

It's really great for children to read the book, recognize some flaws they have, and work through them as the characters do. And it's done mostly subconsciously too. It's a sensitive topic that is very well done.

[ghoulbrain]

Animal Instinct

18+ 3.5k ghoul x f!reader. graphic depictions of violence, wound tending, hurt/comfort, established relationship, feral/protective cooper, cannibalism, blood, dirty talk, vaginal fingering. gif credit. read on AO3. written as part of the Saddle Up, Sweetheart verse, but can be read as a stand-alone.

When you're both ambushed by raiders, Cooper comes to understand the lengths he'll go to keep you safe.

This never would have happened if Cooper was still traveling alone. He would have been more aware of his surroundings, he would have seen the signs of an ambush long before he stepped into it, and he wouldn’t have been so focused on you instead.

It’s lazy to blame you, though. The fault is his. Without preamble or flourish he draws his revolver and starts emptying shots into the spill of sorry sons of bitches that decided they would ruin his evening.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees you move forward, weapon drawn. His lip twitches. Your grip is good, but your stance is horse-shit. If this is going to become a thing–you taggin’ along like this–he’ll have to show you how to properly fire a gun.

He refocuses quickly, stepping forward to keep himself angled between them and you. The ambush isn’t anything special: just a bunch of jumpy junkies with twitchy trigger fingers looking for their next score. He takes a shot to the shoulder, another to the sternum. He doesn’t feel anything but the impact and pressure of irradiated flesh being forced apart around the bullets. There’s no pain, not so long his system is flooded with chemicals.

It’s your cry of pain that sets his nerves ablaze. He fires two more shots–dropping the men who hit him–before he whirls around, a hot rush of fire rolling through him at the sight of you with a man pressed up against your back, one arm fitted around your throat while he crushes your wrist in his other hand, squeezing hard, keeping your gun pointed at the ground as he chokes you out.

That’s when he sees the knife sunk into your thigh, blood soaking a wide crimson circle into your clothing around the knife’s hilt. In this infinitely long and horrible instant that your gaze meets his. The pain and fear in your eyes trigger something in him, and the whole world becomes both brighter and slower all at once.

Cooper aims, fires, but his revolver clicks emptily. He doesn’t reach to reload. Instead, he moves on pure animal instinct, bearing his teeth and charging with a guttural snarl.

Adrenaline mixes with the chemical cocktail in his veins and he moves faster than the man reacts, ripping his hands from you and throwing your assailant to the ground with such incredible force it dazes the man, his eyes glazing over. He roars in the raider’s face, spittle and yellow flecks coating his dirty skin, before he lunges, sinking his teeth into the pulsing jugular below.

He lends no thought to how natural it feels to bite into warm, living flesh.

Rearing up, mouth bloodied and full of viscera, Cooper winds his fist back and strikes the man in the face. His first blow hits his jaw. The next strikes his temple.

Straddling him, he doesn’t stop hitting. One fist after the other. He aims for the jaw, the temple, the high of his cheek. He misses and shatters his nose with a satisfying crunch, blood spewing from his nostrils to coat his knuckles. His jaw breaks with a pop. Broken teeth and bone slice flesh, mixing with gore and falling to the dirt in wet chunks.

The violence feels raw and good, like the first deep inhale of a vial or a hot wet fuck. He swallows the blood and meat lingering in his mouth and lets out a rough breath. Gritting his teeth he hits harder, driven on by the scent of blood and dirt. The gurgle of choked breaths. The slip of split flesh against his fists. It's all gasoline on the flames your peril sparked.

Cooper thinks of him stabbing you. Choking you. He thinks of your watery eyes, bright and terrified. He thinks of everyone he’s ever let down, ever failed to save, and he keeps hitting. Even when the man beneath him seizes. Even when he drowns in his blood.

Even when he dies.

Cooper is beating on a hunk of ruined flesh when he finally stops, drenched in the blowback of it.

Wheezing breaths saw from his lungs as he places one hand on the dirt road, lifting himself off of the mess of battered meat. He stares down at his knuckles where pain throbs with every heartbeat. It's a welcome sensation. Not because he deserves it, but because the raider did, and because he delivered. Destruction with his bare hands. Suffering where it’s meant to be found. He drags his tongue along the soaked leather of his glove and greedily swallows what collects on his tongue.

Heart thundering in his ears, Cooper stands, dipping briefly to pick up his gun. The grip slides around in his bloodied hand before he holsters it, cloudy eyes scanning for movement until his gaze lands on you. Down on the ground, clutching your wound, you look like a doe with a bum leg, your eyes blown wide and afraid. You look… irresistible. Not just as a woman, not just as his woman, but as an easy meal.

He takes a step forward, lips parted. The edges of you are blurry to his addled mind. The only part of you that’s in focus is the bright red of your wound seeping into your clothes. His memories of lapping the salt from your skin cross wires in his brain and all he can imagine is holding you safe and sound as he devours you.

“Cooper?”

The sound of your voice acts like a shock to his system that drags him back from the sweet coppery tang of warm, fresh blood in his mouth. He’s standing above you, closer than he realized he got. The sweetness in his mouth sours into putrid rot and he takes a step backwards, rasping out a cuss under his breath. He turns his head and spits, aggressively wiping at his mouth with his sleeve, smearing away blood and little chunks of flesh, abruptly and horribly aware of himself.

