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dee-writes-smut · 2 months

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FALL (Chapter Three)

FEATURING Azriel x Illyrian!reader

SUMMARY after falling down a flight of stairs, you are forced to realize that you aren't alone and that it's time to start healing.

CONTENT WARNINGS mentions of nightmares, apologies, scared reader, comforting Azriel, nosy Rhys, Amren (she's a warning), and injuries

AUTHORS NOTE I kind of hate this a lot, but here is the third part of the Season's series, Fall. Hope you enjoy! <3

Autumn descends upon the world like a tender-hearted healer, enveloping all in its embrace of warmth and renewal. The air takes on a crisp clarity, carrying with it the subtle scent of earth and fallen leaves, a fragrance that whispers of new beginnings. Trees, once adorned in the lush greens of summer, now don their autumnal attire, each leaf a masterpiece of vibrant hues—amber, crimson, and gold—painting the landscape in a tapestry of healing colors.

As daylight wanes, the sun bathes the world in a soft, golden glow, casting long shadows that dance gracefully upon the earth. The breeze, gentle yet invigorating, rustles through the trees, a comforting melody that speaks of resilience and growth. With each step, fallen leaves crinkle beneath our feet, a soothing reminder of the cycle of life and the beauty found in letting go.

In the fall, nature herself undergoes a profound transformation, shedding the old to make way for the new. Trees release their leaves in a graceful dance of surrender, preparing for a period of rest and rejuvenation. Yet, even in this quietude, there is a vibrant energy that pulses through the air, a reminder that healing is not a passive act, but a journey of growth and renewal.

As I found myself immersing in the healing embrace of autumn, I was invited to shed the burdens of the past and embrace the beauty of transformation. Like the earth itself, I was reminded of my innate capacity to heal, to grow, and to emerge stronger and more vibrant than before. In the gentle caress of the autumn breeze, I found solace, strength, and the promise of new beginnings.

(Early September, House of Wind)

Morning light spilled through the windows of the House of Wind, painting the stairwell in hues of gold and amber. Each step I took down the winding staircase echoed softly, the sound muffled by the quiet of the early hour. Shadows danced along the walls, elongated and wavering, as if unsure of their own existence in the gentle glow of dawn.

As I descended, a flicker of movement caught my eye—a subtle shift in the darkness that should not have been there. My heart skipped a beat as I turned to look, dread coiling in the pit of my stomach. The shadows seemed to solidify, taking shape in the form of a figure I knew all too well. It was Lyris, his smirk cruel and taunting, his blade gleaming with malice in the dim light.

Panic surged through me, my breath catching in my throat. It wasn't real, I told myself, but the terror it invoked was. Before I could react, before I could rationalize, my foot missed the next step. There was no time to regain my balance, no wings to unfurl and catch me. I reached out desperately, fingers grasping for the banister, but it was too late.

The world tilted violently as I fell, the sharp pain of impact shooting up my spine as I collided with the unforgiving stairs. Each jolt sent waves of agony coursing through me, my body bouncing helplessly until I finally came to a crumpled stop at the bottom of the staircase. Dazed and disoriented, I tried to gather my bearings, the pain a sharp, throbbing ache in every limb.

Footsteps echoed through the hall, growing louder with each passing second. Then, Azriel was there, his face a mask of concern as he knelt beside me. "Don't move," he said softly, his hands hovering over me with a hesitant touch. "We need to get you to the healer."

"I'm okay," I lied, attempting to push myself up despite the searing pain that shot through me. The room spun sickeningly, and I winced, sinking back down with a pained gasp.

"No, you're not," Azriel insisted, his voice firm but gentle. He assessed me quickly, his expression grave. "We need to get you off these stairs. Can you stand?"

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, frustration and pain mingling into a bitter concoction. "I don't… I can't…" I faltered, unable to voice the depth of my vulnerability.

"It's okay. I've got you." Azriel's arms enveloped me, lifting me gently from the cold, hard floor. I buried my face against his chest, seeking solace in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat amidst the chaos of my own.

As we moved, the memory of the fall replayed in my mind—the hallucination of Lyris, the terror of losing my footing. I had lost more than just my wings that day; I had lost a piece of myself. How was I supposed to heal when my own mind betrayed me with such vivid, haunting illusions?

Azriel's presence was a silent promise of protection, his concern a soothing balm to my fractured psyche. I clung to it, to him, as we made our way to the healer's chambers, the shadows of the stairwell receding into the background as we stepped into the light of a new day. I would allow myself to let him seep in my darkness for a moment. I would be selfish for just this moment and then it would be back to struggling alone, to protecting them, him.

Madja's room was filled with the subtle scent of lavender and sage, a calming ambiance that did little to ease the knot of anxiety in my stomach. The healer's hands were warm and gentle as she applied salves to the bruises that marbled my skin, her touch careful around the tender areas where my wings once were.

"You're healing well physically," Madja said softly, her voice soothing. "But healing the mind… that takes time, and often more than just my skills." She offered me a small, understanding smile, though her eyes were stern, hinting at the depth of her concern.

Before I could respond, the door creaked open, and Azriel stepped inside. His expression was unreadable, shadows swirling slightly at his feet—a sure sign of his inner turmoil. Madja excused herself with a knowing look, leaving us alone.

I shifted on the cot, pulling the blanket tighter around my shoulders as I faced him. "Azriel," I began, but my voice cracked, betraying my nervousness.

He moved closer, his movements graceful and deliberate. Stopping at the edge of the cot, he knelt so he was eye level with me, his gaze intense. "I've been patient," he said, his voice low and strained. "I've given you space, but we can't keep avoiding this conversation."

I swallowed hard, the weight of his words pressing down on me. "I don't know if I'm ready," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

Azriel reached out, his hand hesitating in the air before gently brushing a stray hair back from my face. "I know you're hurting. And I know I can't understand everything you're going through. But I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere. You don't have to go through this alone."

Tears welled up in my eyes, and I blinked them away furiously. "It's not just the pain, Azriel. It's the fear," I confessed, the words tumbling out. "Every shadow, every noise—it takes me back to that moment. And I feel so powerless."

His expression softened, the shadows receding slightly as if in response to my distress. "I wish I could take that fear away," he murmured. "But since I can't, I'll stand with you against it. Every step of the way, until you feel strong again."

"How do you do it?" I asked, searching his face. "How do you live with your own shadows?"

A sad smile tugged at his lips. "By knowing which shadows are mine to control, and which are simply part of the world. And by having people I love to light the way when it gets too dark."

"What if I'm not strong enough?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper, the weight of uncertainty pressing down on me like a heavy shroud. Despite my efforts to steel myself against the pain, I couldn't help but curl into myself, feeling small and vulnerable in the face of my own fears. "What if I never get over this and—" I choked back my tears once more, the fear gnawing at my insides too overwhelming to voice aloud.

Azriel's heart clenched at my words, the rawness of my pain mirroring his own. With aching tenderness, he reached out, his hand hovering over mine, a silent beacon of comfort in the darkness. "You are strong," he said softly, his voice a gentle reassurance. "Stronger than you realize. But even the strongest among us have moments of doubt, moments when the weight of the world feels too heavy to bear."

My eyes, shimmering with unshed tears, sought solace in his unwavering gaze. "And if you never get over this… if the shadows linger longer than you'd like, know that you are not alone. We'll face them together, every step of the way."

The weight of my fear trembled through my shoulders; the depth of my anguish palpable in the air. "But what if I pull you all into it too?" I whispered, my voice barely above a hoarse whisper. "What if my darkness becomes yours?"

Azriel's heart ached at the thought, but he refused to let me drown in my despair. "Your darkness is not a burden," he said, his voice steady, unwavering. "It's a part of you, just as much as your light. And I would walk through the darkest of nights if it meant I could stand beside you."

He reached for my hand, his touch gentle yet firm, anchoring me to the present moment. "Let me help you carry this weight," he urged, his eyes locking with mine. "Let us carry it together."

For a moment, there was only silence—a heavy, pregnant pause that hung between us, charged with unspoken emotions. And then, with a shaky breath, I nodded, my grip tightening around his hand as if anchoring myself to his steadfast presence.

In that moment, as we sat together in the quiet sanctuary of Madja's room, surrounded by the gentle scent of herbs and healing, Azriel felt a flicker of hope ignite within him. No matter how dark the path ahead, no matter how daunting the shadows that loomed on the horizon, we would face them together. And with love as our guiding light, we would find our way back to the warmth of the sun.

(Mid-October, River House)

The air in the room seemed to hold its breath as I gathered the courage to speak, surrounded by the Inner Circle whose presence felt both comforting and daunting. Cassian's warm gaze, Nesta's softened expression, Rhys and Feyre's silent solidarity, Amren's unreadable yet somehow reassuring presence, and Mor's gentle smile—all of them were a testament to the depth of their care.

With Azriel standing at my side, his silent support a steady anchor in the storm of my emotions, I began to speak. My voice, though laced with uncertainty, carried the weight of my sincerity as I addressed them.

"I want to apologize," I began, each word heavy with meaning as I met their eyes, one by one. "For the distance I've kept, for the walls I've built around myself. I've been… cold, and for that, I'm truly sorry.

A hushed tension hung in the air, anticipation mingling with apprehension as they waited for me to continue. But instead of judgment or reproach, I found only understanding in their expressions—compassion and empathy reflected in their unwavering gazes.

"I'm ready to try," I confessed, the admission a revelation in itself. "To try again.. To heal."

Cassian's hand found mine, his touch grounding and reassuring as he squeezed gently. "We're here for you," he declared, his voice a solemn vow. "Whatever you need, whenever you need it."

Nesta's usually sharp gaze softened, her features etched with genuine concern. "We've missed you," she admitted, her voice carrying a rare vulnerability. "But we understand. And we'll stand by you, no matter what."

Rhys and Feyre exchanged a silent glance, their unity a beacon of strength amidst the uncertainty. "You're not alone," Rhys affirmed, his voice steady and resolute. "We'll face this together, as a family."

Amren nodded curtly, her demeanor as inscrutable as ever, yet there was a glimmer of warmth in her eyes that spoke volumes. "Don't make a habit of apologizing," she quipped dryly, a subtle reassurance in her words.

Mor's smile was gentle, a flicker of hope amidst the darkness that threatened to engulf me. "We love you," she said simply, her words a promise of unwavering support.

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes as I absorbed their words, the weight of their acceptance washing over me like a tidal wave. In that moment, surrounded by the love and understanding of my chosen family, I allowed myself to believe that maybe, just maybe, there was hope for me yet.

With Azriel's hand firmly clasped in mine, I took a deep breath, steeling myself for the arduous journey ahead. It wouldn't be easy, and the road to recovery would be fraught with challenges. But with the unwavering support of those who loved me, I knew I could face whatever lay ahead.

Night after night, the nightmares clawed their way into my sleep, tearing through the fragile fabric of my dreams with merciless intensity. Each time, I would wake in a cold sweat, heart pounding in my chest, lungs gasping for air as if I'd been drowning in the darkness of my own mind.

Azriel had been there from the beginning, his quiet presence a steadfast anchor in the storm of my nightmares. At first, he would come at the sound of my screams, offering comfort and reassurance until the tremors subsided and sleep reclaimed me once more. But as the nights stretched on and the nightmares showed no signs of abating, his visits became more frequent, his presence a comforting constant in the ever-shifting landscape of my dreams.

I would wake to find him sitting beside my bed, his gaze watchful and protective as he kept vigil over my troubled sleep. His presence was a balm to my fractured mind, a beacon of light in the suffocating darkness that threatened to consume me.

At first, I protested his presence, insisting that he had better things to do than waste his nights sitting by my bedside. But he brushed off my protests with a quiet determination, his eyes holding a depth of understanding that spoke volumes. He didn't need words to convey the truth—that he would stay for as long as I needed him, no matter the cost.

And so, night after night, I would wake to find him there, his presence a silent reassurance that I was not alone in my suffering. With each passing night, his visits became longer, his presence more palpable until it felt as though he had practically moved into my room.

I would wake to the soft sound of his breathing, the warmth of his presence a comforting weight beside me. His steady heartbeat echoed in the silence of the night, a rhythmic cadence that anchored me to the present moment.

In those quiet hours before dawn, with the weight of his presence beside me, I found solace in the knowledge that I was not alone. No matter how dark the night, no matter how terrifying the nightmares that plagued my sleep, Azriel was there, a silent guardian watching over me until the first light of dawn chased the shadows away. And for that, I was endlessly grateful.

(Late October, River House)

As Azriel sat across from Rhysand, the weight of the conversation about you felt even heavier upon his shoulders. His mind flickered back to the recent events—the trauma you had endured, the pain etched into your every expression, and the way you had leaned on him for support during your darkest moments.

"I've noticed the way you look at her, Az," Rhys's voice broke through his thoughts, bringing him back to the present. "And I can't help but wonder… Are you two… a thing?"

Azriel's gaze softened with a mix of fondness and concern as he thought of you. "I… I care about her deeply," he confessed quietly, his voice tinged with emotion. "Especially now, after everything she's been through."

Rhys nodded, his eyes reflecting understanding. "I know you've been by her side through it all, Az. And I'm grateful for that. How is she holding up?"

The concern in Rhys's voice mirrored Azriel's own worries. Your recovery had been slow and arduous, marked by moments of progress followed by setbacks. Azriel had been there every step of the way, offering his support and comfort whenever you needed it most.

"She's… she's trying her best," Azriel replied, his voice tinged with a hint of sadness. "But the kidnapping still weighs heavily on her. Some days are better than others."

Rhys reached out a hand, placing it reassuringly on Azriel's shoulder. "You're doing everything you can for her, Az. And she knows that. Just keep being there for her, okay?"

Azriel nodded, gratitude swelling within him for Rhys's words of encouragement. Despite the challenges they faced, he was determined to stand by your side, offering you whatever solace and support he could provide.

As they parted ways, Azriel's thoughts remained with you—the strength you had shown in the face of adversity, the resilience that burned bright within you. And though he knew that your path to recovery would be a long and difficult one, he vowed to walk it with you every step of the way, for you had become more than just someone he cared about—you were his guiding light in the darkness, his reason to hope for a brighter tomorrow.

(Late November, Velaris)

Stepping beyond the familiar walls of the House of Wind felt like a liberation, a triumph over the shadows that had threatened to consume me. As I walked alongside Feyre and Mor, the streets of Velaris buzzed with life, each step forward a testament to the strength I had found within myself.

Beside me, Azriel's concern was evident, his worry etched in the furrow of his brow and the gentle pressure of his hand in mine. But this time, I was determined to show him—and myself—that I was stronger than the nightmares that haunted me.

"Don't worry, Az," I said with a reassuring smile, giving his hand a squeeze. "I'm ready for this. Feyre and Mor are with me."

Feyre and Mor nodded in agreement; their expressions filled with confidence. "We've got your back," Feyre said with a reassuring smile. "We won't let anything happen to you."

Their words filled me with a sense of reassurance, a reminder that I wasn't alone in this journey. With their support, I felt invincible, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.

As we walked through the bustling streets of Velaris, I couldn't help but feel a sense of exhilaration coursing through me. The sun warmed my skin, the wind tousled my hair, and for the first time in what felt like ages, I felt truly alive.

But amidst the excitement, a part of me couldn't shake the worry that lingered in Azriel's eyes. I knew he cared about me deeply, and the thought of causing him any more pain weighed heavily on my heart.

"Are you sure you're up for this?" he asked quietly, his concern palpable. "We can turn back if you're not feeling well."

I met his gaze with determination, my resolve unwavering. "I'm more than ready, Az," I replied, squeezing his hand reassuringly. "I've spent too long hiding away. It's time for me to start living again."

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fanwarriorfictions · 2 months

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Not Again - Part Eleven

Summary: The morning after leaves Y/n and Azriel wanting more, but that will have to wait.

Warnings: a little spicy, no smut but it’s close, and she is Angstyyyyy

Series Masterlist

-Part Eleven-

She woke, surrounded by a familiar warmth and scent, home, she was home. The sun was shining behind her eyelids, she was hesitant to open them, to completely wake from the deepest and most peaceful slumber she had ever had in her life. When she finally forced her eyes open, it had taken a moment for her to register exactly where she was, not her bedroom in the palace of Orynth, but her room in the house of wind, and the scent of a male beside her, one that smelled of the libraries she’d spent most of her life in.

Azriel’s arms were around her, holding her close to his chest, Y/n still completely bare against him, Azriel still only half dressed, his wings splayed out across the bed on either side of him, one wrapping around them like a blanket.

He was awake, scarred hand lazily tracing shapes across her back. He halted when she lifted her head to look at him. His eyes were so beautiful in the morning sunlight, so beautiful she wondered why he spent so much time in the dark, when he could look like this. His hair a mess from sleep, from her hands pulling on the strands. His skin washed in the golden light, displaying each of those slightly red lines across his chest and shoulders that matched the shape of her nails.

“Have you been staring at me all morning?”

His answering smile turns the pit of her stomach molten, “Good morning, Princess.”

“Morning, shadowsinger.” She raises a hand to his face, thumb lightly ghosting over the small split on his bottom lip. “I’m sorry.”

Azriel nips lightly at her thumb, “Don’t be. You’re a vicious little thing but I can handle it.”

She grins, “You love it, don’t lie.”

His head tilts in that predator like motion, something in her likes the feeling of being his prey. Azriel’s hand continues to draw those small shapes across her back, his fingers trailing across her skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. It reminds her that she’s completely naked, half laying on top of him. And she had a score to settle from the night before, a glorious score at that. She had never felt that in her life, the intensity of it, the passion, she had felt completely boneless afterwards, like her body was trying to process the sheer amount of pleasure it felt.

Her hand drifts lazily down his chest, over those raised scratches, over the dark black tattoos, down the hard muscles of his stomach. Only for her wrist to be caught between his large fingers.

She glares up at him, “Don’t ruin my fun.”

“Later, Princess.” There’s a dark haze to his eyes like he wanted nothing more than to say, now, now, now. “I promise you can have your fun, later. When did you last eat?”

She bristles at the concern in his voice, “I-“

“I know you can take care of yourself,” he interrupts, “Your stomach was growling in your sleep.”

She rips her hand free and smacks his chest, glaring at the way he laughs at her, “No it wasn’t.”

“You were drooling to,” he grins, “Dreaming of a roast dinner I’m sure.”

“You-“

He catches her hand before she can hit him again, lifting her wrist to his mouth to press a kiss to the inside, right abover her pulse. It flutters beneath his smirking lips and she wishes he’d press them to her own instead.

“Breakfast,” Azriel says, placing her hand directly above his beating heart, “You can tell me all about your little adventures from the past few days. And then you can have your fun, and I can have mine.”

The way his voice drops, that gravely sound that makes her clench around nothing. By the way he smirks, Y/n is sure he can scent the arousal pooling between her legs, she doesn’t give him the satisfaction of trying to hide it, despite how she desperately wants to press her thighs together.

“Fine,” she says, pushing off of his chest to sit up, “Breakfast and a story, and then I have my way with you, shadowsinger.”

She doesn’t miss the way his eyes fall to her breasts, to the purple marks littering all over her chest, she’d repay him for those too. His hand slides down her back, resting just above her ass, fingers pressing firmly into her skin to hold her in place.

“Beautiful,” he whispers, like a prayer only meant for her to hear.

“Still thinking about breakfast,” she taunts.

He answers without hesitation, “Yes.”

By the way his gaze travels down her body, whiskey eyes turning to the deepest amber she’d ever seen, Y/n is sure he’s thinking about another feast. Gods she wanted him to devour her again, to feel that tongue between her legs, those fingers stretching her, preparing her for the impressive size of him that she’d felt beneath his leathers.

“Breakfast first,” he groans, throwing his head back on the pillows, “Breakfast first.”

Y/n laughs at the image, “You ruin your own fun, shadowsinger.”

“It’s what I’m good at,” he says darkly, not looking at her, “Get dressed, Princess.”

Y/n rolls her eyes at the command, “What? You don’t enjoy the view?”

The hand on her back slides down, gripping the soft flesh of her ass almost painfully. Y/n nearly moans at the sensation, sitting back into his palm.

“Get dressed,” he orders again, squeezing her even harder, “You’re distracting.”

“Poor, shadowsinger,” she coos, pushing his hand off so she can climb off the bed, “Sees a pair of tits and loses all functionality.”

Azriel chuckles darkly, eyeing her chest, “Must you make everything more difficult than necessary?”

She turns towards her dresser, feeling the weight of his gaze drift down to her backside. There’s a set of night court style clothes, in her colors, green and silver laying out on the dresser for her. Y/n takes her time, bending over to step into the tiny little scrap of lace the house deemed as undergarments, slowly pulling it up her legs, over her ass. Azriel’s eyes burn into her, watching each deliberate motion as she dresses.

“Are you planning to eat breakfast half dressed,” she throws a raised brow over her shoulder, catching the hungry look in his eye, “I won’t complain.”

A plain black shirt appears in his lap, one he looks keen on ignoring, “It would seem the house would.”

“Insufferable busybody.” She lifts her own shirt above her head, making sure to turn just enough to let him see all of her, “Put your shirt on, shadowsinger. I’m hungry.”

“I can hear that from here.” He laughs at her glare, throwing his shirt over his head, deft fingers quickly buttoning the backs beneath his wings. “Lead the way, Princess.”

Azriel marked it as a testament of his will, to walk behind her, to have her lingering arousal in his nose, to watch those hips sway, to see that beautiful bruise on her neck and not press her against the closest wall and take her from behind. He’d spent enough time the night before admiring her front, he’d neglected the view from this angle, and what a view it was. He had many plans to rectify that.

She sends him a wicked smile over her shoulder, like she knew exactly where his thoughts had drifted off to, like he’d shouted them down the bond between them.

He hadn’t, the moment he’d woken this morning he’d taken that shadow that connected them and smothered it in his chest, locking away his raging need to scream that she was his mate, to beg her to stay with him, to accept him for all his faults and scars. He shoved it all in a box in the corner of his mind, locked behind chains and walls. When she’d woken, and she’d looked up at him with those eyes full of wonder, it almost broke him. That was a testament to his strength, to hold back the words, my mate, you’re my mate.

