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thelov3lybookworm · 1 month

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As a slut for angst today “tolerate it” has been stuck on a loop and now I am imaging an angsty fic where Az just slowly begins to forget about reader and she threatens to leave but he doesn’t take her seriously and is so utterly destroyed when he comes back home and she’s gone…

Like I feel like it’s on brand with him and his duty to his job and whatnot. Plus the lyrics are so him coded “while you were out building worlds where was I” / “took this dagger in me and removed it” LIKE HELLO???

(But I also love a good happy ending so I feel like if azzy groveled hard enough… 👀)

Tolerate it.

Summary: She is fed up.

•○●⛦●○•

A/n: ehehehehehe angsttttt yummy yummyyyy

Enjoy!

•○🌑○•

Y/n laughed at Feyre's pathetic attempts at skipping the large puddle on the ground accumulated due to the rains that had Velaris freezing overnight.

Feyre failed miserably, her boots and leggings getting wet from the splash that signalled her downfall against the watery enemy of hers. But Feyre was not fazed. She simply laughed alongside Y/n, her eyes crinkling as the two of them made their way back to the river house.

It was visible already now, Y/n could even make out the grains in the wood of the door as it opened, and her brother in laws, along with her mate, spilled out.

Y/n could see from the corner of her eyes as her sister lit up at seeing her mate, her husband and the father of her child. The moment his eyes met her, she took off, her arms spread as she ran up to him and threw her arms around his neck. Rhysand did not hold back either, clutching Feyre to her chest with as much enthusiasm as she held him.

It made Y/n smile.

Y/n then glanced behind the embracing couple to her mate, the overwhelming urge to hug him too and to claim him in front of anyone watching making her start walking towards him without even realising.

Which was reckless, as the moment he realised she was walking towards him to hug him? He took a step back.

Y/n knew that he hated being affectionate in front of others, but this was cruel.

So to not get embarrassed by his rejection, Y/n turned swiftly towards Cassian, her other brother in law, who stood not too far from where Azriel did, and hugged him instead.

Cassian, Mother bless his heart, did not even question it.

He wrapped his arms around Y/n and literally lifted her off the ground, cackling when Y/n's fist made contact with his shoulder over and over again as she demanded to be put down.

Y/n had to stop herself from thinking back to that day. She did not want to relive the pain she had felt, the sadness and anger.

Y/n watched his eyes fluttering, wondering if he was dreaming. Wondering who he was dreaming about.

It definitely was not her, that was for sure.

Y/n, feeing a little sadness taking root in her heart, returned to the portrait in her hands, questioning if it would even be worth it finishing it up when he sure as hell wouldn't even acknowledge it. Or her.

Y/n glanced at the paint supplies she had placed on the coffee table next to her, having wanted to capture a moment of him letting his guard down, of him being vulnerable using her best paints, knowing he would not care.

She guessed living for as long as he had, life and the small things didn't matter as much anymore. Maybe that was why he loved to go on the missions Rhysand, Y/n's brother in law, gave him.

It probably gave him the thrill nothing else did anymore.

With Y/n's sister just having given birth to the starlight of the court, Rhys had become more and more protective, sending his brothers and anyone and everyone at his disposal to check and report about every trivial thing that made his primal mate and father side get protective.

Slowly, Y/n reached for the brush that rested in the cup half filled with coloured water, deciding to finish the half done portrait. If he did not care... she did not now what she would do then, but she did know she was tired of being tolerated by him.

But what could she even do? It was not like she could just up and leave.

Y/n blinked.

Or... could she?

Y/n shook her head, as if to dislodge the though, and with a sigh, she let herself get lost in the soft skill of painting her sister had taught her long ago, when staying up and huddling under worn blankets was the only thing bringing any warmth.

Trying not to think about the fact that the last time she remembered him caring for her, genuinely caring for her, was only when the two had been in their early stages of relation ship and the mating bond was a very new experience to a newly made fae Y/n, she continued using the soft and strong, long and short strokes to finish up her latest masterpiece.

Of course, Y/n never would call herself a creator of masterpieces, but any and all art that included her perfect mate was destined to be a masterpiece.

Time lost its meaning, and all that mattered was capturing the perfect angle for his eyes, nose, lips, shoulder.

Nothing existed but Y/n, her art, and her muse.

Nothing existed but the soft rise and fall of his back as he lay sprawled on his stomach, the effortless way his wings draped across the whole bed, taking up space three wingless fae could have slept in.

Where Y/n would have slept in, on days when everything had been filled with stars and dreams, wrapped under his warm wing like it were a living blanket.

When he pretended he was nothing, absolutely nothing but her mate. Her husband. Not a spymaster, not a shadowsinger, not a brother. Just her mate, her lover.

Those days were far gone now.

•○🌑○•

Despite the fact that she knew he would most definitely not care, Y/n was excited.

And that was downplaying what she felt.

The wait was killing her, the amount of adrenaline in her bloodstream making her want to jump around to get rid of the energy that made her shiver, her limbs going cold and warm at the same time. She had to push her fists together and shove them between her thighs to keep them from shaking, which did not help at all.

So Y/n waited, her body clenched in anticipation as she stared at the doorway that led into the living room, a big grin on her face.

She glanced once at the sketchpad in front of her on the table, admiring her artwork for a moment.

She never liked whatever she made, always feeling like it lacked something. So for her to be excited to show off her art to her mate was a huge indication to how much she loved the portrait.

The familiar scuff of worn boots drew Y/n's attention, and she shot to her feet, pressing her fists to the back of her thighs.

It had become a habit of Azriel's, to purposefully make some noise before he stepped in view so as not to startle her with his appearance.

The action melted Y/n's heart every single time.

He stepped into view, as ethereal as the day Y/n had first seen him as a human, just as beautiful as he had looked that day as he tried to get comfortable on the small chair in the manor on the other side of the wall, just as loveable as that day when she had ended up losing her heart to the low born fae that should have intimated her.

He was fumbling with his armor, making sure it was all secured properly before he left for whatever mission Rhys assigned him for that day.

He glanced up just as he walked past Y/n to the kitchen counter, a small smile gracing his face before his attention was again diverted.

Y/n tried not to deflate at his lack of enthusiasm.

"Good morning love. Look-"

"Good morning Y/n." He cut her off, his voice void of emotions, as if he was tired of saying the same thing every morning and wanted to get it over with. He didn't even glance at Y/n as he said it, and Y/n pretended not to notice that he used her name instead of whatever endearing name he would have picked before.

"I will be on a scouting trip to Illyria, and after I have a meeting and dinner scheduled with Rhys and Cass, so I will be late coming home. Don't wait up."

Y/n's smile faded. "Don't wait up or stay out of my way?"

Azriel froze. "What?"

Y/n released a humourless laugh. "Nothing. Go have fun."

Azriel turned, giving her a hard look. "You know I would rather stay at home with you."

Doubtful.

Y/n so badly wanted to say it to his face, but she did not want to fight with him so early in the morning, so she sighed, smiled and nodded.

He started walking towards the door, and despite her anger, Y/n walked forward to kiss his cheek.

She did not miss how he recoiled.

Y/n masked the hurt before he could see it, and he gave her an awkward smile before he maneuvered to walk around her, careful not to brush against her.

Y/n watched him walk away, staring hard at the door even long after he'd left.

She then glanced at the portrait she had abandoned on the table, and, her heart hardening, turned away.

She was tired of having her love be tolerated, and she would not have it be that way anymore.

Either he accept her love the way it was, loud and clear, or he go find someone else.

And so, she turned, walked up the stairs to the bedchambers she shared with Azriel, and began to turn it back into just his bedchambers.

She would no longer be tolerated only because some godly entity thought she and him would make great, powerful kids and tied them together with a string.

She deserved to be cherished.

•○🌑○•

Part 2

Taglist: @bubybubsters @eos-princess @nightless @harrystylesfan2686 @cassie6392 @kennedy-brooke @tele86 @miluiel1 @hnyclover @minnieoo @sidrapotter @piceous21 @mybestfriendmademe @saltedcoffeescotch @eve175

Azriel Taglist: @darthdumbasss @foreverrandomwritings @azrielsmate3 @celestialend

#azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel #azriel fic #acotar #acotar fandom #acotar fanfic #acotar fluff #acotar series #acotar writing #mating bond #sarah j maas #a court of thorns and roses #acotar headcanon #azriel spymaster #azriel acotar #acotar fanfiction #azriel fanfic #azriel x you

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spacedace · 8 months

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Had a dc x dp brain worm, feel free to use as a prompt <3

Sidenote, I decided to get fancy with the Ancients titles because of course I did lol

Shifting Where = Space (Danny)

Eternal When = Time (Clockwork)

Ever Onward = Speedforce (Ellie)

---

Bruce watched the footage again.

