#shadows house moodboard | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

barbieaemond · 4 months

Text

A snake in the bosom

Moodboard by the queen herself @zae5

PAIRING: Prince Regent Aemond x Lady!reader

WARNINGS: dark Aemond, angst, public humiliation, semi public sex, p in v, fingering, oral sex (m receiving), religious kink, knife kink if you squint, overstimulation, light choking.

WORD COUNT: 5.3k

Author’s note: House Peake were green loyalists during the Dance. Shout out to @zae5 who helped me brain storming this filth 🫶

taglist: @zae5 @multyfangirl @chompchompluke

The skies rumble as they always do when preluding a storm. But it’s different this time. The thunder echoes in your chest, sliding through your ribs and then rattling them to break free.

A warning, the Gods’ way to seal what cannot be undone. They greet this new day, this new order, with blinding lightning. The Wood seems bathed by the early morning light, and yet the owls will soon resume their sentry task on the branches of these ancient trees.

A new flash forces you to look up and you think you can see them, the Seven, leaning out from their perches, pointing a finger at a woman like any other, with her bowed head devoted to obedience and her tight corset to choke to death any desire inside her heart.

And you did.

You stopped going to the library, you kept your eyes faithfully down, weeding out the need to caress the silver through your gaze, to feel the cold alabaster carved into angles so precise and sharp as to be exhausting.

You stopped lingering on the delicacy of long white fingers turning pages, on white knuckles around the sword, rippling with veins, blue and green as snakes crawling underneath.

Not looking didn't do much good.

It's all burned into your eyelids, and the more you don't look the more your mind betrays you like a stab in the back, evoking slender hands and an arched mouth that lazily pulls itself up into an omniscient smirk.

It happens so often that you've come to terms with it. Desire is a shadow that follows you step by step, crawls into your bed as you lie with your husband, makes you close your eyes as you peak and in the darkness that shadow is finally flesh, pulsing and weighing on you, but it is not.

It shouldn’t and it will never.

The lightning tells you can no longer hide, there is no way to stall now, no way to trick the King about the allegiance of your family. It is easy to fool a fool, more so when he’s willing to make himself one in front of a woman. But the King is burned. His cries of pain can be heard outside Maegor’s Holdfast, until the Maesters are merciful enough to give him milk of the poppy.

The throne is empty, the Kingdom has no ruler. But the Gods are snickering with thrill and dread.

Not for long.

“My lady, there’s a storm coming.”

You turn and see your maid clutching a cloak to her chest to shelter from the wind. "Please, you should go back inside.”

You nod tiredly, walking on the thick grass, dragging yourself back within these walls in which days seem to pass following two different times.

There’s the real, urgent one, a military up and down of whispers and promises, pawns moving and ravens coming and going, breaking or forging alliances as easy and quick as their wings flapping. And then there’s your time, dilated, obscenely slow, like molasses. It sticks to your fingers, prevents you from picking up ink and parchment and write, cheat, whisper what you have easily spilled from the worn out lungs of your husband.

“Men sing like parrots in their final throes, remember that. They’d tell you anything when they think with their cock.”

Samantha had been right. But your sister is playing her game in Oldtown and Old Town is not the Red Keep. There are no eyes on the walls there, or ears behind the portraits. There’s no shadow trailing on her path, clouding her mind enough to look away from the game. A game of life and death, your father reminded you in his last letter, the scolding clear in the way the feather had pierced the parchment in some points. The answer was nowhere but in your head, and you were too ashamed to even confess it to a Septa, let alone put it on paper. There’s a snake crawling in your garden of lies and instead of chasing it away, you’re nursing it in your bosom.

You slow your steps upon glimpsing your husband. He’s striding towards you along the corridor. There’s a slight furrow between his brows, one that you have been able to recognize on the faces of many within this fortress. But it's more severe now, or maybe it's just that shadow that makes you see a new man, a stranger.

Has his hair always been that dull and mousy? Has his posture always been so unassuming?

They have since that night in the library, the sin whispers.

“Husband.”

“I’ve been looking for you. We have been summoned to the throne room.”

“Is something the matter? Is the King—"

"The King lives. But the Maesters believe it is best to confine him to bed. Come, Prince Aemond is waiting for us." he grabs your arm and you walk with him, glad that he can’t see the shadow falling on your face at the mention of the King’s brother.

The throne room is so dark that servants are hurrying themselves to light more candles. Every now and then a new lightning flashes from the large windows, making the Iron Throne an eerie sight at the center of the Hall.

There are a few Lords of the court with their ladies, and they seem just as lost as you as they see you and your husband halting before the ancient seat.

Whereas not more than a moon ago, Lords and Ladies would have had to wait hours to be received by Aegon, the new ruler is not long in coming.

The huge doors open and Aemond Targaryen stalks the room carrying the same storm breaking outside. He makes a striking figure, ominous; the lighting pours on his long silver hair making them look like moon rays.

A dreamy picture, were it not for the conqueror's crown on his head and the sapphire in plain sight.

It is the first time you see him without the eyepatch, the first time anyone has seen him without it. They said he wore it so as not to frighten the ladies, but the one-eyed Prince is done hiding. And if fear is all he can muster, so be it. It serves him well for what will come.

He halts before the Iron Throne and takes a good look at the little gathering. You can’t help but trail your eyes on his lean and tall figure, wearing a dark green doublet made of velvet. But it’s the sapphire that catches your eye, and the long scar marring his marbled face.

You remember that one. You remember it shamefully clear while disappearing along with his head beneath your gown.

“My lords” he starts lacing his hands behind his back “As you may know, my brother is in no condition to rule. Thus, according to the law, in case of physical or mental incapacity of the sovereign, the younger brother must bear the weight of the crown.”

There is a shy, almost uneasy passing of glances between those present, but Aemond ignores them altogether. “I will not style myself as King. You will address me as Prince Regent and Protector of the Realm."

Silence falls upon the huge Hall until a loud thunder seem to awaken one of the lords who hurriedly bends his knee before the Prince. "My Prince, I renew my absolute loyalty to you and your—“

"Get up, my Lord, I did not summon you to hear you pledge your loyalty.” He says in a bored tone, darting his eye at the man “Rest assured, if I had any doubt about it, Vhagar would be feasting on your corpse as we speak.”

Silence falls once more and Aemond revels in it. He can smell fear, just like the creature he rides. “But you did raise an interesting subject.” he tilts his head and looks at Lord Peake, your husband, with a benevolent expression stretching on his face. “Lord Peake, if I asked you to pledge your loyalty to me and my family, would you do it?”

You dare not to raise your head, keeping your eyes glued to the ground, but you can sense your husband’s uneasiness, the sound close to one being insulted as he addresses the Prince. “Prince Aemond, my loyalty to your Grandsire and the Dowager Queen has never wavered and it never shall.”

The Prince nods slowly, seemingly pleased by the answer, and keeps his gaze down for a few moments before casting a sharp glance at you. You can’t see it but you can feel it.

“That is very noble of you, Lord Peake. But I can’t help but wonder, is your lady wife of the same mind as you?”

Lord Peake looks puzzled, shifting the weight on his feet “My Prince, my wife is—”

“No.” Aemond cuts him off, darting a single look at the Lord before returning on you “Let her speak.”

With a deep breath, you look up, shrinking under his violet eye and the sapphire ominously glinting of his own light. “My prince, I am saddened that your Grace would think I’m nothing but loyal to your brother, the one and only heir to the Seven Kingdoms. Every day, I pray the Gods to heal him from his burns and give him strength to—”

“Hush.” He says, raising a hand to stop you. “That’s enough.”

You shut your mouth nervously, tensing all the more as he looks at you, unblinking, for a long moment before his lips stretch into a slow, cunning smirk.

“You know, I spoke to your distant cousin once, Lord…something Tyrell. He said something very interesting to me.”

You keep a blank face even when dread starts to run down your spine. Despite the distant kinship, there’s always been bad blood between Tarlys and Tyrells.

“He said to be very careful with Tarly women. Pretty vapid things, he said, hiding a viper’s bite.”

“I am neither my prince.” you state calmly “I’m just a woman like any other, serving my husband, my house, my King.”

“Hmm.” He ponders, the smile lingering still. Then, he picks something form his pocket and asks “What is this then?”

Despite the darkness, you could recognize that seal with eyes closed. And that seal, now, in this room, clutched by Prince Aemond’s fingers, is a death sentence.

“This is not the seal of House Peake.” he rightly says.

You look down, mustering your courage, and say “No, your Grace. That is just a silly token of love between two sisters. I use it to send ravens to my sister in Oldtown.”

“I see. And why do you hide it?”

“I do not, your Grace.”

“Lying to the King may cost your head, my Lady. You’d do well to remember that.”

“Wife…” your husband takes your arm, searches your face with an anxious stare “What is going on?”

“The White cloaks found it.” The Prince informs him “when I made them search your rooms.” He looks back at you and raises an eyebrow “For a token you’re supposed to be so fond of, I may suggest placing it somewhere else than the bottom of an old trunk.”

“Am I on trial for sending letters to my sister?”

“Yes. Considering the circumstances under which these ravens were sent. Ladies give letters to their maids, they do not go personally to the rookery, more so in the hour of the bat.”

Courage leaves you like a gust of wind. You thought you had been clever, careful. Why would anyone take notice of a court lady simply taking a walk in the early hours? And even if they had, they would have dismissed the thought at the first distraction. But not him.

“You think I would not notice? I may be half blind but I can assure you, my lady, I see everything.” He throws the seal on the ground and resumes his soldier-like posture, standing tall and domineering with his arms laced back. “What did you tell your sister? Knowledge about our war plans? Are you secretly siding with the Blacks? I’d advise you to choose your words carefully. From them depends whether you’ll see the next dawn or not.”

Your shoulders slump a little, like a doomed creature sticking its head in the noose.

“My father asked me to spy on my husband to gather knowledge about the green army at Rook’s Rest. But I did not send any raven. I stopped since—"

“Since what? Do continue, my lady, I think your Lord husband is keen to know why his wife stopped playing him like a fool.” He leans his head forward, like someone desperately willing to hear a big secret, but your tongue is a dead thing in your mouth.

“No?” he inquires as silence stretches “Fine, I’ll tell you. You see, Lord Peake, recently your Lady wife seemed to have developed a sudden interest in the library.” the prince says with a little grin “I’m aware of this because I am myself an avid reader. In fact, your lady wife and I have been keeping each other company lately. A rather…intimate company.”

Some of the ladies start to whisper at your back, and you know what kind of words they’re labeling you.

“Wife.” Your husband calls, and this time his voice is steel “What is the meaning of this?”

You open and close your mouth, unsure whether it is worse to tell your husband how you’ve played him or to confess your sin.

“Come, don't deny it now.” the Prince goads you “All the hours you've spent, all those late nights did bear fruit, did they not? You've betrayed your house and the Crown, yet what sweetness it was to have gotten a taste, I'm sure your husband would agree.”

Lord Peaks looks utterly bewildered, shifting his gaze between you and the Prince like a dead fish.

“Oh, so he hasn't after all.” Aemond laughs “A pity, for your treacherous essence reeks of the most bittersweet nectar. Tart, but delicious.”

Your husband’s face is whiter than a sheet for a moment, followed by a red veil of anger and shame. The latter is in plain sight in the way you keep your head down; the Gods have stopped pointing their finger at you and left you in the claws of a much crueler creature. Namely, your own desire.

“Search her.” Aemond orders returning to a stern face “And search her thoroughly.”

“My prince?” asks one of the guards.

“Women can be sneaky with all those veils and layers. Lose the corset.”

The cloaks look at him puzzled, just as you and your husband and anyone else in the room, but the guards know better than to disobey the King.

One of them goes to stand behind you and starts pulling the laces of your dress, another is busying himself with lowering your sleeves.

Your eyes bore to the ground with the purest humiliation as your chest gradually grows exposed. You could raise your hands to hide your breast, but you have nothing to hide, not anymore.

You know it and Aemond knows too. He’s not doing this because he thinks you’re hiding something. He’s doing so for his own pleasure—to see you bare, to finally make you come out of your den and stop hiding from him.

You dare not look at him but you can feel his eye lingering on you, on your body; you can sense the ghost of a delighted smirk on that wicked mouth.

He takes an unreasonably long time before he gives a short nod to the guards, at last satisfied with your public humiliation. What drives your husband to move is not regard for you, but for his own dignity. What are women if not property of men? And however ruined you are now, Lord Peake will not have talk of his wife standing with her breasts out in the Throne Room.

But just as he leans down to you, the Prince speaks “You may go, Lord Peake. All of you.”

The Lord stalls, looking lost at his Prince.

“You can wait outside. She stays.” Aemond commands.

His eye is boring into you as he walks down the few steps with leisure, lingering on the sole of his boot before resting it on the ground. “She needs to learn the price of her disobedience.”

Your husband hesitates, looks at you with lingering disdain and a veil of fear that keeps his eyes wide open, but he can only bow his head.

When you’re left alone the Prince, save for the guards on the four sides of the hall, you dare to look up and see his eye blazing, a cunning edge to it.

He starts circling around you, and what’s left of your dignity makes your hands fly up to cover your chest.

“You said you stopped writing to your sister. And you stopped coming to the library.” he starts with a collected and calm voice. “Why?”

“You know why.” you mutter.

“You better drop this condescending tone if you want to leave this room with your head on your shoulders.”

“Apologies, my Prince. I did not mean to offend you. But I dim you wise enough to understand why I thought it was best to keep my distance from you.”

He stops his circling for a moment “Enlighten me.” and then he’s pacing again.

You swallow, smelling ashes and smoke on his trail. “It was a sin.”

“Hmm. Which one?” He asks somewhere behind you. Out the corner of your eye, you see him slightly leaning towards you, silver rolling past his shoulder as he cocks his head to one side “Your betrayal or the fact that you let me feast on your cunt like a common whore?”

You swallow again. Shame is still coiling in your belly, but there’s also something else on hearing those words coming from his mouth, recalling that night. This man has just humiliated you in front of the court and yet you crave for him to get closer.

“Both.”

“Both?”

“I did not want to.” You say and it’s true. And this, this is the last chance you might have to avoid the pike, or worse, Vhagar’s fangs. “My father forced me.” You say turning your head left and right as he resumes his pacing behind you “I don’t know which kind of deal he has struck with Prince Daemon but I swear it, my Prince, I said nothing about Rook’s Rest, I—“

The word dies on your tongue along with your breath as you feel the coldness of a sharp blade against your throat.

“I should slit your throat here and now.” He whispers dangerously, you can hear his teeth gritting. His arm is pressing on your chest, keeping you locked against him. “What else Lord Tarly ordered you in all his great wisdom? Mh? To seduce me? To play me like a fool, like you played my brother and your husband to gather knowledge about our armies and report it to my uncle and his whore?”

“No, I—" you try to say, but he presses the blade firmer and you choke a gasp, unconsciously grabbing his arm.

“You will speak when I say so.” He seethes, pulling your arm back with his other hand, painfully twisting your bone until a moan of pain escapes your mouth.

It awakens something inside him, something savage that makes him collide his body against yours “Hmm.” He coos darkly in your ear “This brings me back to that night.”

He swiftly twirls the dagger, sheathing the Valyrian steel, but his hand is quick to resume his caging, sliding on your half-covered breast, looking down your shoulders at your bare chest.

His fingers are cold as they slowly travel up, but they lick flames on your skin, making your nipples harden. “Do you remember, little snake? I do.” he runs the tip of his finger on the hard sensitive skin and you whimper softly “It was hard to forget the sounds you made.” He speaks to your neck, his breath scorching “I could hear them when I fucked my hand at night. You made me sin so many times. Was that part of the plan too? Did your father force you to moan my name while you peaked on my tongue?”