There was a feast prepared in the dining room. Pastries and fruits and meats and cheeses, several kinds of juices and teas and coffees to choose from. The house was a busybody indeed, he could hear Y/n grumbling under her breath at it. He wasn’t the only one that knew she was hungry, had she even eaten when she’d been gone? Had she even stopped to rest? The need to know where she’d been, what she’d done, overrode his need to fuck her against the table, barely, but it did.

Azriel carefully watches her fill her plate, noting the way she piles it high with the sweet pastries, little bits of fruit scattered throughout, like it would balance out the sheer amount of sugar. Once she sat, making a cup of black tea, the only thing not filled with enough sugar to send him into a coma, Azriel fills his own plate, balanced and protein filled like he always took his breakfast. He could almost hear Cassian chiding him for the single raspberry tart he adds to the mix.

Y/n bites into one of her own tarts, blueberry by the smell of it, and lets out a deliberate little moan. Every instinct in him zeroes in on the sound, but he forces it away, she wanted a reaction out him, she wouldn’t get one.

“Are you ready to tell me where you went?”

The sigh she lets out shows just how disappointed she is about her little preformance not working on him. He almost smiles, almost concedes that inch.

“I flew north,” she says, sipping on her tea, “I didn’t know where I was going, I just-“

She cuts herself off, and any lust fades from them both as she looks down at the table. Working through whatever it was she was thinking, whatever she was feeling. It was his fault, the things he’d said to her that night, lashing out at her because he was so scared of himself, of his own problems.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “About what I said, you’re not-“

“I am,” she interrupts, looking up at him with hazy eyes, “I am a coward, you were right.”

The resignation almost breaks him. Behind the thick walls of his mind he could feel her breaking on the other side, he hated it, hated himself for causing it.

“No I wasn’t-“

“Yes, yes you were.” She looks past him, out the windows beyond, “I flew north, as far as I could into the snow capped mountains, hoping if I flew far enough I would find Terrasen, that I could go home, go back to my perfect life, where I was safe and loved and had never felt the hardships that so many have been through before me.”

She laughs without any humor, “My mother was raised by an abusive monster after seeing her parents dead in their bed. She was a slave, she was tortured, beaten, forced to give everything she was to save the world. My father found the woman he thought was his mate, was to have a child with her, only to have her die while he was fighting for the queen who’d fucked with his mind. And then there’s me, the spoiled little princess who falls apart because she’s lost.”

Those silent tears fall down her cheeks, her breathing is steady, no sobs, just this quiet breaking. It shatters his heart.

“And I’m such a coward, that instead of facing my own bullshit, of pulling myself together,” she continues, “I try to force myself on you, try to force you to fix the broken parts of me. I don’t blame you for not wanting that, for calling me out on it. I ran away because you were right, and I couldn’t handle it. I ran because I couldn’t face the truth that, that I am nothing, my family is filled with hero’s, of stories, and I am nothing but a coward who failed her own.”

“No-“

“Yes,” she takes a deep breath, “I failed so spectacularly that I almost got myself and you-“

Her voice breaks for the first time and Azriel wants to hold her in his arms, to hold the shattering pieces of her together, but there’s the cursed table between them, holding him back yet again from her. He rests his hand on the table, scarred palm up in offering, for her to take it, for him to hold them both together, she takes it.

“I almost got us killed,” she breathes, voice so soft and broken, “and that scared me so much, and that scared me even more, the fear of losing you, of being the reason of it-“

“You’re not going to lose me, Princess.” He squeezes her hand tightly in his own, “We will figure this out, we will get you home, I promise.”

He hates himself for the selfish though that crosses his mind, the hope, that they wouldn’t figure it out, and if they did, maybe she would chose to stay with him. He knew she wouldn’t.

“Together,” she says, “No more fighting, we’ll do this together, shadowsinger.”

And he nods, ignoring the cracks in his heart, “Together, Princess.”

Y/n felt so tired, so raw after that conversation, after baring her heart and soul to Azriel. Any lingering heat in her from the night before, from that morning, had disappeared with every broken word that came from her lips. Azriel seemed to understand that without her having to tell him, like he always did. If she didn’t have that protection engraved into her brow, she’d assume he was a daemati, as Rhys had called his power, able to reach into her mind and read her thoughts and emotions.

Instead of dragging him back to her room, like she had originally planned during their walk to the dining room, she asked him to fly with her. And he said yes without hesitation.

The wind felt marvelous on her wings, the early morning spring chill still lingering. Velaris was beautiful in the morning light, though she knew it truly shone at night beneath the stars. There were fae roaming through the streets, some brave enough to look up and wave at the shadowsinger as he passed. Y/n almost laughed when he awkwardly waved back.

She dove down towards a bustling market, the palace of salt and bone if the delicious scents of fresh bread and spices drifting through her nose were any indication. With a flash she was in her fae form again, walking through a crowd of fae who starred at her and her winged companion who lands directly behind her.

“Trying to give someone a heart attack?” He asks, rolling his eyes at the grin she sends over her shoulder.

Azriel falls in step beside her and she notes the lack of his usual shadows. It reminds her of their first encounter, when she hadn’t been able to understand him, scared and hurt. He’d sent them away to not frighten her anymore than she already was. The people of Velaris were well aware of who and what he was, and by the gleam in most eyes they passed, she was sure none of them would be truly scared of the shadowsinger.

“The markets in Orynth are a lot like this,” Y/n says, admiring a baker’s stand, “My mother and I go once a month to buy as many sweets as our hands can carry.”

“I assume you inherited your sweet tooth from her?” Azriel picks up a decorated cookie and pulls a few coins from his pocket for the high fae female behind the stand. “Here.”

Y/n grins and takes the cookie from his outstretched hand, “My father swears he doesn’t have one but I’ve seen him sneaking through our hauls. And he always has a chocolate cake for his birthday. My mother once made him one, he told me it was the worst thing he’d ever eaten but he ate every single bite.”

Azriel chuckles, “If she’s anything like you I’d say he’s a smart male.”

“What’s that supposed to mean,” she glares, fighting back a grin.

Azriel smirks, “nothing, Princess.”

“Careful, shadowsinger.” She lets a small ice cold breeze push through his hair, over his wings, noting the shiver that runs down his spine, “Oh? Are those sensitive?”

And something she never thought she would see happens. A flush covers the shadowsinger’s cheeks, faint and barely visible on his deep tanned skin. But she sees it and her smile turns feline.

“I can see the idea forming in your head,” Azriel says, forcing that calm mask over his features to hide the blush, “don’t start something you don’t want to finish.”

“Oh I definitely want to finish,” Y/n says, letting another breeze cross directly over the sharp talon at the tip of his wing, “I have a score to settle, remember?”

Azriel takes a step closer to her, looking down at her with delightful intensity, “Careful, Princess.”

“Or what?” She lifts her hand, lightly dragging a finger over his forearm, “Big sensitive male, can’t handle a little teasing?”

“Careful,” Azriel says lowly, so no one passing can hear, only for her, “Or I take you into the shadows, and we’ll see who’s more sensitive.”

Her toes curl, the pit of her stomach turning molten, “Scandalous, shadowsinger.”

The hand on his arm gently reaches back, dragging over the soft membrane of a single wing. Azriel doesn’t let her dig her claws into him, he wraps those scarred fingers around her forearm and she’s engulfed in shadows. The familiar feeling of transporting falls over her, like stepping through a door into another part of the world. Her uncle had the ability, one of the rare few in her world, he’d taken her on many adventures using the ability, she was used to the disorienting feeling.

She doesn’t have the chance to see where they are, the world still covered in shadow, before her back is pressed to a wall, her hands held firmly above her head. Azriel’s mouth collides with her’s in a burning kiss. No gentleness, only fiery passion. Each stroke of his tongue sends a shock of need through her, all the way down to her core.

“You test my patience,” he grounds out against her mouth, nipping at her already swollen bottom lip, “Is this what you want, to be fucked against a back alley wall?”

He doesn’t let her respond, only takes her mouth again in that claiming kiss. She wants to touch him, to run her hands over those wings and see just how sensitive they really are, but he keeps her hands trapped against the wall above them, both wrists held in just one of his scarred palms. His other hand trails down her body, ghosting over the places she really wants him to stop and take his time.

She tries and fails to arch into his touch, his body pining her to the wall, one of his legs shoved between her own, thigh pressed to her aching center. Her hips writhe, seeking the friction she desperately needs.

Azriel laughs against her lips, “What? Can’t handle a little teasing?”

He mocks her words from the street and she’s almost to lost in the intensity of everything to be annoyed by it, almost. Y/n nips at his lip like he’d done to her, catching that already spilt bottom lip with her canine.

Azriel winces, just enough for her to be satisfied, “Vicous little creature.”

His hand grips her hip, almost painfully, coaxing her to move against his thigh. The motion makes her dizzy, her head falling back against the wall. Azriel takes the opportunity to attack her neck, almost instantly finding that spot that makes her see stars, giving her a matching bruise on the other side of her neck.

“Az,” she gasps, “Gods please.”

She can feel him smirk against her neck, and she almost sobs when he backs away.

Her hands fall to her sides as she gapes up at the smirking male, “What are you-“

“The first time I take you,” he says wickedly, that insufferable smirk growing wider, “will not be a quick fix in an alleyway, where anyone could walk by and catch us. I plan to take my time with you, Princess, to make you scream without a potential audience.”

She glares up at him, “You bast-“

“You can curse at me all you want,” Azriel says, “when we get back home, Princess.”

Home, for the first time since she’d been here, the word didn’t send a shock of pain through her. Azriel gives her a look, like he knew what she was thinking, like he was asking her if she was alright. Surprisingly, she was.

“Lead the way, shadowsinger.”

Azriel holds out a hand to her, pulling her close to his chest when she grabs it. Shadows wrap around them and they step through that invisible doorway. It’s bright when they emerge, and they’re falling, towards the house of wind far far below them. Azriel’s arms wrapped tightly around her, wings flaring to catch the wind, it feels strange to fly not in her hawk form, to rely solely on another’s wings to keep her from plummeting to the ground below them. But Azriel hold firm, and they gently drift to the balcony. Y/n is itching to get on the ground, to drag him to her room.

They land, Azriel gently setting her feet on the floor, arms still wrapped around her, pressing her close to his body, shadows dancing around them. She can feel them whispering against her skin, she can’t understand them, but Azriel’s eyes shine with an emotion she can’t read.

“What are they-“

Footsteps, thundering down the hall beyond the open archway behind her. Her head snaps towards the sound, Azriel holding her tighter to him. His shadows press closely to her like they would shield her from whoever was running towards them, whatever danger they’d bring with them.

“Wrap it up lovebirds,” Cassian’s booming voice, he rounds the corner, wings flared wide in a fighting stance, “Something’s wrong with the gate.”

Y/n’s heart stops dead in her chest, she barely feels the way Azriel’s arms loosen in shock around her. She could feel it suddenly, that ancient and wicked presence, distant but growing stronger, pay the price.

She rips away from Azriel, wincing at that voice growing stronger, louder in her mind, it felt like claws tearing into her brain, gods killer, pay the price, pay her price.

“Rhys and Feyre are containing it as best they can, neither of them could reach you,” Cassian says, the voice of a general, “Nes is on standby with the trove.”

Y/n barely registers the words, what the trove was she didn’t care, just prayed that whatever it was could help them. She’s running for the hallway, only to be stopped by a strong hand wrapped around her bicep.

“You’re not just going to run in there,” Azriel says, voice as hard as the hand on her arm, “That thing wants you, I can feel it chanting your name. It’ll kill you.”

She could too, could hear it in her head, Y/n, Y/n, pay the price of the gods killer, pay it Y/n, pay it.

“I’m not going to sit here and let it kill all of you instead,” Y/n snaps, tugging at his iron grip. “Let me go, Azriel.”

His harden gaze breaks just enough, showing the fear behind the rage, “Y/n, don’t do this, we’ll figure this out together, I can’t, I-“

“Let me go, Az,” she repeats, more gently than before, yet still demanding, “Let me go.”

Cassian steps forward, a hand on his brother’s shoulder, “We’ve got to go, Az. They can’t hold it back forever.”

His whole face shutters, and Y/n feels the echo of his pain, it hurts her heart, her soul. She stands tall on her toes, tilting her head to capture his lips on her own, this kiss is the opposite of any they’d shared before, no heat, no passion, just the soft broken promise of whatever ties them together, whatever could have been between them.

“Let me go,” she whispers against him, and this time when she pulls her arm away, he lets her.

Come to me, Y/n, pay your mother’s price.

She’s running towards that voice, to that promise of death, she had no idea what she would face, no idea if her death would be painful, if there would be anything left of her soul or if she would be left with nothing.

Cassian and Azriel run after her, their footfalls like the ticking hands of a clock, marking the dwindling seconds left of her life. She’s half tempted to shift, to fly through the halls as fast as she can, to leave Azriel far enough behind so he wouldn’t have to witness the carnage.

They round the final corner, the green light of the gate flooding the hallway through the open door. Y/n charges inside, ignoring the shouts of warning from the males behind her.

Rhys is holding Feyre close to his side, both High Lady and Lord intensely focused on the shield they forged around the open gate. The black depths in the center reveal nothing of the world it resides in or creature beyond, but she can feel its presence, it’s anger.

“It’s waiting,” Nesta calls from the other side of Feyre, a glowing steel sword poised to strike in her hands, another is strapped to her back, the hilt as black as night, “It hasn’t moved since we got here.”

Cassian runs to his mate’s side, “Where’s the trove?”

“Ready,” Nesta replies, “In case this all goes to shit.”

Shadows wrap around Y/n’s wrists, gently caressing the skin and winding up her arms. Azriel stands by her side, the mask of deathly calm firmly in place, the only mark of his fear, his hand that firmly grips her own. She holds him just as tightly, he has to feel the way her hands shake.

There she is, finally. The voice shifts, female, ancient but somehow young. Your mother’s pride and joy, her precious Mala’s fire burning in your veins.

Y/n’s fire stirs in response, that deep well of it in the pit of her stomach waking up like the goddess had called for it, like it recognized the name of the other goddess it had come from. She has to dampen it with her own ice kissed wind. Keep it contained.

“Should I talk to a void,” Y/n says, using that bravado, hiding her fear, “Or are you to vicious sight to behold.”

The black hole ripples and a glowing pale hand reaches through. They all shift, drawing weapons, raising them towards the creature that crawls through the portal, the shield that Feyre and Rhys hold is reinforced by Y/n’s wind, and a red light from the siphons on Cassian’s armor. A blue light surrounds Y/n, and she doesn’t have to look to know it’s from Azriel’s own siphons.

The female that emerges from the inky black is beautiful, glowing skin, dark black hair that flows over her turned down face and across her body, a simple white gown covering her, long slits at the sides revealing sleek long legs, feet clad in golden sandals. Beautiful. Yet when she looks up, when her hair parts, Y/n feels like she’s going to be sick.

Turquoise eyes, ringed with silver, stare at her from a face so scarred that the rest of her features are barely discernible. Her mouth moves in what Y/n assumes is a grin.

“Beautiful,” the goddess says, “am I not?”

She’d survived the creatures her mother had subjected the gods to, somehow she’d managed to live, barely, but she’d survived.

“Who are you,” Nesta says, that blade pointed directly at the goddess’s throat.

Those eyes narrow at Nesta, and pass right through her towards the High Lady behind her. The attention draws a warning growl from her mate’s throat, one from Nesta as well, the goddess ignores them both.

“A huntress,” she coos at Feyre, “I’d recognize one of my own anywhere.”

Huntress. Y/n’s body locks up, and Azriel at her side takes a casual step in front of her, like he could sense exactly what dots she was connecting. The shadows wrap around her, that blue shield settling over her like armor.

The motion draws the goddess’s attention to them, her head tilting in a predator like motion, “Well this is interesting.”

“Deanna,” Y/n breathes, “You’re Deanna.”

The goddess chuckles, “So she didn’t erase us completely. Do the mortals in your realm still worship us faithfully? Or do they worship Aelin Galathynius, their glorious savior?”

Deanna practically spits her mother’s name, and that well of power inside of Y/n rumbles. Azriel, squeezes her hand once, twice, calm down, he seems to tell her, like he could feel the fire beneath her skin, warming their joined hands. He doesn’t flinch from the heat, doesn’t shy away from her, only holds her tighter, not afraid.

“Did she raise her precious daughter to hide behind pretty males?” Deanna laughs, “She didn’t want to share the spotlight I’m sure.”

“What do you want?” Azriel says, cutting straight to the point, “Why are you here?”

Deanna tuts at him, “You males have no manners. Someone aught to train you.”

To fast, she moved to fast. Y/n didn’t see her arm raise, didn’t see that bow materialize in her hands, didn’t see her draw back that string, all she saw was that golden arrow, flying through the air faster than it possibly could, propelled by that ancient magic of Deanna’s. It splits through every shield, through the wall of shadows, directly into Azriel’s chest.

She felt it in her own, that sharp searing pain, his and her own. The scream tears through her, ripping her throat to shreds, bleeding through her lips. Azriel falls, the grip on her hand falling with him, his shadows disappear, scattering into the corners of the room, leaving their master below her, bleeding, dying.

Dead, dead, she killed him, gone, dead. There’s this string tied to her heart, twisting and pulling, reaching for him, a tether between that she yanks on, begging him to stay. She’s screaming and screaming and lunging through those shields, Azriel’s own dagger in her hands, she doesn’t remember grabbing it.

Deanna is smiling beneath those scars, laughing, “Finally.”

Fire, burning through her, Mala’s fire, so hot it burns blue. It imbues into the dagger, the black blade spitting those blue flames as Y/n takes it to the goddess’ throat. Deanna doesn’t move, doesn’t fire an arrow, doesn’t burn her with that moon fire.

She simply sighs, “Pay the price, Y/n, finish what your mother started, let me finally rest with my kin.”

Y/n gives her exactly what she wants, what she gave Azriel, death. His dagger finds home in her throat, fire burning through the goddess, turning her to ash from the inside out. Time seems to completely stop, seconds turning to hours, to days, to years, Deanna burns and burns for a millennium, till there’s nothing left but that ancient bow and the golden arrow in Azriel’s chest.

Time shifts, moves faster and faster. The inner court is screaming around her, screaming for a healer, for Azriel, for her. She doesn’t hear them, doesn’t even know who or where she is, she simply collapses, throwing up a shield of hard air around her and Azriel. And she lays her head on her mate’s chest and screams.

Tag list

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#I am actually screaming over this one #i love them your honor #they finally are able to talk like normal people #acotar #azriel x reader #azriel #acotar x reader #rowaelin daughter #rowaelin #not again #a court of thorns and roses

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rookthorne · 10 months

Text

⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ 𝐈𝐧𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐈𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐏𝐭. 𝟐

Bucky had begun to spread your wings, one act after the other — the cage of your innocence now far too small for such beauty to soar. There were still some steps to take for those feathers to feel the wind beneath them, but patience was a virtue Bucky excelled at.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 ♆ Pornstar!Bucky Barnes x Innocent!F!Reader

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 ♆ 3.9k

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 ♆ Fluff, puns and humour ჻჻჻ SMUT: Oral (F receiving), fingering (F receiving), multiple orgasms, Dom/Sub, Soft Dom!Bucky, light subspace ჻჻჻ KINKS: Light degradation, praise, daddy

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆 ♆ Who knew the first part would become one of my biggest fics, and who knew that Pornstar!Bucky would also become one of the most popular Bucky AUs I have? I hope y'all enjoy this one, because hot damn...

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒔 ♆ Like U by Rosenfeld ♆ I Want To by Rosenfeld

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒃𝒆𝒕𝒂 ♆ @smutconnoisseur (which, thankfully, this fic didn't kill her completely off)

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕 ♆ @pupandkisasaesthetics Aesthetic Challenge — Masterlist

𝐏𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Bucky had stayed all night and into the next day, at least, until he had to leave for work. He parted with a tight, all encompassing hug and a deep kiss, one of which you wished never ended.

“I’ll be back later tonight, don’t get into any trouble,” were his parting words, and just like that, he promised to be back after his shoots to spend the night at your apartment again.

For the whole of the day, you spent it in a stupor – not so much in the clouds, per se, but the feeling of floating on cloud nine had never dissipated. Rather, it grew. Bucky’s confession the previous night still rang around your head like the clashing of symbols, and it was hard to comprehend that it was real.

Nevertheless, Bucky had confessed, and so had you. The weight off of your shoulders alone after the admittance was immeasurable. With that comforting assurance, you powered on through the day and puttered around your apartment, cleaning and maintaining the space.

The hours passed swiftly. Nightfall had arrived in what seemed like only moments when there were a couple of knocks on the wooden front door. You grinned ear to ear and skipped to the door, unlocking the deadbolt and opening it with that same smile that froze on your face at the sight that greeted you.

It was Bucky… with flowers. A bright bouquet of them, a manner of reds and purples, all flourishing in beauty and tied with a velvet black ribbon. He himself was dressed in a black Henley and dark sweats. “Hi, baby.”

“Bucky…” You stood stock still, frozen in shock at such an old fashioned notion – it felt like you were living a moment brought to life. One straight from your romance books. “Hi.”

He grinned and offered the flowers. “Just thought my pretty girl deserved some flowers–call me old fashioned.”

A laugh bubbled up from your chest. “Yeah–yeah, y’are, Buck. Come in.” The door opened fully with a quiet creak, and Bucky stepped inside, his cologne filling your senses as he strode past. “How were the shoots?”

Bucky shrugged, then grinned at you over his shoulder. “Same as always, baby.” His boots were loud over the floor as he walked into your kitchen in search of a vase. “Nat kept us entertained as always, and then Steve–fuckin’ punk, he pulled a prank on her, and we never heard the end of it. Remind me to never get on Nat’s bad side.”

“He never learns,” you commented, and Bucky snorted a derisive laugh. “I’m glad they went okay. Are you tired?”