And again.

Again.

It didn’t make sense.

A week ago every television, radio, computer, phone - even the LED billboards - had been taken over to deliver a message. Across the United States. In every territory it held. Every military base. Down in the depths of the oceans where American submarines tried to creep past Atlantian patrols. In the endless cold white of Antarctica. Even far above in the International Space Station. Any place the United States Government had control over, any place one of its citizens found themselves. There was the message.

The face of an entity, human in shape but not in form. Hair as gleaming white as starlight, eyes bright as the twisting dance of the Aurora Borealis, skin as cold and blue as the tail of a comet. The entity wore armor as black as the depths of space with a crown to match, the later glinting and shifting with the twisting birth and death of galaxies. A cloak of nebulae danced down his shoulders, eclipsing the world beyond the entity entirely.

He named himself, jaw tight, expression serious.

High King Phantom of the Infinite Realms.

The Shifting Where. Son of the Eternal When. Father of the Ever Onward. His Epitaphs many and ever growing. The True Balance. The Bridge Between. The Devourer of Dark. The Last Child of Between. The Great One.

King of the Dead. King of the Infinite Worlds. King of so much more than Bruce had ever even known was possible.

King who had declared war. Who marshaled his endless armies. Who spoke of warnings, of efforts to reach a peace, of trying again and again and again to find a way to not plunge into violence and bloodshed. All things living come to call him King in time, he had no want or need to go out and hurry that along. But there were no options left to him now. He had tried for peace. He had been denied.

He would not see his people suffer any longer. Would not see those he’d sworn to lead and protect imprisoned by fools who had sworn themselves enemies to all the afterlives. Would no longer permit the vicious cruelty to continue.

The message was a final warning.

A final offer.

Three days, Phantom said. The United States government would have three days to release their prisoners, to begin the process of dismantling the laws that made death itself an illegal act.

If they refused, he would lead his endless armies personally in the war to come.

It had not been an idle threat.

Three days after the message, after Bruce and the rest of the Justice League scrambled to try and figure out just what it was it was all about, after Justice League Dark’s members shakily took turns explaining just how powerful the being that had gave that message was and how much danger the world was in should he and his armies march upon their world, war came.

Of all places, it began in a town in Illinois.

The sky shattered like broken glass above, Lazarus Green beyond, and the Dead poured out.

It started in Illinois.

It did not end there.

Bruce watched the footage of it all, eyes burning as he watched every second of CCTV footage, every shaky phone camera video, every news broadcast.

Most of them looked human enough. Changed in death, but recognizably human once. A pair of glowing teenagers on a motorcycle, a writhing shadow twisting about at their command sweeping chaos upon the battlefield. A young woman dressed to perform with hair a literal flame, burning bright blue and snapping furiously as she played devastation upon her enemies with her guitar. A child with corpse gray skin and luminescent green hair, flickering in and out of Bruce’s ability to see as if fighting against a law of existence to be visible, screaming orders to a skeleton crew from his place on deck of a 1700s ship that sailed through the sky, disappearing into clouds before raining down attacks from above.

There was more. Glowing skeletons dressed in the fashions of war spanning every culture going back millennia. Robots with weapons far beyond the technology they had even in the League. Creatures of myth and legend. Things of nightmares.

Leading them all, as he had promised, was Phantom.

He looked younger, smaller. Just a boy, really, a gangly teenager that hadn’t quite finished growing into himself. One holding power beyond anything Bruce could ever imagine, but still just a child as far as he could see, no older than Tim who’d just graduated high school. Frantic research found Phantom appearing as far back as human history, but those sightings had to have been after his death. Bruce can’t help but wonder how young the boy had been when he died, how much of that youth still clung to him through all these eons.

It wasn’t something he’d let him self consider normally, not with something like this.

A dangerous unknown appearing without warning and attacking with unimaginable power and seemingly endless forces. It was something that would normally eclipse everything else. Something that would make Bruce put aside the ache at seeing a face so young twisted in rage.

But.

He watched all the footage.

Civilians were put in the crossfire. Were shot at and endangered. Were left terrified and scrambling for safety in buildings that were rapidly being torn away by stray artillery.

But never by Phantom or his armies.

The dead, in fact, went very far out of their way to ensure civilians weren’t harmed. Sweeping people up out of the way of falling debris. Shielding them from attacks that would have most certainly killed a normal human. Some dead even helped evacuate, ushering a frightened and panicked populous to safety as gently as they were capable of. Some of the less human creatures - giant bear-like beings with horns and fangs and ice edging their burly frames - even rushed forward to offer medical aid.

When the sky shattered open and the armies of the dead swept in, they ignored the town below. They focused instead on what was discovered later to be the base of a secretive government agency. The dead’s fight focused on those individuals in sharp white suits, bearing weapons capable of actually injuring King Phantom’s people.

It was these agents that brought the fight to the streets to Amity Park. That fired recklessly and without thought or care to the casualties they could inflict. That didn’t seem to care if they killed a hundred civilians if it meant hurting just one of Phantom’s soldiers.

Bruce watched all the footage.

And again.

Again.

Phantom had declared war.

Phantom spoke in his message of being out of options, of attempting peace. Phantom gave three days time for the release of captives. Phantom lead armies who fought viciously but never once willingly harmed civilians.

Phantom declared war, but he didn’t want it.

“Amanda Waller has reached out.”

Bruce didn’t turn his attention from the screens before him, eyes burning as he followed Phantom as the King dove away from the middle of locked combat to shield a child from a pulse of green energy from something like a grenade another agent in white had carelessly thrown. The child was crying but unharmed. The left pauldron of Phantom’s armor cracked and shattered from a direct shot from the enemy he’d just been fighting that he’d turned his back on, a glowing green liquid uncomfortably like Lazarus Water dripped down from a smoldering wound.

Clark stepped up to stand beside him as he watched, face worn and tired. The League had missed the first battle, but they’d been quick to appear at the rest. Phantom and his army ignored them unless they put themselves purposefully in the way of the fight. They were, as Justice League Dark had warned, vastly out powered by the entities fighting. A hulking giant knight made of shadow riding a nightmarish steed had driven Clark six feet down into the dirt when he’d attempted to make his way to Phantom directly to try and talk to the king.

The depth Clark had ended up felt like a warning of what would happen if he tried to get close to the king again.

It probably was.

“She said they have intel for us.” A faint twitch of fingers, jaw clenching, voice flat in that way that told Bruce his old friend was fighting back anger with everything he had. “That she has options for how to deal with the insurgence.”

Bruce shut off the monitors.

He’d seen enough.

Now was time to get answers to just what, exactly, Amanda Waller and the US government had done to cause the Dead to rise and rage.

---

Part Two Part Three Part Four

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dpxdc #bruce wayne #clark kent #danny fenton #amanda waller #ghost king danny #ghost zone goes to war #space core danny #ancient of space danny #i'm gonna make ancient of the speedforce Elle a thing if it kills me lol #it just fits so well #Bruce's dad senses are tingling #Fright Knight might have been able to bat Clark away but if Bruce gets within a 100ft of Danny it's game over #Bat-Adoption Papers deployed #BatFam up a new member (or three or six)#Amanda Waller is not going to be as persuasive as she thinks she's going to be when it comes to getting the JL onboard with her plans

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readychilledwine · 4 months

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Little One

Summary - After arriving home for the first time in 50 years, Rhysand is shocked to find someone so small in his sister's arms. (Azriel x Rhysands sister!oc)

Warnings - post UTM, broken Rhys, children

A/N - If this has posted, I have given birth and this is kicking off my maternity celebration. A lot of these next couple weeks will carry the theme of family. The good, bad, ugly, and happy sides of it. And of course, the angst and spice that comes with relationships. I wanted to start with a piece I wrote after my own brothers learned they were going to be Uncles for the first time, and will probably end the celebration with Light in the Hallway (dad!Eris x reader) because that piece is so... special to me.

"Well, welcome home!" Rhys nodded, looking at Cassian who was wearing a shit eating grin. Cassian kept looking at Azriel and back to Rhys. The high lord looked at Mor who was bouncing in place. Then Armen who was also hiding a smile.