“Please…” you sob quietly, feeling fire nestling in your belly at the sound of his voice and the feeling of his bulge against your lower back.

“Do you moan like that when your husband fucks you? Mh?”

He wants an answer, and he pinches one of your nipples when you don’t please him.

“No…”

“No? I thought so.”

Your body reacts on his own, clenching for how his voice in your ear pools like liquid fire below your stomach. You can see his delighted smirk out of the corner of your eye. “You better speak now, little one. Not even the Gods can save you from the spike. Why would they? They turn their backs on traitors and sinners. And you dared to sin with a Kinslayer. You have only me to beg for mercy.”

“You don’t want to kill me.” You choke when his hand laces around your throat.

He would’ve done it already. He might still do it, but his pressing hardness on your back tells you otherwise.

“No. I have a better use for you.” he says squeezing your neck “I will make an example out of your treacherous mouth. They will look at you and be reminded of the mercy of my crown.”

He steps back and you have little time to catch your breath as he sits on the Iron Throne with the confidence of a God on his perch. The candles mix with lightnings, making the blue of the sapphire and the obsidian of the crown shimmer in a disturbing way.

He rests his arms along the forged swords, his long legs almost sprawled out on the ground. “Come and pledge your loyalty, my lady.”

Your heart hammers in your throat as you swallow. This is a game of life or death, but not now. Your two times have merged into a perpetual dizziness and you’re sinking into the claws of your desire like quicksand.

“No.” he admonishes with a voice like honey when you dare a step closer “On your knees. Like the sinner you are.”

You sink to the ground and his eye goes down with you, smirking with something savage flashing on his face. “Go ahead.” He says spreading his legs around you. “Take your blessing.”

You raise your hands slowly, close to his belt but when you start unbuckling it you find there’s no tremor in your fingers. And he’s too quick to notice. “You wanted this, do you?” he asks “Did you close your eyes and pretend to suck my cock instead of your husband’s?”

The buckles clink together as you finish the unbuckling but he suddenly leans over you, gripping your cheeks with a hold of iron.

“Answer me.”

“Yes.” You quickly, shamefully say.

The left edge of his mouth pulls up tiredly, omnisciently. “How? Like this?” In a blink his long fingers breach your mouth, hitting the back of your throat until you choke on them. He pulls them back just slightly, grazing your tongue, and he looks at you with a lustful blaze in his eye.

“Suck.” he orders, and you oblige, keeping your eyes on him as your mouth close around his two fingers, sucking gently and twirling your tongue around the skin.

“Hmm.” He croons with pleasure, leaving your mouth abruptly to lean back against the throne, sliding a little on the ancient seat to push his crotch before you. He makes haste of pulling his cock out, giving it a few tugs while he keeps looking at you, at the longing darkening your eyes and wetting your gowns.

You take hold of his hard hot length, all veiny and leaking from the tip and it’s only natural for you to close your lips around it. You have obscenely dreamed of this.

He lets out a loud gasp, gripping the throne with his hands as your head goes down, taking him all in. It hits the back of your throat with a lewd choking sound; you breathe through your nose, resuming your holy punishment once you have adjusted to length and girth, sucking hard and fast.

"Greedy little thing.” He praises with his eye growing heavy with pleasure “Easy. Easy, now.” he goads you to slow down, and you do, looking up to see him watching you closely, his lips parted, his breath slow and puffed.

“Fuck—” he curses, titling his head back but keeping his eye fixed on you. “See? This is the only good use for your cheating mouth. And you look so pretty.”

The ache between your legs is unbearable, you’re swollen and wet, you can feel your undergown dampening.

“Are you soaked for me, hmm? I bet you’re dripping all over the Conqueror’s swords.”

You have no way to answer as you keep bobbing your head up and down, a sinner worshipping her own sin.

“Open your mouth—wide” he orders and you do, drooling all over him as he starts to thrust harshly in your mouth.

“Yes. Like this, yes—fuck” He pumps in and out, bucking his hips, hitting your throat on and on while he moans helplessly and loudly, as only a King on his throne can.

“Hollow your cheeks.” And when you do it, something snaps inside him. He grabs your hair, pulling at the roots painfully while he keeps fucking your mouth frantically, choking your breath. But you don’t mind. This could be your last day, your last hour breathing. The snake is sucking at your bones and you welcome the poison.

“Enough.” he croaks when he was starting to breathe too fast, too close to the end. “Get up.”

Your knees ache as you pull yourself up but he’s so quick in lifting up your skirts and grabbing your waist to make you turn and sit on his lap, facing the Throne Room. The Guards are exactly where they’re supposed to be, blind and deaf to what they can perfectly see and hear.

“Let me give you my blessing, now.” Aemond says spreading your legs on the throne, making you wince as you feel his hot fingertips on your wet aching folds. “You’re soaked.” he states proudly, smiling with victory next to your ear.

He draws lazy circles on your bundle, sliding down your dripping lips, slowly, too slowly. You buck your hips against his hand and his chuckle travels up and down inside you, rattling your bones like thunder.

“Please…” you cry when his fingers brush your swollen lips once more.

“I should summon back your husband. So he’d see how his pretty wife begs to be fucked by her Prince like a whore. Shall I?”

You grab his hand, pressing it to your core and he dips a finger inside, spilling a loud moan from you that makes him bite your ear as he feels your hot walls clenching around him.

“Fine. We shall let him hear it.”

He brings his soaked fingers to your mouth, sticking them inside to make you taste yourself, and then he takes your wrist, trapping it on your stomach with his hand. He easily slides his cock inside you, moaning along with you into the haunting silence of the hall. His thrusts are deep and quick, desire has consumed him too, for too long. The sounds of flesh slapping against flesh are only barely muffled by your frantic gasps. Your eyes are closed in a painful bliss, his hot labored breath dampens your neck as he fills you to the hilt.

Your throat is sore with lack of air as you turn your head and he slams his mouth against yours, filling your mouth with his scorching tongue, biting your lip and sucking until it’s swollen. All of this while relentlessly rutting into you, giving you violent bursts of pleasure that make your moans high-pitched and loud, so loud that everyone outside these walls can hear them. Your husband will hear them, the guards are definitely doing so.

“Fucking Gods, you feel so good” He pants in your mouth “You really wanted this. Your cunt is squeezing my cock like a vice. That husband of yours never fucked you this good, did he?”

“Gods—” you whine, squeezing your eyes shut but he grabs your chin with his free hand, forcing you to turn your head. “The Gods cannot hear you now. They’re deaf to the pleas of sinners.” with his free hand he clutches your bundle and he starts to torture you, drawing fast circles, while his length keeps rutting harshly. “Lucky for you I’m more merciful than the Gods.”

The tension in your belly is unbearable, it makes you cry obscenely and the sound only pushes him to go harder, faster.

“Please—I—I can’t—Gods—”

“You can’t what? Mh?” he nothing but growls, thrusting once more and then again. “This is your retribution.” He says baring his teeth “You failed your family for this. You lied and cheated. Now fucking—take—it” his last words punctuated with three deeper thrusts that make you whimper and roll your eyes back.

It doesn’t take much longer for you to reach your peak, letting out a long moan matched with sloppy shakes of your body against his. But he doesn’t stop, chasing his own pleasure as you whimper and sob with overstimulation. His hand keeps moving on your apex, all sticky with your pleasure and you grip his arm, trying to stop him. “Please—I can’t take it anymore—please my Prince—"

“You can and you will.” He promises “Give me one more. Come on, little traitor, just one more.”

You’re not late in granting his wish, trembling all over him and curling your toes with spasms in your muscles.

He groans loudly beneath you, teeth clamping down your shoulder and he stills completely, coming inside you with a choked sound of relief vibrating from his throat.

You whimper softly, feeling him pulsing inside you, but he grabs your waist and forces you to stand up. You waver on your weak feet, his hand is around your arm but only to firmly push you away from him. Falling on the ground, you look up to see him fixing his breeches, hair all disheveled and a sheen of sweat on his forehead.

“Guards.” He says hoarsely, catching his breath, and two white cloaks stand at attention, their faces blank, pretending to be oblivious to what they have just witnessed. “Take her to my chambers and have the maid give her moon tea.”

Then he looks down at you, his face is wild and yet viciously focused. “We’re going to find a way to send your husband back to Starpike.” He says grazing your lips with his long fingers. “You’re not leaving my chambers anytime soon. In the time being,” his hand grips your mouth harshly, his voice eerily calm “You will write to Oldtown in your own hand, and ask my uncle to send me the head of Samantha Tarly.”

You widen your eyes with terror and he smiles, sweet and poisonous. “And remember, little snake. If I find you near the rookery at odd hours again, I will cut your throat in your sleep. Such a waste it would be. I’d rather have you choking on my cock than your own blood.”

He leaves without another word and you’re left on the ground. You can’t beg mercy to the Gods now, you will have to beg for his and his alone.

thank you so much for reading!! 💕

802 notes · View notes

pochipop · 5 months

Text

＃FNAF MOVIE !! ♡ — SWEET NOTHING (MIKE SCHMIDT X READER).

#. synopsis! — sometimes it feels like mike may never escape the past, but he hears the future in the beat of your heart (nightmare reverse comfort) .

#. characters! — mike schmidt .

#. warnings! — vague references to past traumatic events (canon compliant) .

#. word count! — 1.1k .

#. alt accounts! — @ddollipop (nsfw) @hhoneypop (moodboards) .

#. others! — navigation & masterlist .

#. a/n! — i got an autism diagnosis today lmao, makes sense tho.

The house is dark and shrouded in silence, broken only by Mike’s uneasy groans and his occasional writhing in his sleep. What seemed peaceful at the get-go has become something less content, leaving him entangled in the sheets and pulling most of the shared blanket to his side of the bed. The late autumn chill hanging thick in the air has you shivering, casting a tired, half-lidded gaze to the digital clock resting on the nightstand. It’s four minutes past three thirty in the morning, displayed in vivid, neon green digits that prompt a slight scrunch of displeasure from your face at the glaring brightness.

You remind yourself that this really has gotten better. It’s been weeks since the last time, and he’s been going to therapy like you suggested, even if he was a little unsettled by the idea at first. His new job cleaning up after club-goers at a nearby joint pays pretty well, all things considered, and with your income added to the mix, money is still tight at times, —but he’d decided after the first few sessions that you pressured him into that it was worth the trouble.

Still, that doesn’t negate the obvious. Mike has suffered a lot in his lifetime, and that’s hardly lent itself to consistency or stability. Some of it has been his own doing, while other parts have been far too out of his control, and he’s been learning how to maneavour his way around that misty grey area in between to the best of his ability. But he’s not ineffable, and sometimes, especially on nights like this, the cards fall where they may. At least this time he’s not waking up in a cold sweat, halfway to a panic attack, sweat drenching the mattress beneath him. At least this time he isn’t gasping for breath, clawing at something unseen in the shadows of the bedroom, jerking away like a rodeo bull the moment you reach out to ease him down.

He mumbles something that sounds like a plea in his sleep, but it’s muffled by the pillow his face is squished against. If he weren’t obviously disgruntled, you might have been tempted to admire how cute he looked for a little while longer.

“Mike,” you say softly, reaching out to rest a gentle hand on his bare shoulder, “hey.”

He reacts slightly to the touch, but isn’t fully awake, so you try again.

“Mike,” you repeat, fingers curling around the curve.

This time, it’s enough. His eyes shoot open, taking a moment to adjust to the darkness, then locking on your face. He sits up slightly, perching on his elbows. The breath he lets out in the aftermath is sobering.

“Sorry,” he utters, letting his head hit the pillow unceremoniously.

You ignore the unnecessary apology in lieu of brushing some loose strands of brown hair away from his forehead.

“You alright?”

He gazes up at you with those sweet, puppy-dog eyes that he doesn’t even have to try to put on. They’re just his natural state, and heaven knows you could spend a few lifetimes gazing into them if it were possible.

“Yeah, yeah,” he huffs a little, reaching up to grab your hand and hold it in his own.

His touch is so soft and tender, albeit calloused and a little clammy from the leftover adrenaline of his nightmare. He’s really come a long way, and you hope he knows that. You wouldn’t mind saying it, but he’d definitely get embarrassed by it, so you avoid laying verbal praise on too thick when you can help it. This time three months ago, he’d have been jumping out of bed to rush down the hall into Abby’s room, only letting himself relax upon seeing her sleeping form bundled up beneath her covers. Now, he takes a deep breath, exhales it slowly, and kisses your wrist.

“Nothing to worry about,” he assures you.

“I always worry about you,” you answer, offering him a lopsided smile.

He gives you a knowing look and replies: “That’s exactly the problem.”

You roll your eyes playfully and watch as he fiddles with your fingers for a bit before glancing in the direction of the clock.

“What time is it?” He asks.

“Too early for you to be awake,” you respond lightly. “You can sleep for a few more hours at least. You’ll need it.”

Mike nods, letting his heavy eyelids close again.

“Bit of an understatement,” he jokes.

It really is though. If anyone knows about hard work, especially hard work for the sake of anyone but himself, —it’s him. The least he deserves is a proper night’s sleep. You figure that’s why it’s so hard for you to see him like this, even when it’s getting better. You’d trade your dreams for his in a heartbeat if it meant he could be less haunted at night.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, voice laden with drowsiness.

He drops your hand only to open his arms, encouraging you to take your place on his chest. It’s comfortable and intimate all the same as you nestle against him, seeking comfort and closeness, and hoping with every fiber of your being that you can offer the same to him. Mike tugs the comforter up to your neck, one arm folding around your shoulders, thumb caressing the fabric of your pajama shirt. For a moment, you find yourself wishing you’d gone to sleep without it, just so he could rub against your skin directly.

You relish in his warmth, body molding to the contours of his own, —finding the closest thing you’ve ever known to heaven on Earth. Quiet connection simmers in the surrounding air, sparking like static electricity, and you let your eyes close.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” You ask quietly.

He probably won’t, but it’s always better to ask, if for nothing else than to let him know that the option is available.

“Not right now,” he replies, and though he’s turning your offer away, there’s an undeniable softness threaded amidst it all.

“Later, then?”

He hums, and you feel it ripple through his chest.

“Maybe.”

Later might never come, but that’s okay. As long as he knows that you’re a safe haven to seek refuge in, then that’s enough for you.

“Just get some sleep for now,” he continues, craning his neck forward to ghost his lips against your forehead, his stubble scratching your skin in a way that makes you smile on command.

“Night,” you mutter quietly, snuggling further into his chest.

“Night, baby,” he returns, smoothing a hand along your hair.

It’s quiet for a moment or two, and then he sheepishly adds: “I love you.”

No matter how many times you hear it, it still gives you butterflies.

“I love you too.”

#fnaf movie #fnaf #fnaf movie mike #mike schmidt #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt x you #mike schmidt fnaf #mike schmidt imagine #michael schmidt #micheal schmidt #abby schmidt #abby fnaf #fnaf x reader #fnaf movie x reader #five nights at freddys #reverse comfort #mike schimdt x reader #mike schmidt reverse comfort

490 notes · View notes

flordeamatista · 1 year

Text

𝗕𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱 𝗧𝗼 𝗬𝗼𝘂

pairing: dark mob!bucky barnes x stewardess!reader

concept: Like clouds dancing in the air giving the setting sun a reason to live, that is how you came into his life.

word count: 2k

warnings: possessive Bucky, dark Bucky, dubcon/noncon (to be safe on the kidnapp-ing, drug—ing), desire,lust, p— in-—v, mile high club, man—ipulation mature themes, edging, fingering, nickname ──(Princess, Sweetheart)

a/n: Written for @the-slumberparty April Mob AU Challenge. In the midst of my muse going off and on, I finally received the muse to finish this story from the writing fairies to submit it on the last day.