There was a huff of a laugh, “Could never tire of you, kitten.” You spluttered at his words, and he chuckled, then the solid thump of glass on your kitchen counter sounded before he turned around to face you. “Nope. I thought we could jus’ chill tonight, sweetheart.”

You blinked – hadn’t he wanted to do something with you? “But-”

“If–and this is a big if,” Bucky cut in, his eyes sharp as he stared at you. The hesitation must have shown in your expression. Damn him for being able to read you so easily, you inwardly cursed. “The moment and want arises, yes,” Bucky continued, brow raised. “We can do more. But I am not gonna push you, and you shouldn’t push yourself, either.”

Bucky waited a beat, then he tilted his head down, expecting an answer. “Okay,” you agreed. “See how we go.” He winked and pushed off the counter.

“How was your day, kitten?” he hummed, pulling you into his embrace. “What did you get up to?” A kiss on the crown of your head made you smile.

“It was alright. Nothing much, just cleaned up and, well, nothing.” You swayed in Bucky’s arms and looped yours around his broad, muscled back, squeezing tight until he grunted. “You’re cuddly.”

“Am I? Wouldn’t have known,” Bucky teased. He pulled away and kissed you on the lips, the chaste kiss bringing everything below to life – no way would you let him just sit there unsullied, you thought wickedly. “Why don’t you get set up? We can watch it in bed. Cuddle up and do what they call Netflix and Chill.”

“Oh, fucking hell,” you laughed, punching him on the shoulder. “No. Just… No. Stop that.”

Bucky grinned and turned back to the kitchen – the view of his ass one that you couldn’t turn away from. “You keep staring, and my ass will catch on fire. I need my best asset.”

“Why are you like this?” you deadpanned, and Bucky howled with a loud laugh. “Seriously, why? Why do you torment me so?”

“I’ll torment you in another way if you don’t move that cute butt a’yours,” Bucky retorted, staring at you from over his shoulder. “Go on, get goin’. That bed ain’t gonna warm itself.”

You rolled your eyes and padded off towards your bedroom – the bedspread made and neat, the curtains drawn. Warm light filled the room when you flicked the bedside lamp on and cast the TV on the opposite wall into view.

“Babe! Where did you put the damn popcorn?” Bucky yelled from down the hallway. The sound of cupboards opening and closing followed his plea for help.

“In the pantry,” you replied back, pillows in hand. “The snack drawer, you idiot.” The pillows fell into a pile with a quiet thump when you heard Bucky’s now bare feet come down the hallway, where he suddenly appeared in the hallway. “What?”

“That’s not where your popcorn goes.” The crinkle of plastic drew your attention from his pout, and you grinned. You had stocked up on his favourite, but pulled a trick by hiding it behind his most hated flavour. “What are you doin’?”

You chuckled and shook your head. “Move the packets, you dumbass. They’re behind them.”

“You’ll pay for that,” Bucky warned, pointing at you. “You’ll regret this.”

“Bite me,” you sassed to his retreating footsteps.

“Don’t tempt me!”

A few moments later, you were settled in bed next to Bucky, your backs against the headboard and the snacks spread out over your laps. He had encouraged you to lay your head on his shoulder, and that was how your relaxing movie night had begun.

The TV played in the background, but your mind was elsewhere – a viscous curiosity having gripped you in an iron vice. Last night, Bucky had taken you apart with his fingers – just his fingers – and promised more. You were no fool, you knew he was waiting for you to be ready, and you felt as much, if only a little nervous.

“What’s goin’ on in that pretty head, baby?” Bucky asked suddenly, his voice quiet as his breath fanned over your head. It was then you looked up at him to parse his expression. It was soft, curious, and genuine in nature. “Your breathin’ changed, kitten–what’re you up to?”

Oh, no.

“Um… Nothing,” you rushed, putting your head back on his shoulder and praying for and willing your body to calm down and stop betraying your thoughts.

“Alright,” Bucky replied simply, and you let loose a breath you hadn’t realised you had held.

Only, Bucky wasn’t done with you.

Suddenly, his hand was on your thigh, and he shifted impossibly closer. Once settled, he kissed you on the head and made a show of flexing his hand to grab some candy. You watched with rapt attention while Bucky stared at the screen and put the candy on his lips. That damned tongue darted out to take the sugary sweet before he pulled it into his mouth.

Arousal pooled and swirled in your gut, and your cunt throbbed – just from the simple visual of his tongue. Fuck, you cursed.

“You alright there, baby?” Bucky asked again, and you realised he was staring at you, face curiously blank aside from his raised brow. “You’re squirmin’. What’s goin’ on?”

“Nothing,” you squeaked, and you stared into his face and, to your horror, watched his expression shift from blank to smug.

“I don’t think it is, honey,” Bucky murmured, and his hand moved higher up your thigh. “I think my innocent little kitten is gettin’ herself worked up for daddy, isn’t she?”

“Oh, fuck.”

Bucky grinned – predatory and dark. “I take that as a yes, baby.” He licked his lips, and you watched, transfixed at the movement, and Bucky chuckled. “Lemme guess; somethin’s runnin’ through that pretty head about last night, and you want more.”

“But-”

“That is not the answer to my question,” Bucky said easily, his tone laced with such casual dominance it made you blink and stutter. “Answer me, sweetheart.”

You gulped audibly and started to sweat – your palms clammy, and unbidden, your thighs clenched as you stared at his lips. “Uh- I, yeah. Yeah, it- That’s it.” The words fumbled on your tongue and came out in such a rush that Bucky’s grin only widened.

“Good girl.” Bucky shifted and turned his body to face you. The darkening of his eyes made you breathe heavily, an automatic response you had no control over. His hands, soft and warm, cupped your face and pulled you into his space, his lips so close to yours you could just inch forward and take them. Instead, like Bucky was holding onto his own control by a thread, he hoarsely whispered, “Daddy’s proud of you for answerin’ with the truth.”

An unintelligible moan fell from your lips, and Bucky surged forward, claiming your lips with his in a searing kiss that stole your breath. His hands wandered from your jaw to your shoulders, down your arms, until they rested on your waist – his thumbs rubbed up and down your side, bunching the fabric of your shirt.

“Fuck,” Bucky breathed against your lips, his forehead resting against yours. “Never get tired of kissin’ you, baby girl.” He pecked you on the lips once more and pulled back. “Seems like my little Vixen is lookin’ to play. And, you know, daddy can’t say no.”

“Daddy,” you breathed, and you blinked slowly as he smirked and shuffled back on the bed. “Please–I want you.”

“I know, kitten,” Bucky purred. “Move the food–put it on there,” he pointed at your bedside drawers. “Then lay back for me, thighs spread.”

With haste, you gathered the snacks in a haphazard pile and moved them onto the top of your bedside drawers. It was a precarious pile, but you didn’t care at that moment – not when Bucky was staring at you with such fierceness and hunger in his eyes.

After placing the snacks out of the way, you let out a shaky breath – you didn’t remember what he’d asked in your rush and nerves. “How-” You stammered, wringing your hands. “Um, how do I–?”

Bucky smiled softly and grabbed your hands to stop your fidgeting, the soothing warmth and pressure grounding you. “Lay down on your back for me, baby. I’ll take those cute panties off, and then you’ll spread your thighs for me. Can you do that, sweetheart? Can you do that for daddy?”

The assurance and instruction from Bucky calmed the storm of nerves in your mind, and you did as he instructed. His hands rubbed up and down the outsides of your thighs, until you settled, head and shoulders propped up on pillows.

“Atta girl,” he praised happily. You watched his hands grip the sides of your panties, and then you felt the fabric drag down your thighs and calves, and then he tossed them away to the corner of your room. “You know what to do now honey–c’mon.”

“Okay,” you murmured, and you slowly, shyly, opened your thighs.

Bucky moved to kneel between your now spread thighs, and he whistled lowly. “Prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen–and it’s mine. All fuckin’ mine.”

“Daddy…” Bucky looked up at you from your cunt, and the hunger in his eyes had grown in intensity – eclipsing what little was left of the cerulean blue into inky black. “Please, please, it- It aches.”

A wicked grin twisted his expression, and you whimpered in shock – he’d never looked like that before. “It aches, baby girl?” His hand moved to cup your sex, and his thumb brushed over your clit. “Here? It aches here?”

“Yes!” you yelped as he increased the pressure of his touch. “Please!”

“You poor thing,” he drawled, his gaze locked on your cunt. “I know.” Slowly, Bucky pulled his hand away from your sex and moved back on the bed. You watched him lay flat on his stomach, and he propped his upper half up on his elbows when he pulled the elastic that held his hair up and out of his face, off – brown locks now framing his face and devilish smirk. “So you have somethin’ to hold onto, baby.”

“What do you mean–?” you whispered, confused.

“It means, kitten,” Bucky began as he moved closer so his breath fanned over your inner thighs. “That daddy is gonna eat this pretty pussy, and you’re gonna cum for him–and he’s not gonna stop until you do.”

“Oh, wait- Wait, please,” you pleaded as anxiety flooded you. “But I… I’ve never had- This, never had this.”

“And that’s a damn fuckin’ shame, sweetheart,” Bucky replied darkly. “So, what you’re gonna feel is intense–remember the colours?” You nodded. “Good girl. We’re gonna use them, and you will shout out if you feel anything that makes you feel yellow, or red. Do you understand me, baby?”

“Yeah.”

Bucky kissed your thigh in response. “You let your body do what it wants. I’m not goin’ nowhere, and you’re safe. You can let go whenever you feel it–I will not hold back, honey.”

A whimper escaped before you clamped your mouth shut with a loud click.

“Now, daddy’s gonna take charge,” Bucky pushed on, his hands squeezing your thighs. “And your job, kitten, is to relax and let yourself feel–jus’ like last night, okay?”

“Okay,” you replied quietly, and Bucky grinned; this time, it was a fond action. “Thank you.”

“Always.”

The sensation of Bucky’s breath over your cunt made you twitch, and your hands fisted the sheets of the comforter, the anticipation building to be overwhelming. “Easy, sweetheart,” Bucky cooed, and you realised he was staring up at you, his head raised up and away from your twitching entrance. “You’re okay, and you’re safe.”

In your fugue state, no words came to mind on how to reply, so you just nodded.

“Here we go, babydoll,” he warned, and you braced. Only, the sensation ghosted over your clit, a barely there brush of his lips, when he groaned. “Fuck, you’re perfect–I’m never leavin’ your cunt. Never.”

Lips turned into tongue, and you keened at the wet, hard sensation of the muscle over your clit. It was otherworldly. Once resting beside your thigh, Bucky’s arm came up and over your hip to pin you in place. You looked down at the tattooed limb and then at his face, dazed and confused, only to find a mischievous glint in his hooded eyes.

“Wha- Fuck!” Bucky sucked gently, the hollows of his cheeks pulling in against his teeth as he kept up a steady stream of patterns with his tongue. “Daddy! Oh, daddy–please, feels so good,” you moaned, and you tried to writhe, to buck your hips up and closer to his mouth, but his arm had you pinned in place. “Hnng, pleaseplease!”

The vibration of his hum wrapped up and around your spine, the sensation finally settling in your heat with a sharp throb.

Bucky pulled back from your clit with a wet pop, and he groaned again. “So fuckin’ sweet too. I can’t wait to fuck your pretty hole with my tongue, kitten–get you really mewlin’ for me.”

“Jesus,” you gasped, and Bucky laughed. “You- You’re tongue–”

“Yeah.” Bucky grinned, his chin shining with slick. “And now it’s all yours. Now excuse me, this pretty pussy is achin’ for some attention.”

“Fuck-”

Bucky surged forward again, this time with such vigour your clit was pulled between his lips. You screamed to the ceiling and bowed your back, your thighs already trembling from the new sensations that pulled you under. “God! Please don’t stop- I- I think!”

The sensations ceased for just a second, and you felt Bucky speak more than you heard, “And I said not to think, honey–let go, give it to daddy. Cum for me.”

You groaned and panted his name when you finally fisted his hair in both hands – both pulling closer and pushing him away. There was a low moan in his throat, and he sucked harder, the patterns from his tongue faster, when something cascaded down your spine. It started slowly, building and building until you tingled all over; every limb was affected by the new sensation. “Bucky! Daddy–I, please, oh my god.”

He moaned loudly, the vibration so intense that your vision blurred and whited out. “Yes! Keep-” You hiccuped and pulled at his hair. “Fuck, don’t stop!”

You stared down at the top of his head when he tilted it up, his eyes meeting yours. “Daddy,” you moaned, and you could have sworn he grinned wickedly again. There was a slight raise to his brow, the intent unknown, and when you parted your lips to speak, a sob tore from your throat.

In the second it took for you to open your mouth, Bucky’s head shook side to side, the movements fast and purposeful as he alternated sucking on your clit and licking broadly over your lips and entrance.

The sensation that had built so slowly through your body imploded at once. A high, thin wail consisting of his name and curses tumbled from your mouth as your back bowed. “‘M cumming, daddy! Please!”

Your climax felt like a wildfire through every nerve, every muscle, and every bone – an all encompassing rush of ecstasy that left you boneless and quivering through the aftershocks. Bucky kept nursing softly on your clit; the delicate swipes from the tip of his tongue to the broad strokes with the pad of it made you twitch and jerk under his arm.

“Fuck,” you croaked as he pulled off of your cunt with a sinful, wet pop. A far more obscene sound that made the fire spark again.

Bucky rested his head on your thigh and blinked, smiling with a lust-drunk haze. “You alright, sweetheart? What’s your colour?”

“Green,” you rasped, “I’m fucking fantastic.” There was a light laugh in your tone, and your head fell back against the pillow. Feeling and strength returned slowly to every limb, each awakening at an agonisingly slow pace. “Fucking hell, daddy.”

“You keep saying my name, kitten, and I won’t be able to control myself.” Your head snapped up to stare at him, though he was too occupied staring at your cunt – that same hungry glint in his eyes. “Jus’ such a perfect fuckin’ pussy, baby. S’good, and I don’t wanna stop. Think you can cum again for me?”

“Again?” you squeaked.

Bucky looked up at you. “Yeah–fuck it, you’re gonna cum again for daddy. Can’t get enough.”

Your mouth fell open in surprise, but Bucky pushed forward. This time, his mouth hovered lower, and the arm pinning your hips down shifted and angled down so his fingers brushed over your sensitive clit. “Daddy’s gonna work fast, and he’s gonna fuck your tight hole with his tongue, alright, kitten?”

“Hnng- Yeah, daddy,” you moaned, just as the tip of Bucky’s tongue danced over your clit. “Please, please–I wan’ it.”

“You can have it, babydoll,” he whispered against your cunt, and it clenched around nothing. “Poor girl is weepin’ for me, isn’t she? Let’s fix that.”

The sensation of Bicky’s tongue forcing its way in your cunt shocked you, and you yelled a loud “Oh!” in response. His fingers thrummed over your clit, ignorant of the way your thighs and stomach tensed and jerked, all while his tongue moved in such a way it made your brain crash and burn. “Daddy–s’good, I fucking love your mouth, ah!”

Bucky moaned in response and kicked up the intensity – his fingers blurred over your clit, and he lapped at your walls, broad strokes that made you quiver in pleasure or oversensitivity; the line long since blurred.

The very same feeling you had from your first climax began low in your hips, ricocheting up your spine and spreading outwards at such a rate you only had a second’s notice before it consumed you. Each pass of his fingers forced your upper body off the pillows and your thighs to tighten around Bucky’s shoulders. “Daddy!”

“Yeah? What is it, baby?” Bucky asked, pulling away from your cunt, but his fingers kept up their fast pace. “What’s wrong–use your words.”

“Feels s’good, so fucking good, daddy, please,” you begged and babbled, voice strained. There were tears building along your waterline. “Please–wanna cum for daddy.”

The grin Bucky flashed was the most menacing one yet. “Such a good fuckin’ girl using your manners. You can cum–soak daddy’s face like the slut you are.” He dove right back between your thighs, forcing his tongue deep in your heat and his fingers to move faster over your clit.

You keened high in your throat as the wildfire blinded you, the pleasure overwhelming in its currents. “Gonna cum! Please!”

To your utter surprise, you felt the breach and pressure of three fingers, the insistent brush and curl of them making you cry out blindly with pleasure. “Shit! Oh, daddy!”

Bucky hummed, his face soaked in your slick. “Give it to me, baby,” he encouraged, his fingers moving desperately over your walls until they struck gold. “Give it to daddy, c’mon.”

Lips covered your clit, and you whimpered, high in pitch, as Bucky sucked – pressure steadily increasing until it became too much to bear. “Daddy! ‘M cumming again! Oh my god, fuckfuckfuck,” you chanted, and you twisted in his grip, your hips miraculously lifting off the bed as you sobbed and moaned through a violent climax.

“Tha’s it, sweetheart!” Bucky called suddenly, his voice muffled over the roar of blood in your ears. “Good girl–good girl, good kitten. Fuck, you’re so beautiful like this.”

Moments, hours, days passed – you couldn’t tell as you lay there, panting for air around the throes of aftershocks. Bucky spoke continuously, a steady stream of praise and reassurance that you welcomed in your haze: “Did so good for me, honey–so good for daddy,” and, “Fuckin’ beautiful, baby girl, you have no idea how pretty you are right now.”

“Daddy,” you murmured, and Bucky was suddenly all you could see – his hair knotted and bunched at his scalp, chin, and cheeks wet with slick, and a priceless, prideful smile on his lips. “Daddy–please,” you tried, and he tucked an errant strand of hair behind your ear.

“‘M here, baby girl, ‘m here.” There was a shift in the air, and then you were suddenly on your side, Bucky still close. “You alright? You still with me, honey?”

You nodded once, blinked, and sidled closer to rest your forehead in the juncture of his neck. “Mhm.”

“Thank you, honey,” Bucky murmured, and his voice rumbled through his chest. “You did so fuckin’ good for me–fuck, you were so pretty. Prettier than those roses.” There was a pause, then, “Couldn’t be prouder of you, baby. You took charge and didn’t let your shyness or nerves stop you. Fuckin’ bloomin’ like those roses too–jus’ so fuckin’ beautiful.”

Your heart, much like the roses he had given you, grew and bloomed in your chest – flourishing under the praise and genuine awe. And you couldn’t help but smile softly.

You were his rose – blooming and beautiful as you grew.

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 | 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 | 𝐚𝐨𝟑 ⠄⠂⠁

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ⠄⠂⠁

#bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky x f!reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes fluff #pup&kisasaestheticchallenge #rookthorne's works

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ultra-raging-ghost · 4 months

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All my egg designs!!

Click for better quality!!!

Design gushing under the cut vv

SO my height hc's for the eggs may be a lil controversial but i have several reasons lol

-Dapper, tallest, obviously in cannon bbh is a tall mf and dapper's the oldest demon it would make sense to me for her to be the tallest. A lot of ppl draw them in full suit but i prefer the sweater + button up look? I still gave him the bow that i enjoy drawing him with - sometimes i put it on his hat sometimes i put it on his neck lol also!!! i gave him blue accents and freckles for skeppy!!!

-Tallulah, second tallest, have you fucking seen wilbur soot?? wilbur soot is possibly the second tallest man ive seen in my entire life only preceeded by a 7 ft tall blonde man i met at the hospital, his daughter's gonna be tall. If dapper wasnt there she would be the tallest egg nobody can convince me otherwise. Obviously i gave her the classic wilbur sweater and beanie but i wanted her clothes to be pretty intentional - in my heart the death family all wear the cancer bows, so her and chayanne both have one and for Tallulah it's the only cool color in her palate aside from her matching shawl. Also it pained me to give her short hair but unfortunately its cannon :') oh also!! her hearing aid :D I also gave her little underdeveloped wings - theyre still growing in!! Alongside that theyre very downy, still got a bunch of pinfeathers and fluff <3

-Ramon, third tallest, in my mind ramon in a fucking unit. I gave him thick clothing and leather accents, good materials for hands on work and such, itll last a long time it makes sense Fit MC of 2b2t would dress ramon for function rather than fashion (although he still looks adorable). I normally see people drawing him with this wind breaker hat and goggles i dont really understand, ive always envisioned him with a welding mask (is that what theyre called??)!! I gave him pac's big doe eyes and a pair of soundproof pacman over-the-head headphones!!

-Chayanne, i dont know a ton about him but i do know hes a protector and i have seen what people draw of him!! Obviously i gave him the cancer pinned to his jacket, and as for his jacket its just a simple hoodie with a duck print on the front pocket. I wanted his palate to be yellow and purple - yellow for phil, purple for missa, wow revolutionary/s. His pants are tore up a lil and have stitching and patches in them (see the anarchy patch). His wings are more developed than his sister's and are pretty full with a dark, organized feathers. I gave him a shield, it has two wings on it (one light for missa, one dark for phil) i just feel like he'd carry one.

-Leo, i may have projected on her a lil <3 She's a softball girl in my heart!! Shes average height and kind of stocky cause in my mind shes very athletic. She mostly resembles Foolish, appearing mostly as a Totem, but she has purple accents such as in her clothing and eyes that are reminiscent of Vegeeta!

-Empanada, very short but still the tallest of the newest batch of eggs. She's the string bean of the bunch but i imagine under all the fluffy clothing shes a little muscular, gets it from her mamae bagi!!! I dressed her in mostly neutral and pink tones to match her sign and hat color - and as for her hat i imagine it as a VERY stylized beret, similar to pommes but it designed to look like a stack of pancakes with syrup pooling beneath them and the button on top is supposed to appear like a little square of butter!! Her horns, wings, and tail are white like mouse and tina's and she wears them proudly, even if she only has one horn <3 Her hair's split in two, black and pink.

-Pomme is very short, and she's dressed very fancily!! I like to imagine theres a stark contrast between the lolita/semiformal fashion of pomme and dapper to the informal wear of the rest of their siblings. The pattern on her dress is big apples trailing along the bottom of her skirt, and she's got star pattern tights to represent Etoiles <3 She's kind of a lil cryptid child, with a mouth at the back of her head just above her neck grinning away and two twin braids that float alongside her head.