Azriel was blushing, hiding in his shadows. Rhys was quick to notice the lack of black hair, golden skin, and long beautiful legs that normally stood holding Azriel's hands at all times. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

"Where's my sister?" Mor squealed at the comment, bouncing hard.

"You mean his wife?" Azriel shot a look to the blonde before his face grew more red. Rhys raised a brow before smiling ferally.

"Did you finally marry her? Azriel, that's-" Rhys face twitched to a half smile as the door opened and a familiar, "Where's my mate?" Came through the room.

He felt her exhaustion before he saw her. Her mind was a scattered mess of stress, and yet she was content and joyful. Rhys walked over to the doorway to the hall. He leaned against the framed out entry way from the greeting room to the living room watching the female.

Selene stood in the entrance, back to him as she removed her coat and then her heeled shoes. She was wearing a beautiful tea length black dress with tulle straps that tied over her shoulders. Her hair was longer, significantly longer, Rhys noted. "Stop staring Cassian."

Rhys smiled at the soft melody of her voice. The gentleness it held was a constant fresh air that comforted everyone around her. He cleared his throat, excited to see his baby sister for the first time in 50 years, "I apologize, Sel. I can't help but admire your beauty when I haven't laid eyes on you in so long." Selene instantly froze, her mind pausing to process the voice she heard. She moved again, standing up and stopping whatever she had been adjusting on the floor. She spun quickly, staring at him in shock.

He studied her face. It was truly the soft version of his. She had the same angular high cheekbones, the same starlight filled eyes, the same lip shape only hers were fuller. In fact, she in general was softer, fuller. She had gained a little weight, her breasts were fuller, hips a little wider. She was devastatingly beautiful before, but whatever had made her body scream "goddess" had Rhys thankful she was one of his spies and had not run off to another court.

She whispered softly, "Rhys."

"Selene."

They moved at the same time, her jumping into his chest, her arms finding his neck, his finding her waist. They laughed softly together. Rhysand's eyes closed as he took in the pleasant warmth of her body and the scent of flowers and honey. It took him a second, but his nose slowly processed something else. He dug his head into her neck, finding the scent of night air and cedar that clung to her skin. But there was something else.

Someone else. Rhysand's eyes snapped open while studying her. "Are you and Azriel welcoming other people into your bed again?" He smiled ferally at her, "The shields only been down for a day. He must be a good lover if you already ran off to him?"

The female threw her head back, her laughter ringing through the home like bells. She looked at Rhys, "One, your shields weren't that hard for me to get through. Two, we kind of are. Go sit on the couch and shut your eyes!"

Rhys raised a brow before following the orders of his sister. Mor was about to burst with joy, already holding back tears, Cassian was beaming. Armen smiled at Azriel as the shadowsinger softly smiled at Rhys. The high lord closed his eyes, "If this was a plot to kill me, just know im thankful it was your hands and not someone elses." Her laughter made him smile again as he heard her moving towards him.

The scent hit him again, stronger this time. He could finally place it. It was soft and spicy, as if it was still developing and wrapped heavily in the scent of Azriel. It reminded him of lavender and vanilla underneath all of the layer. Lavender, vanilla, and baby powder? Rhys questioned.

Rhys felt Selene's arms on his. She was moving gently and staying very quiet. In fact, the whole room had grown quiet as Rhys processed a soft fabric in his arms. As she removed her arms, leaving whatever she was holding in his hands, it hit him instantly. His eyes shot open, and a loud sob left his mouth.

"You had a fucking baby." Bright eyes stared back up at Rhys, studying him as Rhys raised a hand to stroke the rosy cheeks of the faeling in his arms. "Hi baby," He felt the first tear fall and didn't bother trying to hide the rest. "I'm your Uncle Rhys. What's your name?"

Azriel had moved, kneeling in front of Rhysand. He cooed his daughter softly as she stared up at her uncle with wide blue eyes. His blue eyes. His sister's blue eyes. "This is Estelle. She's just under a year old. I'm sorry we couldn't ask you about the name, but we just -" Selene and Azriel's jaws twitched. Selene had looked away and up, blocking the painful reminder.

"We knew," Cassian answered softly. "She looks just like sissy."

"She does." Rhys admired the tiny nose, chubby cheeks, and her perfect soft skin as he enjoyed this moment with his niece. She looked like a small version of his middle sister, the only key different was she had the same eyes as Rhys and Selene instead of the illyrian Hazel her namesake had inherited from his mother.

He held a hand out for Selene to take and the new mother did, moving to sit next to him. "Do you have everything she needs in all the houses?"

"We were only missing one thing, Rhys. And you're here now, so we have everything she needs," she answered softly, tears running down her own face. "I owe you some money and an apology, though. I had to break the shield for me to be able to get into Velaris, but I ensured Noone recognized me. I also spent a fair bit of money." She was playing with her long dark hair, guilt causing her shoulders to fall forward. "Cassian told me nothing she has could be used."

The high lord laughed, pulling his sister into him before kissing her head, "Oh no, how could you spend the money I would have spent on my niece anyways?" The sarcasm in his tone made the room laugh. "Should we get you and mommy matching dresses? Yes we should. My beautiful girls," Az hung his head in laughter before Rhys paused again, "You can feel the power in this little thing."

"She creates shadows-" Selene drug out the "s" as she avoided eye contact with Rhys.

"They're completely sentient. They have a mind of their own and only respond to her. They take the form of things she likes. Lately they have all looked like Armen. We also think something else is going on involving the stars. She almost… Glitters under the night sky." Azriel explained as his hand touched her head. Rhys looked to Amren, and the ancient being only smirked as she sipped her glass of spiced blood. Any ideas? He asked her silently.

Rhysand's eyes grew wide as he smirked at the giggling babe, her beautiful eyes locked on Auntie Amren, "Delightful. Tell me everything about her." The inner circle all moved to surround the High lord and new parents. Telling him stories about the baby girl chewing on his fingers before reaching out crying for her mother.

"I watched her rearrange the stars one night," Amren said slowly. "She must have missed Baba, because there's now a bat shaped constellation that wasn't there before. Isn't there, little one?"

"She's hungry. I'm sorry. I'll bring her right back," Selene moved with grace, collecting her daughter, and walking up the stairs, breast already mostly exposed as she cooed to the baby.

Rhys looked at Azriel and asked one last time, "You're sure you have everything she needs?"

Azriel smiled, "Like she said, you were the only thing missing. Stell has everything she needs, and I know we all will give her everything she could ever want." The inner circle nodded at the Spymaster's words. "Right now, the biggest argument we've had was if she'd continue tradition and we would take her to Illyria to train, or if we'd keep her here."

Rhysand watched as Cassian's jaw began a feather light twitch. "My niece is not training in Illyria unless things have changed completely and clipping is an offense punishable by death. Even then I will not leave her."

Azriel pinched the bridge of his nose. "So we forsake our culture? You and I know that will never happen. She will always be a target-"

"Another time, brothers." Rhysand smiled at them, stopping the argument that was about to ensure. "I'm taking the two of them shopping tomorrow. I'm buying everything Selene touches. I don't believe you have everything my little niece needs." Rhysand wanted to hear it one last time. To hear what she and Azriel both said and genuinely meant just one more time.

Azriel rolled his eyes, "She will not let you do that, Rhys. All that was missing was you."

#acotar #azriel acotar #azriel #rhysand acotar #rhys acotar #azriel x rhysands sister! reader #elizabeths.maternitycelebration

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caramelmochacrow · 9 months

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happy birthday nana!!!!! she makes me feel a multitude of emotions.

#crow's scribbles #revue starlight #nana daiba #wouldve drawn her w junna but. i got too sad.#pls wish her a happy birthday she is afraid of change--#I ALMOST FORGOT IM SORRY NANA BUT EHRE!!!!#HAPPY BIRTH TO HER!!!

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flowerandblood · 7 months

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The Evening Star (1/2)

[ Hades • Aemond x Persephone • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, smut, angst, kidnaping, sexual tension, obsession, incest, toxic relation ]

[ description: When the god of the underworld comes out of his caves once a year to admire his beloved constellation, he accidentally meets his niece, whom he has never seen before. Moved by sudden lust and desire, he kidnaps her, despite her despair and his brother's anger. Angst, sexual tension, dark and obsessive Aemond. ] Part 2: The Moonlight Ray

The Evening Star & The Moonlight Ray Persephone Moodboard

*English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy!*

My others works: Masterlist

_____

He never understood his brother, hurling his lightning bolts from the heavens at defenceless people in a rage − he did not understand his volatility, he did not understand his irrepressible desire, his unlimited emotionality.