Shame blooms in his gut, unfurling all the way up to a tightness in his chest. He looks down at the mutilated body on the ground. There’s no head left, just wet gore soaking into the hungry dry earth below.

He completely lost control of himself. He spits, wipes, spits, wipes, rubs his mouth raw against his sleeve in an attempt to scrub away the taste and feel of it before he dares look at you again. He contemplates shoving a handful of dirt into his mouth just to chase away the lingering tang. He never wants to see you–to think of you–like that again. Like you’re just another hunk of meat.

Your touch makes him jerk away. He looks at you sharply, furious that you would come so close after what he’s done. What he could have done to you.

“Cooper–”

“M’not right,” he says roughly, taking hold of your wrist. You flinch and he realizes that he’s snatched the same wrist the motherfucker he beat into a paste had been crushing. He softens his grip, throat tight like there’s a hand squeezing it. “Fuck, would y’just–m’not right,” he says again, an edge of desperation in his emphasis.

“I know,” you say, voice tender, as if somehow he’s the one in need of gentleness. “I know. So come back. Don’t shut me out.” There’s more authority in your voice than you have any right to have in your position, shaking like a leaf while you touch his face, hushing him with such tenderness it fractures something in him that he thought long dead and buried under the weight of the last two hundred years.

Wish I could, he thinks, wiping his hand on his thigh. That you would look at him like that even now, as if he’s somehow still a man, eats at the very core of him. Makes him want to shy away, prove you wrong, and disappear into you all at once. He takes in a steadying breath before he clutches both of your arms, moving you to the ground. 

“Easy,” he says, voice barely above a rasp. “Y’bleedin’.”

You’re holding onto his elbows as he lowers you, gritting your teeth against the pain. He focuses on your discomfort, on the risk you face, fragile thing that you are, to keep his mind far away from the abyss he walked the edge of while maiming the body behind him.

His first priority is to stanch the bleeding. His movements become practiced, hands that of a soldier. He uses a strap from his pack to create a makeshift tourniquet, twisting it around a scrap rod. All the while he’s hyper aware of your gaze on him and the shallow huffs of your breath, the way it catches when he pulls the binding tight.

“Hurts,” you say tightly.

“I know,” he says, drawing his knife. He lifts your blood soaked pant leg–don’t pause, don’t think, don’t breathe it in–and slices open the fabric. “S’about t’hurt a whole lot more. Gimme a count, I’ll pull it on three,” he tells you, bracing one hand on your thigh, the other gripping the hilt of the knife.

“Okay, okay,” you say, sucking in a deep breath. “One–”

Cooper yanks the blade free, startling a yelp out of you that carries into a pained groan.

“What happened to three?!” You ask sharply, fingers digging into the dirt.

He hurriedly smothers the wound with the cleanest cloth he has before he works on tightly wrapping the wound. “S’better when y’don’t know it’s comin’.”

“Asshole,” you breathe.

The faint twitch at the corner of his mouth is reluctant, as if there’s an invisible string tugging at it against his will. “Can’t be that bad if y’still mouthin’ off.”

“It’ll take more than a measly stab wound to keep my mouth shut,” you say, familiar playfulness slipping in alongside the strain in your voice.

“Don’t I know it,” he grouses, glancing up at you. There’s nothing reluctant about your smile. It’s the opposite of his, earnest in a way he’s long forgotten how to be. You’re making an attempt at comforting him, he realizes, looking back down to finish his work, removing the tourniquet once he’s satisfied with the dressing.  “It’ll do for now. Y’need stitches.”

“I’ll be fine,” you say dismissively, shifting onto your knees.

He makes a skeptical noise in the back of his throat, sheathing his knife. “Would it kill y’not to be so damn contrary?”

“It might,” you say, catching the lapel of his jacket and pulling at him, bringing his attention back to you. He looks down at your hand, stained now with the crimson wetness spattered all over his coat. His clothes are soaked heavy with misery and blood, but it doesn’t dissuade you any. You touch his jaw with your other hand and lift his eyes to meet yours.

“Hey,” you whisper. You’re close enough that he should feel the ghost of your breath on his lips, but he can’t. Most of the subtleties of life are lost on a man so close to death. The only ghosts he knows now are those of his past. “You okay?”

Holding your gaze, he doesn’t answer you. Sometimes you feel like one of them, like another specter haunting him. The only difference is that you haven’t died yet.

Yet.

“Come back to me,” you murmur. His vision refocuses, finding you closer than you had been a second ago. The warm pressure of your lips grazing his cheek makes him falter, wanting the tenderness of your touch so viscerally it feels dangerous to admit even to himself. “Stay with me.”

Your hand lightly cups the back of his neck, holding him without caging him. You move closer, settling in his lap, grounding him with the weight of your body against his. He moves at that, grasping your hips and squeezing.

“Stay with me,” you say again, the words as fervent as prayer. His own lips parted, he can taste the breath of each word, sweet and warm, the way a distant part of him remembers things like love could be.

Why? He nearly asks. You won’t.