The prompt: “If it wasn’t meant to be, you wouldn’t fit me so perfectly.”

lovely beta:@lunarbuck & @targaryenvampireslayer

line divider by @s-tarksintern ──the cute gif/moodboard made by me

Masterlist

Despite the distance, I can still sense you.

What a waste of time.

You feel your heart sink as you realize you have been stood up. You try to distract yourself by focusing on the flickering candlelight on the table and taking a deep breath.

It's as if the radiant flame is a reminder of your feelings for him, a reminder that won't go away no matter how difficult the situation gets.

His deep crimson eyes, burning intensely, ran wild during lustful nights and burned so hard every day you were with him.

This light was visible only to you.

His possessiveness and jealousy, however, were like melting wax into molten tears of your fears as you fled. That night, when you left him, it ached for you, but you knew it was time to leave. You left, never looking back, never feeling his piercing light again. His hold on you was more than physical; it was as if he treated you as if you were his property and wanted whatever he thought best for you, regardless of what you wanted.

You are finally free.

Fresh air is the most beneficial thing for you. You have to venture into a new atmosphere, experience a new life, and encounter a new man.

Recharge from him and getting a fresh beginning.

The waiter comes with a drink.

"On the house. He doesn't deserve you for standing you up."

You had the feeling that the restaurant staff were watching you and were sorry your date had not arrived. You’d been holding on to the idea that he was stuck at work for almost two hours but after sitting at the table alone and stupid, you’re giving up hope.

You quickly down the drink, hoping it will give you some relief from the humiliation and arduous wait.

“So much for romance,” you mutter into the glass.

"Maybe your man is nearby," the waiter says softly in fear as you stare at him in confusion.

Your attention is drawn to the door as he points to it.

A stone wall surrounds you, and suddenly, the air is thick as syrup.

It feels like your body is drained, your arms and hands are heavy, and every movement feels like a struggle, as you grasp the table, feeling numb. There he stands, him, with a bouquet of roses in his hand. A smirk escapes his lips as fire returns to the room.

But you keep seeing blurry figures, hoarse voices, and the sensation that your body is swallowing. The room looks like a slow-moving carnivorous scene. Air around you feels heavy and thick, as if it is tightly wrapped around you, suffocating you.

As if your body is turning to stone, you feel helpless, but a touch brings a sliver of reality when blue ocean eyes and “You can’t be taking free drinks from a stranger, Sweetheart. Just sleep and it will be okay.” Fingers stroke your cheek and you keep your eyes open.

“There is no escape.” He kisses you on the forehead, and you see darkness.

Your eyes only belong to him and he looks forward to seeing them again

It is only when you see his shadows and feel the beating of your heart that you know where you were.

Though you want to run, you return to him by the hand of the universe. In his hands.

A smirk appears on his face. “Hello, Lovebug. Our paths cross again. I want to know why you ran from me. Nobody, not even you, runs from me." His deep voice carries anger while his eyes focus on you.

“Where am I?”

You see him stare down at you and tap his glass of Scotch, but you realize you are not at his house but on his private jet. In the midst of the peaceful flight across the clouds, you can sense the jet moving peacefully.

But you are next to the darkest cloud of the world.

There is only one dark king in the world of mobs, Bucky Barnes.

You can feel yourself being pulled into darkness, unsure of what the future holds. “Fuck you.” You take his glass and throw it across the plane.

You slap him hard across the face, causing his head to snap to the side. The sound of the slap echoes throughout the small plane.

His eyes suddenly sparkle with rage as he pushes you back against the jet's cabin.

As you stare at his lips, he licks them.

This is the end for you, and you know it.

His touch is electrifying, and he seems to sense it. With an inviting smirk, he leans in closer, leaving you with no doubt as to his intentions.

He will make sure your words are moans for his name with a single touch

He reaches down and pulls up your dress, then slowly runs to your underwear. His fingers glide through your pussy. You can feel your heart beating faster as his touch enthralls you, as he brings you to the edge of pleasure. His eyes are dark and lustful, and he whispers, "I know she's ready for more. Let's make her happy, the king is home." Keeping his thumb firmly pressed against your most intimate area, he rubs it back and forth rhythmically, and you surrender to his words and the touch of his fingers.

He slides two thick fingers deep into your pussy, and you whimper. "Don't tell me you don't want me," he growls, leans in and bites your bottom lip, as his other hand grips your throat, fingers pumping you hard.

He aggressively takes your lips. His body shakes and he collapses onto you, exhausted. His breath is hot in your ear as he whispers your name. His tongue slides through your mouth as your whole body melts against him. He breaks the kiss and he looks down at you with a satisfied smirk.

His body is trembling, and he wraps his arms around you, pulling you close.

His hard body presses against yours while he moans.

He adds another finger to your pussy and your eyes roll back. His touch sends electric pleasure waves through your body. His growl echoes the intensity of those feelings coursing through your body. "I will give you more so you know you are mine." His fingers send you over the edge, your moans growing louder in the room.

Biting your lip and trying to stay upright, you roll your eyes back in your head.

Like clouds dancing in the air giving the setting sun a reason to live, that is how you came into his life.

The stewardess of his private jet bandaged the shallow cut on his arm in silence when he won a fight and was on his way home. A sense of hope and possibility was brought by your unexpected arrival. He was given a glass of bourbon by you to ease the pain, but all he wanted was to feel the touch of your hands on his skin to soothe the wound. The sun shined through the plane that day as you flew in the air, he kissed you on the lips to claim you as his.

The world was in his hands in every aspect, and even the air obeyed him, so there was no place for him to hide. Even though you attempted to run from the lifestyle, his hands were visible on your skin every second of the day and you were his.

In this moment when you know he is tracing what is his, you want him to trace more.

Your body moans at his touch.

You are left utterly frustrated when he suddenly draws his fingers from you.

You want to scream, but the sound never escapes your lips. He is playing a game, and you are on the verge of losing badly. Your breathing is heavy, and your eyes sting with tears yet to fall. In this moment, you feel trapped by overwhelming sensations and powerlessness.

A soft whispered apology graced your lips. "I didn't mean to leave you. I needed air."

With his back to you, Bucky smirks in response to your unease, none of which he wants you to feel. Taking off his suit jacket, he turns to you as he removes his tie, unbuttons his shirt, and slowly rolls up his sleeves.

"Come here," he whispers softly.

You stand, weighing your options, knowing you have none, since he is always a step ahead, forcing you to bend your knees to him. There is nowhere to hide or scream. He seems unimpressed after you take a few steps to ease up under his obedience.

“Come here now,” he says harshly. He is not backing down, and his tone makes it clear that you have no choice but to obey his order. It is unusual for him to repeat himself, and his eyes are burning.

You obey, not wanting to anger him further. He sneers as you walk over, your heart beating wildly. He grabs your arm and pulls you closer, his breath hot on your face.

"I'm going to give you two options, baby," he growls. "You can take my cock, or you can cry while I make you take it."

Bucky has everything in his life, from power to his girl.

He ignites my flame once again with his words

Your pussy takes him in as he grinds his hips against you. His breathing becomes heavier as he takes you in. Every movement is torture and ecstasy simultaneously. His gaze is locked on you and he moves closer to deepening the connection between you and him. He feels like there's no one else in this world, but the two of you. He has been under his spell since the moment he laid eyes on you.

"Don't you need me, Princess?" he whispers softly, grabbing your jaw. But you can’t answer. "Answer me, baby," he says in a low, growling voice as he thrusts inside you slowly. "Or I will not let you come all fucking night!"

Your body burns and you know he will keep his promise, making your suffering even worse. You are his to take. You whisper, "I need it," into the air.

“Yes,” he growls again as your flesh yields. "You are..." He tightens his fingers around yours as he grinds against you. "Mine." He thrust faster and harder. In. Out. Faster. Stronger. The thrill of his body thumping into you was apparent in every thrust.

"If it wasn't meant to be, you wouldn't fit me so perfectly. Look at our movement as one, darling." His breathing is heavy and ragged as he pushes himself in deeper, claiming every inch of your body.

His words, touch, and excited expression make you lose your breath.

He whispers darkly, "Your pussy is so happy to see me." His movements are precise and calculated, and you arch your back and wrap your legs around him to push him closer with each thrust.

You can feel the pleasure building up as your orgasm is quickly approaching. Finally, you reach the peak as you tremble and moan.

Your freedom from him slips away from you.

Once again, you have crossed a dangerous, fine line, as Bucky said, you have nowhere to run. You have no choice but to take on the consequences of your actions. You watch the clouds move across the sky as you move with him in rhythm, knowing that no land can hide you.

Your voice echoes his name, and they remain until the end of time

1K notes · View notes

thornsnvultures · 6 months

Text

the big bad wolf

wolfman!steve harrington x plus size!fem!reader

summary: when your boyfriend ditches you at steve harrington's halloween party for another girl, you go to leave, only to run into the man himself. steve's costume doesn't look like much but you're about to find out there's more to him than meets the eye. <3k words

cw: 18+ NSFT, a shitty boyfriend, flirty!steve, making out, oral sex (fem rec), pussy slapping, nipple play, super hairy!steve, p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampie, knotting, mid sex transformation, bad little red riding hood jokes (steve calls her little red)

a/n: moodboard by me, divider by @/saradika

"What are you supposed to be?"

Your sniffling is cut short and you jump in surprise, not realizing you weren't alone. Steve Harrington stands in the shadows, leaning up against the side of his house, the lit end of his cigarette the only thing just barely illuminating his face. You brush at the rumpled edges of your costume, straightening out the many layers of fabric as you try to pull yourself together and not look so pathetic in front of Hawkins royalty.

"Can't you tell?" You huff, not in the mood to be toyed with.

"Red dress, red cape, basket of goodies," Steve smirks, his eyes catching on your exposed legs and staying there as he takes another drag. "What brings you to my neck of the woods, Little Red?" Steve steps closer, inching his way towards you as he drops his cig and stomps it out. "On your way to grandma's? I think you might be lost, Little Red."

The smirk on Steve's face makes your insides boil. You've already been put through enough tonight, you don't need any more from him.

"I'm not lost. Just needed some fresh air."

"I like the getup," Steve smirks, circling you, fingers lightly toying with the ends of your skirt.

You pull yourself away from Steve's curious fingers, backing away from him even as he advances on you. Like he's getting a kick out of fucking with you.

"What are you supposed to be anyway?" You ask, waving your hands in confusion at his costume, or lack there of. He's mostly shirtless, his surprisingly hairy chest is exposed behind an open denim vest. Your stomach flipped taking in his sweaty, well defined torso and thick arms. It was strange that he looked this sweaty at the end of October, maybe he oiled himself up? Or ran a few laps around his fancy pool before his party guests came over? You stifled a laugh, biting your lips.

"You can't tell?" Steve lifted his arms and did a little spin. You might've checked out his ass in his perfectly fitted jeans when he did. "I'm the big bad wolf."

His grin at least was wolfish, he looked at you like he wanted to eat you up. Steve laughed when you didn't say anything, just quirking a brow at him, clearly not amused by his teasing.

"Yeah okay, Steve." His smile dropped when you rolled your eyes but you were past caring. You needed to get out of here, away from this stupid party and the idiot you came here with. Not that he cared if you left or not. You felt your throat close up and willed yourself to stop, to not fall apart now, especially not in front of Steve who would only tease you more.

You looked back inside one more time only to catch a glimpse of your date, who had ditched you halfway through the night for some other girl. His hands were around said girl, swaying to the heavy, pulsing music blasting inside.

Steve was watching you watch them. You knew he figured out your little dilemma when his wolfish grin returned. That was it. You're walking home. Maybe not the best idea, walking that far on your own on Halloween night in this silly getup, but anything would be better than hanging around here.

"Hey! Wait up, Little Red!" You heard Steve follow you as you stormed through the crunching fallen leaves that the chilly autumn air had left strewn across Steve's lawn.

"Go bother someone else," you snapped, spinning around to face him. Steve was much closer than you anticipated when you stopped. You were face to face with his solid chest, nearly colliding with him if you hadn't pulled back at the last second.

"You're not walking home, are you?" Steve's hands were on your arms now. Big and warm and firm, holding you in place so you couldn't bolt.

"It's none of your business," you still tried to tug out of his grasp but it was no use, a fact that terrified and excited you in ways you didn't want to think to hard about.

"Oh I know," Steve nodded his head, pouting in a patronizing way that made you want to slap him. "But I can't bear to watch you stray from the path," he nodded to the woods behind his house, pitch black but for the full moon shining through the leaves of the trees. "There's monsters on these woods, little girl," Steve tugged you closer until his lips were by your ear. "You'll get eaten right up."

His words, and the heat of his breath on your skin, sent a shiver down your spine. A bird flew by just then with a screech making you jump in his grasp. Steve chuckled and let you go

"If you want to walk home, Red, be my guest. Or...," Steve dragged out that small word, tugging at one of the bows on your dress, one right by your breast. Your chest heaved with the shaking breath you took as you b watched him, inadvertently pressing your flesh into his hand more. Steve smirked and tugged at it again. "I can make sure you get home safe and sound."

"But it's your party-"

"Nobody in there gives a fuck about me," Steve growled. You suddenly felt like his declaration was true, maybe he was the big bad wolf. His mood had soured significantly, but he still looked at you expectantly, waiting for your answer.

"Okay. Sure. Thank-," you began to whisper, looking down at your feet.

Steve grabbed your chin, cutting you off and forcing you to look up at him. "You can thank me later. Let's get you to grandma's house."

Steve grabbed his keys and hopped in his Beemer with you. He was right. No one stopped him to ask where he was going, when he'd be back. You guessed a guy with parents constantly out of town, the rules for house parties were a bit more relaxed.

Steve, it seemed like, was anything but relaxed. Even after he lit up another cigarette in the car, he was wound tight.

His hand never left yours either. He held it as he dragged you to his car and for most of the car ride he kept his right hand on your thigh. Occasionally he would rub circles on your skin with his thumb or give your plush thigh a squeeze. Almost like he was grounding himself with your presence. His hands were burning hot on your skin.

When he finally pulled up to your building, he stopped you with his hand on your arm before you could open the door to get out.

"Steve?"

"You haven't said thank you yet."

"Thank you." You moved to get out again but Steve was still holding your arm.

"Uh-uh, Little Red. Try again. You have something I want."

You swallowed tightly at the hungry look in his eye. "The goody basket is empty," you shook it around, trying for a laugh to break the tension. Steve couldn't be implying what you thought he was. This was Steve Harrington, he could have any girl in Hawkins he wanted. Apparently, at least for tonight, that girl was you.

"Very funny," Steve grabbed your chin again, this time pulling you close until his lips were on yours. And you were letting him. God his lips were soft. Plush and smooth. He tasted so good you found that one kiss wasn't enough. Neither were two or three.

"You taste so good, Little Red," Steve groaned into your mouth. "Bet you taste good all over."

A whine spilled from your lips that shocked you with how needy it sounded. Steve was an asshole, sure, but he had already done more for you tonight than your boyfriend. Sorry, ex-boyfriend.

"Let me taste you, baby. Give me what I want."

"Do you always get what you want, Steve?" Your question is said before you realize you're saying it. You knew the answer already.

Steve chuckled and stroked your cheek with his thumb. "More or less. Are you going to be a good girl for me and give me what I want? I'll warn you, I do bite." Steve nips at your jaw and you shudder and paw at his bare arms.

"Yes. Take it, take me."

Steve rushes the both of you into your apartment, helping you when you fumble with your keys. Your roommate isn't home, out at some party of her own. So you don't feel so bad about the noises you make when Steve finally gets you inside.