He did not understand how he could desire and feel so many things at once, having his sister-wife haunt and take other goddesses, nymphs, or even human women, begetting bastards on earth and in the heavens.

He did not understand him, for he was emptiness, abyss, coldness, the opposite of his impulsiveness, his eternal volatility − he was like stone, like white marble, soul as well as body.

The only desire he had ever known in his life was the desire for power, and for this his brother deprived him of one eye before casting him into a dark abyss where not even the light of the stars could reach.

Although he was a god, his brother's blow could not be undone and he was forever disfigured, the dark hole in his face filled with a precious stone, sapphire, shining with a disturbing blue light.

Accustomed to the darkness of Hades, he could no longer bear the intense light of the sun and rarely appeared on Olympus itself; he would wander through his dark caverns in his long, black matted robe and gaze at the river Styx, at its pale light and the contorted terrified faces of the souls who swam in it.

When word reached him that his brother had mated with their other sister, the goddess of the field crops, and that she had bore him a daughter, he was neither surprised nor interested − he did not come to celebrate her birth on Olympus or congratulate his brother.

His brother had often suggested to him that he should take a wife, that he should not be alone in the darkness of the underworld.

He, however, felt no such need.

Even his sister, known as the Goddess of Love and Desire, was unable to seduce him.

She touched his naked body with her soft lips and hands, but he felt nothing but embarrassment.

He left Hades only once a year, when his favourite constellation emerged in the sky − He would then stroll through the old, dense forest looking up at the stars, breathing in the fresh air, listening to the rustle of the leaves.

When this time of year came, when he left his caves and looked up, he felt contentment at the sight of the twinkling dots in the sky, the pleasant night breeze enveloping his cold body.

He strolled slowly and aimlessly, looking upwards, all around him only the quiet rustling of his robes and the sound of dew-wet grass lingering beneath his feet.

He froze as he heard someone's footsteps break a twig not far from him, he knew he was not alone and he was furious.

He thought that whoever this mortal was, he would flow right down his river of the dead.

He tilted his head to the side and saw a pale figure illuminated only by shy starlight, her body pressed against the trunk of a tree as if she wanted to take refuge in it, her face expressing helpless anxiety.

Her eyes were big, warm and as dark as his robe, her hair long, partly loose, partly decorated with rich braids encircling her head, small blue flowers woven into her hair.

Her full, moist, fleshy lips were parted slightly in an accelerated breath, her breasts which he could see perfectly through the thin, transparent material of her robe were rising and falling restlessly, her skin glistening like moonlight.

He stared at her, unable to move or make a sound, unsure if he had ever seen a being so infinitely beautiful in his life, luminous as the stars above his head.

He swallowed loudly when he saw that she had taken a step back to retreat, to escape.

"Is it the beautiful Evening Star herself who has left the sky to enchant me with her company?" He asked lowly, impassively, his voice though assured and direct trembled, betraying his desperation.

She stopped in mid-motion and looked at him again, surprised and embarrassed at the same time by his words − it seemed to him that he saw perfectly well how her cheeks flushed, giving her skin a rose tint.

She pressed her lips together watching him carefully, lifting her chin slightly as if probing him closely from afar, assessing whether he was a threat to her, whether he would hurt her.

He was unable to take his eyes off her.

"I will tell you who I am only if you tell me who you are." She whispered in a trembling, gentle tone.

A smirk appeared on his face at the thought that maybe she was a nymph who had ventured too far from her friends, and that she was at his mercy now.

He hummed under his breath and moved ahead, putting his hands behind his back, looking under his feet, moving unhurriedly towards her.

"They call me many names." He said with mischievous amusement, throwing her a piercing, disturbing look from which she shuddered all over, taking a step back again.

"My river, though water is a life-giving gift, brings death." He whispered once he was a few steps away from her, wanting her to solve the riddle herself, to exert herself.

She swallowed loudly, her eyes widening suddenly, as if she had just realised something.

"− uncle −" She whispered, and he froze, stopping in mid-step; for the first time in the thousands of years he had walked the world he felt his own heart pounding hard.

He looked at her in disbelief, and it was only at close that he saw that she did indeed have something of his brother and sister in her, though it was her she resembled more − he felt himself grow even paler than usual, his hands clenched into fists behind his back.

She, however, seemed not frightened about who he was, her face took on an expression full of contentment and warmth. She moved closer to him and now it was he who took a step back feeling a strange heat in his lower abdomen, his manhood throbbed suddenly as he caught a glimpse of the outline of her soft breasts.

"My mother told me a lot about you. About the sun hurting your eye." She said softly, and he swallowed loudly seeing that she was staring at his scar, at the stone placed where his eye once was.

He thought he was like Hephaestus, hideous, disfigured, and that she would never desire him.

He felt his jaw clench tightly, his body tense, hard as granite when she tentatively placed her soft hand on his shoulder, he felt the warmth of her flesh through the thin material of his robe.

He didn't know what was happening to his body, he felt tickling and tension in his lower abdomen, a strenuous need for some kind of relief that he didn't understand.

"Stay with me to watch the sunrise. Don't sink into darkness yet." She whispered as if in worry − he couldn't tear his eyes from her face, from her warm gaze.

He was unable to comprehend how any living being could be so beautiful.

"No." He said coldly, and then grasped her in his arms, his hands clenching on her soft, hot flesh like steel tongs.

For a moment she couldn't make a sound, terrified and shocked − she didn't scream when he threw her over his shoulder and headed towards his underworld, cold, dark, damp.

It was only when she realised what he was doing that she began to struggle and cry, calling loudly for help from her mother and father, begging him not to do it, to let her go, that she would not tell anyone about it.

He, however, decided to follow his brother's advice and take a wife.

The marriage required the oaths from both of them, but this did not prevent him from acknowledging her as his wife even though she refused to speak the words.

Even though he had given her his most beautiful chamber, on whose ceiling precious minerals shimmered like stars, in which streams of water hummed, in which she could lie on a great, soft bed, she did not want to see him.

He was not his brother.

He had no intention of taking her against her will.

It was enough for him that he could look at her every day.

Only him.

He bestowed new gifts on her every day, but she still cried.

He gave her a beautiful long gown of dark, translucent material embroidered with stones in which the warm light of the sun was encased after she said she longed to see it, but she didn't even look at it.

The blue flowers in her hair withered as did the warmth in her eyes − she was slowly becoming as pale as he was and was constantly shivering from the cold.

She would not let him embrace or touch her; she covered herself with the thick furs he had given her and turned away from him.

Occasionally something would awaken in her − she would then run up to him when he visited her and beg him to let her leave to see her mother.

"I promise you that I will come back and that I will be your wife. Please, let me see the sunshine and the fresh grass one last time." She begged, touching tenderly his cold cheek with her fingers, almost as if she loved him, and he almost gave in to her every time.

"I can't, Persephone." He replied coolly, feeling some kind of pain seeing the despair on her face, hearing her helpless sobbs again, her small hands clenched on his robe, her cheek hugged to his chest.

"My name is Kora." She mumbled with difficulty, as if enraged. He hummed at her words, lifting slowly his large, cold hand, taking unruly strands of her hair from her face, all red from crying.

"Persephone, this name, is my gift to you. For my sweet wife." He whispered, and she trembled, struggling to breathe, shaking all over.

"− please −" She babbled as he embraced her uncertainly and stroked her hair, relishing its soft texture, letting her draw on this substitute of comfort.

He walked with her through the interiors of Hades, wanting to show her that besides death, there was also beauty in the underworld − underground streams and lakes with crystal clear water, his three-headed, beloved Cerberus, who in his presence turned from a monstrous beast into a gentle, docile animal.

Sometimes it seemed to him that a smile adorned her face for a moment, but then the sadness came over her again − she shuddered with cold and fear hearing the wailing of souls floating in the Styx, she glanced nervously in that direction, swallowing loudly.

"Are they suffering a lot? Can they be helped?" She whispered, and he hummed under his breath, walking beside her with his arms folded behind his back.

"They are paying for what they have done in their lifetime. Their merits and transgressions have been weighed by Temida, who has issued a judgment on them. There is nothing I can do." He admitted with a glance at her, and she lowered her gaze, looking down at her hands.

"Are you afraid of me?" He asked her at last, and she lifted her large, frightened eyes to him, her lips parted but no sound came from her throat. He pressed his lips together, feeling a sting in his chest.

He asked her if she was afraid of him after he had kidnapped her and held her against her will.

What did he expect?