He had thought himself immune to this sickly feeling. This sense of grief for someone who isn’t yet gone, but you rip it out of him. The truth of the matter is that the Ghoul should never have entertained your company. He should have left you where he found you and been on his way without ever casting a backwards glance. The Ghoul would have.

It’s Cooper who didn’t. It’s Cooper’s hands sliding up your sides, squeezing your ribs and pulling you closer, deeper. He kisses you hungrily, craving you the way the Ghoul can’t. The way a man craves.

I ain’t dead yet.

And neither are you.

Two hundred years of surviving for tomorrow has eroded his ability to exist in the here and now, but your touches demand it of him. Your lips against his bring him into the moment as he lives it. As you live it with him.

“I ever look at you like that again,” he says gruffly, swiping his tongue along his bottom lip, catching yours in the process. He moves you back enough to lock eyes with you. “You put a bullet between my eyes.”

Your lips curve in a bittersweet kind of anguish. “Like you’re gonna eat me? Because right now–”

He gives you a sharp little shake. “Y’know what I mean,” he says, startling the smile off your face. From day one he’s liked your wit, the cavalier way you face life, but on this matter he needs you to hear him. “You ever look at me, and I’m not there, you promise you’ll put me down.”

The set of your mouth turns to a flat line, your gaze somber, and you nod. “I promise.”

Some of the tension in his haggard lungs eases and he kisses you again, need shooting up his spine like a hot geyser. “That’s my girl,” he breathes, leaning back and bringing you with him, saddling you properly astride his lap, his long legs stretched out behind you.

You kiss him back just as hungrily, heedless of the blood and gristle between your melding bodies, and he’s forced to remind himself that this is the only world you’ve ever known. There’s no time before this, not for you. Your life has always been full of horrors, and for reasons he’ll never fully comprehend, you’ve decided he’s one that you want close.

He slips his hands under your thighs and squeezes, hiking your legs around his waist until you’re seated closely enough to feel the growing ache between his legs. You don’t miss a beat, grinding down against him so fervently his breath breaks into a low groan. Not even he can deny his humanity in this. You turn his blood hot and shock the deadened thump of his heart into thunder. You make him feel alive.

He’ll return the favor. He’ll turn his spit to wine on your tongue and make your whole body fucking sing.

Breaking from your lips, he uses his teeth to tug his glove free, letting it fall to the ground. His mouth feels sandpaper dry, but your lips are plenty wet. 

“Open up for me, sweetheart,” he rumbles, parting your lips with the tips of his middle and index fingers. Your eager tongue slips molten wet between his fingers, your eyes hazy on his. He pumps his fingers slowly, cups the back of your head to keep you still while plunging all the way to his last knuckles before drawing them back. “That’s it… Get ‘em good and wet.”

It’s agonizing how easily you fall apart under his touch, and even more so how good you look doing it. Somewhat reluctantly, he withdraws his fingers from your mouth and with practiced ease maneuvers his hand down the front of your pants, curving his fingers to follow the contour of your pelvis until his fingertips slide through hot, wet arousal.

“Cooper,” you exhale, the pitch of your voice canary-sweet. If you have any care regarding the death that surrounds you or the blood between his body and yours, you don’t show it, nor pay it any heed. You’re focused entirely on him, lips parted on shallow breaths of pleasure. He strokes your clit in slow, deliberate circles, the rest of the world falling away the longer he watches your euphoria build.

Fuck, you’re goddamn beautiful. Why the hell you let a creature like him have you is beyond him, but he won’t let go. Not now. Not so long as you still look at him like this.

He swallows dryly, finally slipping his fingers into the welcoming heat of your pretty cunt. You’re soaked, his own personal oasis in the Wastes, velvet walls quivering around his toughened fingers. He angles the pad of his thumb against your clit and starts to finger fuck you in earnest, his cock throbbing beneath you. 

“Fuck,” you keen softly. Your hands braced on his shoulders, you meet every thrust of his hand, huffing divine little sounds while he fucks you with his fingers, crooking them until he feels you shudder.

“Yeah,” he breathes, enraptured. “That’s it. Got y’now, don’t I? Ah ah, don’t get shy on me,” he tsks when your eyes fall shut. “Eyes on me, darlin’. Eyes on me,” he says, voice frayed. You pry your eyes back open and hold his gaze, your own heavily lidded. “Good, s’good. Y’close now, ain’t’cha, sweetie?”

You nod fervently, moans bubbling up instead of words, your sweet features twisted in the exquisite agony that comes just before climax. You roll your palms against his shoulders, fingers digging into the thick fabric of his coat. He wishes he could feel the bite of your nails on his bare skin, wishes it were his cock sinking into you, but all that wistfulness is erased the second you cry out, your back arching, your cunt squeezing his fingers as you’re pitched forward into the throes of release.

Cooper grits his teeth, baring them like an animal as he fucks you through the tremors, grabbing hold of your jaw to keep you from collapsing, to keep your eyes on him. You slide your hands up and cup either side of his face, yanking him into a messy kiss. He falls into it easily, slowing the thrust of his fingers as the aftershocks of your orgasm settle until his hand is still against you, fingers pressed in deep, savoring the feel of you.

You kiss him leisurely with tongue, teeth and barely sated hunger. Your bliss slows you, and Cooper is content to simply feel. Even the lingering ache of his own need is a welcome sensation in a world he so often walks through feeling numb.