-Richas!!! The shortest of the older eggs, his designs very simple mostly because he already wears a shirt which is the main focal point of his design for me. He's always been a cargo shorts egg to me, i dont know why!! But he lives in cargo shorts!! Richas chooses to be barefoot, its how he came into this world its how he'll leave. I actually looked up a prosthetic leg for reference for him and the top portion of prosthetic legs are usually patterned for the person wearing them, and i cant help but imagine that richas would choose for his leg to be the most atrocious yellow to ever exist and have all his family sign it. This is unseen, but under his hair he's wearing a bandanna with the brazilian flag on it! When viewed from behind you can see the knot tied around the back of his head, and when his hair's out of his eyes you could see it plastered to his forehead. I gave him lil horns because in my heart of hearts he's a demon, that lil egg is bad's egg too in my heart nobody can tell me otherwise.

-Sunny, one of the first eggs i designed - shes dressed just as i was as a child and by that i mean shes 100% a trailer park princess. They sport a "2 COOL 4 SCHOOL" shirt, with a plastic silver crown with jewels in it, and a pair of light up sketchers!! She has bear ears and paws and a bear-like nose and tail, they view Fred as their step-pa and he was the second parent they ever knew, it makes sense she'd wanna look like him!!

-Codeflippa looks almost identical to Juanaflippa, except she floats and is slightly greener... and is glitching..... and the shirt heart's on the other side than charlie remembers, but who's counting aye?? after your third death and revival maybe things get messy - hes not judging!!! I have this HC that the fed's aren't the only ones who can revive the eggs - theyre just the ones who've perfected it. I like to imagine codeflippa is the code/the rebellion's attempt at egg revival.

-Pepito, the smallest egg alive!! smallest ever so itty bitty so tiny!! only two months old!! Pepitos the smallest egg obviously, Pepito's wearing a cute little jumper with matching socks that dont really fit properly but are still just the cutest little thing to me <3 Pepito has devil horns and a tail because bad was the only person to really care for pepito properly before Q came along. Pepito mostly looks like a mix of roier and quackity, sporting a matching yellow pair of duck wings <3 I was tempted to put pepito in pepito's xmas bows because they were just the CUTEST but i restrained myself

-The dead eggs, the smallest.... Most of these babies were less than a month old when they passed for one reason or another so theyre all very tiny :') Flippa mostly looks like charlie, but she's got layered shirt and layered her skirt on top of her pants because he nor marianna know how to dress a baby </3 Tilin is a carbon copy of Q, she's a very shy young lad, shoeless and wearing one of Q's jackets which are absolutely huge on her. Not seen is his yellow pair of duck wings - theyre still baby wings so theyre very small and hidden behind him, full of downy feathers <3 Trumpet we didnt know for very long, but they were very fun to design!! Maxo definitely loved him, so i modeled his clothing after him mostly. I was trying to go for something like Blacklight aesthetic?? black paired with bright, contrasting patterns that would look good under a blacklight. Bobby is dressed the most ummm domestically id say. Very simply, like he was living on a farm and spent his days in the soft grass. I imagine he was shoeless by choice, because it was fun!! It was very obvious jaiden and roier loved him, so i tried to give him a kind expression and well taken care of wings. His feathers are still kind of downy and muted, but theyre more developed than Tilin's and are very well taken care of! I wanted his bandana and overalls to be the centerpiece of his design so aside from those he's got a plain white baggy shirt. I imagine its made of linen or something, bobby would smell like fresh laundry all the time..

-Gegg.

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mcuamerica · 15 days

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The Shadowsinger: Eighteen

Warnings: 18+. Minors DNI. SMUT (wing play, shadow play, p-in-v, protected sex (Az is using the tonic), fingering, size kink), ACOTAR series spoilers, alludes to SA. If I forgot anything, please let me know!

Pairing: Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary: You spend your first Starfall out of the Mountain with Azriel.

Disclaimer: I do not own SJM’s characters or plot lines, only the ones I create for the purpose of this story. This is a work of fiction. I do not give permission to repost my work on any other platform or medium. Please be respectful.

My graphics are my own. If you wish to use them, please give credit!

Series Masterlist

Thirteen - Fourteen - Fifteen - Sixteen - Seventeen

You spent that night with Azriel. After you bathed, you invited him into your room and you laid with him. He told you about Mor, even though you knew the story. He told you about how he was always more protective of his family in Hewn. Especially when Keir was involved.

Az said he was upset that you didn’t agree with Rhys right away, that you would defend them if he asked. He expected more, and you understood. Azriel was Rhys’s brother, he would defend him to no end. Even if Rhys was in the wrong. You talked about that for an hour.

You spent half the night talking about the people you hurt on behalf of others. You had never hurt another person of your own will before, not before you joined the Night Court. Azriel, on the other hand, has hurt many people. Maybe on behalf of Rhys, but he equally felt it was justified. You learned he was much more aggressive when it came to his family, if anyone threatened them, it took a lot for him to restrain himself.

You didn’t fight again throughout the night and you eventually fell asleep with your head on his chest. His wings were spread out beneath him, and yours were tucked into your back. Both your shadows settled on the ground once you both relaxed.

When you woke up, you noticed Azriel was staring at you. “You’re beautiful in the morning.” He whispered, moving your hair from your face. The curls from last night had fallen out and you were pretty sure the kohl was probably smeared underneath. To you, you definitely did not look beautiful.

“You’re lying.” You whispered, even though your shadows whispered to you that he wasn’t.

“Why would I lie?” He asked and cupped your cheek. You leaned into his touch.

“What are we, Az?” You asked, looking up to his eyes. “Are we… courting?”

Azriel’s stroking thumb stopped on your cheek. Your heartbeat kicked up, afraid that you pushed too far. “Courting is such a fancy term.” He said and smiled. “And I don’t think it quite covers how I feel about you..” he said.

“And how do you feel about me?” You asked quietly.

“Like I’m falling head over heels for you… and I don’t think I’m ever going to land.” He whispered, his thumb continuing to stroke your cheek.

You felt a light heat rise to your face, a tender smile coming to your lips. Azriel wished he could capture this moment. The look on your face told him that you cared. You cared for him. “I’m going to be there to catch you. As long as you’re there for me.” You whispered.

Instead of responding, he leaned in, kissing you deeply. It conveyed everything the two of you were feeling. You were falling for each other. You were almost in love with him. But there was something holding you back. You hoped whatever it was would sort itself out. You knew that if you loved him, your life would be the most complete it had been in a long time.

Starfall was the next night. You hadn’t been able to see it in 50 years. Your dress was a deep midnight blue, with gems lining the entire fabric to make it glow in the light. It was draped across your shoulders, a sheer shimmery fabric flowed from your back to the ground. You couldn’t believe you found it the day before, and the seamstress was able to adjust it within the day.

You walked to the main dining room in the House of Wind, where many of the residents in Velaris were already celebrating. You spotted your friends, your family, and slowly walked over to them. You took Azriel’s arm when he offered it to you, thanking him when he complimented your look.

Rhys greeted you as well and you saw Feyre’s dress, a silver gown that took your breath away. Where did she get that? You noticed Feyre walk over to Rhys, standing slightly closer to him than she did before.

“Is this how lively it was when you were all here during those 50 years?” You asked, looking up at Az.

He tilted his head in a so-so manner. “We tried to keep hopes up, keep it a sacred night. But we never allowed any residents to the House. That was to be reserved for Rhysand’s first Starfall back.” He said.

“You seem happy.” You said, smiling up at him.

“I am. My entire family is here… and you’re included in that.” He said, a small smile on his lips. Seeing you smile up at him took his breath away. You were incredible. In every sense of the word. “Were you ever allowed out on Starfall?” He asked.

You shook your head, your smile falling to a small frown. “No… Amarantha knew how important Starfall was for the Night Court. She would take Rhys into her chambers… I can only imagine what she made him do.” You said and looked over to him, your heart clenching at the sacrifice that Rhysand made so his people, these people, could be safe. “For the rest of us… well most of the Night Court people were bound Under the Mountain anyway. For me, she would force me to do some horrid thing to spies… it always ended with me killing them.” You looked outside, smiling as you saw the River. “This year, I can properly appreciate the migration of the spirits. I hope it’s as beautiful as I remember it.” You finished.

Azriel took his arm from your grasp, wrapping it around your waist to pull you closer to him. He kissed your temple tenderly and you looked up at him as he said, “You’re with your family now. And we won’t let anything like that happen again. Starfall will always be a night when we spend it outside, nothing above our heads.”

You smiled and leaned up, kissing his cheek. “Thank you Az,” you said.

Mor brought you both something to drink and you spoke with her and Amren as more and more guests filed in. You knew Rhys had a special system for getting everyone up here tonight, and you were glad for it. You could see all the residents in their gowns and with their partners.

Rhys and Feyre disappeared somewhere when Starfall started, but you and Az found your own little corner on the balcony. He rubbed your waist, not even watching as the spirits started to ascend. He kept his eyes on you as you admired them flying through the sky. You laughed gently as you saw a few people get sprayed with dust, looking up at Azriel. “You’re missing it.” You said, nudging him.

“I’m watching something just as beautiful.” He said and you blushed, nudging him again.

“You flatter me, Spymaster.” You said. “My room has a private balcony.” You added, looking at him. “Care to join me away from this?” You asked, turning to face him fully.

He glanced around, taking in his family as they celebrated and watched the spirits flying across the sky. “I’d love to.” He said, looking down as you took his scarred hand in yours, walking towards the stairs.

You got to your room, stepping out on the balcony. You took in the brisk wind, watching the spirits. Your shadows hid in the corner, even Azriel’s joined them. “Can I tell you something?” Azriel asked, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. You spread your wings so he could rest his head on your shoulder, his breath tickling your neck.

“You can tell me anything.” You said and turned your face towards him. You could feel the spirits flying by close enough that you could touch them if you reached your hand out.

“I haven’t felt this content in a long time. And it’s all because of you.” He whispered and pressed a soft kiss on your neck.

A gentle smile appeared on your lips, leaning into his touch. “I feel the same way.” You whispered, looking out to the sky with him. “Can I tell you something?” You asked quietly.

“Anything.” He answered, pulling you closer.

“I didn’t think I could ever be happy again… not after Amarantha claimed me as hers. I never thought I would be on my own again, that I would always be tied to her or what she made me do. I would be suffocating because of the things I’ve done,” you said. “But I found a place here. With your family… and when I’m with you…” you took in a deep breath, turning in his arms. You leaned against the edge of the balcony, bringing your hand up to cup his cheek. “When I’m with you, Azriel, I feel like even after all that I’ve endured, I can breathe again… And I truly hope that feeling never goes away. Because you make my life feel complete.”

He studied your eyes, leaning down to rest his head on your forehead. “I hope I can always help you breathe, too.” He said.

You closed the distance in between you two, kissing him deeply. You tangled your fingers on his hair, savoring the taste of the liqueur on his tongue. You let out a small whimper when he squeezed your waist, trailing his hands down to your rear to give that a squeeze as well.

He lifted you up by your thighs, your arms wrapping around his shoulders as he carried you to the bed. Your hands drifted to the ends of his wings, smirking against his lips when they twitched and you felt the bulge in his pants grow.

“Azriel…” you whispered as he laid you down. “I want you to touch my wings.” You whispered and looked into his eyes.

He studied your face and when you nodded, he kissed you again. “You’re sure?” He asked.

“Yes. I trust you.” You whispered.

“You just say the word… and I’ll stop.” He said and kissed your neck before he looked back up to you.

“And you tell me the same.” You said, bracing yourself as he slowly untied your dress from the back, letting it fall from your shoulders. His intense stare as he examined your body made the heat in your core grow.

You reached up, unbuttoning his own shirt as he leaned down to pepper kisses your collarbone. “You are beautiful.” He whispered against your skin, reaching back to slowly touch the edge of your right wing.

You bristled, arching your back from the small touch. “So are you.” You whispered and slipped off his shirt. You ran your hands down his chest, dragging your nails against his abdomen. “And I want you out of these pants.” You growled.

His chuckle reverberated off of the skin above your breast as he stepped back, unbuttoning them and letting them fall to the ground.

You lifted your hips, pulling the rest of your dress down to fall to the floor. Something about being completely bare in front of Azriel unlocked your inner need, pulling him on top of you.

He tsked, kissing your neck. “Not quite, sweetheart.” He whispered and shifted, pulling you on his lap from behind, so your back and wings were against his chest. “If you want me to touch your wings, I’m going to find every spot to make you feel good.” He whispered in your ear, nipping your lobe.

You leaned your head back to look at him. “Don’t tease.” You pleaded.

“We didn’t agree to that.” He smirked and reached around, squeezing your breast with one hand as the other trailed the center of your back to the inside of your left wing.

His gentle touch on your wing compared to the hard squeezing of your breast made you arch your back again, moaning out his name. “That’s it baby… do you like that?” He asked and trailed his fingers down the bottom of the membrane, finding the spot that had you leaking on the thin layer of underwear separating your bare folds and his covered shaft.

“I think I found it.” He whispered and took the hand that was on your breast, quickly plunging it into your folds.

“Azriel,” you moaned, bucking your hips as his fingers curled inside you. His shadows came out from the corner, swirling around that sensitive spot on your wings as he dragged his fingers across it. His thumb reached up and pressed your bundle of nerves, you letting out a yell as that brought you over the edge. Your fluids pulsed out from you, still clenching around Azriel’s fingers as he slowly pulled them out.

You watched as he brought them to his mouth and sucked, letting out a moan of his own. “Delicious.” He whispered and turned your face completely, kissing you deeply.

Still reeling from the orgasm, you barely noticed as he flipped over so he was on top of you, his hands pulling off the fabric covering the bulge.

“I don’t think I can wait any longer, sweetheart.” Azriel whispered as he kissed you again, his hand trailing down to pump his shaft a few times, and then coated it with your slick.

You bucked your hips at the feeling, looking down to see the large cock that was just about to enter your folds. “Don’t hold back. I need you, Az.” You whispered, then looked up at him as he slowly entered you.

“That’s all I’ve ever wanted to hear.” He said and kissed you deeply, swallowing your moan as he pushed inside.

He eased in, groaning against your lips as you squeezed his cock. “You’re so tight. Cauldron…” he ground out.

“Az… gods you’re so big.” You whined, pulling away to rest your head on his shoulder.

He looked down, almost finishing at the sight of you stretching around him. He eased in all the way, planning to let you adjust for a moment until you took the bottom of his wing in between your fingers.

He lost control, pulling out and pounding into you. “You’ll be the death of me, sweetheart.” He said. “Keep doing that.” He said.

You whimpered and squeezed your fingers slightly, your other hand holding onto him as he relentlessly pounded in and out of you. Gods, you knew he was huge but the feeling on him inside of you, stretching you out to the brink of tearing you apart…

“Keep squeezing me like that and I won’t hold on much longer,” he said.

You squeezed your eyes shut, gasping as he hit the right spot, your folds continuing to squeeze and convulse around his large shaft.

“Please.. don’t.” You whispered. “Let go, Az.”

He grabbed your chin, forcing you to look up at him. “You look at me while I fill you, hmm?” He said it like a question, but you knew it was an order.

“Yes,” you whispered and stared into his eyes as he pounded into you. You came undone again as he took that sensitive spot on your wing in his fingers. He did the same when you reached around, touching the corresponding spot on his wing as well.

He spilled his seed inside of you, coming to a halt as you convulsed around his shaft. “Azriel… that was incredible.” You said, your voice hoarse from the yelling.

He hummed and slowly pulled out of you. You whimpered and held onto his shoulders, digging your nails into them as he did. You let out a shaky breath, pouting as you saw him get up and disappear into your bathing room. He came out with a cloth, kissing your neck as he cleaned you up. Your hips bucked one last time at the sensation, still sensitive from your orgasm.

You watched as he laid down next to you. “I think it was more than incredible, sweetheart.” He whispered and kissed you sweetly. “It was extraordinary.” He said.

You settled on his chest, your breathing slowing. You glanced out the window, smiling as you saw the spirits still flying by. You smiled as you said, “I guess what they say about wingspan is true.”

A/N: Their special Starfall night...

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blueweaver1 · 5 months

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This is part 2 of my Oathbound AU

Click here for part 1

I been working on this AU some more, as you can see. Above are the different forms that Impulse and Skizz can shift in-between. I just realized I forgot to add Skizz's scruff, please pretend he has it. Below has more details about forms, the environments they grew up it, and how this AU interacts with the Life Series.

--Forms--

Impulse prefers his human form. He works a lot with redstone and machinery so lots of tight spaces and moving parts. So while having horns and wings is cool those parts are more likely to get stuck or pinched.

Skizz prefers having at least his wings out. However, he doesn't like it when random people clock him as an angel. To remedy this, while he has his wings out he'll store his halo in his inventory. If anyone asks what type of hybrid he is, he'll just saying some type of white hawk. Impulse would say Skizz is a type of pigeon.

--Places--

So the places that Angels and Demons are form aren't new dimensions, but more like extensions to existing places. The placeholder names are The Upper and The Under. I thought about using the Aether name, but ultimately decided against it.

The Upper is a place far above the sky. Past the limit where fireworks refuse to ignite. Past the limit where elytra start to freeze and shatter. Past the limit where even the sturdiest avians refuse to go. That is where you'll find the angels.

The Upper is a very cold land. Water isn't a thing up there only ice. However, it's no winter wonderland given that it's much too cold to snow. Angels are built for this type of environment, because while they can eat food most of their energy comes from light. Shelter and tools are made from stone and wood-like materials. Although most angels are perfectly fine just finding a nice, flat, floating rock and sleeping on that. The air up there is very still and quiet.

The Under is a place far below the Nether. Beneath the lava lakes of the Nether, in netherrack that is partially baked from the intense heat and weight, you'll find the demons.

The Under is a very hot land. Winding tunnels and caverns that were dug out connecting with chaotically formed ravines all of which is only lit by lava that has snuck through the cracks. Demons are mostly fire proof, because of this they are able to crawl up from the lava lakes are search for food on the Nether floor. There are things they can eat in The Under, but almost all Demons prefer the stuff from the slightly above. The tunnels are often quite noisy.

If it wasn't clear: The Upper is above the overworld, The Under is in below the Nether.

--Who did the Oath first?--

This was answered in the comments of part 1, but I also wanted to put it here.

So if you asked them directly they would probably give you a different answer time. 1: because it's very personal 2: because it's funny. So what actually happened is both Skizz and Impulse thought of the idea independently, but it was Skizz who brought up it up first. However it was Impulse who did the oath first. Of course it took multiple years for him to psyche himself up to do it, not because he didn't trust Skizz, he was just very nervous about it.

Impulse is also just a "tiny" bit competitive and wanted to go against the demon stereotypes. While Skizz would've preferred it to happen sooner and was will to go first, he understood that this was important to impulse. He does have fun needling Impulse that it took him soooooo long, but it's all in good fun

--Life Series--

I personally like seeing that the Life Series started as a fun hardcore series that turned into a death game due to outside forces. Impulse and Skizz (in their human forms) understand that things are going wrong when the second game starts. While everyone's hybrid abilities are being suppressed by the outside force so no one get too much of an advantage. Yes, they could brute force it by going Eclipse mode and getting everyone out they don't know if that would help in the long run. I mean what if it happens again but since they outsiders how of their powers they don't take Impulse and Skizz and the two of them completely lose track of their freinds?

So they settle for trying to pick up clues and win at least one of the games...

....

...

.... why are they so bad at this ....

(though it sounds like angst, it's probably going to end up as a comedy if I'm going to be honest...)

#hermitcraft fanart #impulsesv #impulse fanart #imp and skizz #skizzleman fanart #skizzleman #skizz fanart #hermitcraft au #hermitcraft #oathbound au

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impala-dreamer · 5 days

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Danger In The Mist

A Supernatural Story from The Kingdom of Moondoor

~ As the fair Princess Y/N races through the woods, running for her life from the evil monster, Margraw the Horrid, she fears that all is lost. Is there anyone who can save her? Will some brave knight come to her aide?!~

Dean Winchester x F!Reader

2,400 Words

Warnings: Action, Fluff, Romance, Comedy.

A/N: Set in the world of Moondoor... A request from a patron and the "hey, you made need to bite on this" square for my @jacklesversebingo Bingo Card. Hope you all enjoy! I must say, I really enjoyed writing this and the voice I found is a lot of fun.

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A light mist kissed her cheeks as she raced through the woods. Her slippered feet ached with every step as rocks rose up to meet the silken soles of her feet. Her arms were stinging, scrapped by the rough hands of wayward branches and brambles. Out of breath and filled with fear, she stumbled from tree to tree, clawing at the sturdy bark for a moment of support before taking off once more.

She ran until her lungs burned.

Thinking herself safe, Princess Y/N paused aside a large rock formation. Her wind-blown hair created a pillow against the mossy stone and she breathed deeply, slowly. Her heart was pounding and her ears rang, but she listened closely to the forest.

To her left, birds chirped, signaling to others a warning of the approaching storm. Wings flapped against the graying sky as they filled the canopy with urgent alarm. On her right, twigs snapped under the hooves of deer and delicate leaves crumbled in their mouths. All around, wind passed through the greenery and Y/N held her breath, searching blindly for the one sound she absolutely needed to hear. All was still. She was surrounded by quiet.

A few moments later, heavy footfalls broke through the mote of silence and entered her perception. She gasped as the thing approached, stalking at a quick pace that she knew she could no longer keep up with or out run.

It was over.

She would soon be captured, taken away and shoved back into the dank, cold tower at Dunshire Castle to await her terrible fate. She exhaled and a hot tear trekked down her flushed cheek, mixing with the cool drizzle as it settled upon her skin.

“Come out, Princess!” The monster yelled as he sniffed the air like a dog. “I know that you are near. I can smell your sweet scent!”