The wrath of his brother and sister was quickly getting to him − her mother distraught at her disappearance had fallen into a state of utter agony, people were being starved to death by the land's failure to yield crops, there were more souls flowing in the Styx than he had ever seen in his centuries-long life.

He felt a kind of satisfaction when his brother descended into the underworld for the first time since time immemorial; he hated to think about dying and passing, and could not grasp the meaning of such a short life, knowing only the meaning of infinity himself.

He came out to meet him sitting proudly on his black marble throne, thousands of skulls at his feet.

For the first time he looked down on his brother, a gigantic cave all around them, Styx surrounding them on all sides except a small bridge.

"Brother. I warn you for the last time. If you don't give me my daughter..."

"Then what? I should take a wife at last – those are your words, aren't they?" He asked with a sneer, sitting stretched out comfortably in his seat.

"I want to see her." He demanded, and his lips tightened at his words. "Or I'll take her away from you myself and you'll never see her again."

"I poured water from my river into the honey she drank. Like any soul who has already bound herself to the underworld, she will not leave Hades without my permission." He said calmly, and his brother's face flushed red, his angry low voice echoing around him so that the ground shook around them.

"I WANT TO SEE HER!"

He hummed under his breath and nodded to his servant to bring her in.

His wife came out of her chamber a moment later − when she saw her father she immediately beamed, ran to him and threw herself into his arms.

He looked at them coolly, feeling his heart pounding fast, his stomach twisting with rage.

"My sweet daughter. Did he hurt you?" He asked as if the welfare of any woman mattered to him, as if he hadn't raped an endless number of innocent girls, forgetting them quickly because they were dying in what seemed to him to be just the blink of an eye.

He swallowed loudly when his Persephone shook her head, tightening her lips, lowering her head.

"He's good to me." She whispered and he felt a squeeze in his heart, a pain he had never known before.

His brother looked at him accusingly, trying to contain his aggressive, abrupt nature.

"People are suffering hunger because of you. Her mother has gone mad with despair, the flowers are not blooming, the grains are not yielding. Let them be together at least a few months of the year and I will recognise your marriage in the eyes of Olympus." He suggested, and he furrowed his brow.

"No." He hissed coldly, his gaze icy, piercing, furious, his hand clenched into a fist. "She is my wife. A wife's place is with her husband."

His brother moved in fury, wanting to lash out at him, the ground shook around them again, but his daughter's hand stopped him.

"Let us speak alone, father." She said softly; his brother backed away, panting heavily, his jaw clenched tight.

He hummed under his breath when he saw his wife move towards him, climbing the black, cold stone steps to finally stand before him − his brother snorted and turned, walking away, furious.

He looked up at his Persephone massaging his chin, delighted to see the outline of her body shapes beneath her thin white robe.

He shuddered and swallowed loudly, shocked as she sat on his lap, his manhood throbbed suddenly feeling her body so close, her fresh scent like a cool morning breeze.

"− husband −" She whispered with a soft click of her pink tongue, her hips innocently rubbing against his hardness, his body shivered at the sound of that word.

She had never called him that before.

She touched his cheek with her soft fingertips so gently, tenderly, slow strokes of her hips teasing him so innocently, that he parted his lips, breathing with increasing difficulty, his palms tightening on his cold stone armrests.

He could feel his length pulsing and swelling with every motion she made, he didn't understand what was happening to him.

He didn't stop her when she reached up to tie of his matte black robe, he drew in a loud breath and closed his eyelids when her delicate hand tentatively touched what was underneath.

"I am yours. I will give myself to you of my own free will." She whispered in a sweet, warm, trembling voice, her gaze misty, her lips full, swollen, red from emotion.

A quiet, low groan broke from his throat as he felt her hand direct the fat head of his manhood between her thighs with a gentle movement, he could see through the translucent material as she slowly began to sink him into her body.

He tilted his head back with quiet moan, licking his lower lip, feeling her hot, fleshy insides squeeze him wonderfully from all sides − she was surprisingly moist and warm, her core throbbing with arousal.

He felt her put her hands on his shoulders, lowering herself onto him with a loud, sweet gasp, her plump lips parted wide.

His hands involuntarily gripped her hips as she began to move, rising and falling against his length so painfully slowly that he had to close his eyelids shut, panting louder and louder along with her.

"– gods –" He exhaled with difficulty as she accelerated, the loud, sticky slaps of flesh against flesh echoing through the dark cavern, his manhood throbbing and twitching inside her, all hard and swollen with pleasure.

Involuntarily, his cold fingers clenched on the hot skin of her hips − he rooted his manhood into her tight, moist insides with his desperate, pathetic thrusts, her sticky moisture dripping down her thighs.

"– for our marriage to be valid you must fill me with yourself, my husband –" She whispered, pressing her forehead against his, droplets of sweat glistening on her body like little diamonds, her sweet moans of pleasure, her slick walls sucking him inside made him loose his temper.

He gasped weakly at her words, he had never felt a woman's insides before, had never desired anyone before her.

He felt like his manhood was going to explode with desire and lust, his thrusts became faster and more brutal, her soft breasts bouncing in front of his face − he lifted his hand and squeezed it tentatively, a soft mewl of delight erupted from her throat.

"– Persephone –" He breathed out pleadingly, imploringly, and then she kissed him, her hot, swollen, moist lips clinging to his, cold, dead, the tips of their tongues licking each other.

"– please –" She mewled although he didn't know what she was actually asking him, and then he heard her cry loudly, as if surprised, her hot insides clenching against him greedily, her tongue deep in his throat.

He felt with each thrust of his hips that he was getting closer and closer to something he'd never experienced before in his life.

Fulfilment.

The wave of heat and pleasure, his seed that spilled inside her surprised him so much that his voice stuck in his throat, and then again and again a low, helpless groan broke from his mouth − both of them were panting as they looked at each other with their lips open wide, his hands clenched painfully tight on her hips.

"I'm yours." She whispered softly, sweetly − he was looking at her feeling only peace, only love. "I am only yours, so please, let me see her."

He felt the heat in his heart replaced by coldness, his brow furrowed in a sense of anger, of pain, of betrayal.

"No." He hissed, wanting to lift her up, but she shook her head, cupping his face in her warm, soft hands.

"I will never truly be your wife if you won't trust me. If I don't come back to you of my own free will." She said helplessly, pain, fear and suffering in her eyes again, his lips tightened into a thin line at her words.

"Nine months with my mother so I can enjoy the sun, and then three here, just with you, every night, every day, I swear." She whispered tenderly pressing her face against his cheek, her scent overpowering and stupefying him, her warm insides still pleasantly enveloping his already soft manhood.

He swallowed loudly at her words, his palms digging firmly into the soft skin of her thighs.

"You're lying. You will never come back to me." He hissed and groaned low when he felt her hips begin to move up and down again with a loud click of her wetness and his spend, his manhood pulsed involuntarily with pleasure, betraying him.

"I'll come back. I promise I'll come back."

As much as she wanted him to lead her away, he didn't want to watch her disappear beyond the borders of Hades never to return.

He didn't want to watch her run merrily towards the light, thanking the gods for his weakness and naivety, for how every woman in history had been able to exploit a man's desires.

He did not want her to see his expression, his suffering and all the other feelings he did not want to feel.

The day after she left, he went to her chamber and lay in her bedding, sinking his nose into her scent.

He found, with regret and pain, that with each passing month her scent grew fainter and fainter, her silhouette in his mind becoming more and more blurred, as if he had never really met her.

He touched himself thinking about her, experiencing both wonderful and painful fulfilment with the knowledge that he would never feel her again.

He preferred to explain to himself that it was just a dream.

That he had never met her.

He knew she would not return.

She would not return to her captor, to the man who had kept her in a dark underworld for months, deaf to her pleas and sobs, a man who was crippled, who was cold, frightening and empty.

Despite this, despite knowing it, when the day came he could think of nothing else − he watched as the sand shifted in the great hourglass constructed of bone and glass as he lay in his chamber, drinking wine, feeling like a demented madman, listening for her footsteps amidst the groans of the dead.

She did not come.

He stared at the empty hourglass, which turned and the sand began to shift again, counting down the time of the new day; he wondered how he could have been so naïve to wait.

For the first time in ages he felt an embarrassing, burning wetness under his eyelids − proof that he really loved her.

He shuddered when he heard the quiet rustling of robes − he glanced sideways and saw her standing in the doorway of his dark chamber, in her hair beautiful small yellow flowers, her face bright and warm.

She wore the gown he had given her, black, decorated with sun rays stones.