You move to unzip your dress but Steve bats your hands away. "Leave it on. For now." He does, however, tear your tights off, shredding the thin white fabric off like it's made of tissue paper. "Steve," you whine as he spreads your legs up and open.

"Hold these for me," he grabs your hands and puts them on your thighs, making sure you're holding yourself open just the way he wants as he sheds off his denim vest. "So pretty, baby." Steve brings his hand down with a harsh slap down your clothed pussy. His thumb works over the wet spot already growing in the center and he kneels in front of you at the edge of your bed.

Steve tugs your underwear up your spread thighs and off of you. You don't see where they go after, but you don't hear them hit the floor.

Steve bites and licks at your thighs, his teeth sharp like pin pricks, ones that send shivers down your spine and make your pussy weep even more. He sucks marks into your thick thighs, taking you apart before he's even got his mouth on your cunt. But once he does, holy fuck, it feels like heaven.

His mouth descends on your pussy and you bother holding back your scream. Steve's tongue is long and deliciously thick, wrapping around your clit and sucking the soul out of you, filling you with his tongue until you're seeing stars.

"That's it, baby, that's it. Come all over my face. Tastes so fucking good." Steve adds one thick finger after another until you feel so full like you're about to burst. And with a few more licks you do, tugging on Steve's hair, your thighs squeezing his head as you ride out your orgasm on his tongue.

Steve gently kisses your bruised thighs, your soft belly. His face looks... different, harsher. You can't quite explain it, especially not in your post-orgasm haze.

"My, my what big teeth you have," you laugh as Steve nibbles up your belly, finally tugging you free of your silly costume. You lift up so he can slip it all the way off and admire your breasts, aching and waiting for his mouth.

"All the better to eat you with, my dear." Steve's words are a little slurred and you can't help but wonder just how pussy drunk he is. You know he wasn't drunk drunk, or if he was he hid it well until now.

Steve licked and sucked at your nipples, taking his time to pay attention to each one, plucking and pulling at them until you were keening, writhing on your bed and begging for more.

You gripped his forearms as his fingers worked deftly over your body. Were they always this...hairy? Not that you had a problem with hair, you loved a guy with body hair and Steve seemed to have plenty of it. Just, more than you remember.

"Steve, please," you whined, feeling yourself inching closer to the edge from the attention he was paying to your breasts. His leg wedged between yours and you found yourself unable to stop from grinding against his muscular thigh, greedy for more.

"Please what? What do you need, Little Red?" Steve's voice was deep, almost like a growl, the sound shooting straight to your pussy.

"Need you. Need you inside. Fuck me," you begged, not caring how pathetic you sounded. It had been so long since you felt this good. If your ex was getting this kind of action with someone else, fuck it, you would to. Steve wasn't playing around anymore. He was giving you what you needed, taking from you what he wanted. And you wanted to give it to him, to give him everything.

You ran your fingers through the hair on his chest when Steve bent down to kiss you, a deep, blistering kiss that made your mind go numb even as you questioned again if his chest hair was this thick earlier.

Steve pulled away with a growl and quickly tore off his jeans, chucking them across the room.

"Oh fuck," you groaned at the sight of Steve's cock before he flipped you over on the bed. Part of you was concerned about him fitting, but that part was quickly squashed when you felt him rub the tip through your folds.

"You on birth control?"

"Yes," you gasped, the word barely leaving your lips before he was pushing inside, bare. "Oh my god, Steve."

Steve pulled out again to lift your hips more, adjusting you to the angle he needed before slamming back inside. You screamed into your pillow, clawing at your sheets as Steve worked his cock inside, fucking deeper into your cunt with every thrust. You could feel every ridge and vein rubbing deliciously against your walls.

"That's it, baby. Doing so good for me." Steve kissed down your spine and his lips felt... different. You could barely focus on anything but the delicious stretch of his cock, but that mouth. It felt like... fangs, like he could barely fit his sharp teeth in his mouth.

Steve nuzzled into your hair, your neck, breathing you in a he rutted into you at a brutal pace. If his big hands weren't wrapped around your waist, pulling you back to meet his heavy strokes, your head would've broken through your headboard by now. You could feel his chest hair rubbing across your back, feel his heart hammering, breathing hard.

"Steve," you whined, overwhelmed by all these confusing, amazing sensations.

"Shh, I got you, baby." Steve reached under you, squeezing your belly before dipping between your thighs to rub your swollen, achy clit. Your mind was racing with unanswered questions, but they were pushed to the back of your mind until the pleasure was all you could think about. You felt so fucking full from his cock, pounding into you over and over, so deep in your guts you could feel him in your throat.

"Feels so good, baby. Taking my cock so well. Think you can handle more?"

"More?" You didn't know what more was or if you could even handle it but you wanted it, you were already nodding your head saying, "yes yes yes".

Just as you felt a pressure in your pussy begin to swell, like a balloon expanding inside your pussy, pushing at your walls like nothing you'd ever felt before, you turned your head and locked eyes in your vanity mirror with... something.

It was Steve, but it wasn't. He looked like a Wolfman straight out of the movies. Something horrible with giant fangs and fur along his jaw, torso and arms, but something so... Steve. It was Steve, but it wasn't.

Steve looked shocked, not realizing the damn mirror was there, but he was already coming. His monstrous yellow eyes softening at the sight of your blissed out face. He exploded inside you, filling your cunt with a shout, a long low growl, as he filled you more than you've ever been filled. His fingers on your clit pushed you over the edge with him and you came, clenched down on the protrusion on his cock that was keeping his cum locked inside you.

Steve removed his hand from between your legs and you saw it, the claws at the ends of his fingers.

"Steve," you gasped

"I'm sorry. I tried to warn you," you scoff, "I shouldn't have- I thought I could control it," he clenched his fist as he spoke, hiding his claws from you.

You could barely wrap your head around it, how the man you knew had suddenly become a beast. But you've also never been fucked so good in your life. It was a lot to take in.

Your mind reeled as Steve turned you on your side, still locked inside your pussy, which felt bizarre but oddly comforting, and snuggled up behind you, wrapping his strong arms around you.

"You really are the big bad wolf."

"I told you so."

"I thought you were fucking with me," you smack Steve's arm and he chuckles behind you, the low sound vibrating through your chest. "Why would I believe you?"

"Your right, I should've said something. I thought I could control it, but with the full moon and how fucking sexy you looked in the costume-"

"I looked ridiculous."

"You looked so hot. It's just my luck that your boyfriend's a piece of shit."

"Lucky me," you laugh, leaning back into Steve's chest. "So what's up with your dick?"

"Oh yeah." You're sure Steve's blushing under his fur. "It's my knot. We might be stuck together like this for a while."

"Hmm. Fine. You can show me what other weird stuff you've got going on tomorrow then."

You close your eyes, relaxing into Steve's hold on you. For a moment he think you've fallen asleep until you speak again.

"Oh my, what a big cock you have," you mumble, already half asleep.

Steve laughs, being careful not to jostle you too much. "All the better to fuck you with, Little Red."

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x plus size!reader #steve harrington x you #wolfman!steve harrington #werewolf!steve harrington #steve harrington fan fic #steve harrington fan fiction #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington halloween fic #my fics

412 notes · View notes

stargirlbryce · 2 months

Text

Moodboard: Bryce Quinlan

"She was sea and sky and stone and blood and wings and earth and stars and darkness and light and bone and flame"

#bryce quinlan #crescent city #hofas #house of earth and blood #hoeab #house of flame and shadow #house of sky and breath #hosab #sarah j maas #moodboard #*mine #favourite character of all time #my ass will never get tired of making moodboards for her

43 notes · View notes

flowerandblood · 4 months

Text

The Man with the Bloody Sword

[ Amor • Aemond x Psyche • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, bloody sex, fingering, profanation, smut, angst, violence, beheading, trauma, mourning ]

[ description: After she is attacked in a fair by a strange man and narrowly avoids death, her father the king decides that from now on she will be watched over by one of his ‘ghosts’, a assassin acting on his orders, wearing a black mask. The man follows her like a shadow, accompanied by their past, which keeps her awake at night. Gothic horror love story, angst, sexual tension, very dark Aemond. ]

This story is several requests combined into one: sworn protector x female; Amor x Psyche; Phantom of the Opera! Aemond x female. I took the liberty of creating a completely new story from this, having only elements of each of these requests.

Series & Characters Moodboard Lady Walford Moodboard Gothic & Horror Sensual Moodboard

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

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

He remembered little of the moment of their nuptials and coronation itself, hearing only the loud thumping of his heart, a host of doubts running through his mind. He had waited so many years for this moment that he decided it couldn't be real, that something had to happen to shatter it all.

He thought that her younger brother would not bend the knee, that he would have to kill him and then she would hate him, that he would have to take her as his wife by force and watch her wither and fade before his eyes for the rest of his days.

He could not describe the relief he felt when he heard the loud words from outside the temple of young Lord Walford announcing that he was relinquishing his claim to the crown, only to see his sister a moment later in the gown he had gifted her, red and black, the colours of his house.

He lifted his chin higher, looking at her with a kind of pride − she looked beautiful and dignified, not a trace of fear or doubt on her face. She was looking only at him − he could see in her eyes that she was doing this of her own free will and he allowed himself to be enveloped at last by the peace he so much desired.

The crown that Criston had placed on his head appeared heavy and uncomfortable, but he thought that was what it was meant to be, to remind him that nothing was certain and given forever, that he had to be vigilant, that he could not afford to put his mind to sleep like his father.

Riding his horse towards the fortress amidst the cheers, he imagined with a tightened throat that his mother was already waiting for him there, ready to throw herself into his arms and embrace him, telling him how proud she was of him. He pressed his lips together and swallowed loudly, lowering his gaze, knowing it would never happen.

That night her body and her closeness blurred in his mind the weight of his crown, the grief of feeling lonely and empty, her warm hands clenched on the skin of his back as he rooted into her again and again, his lips joined with hers in lazy, hot, sticky kisses, her soft, firm breasts pressed against his chest in the tight embrace of their arms.

His restless nights were filled with silence and warmth; he was finally able to sleep again, and although he was sometimes awakened by nightmares, seeing and feeling her body snuggled into his, he only sighed with a sense of relief, pressing his face into her hair, thinking only of her scent and the softness of her body until his eyelids closed again.

To him, his wife was like a lit candle in the dark, cool chamber of his heart, emanating a warm, pleasant light that did not blind him, but showed him the way, made him regain his sight.

Watching the helpless efforts of the ladies of the court to catch his attention, he felt amused − their desperation made him grin ironically, causing them to blush in embarrassment, their cheeks rosy with shame.

They did not comprehend his nature, the darkness that lurked in the corners of his mind, his coldness and distance, his bottomless desire to remain in the shadows, to hide even as he remained king.

His wife understood him, his need for solitude, allowing him to spend his days on his duties, patiently waiting each day for the evening when they were reunited.

Although he would never admit it openly, he adored missing her, adored suffering at the thought that, however much he wanted to, she would not come to him without a reason, would not interrupt his training or council, would not seek his attention, focusing on her own affairs.

A few hours of anguish without her presence each day was enough that when he saw her lying in his bed, bare, waiting for him, he would simply sink into the pleasure and relief of her body.

Being deep inside her, he felt safe.

She was his refuge − inside her he would hide when the heavy crown he carried on his head overwhelmed him.

Apart from her, he had nobody and trusted no one.

It seemed to him that she was a lost part of him, that years ago something inside him had shattered into pieces and it appeared that what was left of her fitted into his parts, creating something entirely new and satisfyingly certain.

He appreciated the strength of her character, her maturity and her wisdom, the fact that she knew when to be silent and when to speak, that she never undermined his authority, that she always listened to him with concentration, advising him as best she could.

"All Lord Marrey wants is gold coins. He flaunts his wealth and his position at court. However, that is not what worries me, but what will happen if someone dares to offer him a better price."

She said wrinkling her eyebrows, her face turned to him in profile − she gazed thoughtfully out of the window into the night, stroking her arm involuntarily, her body clad in a richly decorated gown of blacks and reds, her beautiful shoulders bare, her sleeves reaching almost to the ground.

He lifted his gaze to her face, stirring with his hand in his goblet the remnant of wine that was left there, only to lift it to his lips and tilt it, drinking all that was in it, setting it down with a loud clink of steel on the table.

"What do you propose, wife? Should I, in your opinion, kill or lock up anyone who might betray me in the future?" He asked coolly, leaning against the back of his chair with a loud creak of wood, stretching out on it comfortably, the wine he had drunk so far making him feel warm.

Although he tried for a moment to focus on what she was saying, his gaze stopped on her bare back, emphasised beautifully by the bold line of her gown, wondering if she had been walking around the fortress like this all day, letting the guards shamelessly stare at such a large part of her exposed flesh.

He licked his lower lip at the thought, running his hand over his chin musingly.

"Aemond." He heard her impatient voice and felt himself shudder, lifting his gaze quickly to her face − it was extremely rare for her to speak to him like this − she only did it in private and only when he frustrated her with something. "His case really worries me. If you wish, I'll speak with him myself."

He pondered her words in silence for a moment, tapping his fingertips against his armrest.

"And what are you going to do? Ambush him?" He asked impassively, crossing his legs with a loud creak of his chair, leaning to the side with a loud sigh of fatigue, looking at her back again.

Just like when he had the mask on, he could watch her all day from hiding, look at her expression, her profile, her long eyelashes, her eyes and mouth, her agile, light movements full of dignity and serenity.

While he was like an aggressive flame burning everything, she was like the surface of a lake, letting him extinguish himself in the coolness of her reason, in the tenderness of her heart, making him manage not to cross the thin line that separated him from madness.

"I can propose that his daughter become my lady in waiting, and also suggest that I help him find a suitable candidate for her husband." She said calmly, playing with the three ruby teardrop necklace that adorned her beautiful long neck, his gift to her after their wedding night.

He loved fucking her when she was wearing nothing but this, the colour of their red combined with the black of her hair and the light of her body beneath him made them glow with fire in his eyes, the same kind he felt when their bodies connected in a tight, sticky, hot embrace.

He hummed under his breath, lowering his head, looking away, staring at his hand, playing with his fingers.

"Do as you see fit, wife. I will not interfere with your choice of ladies in waiting or the reasons that guided you." He said lowly, rising from his chair with a loud creak of wood and approached her with a confident, lazy step − her eyes grew large, a warmth and trust in her gaze, something that invariably surprised him.

He grasped her chin in his palm and lifted it slightly, stroking her skin with his thumb.

"Let's go to bed. There are a few things I want to convey to you. Among them, what I think of your bare back."

The next day there was to be, as there was every month, a gathering in the throne room, the lords and the townspeople could bring their issues and problems before him.

His Queen, to his satisfaction, willingly attended these meetings, at first standing by his side.

Later, however, he found it undignified that his Queen was not allowed to sit for so many hours, so he ordered a smaller throne to be created and placed next to his, on which she took her place from then on.

She never interjected without being asked, only speaking up when he requested her opinion in public, which was often when the matter was delicate, involved someone's hurt and misfortune and required a more understanding, compassionate approach.

He was pleased each time to hear that the words coming from her mouth were thoughtful, filled with wisdom but also with empathy and concern, without sounding hysterical or despairing, maintaining the solemnity of the situation.

He knew that outside the walls of the fortress, despite the fact that many lords were hostile to her, the people of the kingdom feared and respected him, but it was her they loved, seeing in her gestures of mercy and her support for the poor her value, which he also recognised.

He raised an eyebrow when a woman was brought before them, surprised that from afar he could see how unnaturally green her eyes were, her gaze sharp and assured, her black hair loose, her dress, though the garb of a typical bourgeois woman, perfectly accentuated her mature, feminine shapes.