A howling roar erupted from its maw and Y/N shivered. In her mind’s eye she could see the terrible creature clearly - a giant, thick body covered in the harsh gray fur of a wolf, fangs like a venomous snake that curved beyond its jaw, digging into his chapped lip. His piercing eyes like glowing rubies, seething with dark magic. The stank of him struck her senses and Y/N tried not to wretch.

She wanted to run but her body was weak. She wanted to scream, but she could not allow her voice to betray her location. She needed but a little more time to feel the dying sun on her face, to inhale the fresh air, to feel the soft ground beneath her feet before she was snatched back to the hell of the towering prison. She would not be taken so soon!

Another roar made her jump. It was closer this time and Y/N’s skin crawled. She had to run. She had to try.

She took a breath and then a step, moving away from the safety of the overhanging rock.

The moment she was free, a giant hand wrapped around the nape of her neck, yanking her backwards with ghastly power.

She screamed and the winged flock above scrambled to fly away from the echoing noise.

“Please! Help me!”

Y/N steeled herself for a blow that never came. As she took one final look at the forest, saying goodbye to the deer and the yapping birds, a strapping figure appeared a few yards away. The man was tall and handsome, with cropped brown hair that stood up a bit at the crown. His lips were full and pink, and his eyes matched the surrounding forest. He wore tights and a simple shirt of russet orange with silver chainmail covering his broad shoulders and chest.

“Unhand her, you fiend!”

The man’s deep, booming voice shook the trees and wrapped around Y/N with all the comfort of a heavy woolen shawl. She was saved. She was safe. She’d soon be free.

The monster pushed Y/N aside and she fell into the grass, watching as the war for her freedom began.

“How dare you,” the thing spat. “Do you have any idea who I am!”

“No introduction is needed, Margraw the Horrid! Though, I would like you to say hello to my little friend.” The man smirked and drew his longsword from its sheath. The metal gleamed in the dimming light and the crest of the mighty House of Winchester shone brightly upon the hilt.

Margraw hissed. “Winchester!”

Dean smiled proudly and turned the sword in his hand. “The one and only.”

A cackle left the beast’s lips. “Indeed. E’er since I slaughtered your baby brother those many moons ago. He truly was a delicious feast.” Margraw licked his hairy chops and stared the knight down. “I wonder if you’ll taste the same or if I’ll have to boil you with mead to enhance the flavor.”

Dean’s upper lip curled into a sneer and he raised his sword high. “Sorry to break it to you, Margraw, but I am the tastiest snack you’ll never have!”

Y/N was taken by the handsomeness of the brave knight and the way he bit back with his words. It was as if he were cutting Margraw down before even swinging his blade. Her heart raced once again, but she knew from the building heat betwixt her thighs that it was no longer from fear.

“You’re cocky, Winchester,” Margraw hissed.

“You ain’t seen nothing yet,” Dean replied with a wink towards the Princess. “Now, just hand over the girl and we can all be on our way.”

Margraw laughed viciously. “The Princess is mine. Her father signed her life over to me before she was even born. I am her destiny.”

Y/N cringed, shuddering on the cold ground.

Dean looked at her, brows creased in curiosity. “Is this true, m’lady?”

When their eyes met, Y/N swooned and the forest grew light around him as if the world were highlighting his chiseled frame.

“Sadly, yes, sir, but-”

A fresh tear fell and the knight nodded in understanding.

“Fear not, Princess,” he said boldly. “You shall not be dinner for this monster tonight.” He took a step forward, sword ready for a fight. “But perhaps you can be my desert.”

He winked once again and Y/N’s stomach flipped. Her right hand reached for her heaving breast and she watched in awe as Dean, brave knight of the House of Winchester, defended her honor against the dreaded beast, Margraw the Horrid.

The fight was fast and fierce. Dean dodged blows from Margraw’s massive paws and jabbed with his trusted blade. The beast moved slower but with much force, continually blocking Dean’s attacks and sending the knight toppling over his own feet.

Y/N viewed the malay with a hand clutched over her heart, praying to the forest gods that all would be well. When Dean cried out in pain, she nearly lost all hope. He fell to one knee and held his leg as blood leaked from his thigh. He’d been struck by Margraw’s poisoned claws and fire seeped into his veins.

“Dean!” Y/N cried, her voice saturated with grim pain. “No!”

Green eyes swept lovingly over her face and Dean found the strength to carry on. With one swift motion, he stood and swung his arm, deftly delivering a final, deadly blow to Margraw. The monster fell with a sickening howl and the forest was still once more.

Finally free, Y/N scrambled to her feet and swept the dirt from her skirts. She took a deep breath and walked toward the corpse, looking down at the empty eyes of her captor.

She spat in his ugly face. “You shall never again haunt my nightmares, you beast!”

Satisfied and at peace, Y/N closed her eyes for a brief moment and let the cool mist wash her past away.

Behind her, Dean collapsed. His longsword fell to the ground, coming to lay beside his bloodied body. He gasped as a rock dug into his broken rib and Y/N spun around, rushing to his side.

“Dean!”

Down to her knees she fell and Y/N looked him over, her eyes heavy with worry.

He looked up and managed a smile even as the monster’s poison worked its painful magic, pulsing through his bloodstream.

“Hey, gorgeous.”

Her cheeks flushed but there was no time to attend to her blossoming need. “You’re hurt,” she said, hands hovering over the wound in his meaty thigh.

“No big deal,” he joked, holding back a harsh cough. “I’ve had worse.”

Carefully, she examined his leg and saw the purple streaks expand across his freckled skin as the poison moved about.

She shook her head. “No. Margraw’s claws are tainted with the Poison of Aragrog- enough to kill an army of thousands. We must draw it out before it takes your heart.”

Dean tried to sit up, but he faltered and landed on his elbows, his long legs stretched out before him. “I don’t think it can,” he teased.

“And why not?”

“Because, my heart has already been taken,” he whispered, “by you.”

Y/N’s bosom swelled and her mouth dried, demanding a drink from his lips. “You are quite smooth, Sir Knight, and I do owe you my life. Will you not allow me to attempt now to save yours?”

Dean sighed and then twitched as pain spread up his side. “Do what you must.”

Quickly, Y/N grabbed hold of her innermost skirt and ripped a long strip of the airy fabric free. She looped the frayed white hem around his upper thigh and then reached for a fallen branch. She twisted the thin bit of wood into the fabric and prepared to tighten the tourniquet.

Dean watched with wide, nervous eyes as she worked.

“That’s not gonna hurt, is it?” he asked timidly.

Y/N smiled as kindly as she could. “It will,” she answered truthfully. “But I need to stop the poison from spreading any further whilst I prepare a healing salve. I believe I spied a patch of yarrow over yonder.”

Dean’s expression was worrisome. Hesitation creased with suffering. She took pity and snapped the tip of the twisting branch off, handing it to him.

“Here,” she told him, “you may need something to bite on.”

As her hand lifted the bark to his lips, Dean snatched her wrist and tugged, yanking the Princess down into his arms. He kissed her sweet lips and nestled a hand against the small of her back. She meant to cry out, to protest his rash decision, but the pressure of his mouth upon hers, the feel of his fingers splaying across her back, the taste of his tongue all conspired to wipe the worry from her mind. She melted into him and kissed him back, hoping beyond hope that he would be saved from the poison so that she might be granted a thousand more kisses just like this one.

While she prayed, Dean wrapped his arms tight around her and rolled with her, claiming the top space and pressing her soft body into the earth. He dipped his tongue into her mouth as he bunched up the mass of skirts covering her sex. He pressed his knee into her heat and she moaned loudly into his mouth.

“Thou art quite the kisser, Sir Winchester…”

Dean grinned and flexed his thigh, pushing against her pussy again. “Ya know, I’m kinda loving you calling me Sir, Y/N/N.”

She grabbed at the rough collar of his shirt. “That’s Princess, to you, peasant.” She tugged and he fell back to kissing her, captivated by the pull of her mouth and the heat of her writhing body.

Sneaking a hand between them, Y/N reached for his cock and rubbed her palm over it. He shivered and bucked his hips, helping her along.

“Fuck, I wanna fuck you right here,” he growled, lips dragging over the shell of her ear.

Y/N closed her eyes and spread her legs wider, lifting them to wrap around his trim waist. “You should…”

He let out a sexy huff that made her nipples tingle and her pussy leak. She licked at his mouth and lightly squeezed his sack.

“Now you’re askin’ for it,” he laughed.

“Yeah, I literally just asked for it.”

He nibbled at her throat. “Well, I’m gonna give it to ya.”

“Are you? You’re taking forever.” She pulsed her hand over the tip of his cock.

“Oh, I am.” He pushed up on his hands, hovering over her.

“Good,” she beamed, “give it to me, big boy.”

“It’s coming-”

“Not before I do,” she warned.

“Never,” he smirked. “You know how I roll.”

“I sure d-”

“Hold!”

A voice cried out and Dean’s head snapped back to look over his shoulder.

Patrick, the IT tech draped in Margraw’s costume and covered in fake fur, stood with arms crossed and a sour expression.

“You two know I’m still here, right?” he asked, eyeing each in turn.

Y/N could feel her cheeks burn and she dropped her legs from Dean’s ass and less than gracefully rolled out from under him.

“Sorry…”

Dean, however, was tickled pink about the whole situation. He laughed and pushed himself up to his feet. He turned to his fellow LARPer and shrugged.

“Maybe if you switch sides and play the hero for once, you could get some too.”

Patrick tapped an annoyed boot and sighed. “There are rules, ya know.”

Dean turned up the charm and threw his arm around the costumed monster. “I know, bud. Why don’t we go back to camp, hit the tavern, and you can tell me all about them.”

Y/N stood back a bit, fixing her skirts and pushing her boobs back into her corset. She watched as her knight in cheap armor and her attacker set off into the misty sunset.

Sure, maybe it was cheesy to some, but fighting a monster that definitely was not going to actually kill you was rather fun. There was plenty to do in the Kingdom of Moondoor, lots of adventure and pageantry, feats of skill and laughter. It was a relaxing weekend away from the real world, and Y/N loved sneaking away to enjoy it. Especially because she always got to go home with the handsome knight when the day was through…

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biteofcherry · 8 months

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No such thing as finality

vampire!Curtis Everett x reader; Dracula!Curtis Everett x reader

summary: When Curtis returns to his newly acquired mansion in London, he's greeted by an unexpected sight...

warnings: angst; so so much angst; and feels; dark-ish; a bit of blood (there are vampires in this story, after all); mention of death;

Author's note: This is my small contribution to @witchywithwhiskey's Horror Movie Hoe-a-thon. The classic horror movie I based my inspiration on is Bram Stoker's Dracula. Though, me being me, I put a wicked twist to it. Hope you enjoy! The title "No such thing as finality" is also a quote from the Dracula book.

Lush scent of roses, bowing their graceful necks as wind gained momentum, didn’t fully cover the sweet, decadent smell of freshly spilled blood.

It would lure him in curiosity in any other circumstances, but since he didn’t expect anyone to be willingly bleeding inside his mansion, it made him wary.

Curtis wasn’t scared. There was no human, nor creature in this universe that could truly harm him. Any attack that may happen upon him, would be dealt with swiftly and mercilessly. He could rip them apart with bare hands; move so fast and snap their neck before they even blinked; sink his fangs into an artery and rip it out; take the shape of a beast and tear them inside out.

He should do it for the sheer audacity of breaking into his household, as newly acquired and not yet fully lived-in it was.

Taking measured steps, Curtis walked through the open wings of the glass, orangerie doors. Moonlight reflected in crystal chandeliers. Shadows crept along the walls, attempting to intimidate, but quickly withdrawing in submission to his own, chilling darkness.

There was a faint glow of warm light seeping from beneath the double door leading to the ballroom. The sound of crackling fire announced someone’s preparation for his return.

Curtis lifted a hand and the door opened in a burst, a gust of wind rubbing against his cheek affectionately before it whipped inside in a cold snap.

His gaze instantly fell on the crumpled body in the middle of the polished, hardwood dancefloor - a decorative gore centerpiece of blue silk, soft skin and pool of ruby red blood.

He recognized her.

Mina.

That dress was the one he gifted her; as inappropriate as it was, since her engagement ring still shined on her slender finger and she had made no promise of breaking that word to Jonathan Harker, even if her lips trembled to say more than just a thank you to Curtis. Her lovely face of soft lines and ethereal delicacy, which he drew obsessively in the past weeks, remained angelic as her life slipped away.

Curtis knew her, craved her and now he felt… mildly irritated.

A frown marred his face as he searched his feelings. Surely he should feel something stronger. Rage that would fly him across the room. Despair that would turn him into a wailing beast.

There was a flicker of annoyance - both at having her snatched from his grasp before he got to explore this madness and at being challenged so obviously.

As an apex predator he didn’t entertain any form of challenge.

Slowly, his eyes moved from Mina’s dying body to the hem of your shimmering gown inches from the dark pool of blood.

It was one of your favorite dresses - an almost translucent, pale fabric lined with exquisite sparks that gave the illusion of your body being encrusted in diamonds. Yet you didn’t seem bothered by the fact it bore stains of blood where it splashed when you sunk your teeth into the woman’s neck.

Red essence still dripped from your chin as you boldly stared at Curtis across the room.

“Hello, husband.”

Beads decorating your hair caught flickers of amber glow as you tilted your head in greeting. In that moment you were the epitome of a dark goddess from centuries ago; one he turned you into when he promised you an eternity at his side. One who walked with him through the darkness and filled it with your own light.

Light he forgot about in the fleeting moment of obsession.

“Beloved.” Though Curtis’ voice bore an undertone of reprimand at what you have done, his term of endearment didn’t change. “You’ve overstepped.”

Your eyes flashed red glow at his admonition, as it hinted at the importance of the dying, pathetic reflection of a woman from eons ago. She was not important! She couldn’t be important to him. You were!

“Overstepped?!” You hissed, your fangs elongating as you turned abruptly. “I was left in the castle, foolishly dreaming of and preparing for the move to the estate my dear husband went to secure. Meanwhile he fucking romanced a silly, mortal goose!”

“Mortal she may have been, but Mina wasn’t as unimpressive as you make her to be.” He didn’t know why he was defending his betrayal, since there was still not a single flare of rage urging him to snap your neck.

Curtis didn’t think there’d ever be a time the mere thought of ending your immortal life entered his mind. Though he felt a pang of pain, somewhere in the hollowness of his chest where a heart should beat, when he realized the weight of hurt he must’ve caused you as he prowled after Mina.

“I’m sure her face resembling your dead first wife was a truly impressive genetic lottery win,” you snorted, “but have you become as all those pathetic mortal men, ready to cheat on their actual wife with a new hot piece of ass?!”

“Do not accuse me of something that didn’t happen.” His irises splintered; red scythe filling over the blue iridescence like an eclipse taking over the sun.

A broken giggle bubbled on your lips. Your gaze shifted away from him, staring at the flames in one of the fireplaces.

“Oh, have I come just in time to prevent you from giving her the biggest fang?” You asked bitterly.

In a flash, Curtis was across the room. Fingers curling around the front of your neck and slamming you into the opposite wall. He pressed you against it, his grip on your throat not loosening and the heat of his body enfolding yours.

Curtis was considered a dead creature, but he burned as if the hellfire itself ran through his veins. It was only him, though. He created you, but you never felt your own warmth. There were others whom he sired over the centuries and who sired next generations of vampires. They all ran cold, too. Only Curtis’ dark flame burned eternal.

“You’re treading on thin ice.” He warned you, even as he delighted in the intense emotion you provoked. With you everything was always intense.

Always… alive.

Curtis was angry that you would accuse him of such a disgusting act like cheating. Angry at himself for giving you the reason to think the worst of him.

His obsession with Mina was unhealthy and borderline stalking. He was gifting her with attention and this one material present. But he didn’t have a plan of what he wanted from her exactly. Even as he played with the verbal seduction she was slowly falling for, not once did he imagine bedding her, or turning her.

It was more of a need to keep her, explore her, hold on to whatever she represented for his tortured soul.

But he was blind to how his madness made him act towards you.

“What will you do?” You asked in a hushed tone, redness of your irises receding to the natural color of your eyes. “Are you going to destroy me? The woman you vowed to love for eternity? The woman you turned, branded in every possible way as yours?”

It wasn’t a spiteful challenge of a scorned queen, but a fear of a lively woman who stole his evil heart five centuries ago.

One who often walked barefoot, even before vampirism made you immune to the cold. Wearing simple dresses, with pockets filled with flowers and herbs and shiny stones plucked from mountain rivers. He bought you many stunning dresses over the centuries and you loved them, but most of the time you still wore the simplest ones.

Curtis could only assume you dressed in the finest gown and adorned yourself with jewels to impose your power over Mina. To carry yourself as the queen about to crush a threat to her kingdom.

There was never a threat. Not once did he consider leaving you behind and never returning.

“I’d sooner meet my own end,” his fingers clenched on your throat as he squeezed his eyes in pain.

When he vowed to love and care for you for eternity, until the sun burnt human cities down and reached to scorch your entwined bodies, he meant it with every fiber of his cursed being.

“I haven’t cheated.” Curtis sighed, resting his forehead against yours. “I don’t think I would have.”

“And yet here we are…” Your cool breath still carried the metallic scent of blood.

He wouldn’t allow these thoughts to linger, to hurt you with doubt and resentment. He’d rather have you angry with him than broken. And there were ways to stoke your fire, keep it burning and warming him.

“Yes, here we are, Beloved.” Curtis’ tongue flicked out to lick away a drop of blood from the corners of your lips; his tone dropped an octave, vibrating with a beastly timbre. “With you in my grasp. With her dead body getting cold a few steps away and me not even being angry about it.”

Because he really wasn’t. There was that irritation at not having fully figured out what it was exactly that he chased in Mina, but none at the loss of her. Not from your hands, anyway.

You cupped Curtis face with your hands, showing him softness that he claimed he never deserved (but which you taught him to accept, adamant in your decision that he was worthy of your love).

“What was it that you searched for with her?” You asked, even though you were scared of his answer.

“I don’t know.” Curtis admitted; his eyelashes fluttering against his cheek. “A memory? A man I used to be? The humanity I lost?”

Mina looked like the exact image of Elisabeta - the wife he had as a human, whose death led him to do unspeakable things that cost him his soul. She was a reflection of the young, impulsive human man, who was too naive and too desperate in his love.

Perhaps Mina’s angelic face brutally reminded him of the crushing pain and being the self-punishing bastard that he was, Curtis clung to her to hurt himself over and over again. Staying away from you, too, because he spiraled down into thoughts of unworthiness once again.

“I didn’t know you at twenty one springs,” you said, “but the man I got to know at his honed one hundred years of vampirism and then spent centuries with? I wouldn’t trade him for anyone else.”

Curtis was a vampire king. The oldest, the first to ever be made. At least the first either of you encountered. He fed on blood, could be brutal about it, or very gentle. Depending who the victim was. There were streaks of ruthlessness and cruelty in him, you witnessed him drown villages in blood then watch it sink into the ground with grim satisfaction.

But he also carried the children from said villages in his arms, finding them new homes in places where humans weren’t as rotten and wouldn’t hurt them like the people of their hometowns had.

Curtis was the monster parents scared their children with; but that monster saved those kids when their parents were the ones abusing them. Or when they allowed others, holy men included, to hurt them.

No, you would never trade Curtis for any other man.

“Not even at this moment of weakness?” Curtis’ deep, low voice resounded with a soft uncertainty.

You were still mad at him, but you couldn’t help that need to comfort him. You wrapped your arms around his neck, scratching lightly at the back of his head in a caress that always made him shudder and melt into your embrace.

“Why do you think I’m still here, facing you?” You sighed, tilting your head back enough to look Curtis in the eyes.

“I could’ve ripped her to pieces and then fled. Leave you alone in the misery you would have brewed for yourself.” That was what Curtis did at least once every decade - sink into a really low mood and break your heart with how vulnerable and helpless he was at the time.

“But, my dear husband, I love you too fiercely to let you go. The heart that you claim is void of humanity and care is one that made me say yes when you offered me immortality at your side.”

“I feared…” You dropped your gaze down. “I feared you went after her, because you grew bored of me. That I was so easily replaceable.”

Throughout the centuries not once did Curtis stray away, nor did he isolate himself from you. Sometimes, when he was in his depressive mood he’d often space out, sinking into his gloomy thoughts, but even then he was physically nearby. Mindlessly caressing your body as you cuddled him and anchoring himself to you.

This trip across the sea took long, but the time kept stretching and stretching as Curtis worked on all the formalities of buying a mansion and re-settling onto a new soil. Impatient for his return, you decided on visiting him.

It was supposed to be a surprise for him, but turned into a shock for you when you saw that woman’s starstruck gaze as he escorted her to the carriage.

Curtis gripped your chin between his fingers and gently tilted your face up. Sadness in his gaze crumbled way to determination.

“Never.” He vowed. “It’s a burden I have to carry now, knowing that I’ve hurt you.”

“I’ll give you centuries to make it up to me.” You allowed your lips to curve in a small smile, then leaned to press a soft kiss to Curtis’ mouth.

“Most gracious, Beloved.” Curtis smiled against your lips. He let go of your chin, sneaking that hand down your body and gripping your thigh. His other hand was still wrapped around your neck, fingers pressing a tad harder. Just the way you liked.

In a swift move, he hoisted you up. Your legs wrapped around his hips, the snick of ripping fabric making you giggle.

“I’ve yet to welcome you properly to our new mansion.” Curtis purred, licking a broad stroke across your bloodied chin. “You’ve already christened it with blood. Now I want to fill the walls with your sounds of pleasure.”

#witchywithwhiskey #horrormoviehoeathon #curtis everett x reader #curtis everett x you #curtis everett x female reader #curtis everett imagine #curtis everett fic #vampire!curtis everett #no such thing as finality

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nekoumeowncy · 4 months

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Take my hand, don't let me go.

Featuring. Kanata Yatonokami, Nayuta Yatonokami, Kei Miyama, Shion Kaida x GN! Reader.

What does it feel like, to hold his hand?

Tags: romantic fluff, headcanons.

♡ KANATA YATONOKAMI

— His hands are considerably svelte, despite the roughness and calluses brought by a life of hardships.