"My mother kept me. She couldn't let me go." She whispered, and he felt his throat tighten, his body freeze, unable to make a sound or make any movement.

He breathed hard, looking at her with wide eyes, his lower lip and hands trembling involuntarily as she approached him slowly, as her hands untied the bindings of his robe with a light, easy motion, revealing what was underneath, how much he wanted her, how much he waited for her.

"I have been counting down the days when I will see your face again." She whispered, running her fingers over his scarred cheek, sitting on top of him, gently taking his hard length in her palm, lowering herself onto the fat head of his cock as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

He wanted to tell her that he didn't believe her, but instead a surprised, throaty groan of pleasure burst from his mouth − he tilted his head back, panting loudly, his hips involuntarily beginning to root his manhood into her fleshy, moist insides, her hands clenched on his shoulders.

"– fuck –" He gasped out looking at her with his lips parted, synchronising his thrusts with the rhythm of her body − he swallowed loudly as she slid the material of her robe off her shoulders, exposing her soft, plump breasts to him.

"– touch me, husband –" She cooed, and he lifted himself, immediately pressed his lips to her breast, sucking on it greedily, licking and teasing her nipple with his tongue, all hard with desire.

She sank her fingers into his long white hair and pressed his face against her chest, rising and falling on top of him with a loud click of her moisture, moaning so sweetly and loudly that he felt like his manhood was about to explode.

"– were you touching yourself? – did you touch yourself when you weren't with your husband? –" He hissed out in a trembling voice between flicks of his tongue, she kissed his hair in an attempt to soften his question and her answer.

"– forgive me, husband – forgive me, I've missed you so terribly –" She mumbled helplessly as he ran his fingers down her hips, twisting with her so that she fell on her back.

He gripped her thighs in his hands, looking down at her − her face all red with exertion, her hair scattered in disarray around her head, her body all bare before him, hot, beautiful, his.

"– I think I should remind you to who this body belongs to –" He growled, ending his sentence with a deep, brutal thrust, a loud, surprised moan escaping from her throat.

"– you are mine –"

Thrust.

"– mine –"

Thrust.

"– mine –"

Thrust.

"– repeat –"

"– I – I'm yours – I'm yours, forgive me, uncle –" She mumbled out with difficulty and drew in the air loudly as he spread her thighs shamelessly in front of him, looking down at the place where their bodies joined, her entrance clenching against him steadily, leaking with her wetness.

"– I forgive you, sweet wife –" He gasped, recognising this act of grace as an expression of his love and gratitude that she had not betrayed him, that she had returned, that he held her in his arms again.

"– I'll fill you with my seed and it'll be just as it should be –" He exhaled as he watched the perverse sight of their bodies slamming against each other with a loud slaps, his thrusts deep and sure, each time opening her wide on his thick, swollen cock.

He couldn't believe that she had come back to him, that he could smell her wonderful, floral scent again, that she was allowing him to possess her of her own free will.

Her fingers grasped his hand and sank it between her thighs − he felt her direct him to the small bud between her soft folds, she moaned when he touched her there.

"– here, husband – please –" She mewled and moaned loudly, throwing her head back as he began to rub her there, simultaneously caressing her inside and out, her core beginning to pulse greedily against him.

"– gods – stop clenching –" He exhaled with difficulty, rooting into her with quick, brutal thrusts of his hips, stretching her fleshy walls apart with the sticky click of her moisture.

He felt that if he went on like this he would simply come inside her, when he wanted to torment her, to prolong the moment of this immense pleasure and encounter after so many months.

"– I can't – I can't –" She sobbed loudly and he saw her fulfilment in all its glory, her hot, soft flesh went through convulsions, greedily sucking him inside, her lips parted wide in pleasure, her gaze misty and warm.

He cursed loudly, coming inside her so painfully hard that he clenched his eyes shut, panting loudly, rooting into her for a moment longer, the relief and delight that surged through his body was indescribable.

He looked at her beautiful face, her hands on either side of her head, her expression nothing but fulfilment and peace, her breathing uneven and ragged, her breasts rising and falling rapidly.

She looked up at him after a moment and smiled sleepily, raising her hand slowly − her soft fingertips ran over his scarred cheek and he closed his eyes, feeling pleasant, hot squeeze in his heart.

"What is my wife's name?" He asked in a whisper, kissing her warm, small hand, smelling of fresh grass and flowers. He heard her sigh sweetly at his question, her fingers sliding lower, running over his cold lips.

"Persephone."

_____

Aemond Taglist

@dc-marvel-girl96 @its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @astral-blossoms @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes @darylandbethfanforever9 @fudge13 @snh96 @rwdkarla @echos-muses @ipostwhtifeel @letmeloveyouuuu @yentroucnagol @valeskafics @verena-targaryen-writes @talesofoldandnew @happinessinthebeing @travelingmypassion

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haru-natsuka · 6 months

Text

The Rhyme (Malleus Draconia x Wife Reader)

Genre: Fluff

- I write the non-angst version for you guys! And because Malleus deserves better

"You act like a child. I'm getting confused about which one is my child"

You caressed your husband's head as he tried to snuggle closer towards your body and warmth. Your back was laid on the bed stand while your husband put his head on top of your leg. Although you sound like you are mad at him but he only responds with a smirk as he knows very much how you love him to be close to you. Therefore, it was time to bring him to reality.

You tried to lift his head and it would be a success if he did not purposely put all his weight on your lap. You even tried to move your legs from being a comfortable cushion for him but he still laid firm and even chuckled at your misery. No way you would let Malleus win this war. You slowly approached his neck and tickled him. It was a failed mission. Same results as before.

"If you don't move, I will touch your most sensitive part." You gaze at his horns in a victorious look only for you to be dumfounded by his reply

"You do it and after that, you might be pregnant with our second child" You blushed so hard at his comment as you do understand his meaning. Being pregnant with another child was only the outcome but the process of it, a month without leaving the bedroom was too much! The fact that you just gave birth to your first egg was enough for you to not try to seduce your husband more, maybe in 10 years more.

"Dear, I am in love with your voice. Sing more, please. The same song"

"But that song is for our child and you just put our egg out of my reach. At least, let me hold him while singing it" You looked at the egg that was floating above from Malleus but a bit far from your reach. Did Malleus think your child was a kite?

"Dear, just focus on me first. Our child will get plenty of your attention when he hatches from his egg so now your eyes should be on me" A hand caressed your cheek before it slipped at the back of your neck and Malleus pulled your face towards him. His lips gently kissed you again and again which just melts your heart from trying to let yourself free from him. When he stopped kissing you, you took the advantage to peck at his forehead.

"Because you give me so much love, it's just right to repay it"

A warm cradle

Starlight and the happiness

Even now I will be by your side

As we look at each other

Don't be afraid

Even if you wake up from the dreams

Sleep, sleep, my beloved child

In dreams,

I pray you would be guided toward the light

Malleus could not help but keep on staring at his wife's face looking up at their egg as she sang the songs with a loveable look on her face. It was the face of a mother who tried to pour her love into her child with the song. Telling the child that she would be safe as the mother was always by his side so the child just should keep on dreaming happily without any worry.

Was this how his mother looked like when she sang the song for him before? Such a gentle look and love was so warm. It was different when Lilia tried to sing the song for Silver. Mother's love was a really special thing. No one told him anything about his parent so this much was enough. To know his mother loved him this much was enough. He was not lonely and alone at all.

A warm cradle

Starlight and the happiness

Even now I will be by your side

As we look at each other

Don't be afraid

Even if you wake up from the dreams

Sleep, sleep, my beloved husband

In dreams,

I pray you would be guided toward the light

The change of the lyric for the second time did catch him out of his guard while his wife just smiled as she knew he noticed the thing she did. "Thank you, dear" Malleus had a smile of joy as he hummed along to his wife's voice. He loves his current life.

#romance #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twst x reader #malleus draconia #twisted wonderland malleus #malleus draconia x you #malleus draconia x reader #malleus x reader #twst malleus #diasomnia x reader #diasomnia #night raven college #nrc

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lixie-phoria · 7 months

Note

listen. I know this may seem weird but I've been thinking about how the boys would save their gfs name in their phone and it has me feeling soft :( chan is for sure the type to put something adorable like darling or sweetheart. What do you think about the others?

it's not weird at all dw!! it's quite adorable actually. thank you so much for requesting :)

ੈ✩‧➛ how bf!skz would save your contact

🎧 ┆ CHAN : he's the sweetest :( like you said, he'd probably save it as my love <3, sweetheart :), loml <3 or something along those lines :')

🎧 ┆ LEE KNOW : he loves annoying you so he probably has it saved as smth like money leech or menace. but he would definitely change it if you don't like it into something worse !!