"Your Grace. This woman I present before you is Alys Rivers, better known to some as the Witch of the East. She is known to foretell the future. I have brought her here because I thought the skills of someone like her might be of use to our King." Said Lord Ronwell, the same one who expected him to marry his daughter.

He refrained a grimace of amusement with the last of his strength, finding it difficult to restrain himself from glancing at his wife, knowing that a fire that could burn cities down probably shone in her eyes.

His words seemed to him a poor excuse for what he had been trying to do for a long time, which was to lessen her influence over him as Queen, to divert his attention towards another woman.

He hummed under his breath, crossing his legs, stretching comfortably on the throne, deciding he would take his time with the situation − the thought of his wife, whom his guards were surely thinking of at night, being jealous of him pleasantly tickled his ego.

"Speak, Alys, Witch of the East. Foretell me my future." He said with a sneer, cocking his head − he heard his wife let out a quiet breath of air with impatience.

She knew why he was doing this, that it wasn't even about this woman, that he was teasing her.

Alys Rivers walked boldly forward, climbing step by step higher, startling him and his wife, a brazen look on his face. He pressed his lips together, feeling discomfort and rage, wondering whether to stop it or not, and then the woman spoke.

"Your Queen will bear you a son with dark hair, a future King, beloved by the kingdom. You will have six children, but only two with your wife." She said softly, looking at him with a slight smile. He felt a squeeze in his throat, involuntarily glancing sideways − his wife was pale, her eyes open wide, her lips clenched into a tight line.

He laughed, running his hand over his face, unable to believe that she had allowed herself to say such a thing in her presence.

"And the daughter of which lord will experience the pleasure of carrying my children inside her?" He asked with a sneer, guessing that she had surely been ordered to say such a thing.

"I shall receive that honour, my King." She said with a sensual smile and he froze, lifting his gaze to her in disbelief, looking at his wife again, regretting that he had allowed her to speak at all. He licked his lower lip, feeling discomfort in his lower abdomen, looking away with rage.

"Hold her." He said dispassionately to his guards, rising from his throne − they immediately grabbed the woman by the shoulders and forced her to kneel, her gaze changed, her confidence gone from her face, her breathing loud and ragged.

"− my King − I −"

"− give me your sword −" He ordered dryly, extending his hand to Criston, who looked at him horrified, but reached for his blade without a word and slid out his weapon with a loud clatter of steel.

"− please, my King, have mercy − I have been ordered to say so −" She mumbled out, seeing the determination and coldness painted on his face.

The most important thing he had learnt over the years of observing people was when they lie.

When she stood in front of him she was not at all frightened, what she said was not uncomfortable for her − she truly believed that with her words he would destroy his wife's trust in him and eventually become his lover.

He was not going to rely on fate in this matter.

However, it was not his opinion or her plea that mattered to him. He looked over his shoulder at his wife's face − she was staring at him, pale, her eyes red, full of tears, full of pain caused by this cruel humiliation she had suffered because of him, her breasts rose and fell quickly in a shuddering breath, her nostrils twitching restlessly.

I will kill with my own hands anyone who dares to offend my Queen.

He had never lied to her.

"Who ordered you to say such things, woman?" He asked impatiently, leaning the tip of his sword against the stone floor, placing his hands on the hilt, towering over her, complete silence reigned around them.

The woman swallowed loudly, no longer daring to look at him, feeling that he stood over her like an executioner.

"− Lord − Lord Ronwell −" She mumbled quietly, all around them he heard sounds of disbelief and argument − someone shouted that Lord Ronwell was a traitor, the man however shook his head.

"This woman lies, my King!" He said enraged and horrified, clearly not suspecting that the situation would take such a turn.

Loud arguing and shouting echoed around him, which quietened immediately as his blade swished through the air and the woman's head tumbled down the stone steps to the floor below, several ladies of the court squealed loudly, horrified by the sight.

"Her every breath would be an insult to my Queen. Let this be a lesson to anyone who tries to plot against her. Guards, lock Lord Ronwell in the dungeons until she decides what to do with him." He said extending his hand with a sword towards Criston, surprised and horrified, his tunic all dirty with blood.

He turned to look at his wife's reaction − she was staring at him with her eyes wide open, her lips parted in disbelief, the heat in her gaze from which his cock throbbed hard.

She wasn't disgusted or afraid of him.

She understood that he had defended her honour.

That he had done it for her.

"My Queen. Forgive me that you had to listen to those disgusting words. Take her body and let us move on." He said indifferently, sitting down on his throne again, expecting them to continue as if nothing had happened.

His wife surprised him as soon as they were alone in his chamber, clinging greedily to his lips, grasping his cheeks in her hands − he groaned low, feeling the throbbing in his breeches, reciprocating her kiss with a loud click.

"− let me wash my hands − they're filthy −" He breathed out into her mouth, but she shook her head, grasping his hand in hers and pressing it to her face, in her eyes heat, longing, gratitude and desire from which he felt himself get completely hard.

His thumb, all slick with the blood of this brazen woman ran over her lower lip − he shuddered when he felt her run her moist tongue over his skin.

"− fuck −" He growled, grabbing her jaw with his hand, clinging aggressively to her lips. She bit him and he groaned low, surprised, lifting her gown, hitting her bare buttock with all his strength. "− how dare you − how fucking dare you treat your King like this −"

He hissed, turning her violently to face the table, clamping his hand in her hair, forcing her to bend over, her cheek pressed against the table top. She panted loudly along with him as he lifted the fabric of her gown with a swift movement, revealing her naked hips before him, her womanhood all pink and swollen, glistening from her moisture.

"− fucking knew it − my little wife is bloodthirsty, hm? − isn't she? − so jealous −" He gasped feeling his heart pounding like mad − he slid his finger deep inside her without warning and groaned weakly, feeling how her walls clenched around him, how aroused she was, her thighs trembling whole before him.

"− please, husband − please, I need it −" She mewled sweetly, innocently, her face and buttock dirty from the blood from his hand − there was something frightening and at the same time so arousing about the sight that he felt like his cock was about to explode.

"− what do you need? − speak, sweet wife, your King listens to you intently −" He said mockingly, sliding his finger in and out of her, once in a while pressing and massaging the spot hidden between her folds, each time bringing out of her a loud, pathetic cry, her body trembling all over, her lips parted wide in pleasure.

"− g-gods, take me − fuck me − please −" She begged desperately. He gasped low at her words, unable to deny her, sliding his finger out of her, quickly untying and lowering his breeches − she whimpered loudly when his swollen manhood slapped against her buttocks.

"− quiet − lay still and let me in −" He growled, with a sure, deep thrust of his hips pushing the head of his cock into her hot interior. He clamped his hands on her buttocks and began to slam into her with a loud moan of relief − she whined loudly in pleasure, clenching her fingers on the table top, her eyes squeezed shut, her eyebrows arched as if in worry.

"− gods, you're leaking − the sight of me beheading that whore made you so fucking wet? − hm? −" He gasped, rooting into her even faster, squeezing her soft buttock with his hands, watching with delight how his fat, swollen manhood stretched her tight, fleshy core with his every thrust.

"− p-please, don't stop, keep going −" She mewled, responding with her body to the movements of his hips, her wet, hot muscles sucking on him greedily, wanting to keep him inside − he was horrified at how sacrilegious and intense this experience was.

"− I'll kill anyone − anyone, gods, just say the word − I'll give you everything −" He burst out and she sobbed loudly. He felt a wave of pleasure shake her body, her walls were clenching around him so tightly he was running out of breath − he slammed into her like mad, his thighs slapping against her buttocks with a loud clicks of her moisture.

"− my beloved King −" She whimpered with difficulty quivering all over, his heart pounded so hard he felt like it was going to rip his chest open, a convulsion shook his body.

"− just like that − oh, fuckkk −" He exhaled, clenching his eyes and tilting his head back, panting hard, feeling a wonderful, overpowering relief, his seed spilling deep inside her at last.

They were both breathing loudly and shaking, unable to believe how strong their fulfilment was − he put his hands on either side of her head, trying to calm himself, his cock twitching all over deep inside her.

"− good gods − are you all right? −" He asked horrified, breathing heavily, reminding himself that they had fucked each other so hard that they could barely get the words out.

He sighed in relief sliding out of her when she nodded, he heard her hiss quietly. He stared for a moment wordlessly at the trail of his spend that trickled down her thighs, his hand reached up to her hot buttock and squeezed it tentatively.

"Let's take a bath."

____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@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 @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes

223 notes · View notes

zeciex · 7 months

Text

A Vow of Blood Masterlist

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Updates every Friday: A work in progress

AO3

Chapter 1: A prophecy foretold Chapter 2: Fireflies and Funerals Chapter 3: A debt made Chapter 4: The Arrival Chapter 5: The girl who leaves, the Woman whom returns Chapter 6: The unholiness of burning Chapter 7: Gossip and Needlepoint Chapter 8: Schemes and Artisans Chapter 9: The Feast Chapter 10: Beware the Blood Red Roses Thorns

Chapter 11: Words of a Scandal Chapter 12: The Whore that Lies Chapter 13: On Your Knees Chapter 14: From the Shadows Chapter 15: White Poppies Chapter 16: The Tourney; The Joust Chapter 17: The Tourney; The Melee Chapter 18: Ruination Chapter 19: Tea & Charity

Chapter 20: Sympathies for Maegor the Cruel Chapter 21: Moon Flower Chapter 22: The Ugly Seat Chapter 23: A Woman's Shame Chapter 24: The Boy With the Stars Chapter 25: The Seafarer Chapter 26: Dragonstone Chapter 27: Betrothal Chapter 28: The Sting of Bitter Betrayal Chapter 29: Little Nightshade

Chapter 30: In That House On Top Of The Rock Chapter 31: The Stranger's Company Chapter 32: The Hunt Chapter 33: Brōzi, riña hen narys Chapter 34: There's no measure 'within reason' for women Chapter 35: Pulling the Strings Chapter 36: Boris Baratheon Chapter 37: The Image of a son Chapter 38: Wine and Company Chapter 39: Once in Ivory, to the sound of bells

Chapter 40: Trapped like a Fox Chapter 41: The illusion of choice Chapter 42: Two sinners can't atone from a lone prayer Chapter 43: The Depravity of Desire Chapter 44: Think of the Stars Chapter 45: Blood in the Water Chapter 46: The Boundaries of a Winged Pig Chapter 47: The Vigil of the Old Gods Chapter 48: The Stag that Rages Chapter 49: The Stag hunts the Stag

Chapter 50: The Performance of Grief Chapter 51: Once in front of the fire, two become one Chapter 52: The Funeral of Boris Baratheon Chapter 53: The Hunger of Man Chapter 54: The Funeral Procession Chapter 55: Keeping Alliances Chapter 56: Souls tied, intertwined by our pride and guilt Chapter 57: Wisps of Smoke Chapter 58: A Missive of Ravens Chapter 59: A Claim of Bastardry

Chapter 60: The Last Supper Chapter 61: The Taste of Silence Chapter 62: Waves Chapter 63: In the Eye of the Father Chapter 64: The End of a Noose Chapter 65: A Fool with a Fool's Honor Chapter 66: The Son of Duty Chapter 67: The Daughter of Insolence Chapter 68: The Tempest of a Woman Chapter 69: Birds in a Cage

Chapter 70: The Beast Beneath the Boards Chapter 71: The Tower of the Hand Chapter 72: Ill Tidings Chapter 73: A Woman's War Chapter 74: Salt and Smoke Chapter 75: A Golden Crown of Sorrow pt. 1 Chapter 76: A Golden Crown of Sorrow pt. 2 --Monday the 22nd Chapter 77: Coming Friday the 26th

A Vow of Blood Chapter previews

Chapter previews comes out throughout the week leading up to the new chapter

If you want a moodboard for a specific chapter, send me a message and I'll see what I can do!

Vow of Blood: An uncanon oneshot; The Wooden Cock The wooden cock, pt. 2

A Vow of Blood Aemond; NSFW Alphabet!

#A Vow of Blood Masterlist

319 notes · View notes

separatist-apologist · 4 months

Text

My Whole Life Is Ruined

Summary: When you hold me, it holds me together, and you kiss me in a way that's gonna screw me up forever

Surprise @talons-and-teeth! I'm sorry for the wait- I was not your original secret santa. I pulled this together based on what I know about you and I hope you like it! @acotargiftexchange

Big thanks to @octobers-veryown for making a moodboard with practically no instructions other than one Taylor Swift lyric and the description "Azriel has been hiding the fact he's Gwyn's mate and they have sex about it."

Insomnia was nothing new.

Gwyn couldn’t remember the last time she’d fully slept through the night. The past chased the present, running in circles as she ran after her tail, almost grasping it before she woke covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Sometimes, bathed in nothing but moonlight, Gwyn wondered if there would ever come a time when she didn’t dream of her sister, of a life long gone.

It didn’t rattle her as badly as it used to. Sitting in the bed Nesta had so graciously offered up, Gwyn pushed the blankets from her legs to let the cool, winter air caress her overheated skin. Leaving the library still felt like a picked over wound. She didn’t want to go back, cloistered away from her friends and the life she’d begun to enjoy living. That didn’t mean she wasn’t scared.

Anxiety seemed to thrum beside her heartbeat, a constant presence she could only just shake if she was otherwise occupied. Right then, in the dead of night, Gwyn felt it snake around her until it was wrapped tight around her throat, choking a scream that always seemed so close to escaping.

She didn’t bother changing out of her thin nightdress, certain neither Cassian or Nesta would be up this late. If they were even back—they’d gone to Hewn City that evening for some meeting with a Day Court prince, giving Gwyn full run of the House of Wind. Not that she did anything terribly interesting with all that power—Gwyn got a book and some hot chocolate and spent the night curled in a chair reading until she finally dragged herself into bed.

Maybe she should have trained on the roof first. Really worn herself down so her brain was too exhausted to conjure up memories of the past, all the while whispering of how she might have prevented it, if she’d only been stronger, smarter, cleverer. Forcing her to relive it, to pick it apart to see what could have been different.

That was exhausting, too.

Cold air hit her the moment she pushed open the door, howling a greeting that might have scared someone else off. Gwyn liked the biting cold, the raucous yelling, the silhouette of the mountains looming like shadows in the distance. A half moon poured light over the rooftop, causing sleeping weapons to glint beneath. Maybe, she thought ruefully, she should have put on socks. Hair caught against her lips, and as Gwyn worked to push it out of her face, wishing for a hair tie, too.

It wasn’t too late and yet she was already here, wasn’t she? Might as well just power through, ignoring her discomfort like she was so accustomed to. The bite of cold was a reminder she’d survived—she was alive. So what if it burned a little? Sometimes Gwyn thought she fought better when she was in pain.

And more often than not, she suspected she deserved to feel it. That the curling peace was a mistake and everyone was going to realize what an imposter she was. They’d tell her she didn’t belong with them and cast her back out. Gwyn was always just waiting for it, a hammer that might fall at any given moment.

A blade just against her neck, never quite striking.

Gwyn pulled out a dagger, her favored weapon, and held it for a moment in her hand. Nesta was all brute strength, and Emerie terrifying yet easy grace, but Gwyn liked to be the shadow in the dark. The knife at someone's side rather than a screaming sword coming for a person's throat. While Nesta and Emeries radiated the kind of beauty that made men cower, Gwyn liked to think she was sweeter, more unassuming. People looked at Nesta, at Emerie, and were taken by their perfection.

They looked at Gwyn and wondered why she was with them. So Gwyn trained harder, made herself someone that couldn’t be ignored. Not forever, anyway. She was good at hiding, besides, taking to trees, blending into the background so often that on more than one occasion, Cassian and Nesta didn’t realize Gwyn was in the room until she cleared her throat.