— Just as the rest of him, he really doesn’t pay much attention to them, and yet it’s undeniable they are pretty.

— You wonder, how come his skin is always silky smooth when he doesn’t bother with hand creams and has no qualms with getting his hands dirty to protect the ones he loves (read, you and Nayuta) or get his job done.

— You pout as you ask him exactly that, as you walk hand in hand through the cluttered neighborhood in the slums; the last rays of crepuscular light filter through the buildings, clothes hanging on a drying thread decadently beautiful when they sway on the wind.

— Kanata was always beautiful, but, in this light, he looks nothing short of an angel. A fallen angel, discarded by lady luck and the fates, now descended into your arms, his decaying tainted wings soaring to sunnier skies by your side.

— “Not fair… Why are your hands so soft?” You ask, lips scrunched up as you come to a stop and slot your fingers between his.

— Cozmez’s elder blushes at the contact of your two palms.

— “Adorable.” You think, closing your fingers around his.

— “It’s not like they’re that soft.” He grumbles, looking to the side, locks of silver lilac blooms merging with the dusk sky.

— “They’re pretty too…” You trail off, gently grasping one of his hands in between your two, as you tenderly caress the protruding tendons and veins.

— “H-hey, stop it!” Your boyfriend wails, face not unlike the ruddy hue of the setting sun.

— You smile softly, putting his warm palm against your cheek.

— “Your hands are so pretty, Kanata… Just as you are.” You mumble, leaving a kiss to the inner side of his wrist.

— And because Yatonokami Kanata was easily flustered, despite the frown he showed the world, he takes the back of your head and leans you close to his chest.

— His heartbeat is wild, much in the way he is, a rose with steel thorns and midnight petals, some of them wilted; yet to those who approach it with care and true love in their hearts, it awards them with the sweetest scent and a whimsical view.

— You’re never letting go.

♡ NAYUTA YATONOKAMI

— Like Kanata, has naturally pretty hands.

— Slender than Kanata’s, with veins slightly more marked in color, the blue hue reminding you of the skies he called “not as beautiful as you.”

— Sometimes, you give him your bow hair tie to keep it for you. And of course, your lover likes wearing it around his wrist. You can’t resist holding hands with him when he does that, swinging them happily as you walk. It’s adorable how he chuckles every time his eyes inevitably focus on your smile.

— You find it so cute how Nayuta’s hands get easily red with the cold.

— And because he definitely has a mischievous side, he always adored holding your face when his skin was freezing.

— You gasp, a whine of “Nayuuutaa!” escaping you, his cute laughter enough to make you think you would let him put his freezing hands beneath your shirt.

— “You always warm up my heart and my hands. You’re cute.” He says, effectively leaving you speechless.

— Your face buries in your boyfriend’s chest at the remark, he really is going to be the death of you.

— Other times, when you two are just hanging out on the rooftop, you love seeing his fingers splayed out against the bright blue sky.

— As if reaching out, hoping to catch a drifting dream, you love to stretch out your own hand next to his, pinkies touching.

— It’s funny, how the gesture is enough to make your own heart flutter, when you’re the one who initiated it.

— Your cheeks burn, not unlike the blinding sunshine above, when you realize Nayuta’s lavender gaze is set on you.

— Because who cared about blue skies and sunny days when he had you by his side?

— Not him, that’s for sure, the moment his lips tease the corner of yours.

♡ KEI MIYAMA

— All of him is the embodiment of perfection; a picture perfect angel, seemingly descended upon this earth just to grace you with his candid light.

— And the way he holds you is no exception.

— His hands are soft, gentle; the hands of a man born to create melodies, light dancing at the tip of his fingertips with every added note.

— You adore his svelte fingers entwined with yours, the memory of wintry leaves swaying across a sunny sky so vivid when his hands hold yours.

— The way his phantometal bracelet envelops his wrist makes you jealous at times, prompting you to slip your fingers beneath it, caressing his peachy skin in that area.

— Your lover’s reactions are demure, elegant, much like everything he does, but you never miss the rosy blooms flowering on his cheeks when you two are intimate like this.

— It’s undeniable 1Nm8’s leader has beautiful hands, and you love making him try on your own accessories.

— Maybe you’re a fool, but you can’t take your eyes off his slim fingers when you put one of your silver rings on them; you hope one day, you’ll wear matching ones.

— “My love? Is there anything wrong?” He asks, when you fall silent, those slate eyes framed by the rays of sunrise searching for your gaze in concern.

— You start, hand squeezing his with tenderness.

— “Nothing, nothing…” You trail off, a subtle smile tugging at your lips. “Just thinking about the future I suppose.”

— He returns the smile, turning your hand around in his soft grasp.

— “I hope you saw me in it.” He utters, thumb running over the back of your hand.

— You wonder how someone's touch can be so affectionate and leave your stomach all knotted up, the trajectory of butterflies over aurora skies aflutter up your heart.

— You finally nod, playing with your ring still around his finger.

♡ SHION KAIDA

— Mans is canonically attractive; let’s not forget he seduces men and women of all ages.

— And, of course, he will use his hands to charm you, among other things.

— You were drawn in by his otherworldly aura at first, that ruby gaze fixated on you, half-lidded, as if you were the only one that existed to him in that moment.

— And well, how could you resist him? Not when his tall frame slightly bends over to whisper in your ear how pretty you are; not when his voice lures you in like a siren’s song.

— Not when his manicured hand trails over the edge of your jawline, dark polished index nail delicately tracing the edge of your painted lips.

— You know he is danger spelled in shades of moonlight over pomegranate seeds. And yet, you can’t resist his pull.

— The way his hands, lean, yet stronger than they look, hold your waist while his lips fervently lock with yours drives you crazy.

— You love trailing the contours of his sculpted bones when you two are just relaxing, the phantometal piece he wears on his left pinky hypnotizing you.

— And not only that, but on occasions like this, he often manages to leave you flustered; sometimes it’s him tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, fingertips lingering on your cheek for longer than necessary; other times it’s him putting his claw-like ring on your middle finger, whispering “for my rose” as he leaves a kiss behind your ear.

— Your favorite, however, are the tranquil nights in which you can relax together, his more vulnerable and sensitive side coming out in deep conversation while you paint his nails.

— A starry sky awaits for you just outside the window, but you’d rather lose yourself in the moonstone hue of his long fingers and the constellations he strings together with the emotions only you are privy to.

#paradox live #paradox live x reader #paradox live imagines #paradox live the animation #paralive #paralive imagines #paralive x reader #kanata yatonokami #nayuta yatonokami #kei miyama #shion kaida #kanata yatonokami x reader #nayuta yatonokami x reader #shion x reader #kei x reader #fluff #hailey writes

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karniss-bg3 · 8 months

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Writing Prompt: seeing the sun again when the shadow curse is lifted? Maybe getting to see the (Spoiler?) fly across the sky? I imagine he’s light sensitive, but is he more in line with running from it or curious enough to watch it happen?

End of Act 2 spoilers.

Kar’niss wandered through the Shadowlands with moon lantern in hand, searching for more of his Queen’s followers. He paused when he noticed something soaring high above the barren tree line, a streak of radiant light that nearly split the sky in two. He squinted in confusion and took several hesitant steps forward to get a better view. Once his eyes adjusted to the sight he saw a flash of white, feathered wings that carried the beautiful figure on the wind, dressed top to toe in regal armor.

“What’s this, Majesty? One of your divine faithful?” Kar’niss hissed.

As the figure soared across the sky, Kar’niss noticed a shift in the air around him. The ground beneath his pointed legs shivered and cracked, lines drawn across the earth to make room for fresh seedlings to sprout. The drider’s face contorted while he staggered away from the new growth, his body turning around to bear witness to the forests steady transformation. Blackened trees groaned and swayed, their natural brown hues bleeding back into the bark like spilled ink over paper. Withered branches sprouted plump, vibrant green leaves that spread down the length bringing the once empty canopy back to life. The scents of death and decay were replaced with bright floral scents which hit Kar’niss’ nose violently, his head jerking back in response to the potent aroma.

“M-My Queen, what is happening? Please, speak to us!”

The dark clouds that had consumed the sky for so long began to part and fade away allowing the first rays of sunlight to kiss the landscape in what felt like an age. The moment his light sensitive eyes were exposed to such brilliance it made him recoil and hiss in anger. He backed up toward a cluster of revitalized trees, using their branches to offer him a form of shade. He clutched the moon lantern close to his breast, his body riddled with anxiety and a touch of fear. His ear twitched when he heard the sound of shadow creatures perishing nearby, their anguished screams enough to put him on high alert. Who was responsible for this? It must’ve been the Absolute, no one else could conquer such a curse in his mind.

Distracted as he was he didn’t catch the beating of wings nearby. His moving about had attracted the attention of the mysterious figure flying above, a stunning aasimar recently freed from captivity. Dame Aylin hovered inches above the ground, sword drawn and sights set on the baffled drider nearby. Kar’niss turned his head and caught sight of her, a lump forming in his throat.

“Majesty? Have you finally come to us?” His voice cracked, gaze focused on what he believed to be his Queen in the flesh.

She frowned at what she deemed a pathetic creature. “I will be your end, abomination.”

Kar’niss sucked in a sharp breath of air as if he’d taken a direct punch to the chest, his body turning to face her. “Wh—What? B-B-But my Queen, why?! We’ve served you faithfully, done all that you’ve asked. Please!”

Dame Aylin didn’t respond, her arm jutting to the side brandishing an intimidating blade of divine make. Her wings beat, carrying her toward the stunned creature with every intent to take his head. She swiped the blade in a fierce arc, the sharp metal cleaving across his chest straight through the chitin. This opened a painful wound and blood spilled free inciting a tormented screech from Kar’niss.

“Augh! Majesty, please! What have we done??” Kar’niss cried out as he tried to back away from the assault, his hand fumbling to reach for his sword.

Dame Aylin saw him reach for the blade and responded with a swift strike, the blades clanging together and with such force that it ripped his weapon from his hand. It spun out of his hand landing in the brush nearby, out of reach. Kar’niss’ lips quivered, his heart pounding in his chest cavity, his thoughts split between the burning slash in his chest and the heartbreak of losing the Absolute’s favor. He tried to retreat to put distance between the violence and himself but he wouldn’t be able to escape a foe as fierce as an aasimar.

She jumped into pursuit, flying over the hurried drider to land right in front of him. She swung once more landing a cut across the side of his face, narrowly missing the target of his neck. He skittered frantically until he backed up into a stone wall, a part of the many ruins peppered across the landscape. He was cornered and even though he could climb the wall he knew escape wasn’t possible. Perhaps he deserved this fate, surely he did something wrong to displease her, this was all his fault.

Kar’niss began to sob as he lowered his body to the ground, cupping his hands over his face in defeat. “Unworthy, we were...unworthy. Please forgive us, Majesty,” he wept.

Dame Aylin hovered above the distraught beast, her eyelids falling half mast, cold and uncaring to his plight. “This will be a mercy,” she began as she raised the sword above her head. “Not what you deserve, but what you shall get.”

He seemed ready to accept his face, terrified as he may have been. Neither heard the fast approach of footsteps, someone running with all of their might toward the confrontation. As Dame Aylin prepared to deliver the final blow someone slid to a stop in front of Kar’niss, their arms opened wide as if to protect him from the strike.

“Aylin, stop!” They cried.

The aasimar squinted but stayed her hand. “Tav, what are you doing? This beast is of the Absolute, he must be eliminated.”

Kar’niss panted, his fingers fanning out across his face to allow him a view of what was happening. He could scarcely believe what he witnessed, still tucked against the foundation of the building so tight it made his abdomen ache.

“He is, that’s true. But like many others he was abused and brainwashed by them. He’s endured endless suffering at the hands of so many. Under the protection of the artifact I think he could have a fighting chance to change. If you kill him then you’re punishing him for being a victim,” Tav explained.

She furrowed her brows beneath her helm, her wings steadily beating to keep her aloft. She’d sigh while lowering her blade, returning it to its sheath. “I do owe you for setting me free. If you wish to vouch for the drider then I will not argue. Just be wary, his mind appears volatile and unpredictable. Do not let your soft heart put you and your companions at risk.”

Tav nodded and lowered their arms. “Yes, I understand. Thank you, Aylin.”

She shifted her gaze between Tav and the cowering drider. “There is much left to do. I shall leave you with your new...ward.” Using her wings she ascended back into the sky, flying off and leaving the pair alone.

After she departed Tav breathed a sigh of relief. They turned to face Kar’niss who was in dire straights, trembling and visibly upset.

“Kar’niss, are you alright? You’re bleeding,” Tav said.

Kar’niss was unresponsive, his fingers curled into his face, his body tightly tucked against the wall. Moisture had collected over his face dripping from his chin, the heavy sound of his shaken breathing audible. Tav scowled and took a careful step closer.

“Let me help you. I promise you’re safe now. I’m sure you’re confused and I will explain everything soon. For now let’s focus on tending to those wounds.”

When Tav came close the drider whimpered and tried to back away although there was no room left to do so. “She...she has abandoned us. We were unworthy, an abomination, imperfect. We are nothing now.”

“You are not nothing. You are my friend, remember? The woman you saw was not the Absolute. She is an aasimar called Dame Aylin. She is on our side, but I realize you may not understand that yet.”

Kar’niss’ upper lip curled, his shaken hands sliding away from his face causing the blood on his cheek to smear. “What? She was not with our Queen?” He paused to let the information process. “Th-Then Majesty has not forsaken us?” Tav bit their lower lip. They knew it was a tender subject to tackle and a path they must tread carefully. They wanted to help Kar’niss and that meant giving in to his delusions, at least until they could form a stronger foothold elsewhere.

“No, She hasn’t forsaken you. Majesty wants you healthy so please, let me tend to you.”

The drider seemed to relax, many of his nerves tamed with the idea that he still had a purpose to serve. He’d issue a single nod to show it was alright to approach and Tav did exactly that. Rooting through their bag they retrieved supplies to tend to him, grabbing a rag and dousing it in water from their canteen. They dabbled it over the wound on his chest, wincing at how deep the cut appeared. They were just grateful Aylin hadn’t done more damage before they arrived.

He exhaled as Tav did their work, taking time to look around the changed woodland. Tall, healthy trees, vibrant flora, thick blades of grass, sparkling streams of water, the area was near unrecognizable now.

“The darkness has faded away, the land transformed. We no longer have need of Majesty’s gift.” He bowed his head, a pang of sorrow hanging in his words. “She no longer has need of us.”

Tav looked up at their forlorn companion, reaching to rest a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Where one purpose ends a new one begins. Stay with me, Kar’niss. I promise you’ll have no shortage of things to do. We need you.”

He blinked quickly after such a statement. He felt something swell within his chest that out classed the throbbing from his injury. He didn’t know what to say, the very idea anyone needed him almost felt surreal to him. His pedipalps curled and gave the faintest wiggle of intrigue, his tongue swiping across his lips to combat the growing dryness.

A new purpose, a new beginning, a speck of hope all for himself? Perhaps dreams can come true.

#baldur's gate 3 #kar'niss #drider #bg3 #karniss #baldurs gate 3 #answered #my writing #Dame Aylin #aasimar #Act 2 Spoilers #bg3 act 2 spoilers #bg3 fanfic #kar'niss x tav #Kar'niss fanfic #shadow curse #sorry this took so long #I needed time to think of a scenario I was happy with

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talonabraxas · 5 months

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I appear in sea, in wind, in soil, in starlight. In the sun I appear. I appear in mountains and desert rain. I am the star and I am the stone. I am bird and fish, sky and sea. One and whole eternally, I come, differentiating, multiplying, refracting like a ray of light through ten thou-sand water-droplet prism pearls suspended in earth's highest sphere. Shining I come, to touch the surface of this matter world in a splashing, multicolored chorus of light men and light women, created to bring beauty, love, order and grace to this sacred dance of atomic form. Stardust. Frozen starlight. You call it matter. It is an art form with which we have worked for twenty billion years. We have sculpted it into star systems, galaxies and a universe of rainbow-spectrum worlds. We are the children of light. We have been given the task of creating dimensional reality. We draw order, structure and beauty out of the vibrating music of starlight.

From the redwood forests to the microbes, from the gentlest feathered bird to the most substantial ocean whale, our spirits manifest the Creator's designs in all the biological life on this planet. Yet only human circuitry has the capacity to embody the full reality of who we are, of who that Creator is—of who, in truth, you are. Come, human children, the truth has always been here. Your prophets have ever made it plain. Wherever you have let us land, wherever you have let our consciousness settle upon the waters of your awareness, the open waters of your human hearts, ever w e have come to inhabit your shores. We are the superior intelligence that you are looking for in the galaxies. We have been in your parks, in your treetops, in your gardens, in cages in your livingrooms. We are the Bird Tribes. And we are returning. We are here to teach you how to fly. Take us out of your cages of concept and archaic definition. Come, join us in the living treetops, where the winds of spirit blow wild and free. We are the Bird Tribes. And we love the flowing, fluid, gentle waters of our Mother's eternal truths, as we love the stars that nourish and support these biological robes of dancing light. We will never be far from water or land, from light or sound, from the Father's fire or the Mother's gentle wisdom. For we are the Bird Tribes, entering this earth to swim beneath her waters as fishes of the sea, to walk on her land as the mammals and the humans of this age and to fly through her heavens on the wings of the Love that created us and creates us anew in each moment. Because we love these oceans. We love these lands.

We love this planet with an eternal fire that takes all the myriad stars to reveal in the fullness of time, but only one star to say to one world, “I love you this much, that I would give you all that I am; my fire, even to your ages of ice; all that I am, until we grow the children, until we conceive the offspring who will be equally a child of starlight's fiery love and an ocean world's gentle truth.” Awaken, humankind. The teachers of love circle round the morning star. Spiraling down. Coming to rest. They land. At the edge of your history's shore. Fluttering into consciousness. The Bird Tribes return. --Return of the Bird Tribes : Ken Carey

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soleilnomoon · 2 years

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My friend, I heard it's the cool thing to leave things in your inbox and I want to be like the cool kids so here I am. How about a scenario with Kurosaki Ichigo trying to convince S/O to ask HIM out instead of him just doing the asking out himself? It can be whatever you want it to be: comedy, romance, fluff, smut. The choice is yours *finger guns*

sora... love of my life, light in my eyes, wind beneath my wings, etc. etc. etc. u have been so patient, and i'd apologize but u already know what kind of drama this fic put me thru!!! anyway!!! this was a labor of love (as always) yk i only ever want the best for u bbgorl 🥰️🥰️🥰️

5.9k words (DONT LOOK AT ME OMG), fem reader, nsfw, 18+, mdni; there's fluff i promise (who am i), angst bc why not, mutual pining, and smut; ichigo... is a dumbass, and i like seeing him suffer; i also like seeing reader suffer; a wild orihime appears! and some other miscreants. feat. cute things like: hair pulling, slight exhibitionism (shhh), oral (m receiving), dry humping, kIsSiNg, idk alcohol but a tiny bit; ichigo is down bad ok, idk what to tell u; reader is also down bad but she thinks she's being stealthy abt it. (if u see any typos/grammatical errors shhh no u didn't)

“imprison me in your name, let love kill me.” — mahmoud darwish

i love you, with a touch of tragedy and quite madly.” — simone de beauvoir

SUNDAY — 12:01 a.m.

in such a vast, mostly unexplored universe — where curses and wishes exist ubiquitously, teetering on opposite ends of a complicated spectrum of morality — there is one universal truth: love is a fucking battlefield. such is the woe of one kurosaki ichigo as he navigates through the various intricacies involved with such a strong emotion. if it was up to him, he wouldn’t suffer through it — but it’s not. his heart is incredibly foolish, his mind even more so; and despite what others might think, he’s not exactly as confident in his capabilities in romance. which is why he’s resorted to mapping out different ways to get you to do the work for him.

mostly because he can’t bear the agonizing feelings that come with vulnerability. so, rather than him ask you out, he’s attempting to get you to do it instead. inspiration strikes when he’s sitting at his desk after midnight, textbooks and notebooks strewn about, his studying long forgotten. ichigo spends an hour or so mulling over the hows and whys of everything, when a brilliant idea — or, series of brilliant ideas, rather — suddenly pops into his head. tearing out a piece of paper from his notebook, he scribbles down his thoughts, as if he’s afraid they’ll leave him forever if he doesn’t find a way to hold onto them. by the time he finishes, his hand is covered in splotches of ink, but he’s satisfied with his work.

he’s not completely sure if it’ll all pan out the way he wants, but he’s willing to give it a shot.