🎧 ┆ CHANGBIN : he changes your name on his phone very often because he cannot decide which one he finds cuter. the type to give you an adorable nickname and then put a bunch of heart and flower emojis beside it

🎧 ┆ HYUNJIN : this man is such a hopeless romantic :( watch him change your name to my muse before y'all even started dating. he's adorable and gets super shy when you find out he referred to you as that even before you were together

🎧 ┆HAN : he's like changbin! will give you the most adorable nickname and add a bunch of emojis that remind him of you <3 sometimes he might change it to embarrassing stuff like my little pookie wookie bear 🐻🥺 hahaha

🎧 ┆ FELIX : the type to match contact names!! if you save him as my sushine he'd probably save you as my starlight. its so adorable and vv felix-core

🎧 ┆ SEUNGMIN : yn ln. uses your birth name with a full stop and everything. he will do anything to get on your nerves.

🎧 ┆ JEONGIN : the type to put some adorable name like chan but he'd be a lot more secretive about it :( will get so flustered when you first notice what your name is saved as. and don't even get me started on how shy he'd get if the members ever find out HAHA

tags : @foxinnie8 @hamburgers101 @starlostlaiba @laylasbunbunny (send an ask to be added/removed)

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prettyboykatsuki · 9 months

Text

based on this post. i flipped a coin and it landed on dan heng. it was going to be dragon!dh but i thought this was better. top + gn!reader. major spoilers for the hsr main storyline. implicit nsfw 18+

wc ; 1.8k

There is no place for you in the Xianzhou Luofu.

You are a prisoner of war. A long life species. Once, long ago, you'd been taken in by Imbibitor Lunae for your unwavering strength. From a planet long destroyed, with no family nor honor - you'd pressed your forehead to the floor and begged for your life.

Your Master had laughed at the time. Head tilted and smiling, shining and brilliant. You can recall the image so well even now, so many years later.

In the prisons of the Xianzhou, a new lifeform was birthed. The splitting image of your master, but no more than their ghost. The reanimated being Imbibitor Lunae took the punishment of your Master - banished from the Xianzhou. And you, a soul with no ties, took it upon yourself to follow.

For starters, Dan Heng does not like when you call him with any honorifics like he is above you. Dan Heng prefers his name. If you are to speak to him at all, it must be with his name. He likes names, it seems. He gave you yours when you'd followed him far enough and realized you didn't have one.

Next, Dan Heng does not seem to like you very much. You don't think it's personal. As far as ghosts go, you are little more than a poltergeist of his past. The people on the Express regard you fondly, but Dan Heng always looks like he is in pain when his gaze touches you too long.

And last, Dan Heng is beautiful even when he is not in his other forms. Even when he is the Dan Heng of the Astral Express. Dan Heng without name or origin. When he is a little more like you, somehow - you think he is beautiful.

And despite the similarities, Dan Heng is nothing like your master. There are many ghosts in the Xianzhou, but the ghost of Dan Feng does not linger in Dan Heng. Dan Heng is colder. Smoother. At times gentler, too. You know little of reincarnation, but of this much you can be sure. And though your Master saved your life, by now you've spent more time with Dan Heng than you ever did with them.

You do not know much of love. There was someone once. Long, long ago.

And yet, this much you know - you think your heart flutters whenever you think of Dan Heng.

Often, you are forced to reconcile with the differences between your master and Dan Heng. Their tastes, from food to clothing, always stand out to you. It is their taste in adornments that you usually pay most attention to. It's not that Dan Feng was particular.

But Dan Heng often wears jewelry so thin you can hardly see it. It's hard to describe how much it effects you, other than saying that it does. Other than saying you're always the first to notice the changes. He wears the connected tassel and ribbon only when he's leaving the ship. If someone is to gift him jewelry for any reason, he will always wear at least once.

You are forced to recognize the little details of Dan Heng when you notice these adornments. Forced to picture them in your fantasies in which you are able to put him to bed. Often on the floor of the archives, you wonder about the thin swishes of silver.

He wears a necklace underneath the high collar of his shirt. It's a gift from March 7th. A blue moon on a thin silver chain that sits perfectly in the middle of his sternum, trapped against his chest. Sometimes, when he puts on the clothes he has for sleep - you catch a glimpse of it. The starlight pouring through the windows make it shine.

His neck is thin, you think. Something about it is fragile. What would happen to such a material if you were to reach out and touch it.

(What would happen to Dan Heng if your hand tightened around it. Would his skin finally feel flush? Warm to your fingers, contrasting to the cool tones? )

There are bracelets too. Several. Some less formal, more gifts from March. One from Mr. Yang - this time it is gold. Gold, a braided chain - but delicate all the same. This one he takes off often. Only for special events. The curve of his wrist bewitches you. You think the bend of it must be pretty as a picture.

(You think of the indentation it might leave on your spine, had he let you have his way with him, The sound of his voice in your ear, pitchy and high - enough that the pain of being imprinted wouldn't faze you at all.

How good he would feel with his arms around your shoulders and your hands on his hips, bracing for dear life.)

Dan Heng says he doesn't wear rings often.

"They'll tear the pages in the archives if I'm not careful."

But he does own them. He buys them for himself usually, at the market. They're all of the same type. Bands of fine metals that are practical. Silver with aquamarine and amethyst. Gold with quartz and opal. He's not the type to spend so heavily on excess - so there are few. Accumulated after years and years, but untouched by time.

You wonder, if there's any particular reason he keeps them. You aren't sure there is. But he likes them, all the same. Rings are important in your culture. Different ones for different occasion. You think it is too much of a pipedream to hope he thinks of you as he buys them.

(You think of him wearing rings more often than not. It fills you with homesickness. The slender of his fingers with the jewels you've given him. A tradition from your homeland. Something about Dan Heng incites the desire to spoil, adoration bloomed from something much more potent than subservience.

He's beautiful always, but how beautiful would he be underneath you? Black hair and thin features. Delicate and ethereal, otherworldly. His hands covering his expression, painted in pink. Pink cheeks and hot pink mouth, bitten and swollen to hell.

The shine of the things you've given him, all over. You are dying to know lately, if it's possible to make a perfect thing more beautiful)

Last, there is your favorite thing to gift him. Anklets. From the beginning, you're unsure of where the compulsion came from. Even before you ended up in this state - you thought it would suit him. A chain around the ankle, with trinkets. Something more playful than elegant, but suited to Dan Heng all the same.

Recently, Dan Heng parades around the express in his dragon form often enough. The secret is out, so it's pointless in more ways than one to always maintain it. Though he prefers his other form, it is less energy to maintain this one. So he does.

Imbibitor Lunae is seated on the edge of your bed wearing your anklet, and you think the part of you that tries not to get too close might die soon.

You blink once, then again to assure you've not got mad.

"You're wearing it,"

Dan Heng gives you a momentary blank stare before flushing down to his neck.

"You noticed." Comes his reply, curt and deflective. Normally, you'd meet him tit for tat. Match his sarcasm to yours, but the words die as you inch closer to the edge of the bed. He doesn't back away.

"You're...wearing it. Why?"

He doesn't say anything to this. Just flushes and sighs like he's somehow above answering. You think it's endearing. You stand, sit on the edge of the bed and stare. You feel something in you start to crack.

Yes, lately - it is harder and harder to pretend that you do not look at Dan Heng and long.

"Dan Heng," You say, slowly and clearly "I want to touch you."

This makes him look like he'll keel over. There's some words forming in his mouth, something meant to scold you. When your eyes meet the words seem to die. Maybe he can tell you're serious. They're blue and wide and ethereal, stunned into shocked silence.

Your hand rests on his ankle. He doesn't move as you turn to look at it, pressing it against your thumb. You think a single hand around the bend of it, from thumb to ring finger could fit it. A being so powerful not much thicker than grass blades. Pale like milk pouring over honey.

"Since when?" Is his next question. He looks troubled.

"Since as long as we've been aboard the express."

You move towards the end of the bed and Dan Heng makes room for where you sit. You place your hand against clothed calf, planing up until his knee and resting there. He frowns.

"Did you not long for your Master?"