Unbalanced, Gwyn took a second dagger and for a moment, was the wind itself. Recalling the movements Azriel had been teaching her, Gwyn stepped like a dance, twisting her body and slashing her blades against invisible foes.

A real ones, too. A shadow moved from the edge of the ring, catching her by surprise. Gwyn darted, and just as Azriel had taught her, grabbed them, slamming their body to the ground. It was thunder the way that massive, familiar form crashed against the world, a mighty god dragged from the heavens themselves.

Azriel groaned, eyes closed even as his hands grabbed her waist, holding her knee painfully against his ribs. “That was good,” he gasped, fingers curling into her skin.

“I’m so sorry,” she replied, dropping the blade she’d pressed to his throat. A thin line of blood snaked over golden, tattooed skin, staining the rather lovely black jacket he was wearing. Why was he up here, she wondered? Shouldn’t he be enjoying himself with his friends and family?

Azriel swallowed hard, opening hazel eyes that cut through the otherwise oppressive dark to look at her.

“I’m not.”

And then he released her, letting her scramble backwards, heart thumping in her chest. Azriel didn’t move, wings spread wide around against the ground. He looked like a fallen angel and Gwyn was awed at the sight, the realization that it had been her who’d felled him. He was looking right back at her, his expression clouded by shadow. Was he angry? He said he wasn’t, but surely he didn’t appreciate being assaulted in his own home.

Not that she saw much of him since she’d moved in. Azriel, who maintained a bedroom in the House of Wind, was suddenly gone and when Gwyn was really down, she sometimes thought it was because he didn’t like being around her. Here he was, though, clambering to his feet, his eyes sliding down her body. She could feel the heat of them like he was touching her skin and was grateful for a sudden burst of wind hitting her like a bucket of ice water.

Careful, she warned herself.

It was hard, though. Anyone with eyes could see how beautiful Azriel was. She wasn’t stupid. It didn’t hurt that in her worst moment, Azriel’s had been the very first she’d seen. A savior—a dark angel, come to wreak bloody vengeance on her sister's behalf. It had been Morrigan who’d taken her away to safety, but when Gwyn thought about how she’d escaped, she always remembered Azriel’s curved, lethal blade, sliding cleanly through the bodies of the same males who had killed her sister.

She’d always been grateful to him for it, even if she’d never tell him. He’d never once looked at her like he remembered, had never betrayed an ounce of pity. She’d expected him to say something back when he’d first joined their training, wary and distant. And maybe he knew, because he kept his distance until it was safe, had held himself at an arm's length and let her decide how much or little of him she wanted.

The problem was Azriel himself. Outside of being the most beautiful man he’d ever seen, he was just nice. Not in the way Cassian was, with big smiles and silly jokes, but with serious eyes and a dagger in hand, forcing her to move again and again and again. Your steps are off, Gwyn—you’ll get yourself killed that way. Eyes on your opponent, don’t look away. Hold your breath, don’t let them know you’re there.

Because he knew it mattered to her. That she wouldn’t be caught off guard ever again, that Gwyn would never let someone hurt her. Often, she wondered if he didn’t understand that pain, if it didn’t mirror some tragedy of his own. They didn’t talk about it—they didn’t need to. It was an understanding between them, something so intimate she would never share it with another living soul.

She kept waiting for Azriel to step back, to tell her she’d done enough, that she should finish with Cassian. He never did. Even when he was gone, Gwyn practiced knowing he’d want to see the progress she’d made while he was gone. And when he returned, he’d wait on the roof even when she’d flippantly told him it would be easier to just send word via letter.

I don’t mind waiting.

Those words still felt so charged to her. Like he was trying to say something else, eyes glittering and bright like the stars overheard. Gwyn pulled herself from her thoughts to look up at Azriel looming overhead, his wings flared around him as if he was trying to make himself seem larger. It was working—he was massive, muscular and tall and just like before, half fallen angel, half terrifying god come to earth so he might reign.

“You look cold,” Azriel commented, caught looking at her.

Gwyn put her hands on her hips. So what if he was? “I’m not.”

“Bullshit.”

Smothering a smile, Gwyn asked with faux outrage, “Are you calling me a liar?”

She swore the corners of his lips twitched. “To your face, even.”

“The cold doesn’t bother me,” Gwyn said, shifting from one leg to another, a gesture he seemed to register with sharp-eyed interest. Proof, she realized as his fingers began making quick work of his jacket. “No, that’s not—”

“Suck it up,” was Azriel’s dark voiced response, draping the warm jacket against her shoulders, leaving himself only in a black shirt stretched over his muscular torso. His eyes slid back down to her legs, lips flattening as he realized she was without shoes, too. “You’ll catch your death out here.”

Gwyn could smell the heady, masculine scent of him coming from the fabric, her arms far too small for the large holes. Still, she didn’t protest, turning to look toward the outline of the mountains instead.

“Maybe. But what a way to go.”

“It’s hardly heroic to die from the cold,” Azriel murmured, turning to follow her gaze. Did he know what she was thinking? How they had nearly died in the blood rite, thrown in wearing only a thin night dress against well-armed warriors? She wondered if Azriel would have found that heroic, even if it had been the cold that had gotten them.

Gwyn blew out a breath, the steam of air curling between them as one of his shadows darted out, illuminated by starlight. It wasn’t the first time and she wondered if they thought she, too, had a shadow for them to interact with.

Or if it meant something else.

Something more.

“Inside,” Azriel finally said, a gust of wind ruffling his night dark hair.

“You’re fussy tonight,” she grumbled, not protesting when his fingers pressed against the small of her back, pushing her toward the door. Heat pulsated from the touch, settling low in her stomach. “Did something happen?”

Azriel pulled open the door with his free hand, his touch never quite leaving. “No. Hewn City is unchanging.”

She glanced up at him, the light softening the harsh lines of his face. “Is that a good thing?”

“It’s predictable.”

“I want to see it,” Gwyn declared, though in truth she wasn’t entirely sure that was true. Still, the corners of Azriel’s mouth twitched a bit, as if the whole thing amused him.

“You would devour them,” was his easy, good-natured response. “To their endless delight.”

“And yet I’ve been snubbed yet again,” she teased, elbowing him gently in the ribs. “Do I file my complaint with you…or…?”

“You were spared the grating presence of Vanserra,” Azriel said, cocking his head with a half smile. “But I will pass along your discontent to the High Lord.”

“Be sure that you do,” Gwyn replied, grinning by the time Azriel deposited her into a chair in the study. He didn’t go far, sitting on the arm, his wings draped behind them. She could see the flexing muscle of his thigh beneath his well-tailored pants. If she’d wanted, she could have touched him.

It was obscene how badly she wanted to. How she had to clench her fingers to fists to keep from reaching out, well aware that Azriel would withdraw entirely and, perhaps, never speak to her again. He’d been nothing if not unfailingly polite, besides…though…he had been looking at her in the clingy, short nightdress, hadn’t he?

Just because you were cold, her mind reminded her. After all, she was still wearing his jacket. Gwyn shrugged out of it, heat blooming over her cheeks as she shoved it into his lap. There. She’d gotten to touch him without him knowing and give him back his jacket before she convinced herself to keep it.

And possibly sleep in it.

Azriel arched a dark brow, hazel eyes staring at the rumpled fabric now balled in his lap. “What did the jacket do to offend you?” he asked, taking it in broad, callused hands. He’d removed his siphons, leaving the scarred skin wholly on display. She wondered what had happened to him—and why.

If he’d ever gotten his revenge for it.

“It’s yours—that’s enough,” she replied flippantly. Holding her gaze, Azriel picked up the jacket and brought it to his nose. Time seemed to stop, frozen entirely as she watched him do this.

And he watched her, daring her to say something. She opened her mouth, gaping, only to close it.

And Azriel smiled. Broad and unrestrained, as if he were so delighted he couldn’t help himself. Tilting his head toward the roof, he murmured, “House—some tea, if you don’t mind.”

Of course the house didn’t mind. Two cups of steaming tea rattled on the coffee table before them, complete with sugar and honey, if either of them wanted it.

Gwyn didn’t think she could pick up a cup without betraying the rattle of her hands. Why? Azriel had discarded the jacket casually, tossing it to another chair like it was uninteresting to him. And was he closer, now? His thigh was, she was certain, but had his arm always been behind her. If she moved a few inches, he could have slid into the seat to join her.

He could pull you into his lap if he wanted.

Which, of course, he didn’t

Didn’t he?

“Why are you here?” she asked, hating that breathless quality of her voice. Azriel heard it, too, head snapping to the side, nose flared as though searching for something she couldn’t place.

“I like to be near you,” he replied. He could have thrown her across the room and surprised her less. Once again, Gwyn opened her mouth only for no sound to leave her throat.

“You—you’re never here,” she finally managed. Azriel leaned forward, the faelights gilding the dark ink of his tattoos scrawled over his biceps. He took one of the cups and handed it to her, fingers brushing her own.

“I can’t stand being around you,” was his maddening, level response.

Gwyn’s stomach sank. “What?”

She couldn’t drink—not when such a strange admission hung between them. Azriel, so unused to verbosity, was now forced to explain himself. It occurred to her just as he turned fully to look at her, some of the color drained from his otherwise beautiful face, that perhaps he wanted this confrontation. She didn’t, though, and wished she could have told him so. Things were fine between them—distant, maybe, and filled with a lopsided yearning on her end, but that was better than whatever he was about to do.

Gwyn had the distinct feeling Azriel was about to crush her. Emotionally ruin her. Destroy her so recklessly there would be no coming back.

“You still don’t feel it?” he asked instead, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “After all this time?”

A new fear speared through her gut. There was only one thing Azriel could possibly feel—and one thing she could possibly not. Gwyn had to set the shaking cup of tea down before bolting from her chair, arms wrapped around her chest.

“You don’t feel anything,” she declared, deciding if she felt nothing, neither did Azriel.

Pain lanced across his expression, replaced by grim determination. As he stood, Gwyn knew Azriel wasn’t going to let it go until they both felt exactly as he did—until she felt the mating bond.

Gwyn shook her head, backing away as he advanced. “Don’t do this, Azriel—”

“Is it that terrible, then?” he asked her, his low words filled with a familiar emotion. One she recognized all too well—the loathing, the self-hatred, the expectation that of course she would reject him.

“It’s—” Gwyn couldn’t breathe for the closeness of him, for the wanting to touch him. And maybe she did feel it, in her way. Had felt it the moment he’d strode into that cursed, wrecked room looking like the god of vengeance. She’d merely been too hurt to know it, too broken, too emotionally devastated. He should have frightened her and he never had.

Even then, towering over her with his muscular frame, Gwyn didn’t flinch away. She merely met his gaze with blazing defiance.

“You’re wrong,” she told him, keeping her voice light as she pushed at his chest so she could slip around him. “Or mistaken. There is no bond and I’m certain if you saw a healer, they’d—” Azriel grabbed her wrist, spinning her so her back was pressed to the floral papered wall behind her. Dipping his head, Azriel ran his nose the length of her neck.

“You’re no mistake, Gwyn.”

“I am,” she whispered without meaning to. Azriel could do so much better. Surely…surely he wanted better. What had that been like for him, she wondered, and before she could stop herself, she added, “When did you feel it?”

Something primal flared in those bright eyes of his. “Dinner with Nesta and Cassian. You touched my hand and I…” Holding up the offending hand, Azriel flexed his fingers in memory. “I felt the snap.”

That had been almost a year. It had been the last time Azriel had dinner with all of them, and right after she’d formally moved into the House of Wind. Gwyn still remembered that night—Azriel had bolted before dessert, murmuring something about needed to talk to Rhys. Gwyn had thought nothing of it—might never have thought about it again had he not pinned her against a wall to declare that had been the moment he’d felt a mating bond snap.

“We’ve been training together for months,” she replied with no small amount of outrage. He’d been keeping this secret for that long?

“I thought you’d feel it,” Azriel all but growled, eyes bouncing over her face. “And when you didn’t…”

“Rhys knows?”

“And Cassian—”

“So Nesta, too?!”

Gwyn shoved him again, harder this time. Azriel let her, she suspected, stepping back so she could have some breathing space. “They all know but I don’t.”

“And you’re taking the knowledge so well,” Azriel replied with a bite of sarcasm.

She whirled, wishing she had a dagger in hand even has the dried blood from his healed wound still taunted her. “I think I deserved to know before Cassian.”

“I needed his help,” Azriel admitted, running a hand over his mouth. “I needed to know how he managed it.”

“How difficult could it be,” she asked flippantly, intending to leave him there so she could think. Foolish to turn her back on a predator. Azriel had her again, wrapped in one strong arm, the other holding her jaw so she had to look at him.

“Hell,” he rasped, his anguish plain. “Every minute of it has been hell.”

In Gwyn’s defense, she managed one, final, protest. “It’s just—”

His mouth covered hers before she could finish that statement, could say what they both knew she’d been thinking. As if he found the words so abhorrent he wouldn’t hear them, would swallow them until he’d snuffed them from their very existence.

Gwyn forgot what she’d been about to say at all. She’d thought about what it might be like to kiss him. If his mouth would be soft or rough, if he kissed like he fought or if there was passion bubbling beneath his icy exterior. She hadn’t been prepared for what it would feel like or how desire would overtake her so thoroughly she didn’t care about anything else. Were those her hands cupping his neck? Her lips hungrily kissing him back like a crazed, desperate creature?

Her tongue meeting his own, her legs moving until he had her back against the wall so he could press the length of his body against hers?

There was only one thought in her name, an echo repeated over and over. Mate. Mate. Mate.

Maybe he should have just kissed her at that dinner. Skipped the yearning, the anguish, the uncertainty. At least they would have been kissing, anyway. Gwyn forgot herself entirely, nails digging against his shoulder until Azriel helpfully hoisted her into the air so she could wrap her legs around his waist.

“Don’t talk about my mate like that,” he panted, dragging his teeth against her neck. “I love her.”

Gwyn whimpered. What did she say to that? As it turned out—nothing. Azriel kissed her again, sparing them both whatever incoherent nonsense might have tumbled from her lips. She might have sworn she loved him too, if only to convince him to keep kissing her like he was.

Gwyn was certain Azriel’s kiss had ruined her life. How was she supposed to go back to things as they were before? It wasn't knowing that he was her mate, but knowing the way his hands felt cupped against her face and the way wildfire sparked in her blood when his tongue slid into her mouth?

The worst of it was when his hands left her ass, letting her slide down the hard slab of his body before she was ready. He pulled away, lips swollen and eyes wild, to take a healthy step away from her, though it seemed to take an immense amount of effort. For her part, she kept herself pressed to the wall, unsure what was happening.

“You know now,” Azriel managed, his voice hoarse, “and that’s…that’s all I wanted. I ah…I should go before—”

“You’re leaving?” she asked, strangely hurt by this new rejection. Gwyn knew all about mating bonds. What fae didn’t? Before she’d come here, she’d once dreamt of her own mate, giggling with her sister in their bunks as they imagined what that person might be like. If they existed at all, given the rarity of such a thing. It was almost funny that he’d been right here all along, close enough she could literally touch.

And he was going to leave? He didn’t want to accept it? Did she? It was all happening so fast but of course you didn’t reject a mate. She could see the wariness on his face, could watch in real time as he pulled up his defenses as she realized that yes. That was exactly his expectation.

Why? She knew from Nesta’s stories that Azriel was well sought after. And she wasn’t blind. What female didn’t dream of a male with his bone structure? He was powerful and close to the High Lord, and beyond all that, Azriel was kind. A genuinely good person, the sort of male one could spend centuries with if they wanted.

What could she even offer him? Gwyn’s thoughts raced, listing all the reasons he ought to have stopped, why keeping this a secret made so much sense. She didn’t notice Azriel creeping closer and closer until his fingers were under her chin, lifting her face so she had to look at him.