MONDAY — 10:56 a.m

it’s out of pure coincidence that he runs into you at the convenience store. you’re in an aisle with items that are on sale — a mega sale, at that — perusing through the little tubes of lotion and hand sanitizer, admiring the cute designs on each bottle, contemplating how many to buy. he’s tall enough that he spots you before you see him — which takes a long damn time, if he’s honest — but as you busy yourself looking at different items on the shelves, he takes to watching you from afar.

there’s something frighteningly beautiful about the way you make simple things look graceful and magical. from the way you carefully drag your fingertip along the labels, admiring the designs, giggling at some cute artwork; to the way you tilt your head, confusion clouding your vision as you debate internally over which product to buy; to the way you decide to shove as many items into your basket as possible, face flushed at the impropriety of purchasing so many — but they’re on sale, so you justify your shopping before you head to the cashier.

the entire time you move around, you feel his eyes on you; while he might think he’s being stealthy, you’re very aware of his presence. and how could you not be? ichigo isn’t someone you can ignore — nor would you ever try to, he’s such a dynamic person, kind without realizing, stubborn and silly, and, more importantly, incredibly handsome. you think it’s cute how he slinks through each aisle to follow you carefully — dressed as inconspicuously as possible — ducking whenever you turn your face to try and catch him, except he’s so damn tall that he can’t really hide too well.

still, you let him continue playing his little game, and head to the register to check out. maybe he’ll eventually let you in on whatever it is he’s planning if you play along. but he never approaches you, doesn’t call after you when you leave the store, which only leaves disappointment and confusion to fester around your stomach. he curses under his breath as he watches you walk further and further away from him; he’d meant to say something, to call out to you earlier, but nerves got the best of him, and he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

TUESDAY — 3:39 p.m.

the library is packed, students crammed into each seat and table along the first few floors. after the fiasco from yesterday, ichigo is that much more determined to make sure that things go according to plan today. again, it’s out of pure coincidence, that he’s also at the library around the same time you are. it’s almost instinctual, the way he spots you right away; he admires the shape of your calves, the way your skirt sits snugly around your wide hips, barely reaching the middle of your thick thighs.

it’s impossible for him not to watch you, not when you pause to look around the floor for an empty seat — teeth sinking into your bottom lip, lashes fluttering every time you blink. he knows how much you hate being in crowds of people, how your focus wanes if there’s too much noise around, and how you like to be away from any sort of distraction — you’re quite the dedicated student, he supposes.

so, it’s no surprise that you bypass the floor he’s on and scurry up the stairs, hand gliding up the wooden railing; an innocuous move that has him clench the pencil in his hand tight enough to crack it. he’s suddenly hit with the desire to be a damn railing — an odd, maddening feeling as absurd as it is debilitating. he almost doesn’t hear his name being called, but he does eventually look away and he’s intercepted by orihime and tatsuki. they implore him to sit with their group to study, much to his annoyance because you’ve left his sight and now he wants to go find you.

but he’ll deal need to deal with them, first.

ichigo reluctantly agrees — only after orihime gives him a sweet, yet pleading look, and tatsuki smirks and mouthing what now, almost as if she’s challenging him to defy their request — and plops down on an empty chair. his long legs knock into the neighboring chair and his complaints are ignored by his friends.

you struggle as you lug your heavy bag upstairs to the fourth floor; it’s eerie there, much too quiet, and for some reason people stay away from it. superstitions run rampant around campus about how everyone who studies on the fourth floor happens to fail every exam and assignment. you’re not one to believe in stupid shit like that, but you do say a quick prayer before settling down on one of the lone tables in the middle of the floor. despite being relatively empty, it’s well-kept and very tidy.

sunlight filters through the thick glass of the windows, illuminating the dated furniture and archaic books that litter the bookshelves nearby. it takes a few minutes, but you set up your textbooks and notes so you can review for your upcoming exam. ten minutes pass before you groan for the fifth time and place your face in your hands. you thought that studying by yourself would give you some distance from ichigo, but unfortunately, he’s been on your mind since yesterday. you chew on your thumbnail and consider your options; for whatever reason, he’s too dense to realize that you like him, but maybe you’ll need to be more forthcoming and upfront — maybe even dangle some bait to encourage him.

WEDNESDAY — 8:12 p.m.

after your first round of exams, you invite ichigo over to your apartment for a movie — a small, celebratory break in between midterms. your argument is sound — although, he would’ve agreed regardless — and he volunteers to come with plenty of snacks. all you can do is nod, you’re much too captivated by the shape of his jaw and with how his lips stretch into a smile. absolutely infuriating. all it does is make him radiate like some damn sun god, and you’re offended by it.

and for some reason, a small flutter in your chest causes you to inhale a sharply — thankfully you’re already on your way out of the lecture hall, walking swiftly in the hopes of permanently ridding yourself of whatever this is. you spend the next few hours obsessively scrubbing and organizing your apartment; by the time ichigo arrives, you’re physically exhausted. you miscalculated quite a bit, naively thinking that a bit of manual labor would cure you of your burdensome desire. but it doesn’t. if anything, you think about him even more. how will you survive with him alone with you during the night?

he's in a similar predicament, having spent the duration of his afternoon obsessively thinking about how best to deal with you — the situation was rather stressful, and while he could just sit down and talk with you honestly, it seemed more appropriate to approach things this way instead. he’s been to your place a handful of times, and he commits just a bit more to memory whenever he can. you’re a colorful person with plants hanging and stacked around cutely; you have an affinity for cooking and have artsy pieces scattered throughout your apartment. it fits you perfectly, and he likes how much more relaxed you are whenever you’re away from campus.

“you weren’t kidding when you said bring a lot of snacks,” you say, disrupting his thoughts, voice light and melodic. you eye the bags in his hands and offer to grab a few; ichigo frowns and lifts the bags away and over your head.

“they’re not heavy,” he says gruffly. he rolls his eyes while walking around you, legs carrying him quickly to the living room. if he didn’t give himself some space, your perfume would hold him hostage again; the last time he was this close, the scent of warm apples and sweet strawberries clung to his lungs with every inhale for at least a week. if he’s not careful, he’ll willingly fall into your trap all over again.

he places the bags on the coffee table before sitting on the couch, legs spread wide as he leans back. he appreciates how comfortable it is — with cushions soft enough to easily lull him to sleep. he fights it, of course, especially when you sit down next to him, thigh casually pressed against his. you don’t seem as bothered about this as he is, and when you cross one shapely leg over the other, he covertly adjusts himself while you’re preoccupied with the tv, leisurely scrolling through the options with the remote.

if he has to pinpoint what to blame, specifically, he’ll say it’s your exposed shoulders and flimsy shorts, your round breasts that stretch out your shirt, and your continued insistence on not wearing a bra whenever you’re alone with him.

he swallows hard and reaches down for one of the water bottles he brought along with the snacks; in the middle of him chugging half of the bottle, you place a hand on his thigh and give it a squeeze. he chokes and coughs a bit, hand clutching the bottle harder than he means to, making the remaining liquid shoot out and splash onto your arm and shirt. a deep flush crawls onto his face and ears as he mumbles an apology; you press your lips together, but barely contain your laughter.

“ichigo, what the hell was that?” you’re grinning so hard that your cheeks hurt. he turns his face and wipes some water from his chin with the back of his hand. “it’s not a big deal, really.” and it isn’t. honestly. you finally pick a movie — something gory and full of suspense — and settle back next to him, body pressed closely to his. the water didn’t help, and your hand is back on his thigh, stroking up and down. you’re not sure what possesses you to do it, but the compulsion hit you hard the moment you saw him sitting on your couch. it’s a pet peeve of yours whenever people take up that much space — the habit is obnoxious and selfish — but since he looks so damn good doing it, you give him an eternal pass.

even through the denim of his jeans, he can feel the heat radiating off of your hand, especially when you brush against his bulge, making his erection that much more painful. his cock is thick and heavy, precum drips through his underwear as he clenches his jaw and inhales through his nostrils. you watch him through your lashes and rub your hand up and down his stiff length. his eyes track your movements, the way your tongue darts out and briefly runs along your lips; he’s sure he could cum just by watching you do that over and over again.

maybe he needs help, or maybe he needs to investigate your lips and tongue properly.

as if commanded by an invisible puppeteer, you lean closer and place a hand on his chest; if there was ever a moment for ichigo to act impulsively, it’s now. he tangles his fingers in your dark curls, firmly gripping, tugging you towards him. he slants his lips against yours, tongue licking inside your mouth, caressing your tongue, bringing a heat through your body, an inferno that won’t ever be satisfied. you climb onto his lap, chest heaving, mumbling nonsense like “what took you so long,” and “stop teasing me, please”, kisses growing sloppy and urgent.

whatever sliver of restraint he has vanishes completely once you grind your hips against his, that familiar ache swirling around your abdomen casts a haze over your mind, making your logic nonexistent. his hands settle on your hips, gripping them hard enough to make you gasp and whine, arousal slipping between your folds and dampening your panties. you roll your hips, slowly at first but picking up the pace when ichigo brings a hand to your ass and slaps it. the sting has you jutting your hips forward, pussy bucking against his clothed cock, moaning pathetically against his lips.

if this is a dream, please don’t wake him; there’s a low pounding in his ears, and he takes a moment to admire the curve of your round ass, cupping it playfully. your nails sink into his shoulders, and he hisses while littering kisses along your jaw and down your throat. you bite down on your lip, stifling another moan. the movie long forgotten, you let out a small squeal when he sucks on your skin — teeth and tongue marking you, goosebumps pricking your arms and legs. you know there’ll be a bruise tomorrow, but you don’t care; he can leave as many marks as he likes.

you almost tell him as much, mouth opening, words stumbling over one another. “ichigo, i—”

several loud knocks on your door — accompanied by the terribly obnoxious ringing from your doorbell — has you scrambling off of his lap, face flushed and warm. you practically sprint towards the door, although you pause to catch your breath and fix your clothes a bit. ichigo lets out a frustrated groan, arousal pummeling into him, making it hard to think straight. he hadn’t planned on moving from his spot on the couch, but when he hears multiple voices coming from the front door, cowardice wins out and he hides in your bathroom. it takes five minutes for his cock to settle down, but when he goes to join you in the living room again, several of your friends are eating and lounging around on the floor and couch.

ever the gracious host, you’re pouring drinks for everyone, only pausing when you catch ichigo watching you. already your voice is an octave too high, your panties are clinging to your pussy, damp from your slick arousal. you do your best to not make large movements, preferring to keep your thighs as close together as possible.

annoyance pricks along the back of his neck as keigo clinks shot glasses with mizuiro; he didn’t think that telling them about his plans with you would lead to everyone else showing up too. now there are plans of ordering pizza and wings, of playing drinking games. and naturally tatsuki volunteers ichigo to go pick the food up. he shoots you an apologetic look, one that you wave away noncommittally. you know it’s not really his fault, his friends are just like that. still, you make sure to keep your hair down to obscure the various marks on your skin. you frown a bit when ichigo leaves but fix your features when orihime bounces over to you.

with a tilt of her head, eyes wide and bright, clear and strangely critical, she asks, “what’s wrong?” you know she means well, but you’d rather not discuss the fact that you were seconds away from pulling ichigo’s cock out and riding him until your pussy gave out when they all decided to come over.

“hm?” you try to clear your mind and adopt a friendly smile, “nothing’s wrong, just a little tired.” it’s true, though; you really are tired. all that studying, all that obsessing, it’s bound to make a girl exhausted. you can tell that she wants to press the issue, but in typical orihime fashion, she smiles and leaves it at that. the noisiness only serves to sober you up, but you doubt you’ll be able to sate the desire that steadily keeps building inside of you.

THURSDAY — 1:43 p.m.

tatsuki drags you and orihime to the gym, claiming that running is good for the soul — or something to that effect. you vaguely remember promising her last night, after downing one too many shots of whiskey, that you’d gladly accompany her to work out. your head throbs, your hangover a reoccurring nightmare, one that seems to follow you around all day. you try weaseling out, try to flake, but tatsuki is determined and stubborn as hell. you both admire and despise her for it right now.

you take it easy and stretch with the girls, before heading towards the treadmills. what some might consider benevolence on the universe’s part, ichigo considers cruelty; case in point, the fact that you’re here in the gym, when he knows for a fact that you’re not the exercising type — you’ve blurted this out more times than he can count, which is why he remembers. he drops from the pull up bar and grabs his towel to wipe his face, chest constricting, breathing ragged at the sight of you.

in the back of his mind, he understands that your attire is practical, he’s also quickly aroused by it; your leggings cling to your legs, highlighting your curves, stretching tight around your ass. your tank top flowing, your breasts almost spilling out of your sports bra, it was too much for him to handle at once. incidentally, you feel that ichigo working out shirtless should be illegal; your throat dries as your eyes travel along his broad chest, a ravenous hunger taking hold of your senses, that bothersome ache returning as you press your thighs together. you didn’t realize you’d stopped walking to watch him, muscles firm and thick, sweat clinging to his skin.

tatsuki calls your name repeatedly, and you have to remind yourself that you’re here to exercise and not gawk. it’s then that it dawns on you, your brain will never function properly around him — now that you’ve felt him, you lack focus. his sweatpants sit low on his hips, causing you to actually lose your damn balance; it’s partially comical, but mostly pathetic when you trip over your feet and helplessly fall onto the floor. your hands ball into fists, fingers curled inward, nails leaving tiny indents into your palms. you barely feel it, though, you’re too busy trying to regulate your breathing.

“y/n are you okay?” orihime rushes to help you stand back up; your face burns and you know that if you don’t put some distance between you and ichigo quickly, you’ll end up embarrassing yourself even more.

“yep, just peachy!” the lie is flimsy and you know that she doesn’t buy it, but you’re sticking with it. the truth is just too pitiful. ichigo frowns, fingers twitching as he grips the bar harder. you’re normally not that clumsy, and he’s half tempted to go and see if you’re okay. but the girls crowd you and he knows he’ll only make things worse if he interferes. you finally find a treadmill and even though you should probably stay off of it, you decide to use it anyway. you set a decent speed and fix the incline, opting to jog until your legs give out. if you suffer one more transgression, you’ll never be able to face ichigo again. already you feel that familiar burning sensation in your thighs, but you don’t stop; you’re not sure how long you keep at it, but ichigo is long gone when your body has finally had enough.

you drink some water and try to catch your breath. your mind is buzzing; you wish it was ichigo who helped you up instead. it’s a strange thing to be disappointed about, but you can’t stop imagining his strong arms wrapped around your soft waist. a lightheaded feeling takes over, you’re not sure how much more you can take; you’re barely surviving as is with minimal interactions with him.

he heads straight for the locker room as soon as he’s done with his last rep; no amount of cold water from the shower can snap him out of the daze you put him in. everything about you is dizzying, and just remembering how your lips and hands were on him, how soft your ass was, how he was so close to sinking his cock into your pussy the night before, makes his cock hard all over again. he has enough sense to ignore it, but he saw you jogging and nearly fell off the pull up bar. you’re dangerous, that much is certain; he’s never been this captivated by a person, so it’s almost as if he’s navigating through new territory.

“fucking ridiculous,” he says bitterly and turns off the shower so he can get dressed. he knows what he needs to do, he just needs everyone in his life to stop interfering so he can properly talk with you alone.

FRIDAY — 6:15 p.m.

for whatever reason, his friends conspire together and decide to do dinner at orihime’s house. rukia and tatsuki both shoo orihime out of the kitchen, not wanting to deal with whatever strange concoction her impulses come up with. it’s meant to be a casual affair, which he reminds you again when he stops by your apartment to pick you up. ichigo raids your fridge for something to munch on while he waits, and after fifteen minutes, he makes his way down the narrow hallway to your room. the door is open, so he assumes you must be all done, walking in without announcing himself properly.

there are several outfits strewn about on your bed; after the fourth one, you huff and stomp around your room, the carpet soft underneath your feet as you try to reason with yourself. it’s really because you’re nervous that ichigo asked you to go with him — as his date. or, at least, you’re sure that’s what he meant by inviting you to the dinner. you told ichigo you wouldn’t take long, but that was clearly a lie — not an intentional one, but a lie nonetheless.

“are you still not done?” he pauses, eyes landing on your half naked body; he gets hard instantly at the sight of your soft stomach and thick thighs. you’re too focused on your current crisis that you barely register that he’s in your room as you head back into the closet to look for another dress. if he had better morals and sense, he’d leave you to get dressed at your own pace; but, unfortunately for him, his body is the worst kind of traitor. this has been the longest week of his entire life, but he’s thankful that he has you to himself again.

you put on a new dress and flip your hair over your shoulder. “help me, please.” because your arms are still sore from working out and you figure there’s no harm in asking for his assistance. his heart lodges itself in the base of his throat, hands shaking a bit — nerves or excitement, he’s not sure — but he manages to tug the small zipper up without much issue. his hands linger on your hips, cock stiff as it angrily presses against the front of his pants.

suddenly, you’re very, very aware of how close he’s standing.

he knows that if he doesn’t let go of you, he’ll feel inclined to skip the dinner altogether. but he doesn’t want to deal with the repercussions of flaking, so he decides against it. he does, however, brush his lips along the side of your neck, leaving behind a trail of slow kisses. you’re teetering over the edge, falling further under his spell as his hands roam along your body, roughly kneading your breasts over the fabric of your dress.

you test the proverbial waters and rub your ass against his bulge, which prompts him to bite your neck in warning. you let out a small yelp and softly moan his name; you end up losing more of your composure when he turns you around and kisses you. his appetite is insatiable, his kisses feverish and demanding, a frenzied whirlwind that has you unbuckling his pants and tugging his zipper down to pull out his cock.

his imagination will never compare — your hands are still soft as ever, even as they grip him eagerly, twisting while pumping up and down his length. he hisses when you rub your thumb against the tip and kisses you ardently, tongue brazen as it swirls around yours before sucking on it. you rub your thighs together, breathing unevenly, his kisses scalding and potent. you pry yourself away from him and sink to your knees, tongue running flat against his length, circling around his thick head of his cock and licking the precum that seeps out of his slit.

ichigo’s moans echo in your room, bouncing off the walls, prompting you to open your mouth so you can take in as much of him as you can. he presses a fist to his mouth when you start bobbing your head, cheeks hollowed, mouth hot and tight; you caress his balls with your free hand, enjoying the way his cheeks are flushed and the way he licks his lips while looking down at you. he doesn’t think when he grabs your head and starts fucking your mouth and doesn’t think when you hold onto his thighs and relax your jaw to accommodate for his girth.

you can’t lie, you’ve been dreaming about this for longer than you care to admit — it’s almost embarrassing how badly you’ve wanted to have his cock in your mouth, but you never imagined that ichigo would be like this; rough, clumsy, but every bit as tantalizing as ever. you let him have his way, using your mouth and throat as he thrusts his cock deeper. you gag but maintain eye contact, tears streaming down your cheeks at the ferocity of his thrusts.

you know something must be wrong with you because your panties are soaked, the ache building from deep inside, bubbling and pushing you closer to the edge. you like this side of him, the one that’s a little unhinged and feral, a man possessed with a certain goal on his mind. he knows he should be a bit gentler, but the way you’re looking at him, like you’re more than pleased with how he’s handling you, convinces him otherwise.

“fuck,” he pants, breath coming out in shallow puffs. his phone rings, startling both of you; he wants to ignore it but has a feeling that it’s one of his friends asking for his whereabouts. he pulls out of your mouth, drool spilling down your chin. he has so many things that he wants to say to you, but none of them come to mind. you’re not ready for any of this to end, so you motion for him to pick up the phone and stroke his cock again.

he hesitates only for a moment, but you have a mischievous look on your face, and he knows better than to test your patience right now. “w-what is it?” he asks when he answers the phone, voice low and husky, a shiver sliding down your spine when you suck on the head of his cock. he clamps his mouth shut in the hopes of keeping as quiet as possible, but mizuiro sounds so concerned and keeps asking why he’s giving him one- or two-word responses. however, ichigo’s desire to fuck you is greater than his guilt; besides, he realizes, belatedly, that you want someone to catch him like this.

it's hot, he won’t lie. and he’d indulge you more, but with the way you’re stroking and sucking his cock, he doubts he��ll be able to tolerate a full conversation with mizuiro — especially as he drones on about how imperative it is for ichigo to keep his promises.

blah, blah, blah.

he cuts the conversation short, tossing the phone onto the floor behind him. he grabs onto your arm, hauls you to your feet, and his mouth is on yours again. orihime’s dinner party is the last thing on both of your minds, not when he leaves you breathless, kissing you until your lips are swollen, lipstick smeared. his hands are on the move again as he tugs your dress off of you, mouth placing messy kisses down your chest, teeth tugging on your hardened nipples before sucking on them. it’s impossible to keep steady when each ichigo’s mouth is ruining your life in the best way possible.

your arousal clings to the inner parts of your thighs, you’re practically begging him to fuck you, words barely coherent as you fuss at him, but he understands you just fine. after pulling the rest of his clothes off, he picks you up, and you wrap your legs around his waist as he holds you against the wall. if he were a better man, he’d have the courtesy to fuck you on your bed; but he isn’t thinking properly, and he’s tired of playing around. he snakes a hand lower, fingers rubbing your pussy, dragging needy whimpers out of you.

“ichigo, damn it,” your frustration is cute and he can’t help but continue to tease you. he slides his fingers into your tight, needy hole, fingers sinking deeply without much resistance.

“you’re so wet, i don’t think i need to prep you at all.” he’s impressed, actually and likes how your pussy keeps sucking his fingers back in every time he pulls them back. you buck your hips against his hand, and if it wasn’t for his arm holding you securely, you’d fall over with ease.

you can barely look at him, cheeks permanently flushed as you moan loudly for him. “that’s it,” he coaches, thumb circling around your clit, fingers scissoring roughly, “you want me to fuck you that badly?”

your eyes grow wide but you nod and breathe out a, “yes. i’ve been waiting for so damn long.” the confession surprises him, as he was under the impression that he was the only one who suffered the entire time. and, because his cock is running the show, he plucks his fingers out of you, lines his tip with your entrance and slams his cock inside. you claw at the back of his neck and all along his chest, legs trembling as his hips knock against yours roughly. nothing could prepare him for the way your plush, gummy walls suffocate him — wet and warm, a snug fit that he’ll never tire of.

you move your hips in tandem with his, matching the timing of his thrusts, as you press sloppy kisses along his jaw, nails raking down his broad back. ichigo’s hips rock forward, cock burrowing deeper with each stroke. both of you are at your limits, he knows he won’t last much longer, but he’ll try his best anyway. his pace quickens, your pussy making lewd, squelching noises, your wetness coating his cock prettily. your breasts bounce as he fucks you harder, your voice growing hoarse from how loud you are, enticing him to pound into you wildly.

he licks the base of your throat, groaning against your skin when you roll your hips, cunt full as his cock is buried to the hilt; his tip hits a spot that makes you hold onto him tighter, breathing shallow as you call out his name. he commits the moment to memory — something to look back on late at night — thoroughly enjoying how you’re writhing underneath him. he angles his hips, keeps them closer to yours, bucking against you recklessly — his cock bringing about an incurable madness that takes over your entire being.

maybe it’s because you’ve been denying yourself for so long — or maybe it’s because you’ve been teasing one another all week — but you feel as if a bit of weight has been lifted off of your shoulders. his balls are heavy, each slap against your ass makes you clench around him more. he rubs your clit, firm small circles that send tiny jolts throughout your body. your back arches as your walls spasm, fluttering around his cock, hips stuttering under his powerful thrusts. the orgasm leaves you dazed, eyes rolling back, your cunt puffy but greedy as it milks him shamelessly.

he never pegged you for a squirter, yet you keep defying his expectations. you want to bury your head underground for eternity, hating the way your orgasm has you incapacitated, slumping over him while your wetness spills onto your carpet.

ichigo keeps fucking you until his hips jerk, rhythm disrupted, cum thick and hot as it spills inside of you. he humps you lazily and you pepper his face with wet kisses, his heart leaping out of his chest as your fingers sift through his hair. both of you are sweaty and out of breath, but when you look up at him, something close to adoration flits across his face. you’re not sure if that’s a post-orgasm sort of thing, but you’ll take it for what it is.

you brush your lips against his, gently kissing him, and ask if he still wants to go to dinner. ichigo shoots you an incredulous look and you laugh in response. “okay, okay,” you pat his chest gently, “boyfriends shouldn’t look at their girlfriends like that.” you say it casually enough that it feels like a joke, but you’re too damn nervous to look at him to see his reaction.

his ears grow hot and he presses his lips together for a moment before mumbling a, “sorry, won’t happen again.” you pinch his cheek and playfully lick at his lips. a warmth travels to your chest, nestles into the crevices that line the inside of your heart, and makes you want to kiss him all over again. he takes that as a sign of forgiveness — although he isn’t actually sure if you meant it or not — and carries you over to your bed. while he initially set out to get you to confess first, somewhere along the way, his mission fell apart. still, he can’t say he’s unhappy about the outcome. and, sure, his friends might give him an earful for missing out on dinner, but he’s much more content and comfortable being with you right now to care.