After a time, he slides his fingers from your pants, wiping them absently on his own before wrapping his arms around you. You sink into him in turn, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. The sun has almost disappeared completely, and the chill of night is beginning to nip the air. All of this carnage will attract predators soon, but he finds himself unable to rush the matter. His embrace tightens.

“I love you,” you murmur.

There was a time long before his heart became an open grave that he would have been eager to return the sentiment, but hearing those three little words turns his tongue to lead. They flood him with memories of an era where love came naturally–the way only violence does now–and shooting a man in the head was the most abhorrent act he could fathom for himself.

These days, a headshot is a kindness.

His stomach is tight, a bile-like burn creeping up his throat. He screws his eyes shut, swallowing it back. To his relief, you aren’t tense with anticipation. Instead, you pepper butterfly light kisses along the scarred column of his throat, paying special attention to the nicks and scars along the way to his jaw.

You kiss him. He takes your face in his hands and deepens it, pushing into you until your back arches. 

“I’ll keep you safe,” he whispers against your lips, the words both a promise and a prayer. Not to God–He gave up on God a long time ago–this prayer is for you. It’s what he knows. It’s what he is. No matter the monster that threatens you, you’ll always have one of your own to bite back. You’ll always have him.

Strained, quieter yet, he says, “I swear.”

Or so help me, I’ll swallow the bullet myself.

“I know,” you say, thumbs brushing over his cheeks. There’s a blissful kind of sorrow in your expression, but so too is there understanding. He kisses you, closing his eyes against the dry burn of them. He’s not sure he’s even capable of tears anymore. He’s been worn down to the bone by sandstorms and bloodshed. Nothing goes untouched by the misery of the Wastes. No one goes through it unscathed.

What he does know is that he will do everything in his power to see that you’re never broken by it.

[m-oddinsdottir]

SMALL SPACE, BIG WINGS

the lord of Bloodshed and the étoile .ˊˎ ⚔️

Cassian x Fem! Reader

Words: 2,974

Warnings: smut, fingering, dirty talking, use of pet names, Cassian is a consent king, tension, reader ‘despising’ Cassian, Cassian being secretly smitten over her, unprotected p in v, size kink, multiple orgasms, creampie, slightly nipple play, no use of y/n. let me know if I missed anything!

Summary: After being sent on a small and easy job, you end up locked up with Cassian while trying to hide. You two barely fit inside together and the tension is definitely not making things any easier.

A/N: so this is the first time I write smut, definitely had to made my research in how to translate some things from my first language. friendly reminder that english isn’t my first language so please feel free to correct me if<3

Masterlist

•••

You were going to murder Rhysand. Surely, that was the next thing on your to-do list.

You were no spy, and neither was Cassian. Stealthy was not one of the words by which you would describe the Illyrian warrior, to the contrary he was a brute, certainly not a diplomat or forbearing in said matters.

So when Rhysand sent you both on a small and easy job (as the High Lord had called it), you immediately knew things would fail miserably.

After centuries together, everyone would have thought you adored Cassian as much as you adored everyone else in the Inner Circle. They couldn't be more wrong. You hated being teased, he was always teasing you. You loved your moments of solitude and peace, he would always scream around and ruin them. You were free as the stars, he was always trying to tie you down to the House of Wind with them.

You despised him.

However, you couldn't get rid of his obnoxious presence. Even during those terrible fifty years of Amarantha's reign where you had found your own silent and sacred temple in Velaris, he would always knock on your door at least once a month. He was insatiable.

Now, you both were trapped together under a hatch door. His broad hand over your waist to balance you while you were almost laying completely down over his body. His large wings half-wrapped around your figure, occupying most of the limited space in the tiny area you two had decided to hide in.

The amused smirk on his lips didn't help after you noticed the trapdoor only opened from the outside. If you had the space, you would have punched it out of his face just in the way he had trained you after decades of dwelling on how you couldn't always retort on your magic.

"You and me together, doll." He had said, and in response, you had just huffed before trying to kick the door open... Somehow. There must be a way to get out of there, right? You have attempted to contact Rhysand countless times to be able to keep track of it. Yet, you received no response in return.

And now, after almost twenty minutes ignoring Cassian's smart mouth and trying to find the manner to open the door. Your body was already cramping, and the resignment was taking its toll on you.

The male underneath you noticed the sigh that escaped your lips. He also realized how your body pressed more against his seeking some rest after supporting yourself over your forearms to avoid touching him for that much time. A small grin drew itself over his lips.

"As I said about half an hour again... You can't open it."

A small stubborn frown appeared over your lips. He wasn't saying 'I said so' right now, was he? Gods, you were so going to punch him.

"Have you at least tried to contact Rhysand to get us out of here?" Your question made his grin disappear as he looked into your eyes.

Cassian hadn't tried to do anything during all that time. He had just laid there, noticing the way your chest heavily moved up and down with each of your pants after trying to push the door open with your body, taking in how you closed your eyes in frustration granting him the possibility for his eyes to roam over your body without you realizing it.

Gods, he had tried to memorize each detail in your skin with this new forced proximity which, at least, was welcomed by him. Cassian had retained the way your brows furrowed together and the soft sounds of exasperation coming out of your throat that made him shiver.