“You’re doing it again,” he murmured, his voice dark and dangerous. “Thinking unkind thoughts about my mate.”

“You can’t tell me what to think,” she shot back, her own voice trembling a little. He was so certain, so unbothered and in her entire life, had anyone ever immediately felt that way about her?

Nesta and Emerie. Catrin.

Azriel.

“You have it all wrong,” Azriel murmured and she wondered if perhaps he could read her mind. “It is you who could do so much better.”

His words drew a gust of laughter from her lips. The mother had certainly chosen well, putting the two of them together. What a pair—she wondered who would relent first? Her, or Azriel? Who would believe they deserved a mating bond first? It occurred to Gwyn, as she reached for his arm to pull him closer, that she was a shade too competitive—she wanted it to be him who broke first. Who relented first, who believed he was worthy, was deserving.

And she could see, from that golden glint burning in his own gaze, that he was thinking the exact same thing.

“You’re stupid,” she whispered, surging up on her tiptoes to kiss him again. She could taste the smile spreading over his face, sweet against the warm heat of his mouth. It took her an embarrassing amount of time to realize he wasn’t smiling because she’d told him to stop talking, but because she was kissing him. Gwyn hadn’t even considered not kissing.

He was her mate, after all. He was hers. She felt that the way she felt her own heart, the possession, the desire, the heat. She didn’t feel the cord the way everyone spoke of, but perhaps that was mere metaphor. After all, Gwyn believed Azriel wouldn’t lie to her about something so life altering.

Besides. She liked kissing him, new as it was. Azriel was unhurried and thorough, just like every other task she’d ever seen him undertake. And for the first time in a long time, she wondered what it would be like if he paid her that sort of attention in the bedroom. They stood there like that, his arm keeping her on her toes, steady against his warm, solid body. Momentarily, Gwyn wondered what might happen if Nesta and Cassian were to come in and decided she didn’t care.

How many times had she walked in on them in far more compromising positions, besides?

Tiny steps had Gwyn flush against the wood wall, pressed against Azriel’s hard body and oh. He wanted her. Wanted her in a way that emptied her mind of all other thought beyond the desire to touch him.

And she was allowed, she realized with giddiness. He belonged to her. It was a possessive thought that overrode everything else, including all her good sense. He was hers.

“Mine,” she whispered into his mouth, not meaning to. Azriel groaned, tangling a hand in her hair to tilt back her head, his tongue delving back between her teeth to really taste her. Without the leathers he usually wore, it was surprisingly easy to find the golden buttons on his jacket, undoing them before Azriel’s own brain seemed to catch up with what was happening.

His wings flared, enveloping around them for a moment as he pulled back, his breathing heavy.

“Cassian will be home soon,” he whispered, holding her close against him as if he expected his friend to take her away. “Nesta too.” “You have a bedroom here, right?” Gwyn said with more daring than she felt. Azriel’s once half-lidded eyes flew open, those hazel eyes searching her own.

“I do,” he whispered, swallowing audibly. “There’s no rush—”

“Please?”

One moment she’d been standing there, her hand flat against the white, linen shirt Azriel wore beneath his jacket and the next her feet were in the air, her body cradled against him as he walked.

“I can’t think when you’re around,” Azriel was saying, his steps echoing against the wood. “Can’t think just looking at you. Sometimes I think I’ll wake up and this will have all been a dream.”

“It’s real,” she replied, pressing her lips to his neck. “I’m real. We’re real.”

He shuddered, all but running up a flight of stairs. There was no reaction when his wing clipped a door frame nor did he say a word when he had to use his nice shoe to slam his bedroom door shut. Gwyn wasn’t given the opportunity to really look around his space, either—though it seemed sparse and filled with dark, moody colors.

Azriel had her on the bed, his own body over top her own before she could exhale the breath she’d just taken.

“Tell me to stop,” he said, the maddening male. She would have told him she didn’t want him to, but he was kissing her again, his burning lips all but bruising her own. Drawing a leg up, Gwyn could line up their otherwise mismatched bodies so he was pressed exactly where she wanted him.

They were going to do this. She wanted to do this. When she managed to take a breath, the taste of blood faint against her tongue, she rasped, “Take this off.”

Azriel was on his knees in a moment, shucking off his jacket before all but ripping off his shirt, too. There in the dark with nothing but silvery moonlight to illuminate him, Gwyn was allowed to really look at him.

He didn’t move, a lock of dark hair half obscuring the intensity of his gaze. “All of it,” she decided before she lost her nerve.

Azriel cocked his head, his lips pursed as though he’d tell her no.

“Please,” she added.

Azriel groaned again, softer this time. Somewhere in the house, a door slammed closed and a mingling of male and female voices rose like music, a soothing hum in the background as Azriel slid off the bed entirely.

Wings tucked tightly against his toned back, he quietly locked his door before turning back to her. “We don’t have to,” he said, his fingers hovering over the laces of his pants. Gwyn had a suspicion Azriel would spend the next century saying this and she’d spend the next century reassuring him that she wanted all of it. All of him.

Maybe he’d realize in the morning when she snuck into the kitchen and begged the house for his favorite meal. She had no idea what it was, but surely the magic that governed this place did? Would he eat it from her hands? Or would he balk, certain this was just another dream?

“I know,” she said, leaning up on her elbows. “Take it all off, anyway.”

Gwyn knew what Azriel was wondering but her past was murky—forgotten in the dark, the ugly replaced with his easy, unassuming beauty. Still, she held her breath as he undressed entirely, drinking in the sight of him. This was the male she’d knocked to the ground, the very same that could kill another person without a second thought.

Underneath the thick, armored leathers and weapons lay just a male made of skin and bone. Gwyn’s eyes traced the tattoos adorning his shoulders and chest, the intricate swirls snaking up his neck and vanishing behind his back. Every inch of him was muscled, softer now that he was relaxed and still present just below the warm brown of his flesh.

And between his legs…

Gwyn giggled. She couldn’t help herself. It was so big—surely they weren’t supposed to be that large? That thick? There was an air of male pride shimmering around him, his legs spread a little wider as if to say, drink it all in.

“Are you laughing at me?” he asked, his voice a dark, teasing growl. Prowling forward, Gwyn’s heart spiked loud enough he must have heard.

“I wasn’t prepared for…” For what? For him? Azriel was so quiet, so unassuming…she just assumed if he had all that going on he’d brag a little more? Swagger about the way Cassian always was?

“I’d be a poor mate if I left you wanting,” he replied, his eyes glazed over once his knees hit the edge of the bed. Perhaps it was the sight of her, still dressed, scrambling on her hands and knees so she could crawl toward him. She just wanted to touch, to feel if his cock was as hard as it looked.

Azriel sucked in a breath when her fingers curled around the base of his shaft, just barely touching. Looking up, she murmured, “Is this what you like?”

“I like you,” he replied, scooping up her hair in his hands as Gwyn stroked him experimentally. He choked out a sound, his heartbeat thudding in her ears. She supposed that was her answer—he liked the way she touched him.

Pride filled her chest knowing she could please her mate, even with something as simple as touching him. Gwyn stroked again, letting her wrist twist at the end as her eyes refused to leave his face.

“Gods,” he whispered, his wings tightening against his back. “I’ve imagined…Gwyn…”

She was allowed a third pass before he pushed her back, her clothes pulled off her body so quickly all she managed was to lift her hips and raise her arms.

“Do you know how many nights I’ve laid in this exact bed and imagined you just like this?” Azriel began, his voice a dark, sultry whisper. “Splayed out…naked…undone?”

“No,” she squeaked out in response, half embarrassed to be undressed before him. Azriel’s gaze burned against her skin, warming a path from her collarbone to her thighs.

“Would you like to know what I dream about at night?” he questioned, sinking to his knees so he was eye level with the edge of the bed.

Arousal ribboned through her, making a fool out of her. “Yes,” she replied, strangely excited to be the object of this man’s fantasies.

Strong, scarred fingers curled around her thighs, pushing them wider before hooking them over his shoulders. He was staring at her cunt, now, studying her like she was some priceless piece of art.

“I dream of tasting you,” Azriel breathed, the warmth of his breath fanning against her. Gwyn squirmed when he kissed her inner thigh—the left, and then the right—before using his tongue to lightly take that first taste he’d been dreaming of. Gwyn might have asked him how he liked it had it not felt so good.

Besides, she knew he liked it—Azriel groaned loudly, spreading her apart wider with his fingers so he could taste her everywhere. Gone was his slow exploration, his desire to take his time. All of it had been replaced with the animal kneeling between her legs, licking and touching her cunt like his life depended on it.

All traces of her embarrassment evaporated, leaving only instinct behind. Gwyn surrendered to the urge, letting desire wash over her until it was all she knew. “Don’t stop,” she breathed, well aware he probably couldn’t.

Azriel pushed a finger into her gently, moaning at whatever he felt. Gwyn hadn’t considered what it would feel like to share space with him—to feel him inside her own body but now…

“Az,” she panted, her hips rolling against his mouth and hand. She wanted him to stop licking, to replace his fingers with his cock. Heat was building in her chest beyond simple arousal, heavy like a chain.

Unbreakable.

A bond. A real thread she could follow straight to the male between her legs. It reverberated and then snapped just as Azriel sucked her clit into his mouth, eliciting a scream that was half his name. Could he feel it too? No—his had snapped months ago and he’d just been living with it.

Gwyn couldn’t see how. If she didn’t have him right that second she might go insane. Reaching for his powerful biceps, Gwyn tried to pull him off her but the waves of pleasure made her hands shake.

“Az,” she tried again, his name a breathy moan against her lips. Her hips moved of their own accord, grinding against him in what must have seemed like encouragement to keep going. Maybe it was—she didn’t try very hard to get him off her.

Azriel managed a third finger, a whine slipping from his throat at the effort. Gwyn just barely registered any of it, her body jerking a second time from pleasure so bright and heady she could have died from it. It was too much—Gwyn was burning, was in free-fall with no one to catch her.

Digging her nails into his skin, she yanked at him. Azriel emerged, lips wet and eyes wild. “Please,” she heard herself saying, the magic words that, apparently, could convince him to do anything she wanted. “I need you.”

His fingers were wet as they skimmed the side of her body, palm grasping her breast before his lips found hers. He tasted sweet and she supposed it was herself, truly, she was tasting on his tongue. He was hurried, his desperation making him sloppy. When his teeth clashed with her own, nipping the sensitive skin of her bottom lip, Gwyn had enough.

“Az—”

“Don’t beg me,” he breathed, pressing his forehead against her own. Caressing her cheek, Azriel added, “I’ll do whatever you want. You don’t have to beg.”

“I feel it,” she replied, running her hand up and down his spine. “It’s a real thread.”

Azriel exhaled with relief, a smile ghosting his pretty face. Whispering something that sounded like gratitude toward the gods, he adjusted his body until she felt the blunt head of his cock pressed against her. How had he stood it? The waiting, the wanting, the utter need that Gwyn was all but drowning in. If they didn’t do this, she thought she might die from it.

“You’ll tell me if I hurt you.” It wasn’t a request, though Gwyn had no intention of telling him anything. She expected a little pain, expected little pleasure. Why else had he used his mouth first?

Gwyn had read enough books to know that there was blood and pain and so when Azriel slid himself an inch into her, she braced herself against him, her nails digging into his biceps. She could feel his eyes on her, searching for even a hint of discomfort. There was something reassuring about knowing he’d stop if she wanted. That he cared if she enjoyed herself.

Gwyn didn’t need a book to know not all males cared about such things.

Azriel took his time—like he knew he had eons of it, that he didn’t have to rush. Gwyn loved him for it, eyes burning with unshed tears at the thought. She’d tell him all this later, when they’d had a chance to breathe and eat and really talk about everything that had otherwise been left unsaid. Instead she dragged her lips down his neck and focused on the feeling of his cock in her body, pushing further and further without any of the accompanying pain she’d expected.

She was slick enough that he felt less like an intrusion and more like a welcomed guest, and once he’d seated himself entirely, it seemed as though they’d been made like two puzzle pieces destined to fit.

It took a moment to get used to the stretch, to breathe despite the feeling of fullness. Azriel gave it to her instinctively, as if he knew exactly what she both wanted and needed. There was that same sense of I have all the time in the world, despite her knowing he was desperate. A bead of sweat slid from his temple, rolling down his neck and his arms shook from restraint.

He didn’t move.

Not until her mouth made its way to his collarbone and she whispered, “Give me more.” He groaned loud enough to shatter the silence, pulling himself out with a slowness that bordered on madness.

“You’re so wet,” he whispered, burying his face into her neck. “I’m losing my mind.”

She couldn’t help the exhaled smile, raking her fingers through his hair. “Did you dream of this, too?”

“No,” he admitted with a grunt, sliding his cock back into her body. “I didn’t dare.”

“Why?”

“Couldn’t,” he managed, thrusting again with a little more intensity. “Would have gone crazy from wanting you. Surprised you couldn’t smell it on me.”

As if she would have known what she was smelling. There was no point in telling him so—not as Azriel confessed the depths of his devotion, the lengths he’d gone to give her time, space, and whatever else she’d wanted. Would he have continued to do so forever?

Gwyn kissed his cheek. “I want you. I want this.”

He groaned again, sliding his hand between their otherwise flushed bodies to rub at her still swollen clit. She’d been half distracted by his words to pay attention to her body but right then, when his thumb began making tight circles, Gwyn was pulled back under the depths of shadowed darkness, half consumed by the male laying on top of her.

Their mouths met, messy and unrestrained. Strange how kissing merely heightened the pleasure coiling through her—Gwyn wouldn’t have guessed that. In her books, everything was so neat and clinical. They kissed, they touched, they fucked with nothing in between. In real life, sex was messier, more fluid. Or maybe she and Azriel merely had more passion than the people in her stories.

Those love stories had once brought her such joy. Now they seemed dimmed in comparison to what was happening to her and her own feelings.

“I need to feel you come,” he whispered, betraying how close he must have been. Gwyn felt the same way. She needed to feel him, needed to see him wholly unraveled. All because of her—no one else was allowed to know what he sounded like, what he looked like. They got control, they got the ice but she got the heat, the impulsivity—everything he was, everything he’d ever been.

Gwyn came to the thought of that future, tightening around him as her back arched her into his chest, offering very little give. Azriel kissed her, swallowing the sound of her moans greedily. They belonged to him, anyway.

He came mere seconds later, his own noise of pleasure delightfully loud for a male that was so often silent. Gwyn kept herself wrapped tight around him, arms winding against his neck, her teeth sinking into his shoulder. His pumping was erratic, uncontrolled and a little desperate. Gwyn was obsessed with this side of him—wanted more of it.

Azriel didn’t withdraw when he was done, his heart thudding against her breast. “It’s not enough, is it?” she whispered, thinking they both ought to feel sated. She didn’t. In her books, the heroine was always spent, the hero falling asleep not long after. The pair would wake in each other's arms, content and glowing from the night before.

Gwyn wanted to shove him to the floor and climb atop him. Wanted to hear him beg, too—wanted more of the whimpering, the groaning and everything in between.

“It was never going to be,” he panted, kissing her softly.

“How long will it last?” she wondered, brushing a damp lock of hair from his face.

“Eternity, I imagine,” he replied, his eyes burning with that same unflinching intensity. “For me, at least.”

Gwyn’s heart exploded, racing in her throat. “Are you hungry?” she whispered, deciding she couldn’t wait for the morning. She wanted to do this right now. Wanted him to know that this meant something to her, even if she was scared, too.

Azriel went still. “There’s no rush—”

“That’s yes or no, Azriel.”

A smile broke over his face. “Starving,” he admitted in that dark, sultry voice.