"No," You say firm, getting on your knees and leaning up. Dan Heng stumbles back against the pillows that hold him up. He falls to them as you hover over them and suddenly you're so close. "Only you,"

You take a piece of his hair, long and silky, kissing it as tenderly as you can. From this angle he flushes. Adorned and beautiful, with the same necklace and dainty hooped earrings. The little details that make up all of his idiosyncrasies.

"Only me." He repeats, soft and low and cute. Yes, there is only Dan Heng. You're sure your master could never make a face like this. He looks up at you a little stunned, into quiet silence that doesn't reach you.

"Why did you wear it?" You lean in his. His breath is warm with mint.

"I'm sure you're clever enough to figure that out."

You put your hands on his waist, inching up against the fabric. Your noses touch.

"I want to hear you say it," You reply to him, a little closer - brushing against his lips. He makes a face at you "Or else it will feel too much like a dream."

Your knee presses against the place between his legs but Dan Heng makes no moves to stop you.

"I wore it for you to notice. I didn't think you really would."

You laugh softly.

"I always notice. I'm always looking at you. Just you. It has been that way for a long time now."

He closes his eyes and laughs with you.

"I suppose it has."

You kiss him like this. Slow and tender and gentle, a soft sensation that builds itself to one of lust. You try not to devour Dan Heng, but it grows impossible. How could you turn away from him like this? Ripe like something waiting to be plucked, eaten whole even when taken apart slowly. You dip your tongue into Dan Hengs mouth, licking the fangs but never cutting yourself on their sharp edges.

Something stirs in you, something hard pressed against your stomach. You laugh a little.

"Dan Heng," You say again, teeth scrapping his jaw "I want to look at you a little closer."

He breathes you in. His hand reaches for yours, feeling for your ring finger.

"Nothing is stopping you."

#dan heng x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #writing tag #i dont rlly wanna tag this smut cause nothing Happens #but ill add it anyway #dan heng smut

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youareunbearable · 6 months

Text

Its late and im tired so please excuse if this doesn't make sense but lately, I've been thinking about Angry Aredhel must have been

Like realistically, when has this woman made a single decision about her future for herself, and in the few times when she did, when did it not end in tragedy

She must have been so angry, so frustrated and wrathful at her lot in life. She was meant for other things, greater thing! She was a disciple of Orome, the Maiden in White, one of the best hunters in his group along with her cousin.

Yet here she is, caged and trapped like a pretty little canary in a wire house. Stolen from her purpose because of her eldest brother's blind loyalty, her father's stubborn pride, her second oldest brother's blinding grief, and her baby brother's terminal bravery. She's across an ocean, escaped one cage for another by her tormentor and abuser posing as a husband.

The bastard won't even name their child.

She must have be so angry, stuck in that endless darkness, the forest must be such a familiar landscape but so different, twisted and wrong like looking into a warped mirror.

Shes grieving outside her "home" one night, having managed to convince the trees to part their branches just enough that she can glimpse a star or two so she can bask in the starlight. Its been a year since the birth of her son, and nothing has changed. Eol won't look at the boy, and she can feel herself drifting. Without the ability to see the passage of time, without the Light of the Trees or with the Sun and Moon chasing each other across the sky, things are blending together and she feels adrift.

At least when they crossed they ice, they were able to watch the stars move across the endless dark.

The starlight warms her skin, as weak and distant as it is, so she basks. With her eyes closed and face tilted up she feels like a lizard in the mid day sun. Behind her, she hears a noise, a twig being deliberately stepped upon. Aredhel whips around, raising her glowing lichen lamp, wondering if its her husband or one of his servants come to take her back. She feels a little feral at the idea of being dragged away from the pitiful starlight.

A wolf, with a pelt as crisp and clean as the snow dusting Himring's mountain top, slinks into the soft glow. Its fur takes on an almost sickly colour in the green luminescence. The wolf settles at the edge of the light, resting on its haunches as it observes her.

Aredhel thinks she's beautiful, for it is a female wolf. Even in the weak lamplight the beast's silver eyes seem to glow on their own, piercing her very fea and enticing her to come forward, to come closer. There is a power within the she wolf, one Aredhel craves.

The white beast introduces herself as a member of Orome's hunt, and Aredhel believes it, for the she wolf looks like the perfect hunter. The wolf asks her what she, as a fellow hunter, is doing out so far away from her kin and cub.

Momentarily surprised by the ability to speak, for not even Huan can speak so freely, Aredhel responses. She shares her desire for light, her frustration with her "husband," and how she wants a different life for her son. She never wanted this, and she wishes she had the ability to take control of her own fate.

The wolf is sympathetic to her plights, and offers to help her free herself and her child.

"You do have the ability to change your own fate, young one. Asking for help is something no one else could have done for you."

So Aredhel leads the wolf back to Eol's house. They walk through the entry way, both hunters are silent as the dawn as they go. Aredhel heads towards the master bedroom, but hesitates at the door. She can see Eol on his side of their bed, snoring lightly as he does. She hesitates, seeing a vision of what will happen once he realizes she's gone. Fire, doom and death follows her, poison and a flash of fang would flicker in him before he strikes her down for disobedience, for stealing away the son he won't even name.

The wolf nudges her aside, ghosting past her into the room. Aredhel's throat closes up and she slinks away, heading towards Lomion's nursery. She leaves to go strap her sleeping infant son to her chest, then grabs some supplies from the kitchen in a bag. Not even hearing a mouse skittering in the walls, let alone her wolf companion, she steels her nerves to check the master bedroom one more time.

As she passes her bedroom, she can see through a crack in the door and her breath freezes. Standing over the now corpse of her husband, maw dripping red from the freshly torn out throat, the white wolf looms. Aredhel stares transfixed, she can almost taste the blood between her own teeth, feel the rush of the kill, ache of her gums as tendons and tissue would rub against them. The wolf turns to look at her, silver eyes wild, white fur stained with her kill. Aredhel feels the air return to her lungs, she feels lighter and free, a little giggle slips past her lips and the wolf peels back its lips and bares its dripping fangs in a smile.

Aredhel leaves the house, fleeing on foot and all the while she can hear the wolf following her, keeping pace and shadowing her in the darkness, and at some points, ahead of her, leading her out of the woods. Running like this, oh she hasn't done this in years!. The wind snapping at her hair, branches and leaves kissing her cheeks and arms, the rush of a completed hunt with another one ahead of her feels like her first real breath in a long time. It feels like days later, and seconds, heartbeats, when she can see the treeline, dawn's hazy reddish glow peaking through the trees.

Aredhel gives a joyful cry and runs faster. That laughter bubbling up inside of her finally bursts past her lips once she breaks the treeline. The sun on her skin is warm and bright and all she wants to do is laugh and cry and scream until her throat is raw and her tears run dry. But she has to keep moving, she has Lomion still with her, and she is too close to the woods to feel truly safe yet. She walks north, and east, not really knowing where she's heading but knowing that she'll cross into her cousins' land soon. As she walks, she soon realizes that she hasn't seen or heard from her she wolf in a while. Stopping, Aredhel turns to look back, but no where can she see that brilliant white coat, or any tracks that look like wolf paws. She squint, looking back at the distant treeline and sees nothing but shadow. She mourns for her companion, wishing she could have wished her well or at least thanked her for her help. She wonders if Orome set the wolf to free her, not wanting to see one of his hunters in chains.

Its about mid morning when she comes across some of her cousins men, and they're horrified. They ask if she's ok, of she's hurt, they take her to a nearby stream even though she insists she's fine, that she wants to see her cousins.

When she sees her reflection she's scared for a moment. All she can see it blood, dried and crusted down her throat, staining her lips and chin. There is red all along the collar of her white dress, her sleeves, but her hands are clean, and so is her son still asleep strapped across her chest. She looks into her reflection, not yet comprehending. Silver eyes that seem so familiar stare back above the red, above the proof of her freedom.

She bares her bloody teeth in smile.

#Aredhel #silm #silmarillion #Maeglin #i think it would hot if Aredhel pulled a finrod and ripped out eols throat #with her bare teeth like Yes Please Queen Slay lmao #Celegorm is so proud when he finds out like Lmao Still Got It Cuz!!!!! and a bonus new free nephew!!!!#Curufin is disgusted he is related to these ppl but also is supportive of Aredhel going ape shit like she deserves #she chipped some of her teeth on thr bite so like the loving cousin he is curufin makes her mithril fangs #maedhros screams into his hands when he finds out but is also proud. so is fingon! thats his Baby Sister!!!#Lomion grows up Normal and Loved and Nolo adores him and is glad to have a sensible heir for when #fingon inevitability leaves them to marry Maedhros. whenever they get around to it.

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