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separatist-apologist · 10 months

Text

Lying In Between The Memories

You could call it paradise but it looks just like hell to me

Summary: Following the blood rite, Gwyneth Berdara can't shake the memories of a life long-gone.

The shadowsinger can't seem to move on after five centuries of loving the same woman.

Together, they'll have to carve a new path forward.

Read on AO3 | Previous Chapter

Added chapter because I can do whatever I want, whenever I want

[ongoing TW for Sexual Assault]

For my muse/manager @trashforazriel

Azriel had his legs spread wide, eyes pinned wholly on her. Any other time, it might have felt erotic but today it felt like a challenge. His wings flared for a moment before he drew them tight against his back and though truthteller was sheathed against his powerful thigh, Azriel didn’t hold a weapon.

A light breeze ruffled his inky hair, blowing a thick strand of it against hazel eyes. “How does it work?” he asked her, voice roughened from the cold sea air and the lack of sleep from the night before. Gwyn pushed those thoughts from her mind—if he scented her arousal, she’d lose this show down.

And Gwyn hated losing.

Flexing her hands at her sides, Gwyn glanced at the new invoking stones set along the gauntlets she wore. She’d called on that power before—before. Not since, though. And the thought of drawing on that power made her legs shake. An insult was on the tip of her tongue. She could push him away so easily, put him on the defensive. Azriel almost always took the bait.

“You just…” she swallowed hard. “It's a connection with the living world. With creation itself. And you—I—just…draw on it.” Not one ounce of pity crossed his face. “Do it, then.”

Fuck you! She wanted to scream it, knowing full well Azriel wasn’t the problem. It was her, and she didn’t know if she could explain it. He waited another moment, the sound of the sea crashing around them. And then he stepped forward with sure, confident steps. Holding out his own gloved hand, he let her watch that cobalt gem flare, let her feel whatever magic it was he possessed skitter through the air between them. One of his shadows wreathed protectively around her neck, another skimming the space between their two bodies.

“Siphons work the same way. It channels what I already have,” he told her. “Magic I was born with, that I’ll die with. And nothing I’ve ever done could change that.”

She understood what he was trying to tell her. This has nothing to do with your inherent worth. Still, he added, “This is in your blood, Gwyn. It’s your birthright. Take it.”

Gwyn could feel it humming just beneath her boots. Could feel the way the earth writhed and shifted—the caress of the wind, the worms in the soil just below. She’d always felt it, and when Catrin had died, Gwyn had felt too much of it. Like all the magic Catrin possessed had been gifted to her. The harder she tried to drown it all out, the louder it became.

Azriel took a step back, crossing his arms over his chest. “We’re not leaving this rock until you do it, Gwyn. I’ve got nothing else to do today.”

She turned her back to him, shaking out her hands. “Close your eyes,” she demanded.”

“Excuse me?”

Looking over her shoulder, Gwyn repeated, “I said, close your eyes. I don’t want you to watch me.”

He leveled a dark stare, but closed his eyes all the same. One of his shadows swirled across his face, earning a sigh of irritation from the Illyrian warrior—but she appreciated it all the same.

“I can’t do this if you’re staring at me,” she said, turning back to face him fully.

“I don’t appreciate being—” Azriel’s words were cut off in a huff because Gwyn, too afraid if she didn’t do it right then that she’d never do it, shoved the magic through her. Her own stones burned teal against the leather before a pulse of power slammed into Azriel’s chest.

Caught off guard, he hit the ground roughly, legs flying upward as his elbows broke his fall. Gwyn didn’t move, resisting the urge to tell him she was sorry. Maybe it was the look on his face that gave her pause—Azriel’s expression was one of pure, feral delight. Like a male who was getting exactly what he’d hoped for, which couldn’t be right. She doubted he cared much one way or the other and yet…that expression made her want to do it again.

His wings flared from behind him, wide and dark. He looked like an avenging god coming to claim her soul. “You know that was lucky, right?”

“Was it?”

“Do it again,” Azriel demanded, a challenge in those eyes of his.

“You know, there is no glory in besting me, right?”

“Are you so sure about that?” he replied, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “You’re Carynthian, are you not?”

“Emerie carried me—”

“You should have died,” he replied lightly, though there was nothing light in his eyes. Only pure, blazing fury—at her? For winning, when so few had in the past? Or for being put in the competition in the first place. “No one expected you to win and you made it to the mountain.”

“But I didn’t—”

“Neither did Rhys,” Azriel said lightly, refusing to let her downplay what he clearly thought was an achievement. “Cassian and I carried him to the top. Did you know that?” How could she possibly. “No,” she admitted.

“So many people fair because they go it alone. I know why Emerie carried you up the mountain, Gwyn. Cass told us. You deserve your title, and there is some glory in defeating an equal.”

“Yeah, alright,” she grumbled. “Is this the part where you push me down?”

Azriel shrugged. “Block me.”

“I liked it better with Cassian.”

Azriel’s smile was savage. “Well, I’m all you’ve got.”

The point stood, though. Azriel didn’t bother explaining how she was supposed to block him, repaying her for knocking him off his feet with his own night-kissed blast of power. The force of his own magic, honed over centuries, left her breathless. Azriel had hardly seemed so affected.

He walked over to her, looking down while Gwyn worked to catch her breath. “This is why we practice,” he murmured, crouching so his elbows rested against his knees.

“Get…fucked…” she panted.

Another smile. “Are you offering—”

Gwyn kicked out her foot, shoving Azriel to the ground before he could finish that sentence. Her muscles screamed in protest when she scrambled up, quicker than he expected. One hand yanked his dagger from its sheath, the other wrapped around his throat. Gwyn pressed the serrated edge against the tattooed flesh, the tail of her braid teasing his cheek.

“Do you want to finish that sentence, shadowsinger?”

He held her gaze for a moment.

And then their positions were reversed, though she was still holding his weapon, still had it against his throat. “This is foreplay to me, priestess,” he replied, one scarred hand curling around her wrist. He pinned them both over her head, wedging a powerful thigh between her legs. “I would have you like this.”

“Dagger to your throat?”

But she knew the answer to that before she ever asked. Arousal was coming off him in waves, his scent edged with salt. “Yes,” he admitted. “Put my knife wherever you like so long as you’re touching me when you use it.”

It was meant to be a taunt, but the breathless quality of her words made it seem almost like a plea. “Is that what you’re into?”

Another savage smile graced his features. “Among other things.”

Don’t ask him! she ordered herself, though she desperately wanted to know everything he liked. Gwyn wanted to know him like she knew herself. Letting him show her exactly what he liked risked too much. Gwyn turned her face and Azriel released her, rising to his feet in the span of a breath. She did take his extended hand, letting him pull her up.

“What if we didn’t go back to the palace right away,” Azriel suggested, running a hand through his hair.

“And did what instead?” she questioned, trying to calm her racing heart.

“We could get a drink?” he asked, though his tone implied he could use several. Gwyn considered this. Like so many other things in her life, drinking was something that felt off limits to her for no other reason than her self-imposed exile from the world around her.

It was dangerous to agree. He was too beautiful in the everyday, too tempting even with six feet of distance between them. What happened when she removed the barriers she was holding between them?

“Just one drink?” she clarified. That was safe enough, right? He could drink as much as he wanted, she supposed, but she could have her one while grilling him for information until she knew all his deepest, darkest secrets.

Gwyn didn’t interrogate why she wanted to know that.

“Scared?” he challenged. Bastard.

“If you’re going to be mean about it, my answer is no.”

Azriel cocked his head. “Drink as much as you want, Gwyn. Why don’t you drink enough to tell me why you stopped training with me.”

Cold dread slithered up her spine. Gwyn was never going to tell him the truth on that front. “I told you—I like Cassian better.”

“He’s prettier than me?” Azriel scoffed, eyes bright with amusement. She almost laughed because no one was prettier than Azriel and surely he must have known it.

“And funnier, too,” Gwyn said, daring Azriel to disagree. He only shrugged, no malice on his face.

“Cassian wouldn’t let you off so easy with a drink. He’d make you knock him on his ass before you got your reward.”

“Drinking at noon with you is hardly a reward, Az.”

“No? You have a problem with my sparkling wit, too?”

He was going to be the death of her. He was feisty today. Chattier than she’d ever seen him, and more open than she was used to. Gwyn wondered what had changed. Was this who Azriel was beneath his icy exterior? Had he finally grown comfortable enough to let her see the hints of his personality? Something was happening—something new that she didn’t quite understand.

“Are we staying or are we leaving?”

Azriel considered for a moment.

“Another hour. Hit me again.”

Gwyn groaned, wishing Azriel could leave things well enough alone. She’d done it once, hadn’t she? He’d want to see it again and again, until her magic was like an extension of her, until she could shape it the way he did. She thought about what he said—about her magic being in her blood rather than tied to her intrinsic worth. How did that work?

“Two drinks.”

“Nice try. Come on. Hit me again.”

Gwyn would have liked to swing at him. Maybe he knew it, too, because he took another step back. But he didn’t relent, either. Azriel held firm, repeating his order like she was merely another of his soldiers. Gwyn did push more magic at him, ignoring the way it made her insides feel—warm and cold, both worthy and unworthy all at the same time. Maybe it was how irritating he was that forced pulse after pulse from her palms, all of it blocked by Azriel’s own siphoned magic. He pushed back, too, and Gwyn managed to block him about half the time.

Not that she could say how, exactly, she managed it. Because she didn’t know. It was more reactionary than anything—he shoved, and she merely tried to defend herself. Gwyn was certain she’d find nothing but bruises along her back when she undressed later that night.

She was sore, and sweat soaked by the time he finally relented. Azriel looked happy, which she supposed made sense. Only he could find pleasure in pain. She let him scoop her up, grateful for a short respite on her aching muscles.

“You did well,” he murmured, his breath skating against her cheek.

“High praise,” she said dryly, though in truth it was. Azriel didn’t bother responding to that, wings flared as they made their way back to Montessere. Gwyn wished they could leave, the yearning hitting her so strongly she could feel it twisting in her gut. Who would have guessed she’d miss home so much? But right then, Gwyn felt it deeply, felt the loss of Emerie and Nesta and the familiarity of being somewhere with well established rules she understood.

Here, all she had was Azriel and nothing made sense.

“C’mon,” Azriel murmured when they reached the palace grounds, his fingers skimming the back of her hand. “Let's go get that drink.”

AZRIEL:

Azriel was fucked.

For five centuries, Azriel had kept more secrets than he could count. More than just his own, shouldering all of his High Lord’s secrets right atop his own. Never once had he felt like he was drowning. But now, seated at a little table in the back of a dim tavern, Azriel didn’t think he could keep another. The words kept rising in his throat, swallowed at the last minute when his senses returned to him.

You’re my mate!

He’d thought the liquor would help him, but it was only making things worse. Gwyn carried most of the conversation, telling him in hushed tones about the new chapter she’d deciphered. It was nothing interesting other than proof she was right. A history of Montessere and the early tribes before they unified under one Fae warrior. She was more interested in the old gods that ruled, reciting tales Azriel was vaguely familiar with thanks to Rhys’s father and the education he’d been given once he’d proven to be valuable.

Azriel found that if he nodded his head and kept his eyes focused on her, she didn’t notice he wasn’t really paying attention.

He wanted to go back to the little island they trained on. He wanted to be flat on his back with Gwyn hovering over him, truthteller biting against his skin. Only this time, he’d kiss her until she drew blood. And he’d tell her what was happening between them so she couldn’t deny it like Azriel suspected she was.

Did she truly not feel that cord between them? Azriel didn’t know how he’d missed it, but now it was all he felt. Like a muscle attached to his rib, easily flexed just like any other. Gwyn, animated and bright, was explaining to him the wild hunts of old. Experimentally, his eyes never leaving her face, Azriel pulled gently.

Her breath caught for only a moment, choking on her words like she’d inhaled too much air too fast. She stumbled for a moment, blinking as she tried to gather her bearings. There was no awareness to her expression, no dawning realization like he’d hoped. Azriel didn’t want to be the one to tell her what he was feeling. Given their track record together, he was deeply afraid he’d end up shouting it at her and that hardly seemed an auspicious start.

Besides, Cassian had tried that and look how that had gone. No, he needed her to piece it together herself. Easier said than done, he thought, given how tightly walled off she was. They were making some progress—she had her siphons and she’d drawn from that power today. It wasn’t as powerful as he suspected she truly was, but there was bite to it.

He wanted to see her combine it with the curious flame she’d shown him when they’d first arrived. He wanted to see her unleash herself, to pull those walls down so he could see how magnificent she was. And Azriel knew that if he couldn’t figure out how to do that relatively soon, she’d retreat back to the library in Velaris and he didn’t think she’d ever visit him again.

How many decades would pass before he broke and told her the truth? And then what? She could ban him from entering. Azriel knew Rhys would enforce it.

What did she feel for him, he wondered? Sometimes he thought he felt something before she retreated back inside herself. And maybe it was that question that prompted him to keep drinking beyond a reasonable limit. Beyond the ability to fly—or walk, even.

“You’re too heavy,” she complained when they finally stumbled out into the crisp, overcast night. Azriel opened his mouth to respond, but only a loud hiccup erupted.

And Gwyn? She giggled. Azriel whipped his head around to look, stumbling forward. It was lucky a nearby light pole caught him—albeit by the face—before he fell flat on his ass.

“That was cute,” he said, words slurring at the edges. Gwyn shot him a look. He wasn’t sure what the look meant, only that he liked that, too. The meaner she was, the more he wanted her. And when she was nice, too, he supposed.

All the time. He wanted her all the time, and he couldn’t untangle how much of that was the mating bond, and how much was just her. Maybe an even split? He wasn’t in the right headspace to figure that one out, either. He did want to kiss her, though.

Badly.

Enough that he made his way toward her, snaked an arm around her waist, and tried to press his mouth against her own.

“You’re messy tonight,” she teased, turning her face sso his lips collided with her cheek. “We’re out in the open, Az?”

“So?”

She sighed, a pretty sound that lanced straight through him.

“Let's get back to the palace at least. Yeah? Just…one foot…and then the other. You’re doing it—”

“I’m not a baby,” he grumbled.

Gwyn chuckled again, high pitched and sweet and fuck he wanted to do the most absurd, filthy things to her. He needed to. Instinct was riding him hard, made worse by the alcohol and his inability to figure out what, exactly, was going on.

“You’re an Illyrian baby.” Gwyn interrupted his thoughts, pulling his arm over her neck so his fingers were brushing the tops of her breast. That was better, he decided. At least he was touching her, which soothed some of his frustration. She was still here, still with him. And so what, he lied to himself, if she didn’t realize they were mates. She was smart. Gwyn was going to figure it out and he’d act surprised too. Maybe he’d even gasp.

“Is that what that was?”

“What did you say?”

Azriel blinked. He hadn’t meant to vocalize that. “What?” he replied dumbly, hiccuping again. Gwyn sighed, leading him into the too dark palace.

“I didn’t think you could get drunk,” she admitted, pitching her voice lower. His shadows had returned, murmuring in his ear the news of the day.

Kai is in Vallahan.

The king is meeting with a High Lord of Prythian

Are you drunk?

Did you tell Gwyn you’re mates?

Azriel swatted at them like nosy, buzzing flies. “Mind your own business,” he grumbled, once again saying the words he meant to merely think. Gwyn peered over at him, eyes bright and once again, Azriel was overwhelmed with the urge to kiss her.

“What are they saying?”

Lie.

“Kai is in Vallahan,” Azriel managed, just barely making his way up the stairs. It occurred to him one of his wings was dragging on the ground, though he had no energy to lift it. The drag of the floor was strangely intimate, though not exactly erotic, either. He glanced over his shoulder to look, well aware that it was the alcohol making him so tolerant.

He would have been coming out of his skin, otherwise.

“So we’re alone?” Gwyn asked, shouldering into their shared room. Azriel brightened at her tone.

“We are alone,” he agreed, catching her just the moment the door was closed. Her mouth was warm, lips soft and he was desperate. He’d been desperate for a while now, but that morning had set him on edge. He wasn’t particularly gentle, forgetting he was supposed to be. And Gwyn didn’t seem to mind, either. She let him back her up until they both tumbled to the couch and fell in a graceless heap to the floor. Gwyn was giggling and Azriel couldn’t help his laugh, breathless on his back, still holding her to his chest.

“You’re so drunk, Az,” she said, her hair creating a curtain around them. Azriel brushed some of the strands back, tucking them behind a pointed ear he couldn’t resist tracing with his fingertips.

“And you’re beautiful,” he said in response.

Gwyn blinked, eyes wide with surprise. “Very drunk—”

“That’s not the alcohol talking,” he protested, but Gwyn wasn’t listening. She was pushing away, doing that thing where she retreated when he pushed a little too hard at those barriers. He sighed as she stood, smoothing out her dress.

“We should probably go to bed.”

“Great idea,” he agreed, wobbling on his own legs before snatching her around the waist and dragging her into his bedroom. Azriel kicked the door shut with his foot while Gwyn protested. That didn’t stop him from dropping her to his bed. If Gwyn wanted to escape him, she could easily put one of the many daggers he was certain on her person in his gut. She merely laid there, hair spread around her face like every fantasy he’d ever had come to life.

He wanted her. Azriel wanted to peel her out of her clothes with his teeth and spend the night making love to her. Maybe then she’d realize what they were. Hadn’t Cassian said his and Nesta’s bond had snapped together when they’d first come together? Or had Azriel only hallucinated that information?

Gwyn had said she didn’t want to, but maybe she’d change her mind. Not today, he reasoned. He was probably too drunk to make it good for her, besides. That didn’t stop him from climbing up the bed after her, nor did he protest when she laid his head against her chest. Azriel promptly buried his face between her breasts.

“You’re affectionate tonight,” she said, sliding her fingers through his hair.

“I like being touched,” he admitted. It felt safe to tell her that. A secret, he realized. One of the many he’d held back from everyone who knew him.

“I know you do,” she murmured, nails scratching his scalp. “You’re not as mysterious as everyone pretends you are.”

“Take that back,” he mumbled, angling his head to look up at her. What else had she noticed about him, she wondered? What little secrets had she unearthed, unaware she could see them because they were mates? Didn’t she realize what drew them together, even when it was painfully obvious she wished otherwise? Azriel wondered if Gwyn didn’t suspect. Afterall—he’d never been good with words, but he was with her. Somehow, when she was falling apart, Azriel knew what she needed to hear.

That was hardly his best skill.

“I feel the same way,” she admitted, scooting down the headboard so his chin was resting on her shoulder. “It’s been a long time since I let someone touch me.”

Azriel pressed a kiss just beneath her jaw. “Not all hands are kind,” he whispered, well aware she understood.

Gwyn picked up his hand—scarred from the abuse he’d endured as a boy. It was a memory he couldn’t run from, though the Cauldron knew he’d tried. Something about her own pale fingers lacing along his own soothed the anger he too often felt when he saw those old wounds. Like maybe things were going to be okay. And maybe there was a reason he’d had to suffer so much—like his suffering was mirrored with her own.

No one understood. Centuries of feeling he was on his own, that this was only his burden. And the gods knew if he could have taken that from her, he would have. Azriel would have endured all that horror and so much more if she’d never had to. But she did—for whatever reason, the Mother saw fit to give Gwyn all the same burdens Azriel shouldered.

And when she looked at him, he knew she saw him. Beyond his appearance and what he wanted people to notice about him, those teal eyes pierced his flesh until she was picking through his very soul like it was one of her books. Unreadable to everyone, yet Gwyn had the cipher.

Azriel brought her fingers to his mouth, kissing them softly. He was too drunk for this, the alcohol making a mockery of his feelings. “I’ll touch you whenever you like.”

“It doesn't always have to be about…you know…” A deep flush crept up her neck.

Azriel grinned. “No, Gwyn. I don’t know.”

She swatted at his chest. “We could be like this.”

Did she not realize what she was even asking for? Vulnerable, unguarded affection? His mate wanted to be held without worrying he was going to slip his hand beneath her skirts? Azriel could have floated back to Velaris. “We are like this,” he said, wondering if she realized he had no intention of letting her go once they finished here. He kept waiting for her to bring it up.

But Gwyn scooted further down the bed, cheek pressed to his hair, fingers still gripping his own.

“I’d like that.”

Azriel sighed.

So did he.

#gwynriel #limping across the finish line but i did it

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