“You have to get up,” she reminded him, pushing half-heartedly at his shoulder. Azriel lowered his mouth for another kiss.

“In a minute.”

Strange how a minute could stretch.

Into lifetimes, even.

#gwynriel #I DID IT

211 notes · View notes

peakyswritings · 7 months

Text

Heart, Body and Soul || Tommy Shelby X OC

PART IV

Summary: after their late-night conversation, something has changed between Nina and Tommy. Now Tommy’s slowly coming to understand that they might be more similar than they thought.

Warnings: mentions of arranged marriage, slow-burn, small age-gap (Tommy’s 30, Nina is in her early 20s), time-typical misogyny, addressing the topics of rape and murder, English is not my first language.

A/N: This is more like a passage chapter with little to no action, but it’s fundamental for the development of Tommy and Nina’s relationship. But be ready, cause there’s a storm coming!

Important information for the context: In this chapter, Nina explains the delitto d’onore (honour killing) and the matrimonio riparatore (rehabilitating marriage), two practiced which were recognised by the Criminal Code and were only abolished in Italy in 1981. In Italy, r*pe went from being a crime against the moral to being a crime against the person only in 1996.

PREVIOUS PART

SERIES MASTERLIST

CHAPTER’S MOODBOARD

Dividers credits

Sipping lemonade at the kitchen table, with the birds chirping outside and a slight breeze coming through the open window, Nina relished the first moments of peace in weeks. With the women of the family busy with the tradition of making tons of tomato sauce to preserve for the winter at Aunt Rita’s house and the men out for business, she could finally enjoy a day all for herself. She might even go to the sea, stay there to watch the sunset.

Glancing out the window, a curious sight caught her attention. Tommy Shelby was lounging in a chair, his head leaning back, his eyes closed. He had abandoned his formal attire, he wasn’t wearing a jacket nor a tie, and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, exposing his forearms. There was something captivating in his disheveled appearance, and in the way - despite his apparently vulnerable position - he still seemed to be fully aware of his surroundings. There was a clear tension in his shoulders and his eyelids fluttered, from time to time.

After their late-night conversation, it didn’t take long for Tommy and Nina to go back to their old ways. That morning, while they sat at the breakfast table, they mostly ignored each other, and the few words they exchanged during the day were mere courtesies. It was almost as if last night never happened. Almost. Because it had happened, and something had changed between them. But it was such a small change that neither of them were actually aware of it. Maybe that change was the reason Nina took pity on him and walked out to approach him.

However, as soon as his stern blue eyes rested on her, an unfamiliar nervousness took over her, and she suddenly felt stupid, regretting her impulsive decision. It wasn’t like they were close, after all. But he was there, and he was looking at her, and it was too late to go back. She had to find something to say before that situation became even more awkward.

Before she could speak, something she hadn’t noticed before caught her eye. A black full-ball was curled up in Tommy’s lap, hidden by the shadow of the table. Nina watched in shock as Winston purred and stretched his little paws, enjoying the man’s scratches behind his ear. How the hell did he manage to touch Winston without losing a finger?

The gangster’s eyes shifted between Nina and the cat, and his lips curved into an taunting grin. “Your cat likes me. That should be a good sign.”

“Quite the contrary.” She retorted, recovering from her astonishment. “Winston’s a devil. If he likes you, there’s clearly something wrong with you.” She teased him, feeling the previous embarrassment slowly fade away.

“But he likes you.” He squinted his eyes, pointing at her.

“Yes, because I feed him.”

Something moved in the grass, causing Winston to raise his head and stare at a specific point. It took him only a few seconds to spot a lizard, and he jumped from Tommy’s lap to catch the poor animal. Traitor, she thought to herself, watching as the cat ran away with his loot.

Once Winston had disappeared, she remembered the reason why she had walked up to him in the first place. “I’m going to the sea for a while.” She said, shifting her weight from one feet to the other. “If you need something, everybody’s over there.” She nodded her head at Agnese’s house.

Tommy stayed silent for a few seconds, pondering, almost hesitating. “Would you mind if I came with you?”

There was a hint of uncertainty in his voice, which surprised Nina even more than his question. One thing that she had learned in the short time she had known him was that he never wavered. Yet, only for an instant, his firm and unmovable facade seemed to falter.

Truth was, Tommy didn’t even remember the last time he went to the beach. He was still a kid, Finn probably wasn’t even born yet. He had almost forgotten how it felt, and for the first time in a long time, he longed for a feeling that seemed to belong to another life. But Nina didn’t particularly like him, and perhaps he was overstepping by asking to go with her. Moreover, if her family found out, chances were that they would get the wrong idea.

“No.” Nina shook her head, recollecting herself. “No, I don’t mind.”

She took both Tommy and herself aback with her answer. Up until a few days earlier she would’ve said a sharp “no” without thinking about it twice, but now, as much as she hated to admit it, his company wasn’t so unpleasant anymore. Quite the contrary. And their bickering surely was a way of escaping the boredom of the small village.

So they found themselves walking down the dirt road outside the big gates of the houses, in the opposite direction from where Tommy had arrived a little over a week ago. It stretched in front of them as far as the eye could see, and its left side was surrounded by nothing but trees, whereas the right side overlooked the sea below. In the silence, he could already hear the sound of the waves and breathe the salty air, and the comfort it brought him almost made up for the burning sensation of the sun on his face. He wasn’t prepared for the warmth of the Italian summer, so radically different from Birmingham’s gloomy weather.

Eventually, they approached some narrow stone stairs, which led down to a small beach.

“Careful.” Nina told him, starting to walk down the high steps with surprising ease. “It’s slippery.”

Tommy followed behind her, paying close attention both to where he placed his feet and where she placed hers. She was going a bit too fast for his liking, and although her movements were agile and graceful, he had the impression she might slip at any moment.

Little did he know, she had walked down those steps hundreds of times. It was a spot she had discovered a few years prior, hidden from prying eyes and unknown to most people. It wasn’t even a proper beach, rather a small sandy space surrounded by rocks. It was her refuge, the place that sheltered her when she needed to be alone. Sometimes she would sit on a rock and watch the hypnotising motion of the waves rolling in, other times she took off her shoes and stood at the sea’s edge, lulled by the feeling of the cold water around her feet. She could pretend that nothing existed except for her and the sea, that she was free of the suffocating weight of judgement and injustice. And she could breathe.

“Nice place.” Tommy’s hoarse voice came to her ears as she went to sit on a rock. She watched as he looked around, an unreadable expression on his face. Another thing she had learned about Tommy Shelby was that it was impossible to tell what was going on inside his head. He was so good at hiding his feelings that Nina figured it must be an ability he had mastered over the years. There was nothing left of the glimpse of humanity he had revealed the previous night, and she wondered whether her mind had just made it up.

With his back to her, he stood in front of the sea, observing the slow motion of the waves. “How’s your cousin? I haven’t seen her today.”

Unlike the previous days, that day no big lunch was organised in the shared garden, and Tommy had eaten with Nina, her parents and her two brothers in their dining room. Since he had officially started the courting the day before, the family’s agitation had quieted down, and big gatherings were not necessary anymore, unless something important happened, like a proposal. But it was too soon for that. So that day everything went back to normal, just like Nina had predicted the day he had arrived.

“She’s busy. She and my cousins are helping my mum and aunt Rita.” She informed him. “Summer means conserve. They’re making tomato sauce and preserving it. It’s a tradition.”

“You didn’t join them?”

“No.” She shook her head. “Not this year.”

Tommy took her short answer as a sign not to inquire further. He wasn’t blind, he had noticed she was a bit of an outcast in her own family. He had seen how her aunts and cousins looked at her, how they whispered among themselves when she said or did something they considered unacceptable, how her own mother lowered her head in embarrassment on those occasions. It hadn’t taken him long to understand how things worked in Sicily: women had to be meek, agreeable and marriage-minded. It was no wonder Nina’s temperament clashed with that state of things.

“Anyway, Agnese’s happy.” She continued. “Just like everyone.” Although she was trying to keep her tone neutral, she couldn’t hide a hint of bitterness in her voice.

“But you’re not.” He stated matter-of-factly, turning to face her.

“I’m happy that she’s happy. What I’m not happy about…” she left her sentence hanging, thinking about her next words. “Is this whole sale thing. Because you can call it whatever you want, it doesn’t change what it really is.”

There it was, the rage she tried so hard to contain. It never completely reveal itself, it only shone through cracks and fractures, like in that moment. But Tommy had seen it since the very beginning, for anger recognises anger, and he was angry too. He had been angry since he was a boy.

He sat next to her, keeping his eyes on the calm sea in front of them. “You’re right.” He nodded, knowing there was no point in denying what was in front of everyone’s eyes. “But it’s necessary. I’m selling myself too, you know. Before all of this I didn’t think I’d ever get married.”

Nina glanced at him, furrowing her brows. “You never thought about marriage?”

“I did.” He admitted, his mind wandering to moments that seemed so distant yet so close at the same time. “There was a woman I wanted to marry. Grace.” He explained, having to force himself to say her name. After a whole year, that name still stung on his tongue.

“What happened with her?” She asked curiously.

“Turns out she was a spy, working for an Irish cop who was investigating on some stolen guns.” Reality crashed back on him as he said those words, the memory of how he had been played by the woman he loved hitting him like a bucket of cold water. “He thought we had them.”

“Did you?”

A smirk made its way on Tommy’s face at her innocent question. He turned to look at her with raised eyebrows, slightly leaning towards her. “How do you think a backstreet razor gang managed to take control of the city without the police intervening?”

She opened her mouth to say something, but closed it right away, shaking her head with an impressed look on her face. For once, she was at a loss for words.

“Anyway,” he straightened his back, becoming serious again. “She ratted us all out, and then she left.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s in the past.”

It’s in the past. Tommy had lost count of all the times he had said that to himself. Maybe if he repeated it long enough, it would eventually become true. And maybe it was happening, because that was the first time he thought about her in days. Yet, it still hurt. He thought they were the same, that he found her, and she found him. He was wrong.

After a while, Nina broke the silence that had fallen between them. “At least you’re not some old man.”

Her sudden statement caused a chuckle to escape his lips, and even though she had tried to keep a straight face, she soon followed him. Tommy realised that he had never actually heard her laugh before. A few times she had chuckled, but until then she had never let out a real laugh. It was infectious, and he found himself laughing for the first time in God knew how long.

Soon the laughter died down, and Tommy was left with question that had been burning in his mind for a while. “Why don’t you want to get married?”

There was no judgment in his voice, just plain curiosity. He didn’t find it strange, but he couldn’t help but wonder what made her so adamant about the matter.

She took her time to answer, as if she was ordering the words in her mind, and he couldn’t tell whether she was translating her thoughts or finding the way to address a subject that was clearly a sore point. She was so fluent in English that sometimes he forgot it wasn’t her first language. Then her accent came through, or she mispronounced a word, and he was reminded that it probably hadn’t been easy for her to master a language without living in the place it was spoken. It was quite impressive.

“Because if I got married,” she started, bringing his attention back to the topic. “I’d be completely subordinated to my husband. I couldn’t make financial or even employment decisions. If we had children, they wouldn’t really be mine, I’d have no right over them. In the eyes of the law, my husband would have absolute power over us.”

Tommy attentively listened, not daring to interrupt her, afraid that she would close herself off again.

“Best case scenario, I’d end up being a wife and a mother, nothing more, nothing less. Worst case scenario, I’d end up like one of my mother’s friends, who was killed by her husband because he thought she had cheated on him. And he got a sentence reduction. Because it was a honour killing.” She spat out, her voice full of scorn. She frowned, as she did every time she didn’t agree on something.

“Honour killing?” Tommy raised his eyebrows. He had heard about it, of course, but there was something grotesque in the fact that it was somehow recognised by the law.

“If a woman brings dishonour in any way to the family, and one of her family members were to kill her, they would get a sentence reduction. It’s called delitto d’onore. Honour killing.” She explained, and he could tell she was trying not to let emotions take the best of her. Her gaze rested on him, and he figured his expression let his thoughts slip through, because she nodded. “You think that’s fucked up? Wait until you hear about the rehabilitating marriage.”

“What about it?”

“If a man rapes a woman, he can escape his sentence by marrying her. It’s in the Criminal Code, just like the honour killing. And the woman must marry the man to save both her honour and her family. Otherwise she’ll be identified as a shameless woman.” Her dark eyes blazed with outrage as she stared at some point in front of her, and Tommy found himself sharing the same disdain. Maybe it was the part of him who had never tolerated injustice, a side of him he had pushed back a long time ago, but that stubbornly came to the surface whenever something unfair occurred, or maybe her rage was so strong that it was able to infect those who were close to her.

“It’s not that uncommon that a man kidnaps a woman so that she will be forced to marry him.” She shook her head, her voice lowering. “It’s not right. Sometimes I sit here and it’s all I can think about. It’s not right. And no one seems to be angry about it. Most people even agree with it. It’s just how things are. It’s normal. It shouldn’t be.”

Tommy knew that feeling, the frustration that came with helplessness. It plagued him when he was a boy, when he was treated differently because of who he was, of where he came from. When his mother couldn’t afford to put on the table anything but lard. When aunt Polly’s children were taken from her. It was that feeling that pushed him to make sure people feared the Shelby name, so that no one would dare treat them like scum ever again.

“I’m not saying that I wouldn’t like to have a family of my own. But it’s not worth the risk of becoming no one. I don’t want to obliterate myself. I don’t want to depend on a man who might be cruel to me. I want something that’s mine. Because right now, I have nothing. And I know that I finished school, and that’s way more than what most boys get, let alone girls. But it’s not enough.” Her voice cracked, but there was no trace of tears on her face. “Is it so bad to want something more?”

No, Tommy wanted to say. No, it’s not. But couldn’t bring himself to speak, because he knew that there were no words that could make it better.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered, pulling herself together. “I got carried away and I talked too much.”

“No.” He said quickly. “You didn’t. I asked you a question and you answered it.”

For some reason, Tommy didn’t want Nina to think that her talking bothered him, that she had to hold her tongue with him. He liked hearing her talk. She was smart, she had thoughts of her own, and she challenged him. She didn’t agree on everything he said - or pretended to - just to please him, she didn’t make herself smaller like everyone else did in his presence. That was somehow refreshing.

There was silence again, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable one. They were both meditating on the words they had said and heard, and the gap between them didn’t seem so wide, now. As the sun started to set, the sky took on shades of pink and orange, and a warm light illuminated the beach.

Tommy took advantage of Nina’s distraction to look at her. The last rays of sun lit up her eyes with a golden hue, giving them a colour which resembled honey. Her tan skin seemed to gleam, and her cheeks had taken on a tinge of red. It was as if he was seeing her for the first time, and he realised - she was beautiful. He had already noticed her interesting, sharp beauty, but now it felt as if it had intensified. A light gust of wind rose up, and her long raven hair tickled his cheek, sending a shiver down his spine. When the scent of lavender filled his nostrils, he couldn’t restrain himself from closing his eyes and breathing deeply.

Nina shifted her position, causing their hands to accidentally brush.

He didn’t flinch away this time. She didn’t either.

NEXT PART

Heart, Body and Soul tag list: @zablife @queenofshinigamis @raincoffeeandfandoms @call-sign-shark @kmc1989 @babayaga67 @kmhappybunny240 @diorrfairy @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @gaslysainz

Tag list: @iamngoclinh08 @lilywinchesterlove @fandom-puff @capitanostella @caelys @lucillethings @peakyxtommy @queenofkings1212 @lyarr24 @kmc1989 @call-sign-shark @jomarch-wannabe

Tommy Shelby tag list: @50svibes

#peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders fics #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby x oc

150 notes · View notes