"Of course, I've tried. I want to stay in this position as much as you do, doll."

Lie after lie.

He hadn't tried to contact Rhysand, and the gods knew he was praying to stay like that with you for as long as possible.

You looked deep into his eyes, nose scrunched up slightly before scoffing and then trying to shift to reduce the cramping sensation. "Ain't this the best outcome possible?"

Hearing your annoyed grumbling made Cassian grin with amusement again, his hand squeezing your waist before talking. "You know, you could always..."

"If you seriously propose that I lay down, I'll kill you Cassian." You muttered and the male raised his hands as much as he could feigning innocence.

"I didn't say anything," Cassian replied to you. His hand returned to rest on your waist before you shoved it away. "You were the one who suggested that… Is that how badly you want me to invite you to sit on my lap, doll?"

Unconsciously, your breath hitched before a small growl escaped your lips and you flexed your arms to be able to stand as far away from him as possible. "Have some respect, will you?"

"When has there ever been some respect between us?"

A truth, for a change.

Gods may correct if otherwise. But a compliment has never been shared between you and the warrior. Not a genuine one, at least.

"And whose fault is that?"

"Isn't it ours, doll? I don't think I can count how many times you've slammed your door on my face." "I don't think you can count at all." Your retort made the warrior grin from underneath you. And, this time, Cassian didn't have any decency before he looked— No, not looked, ogled at you.

"Trying to make me cry?"

You held back the need to roll your eyes at him before supporting your weight with one arm and forcing him to look into your eyes. The roughness of his stubble scratched the soft pads of your fingers as you held his chin upwards.

"Eyes up here," you warned him. "I didn't realize you had the emotional capacity to cry. Did I at least bruise your ego, Cassian?"

He chuckled before tilting his head down slightly and brushing his sultry lips against your fingers. "Consider it damaged." The strain of his voice sent a shiver down your spine to your core.

Gods, that roughness in his tone. You doubt you have ever heard that hoarseness in him before, even though you have witnessed some of his flirting attempts with other females.

A few seconds too late, you dropped his chin. Your hand moved to rest underneath his arm so that you could support yourself above him. Your mouth felt dry and the familiar sensation of your slick between your folds almost cracked a curse out of you.

Fuck.

Not in this situation, not with Cassian underneath you, not in such a tiny space where he could scent it.

And did he scent it, his nose scrunched up slightly and your eyes followed the movement of his Addam's apple when he swallowed hard. The warmth got worse. And you weren't even sure how or why it started.

Gods.

Gods.

"Gods." Cassian muttered, putting your thoughts right into words. You scoffed before shoving him away from you, placing your hands on his chest, and pushing your back against the small wooden trap door.

"Don't you dare say a fucking word. I'm going to try and contact Rhysand again." At your words, Cassian's chest reverberated against your hands when a deep growl escaped his lips

"Don't." His firm voice made you freeze above him.

"Don't?" You repeated and his growl was enough of a response for you. "The hell y—?

Before you could even register it, his lips were over yours. He was a male starved, lips coaxing yours open as he roughly introduced his tongue inside your mouth. His long and warm tongue licking the roof of your mouth before he intertwined his tongue with yours in a dance that only belonged to the synchrony in which the General usually fought his battles.

A small whimper escaped your lips and it traveled into his mouth when one of his hands lowered to your ass, taking a handful of the flesh covered by the leather. Almost immediately, your body arched into his, molding your body in the small space. Your skin buzzed with arousal when he broke the kiss and began pressing open-mouthed wet kisses against the bare skin of your neck.

You whined his name, almost gasping as his hand slipped underneath your trousers, you had no idea when the male unbuttoned them as your hand moved upwards to get tangled in his dark long locks.

"So fucking beautiful and so fucking wet," Cassian groaned as one of his fingers lowered feeling your covered and aching cunt, his warm and soft fingers pressing against your entrance. He clenched his jaw when he could feel the wetness spread through the thin layer of fabric. "Can you imagine how many times I have pictured you like this? At my damn mercy."

He pressed harder and you moaned against his ear. A pink tone colored your cheeks, however, it was provoked by your shame, not your arousal. You doubted you have ever been more soaked for any male before him... That, somehow, ashamed you.

Cassian traced slow and cruel circles against your entrance almost fingering you through the small lacey fabric Mor usually forced you to buy.

"Cassian—." You even struggled with your own speech. Your voice was suffocated by the delicious sounds that reached Cassian's hearing making the bulge in his trousers painfully hard. You could feel it poke your thigh through his Illyrian leathers and a strained gasp left your lips.

"Fuck, keep making those sounds." Cassian growled against your ear before he lowered your trousers revealing your backside to him as he hovered over your shoulder to take a glimpse.

A moan escaped his lips, this time. With his free hand, he parted your cheeks open squeezing the flesh underneath one of his hands before he kept teasing your entrance. His thumb moved upwards finding that small bundle of nerves right where he knew it would be. You choked your moan by kissing him once again and he gratefully devoured each one of your moans.

With a swift movement, he notched the skimpy and delicate fabric to the side. And then he was sinking two long and thick fingers inside you. Immediately, breaking the kiss, your lips parted open in a silent moan, jaw going slack.

The stretch stung as he buried his fingers deep until your achy cunt swallowed them entirely reaching his knuckles. A small laugh escaped his lips when you began to grind against his fingers, chasing your own pleasure.

His hand on your backside immediately moved up to shield your head when you almost hit it against the trap door. "Easy there, doll." Cassian mumbled softly, the gentle gesture making you clench around his fingers.

Cassian curled his fingers inside you finding the spongy patch of flesh that forced a cry out of your lips: "There you go, my beautiful," He whispered softly as he worked his fingers in and out. "Tell me what you want."

You almost laughed at his words. It was as if he was searching for your consent despite the way you were desperately grinding against his fingers while you moaned inches away from his mouth. The brute was in fact a gentleman, Cassian was indeed a gentle lover.

"I want you, Cassian," You mumbled against his lips connecting them with yours for a few seconds before nibbling on his lower lip. "Just you."

He growled. "Gods, doll... Come for me." His voice sounded almost like a plead as his thumb found your clit again. It only took a couple of lazy circles of his finger before you were making a mess of them, soaking his entire palm as a cry escaped your lips, your body stiffening before you buried your face in his neck breathing in his scent so that you could anchor yourself to something while being sent over the edge.

Cassian shushed you, still working his fingers inside you, trying to ride you out of your pleasure. "Good girl," He muttered, making your sensible walls clench around his fingers again. "Gods, I've jerked off so many times thinking about this before." His blunt admission caused a blush to color your cheeks as you looked down at him with half-lidded eyes. Cassian withdrew his fingers from you making you feel empty. You whimpered before he brought his glistening and sticky fingers to his lips sucking them dry while you observed.

The Illyrian savored the feeling of your juices on his fingers as if they were a damn meal. So much so that his eyes rolled back to his skull.

"So you've jerked off to me, huh?" You asked teasingly and he growled softly.

"Shut up." His lips were right over yours again forcing you to taste the salty but sweet taste of your orgasm on his tongue. You heard him roughly fiddling with the ties and buttons of his trousers and a small giggle escaped your lips before you moved down pressing gentle kisses against his jaw and neck.

Your skin sunk on the tanned skin there, leaving gentle marks that you soon soothed with a flicker of your tongue that only caused goosebumps to blossom around his skin.

Cassian growled against your ear when his large and hard manhood was revealed from its restraints. He gripped himself around the base and you looked down. The view made your breath hitch. Gods, was he big. You even doubted it would fit inside as you watched him pump himself a few times.

"Cassian, I don't think I..." You began but he quickly interrupted you. "I'll make it damn fit."

Cassian slid his length against your messy folds, smearing himself in the wetness of your arousal so that he could stretch you open more easily and less painfully. One hand moved up to cup your breasts while the other remained on your hips. He circled your nipples through the fabric of your shirt between his rough calloused fingers, toying with them.

His pupils had become pools in his eyes almost making the golden shrink into a small halo around the darkness of his lured eyes that stared right into your eyes. "So fucking beautiful. The damn picture of perfection." He repeated.

A gentle smile appeared on your lips and you relaxed against his arms. You were relaxed until you felt it. His thick grith slowly pushing inside you. A moan broke your voice as he slowly stretched you open.

"Doing so good for me, baby." Cassian muttered before moving to press a gentle kiss against your forehead, he pulled out before sinking in a few more inches and your needy cunt clenched around him swallowing his cock.

"More," You begged softly, tilting your head to find his lips. "I need you. All of you." He groaned and suddenly, Cassian sunk himself as deeply as he could inside you. His hips flesh against yours as his hands had lowered you completely into his cock.

"Gods—" You moaned and he held still for you to be able to adjust to his girth. One hand remained on your hips while the other moved to cup your cheek so that he could look into your eyes the entire time.

When you nodded telling him that you were alright, Cassian whimpered and he shifted you both in the tiny space before retreating and then thrusting in even deeper than before, the head of his cock caressing your cervix.

Cassian pumps in and out of you, small groans escaping his lips as he gets lost in the feeling of your sensitive walls tightening around him. He could feel your wetness slicking his cock each time he pulled out before he would thrust again. His golden eyes were locked with yours as he took in the way your face contorted with pleasure. Committing the moment to his memory.

He smirks feeling your body shake with each one of his hard thrusts. His hand gently caresses your cheek despite the roughness and eagerness of his movements. "Gods, you were made for me, doll." "I feel like I was made for you." You gasped in response and soon his fingers moved down to caress the swollen bundle of nerves making you cry out with pleasure.

Cassian leaned in closer to press his forehead against yours. "You are," He mumbles noticing the way you arched your back to meet each one of his strokes. "You are... Made for me— Mine."

His growls made you whimper and you felt your body stiffen above him. "Cass.. I'm close to—." He didn't allow you to finish your sentence, thrusting in even deeper and circling your clit desperately before you were coming undone on his cock.

A loud cry escaped your lips before he kissed you gently while your walls tightened around him, your legs trembling due to the electric current coursing through your body and struggling to support yourself over him. The sensation makes him groan and when you screamed his name, he's already tightening his grip over your hips.

He spills rope after rope of his thick and warm spend, flooding your insides as he closes his eyes. Cassian's forehead was still pressed against yours as he panted heavily against your face. He remained buried deep inside you pulling in and out slightly so that your tight walls would milk him completely before he pulled out.

And then you both opened your eyes. Glossy gazes locking with each other and tired smiles over your lips before it happened.

Your breath hitched as his speed dripped out of you and the golden bridge between both your souls constructed itself brick by brick. It left your already hazy mind feeling even more bewildered. You caught sight of Cassian's excited and tender smile before fully realizing it.

He was your mate.

Oh, damn it.

[cassandraclare]

Those of you who get my newsletter will already have seen this but here's a snippet from the Matthew novella A Sea Change (some spoilers) — and Matthew on one of the endpapers for the novella book! Doesn't he look grownup?

 

It was a beautiful night.    The promenade deck wended its way around the entirely of the Majestic like a necklace of polished wood and brass fittings. There were few out walking like Matthew, perhaps because it was cool and windy, but Shadowhunters were used to the cold. Besides, the wind blew the clouds away, exposing a sky so full of stars it looked as if a jeweler had hastily stuffed a drawer with handfuls of loose-cut diamonds.    A year ago, Matthew would not have been able to enjoy the path the moonlight made across the water, or the sky afire with white flame. He would have been thinking about his last drink, or where he would find his next one. A frantic circle of pain and shame and longing: one he’d had to trudge invisibly, keeping his secrets from his friends, his family.    Now the weight was off him. He felt light, and sometimes strangely at rest, like a windmill on a windless night. He no longer despised himself, but he did not know his purpose, either. If, he mused, one had to have a purpose at all. Was it not enough to be a Shadowhunter — one among many, but each sworn to protect humanity against demons? To keep peace among mundanes and Downworlders — warlocks, werewolves, the Fair Folk, and vampires?    A year ago, he wasn’t sure he would have so quickly identified Miss Gwendolyn as a vampire, either. But then Matthew spent more time with Downworlders than most Shadowhunters did. Some he was friendly with, but he did not trick himself into thinking that meant they were not dangerous. And a vampire hiding out among humans was cause for concern.    He’d noted the way Gwendolyn hadn’t eaten, and had drunk sparingly of the wine. The translucence of her fingernails. Her pallor, even under a layer of makeup. The veins at her temples — if those were visible, she was hungry. And there had been the odd behavior of Orville Cole. The way he’d stared at her worshipfully. Humans often fell under the spell of vampires, finding them impossible to resist. It was not the same as a thrall relationship, where the vampire fed from the human and in return promised them eternal life, but it was a use of vampire glamour forbidden by the Accords.    Though Gwendolyn had seemed, if anything, annoyed at Cole’s attentions. Perhaps she’d enchanted him without meaning to and wished nothing more than to be rid of him. It was hard to say; Matthew did not get the sense she’d been a vampire very long.    At that moment, lost in thought, Matthew collided with something solid.     “Pardonnez-moi — oh. It’s you.” The young man from dinner, Sylvain Allard, had evolved out of the shadows. He wore a dark summer suit which blended with the night.

[hanasnx]

rafe wld so get off on u being scared. like you’d be watching a scary movie together and he’d have his hand down ur pants to calm u down when u get scared and jumpy

-🎀

MINORS DNI 18+ NOTES: u don’t know what this did to me .. maybe it’s a lil different than your original idea but it’s where the voices took me

It’s not that you don’t like horror movies, it’s just that you have a hard time handling them. When your boyfriend expressed passing interest in a certain film, you didn’t want to tell him no, there’s hardly anything that earns his attention. But the entire time, you haven’t been able to sit still. Susceptible to every jump scare and every surge of music, you act like a child. Even his gentle chastising doesn’t get it through your head. After a sudden movement on screen and a blast of noise from the speakers, you squeak, clutching onto RAFE CAMERON’s shirt as you curl into him.

“Thought you said you could handle this.” he mutters, unresponsive to how you cling onto him. The arm draped behind you on the back of the couch remains there as you silently wish he’d wrap you in it.

“I can, I can.” you insist. “How are you not scared?” Your face buried in his chest means you can’t see how he eyes you up. Darkened pupils and rolling his tongue between his lips as he watches you peek at the screen every so often.

“C’mon. Could see the boom mic like five minutes ago.” he replies, but that’s not the real reason. It’s because he’s been too busy with his attention on you. Every time you’d jump, and scream, and claw at him… sure, it was annoying, but it was also getting him hot. It’s not something he fully understands, but his hips shift forward anyway when he adjusts in his seat. His free hand subtly rearranges himself, letting his halfie get some breathing room. Your temple lays on his upper chest, and your fingers fidget with your lower lip uneasily, finally working up the courage to peer at the television again. While you’re captivated, his arm discretely winds around you, and you’re so locked in you don’t even notice.

“C’mere, baby,” he murmurs, and you listen to him, shuffling impossibly closer into his side you’re practically on his lap. “Yeah, that’s right.” A mess of tingles travels up your spine, but you’re sure it’s the fact your hair is already standing on end when in reality it’s his low voice whispering praises in your ear. “Wanna be my brave girl?”

A hand wedges in between your bodies, in between your legs, and your temperature rises with every inch he gains. From your thigh to the inside, down and over, long fingers stroke at your sex through your pants. Your attention torn between the movie and where his hand is, you’re not sure entirely what’s occurring. At least not until his fingertips dip into your waistband and you unconsciously adjust to make room for him. To reward you, his arm curls up from your back, cradling your head as the hand pets your hair. You relax as he rubs you in two different places.

The pads of his fingers apply pressure to the skin above your clit, screwing sweet little circles. You whimper through your nose and you shift.

“Keep your eyes on the TV.” he tells you. Those fingers slide down, pinching your clit between them, collecting a little moisture from your slit to bring it up, and smear it on your bud. “Yeah, baby, doin’ good. Jus’ like that.” he breathes, commending you for sitting pretty for him and taking it. You can barely keep your eyes open, fighting them not to squeeze shut. Curiously, his middle finger traces your hole, and sinks in to the first knuckle. Sharply, you inhale through your nose, and he holds on to you a little tighter. “Not even here, princess, don’t worry about me.” he whispers against your forehead, drawing his finger out only to dip back in, introducing you to more this time.

You’ve been watching, like he told you to, and a jump-scare does its job, jolting your whole body with fear as you scream. The movement causes his whole middle finger to plunge into you, and a groan he’d been holding releases from his throat. It’s visceral, and something snaps. He gives you two whole fingers, then three. Shoving them into your cunt over and over again with vehement as you writhe. His hold on you keeps you where he wants you while he relentlessly finger-fucks you. Out of instinct, you try to hide your face, but that hand that had pet your hair grabs onto your scalp, fixing you to face the television again. He grips onto your head, raising your brows as if to force your eyes open himself, “Keep your fucking eyes on the movie.”

[urhoneycombwitch]

eddie who's cynical and grumpy only because he hasn't had proper aftercare. most people just roll over or leave when they're done and those that do stay to cuddle, it's Eddie holding them and never the other way around. He doesn't want to admit that it makes him feel dissatisfied afterwards, like the sex wasn't even worth it, because he got laid, that's the point, why complain? But there's just something... missing (and I figure aftercare wasn't as talked about in the 80s so he isn't really too sure what that something is)

Until a night with reader where they have absolutely mind-blowing sex, parting with heavy breaths and as Eddie's heart rate starts to slow back down to normal again, he's waiting for reader to grab their clothes, roll over on their side, something that breaks the connection and makes his heart drop. But they don't, reaching out a weak hand (because they're sluggish waiting for their soul to return to their body) to rub his arm. A gentle back and forth, which feels nice, but Eddie's suspicious. What is this, why are they doing it, and why does it feel good?

And then, "Can I play with your hair?" (from the muse prompt lol) and he's agreeing with a shrug and when reader starts to card their fingers through his curls and massage his scalp, Eddie melts. It's like a whole brain recalibration. His icy heart getting thawed out just because someone made sure to take care of him too. And if reader wakes up earlier in the morning just to ask how he likes his eggs? Eddie's already decided that he's gotta lock them down.

+18 mdni

cw: p in v sex, cockwarming

It’s you tipping over the edge into orgasm, choking his cock with your velvet walls, soft whine spilling from the back of your throat, that takes Eddie with you.

As he comes, he burrows his face into your neck. Your hands reach for his skull to draw him closer, and he unintentionally bites down a bit too hard on the soft skin of your neck.

You let out a gasp, fingers seizing in his hair, and he’s quick to pull his mouth up, kissing and soothing over the spot he’s left with his teeth.

“Shit, sorry, sweetheart,” he pants, the affection slipping out despite himself.

“It’s’okay,” you mumble out in one word, limbs going to putty, hands extricating themselves from his hair.

Eddie rises to his elbows and moves to gingerly pull out but you stop him, fingers flying up to dig into the meat of his biceps.

“Wait, can you- will you just stay in? For a little bit?”

You’re not kidding, he can tell- you’ve got a wounded puppy look that he’s dying to change. Eddie sinks slowly back into you, rotates his hips a bit so you take less of his weight, and settles his head on your collarbone.

A big, dreamy sigh, from you- like you’re perfectly content because of how close Eddie is.

His eyes flutter shut when you begin tracing light lines with the pads of your fingers over his bare back.

“What’cha doin’?” Eddie murmurs into the skin of your sternum.

Up his spine, circling under the curtain of hair against his neck, down the spine again; looping and rhythmic. Your hands don’t slow as you whisper “Lovin’ on you, weirdo. Hush.”

You can feel the well of his dimples against your skin as he smiles.

“Can I play with your hair?” you ask quietly, and before he’s even finished nodding you’ve got both hands winding into his dark locks.

You start gentle, thumbs at his temples, light touches against his scalp, but when your hands find the roots you give a short but hard tug.

The little flash of pain goes straight to his dick, and he bucks into you with a low groan, half filled-out already.

“You gonna give me another pretty mark to look at?” you purr.

Eddie lifts his head from your chest and grazes his teeth into the opposing side of your neck just below your ear, in tandem with a sharp snap of his hips.

He catches your clit beneath his thumb and grins wicked when you moan, pulling up again to look down at you as he says, “Gimme another one of your pretty orgasms and we’ve got a deal.”